Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (34 page)

She’d hoped—foolishly, it seemed—for a little commiseration from Clarence and Samuel, the two men who had known Ernest best. But neither of them offered a word of support, so she plowed through the whole tale, sharing almost every sordid detail. Did they think it was easy confessing one’s sinful past in front of God and everyone? Surely, she deserved some tiny morsel of mercy. But her family seemed to disagree.

She forged ahead with her final words of the evening. “I make this…this confession tonight…to tell you that this feud…well, it has to stop.”

“An’ why’s that?” Frank asked, rising to his feet. “Your tale don’t make me hate them people any less.”

“What is it you base your hate on, Cousin?” All eyes fell to Samuel, and Flora felt momentary relief from the piercing stares. “And, to clarify things, this is no tale. It really happened, and it knocks the foundation out from under this feud. It started as an argument over property lines, but all o’ that is long past. The only remainin’ bone o’ contention is Mother’s infidelity with Oscar Evans, and he and my father are both dead. What on earth is there left to fight over?”

“They hate us just as much,” George put in. “What’s to keep them from continuin’ the fight?”

Samuel glanced at Flora before responding. “My mother sent a written confession to Gladys Froeling, with a request that she hold a family meetin’ of her own, at which she was to read the confession aloud. It is Mother’s hope, and mine, that Mrs. Froeling will encourage her relatives to drop the whole matter.”

Flora kept her eyes down, mostly to avoid her family’s accusing glares. She had yet to apologize for her actions, and while she supposed she ought to, she didn’t feel any genuine remorse. Truth told, she wouldn’t have even called this meeting if Samuel hadn’t insisted on it. Why did Persephone have to intrude where she didn’t belong? Speaking of letters, she ought to send her one.
Darling Niece Persephone, Thanks for all the trouble you rained upon your family. Love, Your adoring aunt Flora
.

“Do you have anythin’ else you want to say to the family, Mother?”

“What?” She raised her head at Samuel’s prodding question. “Well, yes, I suppose I do. I…I’m very sorry for all the confusion I’ve caused.”

“Confusion?” George blurted out. “Confusion, Aunt Flora? Don’t you mean deceit? Don’t you mean grotesque lies?”

Her heart thudded. “I never actually li—”

“O’ course you did!” Gilbert shouted. “You been lyin’ for years, makin’ us believe you hated the Evans family, stirrin’ up whatever nest you could to bring down a mountain o’ trouble. Admit it, Flora—y’r nothin’ but a fraud.”

Flora gasped and covered her mouth with her handkerchief.

“Now, Gil,” Clarence started in his level tone, “there’s no cause to get all riled—”

“O’ course there’s cause!” Ella got to her feet, though none too quickly, with all the extra flesh she carried in her midsection. “Here, you been comin’ to my house all these years, talkin’ bad ’bout them Evans folk, and you was almost one of ’em y’rself, by goin’ out on poor Ernest with—with
Oscar Evans
, of all people!”

“Poor Ernest” nothing!
But Flora wasn’t about to reveal his own misdeeds. She didn’t want her family knowing he’d been unfaithful to her. How would that make her look? Why, they’d immediately blame her for failing to give him everything he needed. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from spouting back, then swiped at another insufferable tear. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d allowed herself to cry. It’d been years, to be sure.

“You stood by him at the trial like a loyal wife,” George sneered. “You was probably mournin’ the loss of Oscar more’n you was worried ’bout your husband’s ordeal.”

Several gasps arose around the room.

“All right, that’s enough,” Samuel announced, holding up a hand and forcing a calmer atmosphere. Flora could not have been more grateful. “I think it’s time you all went home and sorted through this thing on your own. Yellin’ at each other won’t accomplish anything.”

“That’s right,” said Hester. “Let’s all take our leave.” Hester had always been kind to Flora, but never overly so. Even now, her sister-in-law avoided looking at her; she merely rose with the rest of the family and made her way to the door. Clarence’s family had always kept mostly to themselves, maintaining peace at all costs. If she’d ever needed support, Gilbert and Ella were the ones she’d turned to. Now, she had no one. Her own sister had put distance between them, and in a few days, Mable would catch a train with Henry to spend three months visiting his brothers and sisters out West. What on earth was Flora to do?

Everyone, including Samuel, filed out wordlessly, closing the door with a click that gave her a jolt. Immediately an overwhelming sadness tackled her senses and nearly bowled her over. Still, she would not cry any more than the two tears she’d already shed—no, sir, not even in the privacy of her own home. She was Flora Connors, after all—resilient and unruffled.

***

Sam walked into the cool evening air, listening to the unbridled fuming of a number of his relatives as they headed down the sloped yard toward the hitching posts. The night sky twinkled with the first stars, and a full moon rose over the treetops.

Uncle Clarence helped Aunt Hester climb aboard the wagon, then swiveled on his heel to face Sam. “Well, I’d say that went over as well as it could have.” He tipped his head toward Gilbert and Ella, who stood in a circle with their kids, yammering away.

“I’m just glad your own family is more subdued.” He gave his uncle a pat on the arm. “Thanks for makin’ the trip.”

Pete leaned down from the wagon. “You call on me if you have need of anything, you hear?”

“Thanks, Pete.” Sam nodded. “I appreciate that.”

His uncle released a slow sigh. “Well, we best get movin’. I’ll be seein’ y’ in the mornin’, bright an’ early.”

Sam slapped him on the back, then watched him climb aboard the rig. Once settled next to his wife, he inclined his head at Sam. “It’d be best if you could find it in y’r heart to forgive your mother.”

Sam restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “I’d prefer we not talk about that just yet.”

“He’s right, Clarence.” Aunt Hester swatted her husband’s arm. “Leave ’im be.”

Uncle Clarence wagged his head, then maneuvered his wagon toward the gravel road, the vehicle pitching and swaying on the bumpy path.

Once they vanished from view, Sam set his gaze on Uncle Gilbert and his bunch, still clustered together, their mouths all flapping at once. Hopefully the piece of news he had yet to share would silence them, at least for a little while.

“Thanks again for comin’ out,” he said, breaking into their private prattle.

They all lifted their heads and gawked at him, as if he had no business interrupting. Uncle Gilbert grumbled under his breath.

“What’s that, Uncle?”

“I said, we’d have been better off stayin’ home.”

“Maybe so, but then you’d have found out another way. This sort of news won’t stay contained.”

“Pfff. It’s plain disgustin’, is what it is.”

“Yeah, an’ disheartenin’, too,” Frank said. “I always had great respect for Aunt Flora. Now I ain’t so sure.”

Sam didn’t know how a fellow could respect someone who encouraged constant bickering between two families. His mother had been at the center of almost every dispute. What a fraud. “I’m not about to disagree with either of you, but I didn’t come over here to discuss my mother when she’s not here to defend herself. I do have somethin’ to tell you, though.”

Aunt Ella cocked her gray head to the side. “What else could there possibly be to tell?”

“I went to see Persephone a couple of weeks ago.”

Uncle Gilbert’s head shot up. “What’d you do that f’r?”

“She invited me. Said she had somethin’ important to tell me. She’d heard I’d married Mercy, and she wanted me to know the real reason we’ve been fightin’ with the Evans clan for so long. If it hadn’t been for Persephone, who knows how long we would’ve been at each other’s throats?”

“So, she wasn’t lyin’ when she told us she seen them two kissin’,” Frank said quietly.

“No, she wasn’t,” Sam affirmed.

“You kicked her out, Pa,” George said.

Uncle Gilbert looked down and scuffed at the ground with his shoe. “Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s about time you go make things right with her,” Frank tacked on.

Uncle Gilbert sneered. “Listen to you, Mr. I-Never-Make-No-Mistakes.”

“Hush up, both o’ you,” Aunt Ella ordered. She looked at Sam, her eyes softer. “You said she’s well?”

Sam nodded. “She is. She found herself an excellent man in Hank Greve.”

“I ain’t convinced ’bout that,” his uncle groused.

“Then I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself one o’ these days.” Sam shrugged. “You should know that Persephone misses you and said she’d like to have you back in her life at some point—when you’re ready, o’ course.” He paused. “She’s expectin’ a baby.”

Aunt Ella gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

For the first time since his mother’s announcement, they all stood mute, gawking.

Frank spoke first. “My little sister’s gonna have a baby?”

“She sure is,” Sam affirmed. “She looks right fine, too.”

“Is she feelin’ well?” Aunt Ella asked, her eyes moist with tears.

“Uh, most of the time.” He smiled to himself, recalling how sick she’d been that first day of his visit.

“Thank you for passin’ on the message, Samuel.” She glanced at Uncle Gilbert. “Even if my husband refuses to join me, I have some apologizin’ to do to my daughter.”

Uncle Gilbert’s head jerked up. “I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout refusin’ to go.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The family bid Sam good-bye, then climbed into Uncle Gilbert’s wagon, keeping up their quibbling as they pulled away from the house. As he’d done with Clarence and his clan, Sam watched until they’d disappeared around a bend in the road. He inhaled until his lungs burned with fullness, then slowly let his breath back out, feeling a bit of tension fly out, too. He didn’t know whether to thank the Lord that the ordeal had ended or repent for not showing more compassion while his mother had stumbled and stammered through her pathetic, remorseless profession. Her apology had come out sounding insincere, if not forced. He shook his head several times, then bent to retrieve a small stone and threw it, his target any tree in the thicket behind the house. Until she demonstrated true regret for her actions, he didn’t hold out much hope for having any sort of relationship with her.

“She’ll die a lonely old woman,”
Mercy had said.

Well, so be it.

He turned on his heel and headed back toward the house, kicking up dust with every step. Across the yard, he spotted Virgil Perry’s large frame leaning in the doorway of the barn, a stogie sticking out the side of his mouth, the light of a kerosene lamp behind him outlining his bulk. He kept his head angled down, the brim of his hat low, to avoid acknowledging Sam.

Seeing him reminded Sam of his one remaining job. He adjusted his hat and turned toward the barn. “Evenin’, Mr. Perry,” he said, taking care not to put a drop of warmth in his tone.

Virgil lifted his head and feigned surprise. “Well, hullo there, Samuel.” He tipped his hat at him. “I see the Connors folk had a big shindig tonight. Didn’t last too long, though.”

“Nope, it didn’t.”

The man shifted his weight. He knew something was up. “Everythin’ all right?” He blew out a puff of smoke.

“Nope.”

Silence prevailed for five long heartbeats, while two sets of eyes bored deep into each other. “Say y’r piece,” Virgil finally stated, unmoving.

“I intend to. It’ll only take a moment of your time. You ready?”

The fellow’s lip curled up in the corner as he made slits of his piercing eyes. “Yeah.”

“Two words: You’re fired.”

Virgil gave a humorless smile but failed to hide the little twitch in his shoulder. “You can’t do that. Your mother calls the shots.”

“Sorry, in this case, I’m callin’ ’em. I’m tellin’ you y’ got till tomorrow mornin’, eight o’clock at the latest, to get your sorry backside off this property.” He returned the cold smile. “And don’t be thinkin’ ’bout comin’ back here with some fancy lawyer. It won’t do you any good, seein’ as the sheriff’s already onto you—as is Judge Corbett. Yeah, I paid each o’ them a little call a couple o’ days ago. Mother informed me of the bribes, Perry. The game’s over, and the deep, dark, ugly secret’s out, so you got nothin’, you hear me? It’s over.”

Virgil stared, unspeaking, and raised a hand to scratch his stubbly jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout.”

“Uh-huh.” It took all his strength not to knock the fellow off his feet. “Get this through your thick, bony head, then. You’re lucky you’re not headed for the state pen. Blackmail’s a crime, Perry. I thought you were smart enough to know that. Apparently not. Now, the good news is, we’re not pressin’ charges—not at this point. You cause us any trouble, though, an’ you’re history.”

For the first time, Virgil showed his nerves when he licked his lips and swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping like a fish at a mayfly. He dropped his cigar and ground it out with his boot. “I’ll pack my gear.”

Sam took great care to keep his voice calm and steady. “That’s good, Virgil. That’s real good.” He started to head for the house, then paused and said over his shoulder. “I’d skedaddle real fast, if I were you. Might want to start makin’ tracks before dawn. Never can tell what Sheriff Marshall’s thinkin’.”

When he turned again, he heard the man do a fast shuffle.

34

S
am had not gone out to see his mother even once since the family gathering, and Mercy feared the wall would one day grow too thick and high to ever come down. Moreover, she didn’t like that he refused to talk about it, always clamming up whenever she suggested he at least try to make amends. Oh, but it was hard following the reverend’s advice when it came to holding her preaching to a minimum. Yes, his mother might die a lonely old lady, but she didn’t want to watch Sam evolve into a grumpy, coldhearted old man.