Merrie's Hero

by Pippa Greathouse

  "Tell your papa that the best way to repay me is for you to try very hard and to do your best in school. That is payment enough."

  Francis' voice, from behind Merrie, spoke up, "We are very proud of you, Lucy Grace." He smiled as he took Merrie's arm. They both watched as the little girl gave a small curtsy and walked toward one of the other girls, munching on the cookie in her hand. Then he urged Merrie toward the coach.

  He grinned at her, as he set her inside and lifted her chin. "A snake, Merriweather?" he said, his mouth turning up at the corners. "Truly?"

  But she returned his gaze with innocent eyes.

  "Please do not scold me, Francis. I was only twelve."

  Francis threw back his head, bellowing with laughter. "And that, my little hellion, is exactly what Geoff and I did to Miss Hazel when we were boys. Only we put one in her desk."

  She realized what he had said, and her small hand flew to her mouth. "So that is why Miss Hazel is so suspicious of you! And how old were you then?"

  "I believe around thirteen."

  "Tsk, tsk. Old enough to know better." She grinned, giggling. But just then, the carriage hit a bump on the ground, and her eyes closed, wincing.

  Francis' face became serious, as he said, softly, into her ear, "You have put on a brave face today, Merrie Lynne. But it is time that we get you home and off that little bruised bottom."

  CHAPTER 11

  I t was Thursday, before Merrie was able to travel to Miss Jones' school and then make a swift trip to Mr. Moreton's and Miss Barton's.

  Eleanor Jones was an excellent teacher. They were very lucky to have her, Merrie thought. She was calm, authoritative, and at the same time, very kind. The children adored her.

  But when they arrived at the last school, he sent Merrie a warning glance before entering. Then he opened the door, and there was a pause in the classroom as they entered.

  Merrie was completely awed by the change in the classroom atmosphere. Miss Barton, the new teacher, was at the front of the class, explaining what each spelling word meant and having the children write on their tablets. Occasionally, the children would raise their hands to ask a question, and she would answer, without hesitation or frustration.

  "And," she said to the class. "The next, is engage. E.N.G.A.G.E." Engage means to become involved in something. You, as students, are very engaged in learning."

  A hand went up, and she looked up. "Yes, Georgy?"

  "My ma says people get engaged when they are sweet on each other."

  There were giggles around the classroom, and she grinned. "Your ma is right, too, Georgy. Engage is one of those words in the English language that can have more than one meaning. Now, the next word is…" she continued, and Merrie watched as the students readied to write.

  There were two more, and Mr. Moreton spoke up. "Miss Barton, students. It is time for lunch. We shall resume in a half-hour."

  The students filed out, one by one. Merrie and Francis noted the smiles on their faces, which replaced the strained and fearful looks of a few weeks ago. As the door closed, Francis looked toward each teacher.

  "Do any of the children need lunches today?"

  It was Cinderella, who answered, "They should not. I brought some extra for them, and so did Mr. Moreton. We passed them out early, as the children came inside for class. But I hear that they are looking forward to the treats from the Adams' house."

  "And," Mr. Moreton added. "If you have extra lunches, you may leave them, and we shall send them home with the children who need them the most, for supper." This time, Merrie left the cookies and the extra lunches with Miss Barton to pass out.

  Merrie said goodbye, and Francis, after a moment, took her hand, leading her toward the carriage.

  As he put her inside, he looked down at her. "Mr. Moreton seems to have developed a new love for the children."

  Merrie's mouth, however, was a straight line.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "I just hope he takes it to his next school with him. I, for one, will be glad when he is gone."

  "Ah, my little determined girl. He does not get a second chance, then?"

  Merrie thought about what he had said, on the way home. He was right. Perhaps Mr. Moreton had truly had a change of heart. Perhaps she was not being fair to him, after all.

  SUNDAY MORNING, after Mass, Marilyn Thatcher was her usual bubbly self, as she cornered Francis and Merrie. "My darling girl," she said, smiling. "We would love to have you and Francis over for Thanksgiving dinner—and you must stay the night, promise me? And I love how your maid has styled your hair. It is quite becoming. What led you to cut it?"

  Merrie looked up toward Francis, who, amused, said nothing. She turned back. "Do you like it, Mother? Thank you, I am fond of it, too. Um…about Thanksgiving…" She looked up to her husband for help, and he stepped in.

  Francis was gracious, but firm. "Merrie and I are having the usual special dinner at the house for the families of the school children, and we shall be serving, Mrs. Thatcher. But we would love to include you and Mr. Thatcher in our plans, if you would? Or perhaps we could come by that evening or the next day?"

  Merrie could tell by her mother's face that she was obviously disappointed.

  "Come, my dear," Mr. Thatcher said as he grinned down at his wife. "I, for one, would love to come and help serve."

  Marilyn finally agreed. But when they reached the carriage to go home, Francis threw back his head and laughed.

  "I see where you got your inability to lie, Merrie Lynne. Your mother cannot do it, either. Her eyes tell all."

  "Yes. She truly did not want to come; but it is not because she does not wish to be with us. It is because she desires to show off her new house." She threw her arms about Francis' neck. "Thank you for stepping in, sir. I hate disappointing her."

  A brow rose. "I know. Even when it comes to getting yourself in trouble."

  Merrie's expression was rueful. "Um…yes. But tell me, sir? About the Thanksgiving celebration next week?"

  "Ah. Change of subject, hmm? All right, then."

  Merrie looked up at him with admiration as he explained how they opened up the formal and informal ballroom and set up tables from end to end for the schoolchildren and their families. "Miss Constance turns into a different person during the holidays. I cannot wait for you to see what the house looks like at Christmas, when she has finished with the decorating. Miss Constance is originally from Germany, so she sets up trees all over the house and decorates them. Before my father passed away, we would have a Christmas ball at the house, around the tenth or so of December. But not since then. Ah…I see your eyes lighting up, my little girl. Want to try it?"

  "Perhaps?" She was grinning, now. "But perhaps I should get through Thanksgiving, first? I know nothing about putting on a ball. You seemed so relaxed and at home at the last one."

  "That is because my staff takes care of everything and, by the time it gets there, all I must do is go out to awaken sleeping girls in the front of the house and dance with them."

  She made a face at him, and he laughed. "You are adorable, my little sweetheart."

  "I wonder that I did not go into the wrong ballroom, since you have two. I was trying to hide from you when I came in"

  "We have two," he corrected. "And someone would have been in that one, too. And you forget, Merrie Lynne, I played hide and seek in the house all the years I was growing up. I would have found you. So you were attempting to hide, hmm? Is that what you were trying to do when Mr. Overton found you?"

  "Yes. But you saved me."

  He grinned at her and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Hmm," was all he said.

  MISS CONSTANCE WAS in her element. The house took on the form of autumn, as decorations were hung, beginning in the foyer and extending all the way through the back of the house.

  On the day before Thanksgiving, Constance took Merrie around the house to see everything and to sample the turkey in its special marinade, the dressings, the pies and cakes and the diffe
rent pastries. Merrie was as excited as the schoolchildren themselves when they arrived. And Constance actually became amused as she watched the expression on Merrie's face.

  By Thanksgiving morning, Constance came upon Francis, watching Merrie, and grinning.

  "Are we ready, Miss Constance?"

  "I shall never know, Francis. Miss Merrie is so excited about everything; if something was missing or wrong, I do not think she would ever notice."

  "Ah. Be thankful then. Because if you have missed it, no one else is likely to know it, either."

  Constance raised a brow. "Hmph," she said, as she marched into the kitchen for the rest of the tablecloths.

  It was when Merrie's parents arrived that she rolled her eyes. But Marilyn Thatcher came in ready and willing to do whatever was needed. She put out tablecloths, laid silverware; plates, and glasses; she smiled and encouraged Marta, one of the staff, when she dropped a load of cloth napkins in the floor. Marilyn quickly picked them up, dusted them off, and whispered to Marta, "It was only on the floor a few seconds; it will not hurt a thing. Let us keep it to ourselves, right?"

  And Marta grinned. Lady Merriweather's mother was all right.

  Francis turned over the job of passing out the new tablets to the children to Mr. Thatcher, who enjoyed giving each one out.

  "Papa is like a little child in a shop full of candy, is he not?" Merrie whispered to Francis.

  "Indeed," he whispered back. "And I think he is not alone."

  She looked up. "My mother?"

  "She is quite enjoying herself, too, my little innocent. But it is not your mother to whom I referred."

  "Oh?"

  "No."

  "Who, then?"

  "You do not know?" He was leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "My little Merrie Lynne, it is you."

  "Merrie? Can you help me with these?" It was her mother's voice.

  Merrie rose up on tiptoe. "I think perhaps I had better go before my mother takes over Miss Constance's kitchen."

  "Yes." He winked, grinning. "Indeed, my adorable little wife."

  "Tell me, sir. Will you ever run out of names to call me?" she threw back over her shoulder, her dimples showing.

  But Marilyn was picking up the extra tablets that were left over. "Here, my darling. See where Miss Constance wants these."

  Merrie collected them from her and walked into the kitchen, nearly knocking over Miss Constance, who was peering out into the ballroom at her mother. The look on her face was priceless.

  "I am so sorry, Miss Constance," she whispered, as Marta took the tablets from her hands. "Perhaps I should have gone to their house for Thanksgiving, after all, and saved you from—"

  "Nonsense, child." Miss Constance's hands were on her hips now.

  Merrie looked up, surprised.

  "They are your family," the housekeeper barked. "And your family is our family."

  DINNER WAS OVER, dishes were put away, the tablecloths had been removed, and the children and their parents were being escorted to their wagons and horses, when Mr. Thatcher tugged on his wife's arm to urge her toward the carriage.

  "Follow us to the carriage, my darling? I have something for you."

  Merrie nodded. Francis had told her early that morning not to be out alone, but it was, after all, the middle of the day. She looked for Francis but did not see him and obediently followed.

  "My darling little Merrie." Mr. Thatcher was squeezing her shoulders in a hug. "We cannot thank you enough for including us. Christmas, then? We would love to come and help."

  "Of course, Papa." She watched her father assist her mother into the carriage and then take the wrapped package from her mother to hand to her.

  "It is something you have always wanted, my darling. Open it with Francis." They began waving, as the carriage pulled away.

  Merrie stood, watching them go and wondering what was in the package, as they grew smaller and smaller, in the distance. She heard footsteps behind her and began to turn.

  "Oh, Francis! Look at the package Mother left—"

  But her eyes grew large and fearful as a fist slammed into her cheek. The package fell, unopened, to the ground, crashing onto the marble steps, and things grew more and more dim, until, at last, they faded completely away.

  All hell broke loose. Wendell had turned for only a moment, watching Lady Merriweather follow her parents to the carriage; now, he looked out to see a horse, in the distance, rapidly retreating. It looked as if the rider was holding someone across the saddle, and he shouted as loudly as possible, running out into the marble patio toward the fountains.

  "Sir Francis! Gleason! Elias! "Joseph! Lady Merriweather has been taken!!"

  Footsteps came from everywhere. Francis leaped out over the banister as Gleason brought out his thoroughbred and, one by one, they took off in the direction the rider had gone.

  Francis rode, hard, for what seemed an eternity, becoming more and more frustrated. Toby had appeared by him on the beautiful white mare and stayed with him. They had stayed with the tracks. But huge droplets of rain had begun pelting.

  "Damnation! We cannot lose these tracks, Toby—"

  "Ease, my friend." Toby's face remained sober, his eyes on the trail that was fast disappearing as the storm began to grow worse. He leaned down next to the mare and began to speak to her in a language that only he understood.

  But Spirit Wind understood it, too. She burst forth in a surge of speed that left Francis struggling to keep up. He prayed he would be able to keep Toby and Spirit Wind in his sights.

  MERRIE TRIED to open her eyes but could not make herself do it. Her jaw ached; her head hurt. She felt as if opening her eyes would cause her to retch.

  Francis… Francis, please find me. She could not even mouth the words. Slowly, painfully, she relaxed back into unconsciousness, where it did not hurt so much.

  Something—someone—was standing beside her.

  "Wake up, Merriweather," said a voice. A male voice. "Open your eyes. I know you are awake." A boot nudged her ribs, and she moaned.

  Perhaps it would go away.

  It nudged her again, harder this time.

  Merrie blinked and tried to focus on the room where she lay, bound, on the floor. She moaned as the pain in her head screamed at her.

  She lay on a blanket, spread out on a wooden floor. A crude laugh sounded above her, and she realized she was shivering and soaked to the skin. Her gown was clinging to her. Her hands, behind her, were bound tightly; she could no longer feel them.

  We are coming, little innocent. We are on our way.

  Francis' voice! She had heard his voice once before, when she was trapped by the fire. Could he possibly hear hers?

  Francis! Be careful!

  But another voice spoke, from inside the room.

  "We seem to have been caught in a bit of a thunderstorm, my dear," it said.

  She looked up, trying to see the face that belonged to the voice. She knew that voice, did she not? But a mask covered his face; only the eyes were visible. She glanced around the room.

  She had been here, before, once, when she was a child. It was the place where she and Lottie had played as children. This house had once belonged to Lottie's grandparents, now abandoned. At least, she knew where she was now. She tried wiggling her feet; her ankles were bound as tightly as her wrists. Her heart was crying out, Francis? Francis…where are you? I need you!

  Her eyes were beginning to focus now. She opened her mouth, despite how much it hurt.

  I am coming, little sweetheart.

  But the man in front of her reached down and took hold of her chin, and she winced.

  "Why did you bring me here?"

  His laugh became a growl. "You are a bright girl, Merriweather. You should be able to figure it out." He was trying to edge up her skirt with the toe of his boot. It was above her knees, now. He laughed again, as she tried to wiggle away from him. A flick of his whip on her legs now caused her to gasp.

  "You are trembling. Yo
u are afraid."

  "I am cold," she responded. "That might make me tremble, but it does not make me afraid."

  He kicked her gown further upward, furious, and his whip came down hard, across her lower thighs, once again. Merrie caught the gasp in her throat, trying to mask her fear.

  But his eyes gleamed with intensity beyond the mask.

  "No pain? I shall strike harder, then." He was eyeing her with smug satisfaction.

  He brought her gown and petticoats up further and forced her over on her belly, holding her there, and brought the whip down fiercely, several times.

  "Merriweather. You are slow."

  "And you are stupid."

  Her retort brought several more swift blows with the whip, hard. She jumped, but managed not to cry out.

  "I believe you would be better off to watch your mouth." He scowled down, his eyes narrowed. "I nearly had you, twice. Grimm nearly had you before that. Adams was too fast for us.

  His mention of Elva Grimm surprised her. He had moved his foot to the floor now, and she was able to move over on to her side and look up toward his face. "Francis is my husband. Do you not realize he will never let me go? He will find you. He and Toby will track you down."

  Francis? Can you hear me?

  But he was speaking again. "No. I was careful this time. I even made sure that the Cherokee was busy, trying to save a horse that should have been shot long ago. Francis will get no help from him."

  Merrie had seen the flash in his eyes when he mentioned Toby; it contained fear.

  "Keep believing that, if you choose. But Toby will be with him. He communicates with the spirits. They will show him where to find you."

  Another flash of fear. She tried again. "Toby is my friend. If anything happens to me, he will skin you alive." Merrie tried to make her voice sound as fierce as possible; it was difficult to be fierce when she was shivering from cold. "Toby enjoys dealing with those who have wronged his loved ones." Her voice slowed, in a dramatic flair. "He will do it…bit…by…bit…"

  "Silence!" His eyes were filled with terror now. But his reaction was to bring the whip down savagely, half a dozen times. When he recovered, the terror changed to contempt.