Traces of Mercy (11 page)

“Mercy,” he began, “I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” she asked.

“No. Well, yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Mercy turned and looked up into his eyes. “Oh? What are you talking about, then?”

“How about a picnic?” he asked. “Just the two of us.”

“I don’t know if Mother Helena will allow it,” she said. “I’m quite sure she would say we need chaperones.”

He sighed. “You’re right, of course. I will extend the invitation to Deirdre and Oona as well, as long as you say yes.”

“You don’t want to take me on a picnic, Rand.”

“I do. Yes, yes, I do.”

“And if we go on this picnic and have a lovely time and plan for more picnics, and I wake up one morning and remember all my picnics have been promised to someone else—a young man—maybe even a husband I have not remembered? What then?”

“It’s just a picnic, Mercy,” he said. “Just fried chicken and potatoes and maybe some spice cake on a blanket under a tree. I’m not suggesting it is anything more, so we needn’t worry about what is past or what is in the future.”

When she still didn’t answer him, he continued. “It’s
just
a picnic.”

“All right then,” she said. “As long as we’re clear that that’s all it can be.”

“We’re clear,” he said.

She nodded, then turned her attention back outside.

“The rain is stopping,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose we should go inside before Mother Helena sends out a battalion of nuns to rescue me,” he said with a straight face.

Mercy stepped out of the barn and smiled over her shoulder at him. “She
is
a force to be reckoned with.”

“I’d wager that she has met her match in you.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

At supper tonight, Sister Ruth laughed at something Sister Marie said and told her it reminded her of the time they all got poison ivy last year. The mention of the malaise had the entire table of nuns nodding and smiling and remembering the same event. It was a shared experience then—and the memory a shared experience now. Of course it happens all the time—the question that is asked based on something that has happened. An opinion of an event that everyone remembers but me. A book, a play, a president—a war. All things I can’t speak to because I don’t remember them.

Every day, the magnitude of what I’ve lost hits me just a little bit harder.

All the more important that I make new memories. Maybe next year the sisters will say, “Remember when we had the cabbage soup that came straight from the garden, Mercy?” And I will be able to say yes!

I will admit here to you, my dear journal, that I enjoy Rand Prescott’s company. I don’t know what a man is supposed to be like—or how he is supposed to treat a woman—but I am supposing Rand is exactly how a man should be.

Deirdre and Oona have become my chaperones. Mother says it is necessary, and I don’t know why she would make them come along if it wasn’t. Rand seems to accept that where I go, they go. I think that’s very nice of him.

There had been great anticipation on Mercy’s part at the thought of spending the afternoon with Rand, but that lovely feeling of excitement had quickly been replaced by a deepening sense of dread. She sat on the picnic blanket, feeling as if her only purpose for the moment was to hold down a corner of the quilt to keep the slight breeze from catching it and messing up the puddle of blue lying over grass that was too long to be kept but too kept to be wild. She eyed the others on their respective corners of the blanket—Oona and Deirdre in their ever-present role as chaperones—and Rand. He was reclining on his side, elbow bent to prop up his head, eyes glazed over in that way she knew hers did when someone forced her to sew.
He’s bored
, she realized with a start.
Bored to death and probably wondering why in the world he asked me to yet another picnic with him in the first place
. A question for which she had no answer, because his interest in her was a constant puzzle. But now, watching him hide a yawn behind his hand, she understood that his interest seemed to be waning—thus the dread she was feeling. She had enjoyed the attention, the compliments; sometimes she caught him looking at her in such a way that it made joy rush right over her and she couldn’t stop a smile to save her life. When she thought about losing Rand’s attention, she knew her feelings for him had slipped beyond safe, despite her worry over her mysterious past. She was going to miss him.

“Shall we say a prayer and then open the hamper?” Oona suggested into what had been prolonged silence.

Rand pushed himself into a sitting position and frowned. “I’m not especially hungry right now, but by all means, you go ahead.”

“Are you all right, then, Rand?” Deirdre asked. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

With Deirdre’s observation, Mercy fretted even more. If Deirdre and Oona had noticed Rand’s mood, then it wasn’t her imagination. It must be signaling the demise of their short relationship.

He leaned forward as if he was about to share an intimate secret. “The truth of the matter is I feel I’ve let you all down today, and I’m a little embarrassed by that.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Oona asked.

Mercy wasn’t sure she wanted to hear Rand’s explanation.

Rand looked sheepish. “While I believe I brought some delectable food, I completely overlooked planning an activity we could do during our afternoon. And now we’re left with nothing to do but eat.”

The rush of relief Mercy felt was quick and surprisingly physical. She couldn’t help but laugh. “But isn’t that the whole idea of a picnic?”

“Of course it is,” Deirdre offered.

Rand shrugged. “A truly memorable picnic is one where there are games and such. I should have brought along my croquet mallets, or maybe we could have played running hoops. Even cards would have been—”

Oona quickly jumped in. “We can’t play cards.”

“Anymore,” Deirdre amended. “But, oh, how I loved a good card game when I was younger.”

Rand laughed. “You’re hardly ancient now, Deirdre.”

Deirdre smiled. “I meant before I joined the order. My brothers and sisters and I used to play card games all the time.”

“We used to spend hours out of doors,” Oona said. “I remember my mama practically sweeping us out with the dust in the morning and telling us to stay in the fresh air till supper.”

“What about you, Mercy?” Deirdre asked.

Mercy opened her mouth to speak but didn’t get a word out before Deirdre realized her error. “I’m sorry, Mercy. I forgot.”

Mercy smiled. “Me, too.”

“I remember loving to play hide-and-seek when I was a boy,” Rand offered. “I recall being quite good at it.”

“I loved that one too,” Deirdre said.

“Let’s play,” Rand said, grinning. “It will make up for my lack of foresight into having a planned activity.”

“Don’t be silly, Rand. We’re grown adults,” Oona said.

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Oona,” Deirdre said. “We can teach it to Mercy, and then she’ll have a memory of a game. Right, Mercy?”

Mercy saw the hopeful look on Rand’s face and smiled. “What are the rules?”

“Well,” Rand started, “one person counts to thirty while the others hurry to hide. The counting person then tries to find the hiding places of the others.”

“I’ll count,” Deirdre said.

Rand looked at Deirdre. “Close your eyes when you count, and no peeking.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t have to peek. I recall being quite good at this game too,” she said, moving off the quilt and going to stand with her face toward a tree. “I’ll even face this direction and shut my eyes while you hide.”

As Deirdre started to count, Rand crossed to Oona and whispered in her ear, “There is a great little tangle of bushes over that way.” He pointed in a direction opposite Deirdre, and as Oona nodded, he added, “She’ll have a hard time finding you.”

Oona hurried off, and Rand took hold of Mercy’s hand and pointed another direction. She nodded, and they made a quick dash across the grass.

“… eight … nine … ten,” Deirdre sang out.

Though she relished holding Rand’s warm hand, Mercy had to ask. “Aren’t we supposed to hide in different places?”

Rand was leading her along a ten-foot wall of manicured hedges. Obviously looking for something, he kept going. “Yes.”

“So are you going to show me a good place to hide?” she asked, a little breathless with the pace he was setting.

“We’re going to hide together,” he said, now trailing his hand over the hedge as they hurried along.

“Isn’t that cheating?”

He looked over at her and grinned. “Probably.” And then he finally found what he was looking for and stopped.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling her through a hidden space in the wall of greenery.

Mercy heard Deirdre call out, “Ready or not, here I come.” But she was too astonished at the sight before her to give Deirdre a second thought. An elaborately staged picnic for two was set on an ivory brocade quilt under the shade of a magnificent oak. Silver ribbons cascaded down from the low-hanging branches of the tree and created a shimmering curtain.

“Oh, Rand. How beautiful.”

Rand slipped an arm around her waist, led her to the quilt, then settled her by a silver platter laden with fat purple grapes and assorted cheeses.

“Hide-and-seek?” she asked.

“A ruse,” he confessed as he sat down right next to her and pulled a bottle from a bucket. He didn’t look the least bit sorry he’d tricked the others, and she realized she wasn’t the least bit sorry either. She glanced around at the beautiful scenery; the wall of hedges they’d managed to slip through created a perfect backdrop for the acres of manicured grounds around them. They sat atop a small rise that looked down on a sprawling estate. She pointed. “Is that …?”

“Home? Yes,” he said, popping the cork on the bottle. He poured the liquid into one of the flutes and handed it to her.

“Champagne,” he explained.

She sipped, wrinkled her nose, and swallowed. “It’s … good.”

He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

Mercy studied him. “Ten minutes ago I would have sworn you were bored to tears and wishing the day away.”

“I promise I could never be bored with you, Mercy.”

She took another sip of her champagne. “Why go to all the trouble of two picnics?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because Oona and Deirdre probably won’t approve of champagne?” She said it with a small smile, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “That’s it exactly.”

“Oh,” she said, her smile disappearing.

Rand took her glass, put it down on the silver tray, and reached for her hand. “I am teasing you,” he said. “Of course the reason for two picnics—the reason for the silly game, and the reason I found myself anticipating today so much—was because I wanted to be alone with you. A few stolen moments without the prying eyes of the Little Sisters of Hope.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Deirdre had dutifully counted to thirty before she opened her eyes and looked around. She stood still for a few minutes, studying the landscape before setting off to find her hiding companions. In just minutes, she found Oona hiding behind some shrubs.

“Well, that didn’t take too long,” Oona said. “I’ve already lost the game, and we’ve barely begun.”

“Did you happen to see which way Mercy went? Or Rand?” Deirdre asked. Oona shook her head.

“No. Rand gave me the tip about hiding behind the bushes, though,” Oona answered. “He may have given Mercy some pointers on a good hiding place too.”

“Is that right, now?” Deirdre mused. “Why don’t you help me find them, Oona? It will be much quicker with the two of us looking.”

Oona crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “That would be cheating. ’Tis up to you to find them.”

“I have a feeling it’s not going to be as easy to find them as it was for me to find you.”

“I’ll admit that Rand knows the lay of the land well, but Mercy won’t. She should be easy to find.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I’m quite sure that where we find one—we’ll find the other.”

Understanding dawned on Oona’s face. She lowered her voice and looked around. “What are you saying? That they purposefully snuck off to be together?”

Deirdre shrugged. “I would.”

Oona’s mouth fell open. “Deirdre!”

“Well, not now. But once upon a time—I would definitely have snuck off together.”

Oona pointed. “I’ll go this way—you go that way.”

When Deirdre came upon the tall, thick hedge, she took one look and started to turn back—until she heard soft voices. She stopped and listened and was rewarded by a low chuckle from the other side of the tall wall. Deirdre moved closer to the hedge, and her foot found a dried tree limb that snapped. She froze.

Rand and Mercy both looked toward the sound. Mercy started to say something, but Rand put his finger to his lips and shook his head. Though she didn’t want their private picnic to end, Mercy knew that Deirdre and Oona would be tolerant only for so long.