Stealing Mercy

by Tate, Kristy

  Blind baking is baking a pastry base partially before adding the ingredients. By firming up the pastry base so that it is a little crustier and stronger it can hold moist ingredients without turning soggy during the oven time.

  From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

  “Who is she?” Chloe tapped her foot, folded her arms and wore the same expression as she had ten years ago when she’d discovered he’d painted her cat green. The cat had eaten Chester, the mouse he’d rescued from his grandmother’s traps and had kept hidden in an orange crate in the barn. In Trent’s opinion, Chester had deserved the new fur-do.

  Chloe toyed with her nails and looked like a cat sharpening her claws. “If you refuse to talk, I’ll tell Gram and she’ll wiggle it out of you.”

  “Too late, I’m afraid. I’m sure she’s already heard.” Trent refused to be goaded and sat back against the cushion, watching his sister and waiting for her next ploy.

  Chloe leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She swayed with the rocking coach. “But none of the juicy bits.” Her eyes sparkled with questions. “Or, should I say, bites.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Trent said, trying to dismiss Mercy’s memory.

  Chloe arched her eyebrows. “I think it’s horrible that I had to hear about my own brother’s dalliance from member of the stage crew.”

  “She’s not a dalliance.”

  Chloe leaned back, grinning. “Oh, I see. You really like this one.”

  He wouldn’t comment, but looked out the window and watched the wet world flash by. He hated making Mugs and the horses subject to the weather, but if he waited for a clear day it could be several months and he didn’t want to wait another hour. “She’s helping me look for Rita.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true. She suspects someone is kidnapping girls and taking them to Lucky Island against their will.” He wished his sister didn’t know of Lucky Island, but perhaps ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was just, well, ignorance, and not knowing left her weak and vulnerable.

  That had always been his Gram’s philosophy. Barnyard brains, she called it, insisting that children, male or female, shouldn’t be spared from the beasty side of farm living. Slaughtering, breeding, molting -- as children they’d been introduced to the gritty facts of life. Their unsentimental Gram had served their pet rabbits for dinner and shot the lame horses. He wished he could spare Chloe what he suspected of Rita’s disappearance. He would as long as he could.

  “And you think that’s what happened to Rita?” A much subdued Chloe asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “This girl, will we get to meet her?”

  Trent’s scowled thinking about the brief coach ride he’d shared with Mercy. She’d been quiet and he wondered if he should have apologized for kissing her, although that seemed ludicrous since, theoretically, he’d only been doing what she’d asked. She wouldn’t explain her request. She’d answered his question with her own, “Did you mind?”

  He’d sputtered. It hadn’t been his finest hour, and yet, conversely, it did seem to have been one of the best in his life. He couldn’t think of another kiss he’d enjoyed as completely.

  “You’re not even listening to me.” Chloe stomped her shoe on the toe of Trent’s boot.

  He started, roused from the memory.

  “You’ve obviously met the woman you were enjoying last night.” His sister glared at him and folded her arms. “If she’s as heroic as you claim, I’d like to meet her.”

  He laughed.

  “Has she a name?”

  “I assume.”

  “You’ll either tell me, or I’ll let Gram wrestle it from you.”

  “As I said, I’m sure Gram has already heard and has had a complete dossier ordered.”

  Chloe looked out the window. “Yes, how does she do that? She seems to know every man I’ve danced with before I even get home from the ball.”

  “And she lives seven miles out of town surrounded by horses.”

  Chloe nodded. “It’s as if she has a secret mirror or a crystal ball. She’ll have heard everything she’ll want to know about your latest conquest.”

  Then maybe she can enlighten me, he thought. Mercy certainly wasn’t his conquest. He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was hers. To the victor goes the spoils. What had anyone gained from last night? The rumor mill had new gossip. Trent had a memory that would tease him for countless nights. And what had Mercy gained?

  There were so many things he’d like to know. He suspected there was more to Mercy’s interest in Steele and Lucky Island than moral convictions. She’d wanted to hide her face--why else would she have asked to be kissed? Not that he hadn’t been happy to oblige.

  In fact, he wished she’d ask again.

  *****

  Mercy followed her aunt down the aisle, her head bowed in humility and feigned reverence. She’d chosen to wear her most demure dress, a high necked, long sleeve affair of Dresden blue muslin that screamed of Protestant propriety. Half the pews were already filled as Mercy had hoped. Not too early, not too late, no need to draw any more unnecessary attention. Surely, not all of the parishioners had attended the ball. Only a few could have seen her personal peep show. She slipped into the pew beside her aunt, pulled a bible from its slot and pretended to study. She flipped through the pages and her gaze landed on Psalms 2:12. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Mercy slapped the book shut, her cheeks flaming. Keeping her face lowered, she opened the book again. Psalms 83:16. Fill their faces with shame; that they may seek thy name, O LORD. Mercy closed the book with a small sigh.

  While Aunt Tilly looked around the chapel, smiling and winking at friends and fellow gossips, Mercy kept her head bowed. If not for Tilly and Georgina, she would have pleaded a headache and stayed at home. Looking out from under her lashes, she wondered how many of the congregation knew that she was one half of the kissing couple in the hotel’s garden. Remembering Georgina, Mercy cast a quick glance to the back left pew where Georgina typically sat. She made eye contact with Miles.

  He stared at her from the doorway, looking as if she’d slapped him. He knows, Mercy thought, sinking a little lower in the pew. Eloise, who stood beside her brother, flashed a tell- me-everything-smile at Mercy while towing her brother up the aisle. Eloise pushed Miles into the pew beside Mercy. Then she sat down, reached over and grabbed Mercy’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Talk soon,” Eloise mouthed.

  Beside her, Miles sat as stiff as a totem pole. He picked up a hymnal and radiated self righteous indignation.

  Mercy tried smiling at him, but he refused to look at her. Even when Tilly, the perpetual matchmaker, slid closer to Mercy, causing her to inadvertently bump into Miles, he didn’t smile. He didn’t flinch.

  “So sorry,” Mercy muttered, looking at Mile’s clenched jaw.

  He sniffed.

  While the prayer droned on, Mercy thought about Trent. She knew her heart and head weren’t where they should be. She should be focusing on the worship service, not on Trent. She sighed in relief when the sermon started.

  Tilly shifted in her seat, jostling Mercy. Mercy tried to be steadfast, but she was too slight to not be moved by her aunt’s bulk. Miles gave her hard look.

  Mercy stared at the stain glass window. She felt rather than saw the curious stares of the parishioners. In the quiet lull between the choir and hymn, she imagined whispers. How could she tell any of them, especially her aunt, Miles, and Eloise, that her relationship with Trent was more businesslike than romantic? How could she persuade them when she wasn’t completely convinced herself? She flushed, remembering the kiss.

  Father Klum preached free will while Mercy considered her choices.

  “It is the coward and the fool who says this is his destiny. It is the strong man who stands up and says I will make my own life, follow my own path," Klum said.

  My path has led me to Seattle, Mercy thought. And I don’t
want to leave.

  Steele had never seemed a religious man. She hadn’t feared meeting him in the tiny Episcopal chapel where her aunt attended services, but she ran the risk of meeting him around nearly every other corner.

  “However, we must understand that while we are free to choose, we are not free to choose the consequences of our choices,” Klum continued, pounding his fist on the podium for emphasis.

  She still had her mother’s jewels should she need passage fare. Where could she go? Alaska? San Francisco? Perhaps she could set up a bakery. She missed the pies, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and fruit.

  No. She had, until today’s unfortunate church service, loved living with her aunt. She liked Eloise, Donavan, Miles, Lee and Young Lee, and her work at the shop. If she were honest she’d admit that she enjoyed kissing Trent .

  She hoped it would happen again.

  Intensity shook Klum’s voice. “We are free to act, but we will be held accountable for our actions.”

  Mercy watched Klum from under her lashes. She found his sermon confusing, applicable and true. She couldn’t stay in Seattle without risk. She was still considering the risk when the sermon ended.

  She knelt to pray with the rest of the congregation. She prayed for Tilly, Miles, Eloise, and Trent. She prayed that she’d be able to stay in Seattle and when the prayer ended she rose to find a slip of paper had been left on the pew.

  Was it an answer to her prayer? Or just an address?

  CHAPTER 15

  A solid, firm and yet light pastry shell that doesn’t distort or shrink in the baking is the desired result. Handling the dough gently is the key to success.

  From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

  “So, I’ve heard interesting stories about your little shop girl.” Hester said without looking over her shoulder as she brushed her favorite gelding, Hans, a sixteen hand Arabian stallion. The horse’s flanks quivered beneath her care, but he stood rigid as Hester worked the brush across his hide. Sunlight streamed through the stable window and caught dust mites floating up from the piles of strewn straw. Hester turned Han’s head to stroke his mane until it gleamed black. Then she turned her own head and leveled her gaze at Trent.

  Her eyes, blue and clear, saw everything. Her shoulders bore all their burdens. She’d been strong, resilient and sturdy all his life. While she hadn’t always laughed at his pranks, she had sometimes smiled. And she’d always been a fair and impartial judge when he and Chloe had tried to outfox the other.

  Twice he’d seriously argued with his grandmother. The first time was when he didn’t want to attend the university. He hadn’t seen the need. Letters behind his name wouldn’t make him a successful rancher. He had thought she’d relent, but eventually he understood that just as the education gave him choice and opportunity, it had also bought her time. He considered himself fortunate that he had the choice and opportunity to return to the ranch, even if it wasn’t his, yet. Hester had promised him the ranch if he’d receive his college degree. So, he was a doctor of philosophy and not a ranch owner.

  The second argument was over Chloe joining The Puget Players.

  Trent braced his shoulders, although he hadn’t any doubts about his grandmother’s omniscience, occasionally he had hopes. Hopes that were never realized. She ran the ranch, harvested hay, apples, and bushels of onions, and still had the time and ability to monitor the incomings and outgoings or her posterity.

  Rita being the notable exception.

  Hester slapped Han’s hide, an at ease command, and the horse lowered his head, nickered, and relaxed. “I hope she isn’t distracting you from your purpose,” Hester said, her brow furrowed beneath her straw hat. She gathered up the gear and returned it to the tackle box.

  Trent followed, relieved he didn’t have to discuss his encounter with Mercy Faye and yet unhappy to deliver his unwelcome news. He pulled the jewels from his pocket and he could tell from the flash of pain in his grandmother’s eyes that she recognized them.

  “Where?” she asked, her voice hoarse and thick with unaccustomed emotion. She took a seat on a bale of hay and Trent sat down beside her.

  “In Steele’s safe.”

  She leveled her blue eyes at him. “Was that wise?” She took the jewels and fingered them with a faraway look in her eyes. “How?”

  He flinched under her steady gaze. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter the excuses.

  Hester smiled and looked away. “A bit of bravado for the shop girl?”

  “No.” Trent stood. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  Hester cocked her head at him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling he looked like Old Shep when caught stealing chickens.

  She picked up the bag, poured out the jewels and held them so that they sparkled in the sunlight creeping in through the wide double barn doors. A mare in the next stall neighed in appreciation. “Pretty, aren’t they?” Hester murmured. She returned the jewels to the bag. Her voice dropped in volume. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “No, I don’t.” Trent cleared his throat. “Have you heard of Lucky Island?”

  His grandmother gave him a hard stare, as if to say, of course. He squirmed; he didn’t want to talk to his grandmother about prostitutes or brothels.

  “Mercy knows someone who has been attempting to rescue the girls on the island.” He made his suspicion sound like fact.

  “Mercy, the shop girl.”

  Trent dipped his head.

  “I thought she had nothing to do with this.”

  Trent studied his boots. “I’m hoping she’ll take me to meet these people.”

  “Do the girls wish to be rescued?”

  “Mercy--” he cleared his throat. “It’s believed that perhaps some of the girls had been kidnapped and conscripted.”

  Hester grunted. “Dangerous and frightening. Our Rita?”

  “Perhaps.” Trent had to look away from his grandmother’s pain. “I had suspicions about Steele before Mercy’s,” he paused and felt his face flush, “…involvement,” he finished.

  “So Mercy’s involved. I thought you said she had nothing to do with this.”

  Trent didn’t answer.

  Hester continued. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It seems an odd and perilous mission for a young girl.”

  Trent looked through the door. He wanted to tell his grandmother that Mercy wasn’t that young. He had a sudden vision of how he’d first seen her on the boat, her hair swirling in the wind.

  “So,” Hester interrupted his reminiscing. “You don’t know why Mercy is interested in the Lucky Island girls.”

  “No.”

  “Well, then you must bring her here so that I can ask.” Hester stood, brushed her hands on her overalls and said as casually as if she were asking him to pass the butter, “Bring Rita home and the ranch is yours.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Trussing holds a bird together during a cooking so that it holds an attractive shape.

  Truss with strong string or poultry skewers.

  From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

  Trent spotted her across the busy street. Beyond the horses and wagons, he watched her pause outside a book shop. She turned her head as she contemplated the books, the curls poked from her bonnet trailed down her neck. He remembered kissing where the curls lay, and he resisted the temptation to vault across the muddy street. He knew rumors had to be raging after last night’s garden tryst and her aunt specialized in chitchat. Tilly had mastered and perfected gossip and he wondered how she would juggle the talk of her darling niece. Would she champion her? Defend her? Or would she control her tongue and, for once, keep silent?

  Trent watched Mercy round the corner. He could either go after her, or, he stopped. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to follow. Perhaps she could lead him to her contact.

  He tied Syonsby to a hitching post and began up the sidewalk. Mercy stopped on the corner of Denny and Broadway and looked around before hurrying through the
black wrought iron gates of Denny Park. She looked furtive, nervous and he watched as she slipped behind a mausoleum. He hurried after her, unwilling to let her out of his sight. He wondered if she knew that until just a few years ago, Denny Park had been a cemetery. The city had relocated the majority of the gravesites, but a number still remained. Mercy hid behind the Huntington family obelisk. He could see the hem of her skirt poking out from behind a rhododendron shrub.

  Smiling, he stooped to pick up a small smooth stone and pitched it into a shrub just beyond Mercy. To his surprise, a large pheasant emerged from the bush with a cry and a flurry of feathers.

  He watched Mercy’s face light with astonishment and pleasure as she watched the bird wing into the air. The tail streaked behind.

  “Beautiful,” he said in her ear.

  She didn’t turn, but continued watching the bird. “Yes, it is.” When the bird had turned into a dark speck in the sky, she looked at him. “Did you know it was there?”

  Trent shook his head. “A happy surprise.”

  “And our meeting here?”

  He spread out his hands and laughed. “I could ask you the same question. Are you friendly with the Huntingtons?”

  “The who?”

  “I thought not.” He cleared his throat and read the names etched onto the obelisk. “John, Grace, Meredith, and Robert.”

  Mercy patted her hair back into her bonnet. “I’m afraid I haven’t made their acquaintance.”

  “A pity, seeing as how they’re gone now.” He offered her his arm. “Maybe we could enjoy the park from this side of the veil --”

  Mercy looked flushed and nervous, her eyes flitted around the grounds.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  She tipped her head forward and stepped from her hiding place. “Are you a spiritual man, Mr. Michaels? Do you believe in a life after this one?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”