Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Your heart has been wounded as surely as any other injury you have suffered. To my way of thinking, there’s nothing wrong with you guarding yourself. You need time.”

  “Time will not help.” Mercy stared at the earth. If anything, time would only make matters worse. People already shunned her. How much worse would it become when her belly grew huge? And how would they treat her after she had the babe?

  How will they treat the baby? The thought made her breath catch. Until this morning, she’d resented the life she carried. All she’d been able to link it to was the horrific act. Only now things seemed different. That life was so very small, so helpless. The gentle-as-raindrop patter I felt inside—how could I have thought I would hate such a thing?

  “Time doesn’t cure everything.” The doctor let out a rueful chuckle. “If it did, I’d be out of business. What I’ve found is, as weeks and months go by, we gain wisdom and are better able to make decisions.”

  “I have no decisions to make.” Mercy’s head shot up, and she stared at him. “These days, all I do is live with the way things are because of what others have done or thought or believed.”

  “I’d be a fool of a man if I said what others think and believe doesna matter. Instead, though, why not give some consideration to what it is that you think and believe?”

  Embarrassed that she’d been blurting out thoughts she ought to have kept private, Mercy decided to sidestep his probing question. “What I think is that I have chores to do. All the talk in the world won’t get them done.”

  “These cabbages here look ripe and ready. How many are you wantin’ me to pick?”

  “I didn’t mean for you to set your hand to my work!”

  The doctor squatted down and absently brushed a little dirt from the side of the nearest head of cabbage. “I wasna born with a scalpel in my hand. Some of my most cherished memories are of helpin’ Ma in our garden.” He smiled at Mercy. “I confess, I often took a can along, just in case a worm turned up. Fish and vegetables make a fine meal.”

  “Why did you come here today?”

  “I had a couple of reasons.” He reached toward her. “Knife.”

  “How do you know I have a knife with me?” Ever since that day, she’d carried a knife in her apron pocket.

  “Any practical woman would when her garden brimmed like this.” He accepted the knife, cut a cabbage, and hefted the head a few times. “Round and heavy and the color’s good.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’ve said the selfsame thing about a few of the babes I’ve delivered.”

  I knew not to trust him. She turned away as she said in a flat tone, “You came to talk to me of the child of my shame.”

  “Stop right there.” He straightened up and stepped in front of her. “Whatever else you think, Mercy Stein, know this: I have not, and I never will think of you as being shamed. Shame implies you did something that makes you guilty. You did nothing wrong.”

  “If I did nothing wrong, then why is God punishing me?” She slapped her hand over her mouth and stepped backward, away from him. Something hit her ankle, and she started to fall.

  “Careful.” The doctor’s fingers clamped around her wrist and drew her upright. His strength amazed her. Until now, he’d always been restrained and gentle. His brothers came and did physical labor, so the fact that he was every bit as tall and broad as they hadn’t registered. “The hoe was behind you, lass.”

  “You’re strong.” It came out as an accusation.

  “That fact needn’t trouble you. I’ve taken an oath to heal, not to harm.”

  Mercy stared at him. How did he know I’m afraid? Just as quickly, she resented the fact that he knew of her vulnerability. “You talk too boldly.”

  “I’m a plainspoken man. Hiding behind fancy words never suited me. Cutting to the heart of a matter is best. I admire how you’ve been doing that today. The things you’ve said thus far—you’ve shown rare courage for admitting what others would gloss o’er.”

  Courage? Mercy shook her head. “How can you tell me not to be troubled by your strength in one minute, only to suggest I’m brave in the next?”

  “Because until you’re honest enough to confess your doubts and fears, you canna get beyond them. God created us with physical bodies, but just as surely He filled us with feelings and placed a soul within us. ’Tisna just your body that is changing. Your feelings and faith are, too. You’ve come to the point where you recognize that fact.”

  Mercy watched him nod his head as if he’d just solved the problems instead of starkly laying them out. Loneliness swamped her. No one could possibly understand—

  “I’ll not insult you by spouting platitudes and saying I know how deep your sorrows flow.” The doctor gave her wrist a tiny squeeze, then loosened his hold and slid his hand down until his fingers laced with hers. “I came today to promise to help you through the weeks and months—aye, and e’en the years ahead. As your doctor, I’ll inform you what to expect.

  “If you’d like, I’ll loan you my little red book. I took care not to write the woman’s name in it, and she gave me leave to put down whate’er I wished. You needn’t worry that we’d be prying into her privacy. Think on it and let me know if you’d like that. Since you dinna hae a mother or grandma here to instruct you from a woman’s perspective, it might be nice.”

  Mercy couldn’t unknot all of the feelings coiling inside her. His offer was everything she needed but not what she wanted. Why couldn’t one of the ladies from church pay a visit and privately teach her such intimate things? But the women all kept their distance and withheld their counsel—yet the doctor didn’t because he felt she and this babe were blameless.

  “You asked why God is punishing you. Terrible things happen, but they are not always His doing.”

  “But He lets them happen.”

  “There’s no denying that.” He paused. “Hae you e’er noticed that for all the trials that beset Job, God ne’er took His hand off the man? Just as surely as I stand here and hold your hand in mine, He is with you and has not loosened His grip.”

  One by one, Mercy uncurled her fingers. She dragged her hand free from the doctor’s hold. “Job’s friends still stayed by his side.”

  The doctor snorted. “Some friends. Even Job’s wife told him to ‘Curse God, and die.’ That kind of help is worse than none a-tall. Job held fast to his faith, and that’s why the story has such a grand ending.”

  “There’s not a good ending for my story. There can’t be.”

  “I disagree. To say that, you give up your faith in God’s love and goodness.”

  Mercy closed her eyes. Pain washed over her. The loneliness she felt wasn’t just for friends. In the maelstrom life had become, she’d lost her faith, too.

  “Earlier, you asked why God’s punishing you. In the midst of all this, dinna be shy of asking those hard questions.”

  “It makes no difference,” she said in a tone that sounded as heavy as her heart felt. “There are no answers.”

  “I’ve noticed something. Christians who grow up as believers most often come to a crisis at some point in life. ’Tis then all they were told is stripped away. All they have left is a skeleton of faith. Just as your grandda has had to work to build up his wounded muscles, you have to build up your strength of faith so you can continue on your walk with the Lord. ’Tis by asking the questions, praying, and reading the Word that you will succeed.”

  I can’t get past asking the questions. Praying and reading the Bible—I can’t. As soon as she told herself that, something inside shot back, Can’t, or won’t?

  “Here is your book.” Mercy’s voice was barely audible as she palmed the tiny leather book to Robert.

  He casually tucked it into his pocket and surveyed the huge assortment of crates and dishes in the back of her buckboard. “You brought enough food to feed an army for a year.”

  “Everyone is talking about your house kit. I expect a whole army of men to come help. They would come anyway, but their cu
riosity will have them arrive early and leave late.”

  “Hot as it’s been, it makes sense that we start early.” Rob hefted the closest crate. “Do you have any particular order to this?”

  “That one can be stored back—it is for late in the day. This one,” she said as she started to lift another, “I will need—”

  “Put that down.” Rob’s throat ached with restraint. It took every shred of self-control not to roar the order at her.

  “It is not heavy. I—”

  He shifted the crate he held to one side and jerked the other from her. “Go open the screen door.”

  She scampered ahead. Once inside, Rob set down the crates and turned on her. “You canna be lifting things like this.”

  “I’m not weak. I put them all in the wagon myself.”

  “Miss Stein, it has nothing to do with strength. Your delicate condition—“ The color flooding her cheeks left him feeling crass and mean. He’d made his point, so he changed tactics. “Three men live here. We’re strong of muscle but feeble in the kitchen. Stay here and direct us as to where you want each crate to go.”

  “Cabbage and carrots in this one,” Duncan announced as he carried in a bushel basket.

  “Go ahead and put those wherever you want,” Chris said as he entered on Duncan’s heels. “I’ve got strudel here. I’m taking it upstairs. If either of you says a word about it, you won’t get a bite.”

  Mercy shook her finger. “Christopher Gregor, you behave yourself.”

  “I am. I offered to share this with my brothers.”

  “You will share it with all of your brothers in Christ tomorrow morning.”

  “If any is left, I will.” Chris sounded downright reasonable.

  Mercy smiled. “You cannot always have whatever you grab for.”

  Chris scowled at Rob. “She’s teasing, right?”

  Mercy’s head dipped. “I am not that kind of woman.”

  “Hey—I didn’t mean—”

  Rob swiped the strudel and set it on the cramped “kitchen” table. “Chris, you’re thinkin’ with your belly instead of your brain. Mercy, you’d think the man’s never eaten a single morsel.”

  “Your logic is flawed,” Chris snapped back. “It’s because I’ve eaten Mercy’s strudel that I’m claiming it. She should be flattered by that fine praise.”

  “Mercy, Chris is too dense to apologize properly.” Rob tapped the toe of his boot a few times. “But now that Chris has given it consideration, he’s wanting to let you choose another piece of gingerbread for the house.”

  “I am not!”

  Duncan slapped Chris on the back. “We should have known you’d be in a generous mood, Chris. Mercy, he wants you to choose two.”

  Mercy’s head was still bowed. Rob glared at Chris to make him watch his words, then pasted on a smile. Tilting Mercy’s face upward, Rob asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I think you Scotsmen are crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as my house is going to look,” Chris muttered.

  “Our house.” Duncan shoved Chris toward the door.

  “I’m going to have the last word,” Chris growled. “Just you wait and see.”

  Rob stepped closer to Mercy. Her eyes widened and the pulse at her throat pounded far too fast. I’ve got to teach her she’s safe with me. “I have to tell you something secret.”

  Chapter 12

  You do?”

  He nodded and crooked his finger. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned the tiniest bit closer. Rob cupped his hand and leaned toward her ear. “Chris and I have an agreement.”

  Her brows puckered.

  “He decided to give all of the gingerbread to Duncan, and I agreed—other than all of the pieces he owes you.”

  “Duncan does not know this?” Mercy started to pull away.

  Rob closed the space and whispered, “Duncan doesna know yet … but the jest is on Chris. He wasna mindful of his words when we came to the pact. Duncan gets all the gingerbread—but Chris didna think to say where Duncan had to put it.”

  Mercy’s lips parted in surprise.

  “Whatever this is,” Chris declared as he returned with two large pans, “it smells good.”

  “It is not for you.” Mercy scooted past Rob and swiped a pan from Chris.

  Chris let go, but he got a fierce look on his face and held fast to the second one. “Why not?”

  A smile lifted Mercy’s lips. “Because you do not like gingerbread.”

  “I’ve never seen such a mess,” Mercy said that noon.

  “Ooch, ’tis true.” Rob wiped his brow. “But ’tis an organized mess. Since Chris has gotten everyone working on a specific portion of the kit, the chaos has ceased.”

  Mercy heaved a sigh. “You are a man of science, Robert. An intelligent man. How can you stand in the midst of this madness and hold out any hope that such confusion will build your house?”

  “I have faith.”

  Mercy gave him a dubious look.

  Rob motioned toward the lot. “The frame is almost done, and the external walls are coming along. Suddenly, everything will fit together. Wait and see.”

  “Two days. It has been two days, and still, it has so far to go. Do you know that these same men who are helping you all get together and put up an entire barn in just one day?”

  “By tomorrow, the bulk of the work will be done. The rest, Chris wants to do on his own. He’s gotten excited by the challenge.”

  “Excited? Is that what you call it when he complained about the bay window? Or is excited when he stubbed the toe of his boots against the scalloped shingles for the bottom half of the front wall?”

  “Nae, lass. Those moments were just mild irritations. Excited was when he bellowed because you’d bested in that bargain you struck.” Rob chortled softly. “I dinna think Chris will e’er eat strudel again without thinking on how he agreed to put that onion top on the turret instead of the plain cone design he planned on.”

  Mercy grimaced. “In truth, Rob, I thought that was all a joke. I did not think your brother took me seriously.”

  “It served him right. His greed got the better of him.”

  “Are you saying that because he ate that whole strudel all by himself?”

  The doctor’s mouth kicked up into a rakish smile. “I’m not going to answer. Just you wait, though—after tomorrow, the house will be well on the way. And better still, after that, Chris will be so busy with constructing the rest, he’ll not be restless and underfoot all the time.”

  “Perhaps I should make more bargains with him. Was there any special piece of the gingerbread you liked?”

  “Let’s see. You have the fan at the apex of the eaves, the onion top on the turret, and the bay window … and there’s the fish scale clapboards in the middle third of the front … and the spindled veranda.”

  “Don’t forget the pretty scrolled gingerbread in the upper corners of the windows.”

  “I couldn’t forget that.” The doctor’s grin grew wider still. “That was when Chris started moaning that the place was going to wind up looking more like a wedding cake than a house.”

  “I think you are enjoying this,” Mercy accused.

  “And I think, Mercy Ellen Stein, that you are a very smart young woman.” The doctor walked off, calling, “Chris, Mercy and I were just talking …”

  Chris let out a groan that sounded over all the hammering.

  “What a pretty new apron!” Carmen greeted from her veranda.

  “Thank you.” Good manners demanded Mercy acknowledge the compliment, even though she’d hoped no one would notice her apron. Instead of the bibbed, tie-in-the-back aprons she’d always worn, this one reminded her of a pretzel. The front hung from neck to hem, but the back pieces swooped up to the opposite shoulders. Instead of accentuating a slender waist, this one was meant to hide a tummy that now bulged outward.

  “Everything’s ready.” Carmen hobbled down the walkway. “Duncan Gregor brought over canning jars last
night.”

  “Good.” Relief flooded Mercy. She didn’t want to have to walk down the street and into the mercantile. Ever since the week of threshing, people had changed. The women didn’t avoid or shun her anymore—but they took pains to avoid the topic of childbearing, babies, and child rearing. That left awkward silences and tense moments whenever Mercy was around.

  Her hand slid into her apron pocket. The doctor’s little red book was there. Every couple of weeks, he’d slip it to her. She’d pore over the pages at night in her room. Each time she returned the book, Mercy felt as if she’d lost a friend. Every time the doctor left it in her keeping, solace blanketed her.

  “What are you daydreaming about?”

  “Oh!” Mercy jumped. A thought flashed through her mind. “I cannot remember if I took the iron off the stove.”

  “In this heat, you shouldn’t be ironing anything other than Sunday-best clothes.” Carmen linked arms with her and started dragging her across the street.

  “This is the wrong way,” Mercy said in a wry tone.

  “I suppose I’d better warn you, we have more to do than we’d planned on.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The doctor’s been paid for several accounts in the past week.”

  “I see.”

  Carmen giggled. “Mercy, you’re too nice. Ismelda’s been moaning all morning about it.”

  “She decided she liked the pickles we made last time with the cucumbers.”

  “But this time, it’s—well, you just have to see this for yourself.” Carmen led her around the side of the doctor’s office to the yard between it and the fancy new house as she whispered, “I didn’t want to miss this.”

  Mercy took a look and started to shake.

  It would be rude to laugh. Truly, it would. Mercy covered her mouth and pretended to muffle a cough while she marshaled her self-control.

  Duncan stopped poking at the armadillo and rapped on it with his knuckles. “ ’Tis like a knight’s armor.”

  “There’s got to be a chink in it. Every defense has a weakness,” Chris declared as he rolled the creature over.