Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) (35 page)

Aunt Gladys had been kind enough to host a family gathering at which she read aloud Flora Connors’ confession and apology for her moral failure with Oscar Evans. Mercy had declined attending, not wishing to hear her father’s name soiled even further. She certainly didn’t condone his actions even one particle, but hearing the matter rehashed with her relatives didn’t sound appealing.

According to Aunt Gladdie, the evening had gone as well as could have been expected—and that was all the summary Mercy had needed to know that the upheaval had been every bit as tense as it’d been at Flora’s place, from the sound of Sam’s report. Her aunt had also decided to deal with Uncle Fred and his catnapping prank in front of an audience. Apparently, while her family had thought nothing of involving themselves in a fistfight with the Connorses, bringing innocent children into the melee didn’t sit well with anyone. Mercy had actually laughed when her aunt had relayed the family’s censure of Fred for pulling such a dirty trick on two innocent children who’d just lost their parents. “You nabbed their kitten?” Aunt Aggie had shrieked. “I always knew you was a low-down fool, Fredrick Evans, but I didn’t take you for a snake in the grass!” After she’d spouted off, she’d picked up a large volume from Aunt Gladdie’s bookshelf and cracked it over his head.

Of course, Mercy had yet to receive any sort of apology from Uncle Fred. Frankly, she didn’t expect one. Besides, it was the boys he owed it to, and she certainly didn’t want him bringing the matter up with them. Best all around to put the whole thing behind them.

It was a sparkling Saturday, and Sam had taken the boys to play at a nearby park that had exactly one rusty slide, two swings, and a rickety bench. What it really had of value, though, was wide-open space, big enough for running long distances, hitting fly balls, and practicing batting techniques. Sam had invited Mercy along, even coaxed her to come, but she’d declined, claiming she had a list of household chores needing attention—bureau drawers to sort through and organize, floors to mop, and baking to do. None of it was extremely urgent, but she wanted the boys to have Sam all to themselves. They needed it, and she figured he did, as well.

Before long, delightful smells filled the kitchen: fresh-baked cookies cooling on a rack, a loaf of bread just out of the oven, and chicken noodle soup simmering in a pot on the stove. Those scents, mixed with the sweet peace that filled her soul after an hour of Bible reading and prayer, gave her a fresh outlook on her future. One verse in particular from the gospel of Matthew kept echoing in her mind:
“
Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
She had no notion as to why this verse, which she’d read dozens of times over the years, now held such special meaning, but she intended to take it to heart. “I will not let my light go out, Lord,” she prayed aloud as she dusted a side table in the parlor, knowing even as she said it how very weak she could be when it came to keeping her promises to Him. “
‘I can do all things in him that strengtheneth me,’
” she quickly recited.

Footsteps sounded on the porch around three thirty, so she naturally assumed Sam and the boys had returned, albeit a little earlier than expected. As usual, her heart gave a little extra thud at the anticipation of seeing her husband. Their relationship had not deteriorated in the least, but it hadn’t progressed, either, and she couldn’t imagine what to do to change it. She was nearing the conclusion that perhaps it was exactly as Sam wanted it—purely platonic.

A loud knock followed. Apparently the boys weren’t back. She laid down her knitting, walked to the door, and peeked through the curtain. The caller was a shabbily dressed man she didn’t recognize. A tiny lump of worry settled in her chest. She opened the door and peeked out. “Yes?”

“Hello, ma’am. My name’s Ruford Medker. I’m a hired hand over at Flora Connors’ place.” The mucky-looking man finger-combed his shaggy brown hair, which hung well below his shirt collar and looked as if it hadn’t seen a drop of water or a speck of soap in a month of Sundays. Even worse than his appearance was his stench.

Mercy made an effort not to wrinkle her nose. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Is your husband around?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s out at the moment, but I’m expecting him home within the hour.”

“Oh, drat.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Durn certain. His mother done took a bad fall down ’er steps, and she ain’t lookin’ good. I took her to Doc Trumble’s, and he sent me here to come git ’er son.”

She gasped. “Could you—would you drive me over there? Please?”

“You bet.”

“Just—I’ll be right with you.” She raced into the kitchen to remove the pot of soup from the stove, then ran in search of pen and paper. Finding both, she quickly scrawled a note to Sam, laid it on the table, and then raced out the door. Mr. Medker stood beside his wagon, but she didn’t wait for his assistance; she just hoisted her skirts and climbed aboard with little effort. On the way to Doc’s, she prayed for Flora Connors.
Please, God…please, God. No more tragedy, Lord
.

The only thing that played back in answer were those words from Matthew:
Let your light so shine. Let your light so shine.

Doc met them at the door. “Ah, you’re here. I’m glad to see you, Mercy. Mrs. Hardy left early today, so I’m rather stranded,” he rambled. “Where is Sam?”

“He’s at the park with the boys. I didn’t want to wait. I left him a note, so he should be here shortly.”

“Good, good.”

She followed her former boss down the familiar hall, ignoring the tiny pang of regret for leaving the job she’d loved, even though she knew she’d done exactly what she’d needed to. The malodorous Mr. Medker followed after. She’d wanted to send him packing, for fear he would stink up the whole place, but she knew he needed to learn of his employer’s condition.

“How is she, Doc?” she finally asked.

“We’ll talk in a moment,” he said in a hushed tone.

In spite of her experience treating problems and ailments of all types, her first glimpse at the woman caused a shudder to course through her body. “Good gracious!” She turned to Mr. Medker and whispered, “How many stairs did she fall down?”

“The whole flight, far as I know.”

“How did you find her?” Mercy asked.

“I was in the side yard an’ heard her groanin’ through the open windows. I stepped up to the house an’ peeked inside, and that’s when I seen ’er, layin’ on the floor at the foot o’ the stairs.” He scrunched his face into a tortured grimace. “She was layin’ in a big pool o’ blood.”

A tiny tear escaped Mercy’s eye, trickling in a straight path down her cheek and falling on the front of her dress. “Does she have any broken bones?” she asked Doc.

“As a matter of fact….” He lifted the blanket at the corner to reveal two bandaged arms. “Two broken wrists.”

“Oh, dear. She won’t like that. Was she awake when she arrived?”

“She was awake, all right,” said Mr. Medker. “She done bawled the whole way over. I never heard such carryin’ on. Soon’s we got here, though, she fell into that stupor.”

“I’d venture it’s partly due to shock from her injuries, and partly the hefty dose of laudanum I gave her to calm her down,” Doc said. “Mr. Medker’s right about her being all distraught. Frankly, I’d never before witnessed Flora Connors in a tearful state.”

Mercy reached for the woman’s forehead and pushed away a section of gray hair matted with blood. “This is quite a goose egg.”

Doc nodded. “I fear she’s had a slight concussion.”

Mercy bent down, relieved to hear steady breathing. “She’ll be fine, then.”

“It’ll be a long recuperation, I’d guess. I’ll keep her here for a few days.”

“Naturally.”

“After that….” Doc’s gaze lifted. “She’s going to need constant care.”

“We’ll see to it, Doc.”

Doc eyed her. “She has other family.”

“All of whom are very upset with her at present.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.”

Mr. Medker stepped out of the room, and Mercy took advantage of his absence to suck in several deep breaths. If Doc had noticed his odor, he didn’t mention it, nor would he. In his line of work, he’d breathed in every stench known to man, and she sometimes wondered if he’d lost his sense of smell because of it.

“Do you have other patients in beds?”

“Just one. He’ll go home tomorrow.”

Mercy nodded. “I’ll sit with Mrs. Connors.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Someone should be with her, in case she wakes up.”

“You want me to tell that Medker fellow to go on back to the farm, then?”

“Yes, please.”

He started to walk out.

“Doc,” she said, halting him.

He twisted around. “Yes?”

“Did you smell him?”

“Who?”

She laughed. “Never mind.”

***

Sam couldn’t drive the wagon fast enough. John Roy and Joseph whooped and told him to speed up. He tried to keep his eye on them and the road at the same time, reminding them to stay seated and hold on tight. They had no idea what the rush was about, only that they were on the ride of their life. He’d read Mercy’s note in such a hurry that he’d had little time to process it. Apparently, his mother had been hurt, but that was the extent of what he knew.
Lord, please don’t let me be too late.

When they arrived at Doc Trumble’s office, he jumped down from the rig, then reached up and snagged hold of both boys at once.

“What’s we doin’ here?” John Roy asked.

“My mother’s been in an accident,” Sam explained, setting both boys on the ground. “I need to find out what’s going on. Can I trust you two to behave yourselves?”

“We’re always good,” Joseph announced, drawing his shoulders back.

“No, we ain’t,” said John Roy.

“Shh, don’t bicker.” Sam’s tone was testy. He took a breath to settle his nerves. “Come on.” He ushered the boys into the too-quiet, dimly lit office. The waiting room was empty, since business hours ended at noon on Saturdays. “Follow me,” he said, leading them down the hall.

“Is Mercy here?” asked Joseph.

“Yes, somewhere.”

“Mercy?” yelled John Roy.

“Shh.” Sam clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, just as Mercy poked her head out a doorway at the end of the corridor.

“There you are,” she said, meeting them halfway. She wrapped Sam in a quick embrace, then stepped back, her face wearing a smile that didn’t manage to mask her concern. “Your mother fell down a flight of stairs,” she said quietly. “She’s…pretty banged up.”

“Is she gonna be all right?”

“Doc thinks so. He and Mrs. Trumble have gone out for some supper, so we’re the only ones here, except for another patient across the hall from your mother.” She glanced down at the sandy-headed boys and put a finger to her smiling lips. “You’ll have to be extra quiet for the people who are feeling poorly. Can you do that?”

They stood taller. “You bet!” said Joseph.

“Good. Then, I’m going to ask you to go sit down in the waiting room while I take Sam back to see his mother.”

“Can’t we come too?” Joseph whined.

“Not quite yet. I want to take Sam back there first.”

They shrugged their shoulders, then turned and walked back down the hall in the direction of the front room.

“Okay, then,” Mercy whispered to Sam. “Follow me.”

“Wait. How does she…you know, look?”

She pressed her lips together, and a muscle ticked in her jaw. “She broke both wrists, for one thing, and has a probable concussion and bruises aplenty. She’s sleeping right now. Doc gave her a bigger than usual dosage of laudanum.” She paused and met his eyes. “Are you ready to go in?”

He swallowed and took his time answering. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his mother. “Yeah, I guess.”

Sam lagged a few feet behind Mercy, every stride making the lump in his throat grow a little bigger. He didn’t know what to make of his emotions. One minute, he couldn’t stand his mother; the next moment, he panicked at the thought of losing her.

Mercy had discussed every part of her but her face. Even if she had, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw—the puffy, blackened cheek; the bloodied temple with a golf-ball-sized lump; the split lower lip. Moreover, with her eyes closed as they were, she looked near death. He almost wanted to lean over her mouth to make sure she was breathing. “I’ve never seen her so still and…well, vulnerable.”

“She’s in a deep sleep.” Standing beside him, Mercy lent Sam a strength he hadn’t known he lacked. As if sensing his weakness, she put her arm around him and squeezed. “She’ll look worlds better when she wakes up. You’ll see.”

Unexpected moisture collected in his eyes, and he coughed to cover it. Mercy glanced up and noticed his emotion. “Sam.”

With his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the bridge of his nose, keeping his gaze lowered. “I guess I don’t want to lose her.”

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart. She’s your mother.”

“She hasn’t been a very good one.” He didn’t miss the endearment—
sweetheart
—and it only served to weaken his resolve the more.

“Well, no one’s perfect.”

He sniffed, feeling like a fool for blubbering. The last time he’d shed a tear had been upon hearing the news of his father’s death in prison—and that had been in the privacy of his bedroom. “She’s never even told me she loved me.”

“She does, I’m sure of it.”

They lowered themselves into the two wooden chairs near his mother’s bed. Sam clasped his hands between his knees. “Do you think we should let the boys come in? I worry about them sittin’ out there alone.”

“I think it will be fine. Later, you can take them home. I plan to sit with your mother all night.”

“No, I should do that. She’s my mother, after all.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

His throat contracted. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

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