Finding Mercy

by Cindy Kelley

  “She’s fast, I’ll give her that,” Victoria said.

  “I knew your mama, Charlotte. Has anyone told you that you have her eyes?” Virginia asked.

  The comment touched Charlotte more than she could say. “No.”

  “Marie was a beauty—inside and out,” Virginia said.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Charlotte said.

  Mother came breezing into the bakery. “Good day, Ginny,” she said. “Have the girls filled you in?”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure, but she thought the warmth left Virginia’s eyes when she answered their mother. “Yes, they have. We were just discussing Marie.”

  Mother’s smile froze. “Really?” She pulled off her gloves. “Shall we take the table by the window, girls?”

  “Tea, Ginny? And maybe some of your lemon bars? As I recall, Charlotte loved those,” Mother said.

  Virginia smiled, but she shook her head. “She loved my raspberry tarts … not the lemon bars.”

  Mother pulled out a chair and sat. “I think I should know what my own stepdaughter liked.”

  “I agree. I think you should know—but you’re mistaken,” Virginia said.

  So there was tension between the two women. “I may not remember what I used to like, but I do know I love anything with chocolate now,” Charlotte said.

  Virginia put a finger in the air. “Chocolate cake for everyone. ”

  They’d barely pulled their chairs around the table when a knock on the window startled the three of them. Charlotte looked to see the face of a little boy smashed up against the window, his nose flattened, his lips pressed on the glass. Holding fast to his hand was a young woman, who smiled broadly and waved frantically.

  “Oh no,” Victoria said. “This should be something.”

  “I assume I know her?” Charlotte asked as the woman yanked the boy’s hand and they both disappeared from view.

  But before either Victoria or Mother could get the answer out, the woman burst through the door, dragging the little boy behind her.

  “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! It’s true! It’s you! I was in Dooley’s, and someone said why, Betty Ann, I’ll bet you’re excited as a little girl on Christmas morning, and I didn’t have the slightest idea what they were talking about, and then they told me Charlotte Chapman was back in town, and I just couldn’t believe my ears! But here you are.”

  “Hello, uh, Betty Ann?” Charlotte said.

  “Did you also happen to hear that Charlotte has amnesia, Betty Ann?” Mother asked.

  Betty Ann frowned. “Someone did mention that, but I told them it’s one thing to forget a few of the hometown folks, but you don’t forget your very best friend in the world!”

  Charlotte was so tired of repeating the same apology over and over again, yet she started once more. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember anyone or anything about my life here.”

  Betty Ann pressed a hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, then finally cleared her throat. “You mean you don’t remember me at all?”

  Charlotte hated how sad she looked, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “But we were practically joined at the hip growing up,” Betty Ann said. “We shared secrets, Charlotte. Lots and lots of secrets. You knew more about me than my own husband.”

  “How is Bobby?” Mother asked.

  “He’s getting on okay,” Betty Ann said. “You should come and say hello, Char. It would lift his spirits to see you again. And I’ll admit I would love to sit down and have a nice long talk with you.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I will. Your son is adorable.”

  Betty Ann brightened when she looked down at the quiet little boy still holding her hand. “Thank you. I certainly think so, but I’m his mama, and mamas are always partial. I’m sure you’re like everyone else and think he looks just like his daddy.”

  It took a moment for Betty Ann to realize what she’d said. “’Course you wouldn’t know that now. But if you were yourself, you’d be saying, ‘Betty Ann, I declare, that young’un looks exactly like his daddy. He is Bobby to a tittle.’”

  “I’m sure I would,” Charlotte said.

  “Anyway, remember what I said about a visit,” Betty Ann said. “If the past is gone, then we’ll get to work building our new friendship.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “We’re having a welcome-home party for Char,” Victoria said. “You have to come and bring Bobby.”

  A strained smile from Betty Ann. “I’ll try. He’s not feeling very social these days.” She looked at Charlotte. “We really were best friends. I worried myself sick when you disappeared. I’m glad you’re back—even if you don’t remember me.”

  She offered up one more sad smile, then turned to leave, pulling her little boy out with her.

  “I feel terrible that she’s so upset,” Charlotte said.

  “She’ll be all right,” Victoria said. “After all, she learned to cope with things much worse than your memory loss.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her husband Bobby came home from the war, but sadly left one of his legs on a field in Kentucky,” Victoria said. “It’s just too sad to think about.”

  Ginny came toward them carrying a serving tray. “Thank goodness for cake,” Victoria said. “It always lifts my mood.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The house fairly hummed with activity in preparation for Charlotte’s homecoming party. Field hands were brought in to help rearrange the furniture in the parlor and roll up the huge rug so the floor would be suitable for dancing. Two women, on hands and knees, spent hours bringing the luster of the herringbone wood of the floor back to life.

  Mother barked out orders to the servants. “I want the furniture so highly polished I can see my reflection in the wood.” She had them wiping down the walls, beating the dust from the smaller rugs, washing the crystals of the chandeliers. Copper pots in the kitchen gleamed, and the banister of the staircase was rubbed to a high sheen.

  They were crossing the foyer when Charlotte asked her mother about the one major thing that seemed to be overlooked.

  “What about the damage done by the Yankees?” she asked. “There are holes to fill and wallpaper to repair. I could paint or do something …”

  Her mother shook her head. “I want those battle scars to stay. They are a badge of our strength. Not something to hide.”

  “But wouldn’t it be easier for you to forget what happened if you weren’t reminded of it every day?”

  “I don’t ever want to forget—or forgive—what happened here.”

  Charlotte heard someone behind her and turned to see Elijah standing there. She could see by the look on his face, he’d heard every word of their exchange. As grateful and happy as she was he was staying for the party, a part of her would be relieved when he left. She wouldn’t be able to stand what her family would say or do if they found out about him.

  Mother looked at Elijah. “Have you had tea or coffee yet, Elijah? I could have Rose bring it to you on the veranda. It’s a lovely morning.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve already made a visit to the kitchen. I’m just inquiring if there is anything I can do to help?”

  “You’re a guest in our home. We don’t normally put our guests to work,” she said. Then she smiled and Charlotte thought it was something that she should do more often. “But, if you are sincerely offering …”

  “I am.”

  “Then I imagine Beauregard could use some help out front. I’ve asked him to make some more space for the buggies and provide a few more hitching posts for those who make an appearance but don’t stay long enough to warrant their horses in the corral.”

  Charlotte thought Elijah actually looked relieved at the prospect of having been given a physical task.

 
“I’ll see to it,” he said. They watched as he made his way out the front door. When it closed, Mother looked at Charlotte with a quizzical expression.

  “I don’t know what your relationship is to that young man, but I think if you let him get away, you’ll regret it,” she said.

  “We’re friends,” Charlotte said.

  “Hmm. I suspected something more.” Mother continued through the foyer, down the hall toward the dining room. Charlotte kept pace.

  “I didn’t mean to give anyone that impression,” Charlotte said.

  “Call it mother’s intuition.”

  “I have entirely too much on my mind these days,” Charlotte said. “And I don’t want to make that mistake twice.”

  They entered the dining room, where Chessie and another colored woman had the silver laid out on the side table and were polishing each piece.

  “Ah!” Mother said. “So there has been romance in your life since you left us?”

  Charlotte glanced at Chessie, but the old woman was focused on her task. The other woman, Georgia, had a bent posture that revealed years of working in the fields. She was polishing with the same vigor as Chessie and studiously avoided a glance at the mistress of the house.

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” Charlotte said quietly.

  Mother was not to be put off. “Nevertheless … you did say it. Was the romance with Elijah?”

  Charlotte sighed. “No. I was engaged to be married to another man, but I called off the wedding.”

  “How can this be the first I’m hearing of this?” Mother asked. “You obviously haven’t told your sister?”

  “I haven’t, and I really don’t like to talk about it,” Charlotte said.

  “I imagine a broken engagement would be a painful subject,” Mother said. “But still, darling, these are the kinds of things mothers and daughters talk about. There should be no secrets between us.”

  Mother looked at the display of polished silver and frowned. “Make sure to find the coffee urn and polish that too, Chessie.”

  “Yassum. I will.”

  The thought gave Charlotte a warm feeling. She had someone to confide in—a mother who wanted to know her secrets. But just as quickly, the feeling disappeared. There were secrets she prayed would never come out. The subject of her broken engagement—and the reason for it—chief among them.

  Mother turned her attention back to Charlotte. “I think I might find time for a cup of tea on the veranda. That would be the perfect spot for a chat—don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I—”

  Rose entered the dining room with a lace tablecloth over her arm. “S’cuze me, missus.”

  “What is it, Rose?”

  “Juba need you in the kitchen. She gots questions ’bout the party food.”

  Mother sighed with exasperation. “I’ve been over and over this with her. I may as well do everything myself.”

  Mother smiled distractedly at Charlotte. “I suppose we’ll have to postpone our tea until after the party.”

  Charlotte smiled. “All right.”

  Her mother hurried from the room. Charlotte walked closer to Chessie and watched the two women for a moment. Georgia was slower and more methodical in her approach. Her hands were calloused, but efficient. Chessie reached for another piece of silver, her palm briefly displayed, and Charlotte sucked in a breath. She hadn’t noticed the heavy, roped web of pink scars that covered the old woman’s palm. It was clear to see something very painful had happened.

  “That silver is beautiful. Has it been in the family a long time, Chessie?” Charlotte asked.

  “Mm-hmm.” Chessie looked over her shoulder at Rose, who had just settled the tablecloth over the enormous piece of furniture.

  “I gots things to tend to in the parlor, Rose. You finish this for me?”

  Chessie shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her apron, walked past Charlotte and out of the room. Charlotte turned to follow.

  “I’d be happy to find that coffee urn for you if you can tell me where it might be,” Charlotte said.

  “I was tol’ to do it and I will,” Chessie said. She made her way around a ladder that had been placed directly under an ornate candelabra hanging in the foyer. A young colored man perched precariously on top, straining to sweep a feather duster over the fixture. The ladder actually teetered below him as he moved.

  “Don’t be fallin’, Roscoe,” Chessie said. “Ain’t no one got time to tend to broken bones today.”

  “I won’t, Chessie,” he replied.

  Charlotte veered around the ladder to follow Chessie into the parlor. Their footsteps over the bare wood echoed in the room. Chessie made her way to a corner cabinet to retrieve tall white tapers to replace the candles already gracing the fireplace mantel.

  “I’m feeling a tad useless,” Charlotte said. “Isn’t there something I can do to help you?”

  Chessie didn’t look at her. “You can’t help me now.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “You findin’ fault wit’ my work?” Chessie stopped to ask.

  “What? No,” Charlotte said.

  “Den I need to keep at it and not spend my time talkin’,” Chessie said.

  She continued to remove the spent candles from the holders, replacing them with the new tapers.

  It was easy to see the tension in Chessie’s posture, the rigidity of her back, the way she yanked the candles out and shoved the new ones into the holders. Charlotte couldn’t help but feel the sting of Chessie’s attitude with every move, every word she spoke.

  “What happened between us, Chessie?” she asked.

  There was a brief moment when Charlotte could see the question had caught Chessie off guard, but then she shrugged. “Nothin’.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Charlotte said.

  Chessie finally turned and looked straight at her, and Charlotte was taken aback by pure anger in the old woman’s eyes. “What difference do it make now?”

  “I want to know. I want to fix what happened.”

  Chessie shook her head. “Some things cain’t be fixed.”

  “Please. It’s not fair of you to hold something against me that I can’t remember,” Charlotte said.

  The taper Chessie held in her hand snapped in the middle. The unvarnished anger of the gesture shocked Charlotte.

  “I’m not speakin’ on what is fair to you,” Chessie finally said. “You gots the great luxury of not rememberin’—and I gots the great sorrow of never forgetting. Leave it be, Miss Charlotte. Jes leave it be.”

  They both heard Victoria calling for Charlotte. Chessie pushed the broken candle into her pocket and turned away. Charlotte didn’t know what else she could say. She took one more look at the woman who’d raised her, and then went in search of her sister.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlotte stood at the top of the stairs and listened as the hired musicians tuned up in the parlor. The house fairly glowed in the candlelight, and fresh flowers had been brought in to fill every empty side table and wall nook. The scent of magnolias and jasmine wafted through the house. Servants had been admonished to be on their best behavior, and the whole affair promised to be a wonderful time.

  Charlotte knew most of the people coming were friends of the family—even old friends of hers, but she couldn’t help thinking curiosity would be the driving factor in getting half the town to the plantation that evening. She thought about the last party held in her honor. Six months before on a cold December evening, she’d stood at the top of another staircase in another grand home and descended to a throng of people, curious to meet the future daughter-in-law of Charles and Ilene Prescott. The Prescotts were widely considered to be the most patriotic of St. Louis citizens, loyal to Mr. Lincoln’s Union cause and the fight to abolish slavery. It was also the night a
certain young Union captain had been introduced to her in the receiving line and uttered words that would come to haunt her and eventually change the direction of her life. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Elijah’s face and his words that evening were something she’d always remember—along with the way her heart had stuttered in her chest when she thought someone had recognized her. But then, just as quickly, he’d withdrawn his observation and said he’d been mistaken. Now they both knew his instinct had been right.

  “Oh my, Char! You look beautiful!”

  Charlotte turned and saw Victoria coming toward her wearing a light blue organdy gown that made the most of every one of her attributes.

  “Thank you. So do you,” Charlotte said.

  “Give me a turn,” Victoria said.

  “What?”

  Victoria made a spinning motion with her finger. “Turn and let me see the whole picture.”

  Feeling foolish, but doing as her sister asked, Charlotte turned slowly in her light green silk gown. The deep-cut bodice was covered with delicate glass beads, the skirt full and edged in scalloped lace. Once she turned full circle, she smiled.

  “Will I do?”

  Victoria clapped her hands. “Absolutely. The dress is a little dated now. Hoops are smaller than they were when that dress was new, but no one will notice. Half the women here tonight will be in dresses they bought before the war. No one has money anymore for frivolities.”

  “It seems we do,” Charlotte said.

  Victoria smiled. “Yes. It seems we do. At least for tonight.”

  The door was opening and closing now as people filed into the grand foyer, talking, laughing, looking around but trying not to be obvious. When Charlotte moved back to the banister to watch, Victoria stood next to her and pointed out guests.

  “There’s Wendell and Margaret Washington. They say they’re direct descendants of George Washington,” Victoria said. “Very highbrow and snooty. Mother loves them.”

  A silver-haired man and his wife entered the house. She handed her wrap to a maid waiting dutifully to take it.