Mercy Me

by Margaret A. Graham

  Just as Clara started clapping, from across the hall came a loud and long drumroll! I wondered if those kids heard my speech and liked it.

  Well, that night the women filed outside without asking one question. But Clara hugged me and Thelma murmured, “Thank you, Esmeralda.”

  When I started out, I didn’t know I would win, but I had won hands down! The W.W.s are good Christian women, and once they face the truth, they do what’s right. Oh, we have flare-ups now and then, but there’s enough of them on the side of the truth to prevent any big eruption.

  Boris was safe. Thank the Lord.

  As I was coming in the back door of my house, I could hear the phone ringing. It was Beatrice. I had plum forgot about her.

  “What is it, Beatrice?”

  “It’s that man.”

  “What man?”

  “Carl, the one with the pigtail.”

  “Oh?”

  “Esmeralda, he come right out and asked me to go bowling with him. Of course, I flat out refused, but I’m afraid he’ll keep pestering me, driving me up the wall.”

  “He might,” I said. “Of course, you need to know more about him. Is he married?”

  “No. He don’t wear a wedding ring.”

  “Beatrice, that don’t tell you a thing! A man can slip off a wedding ring and not put it back on until he’s home again.”

  “Well, I don’t know how to find out if he’s married or not, but I tell you frankly, I don’t care. I just want him to leave me alone.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give it some thought and write you a long letter. I’m too tired tonight, but maybe after I get my work done tomorrow, I can sit down and—”

  “You needn’t to bother. I am not going out with him. Can’t you just see me making a fool of myself trying to bowl?”

  Yes, I could see that—her throwing the ball and sliding down the alley after it on her backside.

  “I told him I couldn’t lift one of those bowling balls, and he said we’d use duckpins. What are duckpins?”

  “They’re smaller balls. You can lift them. Now, Beatrice, don’t be too hasty. Remember I told you I’ve been praying the Lord would bring someone across your path who would be a friend. Let’s find out more about Carl before we make up our minds about him.”

  I don’t think she heard me. “One other thing, Esmeralda. Jim and Sadie brought the plate back and said they liked the pie. They didn’t sit down because they were going out to eat. They asked me if I would like to go with them, but I said no, because I already had my meal fixed.”

  “Well, now, Beatrice. That wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe I’ll find the energy to make another pie and take it up to them.”

  “You do that, Beatrice. I need to go to bed. It’s been a busy day.”

  “Okay,” she said, and we hung up.

  I helped myself to a bowl of butter-pecan ice cream and took it out on the porch to get cooled off before going to bed. What a day it had been! I knew I couldn’t stand many more like it.

  I had lost interest in the streetwalker, but I did look to see if she was down there. She wasn’t.

  With the ice cream taken care of, I went inside and got ready for bed. Before turning out the light, I looked down at the streetlight again. The woman still had not shown up.

  I slept pretty well, but I got up a couple of times in the night to go to the bathroom. Every time I got up, I checked the streetlight. The woman didn’t show up all night long. Maybe she’s found another territory, I thought.

  12

  All the next day, I thought about what I should write to Beatrice. When I had it all thought out, I sat down and did it. Here’s what I wrote.

  Beatrice, about that fellow Carl, forget about the pigtail for a minute. That can wait. What you need to know right up front is: Is this man a Christian? No need to ask him because whether or not he is he will say he is and you won’t know anything more than you knew before. The only safe way to find out is to watch the way he lives. Check out his language. “Holy hearts make holy tongues,” Splurgeon says. If he can’t say nothing good about other people his heart is not right. Does any corrupt communication come out of his mouth like off-color remarks or swear words? If so, drop him like a hot potato.

  If he passes those tests, the next thing is: Is he honest? It won’t do to just ask him what he would do if he found a wallet with a lot of money in it. To impress you, a liar would give the right answer. You have got to blindside him.

  I scratched that last sentence; Beatrice wouldn’t know what it meant.

  Get him talking about high taxes and ask him what’s the best way to get around paying them. Most men can give you a list of smart ways to cheat the government. If he gives a straight answer, something like, “I wouldn’t know about that,” he is one in a million. Men can’t stand admitting they don’t know something.

  If you determine that he is a Christian, the next thing may not be necessary but with things the way they are nowadays it won’t hurt to check it out. You want to make sure he is not a married man. As I told you on the phone, not wearing a wedding ring is no proof whatsoever a man is not married.

  The way to tell if a man is married is easy. If he has a decent haircut chances are a wife is back of it. Since Carl has that pigtail you might consider it a pretty good sign he is not married.

  If a man is heavy into aftershave and wears a lot of jewelry, he is a man on the prowl, single or married.

  A married man is not available at all times. If he has to pick and choose when he can see you it’s because he has to find a time when his wife is too busy to notice—she’s out of town, at a meeting, or in the hospital. A married man has to touch base at home whenever his wife expects him to so he can’t always plan ahead. If he can’t stay long, chances are she’s on to him and he’s afraid she’ll catch him.

  If he won’t take you to public places where he is likely to be seen with you or if he never introduces you to anybody he knows, he is a married man.

  A married man does not have sense enough to play hard to get. That’s because he is more interested in getting you than in you getting him. He will brag about what he’s got, where he’s been, and the big plans he has for making his next million. As Splurgeon says, “He that is full of himself is very empty.” Such a man will do all the talking to keep you from asking questions. If you do get a word in and ask if he is married, he will lie flat out or tell you some sad story about how his wife left him for his best friend and broke his heart. Don’t believe a word of it.

  She’s probably at home with his kids trying to pay all the bills he has run up.

  Another thing. If Carl is in the termite business, don’t expect him to have a lot of money to spend. If he does throw money around, look out, he has got something on the side. No telling what, gambling maybe. Or he is head over heels in debt.

  Find out if he has a neat little lunch in a lunch pail. If he does, he lives with his mama. He is not the marrying kind. Of course, marrying is not something you have in mind either, just friendship, right?

  Now to help you get started, since you don’t cotton to bowling, next time he asks, turn the tables on him. Invite him to go to church with you. If he is quick to accept and don’t ask what church you’re going to before he agrees to go, that tells you he is not one of them narrow-minded “we the only church has got the truth” kind of believers. You will feel safe with him in church and besides it will give the women something to talk about. Ha! Ha!

  I read that letter over three times before I mailed it.

  Over a week went by, and I had not heard a word from Beatrice. I tell you, curiosity was about to kill this cat!

  And every night I looked for that prostitute to show up, but she never did. I figured Horace got word to her somehow about my corner being watched and she had staked out a place in another part of town.

  I thought a lot about that woman, and I prayed for her, bu
t I just didn’t understand why she sold her body when she could be working at an honest job. Standing on a street corner in all kinds of weather, begging men to have their way, well, to me, that would be hell on earth. Not to mention the fact that such a life was sure to lead to hell below. I knew some hookers made good money, but I’d beg before I’d do that.

  Another week went by. The only important thing I got done took a giant step of faith. I saw in the want ads that somebody was selling a used tiller. I prayed about it, and since I hadn’t been able to find one before, I figured this must be it.

  That tiller looked brand new. I couldn’t find one thing wrong with it. When I asked the owner why she was selling it, she said her husband had died and she couldn’t handle it no more. I was satisfied the tiller was a good buy, so I paid down on it. The woman said she’d keep it in her garage and give me thirty days to come up with the rest of the money. Well, I’d have to ask the Lord for that.

  Paying for the tiller was the easy part; finding some kind of vehicle to haul it in was the hard thing. If worse came to worse, poor Elijah would have to make a wagon he could pull himself. I hated to think we might come to that.

  The rest of the week all I did was stake tomatoes, wash the car, scrub the front porch, and cut the grass. Oh yes, I peeled and canned a bushel of peaches, made a couple of jars of peach pickle, and took some to Mrs. Purdy.

  Little did I know the Lord was giving me a week’s rest for what lay ahead. If I had known before what the Lord had in mind for me to do, I might’ve gone AWOL.

  13

  At the crack of dawn, somebody was knocking on my back door. I opened it, and there stood Elijah!

  “Elijah! What in the world? Come inside, come in here.”

  He took off his cap and came in the kitchen.

  “You walk all the way up here, or did somebody bring you?”

  “No’m, I walked.”

  I poured him a cup of coffee and put in some sugar and milk. He liked plenty of sugar and milk. “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  “No’m. We ain’t got time for that.”

  I was holding the frying pan in my hand and looking at him, waiting for him to tell me what was up. “What’s the matter, Elijah?”

  “Missy, there’s something you got to help me with.”

  He didn’t touch the coffee.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see. We got to go now.”

  I put the frying pan away, took off my apron, and got my keys. “Where we going?”

  “To my place.”

  We got in the Chevy. I cranked her up, and we rolled down the driveway. I knew this was some kind of emergency, but when Elijah said, “We got to hurry,” I got downright alarmed. It had never been his nature to hurry. Had his house caught on fire? Was one of those children plays around his place hurt?

  At that early hour, there was nobody much on the road. Although I am not one to break the speed limit, I broke it that morning. There is a straightaway beyond town, and I gunned it—that Chevy was wide open. Elijah propped both his hands on the dash, bracing for the curve up ahead. As we rounded the bend, tires squealing, Elijah said, “Slow down.” I thought he was just scared, but as we approached what looked to be somebody’s lane, he said, “See that road up a ways? Turn in there.”

  I slowed down. “Aren’t we going to your place?”

  He just grunted.

  It wasn’t much of a road, only two good ruts. It looked to be the same road Clara took by mistake the day we brought stew beef and rice to Elijah. I remembered now how we rocked along in them ruts until we landed alongside the railroad trestle above Elijah’s place. That’s where we first saw those little children.

  “Something happened to them kids?” I asked Elijah.

  He shook his head.

  In a few minutes we pulled up alongside the siding with the boxcar on it. “Stop right here, Missy,” Elijah said, so I did. Those three children were all sitting in the open door of the boxcar, eating Vienna sausage out of the can. As soon as they saw Elijah, they scrambled down and came running to the car. Elijah got out and picked up the little girl. By the time I got out the car, the boys had wrapped their arms around his legs and didn’t look like they would let go anytime soon. Elijah looked back at me and motioned with his head.

  I followed him to the boxcar. He put down the little girl and disengaged himself from the boys. “She’s in here,” he said.

  “She?”

  Elijah grabbed hold of the side of the door opening, swung up, and reached a hand down to me. The boxcar was dark, and I couldn’t see nothing for a minute or two. Then I made out what looked like a pile of rags in the corner.

  “This lady is real sick, Missy. I’m scairt she’s a-fixin’ to die.”

  “Who is she, Elijah?”

  He didn’t say, but it was plain to me she was the mother of those little children.

  “What’s her name?”

  “I dunno, Missy.”

  I felt her forehead; it was hot as blue blazes. I tried to wake her up. “Lady? Lady?” But she kept right on breathing shallow and sleeping. I lifted one of her eyelids, and that eyeball looked like glass. Then I felt for her pulse but couldn’t find it. Upon my word, her wrist was no bigger around than a broomstick.

  “We got to get this girl to emergency quick as we can.” I looked up at him. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Missy. Them’s her chillun.”

  I had gathered that much, but I figured this was not the time to find out all I wanted to know. We had to get moving!

  “Elijah, help me get her to the car.”

  With so little meat on her bones, she was light as a feather. While I climbed down out the boxcar, Elijah held her in his arms, then lowered her down to me. In the daylight she looked like somebody out of one of them concentration camps, her eyes sunk back in her head, her lips drawn back over her teeth. She was a young woman, but the sickness aged her in the face. And all that lifting and carrying her to the car didn’t rouse her one bit.

  We managed to lay her down in the backseat. “The children can ride up front,” I said, and we piled in. Elijah put the oldest boy in the middle and the other two children on his knees. None of them were old enough to go to school. I figured she must’ve had one baby right after the other.

  As we eased down the rutted road, my mind was racing. The nearest hospital was twenty miles away in Carson City. We’d have to drive like crazy to get there. The woman would not have insurance—I didn’t even have a name to give them at the desk. Without some kind of ID, medical information and such, the hospital would never admit her. That is, if we make it to the hospital in time. We could lose this girl before we get to there.

  I looked back to see if she was still breathing. She was. Then I looked at the children. They were dark skinned and had black eyes—just about the prettiest little things I ever seen. The youngest of the three, the girl, was nestled against Elijah’s right arm, sucking her thumb, and the boys were teasing each other. Elijah laid his hand on one boy’s head, and the teasing stopped.

  Once we got down the dirt road and turned onto the highway, I gunned it! Believe you me, I pressed the pedal to the metal, and we were flying with me leaning on the horn passing every car, truck, and vehicle on the road. I was thinking, Lord, I hope Dr. Elsie is making rounds in the hospital when we get there.

  As we were coming into Carson City, I had to slow down for an intersection. I glanced back and could see the woman was still alive. “Elijah, tell me what you know about this situation.”

  He waited until the light changed and I was weaving in and out of the traffic before he answered. “Well, Missy, they just straggled along that trestle one day, this young lady and her little’uns. Found that old boxcar and set up in it.”

  “Where’s the daddy?”

  “I never seen a man about.”

  “You don’t know her name?”

  “No’m. Don’t none of them speak English.”

 
; “Must be Mexicans. Was she working in town before she got sick?”

  Elijah took so long to answer, I thought he didn’t hear me.

  “I say, did she work in town before she got sick?”

  “I reckon she did,” he said and clammed up so as to discourage me from asking anything more. But I had to know.

  “What do you mean, you reckon she did?” I asked.

  “Well, Missy, she worked nights.”

  “At night? Where?”

  Elijah turned his face away from me toward the window.

  “You say she worked at night, Elijah?” I pressed.

  “Well, Missy, before she got down sick, of an evening, after the chillun were asleep, she’d slip out and be gone till almost daylight.”

  That’s all I needed to know. The woman laying on my backseat was none other than that streetwalker!

  “She’d leave those children up there all by theirselves?”

  “She knew I was close by. I looked in on them from time to time.”

  We were getting near the hospital. “I guess she slept all day?”

  “No’m. She didn’t sleep a lot. Stayed awake as long as she could lookin’ after the chillun, but here lately she’s been so sick, they been playin’ around my place.”

  When we pulled up at the emergency entrance, I hopped out of the car and went in to get a wheelchair. An orderly and a nurse were dispatched to bring in the patient, while I stood at the desk to fill in the papers.

  I had to make up a name. The only Spanish name I could think of was Carmen Miranda, so I wrote that and gave her age as twenty-three. What difference does it make? I thought. I didn’t have time to answer a lot of questions.

  “Does she have Blue Cross?” a big fat nurse asked me.

  “I can’t tell you that, and the patient’s too sick to say, but don’t worry about the bill, it’ll be paid. Just get Dr. Elsie in here quick as you can. I got to make a call.”

  An orderly and the other nurse had rolled the wheelchair inside and were lifting that poor sick girl onto a gurney. I glanced out the door to see if Elijah and the children were okay, and they were. He had them sitting on a bench. Looked like he was entertaining them with a piece of string, making a cat’s cradle or something. I knew I would have to move the car directly, but right then I had to get in touch with Pastor Osborne.