Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (26 page)

Without hesitation, he leaned forward, and for a moment, they tried to decide which direction to approach from and where to put their noses. It was awkward and amusing at the same time. Her breathing sounded funny, coming out all rough and uneven, and it mortified her that he probably heard it. At first, their lips just barely touched, and the contact made her pull back. “Oh, your lip. It must hurt.”

Even with the swelling, he managed that crooked smile she’d come to love, and raised his hands to cup her face. “I’ll take that chance.” He drew her closer, till the tips of their noses touched, and a tingling sensation raced clear to her twitching toes.

Their lips met for all of three seconds before she drew back again and looked at him, even more breathless than before. “Wow,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “That was nothin’.”

“There’s more?”

This time, he put his arms fully around her, then planted his mouth against hers in a practiced manner—as if he’d kissed a hundred girls before her—and the kiss lingered as their bodies brushed, and she swayed from left to right, experiencing textures and tastes she hadn’t known existed. At first, the kiss was almost timorous, two mouths sampling each other. But then it grew in strength, like waves on a sandy shore, as they played at the kiss, her timid hands coming up to splay across his muscled back, her lips teasing his, trying new angles.

She pressed her palms more tightly to his back and settled herself more snugly against his chest, marveling at their differences—she soft, smooth, and pliable, and he hard, rough, and substantial. That knowledge, while not audibly shared, intensified the kiss, and a kind of eagerness she’d never known fired up inside her.
Oh Lord, my husband has turned me into a ball of mush
was the thought that came to her.
Is there any help for me?

A gentle parting, a searching of eyes, and then a sinking into each other’s mouths once more answered that question. Nope, no help. From this point forward, she would forever know a deep, persistent longing.

This wondrous exploring of mouths ended all too quickly, and when he pulled away to gauge her face, she was certain he saw a pink hue that hadn’t been there earlier. He grinned, looking rather self-satisfied. “That, my dear, is a kiss.”

25

T
o avoid having to explain the roughed-up condition of his face, Sam had retreated to his bedroom before the boys returned from the Hansens’ and even feigned sleep when they knocked on his door. He’d overheard Mercy explaining that he wanted to get some sleep before his trip. It was a shame that he hadn’t gotten to wish them good night or rehash the day’s events with them, but he figured it was worth keeping them ignorant of his participation in the brawl at the community picnic. Some example he was turning out to be! Hopefully his wounds would fade sufficiently by the time he returned from Nashville on Tuesday. He’d at least had a chance to wake the boys in the early hours, when their room was still dark, and kiss them both on the forehead before heading for the train station.

He’d also kissed Mercy good-bye, although the exchange had in no way compared to the passionate kisses they’d shared the night before. He’d feared that if he kissed her like that again, he wouldn’t make it to the train station on time. Good grief, what had gotten into him? The woman had him so entwined around her little finger, he couldn’t figure out how to free himself—not that he felt like trying. Still, she’d made it clear she wanted theirs to remain a marriage in name only, so he’d have to keep it that way—even if it killed him.

After making several brief stops along the way to drop off and pick up passengers, the pulsing locomotive hissed to a stop in Nashville a little after ten in the morning. Sam wondered if he’d recognize his cousin Persephone, or if she’d even be waiting for him at the station. He’d sent her a letter, thanking her for the invitation and announcing his plans to arrive on Sunday morning, also assuring her that she needn’t pick him up till after church—assuming she and Hank attended. He didn’t want to put her out, so he’d offered to stay in a hotel, if that would make matters easier. She hadn’t responded to his letter, but then, he hadn’t expected her to, since she would have received it just yesterday, or maybe the day before. In retrospect, he probably should’ve waited to hear back from her, but she’d been so insistent on his coming right away, he’d assumed she wouldn’t mind. Besides, after yesterday’s fracas, he was even more interested to hear what she had to say on the subject of the feud.

When the train stopped, he straightened his starched collar, tightened the knot in his tie, and buttoned his suit jacket, then ran his fingers through his hair and plopped his hat on his head. He was glad he’d gone to the barbershop a few days ago, taking the boys with him for a long-overdue haircut. His bruised, battered face had gotten him plenty of suspicious stares from fellow passengers; he didn’t need scruffy hair, to boot, or Persephone might very well send him straight back to Paris.

He took up his leather bag, hefted the wide strap over one shoulder, and eased his way into the crowded aisle. Behind him, a child whined that he was hungry, and his mother assured him Grandmother would have breakfast waiting. “Will she have pancakes?” “It’s a good possibility.” “Will Grandpa let me drive his tractor?” “I’m sure he will if you ask nicely.”

Sam smiled at the exchange as they moved along at a snail’s pace. He lowered his head to look out the window at the platform, where a multitude of folks stood waiting, either to greet incoming passengers with hugs or handshakes or to embark on their own journey. Like the lad behind him, Sam’s stomach rattled from hunger. If Persephone didn’t meet him at the platform, the first item on his agenda would be locating a diner.

Gripping the steel handle by the door, he climbed down to solid ground and scanned the crowd. No one looked remotely familiar, so he made his way to the sidewalk, then strolled down the platform till he had passed the locomotive, giving him a full view of the town. There, he took in the scents, sounds, and sights of his new surroundings. He hadn’t been to Nashville for three or four years, and he noticed a few changes: some newly erected buildings, freshly laid brick streets, and electric wires strung overhead to illuminate the place at night—something Paris still lacked. For a Sunday morning, the place was bustling with activity. There were many people milling about, some standing on street corners, smoking, and others darting across the road, dodging streetcars and horse traffic. Church bells clanged noisily nearby, and a whistle pierced the air as another train chugged into the station, four tracks over. In that moment, Sam decided he much preferred the quieter atmosphere and slower pace of Paris.

With the conductor’s raspy pronouncement of “All aboard,” the platform crowd thinned a bit as folks embarked. Sam started for the station, thinking he would grab some coffee and a bite to eat. If Persephone didn’t show up by then, he’d hire a driver to drop him at the Greves’. He probably should have planned on that from the start. He reached inside his jacket pocket, feeling around for the envelope printed with their address.

“Samuel Connors?”

Startled, Sam turned in the direction of the deep male voice. Approaching him was a tall, dapper-looking fellow dressed in a brown tweed suit, shiny leather shoes, and a bowler hat. If it hadn’t been for his pleasant smile, Sam might have assumed the fellow to be pretentious and stuffy.

“Yes?”

The man extended a hand. “Hank Greve. I thought it might be you, the way you were standing there, looking a bit displaced.”

“Yes, yes! Nice to meet you.” Sam shook his hand.

“Persephone sends her regrets for not coming to the station. She’s in a motherly way, and she’s suffering from a bit of a weak stomach this morning.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I can find a hotel, if that would be better.”

“No, Persephone would have my hide if I didn’t bring you home straightaway. She’s eager to see you.”

Sam noticed the man eyeing his bruised face. “Uh, I got in a bit of a scuffle yesterday.” He rubbed his swollen jaw. “It looks a lot worse than it really is.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to see the other guy.”

He scratched his head just above his temple and gave a sheepish grin. “’Fraid he spent the night at the local medical clinic, but don’t worry—you’re safe with me. I promise, I was only defendin’ myself. I’ll tell you and Persephone all about it later.”

“I’ll be interested to hear about that. By the way, she showed me the letter she sent you, and I told her it was high time she unloaded that weight. Good golly, nobody should have to carry around a secret like that for…what’s it been, a dozen years?”

Sam shook his head. “That’s the main reason I’m here. She said she had things she wanted to tell me that she couldn’t put in a letter.”

“She certainly does. Come on, then; my carriage is this way. We’ll have to cut across to the other side. Watch your step around all this horse dung. The street cleaners don’t come out on Sundays till mid-afternoon. Sorry about the stench. Between that and the suffocating train smoke…well, welcome to Nashville.”

Sam chuckled. “I understand.”

“You must be famished. Persephone’s prepared us a late breakfast, although she had to pause and dash outside. Apparently, it’s the bacon that gets to her.”

“Oh.” Sam allowed himself to imagine, for the briefest moment, Mercy carrying a child—his child—how she’d look with a pregnant belly. Of course, it made for a foolish notion, since the terms of their marriage didn’t account for that sort of thing. “Congratulations, by the way,” Sam put in. “Is this your first?”

“Yes, indeed. We’re a little beside ourselves with enthusiasm. She’s not due to deliver till spring, so we’re in for quite a wait. It’ll be my folks’ first grandchild, and they’re more than a little excited themselves.” Hank gestured to the right, toward a cluster of horses hitched to rigs of assorted sizes. “Persephone’s parents don’t know, of course. I’m not certain she’ll clue them in. They aren’t on the best of terms, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” Sam transferred his bag to the other shoulder.

“Can I take that for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

“My carriage is just ahead. It’s a short ride to our home.”

Sam found his cousin-in-law a likable sort, genial and easygoing. “I’m anxious to see Persephone. It’s been years.”

“I’m sure you two will have much to talk about. We want to hear all about your new wife, of course. Persephone remembers her, but with that feud and all…well, you know how it goes.”

Did he ever. It wouldn’t be long now, and maybe—just maybe—Persephone would shed enough light on this ridiculous vendetta to give him a brand-new perspective.

***

Flora descended the church steps, the hot, moist noonday air making sweat droplets form on her brow that would’ve rolled down her face, had she not had her lace handkerchief at the ready.

“My, my, it’s so muggy today,” said Matilda Howard, the preacher’s wife. “Feels like we might be in for a good drenchin’, if those low clouds are tellin’ the right story.”

Flora put on her best smile for the plump woman. “You’re certainly right about that, Mrs. Howard. It’s just plain sticky today, but it didn’t put a damper on the reverend’s fine message, that’s for sure.” Of course, his sermon had been duller than an old kitchen knife.

“Why, thank you! I’ll tell him you said so.”

Flora pressed her handkerchief to her forehead.

“My, that was quite the hullabaloo at the community picnic.”

“Pardon?” Flora pretended not to hear Mrs. Howard, with whom she had no desire to discuss the events of yesterday. All she wanted to do was tell her to climb to the top of Blue Ridge and jump off.

“I said, that was quite a hullabaloo at the picnic,” Mrs. Howard repeated, glancing at Flora from beneath her feather-strewn hat brim. “It’s a sad thing indeed that it had t’ end on such a sour note.”

Flora forced a smile. “Oh, I believe the events of the day had mostly concluded.”

“I suppose so, but—”

“I best be getting home, Mrs. Howard. I’m expecting guests for lunch. Good day, now.”

Of course, she wasn’t expecting a soul for Sunday dinner, but she needed an escape. She made a beeline for her wagon, ignoring the scowls sent from various clusters of her family members still milling about the churchyard. Hadn’t she gotten her fair share of menacing glares during the service? She knew they were put out with her over yesterday’s fiasco, but why they faulted her for starting it was anyone’s guess. If somebody was to blame, it should be that old biddy Agatha Evans, who’d waltzed right up to Flora to announce that her own pie had placed first, while Flora’s wasn’t even a finalist—as if she’d needed enlightening.

She supposed it hadn’t been wise to tell Agatha, in front of God and everybody within earshot, to go bury herself—and to take her pie with her. Insults had been flung back and forth, until someone had struck the first blow—Connors or Evans, Flora knew not. And so it had begun, the infamous altercation that had landed men from both families in either a cell in the sheriff’s office or a cot at Doc Trumble’s clinic.

Reaching her rig, she loosened the reins from the hitching rail and then walked around her horse to the front, preparing to climb up. She’d planted her foot on the bottom step when a deep, rattly voice called out, “Mornin’, Mrs. Connors. Saw your Samuel boardin’ the early train. Looked to be the Nashville line.”

Bringing her foot back down, she turned and saw old Mr. and Mrs. VanKuiken hobbling toward their wagon, arm in arm. “That so?” she asked.

“Yep,” Mr. VanKuiken confirmed. “I was out for my mornin’ stroll. I only see’d him from a distance, but it was ’im, sure ’nough, all spiffed up in his Sunday-go-to-meetin’ attire. Guess he weren’t headin’ f’r church, though. He away on business?”

She bit her lip, doing her best to appear unaffected. “I really couldn’t say, Mr. VanKuiken. It’s not as if I have any bearing on his comings and goings.”

“No, no, I s’pose you don’t, now that he’s married an’ all.” He tipped his hat at her. “Well, you have yourself a fine day, ma’am.”