Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams)

by MacLaren Sharlene

  When the door shut with a loud thwack, Mercy gave a jolt, whether from the noise or her tense nerves, she couldn’t say. “Are you going to tell me about your visit with Persephone?”

  “What? Yes, o’ course, but I better get to work first.” He stood and pushed his chair in. “Don’t wait on me for supper, Mercy. I need to pay my mother a visit, and I’m not sure what time I’ll get back. You don’t mind, do you?”

  He planned to visit his mother? “No, that’s fine,” she managed. No way would she let him see her disappointment.

  “I just need to talk to her about…some things.”

  She cleared her throat. “What sort of things, if I may ask?”

  “We’ll talk later, okay?” He came around the table and planted a light kiss on her head. “Thanks for lunch.”

  Rather than respond, she sat in the quiet as he crossed the room and slipped out the back door with nary a second glance. Her heart sank clear to her toes.

  What on earth had surfaced in Nashville?

  28

  Sam didn’t give Virgil Perry so much as a slight nod when the fellow tipped his hat at him from the barnyard. Nor did he bother to knock. “Mother!” he bellowed, slamming the door behind him. He marched across the braided rug in the entryway to the base of the staircase, his boots echoing through the house with every step on the wood floor, which always shone to perfection. Too bad his mother’s life didn’t reflect the same sheen. Tarnished—that’s what she was. Tarnished, tainted, and two-faced. Well, the jig was up, the charade over, and he meant to tell her so—after he got to the bottom of this mess.

  “Mother!”

  She appeared at the top of the stairs, an open book in hand. “Well, for heaven’s sake, what is all this racket? You don’t have to scream. Should I ask you to go back out and come back in after you’ve settled down? By the way, it’s nice to see you, as well.”

  “Stop with the nonsense and come downstairs,” he ordered.

  “What? Don’t speak to me in that tone.”

  “I’ll speak to you as I wish, Mother. You and I have some serious things to discuss.”

  “Well, I never! Of course, I’ll come downstairs, but not until you apologize for using that angry voice with me.”

  He bit back a curse word. “Sorry. Now come down here. Please.” He tacked on the last word begrudgingly, but only to get her moving.

  She huffed. “I suppose that will have to do. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

  “No.”

  “No? You must be really upset, if you won’t take my coffee. I have fresh-baked cookies, too.”

  Though tempted, he had no wish to play into her ploy of hospitality. When she reached the bottom stair, he pointed at the divan. “Sit,” he commanded her.

  “Oh, my mother’s gizzard, your face!” she gasped. “Was that a result of that terrible fight at the picnic?”

  “Yes, and don’t bother makin’ a fuss over it or tryin’ to say you had nothin’ to do with that—that circus.”

  She set her book on the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch, her jaw set in its usual stubborn fashion, her mouth unsmiling. “Well then, did you come to tell me about your little jaunt to Nashville?”

  That tripped him up a bit. “What? Who told you I’d gone?”

  “Oh, just someone who saw you at the train station on Sunday morning. It doesn’t matter. What was your purpose in going?”

  “I went to visit my cousin Persephone.”

  She looked only slightly discomfited by that tidbit. “What in the world prompted you to do that?”

  He took a seat across from her but didn’t settle back. Instead, he sat forward, feet firmly planted on the floor, elbows resting on his spread knees, hands loosely clasped. “She invited me, and I accepted.”

  “What would possess her to do that? You barely knew each other growing up.”

  “She had somethin’ to tell me, Mother. Somethin’ very important.”

  “Oh?” She licked her firm lips, and he noticed the harsh lines that wrinkled them, put there by years of frowning. “I’m most interested to hear about it.”

  He gave a bitter chuckle. “I doubt you’ll be once you hear it. I’ll just come out with it: I know about your affair with Oscar Evans.”

  Had he told her his father’s ghost stood right behind her, she could not have taken on a whiter hue to her face. Every drop of blood seemed to have drained from her head, moved down her body, and gone right out the toes of her black patent leather shoes. She broke into a sweat, which prompted her to press a handkerchief to her forehead, but it was not enough to ward off the dead faint that followed.

  ***

  Dizzy, sweaty, and disoriented, Flora crawled her way back to consciousness, but the memory of Samuel’s dread confession brought on another dizzy spell. How could he possibly know? How had he discovered it? No one knew, certainly not her niece. Why, it had happened so long ago, Flora barely recalled it herself. Even as the thought surfaced, she knew it for a lie. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about it—all thanks to Virgil Perry.

  “Mother?” The voice at her ear and then the cool damp cloth to her forehead brought her around. She wanted to awaken, but only if it meant what she’d just experienced had been nothing more than a bad dream.

  Reality crushed her hopes when she looked and saw Samuel staring down at her with unsympathetic eyes. “Can you sit up now?” Nothing in his tone denoted concern. If anything, her faint had been an inconvenience, for she heard the irritation in his voice.

  “Y-yes.” She could not bring herself to look him in the eye, so she focused on her lap instead, pressing her palms to the cushion to brace herself, her queasy stomach complicating matters. “H-how did you find out?” She hated that asking the question amounted to an admission of guilt.

  “Persephone told me.”

  “What? But…how could she possibly—”

  “She saw you kissin’ ’im—in your bedroom, of all places. She was just a little girl at the time, but her memory of that day is as clear as if she saw it yesterday. It’s part of the reason she wound up leavin’ Paris. Some six years after witnessin’ it, she finally decided to break the secret to her family. They refused to believe her and ultimately drove her out.”

  Persephone had caught them in the act? Flora was mortified. She thought she’d been so careful.

  “I really can’t believe you did that, Mother,” Sam said, his voice dripping with disgust. “It’s the picture o’ hypocrisy. I can’t imagine what will happen when the rest of the family finds out.”

  A thundering head forced her to lie back down. She hated to show such weakness, but all of her strength had drained out of her, stripping her down to the bone. A tiny, unexpected moan arose from somewhere deep within, and she shielded her face with her arm, as if doing so would also mask her shame. “Are you…going to make the announcement?”

  “No. It’s not my place.”

  A particle of relief ran through her. “Good.”

  “That would be your job.”

  “What?” Another groan escaped, and she sneaked a peek at him from under her arm. “I couldn’t possibly do that.”

  “You can and you will. You have a lot of wrongs to make right.” His voice carried the stiff sternness of a parent censuring a young child.

  She swallowed hard, still hiding her face under the fleshy part of her arm. “It’s no one’s business what happened those many years ago, Samuel.”

  “My foot it’s not!” His shrieking retort gave her a jolt. “How can you say a thing like that? It’s everyone’s business. Criminy, it’s the whole town’s business at this point!”

  She peeked out from behind her arm and saw him rubbing the back of his neck, his posture rigid and unforgiving. She had an urge to reach out her hand to him, even though she knew he wouldn’t take it. He hated her. And how could she blame him? She’d been a terrible mother.

  She gathered air into her lungs, then forced herself to sit up once
more. Sweat beaded her forehead again, so she took a couple of swipes at it with the damp cloth Samuel had given her. “It wasn’t an actual affair,” she said quietly.

  Samuel glared at her. “You kissed a man you weren’t married to. I think that counts as an affair.”

  “I didn’t—I mean, we didn’t…you know…sleep together.”

  “Stop it, Mother. I don’t want to know the details of how far you did or didn’t go. The whole notion of your even kissin’ someone other than Father sickens me.”

  “What about the notion of your father kissing another woman?”

  His shoulders slumped, and he stared at her through disbelieving eyes. “He never would’ve done that.”

  She sat a little taller. “The last time your father kissed me was just after the twins died. He tried to comfort me in my loss, but I refused it. I didn’t know how to deal with the pain, so I lashed out—at him, at you…at everyone, I suppose. In my grief, I let him slip right out from under me, and slip out he did. He started paying visits to MaryLou Hardwick.”

  In the span of two seconds, Samuel’s face went from whitish to ruby red. “You’re tellin’ me my father visited a prostitute?”

  “If you need confirmation, I have substantiating evidence.”

  He eyed her warily. “Like what, exactly?”

  “I have a letter. Shall I get it?”

  He leaned back in the chair, hands gripping the armrests so hard that his fingers turned white as chalk. His blue eyes, deep as the still ocean, took on a darker hue under his thick, tawny brows. My, she’d raised a handsome boy. She hated to see his features contorted by grief, but it was high time he knew the truth.

  “We’ve gone this far,” she ventured. “May as well tell you the whole sordid story.”

  “I told you, I don’t want the details.”

  She rose to her feet. “You may not want the details, Samuel, but now that you know the truth, I need to share them. I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I don’t.”

  29

  Every nerve in Mercy’s body seemed to stand at attention as she paced the floor and wrung her hands, her stomach aflutter. Yes, Sam had said he intended to pay his mother a visit after work, so she hadn’t really expected to see him at the supper table, but now the clock read seven thirty, and she’d started fretting that something wasn’t right. Not normally one to worry, she took in a few gulps of air to relax herself, then walked to the window for the hundredth time. The boys were in the living room, keeping busy with a large box of wooden blocks. In the last hour, Mercy had needed to step in and settle several minor disputes about who was in charge of their little building project. They rarely argued, and she figured their feisty temperaments were mostly the result of Sam’s three-day absence. They’d come to love him very much, evidenced by the way they’d hurtled into his arms at the train station.

  He’d acted so strange ever since their reunion that morning, highly distracted, as if he were hiding some deep agitation. What had he learned from his cousin, and how would it affect their relationship? Perhaps the secret concerned Mercy, and his cousin had urged him to seek a quick divorce. Maybe he’d gone to consult a lawyer after working a few hours and visiting his mother—if he’d done those things at all! She recalled his quick little peck on the cheek, and when allowing herself to analyze it, decided it amounted to little more than a friendly, brotherly kiss. Oh, bother! Why on earth had she given in to those heavenly kisses, only to have to come crashing back to reality? They’d agreed on a marriage of convenience, and that’s exactly what they had—unless he’d already filed for divorce, in which case the marriage would come to a screeching end.

  My, but she could weave a tale when she gave her imagination free rein, and the longer she waited for his return, the wilder the scenario became, until she’d worked herself into a regular whirlwind of emotions. When eight thirty rolled around, she tucked the boys into bed, her worry transforming into outright anger. How dare he make her wait like this! What did he take her for, an old rug he could walk all over?

  When she finally heard the door creak open, she checked the clock. Ten minutes after nine. In her newfound anger, she’d taken up a ball of yarn, determined to finish the blanket she’d been working on for what seemed like years. She heard him kick off his boots and sigh.

  It took all her willpower not to look up when he entered the room. “You can put the paperwork right there on the table,” she said, eyes fixed on the two needles swooping and looping at lightning speed. “After I’ve had a chance to look it over, I’ll sign it, most likely in the morning. Should make for fascinating bedtime reading.”

  “What?” His voice sounded low and croaky, not to mention weary.

  “The papers. I said to put them on the table.”

  “What papers are you referrin’ to?”

  She huffed a heavy breath. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  She heard him scratch his head. “I’ve never seen you knit so fast.”

  “Well, feast your eyes, then.” She cast him the briefest glimpse, not missing a single stitch, and when their eyes connected, she noticed that one of his remained puffy and bruised, but the cut above his eyebrow was healing nicely. She worked faster, winding the yarn around the needle several times, as the pattern called for, then knitting the next stitch with it.

  “What’re you makin’?”

  She sniffed. “A blanket. I’ve been working at it off and on for months.”

  “I see. For those cold Tennessee winter nights, I s’pose.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

  “You might have let me know.”

  “I did tell you I was goin’ out to my mother’s.”

  She knit faster and faster. Yarn forward and over needle; yarn forward and around needle; through the back loop; together; slip, slip, slip, knit three; slip, slip, purl. Two big hands covered hers, forcing her to stop. Her shoulders slumped as her fingers stilled. Here it comes, she thought. “Mercy, I want a divorce.”

  “Wait on the Lord: Be strong, and let thine heart take courage.” Yes, she’d been comforted by Psalm 27 just that morning, but it felt like a million years ago.

  He released her hands and stood up straight. “Lay your knittin’ aside, Mercy. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Still unable to bring herself to look at him, she stuffed her needlework in the burlap bag at her feet. “The papers being the number one item, I suspect,” she muttered.

  His stockinged feet were firmly planted smack in front of her. “What papers?”

  “The divorce papers. You may as well come out with it.”

  “Divorce…what? I don’t want a divorce, Mercy. What made you think a thing like that?”

  Relief flooded her veins like warm water rippling down a narrow valley. Still, she wouldn’t rejoice just yet. She dared glance up at him. “Well, you’d been gone for hours. What was I to think? You got home, ate a quick bite, and then left in such a rush….”

  “Mercy—”

  She batted at the air. “It’s fine, really. I don’t know what I was thinking, expecting anything more from a marriage of convenience.”

  “Come here.” He bent down, took her hands in his, and helped her up. Right away, his arms encircled her, his chin resting on her head.

  With hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his broad back, not because she wanted to but because it would’ve been awkward to leave them dangling at her sides.

  “You’re somethin’ else when you get riled.” She could almost hear his grin, and she didn’t appreciate that he found the whole matter amusing.

  “I’m sorry,” he added. “Will you accept my apology?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Your giving me a good reason why you chose your mother’s company over ours.”

  He set her back from him and tipped her chin up with the tip of his finger. “Rest assured that I would have much prefer
red bein’ with you and the boys tonight. I’ve missed you, Mercy. It’s been three very long, tirin’ days.”

  His eyes were pools of sincerity, and she felt a stab of guilt for having been so angry at him. Still, she wouldn’t rest until she knew the secret. She set her gaze on him, immediately distracted by a tuft of hair curling above his forehead. Oh, but she wanted to test its texture. Gracious, what she wouldn’t do for that sort of freedom. “I…I missed you, too. And the boys kept counting the days till your return. I will confess, though, they had a great deal of fun at Aunt Gladdie’s. She kept them busy helping her in the kitchen, and Mr. Gleason proved a patient tutor, teaching them to milk cows, for one thing. Of course, he pushed them on the swings for hours. The man’s a gentle giant.”

  His hands moved up her arms, then slid down to her waist. A prickle of delight teased her belly. Without warning, he bent and touched his lips to hers, and her calm quickly shattered with an urgent need for more. More. Standing on tiptoe, she melded her lips to his, tightened her arms around his back, and listened to the song welling up in her veins.

  I’m in love. Oh, Lord, I’m so hopelessly in love!

  ***

  Sam ended their kisses while he still had a smidgeon of willpower. Another minute, and he’d be sweeping her up, carrying her to her bed, and claiming his husbandly rights! They’d agreed to kisses only, and he meant to keep his word, if it was the last thing he did. Besides, he had important news to tell her, and he needed his wits intact.

  Flustered, he swept a hand through his hair, then gave his head a slight shake. “You’re gettin’ way too good at this kissin’ game, young lady.”

  “Then why did you stop?” Her voice trembled with disappointment.

  A dry chuckle rolled out of him. “Because it was the smart thing to do. Come on, let’s sit down over here.” He took her by the hand and led her across the room to the divan. “We need to talk.”

  For the next several minutes, he summarized his visit with Persephone and Hank, doing away with all the preliminaries. Then he drew in a breath, wondering if he had the guts to go on but also knowing he had no choice. He angled his body toward her and took both her hands in his, fixing his gaze on her gorgeous, guileless face. “Now brace yourself, Mercy. I’ve got somethin’ to tell you that’ll shock you clear to your toes.”