Finding Mercy

by Cindy Kelley

  In the hall outside her room, Charlotte could hear Victoria complaining that she had a spot on one of her white gloves. Beau told her to find a new pair, but Victoria was irritated that Rose hadn’t put them in the proper place. Sundays without the help were always so inconvenient. There was a rap on her door and Beau called out, “Leaving in five minutes, Charlotte.” She heard him walk away and waited.

  They were already in their carriage when Charlotte came out the front door and stopped at the top of the steps. Beau held the reins, her mother sat beside him, and Victoria sat in the back.

  “Hurry up, Char!” Victoria said. She moved over a little on the bench seat to make room.

  Mother swept her eyes over Charlotte’s simple day dress. “That’s not suitable for church, Charlotte,” she said. “And where are your gloves?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I don’t feel up to church this morning. I have a headache and I didn’t sleep well last night …”

  Her mother waved off the rest of her apology. “That’s typical. The town expects to see us all together this morning, and you’re going to dash those expectations by being absent.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Charlotte said. “I suppose if you’d just wait a few minutes …”

  Suzanne shook her head. “I’m not going to walk into church late.” She turned away from Charlotte to stare straight ahead. “Go ahead, Beau.”

  Beau glanced at Charlotte, then gave the reins a shake, and the horse was off. Charlotte watched them go with a sigh of relief. She thought of Betty Ann’s advice to try and get along with her family. There was something she needed to do, and now that they were gone, she could do it without upsetting them.

  Charlotte walked toward the colored camp to have a conversation with Isaac. On the whole, the place seemed to be deserted. She knew it was their only day off for the week, so she was surprised there wasn’t more activity. She saw a couple of old men squatting in the grass cleaning and scaling fish, and shuddered, remembering her experience by the river. A young mother hung clothes on a line stretched between two houses, with a baby tucked into a sling against her chest. Charlotte approached the house where she thought Isaac had been staying, walked across the brittle front porch, and knocked on the door. But no one answered. The morning was quiet, the wind still, and the air sweet with the scent of magnolia, in such contrast to the bleak homes around her.

  And then Charlotte heard it. Clapping … and singing. She walked between two of the houses until she came to the back. Although she couldn’t see the water, she knew it was there, surrounded by tall reeds and overgrown vegetation. But what caught her eye, about forty yards away, was a magnificent oak tree whose branches spread out to comfortably shade dozens of Negroes standing in a circle, dressed in their Sunday best, clapping hands to the sound of the music they made with their own voices. Charlotte could see Chessie and Rose in the circle with men, women, and children who swayed and bounced with the energy of their fast-paced spiritual. She could just make out the chorus: “Ev’ry time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart, I will pray! Ev’ry time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart, I will pray.” They sounded so joyful; the words rolled off their tongues and they raised their eyes to heaven. She started toward them when a familiar voice stopped her.

  “Miss Charlotte?”

  She turned to see Isaac standing there. “Isaac. I was looking for you.”

  He shrugged. “Found me.”

  The song continued and Isaac glanced that way. “Up-on the mountain my Lord spoke, out of His mouth came fire and smoke! Looked all around me, it looked so fine, till I asked my Lord if all was mine!”

  Charlotte inclined her head toward the singers. “It’s a beautiful hymn.”

  He nodded. “Yassum.”

  “You didn’t want to join them?”

  Another shrug. “Didn’t feel like it, I s’pose.”

  She nodded. “My family went to church without me this morning. Didn’t feel like it either.”

  “Why was you lookin’ fo’ me?”

  “I wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing,” Charlotte said.

  Isaac shook his head. “You shouldn’t worry ’bout me.”

  She took a step toward him, and he took a step back, looking again toward the group still singing under the tree. The gesture stopped her cold. Isaac knew—he knew about her actions before she left for the war. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The former slaves of the plantation who stayed on as paid laborers would have talked, would have told Isaac what they knew about the white woman he’d traveled with from Missouri to Georgia. He knew she’d sold a black man as if he were a piece of furniture or a field cow. He was probably ashamed to be seen talking to her. The thought made her heart sink.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard Elijah had to leave?”

  He nodded. “Yassum, I heared it.”

  “He was sorry he couldn’t tell you good-bye himself, but he was in a bit of a … hurry.”

  “I’m glad he kilt those men,” Isaac said. “I’m glad he be dere to protect you.”

  She nodded. “Me, too.”

  “Dat part over den? No more men comin’ to find you?”

  “I hope it’s over. It’s one of the reasons Elijah left in such a rush. He wanted to make sure there will be no more men.”

  “Dat’s good.”

  “Are you doing all right, Isaac? I know they moved you out to work in the fields and I was worried …”

  “I be fine. Never been ’fraid a’ hard work. Long as it be fair work, I’m fine.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine life here is anything like you hoped it would be …”

  “Didn’t imagine anything, Miss Charlotte. Didn’t even know dis be da place we be stayin’.”

  “Down in the valley, when I feel weak, it’s when the devil use’ly speaks.”

  “I’m afraid you might have heard some things about me,” she said. “Some … bad things.”

  “Because he’s crafty and full of lies, I need the Spirit to keep me wise.”

  “I hear some things,” he admitted. “Not all of ’em good. Don’t know if dey real.”

  She looked into eyes that had held nothing but trust for her. “Some of them probably are.”

  “Dey’s sayin’ you did angry-type screamin’ at Rose,” Isaac said. “Dat one true?”

  Charlotte hesitated. “That is true.”

  He studied her. “Den you must a’ had a good reason for doin’ it.”

  “I did.”

  “Ev’ry time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart, I will pray.”

  He nodded. “Da folks ’round here say you is showin’ yo’self to be just like you was before you left fo’ the war. Filled with hate, mad at the world, and takin’ it out on the black folks.”

  “Ev’ry time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart, I will pray.”

  “You know I don’t remember what I was like before I left for the war,” Charlotte said. “But that could be true as well.”

  “Dey say it was a colored man who shot and kilt yo’ daddy,” Isaac said. “Said he used to be yo’ friend.”

  “That’s what I hear too,” she said.

  “Dey also say you sold off a slave that was kin to Chessie.”

  “Chessie told me that just last night,” Charlotte said. She swallowed, tried to hold back the tears that threatened. “I don’t know who I am, Isaac. I don’t know which Charlotte is the real me. The one who said and did those terrible things or …” She looked at him. “Who do you say I am?”

  Isaac studied her. “You own Lucky’s heart. God made that fierce horse, who probably got more good judgment than most people. And I think he’s right about you.”

  Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked toward the people under the tree, swaying together, singing with joy.

 
“Ev’ry time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart, I will pray.”

  She turned her eyes back to Isaac. “I suddenly feel like going to church.”

  Charlotte and Isaac entered the church in the middle of Pastor Daniel Brady’s sermon. The sanctuary was packed with people—all of them white. Charlotte saw the pastor’s eyes widen just a bit at their appearance, and he stumbled over a word or two, but to his credit, continued to preach without more than those brief hesitations.

  It had been enough, however, to pique the curiosity of the congregants. In the quiet of the place, clothing rustled, pew benches creaked and groaned as they turned in their seats to see the new arrivals to the service. Midway up the aisle, Charlotte saw Betty Ann’s face register disappointment with a small sad shake of her head. Beside her on the aisle sat Bobby, his crutches propped against the side of the pew. A man in the pew to their left turned and glared at her with one eye, his other covered by a black patch. Charlotte, trying to ignore the hostility in the air, scanned for empty seats, then locked eyes with Mother, sitting between Victoria and Beau in a front pew. Her mother turned forward again, stiff-necked and rigid with disapproval.

  Years of suffering through the war were in that church. People had lost loved ones, homes, dignity—even faith. Suddenly, Charlotte wanted to turn and run, but instead spotted enough room for the two of them a few rows up. She nodded to Isaac, but he was frozen. She had to give him a little push to get him moving. Seconds later, they slipped into the pew as the pastor talked on. An older woman who was seated in front of Charlotte half turned in her seat to offer a little nod and a smile. It was a brief moment of relief. Charlotte glanced sideways at Isaac and could see the boy taking everything in: the pastor’s robes, the ornate cross on the wall, the mural of Jesus behind the altar. Though the church was lovely, Charlotte couldn’t help but think about the service she’d just seen at the colored camp. The giant oak, and the songs of people who didn’t seem like they had much to sing about—all under a blue cathedral sky.

  Suzanne didn’t hear one word the pastor said. She fumed through the rest of the service and prepared the speech she was going to give Charlotte the minute they walked outside the church doors. She’d always had a lot of nerve, would do things just to get a rise out of her—but this was going too far. Dragging that little darky into the house of the Lord! It was a slap in the face of the entire congregation—for that matter, the entire town. And worst of all, she’d made the family out as fools. Now, when the service was over, she’d have to find excuses for what Charlotte had done. Or would she?

  Suzanne was relieved to hear Pastor Brady begin the final liturgy.

  “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you and give you peace.”

  Ginny Watson, at the piano, launched into “Amazing Grace” and the congregants sang while the pastor made his way down the aisle to take his customary place at the door. Grace was the last thing Suzanne felt like giving. The hymn ended, hymnals closed, and they all started to file out of the church.

  With Beau and Victoria trailing her, Suzanne tried to make her way to the door, but was waylaid time and time again by shocked members of the congregation who couldn’t believe what had just transpired.

  “I don’t even know what to say about it,” Suzanne said to anyone who stopped her. “Just between us, I’m sorry to say my Charlotte really never came back to me. This woman—imposter, really—who’s taken her place is a stranger. A stranger in our home and we never know what she’s going to say or do next. Please … pray for us.”

  Charlotte and Isaac were in line behind a few other parishioners and were doing their best to ignore the pointed looks and whispered comments directed their way. It was her turn to greet the pastor.

  “I’m sorry we were late, Pastor,” she said.

  He flicked his eyes from her to Isaac, then nodded at her. “Charlotte, I’m just glad to see you made it back to church.”

  “Yes, well …”

  “I think it might be wise for us to meet about your spiritual needs now that you’re home.” He looked her straight in the eye. “In the meantime, I’d like you to read John 1:11. It will provide a good place for us to begin our discussion.”

  Before she could even respond, he turned and thrust his hand out to the next parishioners in line. “Jeremy, Sally, good to see you,” he said.

  Charlotte and Isaac made their way from the church. She looked over her shoulder at the pastor and could see he was looking in her direction. John 1:11.

  Chapter Forty-One

  She had done something purely on heart and instinct, and now her thoughts were turning faster than the wheels on the wagon. She remembered a conversation with Elijah. “You’re a strong, capable woman, with good instincts.” She’d laughed at his comment and listed her litany of mistakes. Then his amended advice: “Whatever your instincts tell you—do the opposite.” Too late! Why didn’t I heed his words, heed my own history of blunders and stay home? I brought Isaac into a white church. What was I thinking? What have I done? The thought of facing Suzanne, her brother, and her sister was daunting. This latest action would certainly do nothing to repair a relationship still reeling from the attack of the bounty hunters and the revelation of Elijah’s service in the Union army. Should have thought of that before I marched a black boy into a room filled with Southerners still stinging from the war. Then there was the pastor. The long look and his request to talk about her spiritual needs. She had a feeling her spiritual needs would probably end up falling into the category of minding her own business and letting him worry about the diversity of his congregation. She didn’t want to talk to him any more than she wanted to speak to her mother. Will I ever learn to think before I act?

  Isaac, normally one of the most talkative people she knew, was silent on the ride back home. He hadn’t said a word since climbing up into the wagon and sitting as far across the bench seat from her as he could. They arrived back at the plantation stables. Charlotte turned to Isaac.

  “It was a good service,” she said.

  Isaac stared straight ahead, but nodded. “Yassum, it was.” He jumped off the wagon and looked up at her. “I’ll unhitch Lucky.”

  “No, it’s fine. I can do it.”

  “Den I be headed back home,” he said. “’Preciate you takin’ me.”

  Charlotte started to reply, but he turned and ran in the direction of the colored camp. Preoccupied with the pastor’s words to her, she set to work unhitching Lucky from the wagon and turned him loose in the corral. She made her way quickly to the house.

  The only Bible Charlotte had seen in the house was on a bookshelf in the parlor. The book was big, heavy, with an ornate cover and gold-leaf pages. She brought it to the settee and put it in her lap. If the pastor was couching his judgment about her actions with chapter and verse, she wanted to know. She began to turn pages, and couldn’t help but think about Elijah’s well-used Bible, its pages dog-eared and passages marked. After some searching, she finally found the gospel of John. But before she could find the correct chapter and verse, a voice startled her.

  “Jes what d’ya think you’re doing?”

  She looked up from the Bible to see Chessie had entered the parlor. Charlotte flushed, feeling guilty when she had nothing to feel guilty about.

  “Nothing. I’m just looking up a chapter and verse,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m talkin’ ’bout dat boy.”

  “You mean Isaac?”

  “A course I mean Isaac,” Chessie said. “I seen you with him earlier today. Den I hear you take him to da white church?”

  “That’s right, I did,” Charlotte said, determined not to let Chessie see she was having serious second thoughts about her decision.

  Chessie shook her head. “Tryin’ to ease your conscience with him ain’t gonna work.”

  “I just brought him to church with me,” Charlotte sai
d. “Is that a sin?”

  Chessie shook her head. “You don’t even know what you done.”

  “I’m sure you plan to tell me.”

  “You jes bought dat boy a whole lotta trouble,” Chessie said. “He already got himself in a bad way by taking up for you ev’ry chance he get. Now you go and do this!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Der gonna be a price to pay fo’ this and it ain’t gonna be out a’ yo’ hide,” Chessie said.

  The words hit Charlotte hard. “I won’t allow anyone to touch Isaac,” she said. “No one is going to harm that boy.”

  “That didn’t stop ’em afore, ’did it?”

  Charlotte had nothing to say. Her fingers curled around the edges of the Bible.

  “You ever feel a whip split your skin?” Chessie asked. She waited a moment for a response from Charlotte, but when she didn’t get one, she shook her head with obvious disgust. “Mm-hmm.”

  “I didn’t want to make things harder for Isaac,” Charlotte said. “I wanted to show him how much I care about him.”

  “You care? Den stay away from dat boy. Dat’s da best thing you kin do for him.”

  Chessie turned abruptly and left. Charlotte turned back to the Bible—and braced herself for another reprimand—this one from the written Word. She found the right passage and read John 1:11: “He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”

  Charlotte read the words again and again. She replayed in her mind the short conversation with the pastor at the church door, his expression—his admonishment for her to read the passage. What was he trying to tell her? Was he for her or against her? She needed to know.