Cherished Mercy

by Tracie Peterson

  Perhaps it was wrong of me to even suggest bringing Faith to the farm.

  Mercy couldn’t help feeling guilty. Had she been completely insensitive? She had never wanted to cause Hope pain, but how could this situation do anything but hurt her?

  “Are you all right?” Lance asked Hope.

  She had spent the morning in the field with the sheep while Grace cared for the children. She had sought the serenity of the herd and silence of the field in order to contemplate the news Mercy sent.

  “I keep trying to figure out what’s right.” She looked up to find Lance watching her with concern. He had come to find her out in the fields. “You needn’t look at me like I’m going to fall apart. I’m stronger than you think.”

  “I know you’re strong. Sometimes I think you’re too strong or that you try to be strong all on your own. You do remember that I’m here to share the burden, don’t you?”

  She smiled and stepped into his arms. “Of course, silly. Haven’t I been talking to you about Faith these last few years?”

  He tilted his head and gave her a look that told Hope he could see beyond her façade. “Yes, but I know too that you bury a lot down deep in your heart and won’t share.”

  Hope sighed. “Some things aren’t worth sharing. Some of those old thoughts and feelings need to die.” The sun broke through the clouds overhead, and the whole field was bathed in brilliant light. It refreshed Hope’s spirit. “I want to think about good things—the present and future. To bring up past troubles would only give them power over me, and I won’t have that.”

  “You know I’ll agree with whatever you decide is right, don’t you?”

  Her heart was touched by his sincere words. Lance had always been patient and generous with her. “I do know that. Whether Faith ever knows the truth about me and her father, and I’m not sure she should, I believe I’m all right seeing her—having her here on the farm. At first I wasn’t at all sure, but I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

  When he didn’t say anything, Hope looked up. “What are you thinking?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what that poor child has gone through. She’s lost the only parents she’s ever known, endured mass killings and a siege. Seems to me you two have a great deal in common.”

  “I suppose we do—in many ways.” She heaved a sigh. “God knows she’s never far from my thoughts.”

  “She’ll have to be strong to recover from all that violence and loss.”

  “God will help her. He has a way of helping us through those times.” Hope put her head on her husband’s shoulder. “It doesn’t always seem like it at the time, but He does.”

  “I just want to make sure this is something you can get through without too much pain. I love you, Hope, and I don’t want anything to hurt you.” He hugged her close.

  “There will always be pain in life. I’ve matured enough to know that much. I don’t like the idea of suffering and misery for anyone, and I think refusing to let Faith come here would be cruel. Mercy can hardly turn her out to strangers. Besides, you know how I’ve felt over the years.”

  “The regret?”

  Hope straightened and stepped back. “Yes. The regret of giving away my child. I told myself I hated her—that she would be a constant reminder of Tomahas, but now . . .” She looked back at the sheep. “I can’t explain my heart. Something changed with the birth of Sean. It set me on a different road. Holding him and nursing him, I couldn’t help but remember doing the same for Faith. The more I thought about her, the bigger that hole grew in my heart—the hole left when I gave her to Eletta and Isaac.” She shook her head and turned back to Lance.

  “Then Eddie was born, and instead of diminishing that emptiness, it only seemed to make the loss all the more evident. I can’t explain it any other way but to say a part of me is missing—our family is incomplete.”

  Lance nodded. “I’m happy to welcome her into our family. I’m happy to take her as my daughter—because she’s a part of you.”

  “And you don’t think you would find it troubling that she’s also a part of Tomahas?”

  “She didn’t choose her parents nor the circumstance behind her conception. I would never punish a child for the sins of her father. She is your daughter, Hope, and I will gladly make her mine as well.”

  Mercy’s back ached by the time she finished scrubbing out the fireplace. She’d even managed to clean some of the soot from the lower chimney. It looked far better and wouldn’t smoke so much when Matthew lit the fire that evening. She tossed her scrub brush into the pail of dirty water, then got to her feet. Only then did she notice the time. It had taken her two hours, and in all that time, she hadn’t been interrupted by Faith even once.

  Grabbing several logs, Mercy quickly laid them in the grate to be ready later when the chill of the evening made a fire necessary. After that, she picked up the pail and wet rags and headed to the kitchen through the dining room. She was surprised to find that Faith wasn’t there. She had filled both sides of the paper she’d been given for her story, but she was nowhere in sight.

  Mercy quickly disposed of the dirty water and left the rags and brush in the empty pail. She washed her hands and dried them on a fairly clean spot of her apron, then discarded the apron as well. Perhaps Faith had gone to the privy. Turning her attention to the dirty rags, Mercy went outside to the pump they shared with the neighbors and refilled the bucket so the rags could soak.

  She glanced toward the privy. “Faith?”

  Mercy listened for a response. Nothing.

  She went back inside. There was still no sign of Faith in the kitchen or dining room. The only place left to check was the bedroom.

  She found the door open just a crack and peered into the room. Faith sat on the edge of the bed, reading. It was impossible from Mercy’s vantage point to see what the child was reading, but Mercy suspected it was the book on the Puritans.

  She pushed open the door, and the sound caused Faith to look up.

  “I’m sorry,” Faith said. Her voice was barely audible. “I was looking for another piece of paper, and I found this.” She held up Eletta’s journal. “I thought it was a new book to read, and when I opened it, I saw that my mama had written it for me, so I thought it would be all right to read it.”

  Mercy could tell by the look on her face that Faith had already read the entire journal. There was no use trying to conceal the truth.

  “Yes, she wrote it for you. I had thought it would be some years, however, before I gave it to you to read.” Mercy crossed the room to sit beside Faith on the edge of the bed. “I wish you would have asked me first.”

  “I’m sorry, Mercy. I didn’t mean to snoop, and I wouldn’t have read it, but . . .” She shook her head and looked so troubled that Mercy couldn’t be mad.

  “It’s all right, Faith. I understand.” She put her arm around the little girl. For all her maturity, the contents of the journal were no doubt difficult to understand. “It’s just that what your mother wrote is hard enough for an adult to read, much less a child. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Faith nodded. “Is it all true?”

  Mercy drew a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Your sister Hope is my first mama?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that bad Indian man was my first . . . papa?”

  “Yes.” Mercy heard the trembling in Faith’s voice. “But none of that matters anymore. What is important is that Eletta and Isaac loved you and raised you to be their own. They wanted you more than anything else in the world.”

  “But my first mama didn’t want me?”

  Mercy could see the pain in Faith’s expression. “Oh, Faith, it wasn’t that. Hope didn’t even want to live after the attack on the mission. She had fallen in love with a special boy there, and when he was killed, she wanted to die too. Then the Indians were . . . well, they were mean to her and abused her terribly.”

  “But the Indians at our mission were good people. They loved
us and would never have hurt us.”

  “I know, but the Cayuse were different. The measles had killed many of them and their children. They blamed the white people because they brought the sickness west. The Cayuse were angry, and their desire for revenge was the reason they attacked.”

  “Did they hurt you too?”

  “Not like they hurt Hope.” Mercy could see it as if it were yesterday. The smells and sights weren’t easily forgotten. “I was very frightened. I thought they would kill me in my sleep.”

  “I was scared when that mean Mr. Caxton wanted to kill everybody at our mission.”

  “Then you can understand how frightened we were.”

  “Did the Cayuse keep you a long time?”

  “About the same amount of time we were under siege at Fort Miner. Every day they tormented us. They thought it great fun to hurt us. We were prisoners, and we didn’t know how long the Cayuse would allow us to live.”

  Faith considered this for a moment. “Did you give away a baby too?”

  “No. I didn’t have a baby.” Mercy gave Faith’s cheek a stroke. “Hope kept me safe.”

  “But she didn’t want me to be her daughter.”

  Mercy was taken aback at how quickly Faith changed the subject. She couldn’t lie to the child. That would be more cruel than the truth. “No. At that time, she knew she couldn’t be a good mother to you. She didn’t want you to suffer because of her.”

  Faith seemed to think about this for several minutes, and Mercy remained stock-still and silent. News like this was far more disturbing than reading about witches and Puritans putting them to death. Mercy found herself almost wishing she’d given Faith permission to read the book. Perhaps she wouldn’t have gone venturing.

  Finally, Faith looked up. “Mama wrote that I look like my first mama. Is that true?”

  Mercy nodded. “Yes. I don’t know what Hope looked like when she was your age, but you remind me of her now. Hope was always the prettiest of us. Our older sister Grace is quite pretty too, but there is something special about Hope, just like there is about you.”

  Another few minutes passed by in silence. Mercy had no idea if she’d handled the matter well or not, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before Adam came home. Perhaps if Faith was still troubled then, Adam could speak to her in private.

  “I need to get supper started, but I want to make sure you’re all right. Do you have any other questions I can answer?”

  Faith looked at the journal and then back to Mercy. “Just one.”

  Mercy gave her a smile. “What is it, sweet girl?”

  “Am I a bad person since my first papa was such a bad Indian?”

  Chapter

  22

  The question took Mercy by surprise. She could see the pain in Faith’s eyes—pain born of a very difficult truth. How could she hope to ease the situation?

  Lord, please help me say the right thing.

  “No, Faith. You aren’t a bad person. You love Jesus. Remember when your mama and papa taught you about God and the sacrifice Jesus made for us on the cross?”

  “Yes.” Faith’s troubled expression persisted.

  “And you asked Jesus to take away your sins? He did. He came into your heart and lives there still.”

  “But will God punish me because of my bad father?”

  “No, precious child. Let me show you something it says in the Bible.” Mercy got up and retrieved Adam’s Bible. She sat back down beside Faith and turned to the eighteenth chapter of Ezekiel. “Here’s what it says in verse twenty, ‘The soul that sinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.’” Mercy looked at Faith. “Do you understand? It’s saying that each person will answer for their own doings. A child won’t be punished for the sin of their parent. You do not bear the sin of Tomahas.”

  Faith’s furrowed brow relaxed and she sighed. “I’m glad God loves me.”

  Mercy sighed as well and closed the Bible. “I am too. His love is all that gets me through sometimes.”

  Faith placed her small hand atop Mercy’s as it rested on the Bible. “I love you, Mercy. I’ll always love you.”

  “And I love you, Faith. No matter what happens, always remember that. Adam and I love you, and we will do whatever we can to keep you safe and happy.”

  Faith nodded. “But I still want to know my first mama. Do you think she would want to know me?”

  That was the question Mercy had been asking herself for weeks. “I can’t answer that question. It’s something only Hope can tell us. I think very soon we shall know the answer.”

  “But I can pray that she’ll want to know me—can’t I?” Her gaze held a mix of expectation and uncertainty.

  “Of course. We can pray about anything, and we should definitely pray about this.” Mercy drew Faith into her arms. “God wants us to bring all of our needs to Him.”

  “Then I’m going to pray about this, ’cause I need to know my first mama.”

  “I could pray with you, Faith.”

  The little girl pulled away and shook her head. “No. Right now I want to pray alone. Later we can pray together.”

  Mercy nodded, then kissed the top of Faith’s head. “I’ll be happy to pray with you later. Why don’t you just stay here? It’ll be nice and quiet, and that way when the reverend and Adam come back, they won’t disturb you.”

  Faith nodded but said nothing more. Her eyes were fixed on the journal, and her expression was gravely serious. Mercy sent a quick prayer heavenward asking God to ease the child’s worries, then left the room to see to supper.

  A part of her was relieved to have the matter out in the open, but an equal part was more concerned about what it would mean should Hope agree to let them come to the farm. She had told Hope that Faith knew nothing about her, nor would she unless Hope wanted to share that information with her.

  “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

  She pulled on a clean apron and started to peel potatoes and pray. It seemed these days she did a lot of praying while tending household chores.

  Lord, I know You care about all of our needs, about the desires of our heart. I know You watch over the tiniest sparrow. Because of that, I know You are watching over Faith at this very minute—Hope too. Lord, we just need to know what You would have us do. We need guidance.

  A knock on the front door startled Mercy. She put the potato and knife aside, then wiped her hands on her apron as she went to open the door.

  “Is this where I might find Mr. Adam Browning?” the man on the porch asked.

  Mercy smiled. “Yes, it is. He’s not here at the moment, but I’m his wife, Mercy Browning.”

  He returned her smile. “I’m Joel Palmer.”

  “Won’t you come in, Mr. Palmer? I’m glad to meet you.” She knew their points of view were different where the Indians were concerned. Palmer had set up the reservation systems and promoted it as the only means of settling the war. However, he was also the man who might allow her and Adam to minister to the Indians with the government’s blessing. “May I offer you some coffee or tea?”

  “No, nothing.” He held his hat in hand. “Your husband’s letter came as a great surprise and joy. I’m intrigued by his desire to minister—even live among the savages at Grand Ronde.”

  “Won’t you sit?” she asked.

  “No. It would hardly be proper for me to stay. However, I would very much like to speak with your husband. I’m heading across the river to visit one of the generals at the Vancouver barracks. If time permits, I’ll return.”

  Mercy nodded. “My husband and I are both experienced at living among the Indians, and many of the people you plan to move to Grand Ronde are our friends.”

  “Truly?” He looked surprised by this declaration.

  “Yes, truly. We both lived at the Browning Mission on the Rog
ue River among the Tututni. We taught school to the native children—even a few adults—and Adam preached among many of the tribes. I was one of the hostages at the Whitman Mission, so I feel I understand more than most. We believe it is God’s calling on our lives to help the Indians. God knows this relocation is going to be devastating.”

  Palmer looked uncomfortable. “It’s for their own good. They’re prisoners of war at this point, but the day will come when peace will again reign, and they will need to be safely contained for their own protection.”

  Mercy shook her head. “I find that very sad. I’d like to think that the government knows what they’re doing, but I cannot.”

  “You’re quite an outspoken woman, Mrs. Browning.”

  She paused, fearing she’d offended him, and softened her attack. “I care deeply for those people, and while it has never been my desire to see them moved, I understand your reasoning. They would not be safe nor welcome where they are, and that would only lead to more killing on both sides.”

  This seemed to assuage Palmer. He smiled again. “I’m glad you are a woman of reason. These affairs will be decided by men, but I find your insight helpful. If possible, I will return soon to discuss the matter with your husband. If we cannot meet, however, please tell your husband that I will address all of this in a letter to him.”

  Mercy smiled. “I will do that. Thank you, Mr. Palmer, for your consideration of our desire to help.”

  He left, and Mercy could only lean back against the closed door and beat down her anger. He, like most of the government officials, had no idea what they were doing to the Indians, nor did they care. In fact, if these men had their way, the Indians would die out at the reservation, never again to be a problem to anyone.

  Adam didn’t mind the hard work at the sawmill. He worked at the most menial of tasks, loading and unloading lumber, but it was work, and it paid an honest wage. The job also gave him time to think about the past and the future. Everything had happened so fast in the last days at the mission. He hadn’t even had time to mourn his brother’s death. Since learning about Isaac, Adam had been running on sheer nerve and gumption. Fears for the living had consumed him, and thoughts of his brother had to be put aside.