“I’m doing better every day.”
“I’m glad for you if that’s the case, but don’t feel like you have to hide your emotions on my account. If you ever feel like screamin’ or cryin’ or throwin’ a little tantrum, I won’t object.”
She smiled, eyes still fixed on the stain. “I appreciate that. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a chance to throw a real tantrum in a long while.”
Without looking up, she heard his lips part in a smile. “Well then, you’re due.” He pushed back in his chair. “Let’s go outside and check on those boys.”
“You go. I should clean the dinner dishes, and—”
“The dishes’ll keep till later. And I’ll help you.”
“You will?” She couldn’t envision a man washing dishes or drying them, didn’t even know if she wanted his help. Growing up, the most she’d seen her pa do in the kitchen was draw water from the spigot for a drink.
There came a crooked grin on Sam’s nicely formed mouth. He stood and motioned with his hand. “Come on, Mrs. Connors. Let’s get some fresh air.”
Mrs. Connors? It was the first time she’d been addressed by that title, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.
He followed her through the kitchen, and when he put his hand to the center of her back, a batch of chills altogether unfamiliar chased up her spine.
15
Sunday morning ushered in a thunderstorm, reason enough in Sam’s mind to skip church, but Mercy wouldn’t hear of it. “We may have had a good reason for staying home the last couple of weeks, our being newly married and all, but I wouldn’t feel right missing another service. The boys need to get back into a routine, and Sunday church is a good place to start.”
He would have liked to remind her this routine of waking early on Sundays was going to be a challenge for him. However, he had agreed to accompany her to church, and he didn’t want to go back on his word so early in the marriage—or ever.
Riding in his rig, they would be exposed to the elements on all sides, even though he’d pulled the canvas top up after hitching up Tucker. Fortunately, the rain dwindled to a drizzle just before they left, and there were enough lightweight blankets for everyone’s lap, which helped to keep them dry. Plus, the little country church was only a couple of miles outside of town.
Mercy had a fair-sized barn—nothing like what he was used to, but it had three stalls, enough for housing their two horses, plus an extra stall for storing hay, buckets of grain, and riding gear. Of course, their rigs stood out in the elements and were none the worse for it. It had taken Tucker a few days to make the adjustment, not to mention acquaint himself with Mercy’s Appaloosa, Sally. At first, the two had done a lot of nickering back and forth, pawing in the dirt, and Tucker apparently hadn’t been at all sure he liked the sights, smells, or sounds of his new quarters. But by day three or four, he’d settled down and started making himself at home.
The church bells chimed quarter to ten as Sam turned the rig into the churchyard with his new family in tow. He immediately scanned the area, looking for a parking spot that wasn’t situated in the middle of a big mud puddle. When at last he staked his claim on a patch of high ground, the boys filed out pell-mell and dashed toward the church.
“Boys, wait for us,” Sam called. “We’ll go in together.” He jumped down to the ground and raced around the rig to take Mercy’s hand.
The boys screeched to a halt and turned, John Roy’s hair mussed at the crown, where he had a curly cowlick, and Joseph’s shirttail hanging out of his breeches. Shoulders sagging, they waited for the adults to catch up.
“Never have I seen two boys so eager for church,” Sam said to Mercy.
“They enjoy it very much. Truthfully, though, I think it’s seeing their friends afterward that has them all excited.”
When they reached the boys, she bent to tuck Joseph’s shirt back in his pants, then smoothed out his short jacket. Since there was nothing to do for John Roy’s curlicue, she straightened his white collar instead, then gave a satisfied smile, pulling back her shoulders and glancing up at Sam. “Shall we go in, then?”
He grinned and swept out a hand. “After you, madam.” The threesome went ahead, and as they ascended the cement steps leading to the front door, he scolded himself for admiring Mercy’s pretty ankles when she lifted her skirts.
They found a bench about halfway down the aisle and scooted past an elderly couple who had planted themselves on the end. Confound it, Sam thought. He’d wanted an aisle seat, just in case he got restless and needed to step outside for some fresh air. It had been a long while since he’d sat through an entire sermon.
Several folks stopped along the way to shake his hand and greet Mercy and the boys. Some of them he recognized from town. The folks at Paris Evangelical Church were a friendly bunch, he’d give them that.
The lively hymn singing lifted his spirits, and Reverend Younker’s message took him quite by surprise, in that it actually held his attention. Speaking about a passage in the book of Philippians, the old preacher, who’d married Mercy and him mere weeks ago, exhorted the congregation to shine as lights in the world, bearing the likeness of God before their fellow men. Sam had to ponder that thought. Did people see God in him? He doubted so. How could they, when he’d barely cracked open his Bible in years—not counting the verses Uncle Clarence had instructed him to read in Jeremiah? Had he found true satisfaction in serving the Lord? Not at all. He hadn’t taken the time to grow or let God nurture him. How could he possibly know any kind of satisfaction if he never gave God a chance to reveal Himself?
The boys sat between Mercy and him and fidgeted, tracing images with a fingertip on each other’s legs or arms while the other tried to guess the picture. Every so often, they would erupt into quiet giggles, which Mercy quickly stifled. Once, she glanced over their heads at Sam and rewarded him with a minuscule smile, the sight of which made his pulse thrum in wild abandon. It was ridiculous, he knew; that his wife had a lovely smile should not have set his heart in motion, nor should the fact that she looked pretty in pale green, or that he liked the way she’d put her hair up, allowing some of it to fall around her temples, framing her face…none of that should have affected him. And yet it did.
At the close of the service, folks filed down the aisle, some of them stopping to talk to Mercy, others offering words of congratulations to both of them on their marriage. He wanted to remind them all of the circumstances surrounding it—tell them they’d married for the boys’ sake alone—but he figured it wasn’t necessary. There wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t know they hadn’t married for love. After all, he was a Connors; she, an Evans.
As they moved outside, a blast of warm air greeted them, the sun pushing out from behind the clouds. Wafting up on a gentle breeze were the sweet scents of a nearby rosebush, and overhead, the birds delighted in announcing the rain had stopped. Excited children, John Roy and Joseph included, took off, chasing each other around the church perimeter, their pent-up shouts no longer squelched. Not for the first time, Sam marveled at how well the boys had fallen into their new routine. He wondered if and when reality would come crashing in on them.
“Mercy! Wait a moment.” Coming from behind was an older woman, tall and spry, her green eyes gleaming like two stars, with white wisps of hair poking out from under her wide-brimmed floral hat. Sam recognized her as one of the “protesters” from their wedding day, and a wave of dread swept through him.
“Why, Aunt Aggie!” Mercy gave the woman a quick hug. “I didn’t…I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you attended the Lutheran church.”
“Yes, yes, I do,” the woman said, stepping back to brush herself off, as if the brief embrace had somehow wrinkled her perfectly pressed suit. “But Reverend Tolford went out of town, and one of our church deacons was preachin’ today. I can’t abide that man’s sermons, don’t you know, so long and drawn out…by the time he winds down, I just know my Sunday roast has burnt blacker ’n tar. Not t’ mentio
n he’s got that awful habit of clearin’ his throat at the end of every sentence.” She clicked her tongue before raising her gaze to Sam. “Well, hullo there, Samuel Connors. I hope y’r treatin’ my niece well.”
“Aunt Aggie.” Mercy’s brow crimped.
Sam grinned. “Ma’am.” He offered his hand, and when she extended hers, he took it in both of his. “I’m doin’ my very best. Nice to meet you face-to-face.” As hard as it was to treat her with civility, he knew it would pay off in dividends. “You’re Fred’s wife, correct?”
“Indeed. A scoundrel he is, but then, you already knew that.”
Indeed was right. Fred Evans never missed an opportunity to fight, and Sam pitied the man who got in his way, especially if he were a Connors. Agatha leaned in. “Your mother’s not much better, if I may say so.”
“Aunt Aggie,” Mercy cut in for the second time, her tone scolding.
“Well, it’s true as the gospel, child. Ever since your weddin’, she’s been creatin’ quite a stir amongst the menfolk. Says Mercy here won’t allow Samuel t’ go visit her, and I says to m’self, ‘That don’t sound like ar Mercy, her bein’ the peacemaker of the family an’ all.’”
Sam felt a ball of fury form in his stomach. “You’re absolutely right. My mother’s spreadin’ falsehoods.”
Mercy’s face wrinkled with concern. “Why, just yesterday, I told Sam he ought to go see her.”
Agatha nodded. “I figured as much. I’m comin’ to terms with the whole notion o’ you two marryin’, but my Fred and our boys are still purty peeved.”
Tension seized Sam’s chest like a balled-up fist. He’d thought that getting through the wedding ceremony would be the worst of it, but it seemed that their relatives—at least some of them—were getting even more riled now that the vows had been said. Would nothing melt the hatred and mend the breach between these two families? He supposed it was something he should pray about.
A few women joined the circle, and the subject changed to the upcoming meeting of the knitting guild, something in which Sam had no interest. Just in time, Carl Redford, a longtime acquaintance from grade school days, wandered over, providing a welcome escape. The two men separated slightly from the group and spent some time catching up, talking about Sam’s blacksmithing and Carl’s job as a clerk at the local drugstore.
Before long, John Roy and Joseph trotted up, red-faced and breathless. “We goin’ soon?” asked John Roy.
Mercy must have overheard, for she stepped away from the circle of women. “Yes, we are, honey. I have a chicken cooking in the oven.”
They bid everyone good-bye and headed for their rig and a very patient Tucker, who stomped and whinnied at their approach. All in all, Sam’s return to church hadn’t been all bad. He was almost looking forward to next Sunday.
***
“What in the world?” Sam muttered as they turned into the two-track driveway.
Mercy glanced up, and fury welled within her. On the front porch, her two lovely planters had been overturned, and both wicker chairs had been tipped on their sides. One of the front windows was also broken. She grew impatient for Sam to rein in his horse so she could jump down and investigate. “I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
“Don’t go up there without me,” he said quietly, so the boys wouldn’t overhear. “Might be somebody lurkin’ around.”
She nodded, but when the rig came to a halt, she couldn’t help it; she hefted her skirts, leaped to the ground, and set off on a purposeful march across the yard.
“Wait here, boys, and keep Tucker company,” she heard him say. “We’ll be right back.”
At least two out of three had listened to him. He ought to be pleased about that. Mercy approached the front porch to assess the damage.
Sam checked out the broken window, peering inside. “Looks like somebody heaved a rock. It’s lying on the floor, and there’s glass everywhere.” He glanced back at the rig. “Better get that cleaned up before we let the boys inside. I’ll check around back, make sure it’s clear, and send them there to play.”
Mercy nodded, for the moment unable to speak. Dread twisted an ugly knot in her gut. Who would do such a thing? Hadn’t the boys been traumatized enough? While Sam led the boys to the backyard, she righted her poor planters, then used her hand to scoop some of the spilled soil back inside. The flowers had lost a few blossoms, too.
Sam returned a few minutes later. “Those swings should keep ’em occupied awhile,” he said.
“Do you think one of our relatives did this?” Mercy asked him quietly.
He lifted one wicker chair, setting it upright again. “I would hate to think that any of our relatives would deliberately damage their own kin’s property.”
“But you heard Aunt Aggie. Both sides are upset with us.”
Sam shook his head. His face read of utter disdain. “I guess I’ll pay my mother a visit. I have to find out if she’s involved in this.”
“Surely, your own mother wouldn’t be party to vandalism.”
“She wouldn’t have been here, no, but she might be at the center of the storm. Your aunt did say she’s been stirrin’ things up. Sorry to say, I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Mercy nodded.
“I’ll pay the sheriff a visit tomorrow,” Sam added. “File a report.”
“I suppose that’s best.”
They ate their lunch in somber silence. Any other day, it would’ve been delicious, the chicken done to perfection, the carrots and potatoes seasoned just right. Today, however, it went down Mercy’s throat with a fight, and she had to keep taking sips of water to settle her stomach. It nettled her to think that Sam’s relatives—or, worse, her own—were in some way responsible for the vandalism, and on the Sabbath, no less.
“Who done broke that window?” John Roy asked after a while.
Mercy looked to Sam. “We don’t know, exactly,” Sam said. “Maybe one of the neighbor boys got a little too rambunctious.”
“They should’a comed to church,” Joseph chided.
Mercy couldn’t help smiling at his naiveté. It helped to lessen the sense of foreboding she felt in her chest.
Sam appeared to have no trouble clearing his plate. He pushed back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna ride out to my mother’s place for a visit.”
“Can we come too?” Joseph asked.
Sam smiled ruefully. “Another time, okay?”
“But she invited us!”
“I know she did. And I’ll be sure to take you, just not today.”
Joseph lowered his face and stuck out his lip. It was the first Mercy had observed him in an all-out pout. “I’m going to need your company,” Mercy said, trying to keep her voice light. “We’ll think of a game to play.”
“In the house, though,” Sam inserted briskly, meeting Mercy’s eyes. Stay inside, he mouthed.
“Aww!” both boys protested.
“Do we hafta?” Joseph whined.
Mercy forced a smile. “Yes, but you can go outside when Sam returns.” She bristled at having to stay cooped up on such a nice day, but then, that vow she’d made to love, honor, and obey came back to muddle her head.
She had a lot to learn about this matter of marriage.
16
Sam hitched Tucker to a post in front of his mother’s house, climbed the porch steps, and knocked at the door. Getting no response, he strolled around to the side yard to search her out. He found her kneeling in the garden, her back to him, pulling weeds. Her tattered straw bonnet covered her gray hair, which she had pulled into her habitual severe knot at the back of her head. Hot rays of sunlight seared his shoulders as he plodded down the flower-strewn path, yet unnoticed—unless he counted Virgil Perry, whom he spotted watching him from the double doors of the barn. Sam waved but got nothing more than a casual nod before the man vanished into the murky shadows. It was milking time, if the sound of bawling cattle from inside was any indication.
His approaching steps must have alerted his mother, for she glanced over her shoulder, gasped, and then rose to her feet, teetering a tad from having stood too fast. Normally, he would have reached out a hand to steady her, but he didn’t have the most genial attitude at the moment.
“Well, suffering saints, would you look at what the cat dragged home? Wasn’t it just yesterday you said you wouldn’t come visiting if you couldn’t bring that wife of yours?”
“This is not a cordial visit, Mother. I need to talk to you about somethin’.”
“Oh?” She swept a hand across her forehead, leaving a long, dark smudge in its wake. “What other possible reason than cordial could you have for visiting your ailing mother?”
“You’re not ailin’.”
“Of course I am. Most mornings I have so many aches, I can barely rise from bed. And my chest, why, it’s been paining me something fierce. Makes breathing a regular burden.”
It took all his energy not to tell her she’d been saying the same things for years, or that he had it on good authority from her doctor himself that she was hale and hearty. A second glance at the barn revealed Virgil watching from the doorway again. “Let’s go in the house for a minute.”
“Good idea. I’ll get us some sweet tea. I’m parched.”
“I’m not stayin’ long.”
“You’ll stay long enough for a glass of tea, won’t you? I’ve really missed you, Samuel. It’s far too quiet around here with you gone. I still don’t understand why you married that girl.”
“That ‘girl,’ as you refer to her, is my wife, and you’ll do well to keep your opinions about her to yourself.”
She gave a loud wheeze and wiped her hands on her apron, then gazed skyward. “It was right nice of the sun to come out after that morning rain, but did it have to bring such scorching heat?” At least she saw the importance in changing the subject.
“Yeah, it’s hot. Let’s go inside.” And escape Virgil Perry’s piercing stare. He glanced at the barn once more, then followed her up the path. “What are you doin’ workin’ on the Lord’s Day, anyway? You never used to let me do anything on Sundays—no baseball, no goin’ down to the water hole, and certainly no playin’ with the neighbor boys.”
Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) Page 13
