Acts of Mercy: A Mercy Street Novel

by Mariah Stewart

  “Why? Was she awful?”

  “No, she was lovely, she was a very nice woman. But I felt like I was being unfaithful to Carly. Like I’d be betraying her memory if I let myself be attracted to someone else. After dinner was over, I couldn’t wait to drive her home. I dropped her off and came straight back to my parents’ place and Mom and I had a few words over the whole thing. I told her I didn’t appreciate her trying to set me up, and she told me she didn’t appreciate the fact that I was rolling over and playing dead, that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life alone, that there was still light and music to be had.” Sam smiled. “Her words: light and music.” He added, “I was certain she was wrong. I’d just finished traveling through a dozen countries, and there’d been no one I’d felt a connection to. Until now.”

  He sat up and put an arm around her shoulders. “I hadn’t felt the light or heard the music until now.”

  “So are you saying you’re feeling connected, Sam?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  Fiona smiled. “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Sam laughed softly.

  She leaned against him and rested her forehead against the side of his head, and they sat together on the steps for a while.

  Finally, Fiona said, “So what are you going to do, Sam? Are you sticking with the new job, or are you coming back to the Bureau?”

  “I like the Mercy Street Foundation. I like the concept. I like and admire Robert Magellan and the fact that he’s willing to use his fortune for the greater good. You know, he’d offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to Ian’s return. He’s splitting it between the Sisters of St. Anthony and Barbara Cooper, the woman who owned the cabin. He’s a man of his word, and I respect him for that. The world could use more people like him.”

  “I hear a but in there somewhere.”

  “But—I think I belong with the Bureau.”

  “John will be happy to hear that,” she told him. “He’ll take you back like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “He already has.”

  “Seriously? You’re coming back?”

  “After I talk to the others there in Conroy, yeah. I’m coming back.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”

  “So I thought maybe we should do something to celebrate,” he told her. “I picked up a bottle of champagne on the way over.” He reached behind him on the porch and held up a tall bag.

  “That’s a good start.” She stood and took his hand. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Why don’t we go inside and break it open, and dance a little to that music your mama was telling you about …”

  THIRTY

  What should I do, Trula? He won’t come near me.” Robert’s agony was written all over his face.

  “It’s going to take time, son. The women from Children’s Services said we should expect this,” she said softly. “He doesn’t understand where he is or why he’s here, and where … where his mother is.”

  “She isn’t his mother. She never was.” His eyes darkened.

  “He doesn’t know that, Rob.” He started to protest and she held up a hand. “You may not like it, but that’s the truth of it.”

  Robert sat with his arms resting on the kitchen table. Ian was clearly a very unhappy, lost little boy, and it broke Robert’s heart. He’d never imagined his son’s homecoming to be like this. Ian cried all the time he hadn’t been sleeping on Susanna’s lap on their flight back from Erie, and he’d been crying since they set foot in the house. Now, even Susanna wasn’t able to comfort him.

  “I feel really helpless,” Suse told him. “I don’t know what he likes to eat.” She looked at Trula. “What do two-year-olds eat, anyway?”

  “They can eat pretty much what you do, only cut smaller, softer.”

  “He has to be hungry,” Susanna said. “He hasn’t had anything to eat all day. I tried to give him soup, I tried pudding, I tried crackers, but he pushed everything away except the milk I gave him, and he was not happy because I didn’t let him hold the glass himself.”

  “We’ll have to run out and pick up some supplies,” Trula told him. “Sippy cups and toys and so on.”

  “His old toys are still up in his room,” Robert reminded her. “Maybe we should try one of those. I’ll run up and get something that he used to like. Maybe he’ll remember—”

  “He was only three months old when he left,” Trula reminded him, “so don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t seem to recognize anything.”

  Robert nodded and headed up the back steps to the second floor.

  “Shhhh, Ian, shhhh,” Susanna tried to comfort him. “It’s going to be all right, baby.” Ian continued to wail. “I know, I know. It’s hard for you right now. But you’re back with your daddy who loves you …”

  The back door opened and Chloe came in, wiggling a long red piece of yarn behind her to lure Foxy inside.

  “Why is that baby crying?” She stopped in the doorway.

  “His name is Ian, and he’s crying because he’s in a place that is strange to him,” Susanna told her. “He’s very unhappy right now and we’re not sure what to do to make him happy.”

  “I know what will make him happy.” Chloe skipped across the kitchen floor. “Foxy will make him smile. She makes me smile.”

  She went to Susanna and tugged gently on Ian’s foot.

  “Do you want to play with the kitty, Ian?”

  At the sound of her voice, Ian turned his head. She held up the bright red string and dangled it in front of him, and he stopped crying.

  “See?” she said. “He wants to play.”

  Chloe sat on the floor and wiggled the string in front of the kitten. It stood on its hind legs to bat at it, and Ian struggled to get down. He toddled to Chloe and plunked himself down on the floor.

  “Here, Ian. Hold the string like this.” She held it between two fingers to show him. When he reached for it, she helped him to hold it, then told him, “Hold it up in the air. Yes, like that. See … Foxy likes playing with you.”

  Ian laughed for the first time that day.

  Robert came into the room, holding several stuffed animals, a ball, and a pile of books. “I wasn’t sure what he might—”

  The sound of Ian’s laughter stopped him in his tracks.

  “What happened?” he whispered to Susanna.

  “Chloe.” She pointed to the floor where the two children sat playing with Foxy. “Chloe happened.”

  “Do you think maybe if I sat down there with him …?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Chloe,” Robert said, “do you think I could play with you and Ian?”

  “Sure, but you have to wait your turn for the string. Right now, Ian has it, then it’s my turn again. But then it could be your turn.”

  “Okay.” He sat on the floor next to his son, not close enough to make the child move away, but near enough that he could catch the scent of him. “I don’t mind waiting my turn …”

  “Am I too late for breakfast?” Kevin came into the kitchen from the front of the house.

  “You’re right on time.” Trula pointed to a pile of waffles she’d just plated. “Grab a plate and help yourself.”

  “Whoa.” Kevin stopped in his tracks and pointed out the window to the back patio.

  Ian sat in the high chair they’d bought for him long ago, a bright blue sippy cup in one hand, a piece of waffle in the other. Susanna sat on one side, and Robert sat on the other.

  “That’s quite a different scene from the one I left last night,” Kevin said.

  “It was touch and go for a while,” Trula agreed, “but things have calmed down. There’s still a long way to go, but I think it’s going to work out okay in the end.”

  “How’d things go last night? Did he sleep?”

  “He slept between Robert and Susanna on Rob’s bed. On top of the covers, I should add.” She smiled slyly. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see t
hat change. Your cousin is blind where Susanna is concerned. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see she’s in love with him.”

  “Even I knew that.” Kevin nodded.

  “Really? You saw it, too, all this time?”

  “All this time.” Kevin helped himself to coffee. “Maybe he’ll wake up one of these days.”

  “They make a beautiful family, don’t they?” Trula sounded wistful.

  “They look like they belong together.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  “Exactly.” Kevin smiled and sipped his coffee. “Exactly what I was thinking …”

  Acts of Mercy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2009 by Marti Robb

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-51510-0

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.0