Mercy

by Sarah L. Thomson

  The door to Haley’s room swung open at the same time somebody tapped on it gently.

  What’s the point of knocking if you’re going to open it anyway? Haley demanded silently. But she didn’t say it, looking up at her father, leaning in the doorway. She was probably in enough trouble already.

  Her dad came in and sat on the bed. “Where’s Sunny?” he asked after a few moments.

  Haley nodded at the closet. He leaned forward to peer inside.

  “Ah. Well, if I were a dog in this house, I’d probably be looking for a safe place to hide too. You really should have asked first, Haley.”

  It was just a dog, after all. It was Jake’s dog. It wasn’t a slavering hellhound.

  “I thought it would be fine,” Haley said tightly. This time her voice didn’t break.

  “Hey. It’s not that we don’t want to keep her. If Jake asked—”

  Haley, sitting on the floor, couldn’t see her dad’s face. But she could hear him stop and clear his throat. Haley felt her anger slip perilously. If her dad was nice to her now . . .

  “Listen. We’ll try it out. You’ll have to help Eddie get used to Sunny. And if there’s a problem—if it doesn’t work, we’ll find another home for her. Nobody’s talking about taking Jake’s dog to a shelter. All right?”

  Haley stared fiercely at the doorknob on the closet door. If she blinked, she’d cry. She nodded. Once.

  “Okay then. Dinner in five minutes. I expect you to apologize to Elaine when you come down.”

  That was it? That was all the trouble she was in for yelling at her stepmother and bringing a dog home without permission?

  “And set the table. Every night. Until you go to college.”

  That was her job anyway. Haley looked up and managed a quick smile. Her dad put a heavy hand on her head and messed up her hair. His skin smelled of clay, dry and earthy and dusty.

  “Dad. Now I’m going to have to comb it.”

  “Horrors. How’s Jake doing?”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  Her dad sighed. “Come on down to dinner, then. You better leave Sunny up here. What about her dinner? Did you get her food and stuff from Jake?”

  “Um—”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I brought her leash.” Haley knew it sounded stupid. She hadn’t even thought about Sunny’s food, her bowls, the ratty plaid blanket she slept on.

  “Never mind. We’ll go to the pet store later. Get a few things.”

  He left. Haley brushed her hair. It was cut short, easy to take care of, and the dark red color sometimes made people think Elaine was her real mom. When she’d been younger—before Eddie was born—she’d kind of liked that. Now it irritated her.

  Finished with her hair, she knelt down in front of the closet to give Sunny a hug. A warm, wet tongue swiped across her face.

  “It’ll be fine here,” she whispered. “You’ll see.”

  After dinner Haley brought Sunny downstairs. She knelt with one arm around the dog while her dad set Eddie down nearby. Elaine watched suspiciously.

  Haley’s dad caught Eddie when the little boy would have run at the dog. “Soft, Eddie,” he cautioned sternly. “Be soft.” He held Eddie’s hand and stroked it gently down Sunny’s flank. Sunny swiped her tail back and forth and sat panting with an air of bewilderment and cheerfulness. “Like that, Eddie, see? Soft.” Her dad let go of the boy’s hand and hovered over him, ready to snatch him back if necessary.

  But Eddie didn’t grab at Sunny’s ears or poke at her eyes. He touched the soft golden fur of her side gently and then buried his hands in it up to his chubby wrists. Sunny turned her head to slather his hands with urgent licks. Eddie looked startled and then crowed with laughter. When he shrieked, Sunny jumped, but then transferred her attentions to his face, still sticky with the remains of tomato sauce from dinner.

  Haley relaxed. “See? It’s fine. She’s fine.”

  Elaine came forward and bent down to pull Eddie away from his face bath. “That can’t exactly be sanitary.” But she was smiling.

  The kid eats dirt, Haley wanted to say. You think a few dog licks are going to matter?

  But instead she said, “Sorry.” And it came out sounding all right. Not forced. Like she actually was.

  “Oh, Haley, honey.” Elaine smiled. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

  Sunny, finding herself surrounded by faces at her level, distributed friendly licks all around. When Eddie grabbed at her tail she simply turned around to free herself and flopped down beside him. Eddie stamped his feet with happiness and petted her all over.

  “Good girl, good girl.” Elaine reached out to ruffle Sunny’s ears. “She is gentle. What a sweetie.”

  Told you, Haley thought.

  “Well, that’s enough for her first night, I think.” Haley’s dad swept Eddie up, away from his fabulous moving, breathing, furry new toy. “Come on, little monster. Book? Story?”

  “Down, down!” Eddie insisted.

  “No down. Haley, take Sunny upstairs again. Let’s do this gradually.”

  “Down down down!” Eddie bellowed. Elaine sighed. Haley gladly dragged Sunny upstairs and shut the door of her room on the noise. Sunny headed for the closet again. Haley took out her camera. Hooking it up to her laptop, she transferred the photos over and tapped the touchpad to move from one to the next, trying to make up her mind which to print out.

  There, the close-up of Mercy’s headstone. She zoomed in even closer, so that the letters, their edges softened by time and weather, filled the screen. She could almost make it an abstract, but the last sentence of the epitaph, down in the right-hand corner, still announced what it was—a life cut short.

  Haley’s thumb brushed the touchpad and a new photo flashed on the screen.

  Jake had just glanced up at the camera. His skin, tinted a warm gold by the lamplight, almost gave him a look of health. But he’d grown so thin you could see the lines of his skull where it made hollows at his temples and under his cheekbones. Even his nose looked skinny. On the side away from the light, the shadows of the room curled around his face. One eye disappeared into them. His short black hair seemed to be dissolving into the darkness.

  Haley slapped at a key to turn the program off, and Jake’s face vanished from the screen.

  “Why don’t you go ask your aunt?” Haley’s dad suggested, looking over her shoulder.

  Haley had brought her prints of Mercy’s grave and the cemetery down to the kitchen and spread them out on the table. The photos were the easy part. But she also had to write a report, and that was going to be a pain. The Browns may have lived in Rhode Island for a hundred years, but they’d never been the kind of people who made it into the history books. Where was Haley going to come up with enough details about Mercy’s life to get an A?

  She picked up a tangerine from the pottery bowl in the center of the table and looked up at her father. “Aunt Brown? She’s your aunt, not my aunt.” Digging her fingernails into the peel, she let loose a spray of sharp, sweet scent.

  “Technically I think she may have been your grandfather’s aunt. Except she was young enough to be his sister. Or something. I forget. The point is, she’s got a bunch of family history stuff. Why don’t you go out there and ask her? Maybe take Sunny with you. Elaine will have Eddie back from playgroup soon.”

  “Can you drive me?”

  “Sorry, no can do, hon.” Her father slathered peanut butter on a toasted bagel and took a bite, licking his fingers as he chewed. “Got a big order yesterday. Wedding present. Thank God people still get married.”

  That had always bugged Haley’s mother, that her dad was happy to live on sales to the tourists in the summer and the occasional big order for a wedding. With his talent, he should be in museums, she said. Art galleries. Charging hundreds, maybe even a thousand, for a single piece. But her dad liked the idea of people using the pottery he made—coffee in his mugs, soup in his bowls, milk in his graceful pitchers with the long, slender necks.


  “Could you take me to Aunt Brown’s this afternoon, maybe?” Haley asked hopefully.

  “Doubt it. What’s wrong, got a flat tire on your bike?”

  “No, it’s—”

  I just want you to come with me, Haley wanted to say. Aunt Brown never acts like she likes me, and her house smells, you know it does . . .

  “She’s kind of . . .” It was difficult to admit that your own aunt, or great-aunt, or great-great-aunt—could she be that old, really? No, her dad probably got it wrong, he was never good on details—that your own relative creeped you out.

  And anyway, it would just be kind of nice if her dad did it because she’d asked. Mel’s dad drove her to the mall any time she wanted.

  “She’s just kind of . . . weird,” Haley finished lamely.

  “She’s hardly senile, Haley. I hope I’m in such good shape when I get to be her age.”

  “Well, she never leaves that house.”

  “She’s eccentric. Every family should have an eccentric aunt. For atmosphere.” Her dad stuffed the rest of his bagel into his mouth. “Good luck on the report. Home for lunch? I’ll take a break from the studio and make us Reubens. Lots and lots of sauerkraut. How’s that?”

  He knew perfectly well that she hated sauerkraut. She threw the paper napkin at him. But she wasn’t quick enough. The kitchen door closed behind him as he headed out to the studio he’d made of what had once been the garage.

  Haley tried holding Sunny’s leash in one hand and her bike’s handlebars with the other. Sunny trotted happily alongside as Haley rode slowly away from town, out toward the country where there were fields with a few cows or maybe a horse.

  Two more years and she’d have her license.

  Aunt Brown lived at the top of a sloping hill, across the street from the cemetery Haley and Mel visited yesterday. How’s that for atmosphere? Haley thought, leaning her bike against the mailbox. Old farmhouse out in the country, graveyard right across the road. All it needed was a thunderstorm and some ominous music.

  Haley tugged at Sunny’s leash and started up the long driveway, muddy and slippery, with only a few patches of gravel left. It would be scary to try to get a car up that, not to mention down. Of course, since Aunt Brown never went anywhere, getting a car in or out of her driveway wasn’t really an issue.

  The porch steps were worn and sagging. Paint had flaked off the walls of the house to show gray, weathered boards. Haley knew her dad had offered to come out and paint it one summer. But Aunt Brown liked it the way it was.

  There was no doorbell. Haley knocked hard.

  Sunny whined a little and pulled at her leash. “What, girl?” The dog was retreating away from the door, toward the porch steps.

  “What? Is there a rabbit or something?” Sunny kept her eyes imploringly on Haley and dithered, her claws scrabbling at the floorboards.

  “Why have you brought that animal here?”

  Haley’s heart jumped in her chest. She hadn’t heard the door open.

  Aunt Brown was standing in the doorway, looking disapproving. Of course, Haley couldn’t imagine her looking any other way. She wore the same outfit she had worn every time Haley had seen her: the long skirt that nearly brushed the ground, the white blouse (how many did she have in her closet?), the silver locket about the size of a quarter that hung just under her collar, the cardigan that was faded to no true color at all, something between gray and blue and beige.

  “Oh, hi. You startled me,” she said a little weakly, petting Sunny, who pressed up close against her leg.

  “Really? When I knock at a door, I generally expect somebody to open it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Haley wanted to squirm. “I just—” She had to clear her throat. “Can I ask you a favor, Aunt Brown?”

  “Leave the dog outside.” Aunt Brown turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. Haley supposed that was meant as an invitation.

  She looped Sunny’s leash around the porch railing and rubbed the dog’s ears reassuringly before she went in. Sunny let out a long yodeling yelp as Haley closed the door.

  “Why did you bring that creature to my house?”

  Haley’s eyes were still adjusting to the change in light, and Aunt Brown’s low, sharp voice seemed to come out of nowhere. “I didn’t—” Haley blinked. She was standing in the hallway, the living room to one side, the dining room to the other. All the blinds were down, the air dim and gray. Like living underwater, she thought. The house was chilly. No wonder Aunt Brown always wore that cardigan. Haley kept her jacket on.

  And there was that smell, one she recognized from her father’s studio. Clay. It must come up from the basement. But it seemed to soak into the whole house, walls and ceilings, carpets and curtains.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind. She’s Jake’s dog.” And that wasn’t true, not anymore, but Haley knew she wouldn’t stop saying it. “I’m just—keeping her.”

  “Don’t bring her out here again. I don’t like animals in the house.” Now Haley could make Aunt Brown out, standing in the doorway to the dining room.

  Sunny’s not in the house, Haley thought rebelliously. But she said meekly, “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  Aunt Brown still looked displeased, as if an apology weren’t enough. “Did you say you wanted something?”

  To be gone was what Haley wanted now. Why didn’t Aunt Brown ask Haley to come into the living room, or to sit down, or anything? Would it kill her to be friendly?

  “I’ve just got this school project,” she said awkwardly. “History. We’re supposed to research an ancestor, you know? And I wanted to—you know, Mercy? Mercy Brown?”

  It was strange how Aunt Brown just stood there, with those small, cool gray eyes fixed on Haley. Her eyelashes were so pale that she didn’t seem to have any, and Haley couldn’t see her blink. It was like being stared at by a snake.

  “So I thought, Dad said, you might have some stuff about her?” Haley hated the way her voice was making everything she said into a question. “Family history stuff? That I could borrow?”

  “Wait here.”

  Aunt Brown really didn’t believe in wasting words. She just turned and left, her feet in their soft shoes silent on the old wooden floor.

  Haley shivered a little. Didn’t Aunt Brown notice how cold it was? She wandered into the dining room and twitched the curtains aside to look out the window. The sunlight that spilled into the room seemed faint and dishwater gray.

  Restlessly, Haley moved around the room, brushing her hand over faded wallpaper, fingering carved wooden grapes and apples on a long sideboard. It was all slightly cold to the touch. Haley always had the feeling that everything in Aunt Brown’s house should be covered with a light film of dust. She could almost see it, softening the carvings on the sideboard, dulling the shine of the pewter candlesticks on the table, clinging to the crystal of the chandelier. But there was no dust. Everything her fingers touched was perfectly clean. Haley imagined dust particles drifting in the air, too afraid of Aunt Brown to settle.

  “Did you pull those curtains?”

  For the second time in ten minutes, Haley jumped. Aunt Brown was just behind her.

  Haley smiled nervously. She felt like an idiot. And it didn’t help that Aunt Brown gave no answering smile, only stood looking sternly at her, as if Haley was expected to do something. In her hands was a bulky envelope, the brown paper soft with age and two of the corners split.

  “The light will fade the furniture,” Aunt Brown said.

  Haley was baffled for a moment, then remembered the curtains. She hurried across the room to close them again.

  Aunt Brown had set the envelope on the table and was carefully taking something out of it. A sheaf of papers, clipped together. An old newspaper, bits flaking off even as Aunt Brown laid it down. A small, flat box of cardboard that had once been red, tied shut with a yellow cord.

  Haley came to the table to look at what her aunt had brought. Aunt Brown seemed interested as well. Having the elderl
y woman peer over her shoulder made Haley uncomfortable. She couldn’t even hear her aunt breathing. She just—hovered.

  But the historical stuff could be really useful. Haley bent over the newspaper first. She hadn’t quite pulled the curtains together, she realized. A thin line of sunlight ran over the faded newsprint and touched the little box, laying a stripe of brighter red across its faded surface.

  She looked at the opening paragraph of the newspaper article.

  To begin with, we will say that our neighbor, a good and respectable citizen, George T. Brown, has been bereft of his wife and two grown-up daughters by consumption . . .

  “This is from that time?” Haley said in surprise. “It was in the newspaper?”

  “Certainly it was. Anything sensational is always of interest to fools.”

  Haley picked up one of the typewritten sheets next. It was a family tree. There was George Brown, and there was his wife Mary, and his daughter Grace, the other one who’d died, and little Edwin, and Mercy Lena.

  “This is great.” Haley looked up eagerly. “Aunt Brown, thanks. Can I take this stuff home? I’ll be careful with it, I promise.”

  Aunt Brown’s face was expressionless for a moment. Then she seemed to make up her mind.

  “I suppose so. If you are responsible. You’ll return it all, of course.”

  “Sure. I will. Of course.” Haley made herself shut up. A simple “yes” would have done.

  Aunt Brown had picked up the faded red box. Her fingers worried at the cord around it. “It’s good to see someone taking an interest in history. The Browns are a very old family. Very old indeed. You ought to understand.” She said the last sentence almost fiercely.

  Haley found her attention riveted to the box in her aunt’s hands. Her heart was beating a little quicker. As if she were expecting something wild, something dangerous, to pop out when Aunt Brown opened the lid. Stupid. She was being stupid. One of her hands had clenched tightly around the back of a chair, as if she needed support. Or protection, maybe?