Finding Mercy

by Cindy Kelley

  “I suppose everyone needs a boss,” Elijah said.

  “Bram knows how to get the most work out his people,” Beau said. “It’s easier to take orders from someone who knows what it’s like to do the job. He keeps them in line.”

  “Of course,” Elijah said.

  “What’s it like working out west?”

  “A lot dustier and drier than it is here. The landscape isn’t nearly as green as all this, and any water I happen across is usually a meandering stream or a lake—certainly different from this. I think a man could get used to seeing the ocean every day.”

  “I don’t suppose I ever thought about not seeing it,” Beau said. “Besides, I’ve been raised to think of it more as a means to an end than something to gaze on.”

  “How is it used?”

  “For our irrigation system—not the salt water itself, of course, but we manipulate our dikes and canals in the fields by using the tides. The river can be affected by rise and fall of the ocean as much as thirty miles inland.”

  They came upon a large building with a brick chimney that rose nearly eighty feet in the air. “What’s that?” Elijah asked.

  “Steam-powered rice mill,” Beau answered. “Father’s idea. We produce twice the rice as other mills in the county. There are dozens of small farms and plantations a third of the size of this one. They harvest their crop and bring it to us. We charge a fair price for them to use the mill, and we all end up happy.”

  Beau made a turn and they rode parallel to a quadrant of rice fields. Elijah could see dozens of workers in constant motion.

  “You plant in the spring, I assume?”

  “Usually the first of April if the weather cooperates,” Beau said. “A good, solid crop can be harvested in September.

  “We flood the fields three times during the growing season. The field hands are getting things ready for the lay-by flow. Once we do that, the crop will be underwater for about two months.”

  “The water doesn’t grow stagnant?” Elijah asked.

  “It can. Fresh water is periodically introduced to replace it—but the point is to keep everything wet and growing during that time. If we have a good season, we produce about a quarter of a million pounds of rice.”

  Elijah whistled. “Impressive.”

  “Not as impressive as the million pounds a year we produced before Mr. Lincoln’s destruction of our way of life. We’ve got a dozen empty houses in the colored camp now,” Beau said. “There was a time we didn’t have room for one more slave, but now …” He shook his head. “There aren’t enough hands for the work.”

  Elijah watched the field hands make their way up and down the rows of green shooting into the air. There were men, women, and even children in the fields. The work looked monotonous and backbreaking.

  “Some of them seem to be wearing Confederate uniforms,” Elijah said.

  “There were quite a few Negroes who signed on to fight for the cause. When the war ended, they were free, but when they got home, they didn’t get clothes from their masters anymore, so they wear the uniforms they had in the war. ’Course, now it’s getting too hot for the jackets, but they’ll wear them right on through summer.”

  They rode on toward the stables. Elijah could see Isaac in the corral currying a large black stallion.

  “As you can see, we put Isaac to work with the horses. Seems like he’s got an easy way with them,” Beau said.

  “He does,” Elijah agreed.

  “And I’ll admit I thought it would please Charlotte. She seemed to be … unusually attached to the boy.”

  “I’m sure it does please her. She just wants him to have opportunities that will improve his life.”

  They got closer and Elijah called out to him. Isaac turned and lifted a hand in greeting.

  Beau and Elijah rode to the fence and Isaac came running up. “Hello, Ca … Mr. Elijah,” Isaac said.

  “Isaac … you doing all right?”

  “I sure am. Dey say I kin stay and work and get paid real money,” Isaac said.

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “Yassuh, I do. I like it here jes fine,” Isaac said. “And dis way I kin be where Miss Mercy is.”

  “Just remember she’s Miss Charlotte now,” Elijah reminded him.

  “It be strange to say it out loud like dat,” Isaac said, “after thinkin’ a’ her as Miss Mercy all dis time.”

  Elijah smiled down at him. “I know what you mean, Isaac. Guess you’d better be getting back to the horse now. I’m staying here a few more days. I’ll see you again before I leave.”

  “You gonna be here for da party?”

  “You know about that, do you?”

  “Yassuh. Ever’body here know ’bout dat.” Isaac grinned. “But I know Miss Charlotte gonna be da purdiest girl dere.”

  “Isaac? You done with your work, boy?”

  Elijah looked across the corral to see a white man in his thirties, hand on his hip, staring at Isaac. Beau acknowledged the man with a touch to the brim of his hat.

  “That’s Jonas,” Beau said. “The overseer I told you about. He lives right here on the property.”

  “You probably should get back to work, Isaac. You don’t want to make a bad impression on Mr. Jonas,” Elijah said.

  Isaac looked over his shoulder. “S’pose not,” he said. “But he seen me be a hard worker. Besides, Miss Charlotte won’t be lettin’ anyone treat me in a poor way. I know she won’t.”

  Elijah smiled. “Just keep up your good work, and I’m sure you’ll get along fine.”

  “I keeping up with yo’ horse and Lucky,” he said. “Not to worry ’bout dem.”

  “Isaac!” Jonas yelled.

  Isaac grinned. “I be seeing you, Mr. Elijah.” He turned and ran back to the horse.

  Beau and Elijah continued on their way. “Seems to me that boy speaks in a mighty familiar way about Charlotte.”

  Elijah heard the disapproval in his voice.

  “He’s just got a small case of puppy love.” Elijah smiled. “It’s completely harmless. Mercy—I mean Charlotte—was very kind to Isaac in St. Louis. She helped him out of a bad situation, and the boy is grateful.”

  “You give an inch with those people and they’ll take a mile,” Beau said.

  “I’m not sure she sees it that way,” Elijah said.

  “She will. Now that she’s home again, she’ll get back into the way things are done.”

  Elijah turned in the saddle and looked at Beau. “What was she like before the war?”

  “Hmm. Charlotte before the war. We’ve got over seven hundred acres on this plantation and to cover the subject of my sister, we’d need ten thousand more.”

  “That complicated?”

  “Yes. And no.” He laughed. “You’ve seen her shoot?”

  Elijah nodded. “Stunning accuracy.”

  “I don’t think there is anyone in the surrounding five counties who can touch her acumen with a rifle. For a while, I tortured myself over her abilities and my … inadequacies. But then I realized I was the normal one. She was the anomaly. For some reason, that helped.”

  “I’m sure you were all very worried when she left,” Elijah said.

  “My father had just died. We were all still reeling from the shock of his death, and then Charlotte disappeared. Yes, you might say we were worried.”

  “It must have been quite a shock when she turned up yesterday.”

  “I had a moment when I couldn’t even believe my own eyes,” Beau said. He gazed into the distance, then shook his head. “Last night I looked at her across the table and felt as if she’d never even left.”

  “She’s lucky she had such a good family to come home to,” Elijah said.

  Beau smiled. “Your turn. What can you tell me about my sister? You’ve spent time with her. You c
an probably describe the woman she is better than I can.”

  Elijah contemplated the question. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I think trying to describe the woman I know as Mercy would be like trying to tell a blind man about the colors in a sunrise. It’s impossible to get it right.”

  Beau raised a brow. “I think you just described how you see her quite well, Elijah. I’ve seen the way you look at her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Isaac isn’t the only one who has a case of puppy love.”

  Elijah thought for a second and then smiled. “Maybe … but if I did, it would be harmless as well.”

  Beau looked over at him with a shake of his head. “Whatever you say.”

  Anxious to get off the topic, Elijah broached a new one. “How do you suppose they’re getting on in town?”

  “I imagine they’ve caused quite a stir,” Beau said. “It’s just like Charlotte to be in the middle and both ends of a mystery.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The three women strolled down the street, with Victoria and Mother pointing out various shops and people as they passed. Whenever someone new greeted Charlotte, he or she was invited to the plantation for the party.

  “Have you any idea how many might turn up?” Charlotte asked.

  “No idea at all, dear,” Mother said, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s high time the people of Darien came back to the plantation to see we are thriving and still quite important to this town’s survival.”

  “And to welcome you home, Char,” Victoria chimed in.

  “Of course,” Mother said. “That goes without saying. We want all our friends to help us celebrate.”

  “I’ll admit it seems a little … overwhelming,” Charlotte said. “So much fuss.”

  “We used to have the most delicious house parties when Father was still alive. Before the dreadful war. People would come from all across Georgia and stay for weekends filled with music and food and dancing,” Victoria said.

  “Your father loved to entertain,” Mother said. “Now, to entertain on that scale would be impossible without the slaves. We just wouldn’t be able to manage so many guests. The stables, the kitchen, the cleaning. No. Those days are over, I’m afraid.”

  “I think we should have tea and sweets at the bakery before we go back,” Victoria said.

  “Fine. But I have a few more errands to see to,” Mother said. She gestured to the door of the feed and livestock store as they passed. “I planned to order more chickens today from Mr. Jackson, but perhaps I can put you girls on the task while I go to Myrtle’s to see about flowers?”

  “You want us to order the chickens?” Victoria said.

  “Didn’t I hear you complaining about venison during supper last night?” their mother pointed out.

  “Yes, but …”

  “Mr. Jackson can help you with the particulars—I trust his judgment,” Mother said. “We’ll meet at the bakery when we’re through.”

  The inside of the feed store resembled a barn. The pungent odor in the store had Victoria covering her nose when they entered.

  “Did you notice Mother gets the sweet-smelling florist, while we are here?” Victoria said.

  Charlotte smiled. “It’s not so bad.”

  Seth Jackson was restocking bags of seed when Victoria and Charlotte entered. He was a middle-aged man whose dark-brown hair had just started to gray. He saw them and smiled.

  “Miss Chapman? Ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

  “Hello, Mr. Jackson. My sister and I are here to order some chickens for the plantation,” Victoria said.

  He raised his brows. “Your sister?”

  “Yes,” Victoria said. “This is my older sister, Charlotte. She’s just returned home from a long … absence.”

  “Welcome back,” Mr. Jackson said.

  “Thank you.”

  Victoria turned to Charlotte. “Mr. Jackson is relatively new to Darien. He only set up shop a couple of years ago.”

  Jackson made his way to a long counter and ducked underneath.

  “I thought y’all had a good stock of chickens,” Jackson said while he dug around under his counter.

  “I’m afraid some kind of wild animals got into the coop,” Victoria said. “Wiped us out.”

  Jackson straightened and shook his head. “That’s terrible.”

  Victoria smiled. “But good for business.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Can’t argue there. Can you excuse me for just a minute? I’ve got the catalogs for poultry in the back room.”

  “Certainly,” Victoria said.

  As Jackson started toward a door behind the counter, another, younger man came through it. He carried a silver bucket that seemed to weigh him down.

  “Get the rest of that grain in the barrel, Sam,” Jackson said, brushing past him.

  “Get it in the barrel,” Sam repeated. “In the barrel, barrel, barrel, barrel …”

  He made his way around the counter toward a big whiskey barrel in the corner of the store. The women watched his slow progress.

  “Victoria,” Charlotte said, her eyes still on Sam. “How close was I with Chessie?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just wondered what kind of relationship we had.”

  “She just thought the sun rose and set on you, is all,” Victoria said. “Beau and I used to call her an ol’ black mama bear protecting her cub.” She laughed. “I declare, you could do no wrong in that old woman’s eyes. She just doted on you.”

  “But she didn’t take care of you and Beau?”

  “No,” Victoria said. “Father was adamant that Chessie was your mammy—not ours. Besides, we had Mother.”

  Sam dumped his bucket into the barrel, then started back across the room as Jackson hustled back to the counter with a catalog in hand. “Ladies, if you’ll come over here, we can write up an order for those chickens.”

  Sam went behind the counter and found a broom. He set to work sweeping while Charlotte and Victoria watched Mr. Jackson start to make some notes on a piece of paper in front of him.

  “What kind of chickens you looking for? You want hens for laying? Bantams for eating? What are you thinking?”

  Victoria looked perplexed. “I suppose we want both. I’m not sure about the number, though.”

  She looked at Charlotte, who just widened her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea. Mother said to trust your judgment.”

  “Well, I’d say fifty bantams, and maybe twenty-four laying hens.”

  Behind him, Sam started to mumble. “Fifty, twenty-four. Fifty, twenty-four.”

  “Let’s say we start with the hens—the ones who lay the eggs. Remind me how much feed we would need?” Victoria asked.

  “A typical layer eats about four ounces of scratch a day,” Jackson said. He started to make notes on the catalog as he spoke. “Twenty- four hens would require …”

  “Ninety-six,” Sam said, still sweeping, eyes on the floor. “Ninety-six, nine—six, ninety-six.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “That would be ninety-six ounces a day. Or to put it more simply it would be …” He started to figure again on the page.

  “Six pounds, six pounds, six—”

  Jackson looked over his shoulder. “Sam, what have I said about this? Hush now, you’re causing me to lose track.” Jackson went back to his figures. “It would be about six pounds a day—so if you ordered for the whole year it would be …”

  “Two thousand, one hundred ninety pounds,” Sam said quietly. “Two thousand, one hundred ninety … two thousand—”

  Jackson turned, his tone terse. “Sam!” He turned back to the ladies. “Sorry. Once he gets going I can’t shut him up. Cousin on my mother’s side. No one will hire him …”

  “It’s fine,” Charlotte said. “He’s not bothering us.�
��

  Jackson sighed, went back to his calculations. “So I figure you’ll need … twenty one—almost twenty-two hundred pounds of feed a year just for the layers.”

  “That sounds like a lot,” Victoria said.

  “It does. It does sound like a lot,” Jackson said, “but don’t forget the return you’ll get on the investment. The eggs.”

  “Oh, that’s right. We can eat or sell the eggs,” Victoria said. She frowned. “How many eggs exactly?”

  Sam swept closer to the counter, but his eyes never left the ground. “Eight thousand, seven hundred sixty eggs. Eight thousand seven …”

  Sam’s voice faded away as he moved around the floor with the broom.

  Jackson offered a strained smile. “Let’s just say you’d make a pretty good profit. Now do you want me to calculate the feed for the bantams?”

  “You know, I think we’ll just leave it to you,” Victoria said. “Don’t you think so, Char?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes, Mr. Jackson. We’ll just trust your calculations.”

  Victoria smiled. “Will you send us the bill?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Jackson said. “You can probably expect the chickens in about a month.”

  Charlotte and Victoria started toward the door. They could hear Sam mumbling to himself. “Seven hundred thirty, seven hundred thirty, seven three zero. Twelve in a dozen, seven hundred thirty dozen in three hundred sixty-five days …”

  Charlotte found the bakery to be as charming and inviting as its owner, Virginia, who squealed with delight when they walked in the door. She appeared to be very settled into middle age: bony hips, sensible shoes, touches of gray colored her tightly braided hair.

  “Welcome home, darlin’,” she said. “I’m so happy to see you back safe and sound.” She enveloped Charlotte in a bone-crushing embrace.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said. She wondered at the small woman’s strength as Virginia tightened her grip like a vise.

  “Now don’t squeeze her to death, Miss Ginny,” Victoria said. “There’s something we have to tell you …”

  Virginia loosened her grip on Charlotte and stepped back. “No need. The gossip got here long before you did, honey,” she said. “I sold some scones to Penelope, and she told me all about Charlotte’s lost memory.”