by Sharon Sala
The little girl’s body shook. The water was so damn cold. Mercy could no longer feel her own feet. Please, God. Please help us.
And then she looked downriver and saw a chopper coming toward them, flying fast and low—an answer to her prayer. “Look, baby. The chopper is going to take us out of the water!” But her eyes didn’t open, and she was still limp in Mercy’s arms. She hugged her close and kept talking. “They came back for you. You’re going to be safe. They’ll take you home to Mommy, okay?”
But the child didn’t move, and when the chopper hovered over them, the force of the downdraft and the roar of the motor made it almost impossible for Mercy to hold on. The harness was lowered, and it took every ounce of strength Mercy had left to get the child fastened in it. Finally, she lifted her arm as a signal then watched as they raised the near-lifeless body out of the flood.
Mercy was so tired she couldn’t think and couldn’t stop shaking. Hypothermia? Not good. Where was that chopper? Where was Lon? She looked up, but the sky was just a blur. She looked toward shore, but the people didn’t look like people anymore. They looked like ants.
She didn’t realize until the water went over her head that she’d lost her grip, or that she had moved downstream with the flood-swept debris.
* * *
Lon saw her slide away from the log and screamed. He was already running, desperate to keep her in sight, saying her name over and over until it became his prayer and not her name.
Mercy. Please, Mercy. Dear God, have mercy.
The news crew in the sky above saw her go underwater and followed the current downriver to the point that it was obvious she wasn’t coming up. The moment that became his reality, the on-scene reporter yelled, “Cut the feed,” and the cameraman shut it down.
He could hear his boss yelling in his ear, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
The reporter had watched that drama play out from the time the woman first surfaced in the flood, to her grabbing the child, to watching from below as the rescue flew off. Seeing her give up to the power of the water was, for him, like a knife to the heart. “Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” he screamed. “I watched that woman turn into a fucking Amazon. She saved herself and then saved that kid. I’m not going to sit here and watch her die just to boost our ratings, understand?”
The cameraman was just as rattled at what he’d seen. “What the hell was fair about that?” he said, and then covered his face and wept.
Hope stood in front of the television when Mercy began to float away. She started screaming, “Swim, baby, swim.” But when Mercy sank beneath the water, Hope sank unconscious on the floor.
* * *
Lon ran down shore as fast as he could move, praying with every inch of ground he left behind that God would spare her. Lon needed her to go on.
He ran through rock piles, and through trees when there was no shore, and kept looking toward the river, praying for just one sight of her face to let him know she was still alive, but he saw nothing. Still, he ran. He had no other place to go.
The rescue teams were in recovery mode. The chopper pilot had delivered Callie Clark to the ambulance on shore and was now on his way back to search the floodwaters. But this time there was a sick feeling in the pilot’s gut that she was gone.
Lon had long since left the others behind and ran without seeing, pacing his stride to the hammer of his heartbeat, refusing to believe this had happened. Wishing with every breath in his body that he had never made that call. She would be safe back in Blessings if he had not, but it was too late to change fate now.
His legs shook, and he had no more breath left to run, and he still kept going until his legs gave way. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands and knees just before he would have hit face down. He pushed himself upright and then rocked back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs, his breath little more than shaky gasps.
When he had enough breath in his lungs, he threw back his head and screamed. “Mercy! Merrrrcy!” Then dropped his head and closed his eyes. “Please don’t do this.”
The water roared beside him, foaming and bubbling like some damn witch’s brew. And still, he waited without reason or result. “Mercy!” And still, no answer. He tried to move forward, but his legs wouldn’t hold him, and so he shouted again, “Mercy!”
He looked across the raging flood, watching as the body of a dead cow swept past him, feet up. And then he covered his face. The pain in his chest was too great to cry. If he didn’t die from it, he’d have to think about how to live without her.
His phone rang, but he couldn’t answer, and then he realized they could be calling him to say she had been found. He couldn’t get it fast enough. “Hello?”
“Chief, it’s Avery. Is there anything you need?”
Lon disconnected and put the phone back in his pocket, waiting until the hurt turned to anger and the anger became rage. He stood and walked in circles, cursing God for what He’d done.
All of a sudden he heard a voice. Be still, the voice said, and so he was. He waited some more and then dropped his head and turned around. Be still, he heard again, and so he stopped and once again, turned around.
At first he thought it was the wind in the trees. And then he thought it was the roar of the water. When he heard the words have faith, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He took a couple steps forward, and then a few more, and then he was running toward the sound of her voice calling his name.
* * *
The last thing Mercy remembered when she opened her eyes was that she had drowned, so now that she could see again, this must be death. But it looked nothing like what she had expected. She was belly down on a huge pile of boulders. She tried to get up, only to realize her legs were too weak to hold her, so she crawled instead—all the way off the boulders, through the graveled edge of the river, and into the tree line, only to wait with growing disappointment. Heaven was nothing as she had expected. When did the light come? Where were the angels? Why did she still hurt? Where was God?
“Help me,” she cried, but her voice was barely audible, even to her ears.
It became apparent that if she were to get the rest of the way to heaven, she would have to take herself. She pushed herself up to a standing position and then winced at the pain in her ribs and in one leg. She stood for a few moments to see if her legs would hold her, and at first wasn’t sure which way to go. Then she remembered she’d been swept downstream when she died, so maybe heaven was the other way.
She stood motionless until she believed her legs would carry her then began moving, but mostly staggered, falling and crawling until she could pull herself up once more. It was a lesson in pain.
She didn’t know how long she’d been walking or how far she’d come, but her pace was slow, and it hurt to breathe. The first time she thought she heard someone shouting, she stopped, and in the distance she was certain someone had called her name. Was that God leading her to the Pearly Gates? She remembered one foster father always preaching hell and damnation to them, and then following it up with promises of heaven.
She heard her name again and tried to shout, but her throat was too sore, so she just kept moving. Within moments, she heard the voice again, and this time she stopped, stunned by the recognition. That was her cop! That was Lonnie! Was he dead too? If he was, she still wanted to go with him, and tried to move faster. It wasn’t until she realized he was no longer calling her that she became afraid he’d left her behind, so she started running—calling for help. Calling over and over, until her voice finally gained strength, but her body was failing. That’s when she screamed out his name.
And then she saw him, standing so still upon the shore, and looking at the river with his head cocked to one side. When she realized he wasn’t gone, but was waiting, she wept. Ever faithful.
“Lonnie,” she screamed, and then fell to her knees. Her l
egs wouldn’t move, and it hurt to breathe. “Help!”
She saw him turn toward the sound of her voice, and then he walked forward, moving faster and faster until he was running.
Mercy sighed. He’d come for her. She wanted to run toward him, but the ground was beginning to move as fast as the river, spinning her around and around until she lay down, unable to go any farther.
Lonnie found her just inside the tree line and was at her side in seconds, checking for a pulse, for broken bones, for obvious injuries. “Mercy, oh my God, my darling! Can you hear me? Can you talk?”
She reached out in the direction of his voice, felt his arm, and grabbed it. “Did you die too?” she whispered.
He pulled her into his arms and sobbed. “Thank you, Lord. No. I’m not dead, baby, and neither are you. Just hang onto me, and don’t let go. I’ll get us both back home.”
Epilogue
School ended.
Tina Clark sent flowers while Mercy was still in the hospital. A large attached greeting card came with a fervent message inside:
We owe our daughter’s life to your heroic actions. You do not owe the hospital a dime. We gladly pay the debt, and more, if needed. I wish it were as easy to rid myself of guilt for how I hurt you. I wish you a long and blessed life with no more floods and no more storms.
Mercy took the flowers home in a vase and the message home in her heart. Some beginnings were rockier than others, but this one was finally smoothing out.
She went back to work exactly a week to the day she had died. She still didn’t know how she came up from the bottom of a river or how she wound up on the rocks. Hope said it was their Mama’s doing, and it just wasn’t Mercy’s time to die. Mercy didn’t care how it happened, just that it had. She needed at least a lifetime of loving and babies and growing old with Lon to make up for the rocky start.
* * *
The leaves had begun to turn on the day Lon and Mercy were wed. Lon had gone through all the trappings of wedding showers and bachelor parties he could handle. He wanted a ring on her finger and his bride by his side.
As it neared the time, Lon walked out behind the preacher, and took his place at the altar. The church was packed and silent. The suspense was maddening as he waited for his first sight of Mercy’s face, while everyone else waited to see the dress. In their minds, she was so beautiful that whatever she wore would certainly take on the majesty of a royal wedding. Lon waited for what would be his last sight of Mercy Dane. Within the hour, she would be not only a Pittman, but his wife.
When the organist hit the loud opening chord, Lon sighed. Finally. He turned and looked up the aisle at Callie Clark. Bonded by their near-death experiences, she was the only flower girl Mercy would choose.
Callie was so excited to be a flower girl with a basket full of white rose petals that she literally bounced on her toes. When she started down the aisle toward the altar, she looked like a tiny sprite in a fern-green dress, dancing among the roses.
Hope journeyed down the aisle as the matron of honor, escorted by Lon’s brother, Cole.
His parents were in the audience, and Duke and Jack served as the ushers. Once the wedding began, their jobs were done, and they now stood at the back of the church, watching people in the wedding procession. Duke privately decided that the side of the church he’d seated looked more orderly than Jack’s, which satisfied his perception of himself as infallible.
All of a sudden, the music ended. There was a soft rustling of feet toward the doorway, and everyone knew the bride had arrived. The organist struck the chord on the organ as vehemently as if she’d just uttered a scream. As she did, everyone turned to the woman in the doorway, and the giant of a man standing with her.
At first glance, to the guests it appeared as if a real angel was standing in the light, when it was Mercy dressed in white beneath the skylight, and surely, no angel had come to a ceremony in such a tight-fitting dress. It fit her like a second skin, from the high neck to the long sleeves, to the mermaid-style skirt. White over white, satin to lace, red lips against sun-kissed skin, and black hair framing a face of immeasurable beauty, and all Lon could think was “She’s mine.”
The man at her side was the only loving father figure she’d known, and for the first time in his life, Carson Beal, otherwise known as Moose, had tucked himself into a tuxedo and a ruffled shirt just to walk her down the aisle.
The guests gasped, and then oohed and aahed, as Mercy moved toward the altar, but she didn’t hear them. She was looking at the cop. The forever hero who loved her before he ever knew her name. Once she locked into his gaze and knew her dream had become their reality, the last vestiges of the voiceless child within her were swept away.
As the pastor began the ceremony and asked the traditional question of who was giving the bride away, the whole town of Blessings shouted out loud, “We do!”
Mercy blinked as Lon laughed. He’d have the whole town to answer to if, God forbid, he ever made her mad. The sound of his laughter made Mercy shiver, and as the ceremony continued, she repeated her vows and did all of the things it took to get herself as married to this man as the law would allow. She still couldn’t believe it was happening until he slipped the ring on her finger.
She looked straight into his eyes, into the forever he had promised, and couldn’t wait for it to begin. She tuned back in to what was happening just as she heard the preacher say, “Lonnie Joe Pittman, you may finally kiss your bride.”
And so he did.
The reception afterward was a study in perfectly orchestrated joy. The cake was cut, and bites of the sugary confection were exchanged, and then a kiss. “Mercy, my Mercy, you are sweeter than the cake,” Lon said.
Mercy smiled. Joy abounded.
Ruby Dye had eaten her piece of cake and nibbled a couple of nuts and a mint, then called it done. She dabbed at a tear, thinking of one more happy-ever-after for Blessings, and wondered what was up for her.
When they called all of the single women for a try at catching the bridal bouquet, Ruby went with them because that’s what she always did…accepting her situation in life and living it with pride. Tradition said the one to catch it would surely be the next bride. Ruby saw three widows, and counting her, three divorcees, besides all of the never married women at the church.
“Are you ready?” Mercy called out.
“Let ’er rip,” Lovey yelled.
Mercy turned her back, gave the bouquet a windup before flinging it high and wide, straight into Ruby Dye’s arms.
Ruby stared at the bouquet in shock as everyone crowded around her, teasing and congratulating her all at the same time. Then she felt a hand on her waist and a whisper in her ear. “All in good time.”
She gasped and turned around, certain she would finally see him, and all she saw were dozens of women. “Did you see him?” she cried. “The man who whispered in my ear.”
“I didn’t see any man. There was no man here. That’s wishful thinking!” they all said.
Ruby glanced around the room, looking at one face and then another, seeing all of the familiar people she knew, and no one seemed in any way focused on her. She clutched the bouquet to her breasts as she moved back to her table, gathered her things, and went home. All the way there, she kept thinking—
What did this mean? Who was doing this? Was she the target of a would-be romance, or was it something more—something sinister?
Only time would tell.
Order Sharon Sala’s third book
in the Blessings, Georgia series
Saving Jake
On sale now
Keep reading for an excerpt from New York Times
and USA Today bestselling author Sharon Sala’s
Thomas Wolfe once wrote, “You can never go home again.” Jacob Lorde never took the word of a stranger. He was on the way home, marking the passing of every mile with a war-weary
soul. He needed a place to heal and Blessings, Georgia, the place where he grew up, was calling him.
He’d come back briefly over a year ago to bury his father, and the calm and peace of the place had stayed with him long after he’d returned to his unit. Only a couple of months later, an IED on one patrol too many earned him a long stint in the hospital and brought his time with the army to an end.
Now he was coming home to try and bury the soldier he’d been.
He wanted to be done with war.
He needed peace.
He needed the emotional security that comes with knowing where he belonged.
He needed that like he needed air to breathe, so when the Greyhound bus in which he was riding came around the curve and he saw the city-limit sign of Blessings gleaming in the early morning sunlight, his eyes blurred with sudden tears. He took the sunglasses from the pocket of his uniform and slipped them on, then held his breath as the bus began to stop.
The brakes squeaked. They needed oil.
Jake stood slowly, easing the stiffness in a still-healing leg, walked down the aisle, and then out into a sweet Georgia morning. He took a deep breath, smelling pine trees on the mountains around him and the scent of smoke from someone’s fireplace.
He was home.
The driver pulled his duffel bag from the luggage rack beneath the bus, shook his hand, and got back on board. The rest of the trip home was on Jake.
* * *
Ruby Dye had just opened The Curl Up and Dye when the Greyhound bus rolled through Blessings, belching black smoke from the exhaust. Because the bus came through Blessings on a regular basis, she never paid it any attention, but today it began slowing down. When it stopped, she moved closer to the window, waiting to see who got off, but the only person she saw was the driver who circled the bus to remove luggage from the carrier beneath.