Traces of Mercy (8 page)

Mercy’s pounding heart matched the horse’s cadence across a bucolic meadow. She hadn’t consciously given Lucky a single directive, other than the command to go, since climbing on his back. But now, with his flanks lathered with sweat from the long, hard run, she took control. With small, almost imperceptible movements, she slowed him to a trot, then a walk. She had no idea why, but he took her cues without hesitation, and she finally let her guard down long enough to take in the landscape around them. There was no noise other than birdsong; no smoke filtering through the air … just a couple of lazy clouds floating across the perfect summer sky. She looked back over her shoulder at the tree line as if to reassure herself that no nightmare was following her.

She was sweating nearly as much as the horse, and it wasn’t entirely because of the heat of the June day. She told herself that everything was fine. Everything was as it should be. She had just had some kind of strange hallucination. At least she hoped it was a hallucination, because if she was actually remembering those things—then maybe she didn’t want to know about her past after all.

Lucky abruptly stopped, and she was nudged from her reverie back into the scenery around her. A lovely pond was directly in front of them, edged in cattails and shaded by several big weeping willows. It was so beautiful it looked more like an artist’s rendering than an actual, physical thing. Mercy slipped from the horse’s back, and her bare feet sank into lush green grass. Free of his rider, Lucky made his way to the pond to drink. Her mind had her so weary she didn’t even take the time to contemplate her next move. She stripped off the heavy trousers and peeled the hot shirt from her back, feeling instant relief from the heat in only her white cotton chemise and knickers. After draping her clothes over a low-hanging tree limb, she made her way to the pond and waded right into the cool water. Her swift, efficient strokes did little to disturb the surface of the pond; it looked like she was cutting through a pale-green pane of glass. A light breeze stirred the cattails and sighed through the tall grass of the meadow, and she felt immense relief at being alone. The solitude felt as if an old friend she hadn’t realized she missed. She ducked under the water, flipped around, and started back toward the other side of the pond. When she surfaced, the first thing she heard was Lucky snorting indignantly. The horse was standing stock-still, and his ears were pricked at attention. She followed the horse’s gaze to an approaching buggy. She uttered a word that would surely make the nuns pray for her salvation and tried to gauge how quickly she could make it from the pond to her clothes, which flapped lazily in the breeze.
I’ll never make it
, she thought.
Not without God and everyone else seeing me
. This predicament would certainly have sent the nuns to their knees.

The fancy buggy was driven by a young man with a lovely young woman by his side. They stopped just a few yards from Lucky. For the second time that day, Mercy tried hard to conceal her presence. She was so low in the water her mouth was submerged.

She watched as the young man jumped down from the buggy and offered his companion his hand.

“Beautiful-looking bay, but he’s not one of ours,” he said.

“Look, Rand. There’s a rope around his neck. It looks as if he ran away,” she said logically.

In the water, Mercy felt her fingers shrivel and the rest of her body grow cold from not moving. She wanted to yell at them to leave her alone—give her some privacy—but instead, she stayed mute.

“We’ve picked up strays from the war, of course,” Rand said, still surveying Lucky, “but this one looks too well fed and cared for to be a war horse, Cora.”

It seemed to Mercy that the woman he called Cora had already grown bored with the conversation about the horse. She popped open a parasol, carefully laid it against her shoulder to shield her from the sun, and gave all her attention to the pond.

“You were right, Rand,” she said. “This spot is perfect for a picnic. Absolutely stunning. Are you going to get the hamper?”

Mercy groaned. She would have to make her presence known, but now it seemed awkward that she hadn’t spoken up right away. She cursed her own impetuous behavior for the second time that day.

But instead of getting the picnic hamper, Rand was moving closer to the horse. Lucky nickered and whinnied and danced his annoyance at the man’s presence.

“Easy, boy, easy there,” Rand said in a soothing voice. “I just want to …”

Mercy knew by the look on his face that he’d spotted her clothes over the limb of the tree. She watched him put it all together when he looked from the rope around Lucky’s neck to the clothes on the branch—and then strode closer to the pond.

“You there!” He was walking so quickly toward the water that she backstroked a few feet, being careful to stay fully submerged. “You’re trespassing on private property! Come out of there right now.”

“Rand! That would be indecent!” Cora protested in a mortified voice.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. My apologies for being so insensitive, Cora. Turn around.”

Cora spun where she stood so that her back was to the pond. Mercy kept treading water. Rand braced his hands on his hips. “Now get out!”

Her heart hammered in her chest, but she didn’t move an inch toward the shore. Would there ever be a time when someone wasn’t telling her what to do, what to say, how to dress, or how to feel?

Rand drew a small pistol from the waistband of his pants. “I have no patience for this today,” he said. He aimed at the pond. “Out!”

At the sight of the gun, Mercy gasped—and sucked in enough water to make her feel as if her lungs were going to explode.

“Come on now … don’t make me shoot you!”

She was coughing, gagging … struggling just to keep her chin above the pond while she tried to get some air.

Rand leveled the small pistol in her general direction, then fired off a shot that missed her by a couple of yards. He squeezed off one more shot that zipped into the water behind her.

Still choking, she started swimming hard for the shore until her feet found purchase in the silt. As she rose up out of the water, her cotton chemise and drawers plastered themselves to her body and left nothing to the imagination of the shocked man. Apparently hearing her companion’s gasp, the woman looked over her shoulder.

“Oh my good Lord,” Cora sang out in a scandalized tone. “Rand! Rand … are you seeing this?”

Rand was indeed seeing it. The interloper in his pond wasn’t a man—but a woman. A woman who stood doubled over in her less-than-modest attire, choking and coughing and sputtering. She shoved her wet hair from around her face and finally straightened up to glare at him.

“I didn’t know,” Rand said. “You didn’t say anything! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

The woman took a breath and then coughed as she started toward the horse. “I was choking while you were shooting at me,” she said in a scratchy voice. “I couldn’t speak!”

He watched her hurry quickly toward the clothes draped over the tree branch and pull them free. Without preamble and without giving him or Cora another glance, she made quick work of stepping into the trousers.

“I swear, Rand, she’s nothing but a river urchin who doesn’t know enough to dress as a woman!” Cora said snippily. “She probably lives under a bush somewhere.”

The young woman threw a bruising glare at Cora.

“I live in a house with the Little Sisters of Hope,” she said with a trace of the South in her voice. “
Not
under a bush.” She shrugged into the wool shirt, not bothering to even button it before she gathered the horse’s rope in her hand.

“I would think an apology would be in order,” Cora said loudly. “You were trespassing, and you
did
parade around half-naked in front of complete strangers!”

The young woman seemed to have no intention of apologizing to anyone. She grabbed the mane of the horse and tried to haul herself up onto his back—but couldn’t manage it.

Rand started toward her. “Let me …”

She shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks. “I can manage,” she said.

She tried again to hoist herself onto the bare back of her horse but slid off before she had success.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Cora muttered.

Color rose in the woman’s cheeks as she led the horse right next to the buggy, climbed onto the frame, and then jumped onto his back.

She looked at Rand and Cora. “I wasn’t trespassing. I was swimming,” she said. “Good-bye.” With a small jab into the horse’s side with her bare heels, she was off.

Rand watched her ride away. She sat perfectly on the horse, in command, yet relaxed and natural with his gait.

“I suppose there’s one good thing that came out of this very odd encounter,” Cora said, tucking her arm through his.

“What might that be?” Rand asked.

“An entertaining story, of course,” Cora said.

Rand shook his head and turned from the sight of the girl on the horse to smile at the girl on his arm. “No one would ever believe it.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Mercy saw the cross from a distance—beckoning her back with an indefinable beauty and promises she couldn’t quite grasp. Anytime she was outside with Lucky, whitewashing the orphans’ house, gardening—her eye was drawn time and time again to the simple cross on the roof. It grew larger against the sky the closer she got to the convent. The thought of facing Mother Helena and the rest of the sisters made her feel weary from the inside out.

She rode Lucky around to the back of the convent, grateful she didn’t see a soul. She took him straight to the corral to see to her basic duties for caring for the horse. She took off the rope and set about brushing him. Methodically rubbing him down, she took her time to make sure the horse felt cared for—loved. Finally, she placed a kiss on his nose.

“You have a special bond with that horse,” Mother Helena said from somewhere behind her.

Mercy turned to see her standing against the corral fence, but the nun’s face masked any emotion she might be feeling.

Mercy nodded. “Yes, Mother. And I’m thankful for it.”

Mother Helena walked toward her. “I am thankful for it too, Mercy.”

“Do you think it’s strange I’m more comfortable spending time with him than with people?”

“I suppose it’s because animals seem to have a way of accepting us just as we are.”

“Maybe that’s it. I don’t feel as if I’m disappointing him.”

“You’re not to live your life looking for approval from others, Mercy. It’s only God’s approval that matters.”

“I’m not having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with God watching me, studying me, commenting on my clothes.”

“I beg to differ. He is in every part of our day and night here. It’s His approval you must seek—not mine. Not the other sisters’.”

Mercy ran her hand along Lucky’s nose, then looked at Mother Helena. “I’m sorry I spoke to you the way I did.”

“Anger can be a tricky thing,” Mother Helena said. “Sometimes it is misplaced, but sometimes it is justified. I’m sorry you felt attacked and judged. That has never been our intention.”

“I want to keep these clothes,” Mercy said. “But I will put my dress back on.”

“All right.”

“And I want you to know I haven’t been stealing food from the larder.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

Mother Helena nodded. “I’ve known for quite some time it’s Sister Agnes.”

Mercy’s mouth dropped open. “Then why did you accuse me?”

“I didn’t accuse you, dear. I asked if you had something you wanted to confess. I knew you must have seen Agnes taking the food.”

“But if you don’t say something to Agnes, she will think she’s getting away with it. She’ll keep doing it, and more food will be gone!”

“The missing food isn’t nearly as important as Agnes coming to me on her own, without the prompting of discovery. It will help both her conscience and her soul.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will. God is working on her heart. I’ll leave the timing of it all to Him.”

“Just like you do with everything?”

Mother Helena smiled, and as usual, it took Mercy aback the way it made the nun look so much younger. She could see Helena as a young woman when she smiled. “Yes. Just like I do with everything. ’Tis the only way I can live my life.”

“I wish I could do that.”

“You can,” Mother Helena said. “And I will tell you right now it’s not an issue of what you’re wearing. It doesn’t matter if you are wearing those trousers or a nun’s habit or a ball gown for dancing. It’s a decision of your soul to trust it all to Him.”

Mother Helena took a step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and tucked her hands into her sleeves. “Now, about the way you spoke to me.” Her face became stern again. “If you were a sister, I’d be giving you the opportunity to seek penance in the form of many, many prayers, but since you are not in the order, I think being on your knees weeding the garden might offer you the time you need to repent of your anger.”

“You mean I can stay?” Mercy asked, even as she was secretly relieved that her punishment was to be outdoors—and not spent in hours upon hours of prayers she had a hard time remembering anyway.