
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Mercy walked to an open window and closed her eyes...
breathing in deeply of the honeysuckle scented air. She sensed someone standing beside her and instinctively knew who it was. When she lifted her gaze to his, she again felt her heart racing in his presence as it always did---like a timid little rabbit in the presence of a dangerous wolf. The other women in the room might think Addison Berkeley an exotic jungle cat, but she knew he was just a common wolf. His deep voice held amusement as he leaned in and murmured, "The open window seemed a good idea, so I decided to copy you. I can hardly breathe." She nodded and tried to think of what to say when he added, "The honeysuckle smells wonderful. Of all the floral scents I think I like honeysuckle the best. Well, maybe after roses."
"Roses and honeysuckle are my favorite scents too." He gazed at her with his penetrating blue eyes and she mumbled nervously, "Anyone who likes roses and honeysuckle is all right in my book." She gave him an appreciative, but shaky smile.
He lifted an eyebrow. "You have a book? Where can I get a copy? I think I would like to read it. I'm sure it's fascinating." He teased, "I have to admit I thought you didn't like me, and I wracked my brain thinking of how I could redeem myself, and now I find all I had to do was like the scent of two particular flowers." He reached out the window and snapped off a sprig of honeysuckle and handed it to her with a slight smile. "I'm glad that in this book of yours I'm all right."
She stammered while trying to avoid his gaze. "I...um...thank you." Being around him made her head feel fuzzy. Why did this dangerous wolf always have to be so kind? It confused her. People were much easier when you could compartmentalize them into good and bad. But which was he? She'd made up her mind. He was bad, but maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
by
Janelle Ashley
Understanding Mercy
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Understanding Mercy
COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Janelle Ashley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or White Rose Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@whiterosepublishing.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
White Rose Publishing
PO Box 1738
Aztec NM 87410
Visit us at www.whiterosepublishing.com
Publishing History
The Wild Rose Press
First White Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN 1-60154-396-4
Published in the United States of America
Understanding Mercy
Dedication
To my precious daughters Chloe and Annie---
may each of you be a lighthouse,
an instrument of God's love and mercy,
a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life.
And to Rita Davenport,
the president of the wonderful company Arbonne---
working with this company gave me
the freedom I needed to write this novel.
Thank you for everything.
Understanding Mercy
Prologue
Boston, 1765
Glittering snowflakes floated to the ground and covered the dirt and grime of the city in a dazzling display of white. One proud mother carried a little bundle in a white silk dress through the front doors of the Old North Church while a proud father and brother followed closely behind. They waved to their friends and family who streamed into the warmth of the building with joyous faces. Coaches and carriages lined the street as the bells tolled and their beautiful music drifted across the frosty air announcing to all the importance of this day.
As soon as the family walked into the foyer, the pastor greeted them with an affectionate smile. "Good afternoon, James. Good afternoon, Elizabeth." Looking down at the beaming little boy, he added, "Good afternoon to you too, Noah." With a wave of his hand, he motioned to the gathering crowd and teased, "A fit audience to witness the christening of a princess, if I do say so myself."
"Shall we get started?" James asked.
The pastor glanced at his pocket watch and nodded. "Yes, we should. No time like the present." They walked to the front of the church and Pastor Thompson took Mercy out of her father's arms and held her before the congregation. She gifted them all with a dazzling smile and women and even a few men, oohed and ahhed and gushed over her beauty.
Pastor Thompson spoke out in his commanding voice, "We christen this child today, placing her in the wonderful, loving arms of the One who created her. May she always be loved and may she always love others. May she be guided and protected, and taught to guide and protect. My prayer is that she would become her namesake, Mercy Prudence Creed. Her surname means statement of belief, her faith. Her Christian name means compassion and kindness, and her middle name means carefulness. May this precious baby girl be someone who makes it her creed in life to carefully show mercy. May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God's love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life."
\*\*\*\*
Across the street, Addison shivered as he crouched behind a barrel, waiting to see if the merchant selling chestnuts would leave behind the burlap sack. His threadbare coat kept him somewhat warm, but now that the snows had come, he could certainly use a piece of material. The merchant had about twenty nuts left and hopefully he would sell them quickly and leave. The boy wished the man would stand a little closer to the people streaming out of the church. They certainly looked like they had enough money to buy a few nuts. Did this merchant have no business skills at all?
Suddenly, Addison had an idea. Trying to stop his shivering, he walked over with as much confidence as he could muster and said to the young man, "Excuse me, sir. If I help you sell those nuts within five minutes, can I have that piece of burlap, please?"
The man stared at him questioningly. "You sure have a fancy voice for a boy dressed as a beggar. You sound like the king of England, yet you want my piece of burlap. Something isn't right here."
"It's a long story and I'll tell it to you later if you like, but let us get these nuts sold before the fancy people leave. Here, give them to me."
The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "How do I know you won't just run off with the nuts?"
"I want your burlap. Remember."
"How do I know you aren't a British spy?"
"I'm only nine."
"Well, let me give you the Bostonian test for spies. What animal is on the weather vane of Faneuil Hall?"
"A thirty-eight-pound fifty-two-inch grasshopper made of solid copper and covered with gold leaf, with eyes made of glass."
Rolling his eyes in annoyance the man mumbled, "The answer of grasshopper would've been fine."
"We are wasting time. Hand over the bag."
"You certainly are a young one to be so smack sure of yourself." Clutching onto the bag more tightly the man asked, "How old did you say you were?"
"Nine. How old are you?"
"Nineteen." The man's expression softened to a mixture of wariness and amusement. "What is your name?"
"Addison Berkeley. What is your name?"
"Cecil Branson."
Addison didn't particularly feel like chatting, when there was work to be done. "So, Cecil, how much do you usually sell the nuts for?"
"Twenty for a half pence."
"Well, then hand them over so I can sell them for you."
After several moments of considering, Cecil reluctantly handed him the sack. "If you steal them, I'll hunt you down and thrash you to within an inch of your life."
Taking the chestnuts, Addison nodded. "I don't steal, so stop worrying." Straightening his spine, he put on a smile and walked up to a kind-looking man holding a baby and preparing to enter an elaborate coach. "Excuse me, sir, these chestnuts are hot and fresh and will warm you up on a cold day like today. And we have quite a bargain since---"
With a look of surprise, the man with the baby cut in, "Are you from England?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"You are a long way from home."
"Boston is my home now," he stated with unwavering conviction.
"Is that so? I was born in England as well---the third son of a baron, and since I didn't want to go into the clergy, the law, or the army, I decided to come to America to make my way."
His friendliness took Addison by surprise and without thinking he replied, "My father is the third son of an earl. He came to America to make his way also, but apparently he didn't do as well as you."
The man's gaze drifted down and then up slowly, and Addison squirmed with humiliation under his scrutiny. Finally the man asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"
"I promise I am," Addison replied with an adamant nod. "My father married for love and his family didn't like the woman he chose, so they disowned him. Several years ago we came to America, but my mother died of yellow fever on the journey and my father has had a hard time of it. I need to get back to him right now. Sir, I sell these warm, delicious chestnuts at twenty for a pence, but since these are our last ones, you can have the whole bag for only a halfpence."
"That is a bargain." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a coin and exchanged it for the bag of chestnuts. "Thank you, lad."
"Thank you. Now I can go home."
A look of concern filled the man's warm brown eyes. "Do you have a home?"
"Yes, I do." Addison didn't want to tell him it was a small room above a tavern that housed more rats than humans. A room he had to pay for by scavenging around and earning money by his wits. Once in a while when his father stopped drinking he would help him earn money, but those once in a whiles were coming less and less frequently. Suddenly rumbling thunder sounded above them, and Addison glanced up in surprise and wondered aloud, "How can it be thundering, if it's snowing?"
It almost surprised him when the man answered, "I have only seen it happen once or twice in my lifetime. It's called thundersnow."
"Thundersnow," he echoed, while he nodded his head thoughtfully. "What do you know?" He looked around at the multitude of people milling around, and curiosity got the best of him. "What's happening here at the church today?"
"It's my baby girl's christening," the man proclaimed bursting with pride.
Addison's sharp blue eyes darted around at the lingering crowd. "All these people came for that?"
"Yes, we have many friends and they wanted to be a part of Mercy's special day." Bending over, the proud father held her down so Addison could admire her. "Isn't she pretty?"
Squinting down at the little baby Addison nodded with a slight smile. "She is pretty. Perfect, actually. She looks just like one of the dolls I saw in the window at the toy store across the street from Commons Park."
"When did you see it?"
"A few days ago."
"Truly. I will go there tomorrow and buy it for her, then. Do you think I will know which doll you are talking about?"
"I'm sure you will. She has gold hair like your little girl, and green eyes, and she is wearing a yellow dress. I usually don't look at dolls, but it was next to a toy horse that I liked. A black one."
A smile played at the man's lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out more coins. "Here, have some money to buy yourself a coat. It's too cold to be standing here in the snow. I need to get my Mercy out of this weather, but you have a care, lad."
Addison stared at the coins in his hand in disbelief. "You are just giving these to me for nothing?"
"Yes, I am. Good day and go get warm." The proud father gave him a friendly wink and then he ushered his wife and young son away from a circle of friends and they all climbed into a shiny, black coach. Addison watched as it rolled away and wondered if he'd ever met a nicer man. Stuffing the coins in his pocket, he walked back to Cecil and proudly announced, "Here is your half pence. Can I have the burlap now?"
Amazement filled his eyes. "How'd you do that so fast?"
"I told him he was getting the nuts for half price. You need to make people think they're getting a bargain. Plus, he is an extremely nice man."
Cecil stared at the road where the coach had just disappeared. "Do you know who that man is?"
"No. Who?"
"That's James Creed," he stated with obvious awe. "He's a shipping merchant and one of the richest men in Boston."
With a nod Addison acknowledged the statement and then asked, "Can I have the burlap now?"
Cecil grabbed the burlap and thrust it at him unceremoniously. "Where do you live?"
"I live above the Toad in the Hole tavern. Where do you live?"
"Here and there, but I've joined up with a ship. It's a passenger ship. I leave in a few days for a journey to France. I'm just a cabin boy now, but soon I'll be a sailor."
"Which ship?"
"The Pale Moon ."
"I have seen her in port. A frigate. She is a nice ship."
"One of the best. The Captain is looking for another cabin boy. You look strong enough. Would you like me to see if he'll hire you on?"
"No. I need to stay with my father."
"You have a father?"
"Yes, I do." Addison worried about his father, who had looked horrible this morning. He needed to buy some food and try to get him to eat, so he needed to be on his way. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Branson. Thank you for the burlap."
"I say, you have the manners of a gentleman. Such politeness," he replied with a chuckle. "Are you sure you're only nine?"
"I'm sure. Good day." Wrapping the burlap around his shoulders, he raced toward the tavern with a proud smile that with the money in his pocket he could buy a nice meal tonight for his father and a used coat for himself tomorrow. The light snowfall of earlier quickly became a blizzard, and his cheeks burned against the frigid air. Holes in the bottom of his shoes, which used to be annoying, now became painful as the icy snow stung at his feet like angry bees.
Bursting through the door of the tavern, he made his way around the crowd and sank onto the hearth of the fireplace. His chest heaved with exhaustion as he leaned against the stones trying to allow the warmth to seep into his bones. Mrs. Humphrey waddled up and fumed, "Boy, you know these rooms are only for paying customers. Get yourself upstairs."
"But I am a paying customer tonight. I would like two bowls of chicken and dumplings as soon as possible."
When she glared at him skeptically, he held up the coins in his hand as proof. "Hurry, please. I'm terribly hungry."
"Hold your horses, fancy-talking boy," she grumbled as she turned away.
Addison sat as close to the fire as he could without getting burned, and his stomach growled impatiently as he waited for his food. His mind drifted back to the man he'd met earlier. What would it feel like to be wealthy and respected like that? Someday he would find out. Someday he would have a shipping company, and a fancy black coach, and a beautiful daughter. But to have a daughter, he needed a wife, and he didn't think he wanted one of those. His father had once been a happy, strapping man until his wife died and then he just crumbled. The best way to avoid that ever happening to him was to never let a woman become important to him.
A hand like a claw grabbed his shoulder as Mrs. Humphrey snorted, "Here, boy. I set the bowls on the table. Pay up."
Within seconds the coins sat in her hands, and he grabbed the bowls and ran upstairs, anxious to make sure his father had a good meal. The fire had died out and the room was pitch-black as he felt around in the darkness until he found a table and set the bowls down. He lit a chamber candlestick, hoping the light would show his father was in the room. He didn't want to go back out in the cold looking for him.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw his father lying on his cot. Leaning down, he shook him and commanded, "Father, wake up," but no matter how hard he tried, he could not wake him. Deciding to eat the food before it got cold, he sat at the table and devoured his meal while he watched his sleeping father with mounting worry. His skin looked grey. Something wasn't right. Suddenly his father moaned and then stirred. Addison leapt to his side and urged, "Father, sit up. I have food for you and I will help you eat."
With glassy eyes he stared up at him and shook his head. "No, son. I am not hungry."
"You should eat."
"I cannot eat." His father's weak hand reached for his and he whispered hoarsely, "Son, I'm sorry. Please know I'm sorry."
"You are sorry for not eating?"
"I'm sorry for a great many things. I wanted to be a better father."
Squeezing his father's hand he replied, "I know. But you need to stop drinking alcohol. It will not bring mother back. It just makes everything worse."
A single tear slipped from the man's eye and he nodded. "I'm sorry. Please know that. You are a good boy, Addison." With a weary sigh he rolled over to his side and muttered, "I'm tired. I need to sleep. Good night."
"Good night, father." Slowly, he stood to his feet and sat back at the table and ate the chicken and dumplings that should have been his father's. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out the Boston Gazette that a business man had left lying on a park bench. He held it up to the light of a candle and, even though he had a hard time making out the big words, he could understand that John Adams was upset with the British government for the Stamp Act, saying that Americans should have the right to be taxed only by consent. Addison had seen Mr. Adams around town and it surprised him that a man who always seemed so composed could be capable of such passionate anger.
When he finished reading the newspaper he didn't know what else to do, so he climbed onto his little cot and tried his best to get some sleep. He let out a deep sigh and noticed the air in the room was so cold that he could actually see his breath. It certainly would be nice if he had money for coal, but he needed to save for his coat. The coal would keep him warm tonight, but the coat would keep him warm all winter. When he'd slipped into Faneuil Hall the week before he heard John Adams' cousin, Samuel Adams, talk about the importance of delayed gratification---the ability to sacrifice now for rewards later. He wanted rewards and he was willing to sacrifice now so he could have a good future. With these thoughts swirling around his mind, he eventually drifted off to sleep.
The next morning a clattering sound awakened him and it took several moments before he realized the noise originated from his chattering teeth. When he glanced at the water in the wash bowl, he saw it had frozen over in the night. As cold as it was, he needed to get up and get his day started. With the coins Mr. Creed had given him, he could buy his father a good breakfast. He certainly hoped he was hungry now.
He walked to his father's side, sat down next to him and softly shook his shoulder. "Father, wake up. What do you want for breakfast?" He continued to shake him, and noticed his lips were purple. When he placed his hand on his father's cheek, the cold, hard feel made him moan in despair. He slapped his father's face and then a wail of anguish ripped from his soul and he clung to his father and begged, "You cannot be dead. No. Come back. You have to come back. I'm just a little boy." Tears streamed from his eyes until he drenched his father's lifeless chest.
Finally he sat up and wiped his wet face with his sleeve. He needed to stop crying. All the crying in the world wouldn't bring his father back. He should plan what his next step would be. Scavenging on the docks wasn't the way he wanted to live the rest of his life.
Suddenly, he thought of the chestnut merchant who got tired of drifting aimlessly and decided to become a sailor. He would be a sailor too. He would go find Cecil now and see if the Pale Moon still needed a cabin boy. Leaning down to kiss his father's cheek, he whispered, "I know you tried. I love you anyway." His gaze drifted around the room and he realized he had absolutely nothing to pack. With determination he stood to his feet and made his way to the door---and to his new life.
\*\*\*\*
Philadelphia 1776
"Ouch," Mercy squealed as she dropped the needle to her lap and sucked on her finger while mumbling, "I'm not good at doing this. I keep hurting myself."
With a sweet smile, her mother encouraged, "No one is good when they first learn, darling. I pricked myself many times." Leaning across the coffee table, she studied the sampler and smiled. "I think you are doing quite well for an eleven-year-old. Your lettering is exceptionally neat, and look at how beautifully the lighthouse is coming along."
Mercy's brother Noah walked across the room and picked up the scrap of fabric on her lap and gazed at it for several moments. "What are these words and what is the lighthouse for?"
Looking up at him, Mercy explained, "These are the words Pastor Thompson spoke at my christening. He prayed, "May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God's love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life."
With an affectionate pat on her shoulder, he smiled at her. "Nice. That is a good prayer and I hope that for you, as well. And mother is right. You are doing a good job with your sampler."
"Thank you, Noah," she replied with obvious pleasure as she gazed up at her brother in adoration.
He nodded and walked to the other side of the room as her mother held out a teacup to her. "Mercy, take a small rest and come sit next to me and drink your tea."
She moved to the other side of the table and sat next to her mother on the shiny gold sofa and carefully sipped her tea, afraid she might slide off the slippery fabric and end up on the floor with hot liquid all over her pretty new dress. She liked traveling and staying in nice hotels with her family when her father went to his political meetings, but this room seemed fit for a queen, and its grandeur made her feel a little uncomfortable. After taking a sip of the hot tea, she smiled over the rim of her cup and commented, "I'm happy we can drink regular tea now. I hated drinking those raspberry leaves."
Noah spoke from the chair across the room where he sat shining his black leather boots with vigorous strokes. "Mercy, not drinking tea is a small sacrifice to make for your country. The Sons of Liberty risked their necks to dump that tea into the harbor."
"All that lovely tea washing up on the shore for weeks," she replied with a slight frown. "So sad."
"Don't say that, Mercy. Our point was made that England needs to show us respect. We will not put up with their bullying. They repealed the tea tax when they saw we would not bend."
"But ever since that day when those men threw the tea in the harbor everyone has become so angry. The men in the red coats don't like us anymore."
"George Washington will get the lobsterbacks to leave Boston soon. You just watch. He has to do something to end this occupation and he will. I'm telling you, his Continental Army will get the red coats out of Boston."
Her mother shook her head with dismay. "I'm not sure about that, Noah. Even though these men are starving and cold and suffering horribly, they are terribly loyal to the crown. The Whigs offered every British soldier in Boston three hundred acres in New Hampshire if they deserted, but basically none of them took that generous offer. How do you fight against that type of loyalty?"
"The colonists are loyal too, and we will fight against them," he stated with conviction.
All this war talk confused Mercy. "Noah, are the men in the red coats still mad that we threw their tea into the harbor?" She plugged her nose since the strong smell of shoe polish burned her nostrils, so her voice came out funny when she asked, "How come the lobsterbacks cannot just forgive us and go home to their families?"
Noah stopped his task for a moment and looked at her with amusement evident in his light brown eyes. "Mercy, it's not as simple as that. The Boston Tea Party isn't what made the people angry in the first place, it just shined a lantern on the anger that was already there. You are too young to understand what is happening, though."
"I'm eleven," she replied with a touch of indignation. "You aren't that much older. You're only fifteen."
"I'm old enough to fight for my country, and I will. Now that the Declaration of Independence has been signed and the Revolution is finally here, I'm going to join the Continental Army."
"Stop it, Noah," her mother proclaimed with a gasp. "Don't say such things. You are far too young."
Lowering his voice to sound older, he answered, "I'm not too young. All of my friends have already enlisted. I'll be labeled a coward if I don't fight."
"Better to be labeled a coward than to be dead."
"I don't agree, Mother. You know how I feel. With Father being British, everyone already assumes I'm a Tory, and if I don't enlist they will assume I'm loyal to the crown. I told Father that as soon as we get back to Boston, I'm enlisting."
Mercy watched as her mother rushed across the room and sat at her brother's feet and begged, "Please, Noah. There has to be a way to settle this disagreement with England without everyone killing each other. What does it solve? What does it prove? You have your whole life ahead of you. Getting married, having children, taking over your father's shipping empire someday. Don't throw your life away as if you are nothing more than cannon fodder."
Noah took his mother's hands in his own and tried to explain, "I understand what you are saying, but as Patrick Henry said during his speech at Virginia's House of Burgesses, 'Give me liberty or give me death.' Life isn't worth living if you aren't free."
"That is not true. We have been under England's control all this time and I have been happy. I have had a good life." Wiping tears from her eyes, she pleaded, "Noah, don't enlist. I beg of you."
Standing to his feet, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mother, but you will not change my mind. I'm not a coward. I will not be the only one I know who tries to protect his own life while others are giving theirs. When I went with father to meet Benjamin Franklin yesterday, Mr. Franklin said that he worked with England and tried his best to avert this war, but he has come to the conclusion that war is the only way to end the oppression. He recently saw the devastating poverty in Ireland and he realized that this would be us soon if we continue to allow the British to exploit us. I respect him and his opinion. I respect George Washington, and Paul Revere, and Samuel Adams and all the other men who would rather not fight but who see this war as the only option to escaping this tyranny."
Her mother opened her mouth to reply, but the door burst open and her father walked in, a wary expression on his face as he saw his wife sitting at the feet of his son. Mercy could tell he wanted to say something about the odd scene, but instead he merely said, "I'm going to take Benjamin Franklin to the docks. He is going to France to try to enlist their aid in our war. I just need to grab some paperwork for him. He is waiting in the lobby right now. Would you like to come with me to see him off?"
"I would." Mercy jumped to her feet. "I love Mr. Franklin."
"He loves you, too, sweetheart, and he will be happy to see you." He walked over and offered a hand to his wife. While pulling her to her feet, he added, "He will want to see all of you. Let us be on our way."
Within minutes, Mercy sat in her father's big, black coach and rumbled along Chestnut Street on the way to the Philadelphia Harbor. Mr. Franklin leaned across the seat and asked, "So tell me, Mercy, what stands in a stall, eats hay, and sees equally well out of both ends?"
She thought for a moment, but had no idea. "I'm not sure. What?"
"A blind horse," he answered with a twinkle in his merry eyes.
Mercy thought for a moment and then smiled. "You are quite clever, Mr. Franklin."
He chuckled and tweaked her chin. "That is a wonderful compliment coming from a girl as smart as you."
"Why do you think I'm smart?"
"I'm good at telling these things," he replied with a resolute nod, but then he turned to her father and they began discussing the dreadful war again. Why could men never talk of anything else?
Before long the carriage lurched to a stop and as they alighted she shivered in the cold December air. Dark clouds filled the sky and shouted to all who paid attention that a storm would soon descend. As they walked toward the harbor she asked, "What's the name of that ship?"
Mr. Franklin stared up at the imposing vessel waiting for him. "That is the Pale Moon and she will be my home for the next six weeks."
She reached up and grabbed his hand and looked past his little spectacles into his eyes. "I hope you have a safe journey."
Squeezing her hand, he replied with a smile, "I hope I do, too. And, I hope you have a safe journey back to Boston." Mr. Franklin said his goodbyes to her family and then walked up the ramp and disappeared into the glorious ship. Mercy watched the sailors as they scurried around the deck, pulling on ropes and releasing the large, billowing white sails that would take Mr. Franklin to France. She hoped he could get the French to help, so this horrible war could be over soon. She hated this war.
Pulling her cape closely around her body to block out the wind, she stared up at the darkening sky. A blow horn sounded in the distance and brought her attention to a lighthouse, perched alone on the rocks, flashing out a warm and welcoming light into its gloomy surroundings. She wondered how a girl could be a lighthouse, but this was her pastor's prayer for her, so there must be a way.
She startled a bit as Noah placed his hand on her shoulder and pointed with his other hand to the lighthouse. "Look, Mercy. There you are."
Not knowing what else to say, she simply stared at the lighthouse and replied softly, "Yes, there I am."
\*\*\*\*
Addison wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve without releasing the tension on the rope he gripped in his hands. Glancing over, his mouth dropped open in surprise as none other than Benjamin Franklin walked up the ramp right toward him. This was one of the most famous men in the world and he would get the opportunity to spend at least the next six weeks with him. What a privilege.
Handing the rope to Cecil, he walked over and approached the legendary man with a smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Franklin, welcome aboard. I'm Addison Berkeley, the chief mate of this ship, so please let me know if I can do anything to make your journey more enjoyable."
"You know my name," he replied with surprise. "I see my reputation precedes me."
"Yes, sir. It most certainly does. I've admired you for many years."
"Well that's nice to hear. Did you say you are the chief mate?"
"Yes, sir."
He tilted his head and examined him closely. "You are young to be a chief mate. How old are you?"
"I'm twenty."
"And you are already the second in command? When did you start sailing on this ship?"
"When I was nine."
His eyes widened in surprise. "Nine? My word, you were just a small child."
"Yes, sir I was," he agreed with a nod. "I've actually been the chief mate since I was seventeen."
"So you started on this ship with nothing, and now look at you."
"Yes, I started with nothing and I still have most of it left," he stated with a slight smile.
Mr. Franklin looked at him quizzically for a moment and then let out a hearty laugh. "That is a good one. So Addison Berkeley, I hear an accent. Are you from England?"
"Yes, I'm from England, but I'm surprised you can still hear an accent. I thought I'd lost it."
"Not quite." He glanced around at the sailors bustling about the ship. "Do you have a few minutes to chat?"
At least fifty things needed to be done, but the crew was well trained and they could manage without him for a few minutes. "I need to stay on deck in case I'm needed, but I have time to chat."
"Good." Walking toward the bow of the ship, Mr. Franklin said, "I think we should stand over here, out of the way." he gripped onto the railing and looked at him with assessing eyes. "Let me ask you, Addison. Do you play chess?"
"Chess? No."
"I abhor these long ship journeys, and chess helps me pass the time. I can see a fierce intelligence in those piercing blue eyes of yours and I have a feeling you will be a worthy opponent for me. Would you like to learn? I can teach you."
It flattered him that a brilliant man like Benjamin Franklin could see intelligence in his eyes, and he bit back a proud smile. "I would like to learn to play chess. Maybe tonight, after we get out to sea, I can come to your cabin and you can teach me."
"Good. Good." An appealing, young lady strolled by and she cast Addison an admiring glance. He flashed her a grin and her big, brown eyes lit with delight.
Mr. Franklin chuckled and whispered, "I saw that. Oh, to be young and handsome like you with the ability to set a pretty filly all aflutter with just a charming smile."
She approached and looked up at Addison from under a fringe of dark lashes. " Parlez-vous français?"
"Oui, je fais." He leaned in close to her with a leisurely smile. "Faites-moi savoir si vous avez besoin de n'importe quoi."
She smiled back at him knowingly and then walked away with one last glance over her shoulder.
Mr. Franklin laughed. "Oh, that was smooth." He imitated Addison's slow, seductive voice: "Yes, I do. Let me know if you need anything." He laughed again and then added, "I reckon you'll be getting to know her better on this journey."
"Probably," Addison answered with confidence. Attracting female attention had certainly never been a problem. He would find this pretty filly later, but now he wanted to speak with his idol. "So, Mr. Franklin, why are you going to France right when this war is starting?"
"To enlist their support. I don't believe we can win this war without the financial backing of the French."
"Well, I hear you are quite the diplomat, so if anyone can garner their support, I'm sure it's you."
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance and a flash of lightning lit up the sky like a million candles, and then left everything looking even darker when it disappeared. Mr. Franklin gazed up at the threatening clouds with a slight frown. "I want to get below before the rain starts, but let me ask you something first. You have heard I'm a diplomat. I want to know what else you've heard about me."
Without hesitation Addison answered, "I've heard you are a brilliant scientist and musician and that you speak many languages. I still have some old copies of your Poor Richard's Almanac , so I know you are a brilliant writer. And some call you one of the greatest statesmen the colonies have ever known."
"Such lavish praise," Mr. Franklin muttered while his bright eyes twinkled with humor. "So tell me, my young friend, have you heard anything bad about me?"
Addison gripped the railing and chuckled. "I'm sure you don't want me to repeat the negatives."
"But I do," Mr. Franklin stated with sincerity.
Reluctantly Addison shrugged and then said carefully, "I heard you are an adulterer, because the woman you live with and have children with isn't your wife. But I don't believe it."
"Actually it's true," Mr. Franklin stated simply.
Addison's eyes flashed up to his in disbelief. "What? No. That cannot be true."
"Listen, Addison, sometimes things aren't as simple as they seem. Life isn't always black and white. When I was seventeen, I boarded with Debra's family. I fell deeply in love and wanted to marry her, but her mother thought I was too young and sent me away. They forced her to marry someone else, who abused her and treated her horribly and then deserted her and moved to Barbados without divorcing her. When my path crossed with Debra again, I knew I loved her as much as ever and I wanted to marry her, and have a family with her, but the church would not allow us to marry without a certificate of divorce. We tried to track down her husband for a long time, but to no avail. For all we know, he died."
Mr. Franklin took off his spectacles and wiped the sea spray from the lenses. As he put them back on, he let out a sigh and continued. "But I believe God knows our hearts. He knows we wanted to be married legally in a church with a paper vouching that our marriage was legal, but that was not possible. Debra and I said our own vows before God, and I know He understands. People want to make harsh rules and condemn those who don't keep them, but God is a God of mercy and compassion. Don't ever forget that. The Bible tells us over and over again not to judge others harshly. Religion should never make you hateful and condemning. If it does, then something is wrong. The Bible says God's love covers a multitude of sins. People often like to expose sin, but God likes to forgive it."
A cold rain began to fall and Mr. Franklin pulled his coat more tightly around him. "So, my young friend, I want to leave you with a thought for now. In the wise words of William Shakespeare, 'The quality of mercy isn't strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It's twice blessed---it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.'" He stared at him thoughtfully. "Do you understand what that means?"
"That the person who is shown mercy is blessed, but the person who shows mercy is blessed as well?"
"Yes, exactly. Always remember that." Pointing to the lighthouse, he explained, "In many ways, this is a dark, storm-filled world, and those who show God's mercy to others are like that lighthouse, shining out a welcoming light to those longing to find a safe harbor." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away while calling over his shoulder, "When you have time, come to my cabin, and I'll teach you to play chess."
Addison stared after the amazing man and then turned to look at the lighthouse flashing its illumination into the ever-darkening, storm-filled sky. Mr. Franklin had said the lighthouse represented a person showing God's mercy and shining out a welcoming light to those longing to find a safe harbor. What an interesting concept. His whole life he'd felt adrift. As he gazed at the warm light shining in the darkness, he wondered if he would ever find a safe harbor---a sense of belonging. He certainly hoped so. With a sigh, he walked across the deck and picked up a rope, as the thunder rumbled ominously above him. Maybe someday this light Mr. Franklin spoke of would lead him to a safe harbor, but not yet. Now he had work to do.
Addison picked up a rope and let out a breath of surprise when he looked up to see snow softly falling around him. Only once in his life had he seen thundersnow before. It reminded him of the time he'd met James Creed. For as long as he lived he would never forget the man's kindness to him.
As Addison continued to work, he noticed how the pure, white snow covered the dirt and grime of the deck. He pondered the words of Mr. Franklin about how love covers sin, but hurtful people want to expose it. So in a sense, love should cover the dirt of sin, just as the snow covered the actual dirt. Was that true? Mr. Franklin certainly had some interesting concepts. He wanted to think more about this one later---when he had time. The ship's bell rang across the frosty air signaling the beginning of a new journey, and he continued to pull on the rope as the sails unfurled.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter One
Boston 1784
Cherry blossoms burst from the trees and a flurry of pink and white petals floated to the ground like a soft and fragrant snow in the gentle spring breeze. Mercy brushed the petals off her shoulder as she strolled down Beacon Street with her best friend Priscilla and her silly cousin Cordelia, who prattled on about absolutely nothing. After giving them a tedious description of her entire day, she drawled in her thick Southern accent, "And then last night I slept like a baby."
With a smile, Mercy teased, "So you woke up every two hours wanting to be fed and changed?"
Cordelia had no sense of humor, and she shook her head in confusion. "No, I meant that I slept well."
Mercy glanced at Priscilla and they both stifled a giggle. Priscilla leaned over and whispered, "The secret to enduring her is just turning a deaf ear."
"Did you say you had a deaf ear, Priscilla? I didn't know you had a deaf ear. Since when? What happened?"
Priscilla just chuckled in amusement and changed the subject. "Your mother seemed upset this morning, Cordelia."
"Well, actually she just found out that my father was in love with someone else before he married her, but the lady died, and mama was mad that she didn't know about it before. But anyway, just think, if my father had married her, instead of my mother, I would be only one half here."
"Actually, you would only be one fourth here. You are only one half here now," Priscilla said good-naturedly.
Cordelia widened her large, brown eyes and shook her head in confusion again. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind. It was a joke."
Mercy looked away to hide her laugh and caught their reflections in the window. The French Queen Marie Antoinette's propensity for huge gowns made the rest of the fashion-minded people of the world rush to copy her, and as a result Mercy thought the three of them looked like ridiculously decorated satin bells. The top half of her body, tightly corseted into a bodice of frothy lace and flirty bows, looked like the handle of the bell, and the lower half of flounced skirts inflated with massive petticoats and hoops made up the base. She bit back a giggle when she thought that her legs inside must be the clapper.
It wasn't fair. Men got to run around in comfortable knee breeches, stockings, flat shoes, and sensible topcoats, while the females had to look ridiculous in hats as big as barns and dresses even bigger. But the worst part was being forced to toddle around in high-heeled shoes that made walking a chore.
Barry, their elaborately arrayed footman, strolled along behind them like an ever-watchful mother hen guarding baby chicks from a pack of clever foxes. Whenever a man would even glance their way he would grumble, "Look away, man. Nothing to see." The grouchy giant had guarded her since the day she was born and he took his job quite seriously.
Mercy turned around and gave him a smile and then tried her best to listen to Cordelia as she complained, "All the girls in Savannah are jealous of my beauty. It's difficult to be this pretty."
Mercy flashed a glance at Priscilla who smiled at her and then replied with pretend seriousness, "It must be a horrible hardship for you to endure, Cordelia."
"Yes, it is, sometimes." With a practiced flutter of her fan she continued without a breath, "Anyway, now that we are all nineteen, we need to start seriously thinking about marriage. Many of my friends are already married. My mama says that with the war killing so many men, it's a good thing I'm pretty, since there are so few of them left. Stupid of so many men to go off and get themselves killed."
Priscilla glared at her cousin and said through gritted teeth, "Cordelia, you do know that Mercy's brother Noah was killed in the war. He was not stupid, so you should watch your mouth."
"I know he was killed, and it's stupid," she snapped back. "He was handsome and charming and wealthy, but now he is dead. He would've been a perfect husband for me, but instead his body rots in a grave at Granary Burying Ground."
Priscilla fumed, "Honestly, Cordelia, you need to learn when to stop talking." Mercy looked away and blinked back tears. It had been more than two years since the siege of Yorktown, where Noah died, and she missed him as much as ever. He survived the entire horrible war and then was killed in the last battle before Cornwallis and his British troops surrendered. Nothing in her life had been the same since. Her father rarely smiled anymore and she could still hear her mother crying almost every day. Mercy knew Noah would've never married Cordelia, but it was a shame he could not marry someone. He would've made such a good husband.
Mercy wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek, and when she glanced up to see the harbor in the distance she suggested, "I would like to visit my father in his office at the docks. I think he's there today. Would you mind?"
"No, of course not," Priscilla answered. "It's a beautiful day to be out walking. I love Boston in the spring."
"Savannah in the spring is better," Cordelia countered.
"Oh, I'm sure it is. Perhaps you should go back before you miss the spring there. I'll tell Auntie that you want to leave tomorrow."
Without missing a beat, Cordelia replied, "No. We cannot go back until the end of summer when Daddy finishes his work of securing enough companies to buy his cotton." She continued to prattle on about how much better Savannah was than Boston, until Mercy thought her ears would fall off to put themselves out of their misery.
Mercifully, Priscilla interrupted as she pointed to an old warehouse that had been completely refurbished and turned into a glorious building, "Look at that. My father told me how Addison Berkeley bought this old warehouse." She glanced out at the harbor. "Many of those new, large ships out there are his, as well. You know my father has always been wealthy, but since Mr. Berkeley has placed his enormous amount of money in my father's bank, his worth is growing by leaps and bounds every day. Mr. Berkeley has sent all of his merchants to my father's bank, as well, so they can do their Bills of Exchange through him. My father is beyond happy."
Mercy merely nodded. She was glad Priscilla's family was doing well financially, but her family was apparently suffering. Priscilla's father had come over a few days before and Mercy overheard him talking about her father's mounting debts. Her father could not understand why he was having such financial troubles and he had wondered out loud if it had to do with Addison Berkeley taking some of his shipping business away. Interesting how the same man could be responsible for both Priscilla's family's financial prosperity and her family's financial demise.
Priscilla's voice cut into her thoughts, asking loudly, "Mercy, did you hear me?"
Shaking her head to clear her mind, Mercy replied truthfully, "No, my thoughts were wandering. What did you say?"
"I said that Mr. Berkeley came over to talk to my father last night and he is sinfully handsome."
"Why is being handsome a sin if God made him that way?"
At first Priscilla blinked, dumbfounded, but at Mercy's smile, she chuckled. "Good question. I'll rephrase it for you. He is incredibly handsome. I'm telling you, he is at least as tall as George Washington---three inches over six feet. His hair is almost black and his eyes are as blue as turquoise. He walks with a confidence I've never seen in another man. I have to admit he looks terribly intimidating, but when my father introduced me to him, he smiled in a friendly way and put me right at ease. He's so charming he could convince the bees to hand over their honey."
Cordelia piped in, "I admit he is terribly handsome. My mother saw me staring at him, but she warned me away. He is New Money. There are rumors that he used to be a street urchin here in Boston and he earned his money as a pirate. A pirate. Imagine that."
Priscilla defended him quickly, "He earned his money as a privateer, not a pirate."
"What's the difference? It's all the same."
"No it's not. Pirating is illegal, privateering is not. A privateer can only attack enemy ships at wartime, and they have a letter from their government authorizing their activities. Addison Berkeley captained the Pale Moon at only twenty years of age, and following that George Washington commissioned him to be a privateer and attack the British ships, capture the officers, and seize the cargo. Mr. Berkeley got a portion of the spoils, and he invested it wisely. I think he's an impressive man, especially since he is only twenty-eight and has already accomplished so much."
Cordelia shook her head and set her light brown curls bouncing. "Mama says he's a terrible rake with no thoughts of ever getting married. And even though he is friends with many of the patriots, he is looked down upon by most of those in polite society."
"Just because they are jealous. He is buying a majestic house in Beacon Hill, a few houses away from ours, Mercy. Some in the neighborhood don't want him there. They say only Old Money belongs on Beacon Hill, but he fought it. Now, as we speak, his house is being added onto and refurbished. He is a man who will not take no for an answer."
"Yes, mama says he is a rebel," Cordelia declared with great authority. "He will not wear a wig. I was shocked when he came to your house without his hair even being powdered. If he wants to be a man of society at all, he needs to conform to the ways of fashion and not wear his hair like an office worker. I know wigs are terribly dear and most people cannot afford them, but it's not like Mr. Berkeley cannot afford one. I think not wearing a wig just shows he will never be a man of the upper class. Mama says he pretends to be good and helpful but he's really just a scoundrel."
Mercy frowned. "How does your mama know Mr. Berkeley so well?"
"Oh, she has never met him," she answered flippantly. "Anyway, the arrogant man should conform to the ways of fashion and wear a wig or, at the very least, powder his hair."
Priscilla shrugged. "Well, I liked his hair un-powdered. What a shame it would be to cover up such glorious hair. It is as shiny as lacquered ebony. He wore a fine satin ribbon to tie it back in a queue, which looked quite sophisticated. I think he is dashing."
Cordelia narrowed her eyes with a frown. "I think you fancy him. Would you consider him if he came to court you?"
"No. With my fiery nature I need a more placid man. Gracious me, Addison Berkeley positively radiates power and authority. I heard even his sailors obey his every command without question, and you know how rebellious sailors can be. He must have whipped them a great deal to install that type of obedience. Can you imagine trying to live with a domineering man like that? I can think he is dashing without wanting to tame him."
Cordelia let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear you are not sweet on him. With me being your cousin, your scandalous behavior could ruin me, as well. You need to marry someone of your own class."
Priscilla shot back, "Mr. Berkeley is the most dashing man in Boston, whether he is of our class or not, and I know you would stop all your negative talk about him if he gave you a lick of attention. You don't fool me, Cordelia. I saw you staring at him with your mouth hanging open and then fluttering your lashes at him whenever he glanced our way."
"I did not."
"Oh, please. You would melt like a stick of butter if he even touched you...just like any girl would."
Mercy thought this Addison Berkeley sounded like a dangerous man---attacking ships, whipping his sailors, seducing women and making them melt like butter, throwing his wealth around, and hurting the business of a perfectly good man like her father. At last they reached the door of her father's office, and Priscilla instructed in her authoritative way, "Go on in, Mercy. I need to tell Cordelia something." Mercy nodded and when she stepped inside, she saw a sight that caused her heart to patter and she placed a hand over her chest in a vain attempt to still it. A young man sat at a desk writing figures in a column, but when he looked up, his gaze swept over her like a caress she could almost feel. His warm brown eyes filled with a heat that almost scorched her skin, and her mouth suddenly felt as if she had cotton in it.
Light brown curly hair framed his perfectly sculpted face and hung past his shoulders in a queue. With awe, she marveled that she hadn't known it was possible for a human being to be this beautiful. He obviously saw the appreciation in her eyes, and he gave her a wicked smile before offering smoothly, "Ian Magregor. May I be of service?"
She opened her mouth, but words would not form. Somehow he took away her ability to speak. He stepped toward her with a chuckle as she gathered her wits enough to ask, "Who are you?"
"I just told you. Ian Magregor," he said while amusement danced in his eyes. "The question that has not been answered yet is who are you?"
"I'm...I'm Mercy Creed."
"Ahhh." He took another step forward and in a low voice murmured, "So I finally get to meet the famous Mercy Creed."
"Famous?"
"Yes, famous. I've heard tales of your beauty and now can see they were not exaggerated." She looked away in embarrassment and he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand and brought her face back to his. "Have I flustered you? I didn't mean to." She stared into his eyes, which reminded her of warm gingerbread, and had to remind herself to breathe.
Just then the door opened and Priscilla and Cordelia came in behind her with puzzled expressions that announced they wondered why this stranger stood holding her face. He dropped his hand and gave each of them a nod. "Good day, ladies."
Priscilla stared at him intently. "Who are you?"
He chuckled again. "That seems to be a popular question around these parts. I'm Ian Magregor, Mr. Creed's new accountant."
"Is that so? And how long have you worked here?" Priscilla placed her hands on her hips while awaiting his answer.
He seemed to find Priscilla's spirited nature amusing and a smile tugged at his lips, wanting to break free. "About six months."
"Why have I not seen you in here before?"
"Probably because I do quite a bit of the paper work at home."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-two." With a laugh he asked, "Any more questions, Madame Inquisitor?"
"Yes. Why were you touching Mercy when we walked in here?"
Hesitating for several moments to consider his answer, he finally replied, "Have you ever seen a flower so overwhelmingly lovely that you just had to touch its petals? I suppose that is what came over me." He gave Mercy a knowing smile, and she blushed so deeply she could feel every part of herself turn red. This Ian was certainly bold. But she liked it. He stared at her deeply until she felt trapped in his beautiful brown gaze and nothing else in the world existed but him.
Priscilla stepped between them and broke the spell. "Is Mr. Creed here?"
He shifted his position and, without looking away from Mercy, muttered, "No, I'm sorry. He left for the day. I could tell him you stopped by, but I'm sure you will see him before me."
"We probably will," Priscilla said crisply. "Good day, Mr. Magregor." She spun around and marched toward the door but turned with an irritated scowl when her friend hadn't followed. Mercy stared after her but could not seem to get her feet to move.
Mr. Magregor leaned over and said softly, "You had better go, Miss Creed, but I assure you I'll see you again soon." Then he leaned in even closer, until his lips touched her ear, and whispered, "I will miss you." Shivers raced down her spine and she visibly trembled, which caused him to chuckle again.
Priscilla walked back and grabbed her arm, forcibly pulling her out the door with a stern, "Come along, Mercy." As soon as they got outside she fumed, "What in the world was that about? I'm telling you that man is up to no good with you. Mercy---stay away from him."
In a dreamy voice, Mercy asked, "But why? I like him."
"Don't be ridiculous. He's an office worker. Your father would never allow him to court you, and you know it. Plus there is something in his eyes that tells me he's a scoundrel. Stay away from men like that."
Mercy nodded in agreement on the outside, but inside she knew Priscilla had asked the impossible. She could never stay away from Ian Magregor. Never. She'd left her heart with him back in her father's office. Was this love? This had to be love. Suddenly, the sky looked bluer, the grass looked greener and the songs of the birds sounded more beautiful. She wanted to spin around and squeal with glee, but instead she just continued to walk sedately along beside Priscilla, while Cordelia ranted, "That man is positively scandalous. Mercy, I'm absolutely shocked you accepted his advances."
She smiled to herself. She not only accepted his advances...she liked them. In fact, she wanted his advances again. Cordelia continued to babble away, but Mercy didn't hear a word she said. Her mind became consumed with plotting how she could see Mr. Magregor again. A deep laugh startled her, and when she looked up, she saw an astonishing man on a majestic black thoroughbred. Her eyes swept over him in amazement, from the top of his tricorn hat to his dark blue cutaway coat with shiny brass buttons and his tight buff breaches tucked into tall, black, shiny boots.
Tipping his hat in salute, he smiled down at them and said in a voice full of amusement, "Well, look at the three of you all wrapped up in bows like fancy packages." Mercy glanced over to see that Priscilla smiled and Cordelia giggled and most definitely batted her eyelashes. The man swung his leg over the saddle and jumped down with a fluid grace as he bowed slightly and said to Priscilla, "Good day, Miss Brown," then to Cordelia, "Good day, Miss Turner. It's nice to see both of you again." Cordelia did seem to be melting like butter...and he hadn't even touched her. Could this be Mr. Berkeley? The astonishing man turned toward Mercy with a boyish grin. "And Miss Mercy Creed, it's nice to see you again, as well."
It couldn't be Mr. Berkeley. She'd never met him before. Staring at him with suspicion, she asked, "Who are you, and how do you know my name?"
"We have met before."
With a vigorous shake of her head she countered, "You are mistaken." She could never forget piercing eyes that blue. "I would've remembered you."
"I'm flattered you think I'm so memorable, but I assure you we have met before."
Never in her life had she heard such a soft, rich voice...like velvet. Her eyes swept over him again, and she knew meeting a man like this wouldn't just slip her mind. "Who are you?"
"I'm Addison Berkeley."
So this was Addison Berkeley. This was the man who was ruining her father's life. Humor danced in his eyes, and he gazed at her as if he found her funny...and ridiculous. "I have not met you, Mr. Berkeley. You must have me confused with someone else."
"Well, I suppose I should not be offended that you cannot remember me. You were only a couple of months old at the time."
"What?"
"Your father introduced me to you at your christening."
"You were at my christening?"
"Not exactly. I was helping my friend sell chestnuts at the time, and after your christening your father bought some and he proudly showed you off to me. I told him you looked like a pretty doll in a yellow dress I had seen at the toy store, and he said he would go buy it for you. I find it a nice coincidence that here you stand like that pretty doll, all dressed up and wearing yellow."
"I have that doll in the yellow dress. He said a beggar boy told him about it."
"Yes. That was me."
"You were a beggar?"
"I never actually begged. I had too much pride for that. I found ways to work and earn money, but I'm not surprised your father thought I was a beggar. I certainly looked like one. He gave me money for a coat, and I marveled at the time that he was the nicest man I'd ever met."
Mercy glanced at Priscilla and Cordelia who stared at them avidly listening, and then she stepped closer to him and said softly, "Mr. Berkeley, we were headed to the shopping district. Would you care to walk there with us? I would like to ask you something important."
She could see the surprise in his eyes as he nodded. "I have a little while until my next meeting in the office, so I suppose I can walk with you for a bit."
"Good." She motioned for Priscilla to walk ahead, and her friend reluctantly obeyed and grabbed Cordelia's arm to pull her along. Mr. Berkeley strolled next to her while he held his massive horse by the reins and waited patiently for her to say something. Clearing her throat, she asked, "You met me as a baby, but how did you know it was me just now?"
He glanced down at her with a light in his eyes that she didn't understand as he explained, "I was in town with George Washington awhile back and I saw you in the distance and commented that I thought you were pretty, and he told me you were James Creed's daughter. I remembered that your name was Mercy because I always thought it was such a nice name."
"Thank you for the compliments," she replied uneasily. Biting her lip, she twisted a ribbon on her dress around and around her finger until the tip turned white. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his concerned gaze but could not bring herself to look straight at him.
Finally he asked, "That wasn't the important question you wanted to ask me, was it?"
"No." The hoof beats of his horse were the only sound for several moments before Mercy worked up her courage and barreled ahead, "Mr. Berkeley, you say my father was kind to you, and I'm not surprised. My father is an extremely generous man. I probably should not interfere, and I'm sure my father would not like me asking, but why do you have no loyalty? Why would you seek to destroy my father's business?"
He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head in confusion. "Miss Creed, I have no idea what you mean." She stopped as well and stared at him as he continued, "I've never sought to destroy your father's business. I didn't even know his business was suffering, and I cannot imagine why it is. With the war over, shipping is booming right now and there are hardly enough ships to carry all the cargo. I admit my business is doing exceptionally well because I have the biggest ships that fit more cargo, so I can transport the goods for less money, but your father has many loyal customers. If your father's business is suffering, I can assure you it has little to do with me."
She shouldn't be surprised. Jails were full of men proclaiming their innocence, so why would she expect a callous man like him to admit any wrongdoing. She turned from him and continued walking, but his hand wrapped around her arm, stopping her. He turned her toward him abruptly. "You need to believe me that I would never intentionally hurt your father." Then he added softly, "I don't want you to think badly of me."
Staring up into his piercing blue eyes, she managed to mumble, "I cannot imagine why you care what I think of you."
"I don't know why I care, but I do." His grip on her arm tightened and his pleading eyes confused her. She couldn't understand his intensity. He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Colonies---he considered George Washington, and many of the other patriots, his closest friends, and yet he cared this much about what a little nineteen-year-old girl thought of him. It made no sense. Without releasing her arm he stepped closer and repeated in his deep, commanding voice, "I care what you think of me. I want you to believe that I didn't set out to hurt your father in any way."
She tore her gaze away from his and glanced around at the bustling crowds on Beacon Street, noticing several curious stares. She knew she needed to say what he wanted to hear so he would let her go. "I believe you aren't a vindictive man who would intentionally set out to hurt anyone."
He let out a heavy breath and shook his head. "Oh, I have set out to hurt people who deserve it, and in some ways I am a vindictive man when the occasion arises, but not with your father. Never with your father. That you must believe."
"If you say so." She thought he would release her, but, if anything, his grip tightened and she said unsteadily, "You need to let me go, Mr. Berkeley. People are staring."
"Let them stare. I'm used to it. People always stare at me." Mercy imagined he told the truth. People must stare at him constantly, trying to figure out if a blue-eyed Greek god had somehow come to life. His imposing structure seemed to be carved out of granite, especially his face, which had such a resolute look---a hardness that had been hewn from a difficult life. The severity of his chiseled features made him look more like a carving than a man. Something about his harshness made her shudder. Did an actual heart beat inside his chest? What a contrast to the boyish face of Ian with his soft eyes of warm brown instead of these piercing eyes of icy blue.
She noticed that Mr. Berkeley glanced down at the skin between her three-quarter-length sleeve and her short glove, and for a moment she felt as if she got a glimpse into the cold and lonely place within his soul. He lowered his grip until he held her gloved hand in his and slowly brushed his calloused thumb across her wrist, which caused a riot of shivers to dance up her arm.
With a voice that sounded much too breathy she asked, "What are you doing, Mr. Berkeley?"
"Your skin looked soft." In a tone that dripped over her like warm honey, he added, "I wanted to see if it was."
When he said nothing more, she stupidly asked, "Well, is it?"
His eyes lifted to hers and then lit with amusement. "Yes." He pulled his hand away and then tipped his hat and with one swift leap mounted his horse to gaze down at her. "It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Mercy Creed," and he gave his horse a quick kick and rode away.
She stared after him in utter confusion when Cordelia appeared next to her and reprimanded harshly, "Well this certainly seems the day for you to allow inappropriate men to touch you. I didn't think you had it in you."
She shrugged with a sigh and then mumbled, "I didn't think I had it in me either."
Her footman approached with a scowl on his face. "Do you know Mr. Berkeley, Miss Creed?"
"No, Barry, I didn't before, but I do now."
Glancing down the road at the dark form quickly disappearing from view, he stated, "He is an extremely powerful and wealthy man."
"Yes, that is what I keep hearing."
He looked back at her with embarrassment on his craggy face. "Your father expects me to watch over you and protect you, but I didn't want to cross a man like that."
"You did the right thing, Barry. Mr. Berkeley didn't harm me in any way." He left her heart racing in a pitiful and frightened state, but no permanent damage had been done.
Priscilla grabbed her arm and commanded, "Well, let's go." As they all began to walk, she leaned in and whispered, "My word, Mercy. I think Mr. Berkeley fancies you."
"Oh, don't be silly. Why would a man like him be interested in a little girl like me?"
"Have you looked in a mirror lately? You are stunningly beautiful, and on top of that you are smart and kind. Why would he not be interested in you? I have to confess I'm just a little jealous. I meant what I said that I would never want to tame a man like him, but I still think it would be nice to have a dashing man like that look at me the way he just looked at you."
She had to admit she did feel a little flattered, but a known rake like him probably knew all the tricks and had flattering girls down to an art form. She glanced down at her skin that still tingled from his touch. Did all the men in Boston today want to feel her like a petal?
Mercy glanced up to see Cordelia glaring at her with dark eyes that almost looked black. A shiver of apprehension made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Suddenly, Cordelia lifted her chin and said haughtily, "Mr. Berkeley gives attention to all the pretty girls, so don't be too flattered. He held my hand for much too long last night."
Priscilla rolled her eyes in annoyance. "He did not, Cordelia."
"Yes, he did."
"He did not. I was there. Remember?"
Cordelia tossed a perfect ringlet over her shoulder and seethed, "Think what you want."
"I always do," Priscilla replied with a harsh laugh, and then tugged on Mercy's hand impatiently. "Walk faster. Shopping awaits."
Mercy knew no shopping awaited for her. Just that morning her father had reluctantly told her that she could not buy anything for awhile. Intense shame flickered in his eyes and it broke her heart. She assured him she had enough already and not to worry, but her words only seemed to make him even sadder. And all because of Mr. Berkeley. She didn't care how much he protested his innocence in the matter, he had to have something to do with her father's financial difficulties. What else could explain it? Thinking these thoughts quickly doused any flickering of warm feelings she had for Mr. Berkeley as effectively as throwing water on a flame.
"Oh look," Priscilla cried with enthusiasm. "That fabulous hat in the window is covered in cherry blossoms. I think I want to buy it."
"Go on inside. I'll be right there," Mercy assured her. Priscilla and Cordelia busily began trying on hats and Mercy watched them, doing her absolute best not to feel envious. Stepping to the cherry tree outside the shop door, she snapped off a twig full of blossoms and stuck it in the brim of her wide straw hat. This would have to do for now. Because of Mr. Berkeley, her life from here on out would be quite different.
\*\*\*\*
Addison rode back to his office wondering what on earth had just come over him. Why had he touched Mercy Creed like that? It must be because she was so astoundingly beautiful that she knocked the wind right out of his lungs, and his brain suffered from lack of oxygen and stopped working. He rolled his eyes in disgust at himself. What an idiot! This young, innocent girl was certainly not the type to be dallied with. He had plenty of shopkeepers and dressmakers and such practically throwing themselves at him on a daily basis, and any of them would do perfectly well for a wife, if he ever decided he wanted one.
Mercy Creed was completely unattainable, out of his realm, untouchable...and yet he'd just touched her. He smiled when he thought about how her pretty cheeks turned such a delightful shade of pink and her whole body trembled just from him touching her wrist. She had a goodness and sweetness about her that he found intoxicating. He had to restrain himself from reaching out and touching her hair that hung over her shoulder in a curl that looked exactly like shiny, spun gold. He could only imagine how it would feel. From a distance he'd known she was beautiful, but when he stood before her and she lifted her lashes to reveal her startling jade green eyes, he almost forgot how to breathe. Never in his life had he seen eyes as large and astonishing as hers. They had not changed a bit since she was a baby---a perfect baby that had turned into a perfect young lady.
His mind wandered back to the first time he saw Mercy since she'd grown into such a beauty. He'd been all over the world establishing his shipping empire and had not been in Boston for over three years. He'd gone to Governor John Hancock's office to let him know that he was back, and none other than his good friend George Washington was there visiting. Both men were thrilled to see him and after discussing politics and shipping for over an hour, Washington stood and announced, "I'm off to buy a pair of gloves. Would you like to join me, Addison?"
Of course he'd agreed to accompany him, and they strolled down Boylston Street as the chilly autumn air loosened the red and orange leaves that drifted to the ground and crunched under their feet. Addison listened intently to what his friend said, but then he looked up and saw a sight which made his breath catch as it never had before. Wearing a yellow satin dress, Mercy scampered along the street toward him as she laughed with her friends. In an instant, she lifted up her skirts and stepped onto a low stone wall and walked along, balancing herself with her arms outstretched on either side. He blinked a few times, trying to take in her almost blinding radiance. She looked like sunshine itself against the backdrop of the gloomy, gray sky. Washington had seen him staring and teased, "So James Creed's daughter has caught your eye. Believe me, you are not alone."
As casually as possible, he remarked, "She is a pretty girl."
"She is a beautiful girl, inside and out." Addison nodded and continued to stare at her in open admiration as she hopped off the wall and piled into a waiting carriage. She had disappeared from his life as quickly as she appeared. Today, Mercy wore that same yellow dress and she looked even more like sunshine up close. She positively glowed with light.
Addison had told Mercy that he'd seen her in town and thought she was pretty. But he didn't tell her that this had occurred over six months ago and he'd thought of her at least once every day since. For some strange and inexplicable reason he could not seem to rid his mind of her. Now it would only be worse. He'd touched her and he was sure that even the finest materials he imported from India were not as soft and silky. His mind began to wander to thoughts he knew he shouldn't be thinking about her. He quickly reprimanded himself, "You idiot."
If he ever wanted to court Mercy, he would have to ask her father's permission first, and he would certainly not allow his innocent daughter to associate with someone like him. Especially now that her father thought he was responsible for his financial troubles. He must think that. Mercy wouldn't have come up with such an idea on her own.
But what did any of it matter? He needed to try harder to put Mercy out of his mind. For as long as he could remember, he'd promised himself he would never be a man like his father, letting a woman consume him. If he ever chose a bride, it would have to be someone who meant little to him, and he had a feeling that if he got too close to Mercy she would eventually come to mean a great deal to him, and that he could never allow. He hadn't worked this hard to become a strong man just to let a woman make him weak.
After taking his horse to the stable, he walked to his office for a meeting with John Hancock. The governor had asked to speak with him, and Addison was glad, since he truly liked the man. As he approached the door, Cecil met him with a smile that quickly slid away into a look of concern. "Why do you look so forlorn?"
"Do I? I was just thinking about something, I suppose. Is the tea ready for my meeting?"
"Of course."
"Thank you, Cecil. I truly don't know how I would manage without you sometimes."
"I cannot imagine how you would manage either, so let's hope neither one of us ever has to find out."
Addison gave him an appreciative smile and at the clatter of approaching hoof beats, he turned to see Governor Hancock's coach pull up and lurch to a stop. The commanding man jumped out and bounded toward him with an outstretched hand and an enthusiastic, "Good day, Berkeley. Thank you for seeing me."
Addison shook his hand and replied genuinely, "Thank you for wanting to see me." He ushered him through the door. "Come inside and tell me what I can do for you."
As they walked into the luxurious office, a cheery flame danced in the fireplace and reflected off the surfaces of the highly polished ebony wood furniture and glistening silver accessories scattered around the room. They both took their seats in comfortable black leather chairs and Addison poured them each a cup of tea.
"So tell me," the Governor asked, "Did Paul Revere make this silver tea set for you?"
He shot him a look of surprise. "How did you know?"
"He made one quite similar for me. Extraordinary workmanship. No wonder he is famous for his work with silver."
"He is amazingly talented. He engraved it here on the platter. See." Leaning forward, he read, "To my friend Addison Berkeley, a true patriot. With sincerest appreciation, Paul Revere."
Hancock's eyes lifted to him with a warm smile. "I'm sure you must cherish this."
Nodding, he agreed, "I do." When a silence ensued, he broke it by saying, "You are looking well, Governor Hancock. I've heard it said you are the handsomest man in Massachusetts and I must say it's true. I wish I could wear a white wig with as much finesse as you, but alas, I'm a sailor at heart, and I feel I just look silly."
"Nonsense. But I'm glad you don't wear a wig, because then you would become the handsomest man in Massachusetts and I would lose my title." He leaned forward a bit. "And please call me Hancock. I call you Berkeley."
He shook his head. "Somehow I would feel disrespectful."
"Why? You call General George Washington, just Washington."
"Only because he absolutely insisted."
"Well, I absolutely insist as well. I consider you a friend. I'm greatly in your debt, since I could never repay all you have done for this country. I know you were born in England, yet Paul Revere is right---you are a true patriot."
Embarrassed by the lavish praise. Addison shrugged. "I didn't do that much."
"Yes, you did. You risked your life to raise funds to supply the Continental Army with food and supplies. Don't forget, I used to be a privateer, too. Nasty business. Dangerous business. Yet you made it look easy."
"Privateering does not make me feel like a hero. I'm glad I'm finished with it. My whole life I prided myself on not being a thief, yet I roamed the waters looking for loot. I'm not proud of what I did, and I would rather forget it."
"You should be proud. Many of the soldiers would've starved if not for your brave efforts. Washington himself said the day he hopped on the Pale Moon for a quick trip from Philadelphia to Boston he had no idea that meeting the twenty-one-year-old Captain would be life-changing for him. He sings your praises, and for good reason."
Addison wanted to change the subject. Any type of praise made him uncomfortable, but especially if he had to endure praise about something he wasn't proud of. Trying not to sound rude, he deftly changed the subject. "So your shipping business is doing well?"
"Tremendous. Booming, as is yours, I hear."
"Yes, I'm doing well. I'm glad to hear you are doing well, also." He was glad to hear it. His own booming business had not put a damper on John Hancock's business, so it made no sense that it would be affecting Mr. Creed's business negatively. He wished he could get to the bottom of this mystery, but he didn't want to poke his nose into Mr. Creed's affairs if his help was not wanted.
"So, Berkeley," Mr. Hancock's steady voice interrupted his thoughts, "I know you are an extremely busy man, so I'll get right to it. I'm here for two reasons. First of all, I want to personally invite you to a ball my wife and I are having at Hancock Manor near the end of August. I know that is three months away, but I wanted to give you plenty of notice. I knew if I sent you an invitation, you would probably just throw it away, so I wanted to personally invite you and let you know how much I want you to attend."
Addison stared at him in shock and finally muttered, "Why would you want me there? Do you need to meet a certain quota of riffraff?"
"Be serious. You are not riffraff."
"Maybe not according to you, but believe me, most of the Old Money crowd would not appreciate me being there. I'm New Money, in case you didn't know."
"Well, I'm inherited money. You know my uncle left me his shipping business, Hancock Manor and a large bank account. People talk about how I'm one of the wealthiest men in this country, but I would have little if it wasn't all left to me."
"You are an open-minded man, Hancock, and that is why I like you, but you are in the minority." He glanced out the window and watched one of his new schooners gliding into port before he turned back and continued, "If I come to your ball, there will be murmurings and complaints."
"I don't mind. Most people want to murmur and complain about something, so at least it will be you, and not my wife's outlandish decorating, or the poor quality of the food, or the inadequacy of the orchestra we have hired. You see, Berkeley, the older I get, the more I realize how annoying men are."
Propping his ankle across his knee, Addison leaned back in his comfortable chair. "Not all men are annoying." Then he added with a mischievous smile, "Some men are dead."
With a snort of amusement, Hancock asked, "How did you get to be so cynical at such a young age?"
"By living a stressful life, I suppose," Addison said with a shrug.
"I'll tell you what stress is---trying to be a Governor."
"I'll tell you what stress is---staring down a cannon while an Englishman ignites the fuse."
Trying to top that, he added, "I say stress is being the first to sign the Declaration of Independence and then having nightmares that if the war failed I would go down in history as a monumental failure."
"Well I say stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't even fallen asleep yet."
He chuckled. "Benjamin Franklin warned me even he couldn't keep up with you in a battle of wits."
"Then Benjamin Franklin is a blatant liar. No one can keep up with him and he knows it. I'm a mere ant in the presence of a giant like him."
"The man is amazing. I will not argue with you there. Anyway, Berkeley, you never agreed to attend my ball."
"Hmmm. Imagine that."
"I will not let you out of this."
He didn't want to go, but how was he supposed to tell the Governor to get lost? Reluctantly, he mumbled, "Just send me the invitation and I'll mark it on my calendar."
"Good. I'm pleased."
"You said there were two things you wanted to ask me?"
"Yes, my wife and I are raising money to start an orphanage for the children whose parents died in the war. No pressure, but I wanted to let you know there is a need for additional funds."
"Yes, yes, of course. Believe me, helping orphans is dear to my heart since I once was one. Raise what you can, and let me know what you still need. I will make up the difference."
"I knew I could count on you, Berkeley. You are a good man."
"Well, that's not particularly true," he replied dismissively with a wave of his hand. "But the one thing I ask is that you don't let anyone know I donated the money."
"Why?"
"Because people will say I'm just throwing my wealth around trying to look good. I can't win for losing. People long to criticize me, so I try my best to just blend into the crowd and escape notice."
Hancock threw back his head and laughed heartily as Addison watched him in confusion. Finally he said with a smile, "You, my dear friend, could not blend into any crowd, no matter how hard you tried. Your unusual looks are arresting, your authoritative manner is captivating, and your reputation for living dangerously has made you famous. Get used to the attention. It will be a part of your life for as long as you live. A man like you will always have jealousy following you wherever you go. Try to take it with a grain of salt."
With a deep sigh, Addison nodded. "I try. People talk about me as if I'm an object, but I'm a human being with emotions and feelings, and people seem to forget that sometimes. When I was younger, Benjamin Franklin made it clear to me it's wrong for people to judge harshly when they don't know the whole story. Since we often don't even know a part of the story, it's best if we don't judge or criticize at all. I cannot help that I was abandoned as a child. I cannot help that George Washington personally asked me to be a privateer. I'm not a perfect man, and I have never claimed to be, but I don't understand people hating me for no real reason."
He took a sip of tea and then for some reason continued, "When I was a small child I used to walk up to Beacon Hill and imagine that I would live there someday. I knew if I worked hard that maybe my dream would come true. I've worked hard, and saved hard, and now I can afford to live on Beacon Hill, but people who inherited their money and have never done a day's work in their lives, criticize me for wanting to live there. They did their best to block me from buying, but I fought it on principle's sake. I could live anywhere in Boston and be content, but my money is as good as anyone else's, and I wanted to live on Beacon Hill. But now I know that my neighbors don't want me, I'm not sure if I made a mistake or not. I'm thinking of selling it before I even move in."
"Don't sell it. You didn't make a mistake. Mine was the first house on Beacon Hill, so I should have more say so about the neighborhood than anyone. Most of your neighbors don't care if you are there or not. A few, like me, will be proud to have you, and a few will not want you. Those few are idiots, so just ignore them." Placing his forearms on his knees, Hancock leaned forward and said sincerely, "I'm glad you feel you can talk to me about this, Berkeley. Everyone needs a friend, and with George Washington gearing up to run the country, and Benjamin Franklin and Lafayette back in France, I suppose I will have to do for now."
Addison was touched by the man's sincerity. "Thank you. I'm not sure why I just dumped all that on you, but I'm glad I did. I have to admit I feel better."
"Berkeley, I'm accustomed to your usual witty and teasing manner, which I enjoy, but I want you to know that I'm glad to see this serious side of you. It's important to have someone in your life you can pour your heart out to." His face softened and he said with great conviction, "But I'm not the only one you can cast your cares upon. 'Cast your cares upon Him for He cares for you.'"
"Who? Who cares for me?"
"The Lord. That is a scripture. Jesus goes on to say that He wants you to find rest for your soul." He stood and placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "I wish I could stay longer, but I have another appointment. But you know where I live and where I work, so feel free to stop by anytime. If I don't see you before, I'll see you at the ball. Good day, my friend."
Addison stood and ushered him outside, and after the Governor got in his coach and rolled away, he walked over to the harbor and watched the hustle and bustle of the sailors releasing the sails on The Pale Moon in order to catch the afternoon tides. One of the sailors looked down and called out, "Hello there, Captain."
He waved and called back, "Hello." It felt somewhat strange to still be called Captain when he no longer captained the ship. Now he was a shipping merchant. Part of him envied the new Captain about to embark on a journey while he himself stood on dry land, rooted to the ground. But he was tired of his life spent adrift, both literally and figuratively. Now he stood at glorious Boston Harbor. He'd come in from the storm and found his safe harbor, so to speak. The sun shined brightly against the light blue sky, the birds sang from the trees, and the cherry blossoms floated to the ground like snow, yet in spite of all the beauty and security around him, he felt unsettled. Somewhere inside him loomed a fierce longing for something...he just wasn't sure what. But the longing squeezed at his heart with such pressure it almost hurt. Letting out a sigh from the depths of his soul, he wondered if he had found a safe harbor, and if so, then why did he still feel so terribly adrift?
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Two
Mercy sat in her front yard, working in the garden. It had become the pride and joy of the neighborhood. She loved it when people walked by just to enjoy the flowers she tenderly nurtured to life. It felt nice to be out of her tight whalebone corsets, and cumbersome petticoats and hoops, and heavily brocaded gowns. This simple poplin gardening dress was the perfect thing to wear on this warm and wonderful day.
While she dug at the rich earth with her spade to remove weeds, a robin serenaded her from the crabapple tree above her, and a light breeze carried the scents of springtime in the air. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the day before. What an odd day that had been. The two most handsome men she'd ever seen in her life, giving her attention that confused her. Well, Ian was handsome, but Mr. Berkeley was too terrifying for her to consider handsome. Oh, who was she kidding, he was handsome. She knew they were both inappropriate men for her, so she needed to stop thinking about them. Her family had enough problems without her acting like a silly girl and making it worse.
Suddenly, Mercy had the feeling that someone watched her. She swiveled around to see the startled face of Cordelia's pretty, little slave watching her. "Oh, Daisy. You scared me."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Please forgive me."
"You don't need to apologize." She noticed the girl's large brown eyes sweeping around her garden in admiration, so she asked, "Do you like flowers?"
She nodded shyly. "I do. I'm named after a flower. My Mama named me."
"That's right. You are named after a pretty flower, I might add. Would you like to help me garden for awhile?"
Apprehension washed across her face. "I would need permission first. I don't want to get in trouble."
Mercy couldn't imagine getting in trouble for gardening. How stupid.
Daisy asked softly, "But can I watch you?"
"Of course you can. I'm just weeding right now. I was actually getting ready to take a break for a little while and sit under the arbor and read for a bit."
"Read?" She spoke the word as if it was full of wonders and mysteries.
"Yes, read." She held up the novel she'd stuffed into the pocket of her apron. "This is Clara Reeve's novel The Old English Baron . Have you read it?"
"No, ma'am."
"I'm almost finished. It's set in Medieval times, and full of danger and drama, but most of all chivalry. The hero is honest, courageous, worthy, and fearless, ready to risk his own life to save the damsel in distress. It's terribly romantic. I'm sure you'll like it. Come tomorrow and I'll give it to you."
With a slight frown, she shook her head. "I'm not allowed to read."
"Not allowed to read? Why?"
"I'm a negro, ma'am. We aren't allowed to read. It's forbidden and against the law."
"Poppycock. Everyone should be allowed to read, no matter the color of their skin." Mercy held her own olive-skinned arm up against Daisy's. "For pity sake, your skin isn't much darker than mine. Anyway, those laws are ridiculous. Tomorrow, I'll give you this book."
"But it would do me no good to take the book from you. I don't know how to read."
"Imagine that. I think it's horrible you don't know how to read. But we can fix that problem easily enough." Mercy stood and took Daisy's hand, leading her around the back of the house to a little hidden gazebo in the garden nestled amongst a plum grove. "Here sit by me and I'll teach you to read. Books are the door to all wonders in the outside world. We can't actually visit Medieval times, but with this book we can."
Sitting together on the bench of the gazebo, under the shade of a plum tree with fruit in the first stages of life, the two girls enjoyed one another's company as Mercy taught Daisy the tools of a whole new world. She pointed out letters and sounds and her heart filled with pride as Daisy's face lit with delight when she repeated a sound correctly. Finally, Daisy stood with a look of concern. "Cordelia was taking a nap, so I slipped out, but I need to get back before she wakes up. Thank you, Miss Creed. You are powerfully kind."
"Teaching you to read is my pleasure. Come by tomorrow, during Cordelia's nap time, and I'll teach you some more."
"Don't you take naps?"
"No. I have too much energy for that. Besides, I would rather teach you to read than sleep. By the way Daisy, how old are you?"
"Almost nineteen." With a curtsy, she gifted her with a beautiful smile. "I'll be here tomorrow."
Mercy watched Daisy walk next door to Priscilla's house where Cordelia and her family were staying and wondered why the girl seemed so familiar. She never met her before last week, but something about her stirred recollections. Oh, well, she couldn't imagine why she thought that.
Remembering Daisy's earlier statement, she frowned. She hadn't known slaves weren't supposed to know how to read. How stupid. She was glad she could fix that.
With anticipation, she picked up the novel and entered another world. An hour later, she finished and lowered the novel to her lap with a dreamy sigh. How wonderful to be loved by a dashing hero willing to risk danger just to be by your side.
Her drifting thoughts halted when a slightly familiar voice call out, "Miss Creed. Come here."
Setting the book on the bench, she stood and looked around. "Come where? Who are you?"
"It's Ian Magregor. Come behind the tree. I need to ask you something."
She walked to a large and lofty elm which waved its elegant branches above her. When she peeked tentatively behind the trunk, a strong hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Suddenly she found herself against a warm and terribly male body.
An urgent voice whispered, "I had to see you. I shouldn't be here, but I had to see you again."
Her very own dashing hero. This had to be some sort of dream. Things like this didn't happen to her in the real world. But then her mind cleared a bit. Ian was not a knight, he was an office worker. Pulling away, she asked, "Why aren't you at work?"
"It's Saturday."
"Oh, that's right. Sometimes I lose track of the days," she babbled, unsure of what to say. "How did you know where I live?"
"I'm your father's accountant. I put his return address on his correspondence. And, I had to see you. Miss Creed, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special between us. Tell me you feel it too."
Gazing into his dazzling brown eyes, she felt drawn to him. Slowly, she nodded. "I feel something too. I'm not sure what, but I know I feel something."
He reached out and held her face in his hand while his thumb brushed across her cheek. "Oh, Mercy, you are so sweet and innocent." Pulling her closer again he asked, "May I call you Mercy?"
She knew she should say no, but she feared she'd never be able to refuse him anything.
His breathy voice tickled her cheek. "I know we just met, and I should not be so forward to ask such a liberty, but Miss Creed sounds too formal for the way I feel about you."
She managed to say, "You may call me Mercy, but I'm sure you should not hold me so closely. I like it, but I don't think my father or mother would."
Reluctantly, he pulled away with a nod. "You are right, of course. I don't know how to court you properly. If I asked your father, I'm sure he would refuse me since I have nothing to my name, but I will soon. You'll see. I'll have great wealth, and when that day comes, I'll ask you father for his permission to win your hand. He won't deny me then, I'm sure."
"How do you plan to become wealthy?"
"I'm working on something right now. I will do anything to make myself worthy of you," he pledged.
She thought of the unscrupulous Mr. Berkeley with all his money and no morals. "Money alone does not make someone worthy."
"That is true. But without money, I could never be considered a suitable match for you. And I must have you for my own."
His possessive tone frightened her a bit, but as she gazed into his beautiful face the conviction seeped inside her too. The romance thrilled her. It was as if she'd stepped into the pages of her favorite novel where true love overcame any obstacle, no matter how high.
He leaned down and nuzzled his cheek against hers. "Will you wait for me Mercy? Say you will."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
"Will I be able to see you?"
"Of course. We will find ways to be together until I can officially ask for you."
It sounded terribly romantic. But this wasn't a novel. This was real life. Her life. An overwhelming sense of guilt assaulted her. With wariness, she said, "Somehow sneaking around feels wrong."
"I know," he breathed against her cheek. "I don't like it either, but I see no other way. I've waited my whole life for you. When I shivered in the cold at Valley Forge, I kept myself alive dreaming of someone like you. When I met you yesterday, I knew you were the one. Fate has brought us together."
Mercy didn't believe in fate. She'd always felt that God's loving hand directed the ways of men. Would God lead her to betray her parents by sneaking around with Ian? It was hard to imagine.
Ian brushed his lips against her cheek. "Oh, Mercy, my love, tell me you will wait for me."
She felt herself dissolve in his arms. All her reason and resistance disappeared. "I'll wait for you, Ian. But make your way quickly, so I don't have to wait long."
"I will, my love, I promise."
Pulling her head away, she gazed up at him. "You were at Valley Forge. You served in the Continental Army?"
"Yes, I did."
"You are a war hero?"
"Yes, I am." He replied with a nod.
"My brother was at Valley Forge."
"Yes, Noah Creed."
"You knew Noah?"
"A little. I'm sorry he died at Yorktown."
"Will you tell me of him?"
"He was brave and kind. George Washington favored him, and he slept in the huts with the other officers, so I didn't see him much. What I remember is that he was always writing letters to his family."
"Yes, we got letters from him all the time. I missed him terribly. I still do."
"I can imagine."
Mercy let out a heart-weary sigh. "Noah came home a few times, and I begged him to stay. But he said he had too much honor to be a deserter, and had pledged to see the war through to the end. And he did...only to die in the last battle."
He reached over, plucked a flower from a nearby lilac bush and brushed the fragrant bloom across her cheek. "We have such little time together. Let us speak of happy things."
She wanted to talk of her brother but understood why Ian didn't want to recall painful memories from the war. She longed to remove the dark shadows that formed in his eyes when he spoke of Valley Forge. Determined to bring a smile to his face, she asked, "And what happy things do you wish to speak of? Tell me and I will speak of them."
A charming smile broke forth on his face. "I would like to speak of us."
"Us? Hmmm. Let's see---" While she decided what to say, she noticed his gaze dropped to her mouth. A chill raced up her spine. In nervousness, she licked her lips, and his mouth curved into a crooked smile, as if he understood how she felt. She should speak---she tried to speak---but before she could say anything, he pulled her against him and brushed his lips lightly against hers.
Everything within her screamed to pull away, but somehow she couldn't. Closing her eyes, she sighed and felt his smile against her lips. She wished she knew what to do, but she had no idea. She'd never seen anyone kiss like this before. Who knew that lips merely touching felt this wonderful? He deepened the kiss until her head spun, the ground disappeared, and she felt like a rag doll hanging limply in his arms.
Finally, he dragged his lips from hers and whispered, "Was that your first kiss, Mercy?"
Nodding, she answered breathlessly, "Yes." Blinking a few times, she pulled back and looked at him. "I think you are good at that."
"I think you are too," he replied with a mischievous smile. He looked around and then said reluctantly, "I need to go, my love, before someone sees us." Thrusting a piece of paper in her hand, he stated, "Here's my address. Write to me. And don't worry, we'll find ways to be together until I can court you properly." Before she could say anything, he was gone as quickly and quietly as he'd appeared.
With a sigh, she lifted her fingertips to her lips and leaned against the sturdy trunk of the elm tree. What had just happened? She'd just kissed him. Now she had to marry him. A proper girl didn't go around kissing men she didn't marry. That kiss had sealed her commitment to him. They were bound, and she'd wait for him, no matter how long it took.
Mercy walked back to the little patch of earth she'd been weeding earlier, and sat down with a contented smile. She began to plan what her garden would look like in the house that she and Ian would own someday. Her garden, her home and her whole life would be beautiful. She hummed happily as she picked up her spade and got back to work.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Three
The sun rose with splendor and bathed the city of Boston in a warm, golden light. White, puffy clouds remained immobile in the clear and serene sky. The sails on the ships in the harbor hung limply from lack of the slightest breeze, and the unruffled waters remained as still as a mirror. Addison's morning at the docks had been pleasant, but as the day wore on, the heat became almost unbearable.
He looked down at his pocket watch with both hands pointing straight up, glanced at the noonday sun above him and groaned. Boston's infamous August humidity hung in the air like a heavy cloak. He wiped perspiration from his brow as he walked toward the tailor's shop for the final fitting of his ludicrous costume for this ridiculous ball.
The silly French tailor had insisted he wear a pale pink embroidered silk jacket, but Addison had adamantly refused.
What man wore pink?
Addison compromised that the material could be shiny silk and embroidered but had insisted the color be black. The tailor had groaned and refused to make something so out of fashion. He'd compromised again with cream but absolutely no pink.
As he walked into the shop, the tailor's pretty little black-haired daughter sashayed over to him. "Oh, Monsieur Berkeley, I've looked forward to seeing how handsome you'll look in your new suit."
"Well, it appears you won't have to wait much longer. Where is it? I would like to try it on and get this over with." He didn't want to sound rude, but he had appointments all afternoon and didn't care to encourage the attentions of this flirtatious girl.
He was no longer on a ship willing to oblige the anonymous females looking for adventure on the high seas. Now he wanted to be a respectable business man. He now lived in this city of eighteen thousand people and didn't want to be running into past conquests on a daily basis.
The little, bony man appeared from a back room holding up the elaborate suit with pride. " Très magnifique . You'll look astonishing. A powerful man such as you should wear a suit fit for a prince---"
He lifted a hand to stop the man. "There's no need to flatter me. I already paid for the suit. Let me try it on, and then I can get out of your way."
Several minutes later, he stood gazing at himself in the mirror. The elegant coat clung to his body with the back of it hanging to his knees. The open front of the coat exposed the tight breeches, making him terribly uncomfortable. With all the shiny cream fabric elaborately decorated with silver thread, he looked as if he belonged in the court of the French King Louis the XVI. It was just too much, but he didn't have time for a new suit to be made.
The tailor's daughter wandered into his dressing room, and her dark eyes roamed his body. "It fits like a glove," the young girl purred as she stepped closer and gazed at him adoringly.
"A tight glove," he mumbled with dismay. Every part of his body seemed to be bursting at the seams.
"Yes, a tight glove that showcases the glory of the man underneath. All your years as a pirate made you strong," she gushed, as she ran her hand provocatively across his chest.
Stepping away, he declared, "I was never a pirate. Where did you hear such a thing?"
"Everyone knows," she replied looking hurt.
He softened his tone as he corrected her. "Well, everyone is wrong." It frustrated him that the unscrupulous could spread lies, and the gullible believed them as if they were fact.
He wanted to leave, but he needed to give credit where it was due. The suit was not his taste, but he had to admit that the workmanship was impressive. He stepped into the next room and found the tailor. "You truly are a talented man. Thank you for the suit. I'll change now and be on my way."
The man glowed with pride. "Come again when we can be of service to you."
"I will." Several minutes later, he left the shop with the huge box holding his carefully folded suit. His stomach tightened at the thought of attending this ball of Hancock's. If he didn't like the man so much, he would never go. He'd stared down the cannons of enemy ships and didn't feel as much fear and apprehension as the thought of putting on this suit and pretending to fit in with people who didn't want him in their midst.
As he kicked at a pebble in the pathway, he wished it wasn't so blasted hot and sticky. He'd forgotten how miserable Boston summers were. Suddenly, a shop door swung open, and he stopped abruptly to keep from plowing over two females who walked into his path.
"My word," Mercy declared with a smile, "It appears both of us are reckless walkers and narrowly escaped a dangerous collision."
"I'm sorry, Miss Creed. All of my focus was on a pebble. I must admit it's a nice surprise however to look up from a little rock and see your pretty face instead."
That same delightful pink color stained her cheeks, and she glanced at her mother who he'd forgotten stood next to her. Embarrassed, he bowed and said, "We haven't met, Mrs. Creed. I'm Addison Berkeley."
She seemed speechless for several moments but finally managed, "Yes, Mr. Berkeley. From your description, I knew this must be you. But I have to admit, I wasn't aware you had met my daughter."
"Is that so?" He glanced at Mercy with a teasing smile. "Were you keeping me a secret, Miss Creed?"
A look of panic and guilt flashed in her eyes which confused him. He'd only been teasing.
Looking horribly flustered, she said, "I only met Mr. Berkeley once, and I forgot to mention it to you."
So apparently he hadn't made the same impression on her that she'd made on him.
She pointed to his box and asked, "I see you have been out shopping. Did you get a new suit?"
"Yes, I did. I needed one for the Governor's Ball tomorrow night. But I must admit, I think I look ridiculous in it. Too much fancy silk and embroidery for a simple man like me."
"We are going to the Governor's Ball as well."
"I thought you might. I hoped I'd see you there." He watched her cheeks turn pink again. It tickled him. "I'd ask you for a dance, but I don't know how to dance. So to save your toes, I'll spare you."
Mercy looked at him as if he'd just sprouted horns. "You don't know how to dance?"
"No," he answered with a casual shrug. "I never took the time to learn. Maybe someday I will."
"Dancing is fun. You should learn."
Her little face looked so earnest that he couldn't hide his smile. "I'll keep that in mind. And if I learn, will you promise me a dance someday?"
"Certainly."
"Then it's settled. I will learn." He glanced at her mother who stared at him questioningly. He knew he needed to stop flirting with Mercy, so he looked at the little package in her hand and asked, "I can see you are out shopping today as well."
"Yes, we just picked up some trimmings to sew onto one of my gowns."
He wondered why she only bought trimmings instead of a new gown. He was certain every female attending the Governor's Ball would want to be arrayed in the latest fashion. Her father must still be in a financial slump. He wished he could buy Mercy a new dress. A dress fit for a princess. But it didn't matter what she wore. She could dress in a burlap sack and still be the prettiest girl around.
With enthusiasm, she pulled out some lace and silk flowers. Holding them up proudly, she said, "See. Aren't these pretty?"
With amusement, he glanced down at the bobbles and bows in her hand. "Yes, they are pretty, and they will be prettier still on you." With a gentlemanly bow, he tipped his hat and said gallantly, "Good day, ladies. Until tomorrow night."
He quickly walked away and resisted the urge to turn and look at her again. Part of him had hoped Mercy would be at the ball but part of him hoped she wouldn't. Being around her was like putting a mouthwatering meal in front of a starving man and saying, "Don't touch."
But the thought of not being around her made life seem dull and tedious. Mercy was sweetness personified, but he had to remind himself that she was a sweetness a man like him didn't deserve.
He glanced at his roughened hands, thinking of all they'd experienced in this difficult world. Mercy was too pure for a man like him---too young, innocent and untouched. He needed to stay rooted to the ground. Not thinking of reaching to the stars.
\*\*\*\*
Mrs. Creed stared at Mercy with a shocked expression which melted into a sly smile. "I heard Addison Berkeley was handsome and charming, but gracious, I had no idea." She fanned herself. "Why did you never tell me that you met him?"
"It slipped my mind."
"How could a man like that slip your mind?"
"Really mother. He has enough women panting after him. He doesn't need you added to the list."
She laughed, embarrassed. "I wasn't panting, just admiring." Tapping Mercy's arm with her fan, she asked, "Did you notice the way he looks at you? I think he might be smitten with you, Mercy."
"Don't be silly. And anyway, I'm not smitten with him. He's a cold-hearted man and a rake."
"How do you know that?"
"I know he is cold-hearted because he doesn't care that he's ruining Daddy's business, and everyone knows he's a rake."
"What makes you think he's ruining your father's business?"
"I heard daddy mention that Mr. Berkeley's successful business is cutting into his."
"Hmmm. I know your father's business isn't doing well right now, but I don't think your father would lay the full blame of that upon Mr. Berkeley's success." A slight frown pulled her brows together. "And how do you know the man is a rake?"
"I've heard the rumors."
"Rumors aren't always true. And even if it is, some say reformed rakes make the best husbands."
"Well, I have no desire to reform him. I'll leave that up to some other poor soul."
"He is charming. How could you resist him?"
"Priscilla said he's so charming he could get the bees to hand over their honey. I'm sure it's true, but I'll keep mine. Let him get his honey from some other bees."
Her mother frowned, "Mercy, do you look down upon him because he isn't of your class?"
"No. That has nothing to do with it."
She wished she could tell her mother that she didn't look down upon Ian who wasn't in the upper class. The last three months had been the most thrilling of her life. Love was glorious. She now understood why the poets spoke of the rapturous wonder of two hearts entwined as one. Someday soon her name would be Mercy Magregor. It even sounded good. And once she got married, they'd have brown-haired, brown-eyed boys like their father, and blond-haired, green-eyed girls like their mother. Her life would be a fairytale. She had it all planned.
But she couldn't tell her mother this. Ian had not made his money, but he kept promising that he would soon. He wanted her to be patient, and she was trying.
Her mother's sweet voice interrupted her thoughts, "You know Mercy, some may look down upon Mr. Berkeley, but I don't. I admire a man who can work hard and make something of himself. This is America, not England and all its class regulations. Our ancestors came to America to be free from that. Keep an open mind toward Mr. Berkeley."
She nodded, but how could she keep an open mind toward him? Her Ian had been a war hero, while Mr. Berkeley roamed the seas like a pirate taking advantage of the war, stealing loot to line his own pockets. Ian helped her father with his business, whereas Mr. Berkeley hurt her father's business. Ian was humble and kind, whilst Mr. Berkeley walked around with a strut as if he owned the world. And at this rate, he probably would.
Mercy could never be with a man that cared so much about money. Just the sight of Mr. Berkeley took her breath away and made her insides feel like pudding. All this more evidence of his danger. The less she had to be around him the better.
"I have an idea," her mother suggested. "Let's stop by the sweet shop, buy some treats and take them to your father at his office."
"Oh, can we please just go home," she begged. The thought seeing Ian in front of her mother and father made her feel nauseous.
"Mercy, this isn't like you. You always like to visit your father. Although he told me you haven't been there for awhile."
"I do like visiting him, but I'm tired right now, and I need to start working on my dress."
"There's plenty of time for that and I will help you. Let's go."
Mercy found herself being pulled along to Pierre's Sweet Shop, and less than thirty minutes later, they walked into her father's office. Her heart pounded when Ian glanced up at her.
Ian nodded politely, "Hello, Mrs. Creed."
"Hello, Mr. Magregor. This is my daughter Mercy."
He nodded with a smile. "We met when she came in to visit with her father several months ago." He glanced at Mercy as if she was a person of little consequence. "Nice to see you again, Miss Creed."
My, he was a good actor. He should be on the stage. Deception seemed to come a little too easily to him. But not to her. She felt wretchedly dishonest and she stumbled awkwardly. "Oh, a, yes. You too."
Her mother looked at her frowning. "So you already met Mr. Magregor? You didn't tell me that Mercy. Is that a habit you are forming, going around meeting handsome men and not telling me about it?"
Ian tilted his head and looked at her darkly as he raised an eyebrow. "Handsome men?"
In a lilting voice her mother patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, you are a handsome man, Mr. Magregor. Don't act so surprised."
Mercy knew that wasn't where his surprise came from. He already knew he was a handsome man. She wanted to put his mind at ease. "It's nothing. I met Mr. Berkeley a few months ago. It was of little consequence to me so I forgot to mention it to my mother. We just ran into him down the street. Well, actually," she continued nervously, "We almost ran into him, but he stopped just in time."
Ian's eyes darkened more. "Addison Berkeley?"
Her mother laughed. "Yes. Can you imagine she met a man like that and failed to mention it to me?"
With a sweet smile, he looked up at her mother. "No, Mrs. Creed. I cannot imagine that."
Happy to have an ally, she reached into the box and declared, "Here have a treat." She placed a little lemon tart on his desk.
"Thank you," he smiled up at her again, his eyes full of innocence. "That is kind of you."
With amusement, she said, "Yes, well, just don't tell James that I gave you one. He is quite stingy with his tarts. I know he likes you, but if he knew you were touching his tart, he would not be happy."
Mercy knew her mother was trying to tease, but she couldn't even force a smile. Shame washed over her like an angry wave, and she braced herself by a table to keep from toppling under its weight. It almost seemed like her mother was trying to make a point, but it must be her own guilty conscience.
She was like the tart, and Ian kept touching her, and she had no doubt that her father would not be happy about it. She'd always wanted to be a good girl, and now she had become a liar. All along she'd known she was deceiving her mother, but to have it flaunted right in front of her face made her feel sick.
Her mother looked at her with concern and walked to her side. "Sweetheart, are you ill? You look terribly pale. Actually, you look a little green."
"I'm not feeling well."
"I'm sorry. I should've taken you home when you asked me to earlier." She led Mercy to a chair. "Here, sweetheart. Sit down and I'll take these treats to your father. I'll be right back."
As soon as her mother disappeared down the hall, Ian looked up at her. "Are you truly sick or was that just an excuse so you could be alone with me?"
"I truly feel sick. The guilt of deceiving my parents makes me ill. I don't like it, Ian."
"I don't like it either, but what do you want me to do? I cannot have you yet, but I will not give you up." His voice filled with intensity as he murmured, "You are mine, Mercy. You do know that?"
His? Somehow his words didn't sit well. "You speak of me like I'm your property, and I don't like that. But to put your mind at ease, you must know I'm committed to you. Don't ever doubt my loyalty."
"I don't like you talking with Addison Berkeley."
"I can't be rude and ignore him. You have nothing to worry about." Letting out a weary sigh, she whispered, "How much longer, Ian? I cannot continue this deception. It's eating away at me."
He ran both his hands through his hair in agitation. "Mercy, believe me, I'm trying. You must trust me. I'm sorry for making you wait, but I'm making my money soon. It won't be much longer. Meet me in the gazebo at eleven o'clock tomorrow night, and I'll make it up to you, love."
"I have to go to the Governor's Ball tomorrow night, but I'll meet you there the next night."
"You're going to a ball without me?"
"Well, you weren't invited, and I have to go. I wish you were going, believe me."
"You don't have to go." Anger crept into his voice as he commanded, "Get out of it."
Shaking her head with a frown, she answered, "I cannot. Besides, I want to go. I'll get to see many old friends that I haven't seen for awhile. But I'll tell you all about the ball the next night when I see you."
His eyes darkened as he opened his mouth to respond, when footsteps sounded in the hallway. Ian looked down and began writing as if he didn't even know she sat in the room.
When her father walked in, she noticed deep lines creasing his handsome face that she'd never noticed before. He crouched down in front of her and laid his hand across her forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God you don't have a fever." With worry etched all over his face, he asked, "Where do you feel sick? I heard about a few more cases of yellow fever breaking out in Philadelphia. I hope it has not come here too. Blasted mosquitoes."
Mercy reassured him, "I'm just tired, Daddy. That is all. I promise." Losing Noah had just about destroyed him. Losing her would finish the job.
"I'll have my coach take you home." Lifting her gently to her feet, he soothed, "Come along, darling."
As she found herself being ushered out of the room, she glanced back at Ian to see him glowering. Did he really expect her to stay home from the Governor's Ball? How selfish. She truly wished he was going. When he became an important man, they could attend functions like this together. In the mean time, she wasn't going to sit at home. He shouldn't expect her to.
When she got home, she took a quick bath. After putting on a simple, cotton dress, she stood at the window and noticed Daisy lurking behind a tree in the garden. With all that happened, she'd forgotten their reading lesson. Grabbing her Bible off the nightstand, she crept out to the gazebo.
As soon as Daisy saw her, relief flooded her face. "I'm glad you made it, Mercy. I was getting worried."
"Everything is fine. Sorry I'm late."
"It's all right. I'm just anxious to find out what happens to Jacob and Rachel. It's so romantic that he had to wait seven years to marry her, but it seemed like a day because of his great love for her."
Mercy nodded and let out a deep breath. She'd only waited three months for Ian and already she grew aggravated as if the wait was an eternity. She just needed to be patient.
Mercy read the story and then handed the Bible to Daisy to read. She stumbled over a few words, but it was obvious that Daisy had become a good reader.
"Honestly, Daisy, I think you have got to be one of the smartest girls I've ever met," Mercy praised.
Daisy beamed and then reached into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief with an exquisite embroidering of daisies and the initials MPC for Mercy Prudence Creed. "This is so you won't forget me. I wish I could give you more." She looked away and wiped tears from her lovely brown eyes. "You've been good to me, and you aren't even related to me."
Something about those words reverberated inside Mercy and it was as if a candle had been lit, bringing illumination inside her. Related. Daisy was much darker, but her large brown eyes and the shape of her face looked remarkably like Cordelia. She gasped at the thought. "Daisy. Is Mr. Turner your father? Is Cordelia your half-sister?"
Panic covered her face, and she shook her head. "Why would you think that? I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to. You look just like Cordelia."
"Please say nothing. Mr. Turner knows and that is why he allows me to live in the big house. My mama died when I was a little girl, and Mr. Turner took me in. He's a busy man, but when I see him, he's kind to me. But Cordelia and her mother don't. They'd be even more horrible to me if they did."
"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. We are friends, and I must say I like you much better than Cordelia."
Daisy laughed, "I will not tell her you said that."
"Good idea."
Daisy stood and smiled at Mercy. "I never thought I would have a friend like you." She turned to leave. "Goodbye until tomorrow."
Mercy walked to the house, considering another bath, but as soon as she opened the back door, she heard her mother's voice.
"Mercy, come into the parlor." She walked into the beautifully decorated room and her mother patted the sofa next to her. "Sit, Mercy. I want to talk to you about something."
A rising sense of panic filled her. "What is it?"
Her mother stared at her for several moments. "I know you are keeping something from me, and it hurts that you wouldn't trust me enough to tell me."
Instantly, the pressure of all the secrets flooded out. Tears streamed down Mercy's cheeks. "Oh, mama. I wanted to tell you. I did." Between sobs she got out, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
"Did you think I wouldn't see you in the gazebo?"
"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I've not been thinking clearly for awhile."
Her mother brought her into an embrace. "Oh, darling, don't weep. I'm actually proud of you."
Mercy pulled back and stared. "Proud?"
"Of course. You are risking the intense anger of the Turner family, and yet you defy their oppressive ways by teaching Daisy to read. I think it's a noble thing you're doing. It's best that no one else knows, but I'm glad I do. I can tell I raised you right. Pastor Thompson prayed you'd be a guide to others, showing mercy. And look at you, darling."
Mercy buried her face in her hands and let out a moan of anguish. She couldn't bear her mother's praise when she'd been so wicked. She sneaked out almost every night after her parents went to sleep and let Ian hold her and kiss her in the gazebo. Yet her mother was praising her virtue. If only she knew. Mercy wanted to confess, but what if her parents forbid her from seeing Ian again. She couldn't live without him. As much as she hated the dilemma she found herself in, she saw no way out.
Her mother patted her leg. "I know you feel poorly so sit here and I'll get your gown. We can sew on the appliqués together. I'm going to lower the neckline, shorten the sleeves and then add lace to both. I'll cut away the front, adding an underskirt of lace. It'll look so different when we're finished, no one will know the original gown was from two years ago. They'll think it's the latest fashion from Paris."
With a smile, Mercy asked, "When you're finished, I'm sure they will. But what about you, Mama? What are you going to wear?"
"Oh, I don't know, and I don't care. No one worries about what an old, married woman wears."
Mercy loved her for putting on a brave face, but she knew that her mother loved to dress pretty and wear new gowns. This had to be difficult on her.
"Well, no matter what you wear, you'll still be the prettiest, old married woman there." Mercy said.
Her mother reached down and kissed her forehead with a smile. "I'll be right back."
The next afternoon, Mercy tried on her finished dress. She held it out and spun around. Her mother's magic with a needle had indeed turned this dress into a gorgeous gown that looked entirely new. "Thank you, Mama. It's truly beautiful."
"As are you. Every man there will want to dance with you."
Mercy nodded and tried to smile. The man she wanted to dance with wouldn't even be at the ball. She turned around and asked, "Can you unbutton me please? It's so hot and humid I'll sweat all over this dress and ruin it before tonight."
As her mother undid the little buttons, she teased, "Ladies perspire. They don't sweat."
Mercy forced a half-hearted smile. Since I'm not much of a lady, I probably just sweat.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Four
With a frustrated groan, Addison wondered if it was too late to feign illness. Hancock was the only man he knew well. Mercy was the only female he knew, and he didn't know her that well...and it needed to stay that way.
"Stand still and stop being so incorrigible," a harsh voice commanded.
A white, cloth noose tightened around Addison's neck. Cecil had insisted he hire a valet now that he wanted to be a respected man of business.
The fussy Frenchman folded and refolded a dozen cravats saying, "No. No. Not right."
Addison didn't know why. They all looked fine.
At last, the valet seemed satisfied. "Now sit. If you won't wear a wig, I must powder your hair."
"Do I have to wear powder?" Addison knew he must sound like a whiny boy. He hated the strong perfumed scent of the powder, and the way it always fell all over his dark clothes. But he wore no dark clothes tonight, so maybe the powder wouldn't show. With the heavily perfumed ladies around him, the little bit of orange scent would hardly be significant.
"Yes, you have to wear powder. I would not be fit to be a valet if I let you go to a ball with an un-powdered head."
Draping a sheet around Addison's shoulders he covered his head in pomade and then worked and worked until every strand of his dark hair was covered in white.
The man declared, "We are finished."
Addison walked to the mirror. A harsh laugh escaped when he saw a superbly clothed man staring back at him. His tanned skin was a stark contrast to the white that covered his head, the ivory and silver that covered his body, the fine white silk stockings that covered his calves, and the pumps on his feet. What an absurd costume. He felt like an idiot.
"You look magnificent. Truly magnificent," the Frenchman gushed.
Cecil came strolling into the room and chuckled. "Well, look at you. Such a distance you've traveled from the little street urchin who wanted my burlap."
"But in many ways, I'm still the same person."
His friend walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Addison, you look spectacular. You have nothing to feel insecure about. You are smarter than most men there, wealthier, wittier, and more handsome. Hold your head high."
Addison gave him an appreciative but unconvinced smile. "Thank you, Cecil. I wish you were going with me."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not. I'll leave the fancy patty-caking to you." He led Addison toward the front door. "Now that you are a high falutin' Beacon Hiller, you can walk to the governor's mansion." With a hearty pat, he encouraged, "Have fun."
Addison groaned as Cecil literally pushed him outside. As he walked along, he glanced down at his ivory colored shoes and hoped he didn't get them dirty. He let out a laugh and shook his head. What kind of a man had he become? Never in his life had he worried about getting his shoes dirty.
Within minutes, he found himself approaching the mansion lit up like a firecracker in the night. Carriages and coaches lined the drive and gloriously arrayed people strolled up the wide front steps, as the strains of an orchestra drifted through the open windows. Everything within him wanted to bolt. He felt like a rabbit entering a den of wolves.
Grabbing his collar, Addison let out a tight breath. "Buck up, man," he commanded to himself. He paced around the gardens trying to mentally prepare. If he could face down enemy warships, he could certainly do this. Couldn't he? Slowly, he walked to the stairs, but then turned around and paced the gardens some more.
\*\*\*\*
"You look beautiful, Mercy. What a gorgeous dress. That apple-green color makes your eyes look even greener, if that is possible."
"Thank you. You look beautiful too."
Priscilla glanced down at her elaborate, lavender gown that had probably taken a modiste months to make. "This is a pretty dress. I hope Mr. Ainsworth likes it?"
Her brow puckered in bewilderment. "Phillip Ainsworth?"
"No, silly. His son, Luke."
"Luke Ainsworth? Are you smitten with him?"
"A little."
"But he's terribly quiet."
"I know, and I'm so fiery and talkative that it makes a nice match, don't you think?"
"I suppose so. How old is he?"
"Twenty eight."
"That is so old."
"No it's not. I don't want a boy. I want to marry a man. Don't you think he's handsome?"
Mercy had never really thought about it, but when she glanced across the room and saw him talking to some other men, she had to agree that he was handsome. "Yes, he is. He has nice dimples when he smiles."
"I know. That's my favorite part of him. I like all of him though. His crooked smile and his dark curly hair. I don't even mind his limp. Every time I see it, I'm reminded he's a hero."
"Has he spoken to you?"
"A little, but he doesn't know I'm interested in him. He will though. I have a plan." She giggled and leaned in to whisper, "Watch and learn."
Slowly, she sashayed close to where Luke stood. Priscilla fanned herself while giving him a flirtatious smile. He appeared amazed, and glanced around him to see if the attention was meant for another. When he looked satisfied that Priscilla's regard was meant for him, Luke's eyes widened and a crooked smile curved his lips. Excusing himself, he left his group and walked to Priscilla's side and spoke with her for a few minutes before leading her to the dance floor.
Mercy gave a little laugh. Neatly done. She never would have thought someone as mild mannered as Luke Ainsworth would catch Priscilla's fancy, but she'd heard that opposites attract.
Mercy gasped in surprise when George Washington walked into the room with his close friend the Marquis de Lafayette. A flurry erupted as people rushed to their sides. Everyone seemed surprised but the governor who wore a smug smile.
"Mercy, may I have the honor of this dance?" She glanced up to see Noah's closest friend Able Cotton. The last time she'd seen him was at Noah's funeral. Powerful emotions engulfed her, but now was not the time to cry.
"Of course, I would be delighted." She placed her gloved hand on his arm and looked up into his face that had changed quite a bit. His hair still blazed red and freckles still covered his cheeks, but his features now belonged to a man. "It's nice to see you again, Able. It has been too long."
"Yes, it has. You look pretty tonight, Mercy. Even as a little girl, I knew you'd be a beauty."
She saw pain in his eyes and knew his grief over losing Noah was still deep and raw. The two had met in grammar school and remained friends until Able held Noah's shattered body in his arms. He had carried Noah from the battlefield as he sputtered his last words, "T----tell my f----family I l----love t----them. A----and M----Mercy t----to b----be a g----good g----girl."
Mercy wondered what Noah would think of her sneaking around to meet Ian, letting him hold her and kiss her. He wouldn't like it. She was sure of it.
Able reminded her of Noah, and thinking of Noah reminded her that her recent scandalous behavior would displease him. What had she gotten herself into with Ian? He had some sort of hold on her that wouldn't allow her to do what was right. What had she become?
Able interrupted her thoughts. "Are you all right, Mercy?"
She nodded, but then shook her head. "I miss Noah."
"I know. Me too."
The lilting strains of the orchestra began as he led her into the complicated steps of the minuet. When the final notes played, Able ushered her to the refreshment table and they chatted about his classes at Harvard that would be resuming soon. Noah and Able had planned to attend Harvard together. But now Able had to go alone. Noah's death left a void in many lives.
Able started telling her some amusing stories about college. It only reminded Mercy of why Noah had always found him so entertaining.
A ripple of gasps floated across the room. Mercy glanced in the direction everyone was looking and saw a spectacular sight. Addison Berkeley's large frame filled the doorway. The man radiated powerful energy that she felt across the room. Hundreds of candles reflected off the silver embroidery on his perfectly tailored ivory suit that showcased his broad shoulders and powerful, muscular body.
Mr. Berkeley had said he thought he looked ridiculous in the suit. But, he was wrong. He didn't look absurd. In fact, he looked positively smashing. He must've sensed her staring at him for his sharp, blue eyes swung around the room and landed on her.
She let out a soft groan of mortification. He'd caught her staring at him. How humiliating. She considered looking away, pretending she hadn't seen him. But that would look pathetic. So she squared her shoulders and gave him a confident smile, even though she felt anything but certainty.
The corners of his lips curved into a slow smile, and she felt her pulse begin to race until she could hear it pounding in her ears. They continued to stare at one another, neither able to look away.
What was wrong with her that she would let such a horrible man have this type of effect on her? She was practically engaged to someone else. She really was immoral. Noah would be so ashamed. Forcing herself to look away, she glanced at Able.
"Mercy, do you know Mr. Berkeley?" Able asked, with curious eyes.
"We met a couple times," she offered casually. But she could tell Able thought there was something more to the story. "Just twice," she added. "Briefly."
George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette stood in deep conversation in the corner. Both glanced over and saw Mr. Berkeley standing in the doorway. They walked toward him with welcoming smiles.
After watching the three men exchange greetings, Able leaned over and whispered, "I have heard about Mr. Berkeley."
"What have you heard?"
He started to say something but paused. "Oh, I had better not say yet." He took a sip of lemonade and then asked, "Mercy, have you ever heard of the Philadelphia Abolition Society?"
"No. What is it?"
"They are a group of concerned citizens doing what they can to make slavery illegal. They have been around for about nine years. I just got back from New York where they are forming their own Abolitionist Society. Massachusetts is the forerunner of abolition. Did you hear ours was the first state to end slavery with a judicial decree last year?"
"Yes, I knew that. My parents rejoiced."
"Yes, many rejoiced." He leaned in a bit and said, "I would like to invite you to our first meeting tomorrow. Someone heard I wanted to get these meetings started and just sent me a large sum of money. This was the push I needed."
"How wonderful. Who was it?"
"The donor was anonymous, but I think I know who he is. Anyway, I understand this is last minute, but I would really like you to be a part of our society, and I would like you to start tomorrow if you can."
A look of concern covered her face. "Are you sure females are invited?"
"Yes, I don't think we should discriminate against people for race or gender. You are smart, kind and helpful, and I think you would be a wonderful addition. Also, if word gets out that you are a part of our society young men from all over Boston will race to join!"
With a giggle she asked, "So you want to use me as encouragement?"
"Something like that. I'm a devious man."
She giggled again. "You are hardly a devious man since a devious man would not be so upfront about his true intentions. If my father will let me come to your meetings, then I will be there. I think it's horrible to treat people differently because the color of their skin is darker. Just horrible."
Before Able could answer her, a few of his friends joined them. After introductions, they flattered Mercy endlessly. She tried to pay attention, but her eyes wandered around the room until they landed on Mr. Berkeley again.
Mr. Berkeley talked lively with his two important friends. Governor Hancock joined them. All three men laughed heartily after Mr. Berkeley said something.
Some men joined them and pulled the Governor away. More approached, pulling Mr. Berkeley's companions away and leaving him alone. After leaning his hip against the wall for a moment, he pushed off and walked to the refreshment table.
Mercy noticed men watched Mr. Berkeley with a wary admiration while women gazed at him in utter fascination. As if he was an exotic and dangerous jungle cat meant to be admired from a distance.
Cordelia stared at him in open admiration. She walked over and tried the smiling-over-the-fan trick which had worked so well for Priscilla on Luke Ainsworth. Mr. Berkeley gave her a polite smile and nod, then looked away and kept walking.
Cordelia's mouth pinched, anger evident on her face as she retreated to her mother's side. Momentarily, the two bustled over to Mercy's side.
Mrs. Turner leaned over and whispered in a condescending tone, "The nerve of that Mr. Berkeley coming here to this ball. I wonder how he managed to get invited."
Mercy replied, "I think he is good friends with the Governor."
"Bah. Good friends. I cannot imagine the governor being friends with him. I heard Mr. Berkeley refer to General George Washington as Washington and Governor Hancock as simply Hancock. The man is truly presumptuous to take such liberties. But arrogant men usually are."
"But those men didn't seem to mind," Mercy countered. "They appear to truly like Mr. Berkeley."
Cordelia's mother continued, apparently unmoved by Mercy's comment. "Can you believe he isn't wearing a wig?"
"No, but he did powder his hair. And George Washington isn't wearing a wig either."
Cordelia sniffed. "The man is so arrogant. He hasn't even asked anyone here to dance. You can tell he thinks he is too good for all the ladies here."
Mercy felt the need to defend. "Well, he just got here. And actually, Mr. Berkeley isn't dancing because he does not know how. He has been too busy to learn. But he said he'd like to learn someday."
Cordelia's mother glared at her. "And how do you know that?"
"He told me."
The woman's mouth opened wide in astonishment. "You spoke with the man?"
With a sneer, Cordelia added, "Yes, and she allowed him to stroke her wrist. For quite awhile I might add. Apparently, he fancies her."
Mercy saw Mrs. Turner's eyes darken. For all her constant insults against Mr. Berkeley, Mercy knew the woman would change her tune if the man showed Cordelia even an ounce of attention. Mrs. Turner was mad for money, and Mr. Berkeley had plenty of it, even if it was new money. But new was better than none.
Mrs. Turner's pretty face pinched tight. "You know better than to allow a man to touch you."
If the woman thought Mr. Berkeley touching Mercy's wrist was bad, what would she think of the way she let Ian hold and kiss her? The haughty woman would faint dead away.
Mercy wondered what Mrs. Turner would think if she knew her husband had carried on with a slave while she was pregnant? She'd not hold her head quite so high looking down her nose at everyone else.
Mrs. Turner asked louder, "Did you hear me?"
Mercy nodded. "Oh, yes, I heard you. I know." The room had become still and oppressive. She needed some air. "Excuse me." She walked to an open window and closed her eyes while breathing in the honeysuckle scented air.
She sensed someone near and instinctively knew who it was. When Mercy lifted her gaze to meet Mr. Berkeley's icy blue eyes, she again felt her heart racing in his presence as it always did---like a timid little rabbit in the presence of a dangerous wolf. The other women in the room might think him an exotic jungle cat, but she knew he was just a common wolf.
His deep, voice held amusement as he said, "The open window seemed a good idea, so I decided to copy you. I can hardly breathe."
She nodded and tried to think of what to say.
Before she spoke, he added, "The honeysuckle smells wonderful. Of all the floral scents, I think I like honeysuckle the best. Well, maybe after roses."
"Roses and honeysuckle are my favorite scents too."
He gazed at her with his penetrating eyes.
She mumbled nervously, "Anyone who likes roses and honeysuckle is all right in my book." She gave him an appreciative, but shaky smile.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. "You have a book? I think I should like to read it, since I'm sure it's fascinating. Do you know where I can get a copy?" He chuckled. "I thought you didn't like me, and I wracked my brain trying to think of a way I could redeem myself in your opinion. Now I find all I had to do was like the scent of two particular flowers. I'm glad I'm all right in this book of yours." He reached out the window and snapped off a sprig of honeysuckle and handed it to her with a slight smile.
She mumbled, "Thank-you," while trying to avoid his gaze. Being around him made her head feel fuzzy. Why did this dangerous wolf always have to be so kind? It confused her. People were much easier when you could compartmentalize them into good and bad. But which was he? She'd made up her mind that he was bad, but maybe she was wrong. Attempting polite conversation, she asked, "Are you having a nice time?"
"I would rate it barely above the time I had a knife wound sewn up. A nasty knife wound."
"What?" She stared. "Why would you say that?"
His broad shoulders heaved with a silent sigh. "Miss Creed, we both know I don't fit in here. I feel ridiculous in this costume. I can tell everyone is gossiping about me and wondering why I am here. I'm surprised someone hasn't come and whisked you away from me yet. Truly, I just want to go home, but I don't want to offend Hancock. He absolutely insisted I come tonight."
"You shouldn't worry what other people think."
"That's easy for you to say. Everyone likes you." He shrugged.
"People like you, too. I could tell both George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette truly consider you a friend. Their faces lit up when you walked in the room, and it's obvious they find you amusing with the way you had them laughing."
His lips curved in a slow smile which flustered her.
She asked with hesitation, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I suppose I'm flattered you were watching me. And before you knew I liked honeysuckle and roses."
She quickly turned away in embarrassment and looked down at the toe of her shoe as she traced a few slow circles on the ground.
He chuckled softly as he leaned closer and whispered, "Don't turn away. I like it when you blush. Your pretty cheeks get even prettier."
She didn't want to sound prudish, but she felt the need to reprimand him. Looking up, she scolded softly, "Mr. Berkeley, you shouldn't say such things."
He gave her a reluctant nod. "You're right. I probably shouldn't. Does that mean I've been demoted from all right to scoundrel in your book?"
She stifled a smile. "You are incorrigible."
"Thank you. I'd rather be incorrigible than dull."
"You, Mr. Berkeley, could never be dull."
"Well, you, Miss Creed, could never be dull either, and I mean that as a compliment---in my book." With a boyish grin, he added, "I've decided to start a book too, since it seems to be the thing to do." He glanced around the room uneasily. "I suppose I should leave before people start talking about us and your reputation is ruined. But before I leave, I want to tell you that you look beautiful tonight. The dress is stunning. The prettiest in the room."
Without thinking, she replied quickly, "You too. You look stunning too. Your suit is amazing."
With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "Hmm. Stunning? I suppose that is a step up from all right ." He gave her a nod and muttered, "Good night, Miss Creed." And as swift as he'd appeared, he was gone.
Mercy didn't talk to him again the rest of the evening. He spent quite a bit of time laughing and talking with Luke Ainsworth and Priscilla. Mercy tried not to feel left out. She danced almost every dance and did her absolute best to keep occupied.
Later that night, she fell into her comfortable feather bed, thoroughly exhausted from all the dancing, smiling, talking, and the horribly difficult task of trying not to stare at Mr. Berkeley.
She hated her fascination of him, and needed to stay away from his magnetic looks and personality.
The scent of honeysuckle drifted in the window. Mercy smothered her face in her pillow with a groan. Now she'd not be able to smell honeysuckle without thinking of him. Incorrigible man.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Five
An annoying bee buzzed around Mercy's head as she clipped off some fragrant red roses to bring into the house. After last night's ball she still felt a little jumpy for some reason. The irritating bee buzzed around her face and seemed determined to be a nuisance. "Go away, you pest," she muttered as she swatted at the air.
A laughing voice called out, "I hope you aren't talking to me. Last night I was considered stunning. I'd hate to think I've fallen to the level of pest so quickly."
She glanced up at Mr. Berkeley and reluctantly laughed, wishing he wasn't so funny. "A bee won't leave me alone."
"Glad to hear it."
"You're glad to hear a bee won't leave me alone?"
"I'm glad to hear I'm not the one being called a pest. Imagine my relief."
She laughed again. "What are you doing here?"
"Just walking by. I'm your new neighbor now. I live a few houses up the street."
Oh, great. How could she avoid the man now? Attempting polite conversation, she asked, "Where are you going?"
"To my office for a bit, then I have a meeting."
"Why are you walking? Where is your horse?"
"Lancelot? The black one?"
"You have more than one?"
"I have a few. I bought a new mare. Lancelot is sweet on her, so I hate to take him away from her. Therefore, I decided to walk."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. I'm hoping for a baby horse, so the more time Lancelot and Lily spend together, the greater that outcome might be. I think she is falling for him, so his chances of being a father look pretty good. He is quite charming. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance."
She laughed again. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help it. "Is she a thoroughbred too?"
"No, actually she is one of George Washington's famous white Arabians. I'm not surprised Lancelot is besotted with her. She is absolutely...stunning."
She knew he wanted to tease her so she deftly changed the subject. "How do you like your new home?"
"It's nice. But I should hire you as a gardener. I heard you're the one responsible for this garden that is the pride of the neighborhood."
"I enjoy gardening. I think it is quite rewarding to take a simple patch of dirt and turn it into something that brings beauty and joy to the world and others. My mother says the earth laughs in flowers . I like that."
"I like that too. Well, your garden brings joy to me. I like getting to see the pretty flowers when I walk by." Reaching over, he snapped off a white rose and handed it to her.
She twirled it above her head and proclaimed, "Then I will rise aloft the milk white rose, with whose sweet smell, the air shall be perfumed."
He stared at her quizzically.
She chuckled. "That's Shakespeare. You don't know that one?"
"No, sorry. Missed that one."
"I always wished someone would give me a white rose so I could do that."
"Well, I'm glad I could fulfill your wish." He winked at her and then walked over to some honeysuckle growing on an arbor. He snapped of a portion, put some in his pocket and then brought the rest to her. "Did you know the French have a sweet name for honeysuckle? Chère flamme It means 'dear flame,' since in France, honeysuckle is known as the flower of ardent and passionate love."
The sound of his velvety voice saying such words caused her to quiver, and she could feel her cheeks heating. How embarrassing. Not knowing what else to say, she asked, "You speak French?"
"When I was growing up, many of the sailors and passengers on the Pale Moon were French. Now I trade with France, so I had to learn."
Holding the stem of honeysuckle up to her, he insisted, "Take it. I picked it for you."
Somehow it felt wrong taking flowers from him. She knew Ian wouldn't like it. Slowly, she reached out and took it from him and put both the rose and the honeysuckle in her pocket. She mumbled, "Thank you, Mr. Berkeley."
He gave her a charming smile, as he tipped his hat. "Well, I will leave you to your gardening. Good day, Miss Creed."
"Good day, Mr. Berkeley," she called.
He turned and smiled again, then kept walking.
She hated those appealing smiles. Despised them, in fact. His effect on her was downright maddening. She reached over to pick one last rose and let out a yelp.
Mr. Berkeley dashed back across the lawn with a look close to panic. "What happened?"
"Oh, I'm sorry to worry you. The bee bit me."
"Bee's don't bite. They don't have teeth." Before she knew what was happening, he lifted her arm and carefully pulled the stinger out of the crook of her elbow. "Now suck on it to remove the venom, but don't swallow."
She lifted her arm to obey his command, but couldn't reach it with her lips.
He chuckled as he watched her struggle. "Oh, let me do it." He leaned over and brought his lips to her arm and began to suck.
Feeling his warm mouth on the sensitive part of her skin made her forget all about the pain of the sting. Truly, she thought she might faint.
Pulling his mouth away, he looked up at her. "You're not going to faint are you?"
She merely shook her head, unable to speak.
"Good." He continued to suck on her arm and she felt the earth move under her feet. Finally, he stood and the spell was broken when he spit to the ground, wiped his tongue off on his sleeve and then declared, "I hate bees." He looked around with an agitated expression. "Imagine if the neighbor's saw that. We would give the Beacon Hill elite something to gossip about for months."
Glancing about, she sighed in relief that no one was around. "Thank you, Mr. Berkeley."
"My pleasure," he proclaimed with a knowing smile that did the strangest things to her insides. He straightened and put his hands on his hips. "Well, I think I shall be on my way, unless you need anything else from me."
"No, I don't need anything else right now," she giggled while shaking her head.
"Then good day again." And this time he turned and kept walking in that authoritative stride of his that drove her crazy. The man was insufferable.
\*\*\*\*
Addison strode down the street wishing he could send that bee a thank-you note. But he was dead. The little insect had sacrificed his life so Addison could touch Mercy again. The silkiness of her skin beneath his mouth was just as he imagined it would feel. When he allowed himself to imagine such things. Which wasn't often. Normally, he would reprimand himself severely, as he needed to do now.
Last night's ball was a harsh reminder that he didn't belong in her upper class world. Being at that ball made him feel like a fish out of water, flopping around embarrassingly on the slickly polished floors. Besides a small handful of people who made him feel comfortable, the rest of the crowd made it clear he didn't belong.
After signing some papers at his office and meeting with a few captains at the docks, he noticed a small box being unloaded bearing the stamp French perfume, with pictures of roses and honeysuckles adorning the sides.
With a crowbar he opened the crate and took out one of the carefully wrapped bottles. Removing the lid, he lifted it to his nose and smiled. Mercy would like this. He returned the lid and stuffed the little bottle in his pocket, deciding he'd give it to her the next time he saw her.
Later, he walked over to the Redemption Church of Boston for the meeting young Able Cotton had told him about. Addison thought it was about time Boston had its own Abolition Society and he felt honored to be a part of the first meeting.
As he strode into the room, he stopped abruptly when he saw Mercy, gorgeous in a light blue dress the color of a summer's sky. She chatted animatedly to her mother and Able Cotton, but she ceased midsentence, sensing his presence and turning to look at him.
Somehow he felt trapped in her green gaze. He wished he knew how she felt. It seemed she found herself drawn to him, but hated herself for it.
Able waved him over with a wide smile. "Mr. Berkeley, I'm honored you are here. I truly hoped you would come." He motioned with his hand. "You know Mrs. Creed, Miss Creed?"
"Yes, I've had the honor of meeting them both." He glanced down at Mercy's arm which bore an angry red welt and remembered how it felt when his lips were on her delicate skin. He lifted his eyes to hers and could tell she remembered it too. Without saying a word, he gave them each a smile and then walked to the back pew.
As he sat waiting, he could hear Mercy whisper, "Able, you invited Mr. Berkeley?"
"Yes, remember I told you last night that I had heard of him. Well, I was going to tell you, but I needed to make sure. He donated money to the Abolition Society of Philadelphia, in the past. A mutual friend of ours gave me money from an anonymous donor. I found out it was from him."
"When you said you had heard of him, I assumed you were going to say something negative."
"Why would you assume that?"
"Because most people only like to repeat negative information."
"I suppose that is true, but I have nothing negative to say about him. Even if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't say it. I've no desire to be a talebearer. Anyway, I'm honored Mr. Berkeley is here." He pulled out his watch and looked at it. "I should get this meeting started, Mercy, so go find a seat."
Addison wanted to jump up and pat the man on the back for being so kind. He hadn't wanted anyone to know of his donation to get this society started, but at least the man was not telling Mercy negative things about him.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Mercy's mother pulled her into the pew right in front of him. With her hair up under her flowered bonnet, he had a perfect view of her delectable long neck and found himself terribly distracted. He scooted over a bit and forced himself to stare at Mr. Cotton as he passionately spoke about how evil prevails when good men do nothing.
"Human beings aren't cattle to be bought and sold, and if we don't put a stop to it, who will?"
Addison liked this fiery, young redhead and thought he was the perfect man for this position.
When the meeting finished, Addison made his way out of the pew and stopped in front of a wall when he saw rod iron letters spelling out the scripture--- Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I'm meek and lowly in heart and ye shall find rest unto your souls. Matthew 11: 28-29
Rest for his soul. That sounded good. Mercy came and stood beside him.
She stared up at him and said softly, "That is one of my favorite scriptures."
Nodding, he continued to stare at the words as if they were there just for him. "Hancock quoted that scripture to me recently. It stuck with me and here I see it again. It must be a sign."
"A sign?"
"I need to go to church. I think I'll come here. It seems like ordinary people attend so they can know God better. I think I'll come tomorrow." He glanced down at her. "Do you think that is a good idea?"
"Yes, I do. I don't know much about this church, but I think it is good you want to come to it."
"I need to get a Bible. I think I'll go to the bookstore right now and get one."
"You don't have one?"
He shook his head. "No. I've a copy of Pilgrim's Progress that Benjamin Franklin gave me. It's his favorite book. He carries it always. I like the story."
"Yes, me too.
Mercy's mother appeared with a sweet smile. "Darling, a book I ordered came in, and I would like to go pick it up now. Able mentioned that he needed to get something too, so we can walk there together."
Mercy let out a little laugh. "This seems to be the day for going to the bookstore. Mr. Berkeley just said he was on his way there now too."
Her mother beamed. "Well, that is nice. We'll all walk together then. Thankfully, a breeze is in the air today and it's not quite so hot." She placed her hand on his arm and pulled him along. "Shall we be on our way?" As they walked outside, she suggested, "I think we should cut through the Commons so we can enjoy the shade of the trees?"
"Good idea," Addison agreed.
He had to bite back a smile when she dropped his arm and said, "Oh, Able, dear, I have so many questions to ask you. Walk back here with me so I can pick your brain."
Mercy looked up at Addison and shrugged. He offered her his arm, but she hesitated before placing her gloved hand lightly on him.
Casually she pointed to a blooming tree and remarked, "I love crepe myrtle trees. Lagerstroemia indica."
"What?"
"The Latin name."
"You know Latin."
"A little. Mostly, just for the trees though. All Bostonian schoolboys are required to know the Latin names of every tree in Boston Commons Park. Noah taught me all the names so I could help him study. Did you know all boys learn it in grammar school?"
Addison let out a harsh laugh. "No, I didn't know that. I didn't go to school."
She looked at him in astonishment. "Noah went to the Boston Latin School, but I assumed you went to public school. The law of 1647 says that all towns of one hundred families or more must have a grammar school, and a law passed after that said penalties were to be given to families if their sons didn't attend, unless you are apprenticed. Were you apprenticed to anyone?"
"No. I was too busy trying to find food for myself and my father to have time to go to school or be apprenticed. As a Bostonian child, the Latin names of trees were not a big concern for me. If a tree didn't have a nut or a berry growing on it that I could eat, I wasn't interested in it."
A red blush washed over her face as she rushed to say, "I'm sorry, Mr. Berkeley. I really didn't know it was that bad."
He saw pity in her eyes and didn't like it. He hated when people felt pity for him. "Don't feel sorry for me. I turned out all right."
"More than all right, I would say. You never went to school and look at you---one of the most successful men in all of Boston."
"Some of the most powerful lessons in life can never be taught in books."
She started to respond when a loud bark interrupted her and a large dog bounded up wanting some attention. A young man came running after him with a leash in his hand and stopped abruptly when he saw Mercy.
He drawled in an affected upper class voice, "Miss Creed. I'm sorry. Bear is just friendly."
"It is fine, Mr. Sneed," she assured him, and then let out a hearty sneeze.
Mr. Sneed offered her his handkerchief but she waved it away. His eyes roamed leisurely over her. "You are looking lovely today." He cast a dismissive glance at Addison and then turned to greet Mrs. Creed and Able Cotton.
As they began to stroll again, she asked, "What is wrong?"
No doubt, she already knew the answer. She just wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about it, so with a half hearted shrug, he muttered, "I don't like people who have dogs---they lack the courage to just bite people themselves."
She smiled, but shook her head and muttered, "Sometimes I'm not sure about you, Mr. Berkeley."
"You are not alone. Sometimes I'm not sure about me either."
"Well, somehow I cannot imagine you actually biting someone."
"No?" An enigmatic smiled played at his lips. "I can imagine it." His eyes lowered to her earlobe and he leaned in and whispered, "I'm actually working hard to restrain myself as we speak."
She squinted her eyes at him, looking perplexed. "Did you just say something naughty to me?"
He laughed and shook his head. "I think I need to change the subject to something safer, like getting my Bible so I can be reformed."
They walked in silence for several moments before she asked, "Do you really not like dogs?"
"Where did you get that idea? I never said I didn't like dogs. In fact, I want to get one now that I've settled down somewhat."
"I wish I could get a dog. I'm terribly allergic though."
"How awful."
Just then three little street urchins came running toward him with beaming faces. "Mr. Berkeley. Mr. Berkeley."
"Hello, boys," he called out in a friendly greeting.
One of them smiled up at Mercy in admiration. "Who is she Mr. Berkeley? She's mighty pretty."
"Yes, she is, isn't she? This is my friend, Miss Mercy Creed." And then turning to them, he motioned while saying, "And this is Jimmy, Thomas, and William."
Mercy's face lit with delight. "It's nice to meet you."
They all just stared up at her not knowing the manners of a proper response. Addison stared at her as well. Her smile was like a ray of sunshine, radiant and warm, and he felt it in the deepest and coldest places of his soul.
Somehow he managed to pull his eyes away from her face and broke the silence by asking, "So what are you boys up to today?"
"Jimmy just caught a frog."
Squatting down in front of the little boy, he gave him a nod of approval. "Is that so? Let me see?"
The little boy carefully opened his hands just an inch so Addison could peer in at him.
"A fine specimen of a frog, I must say. But I'll make a deal with you. If you go put him back, I will give you money to get a toy you cannot kill."
"You'll give us money again?" The boys asked.
"But it's based on a bargain. Do we have a deal?" Three heads nodded enthusiastically. "All right then." He reached into his pockets and pulled out some coins and placed a few in each outstretched palm. "But I need to tell you each something important." He brought their heads toward him and whispered something so no one else could hear. They all nodded solemnly and he patted each of their backs and called, "Be good."
When he and Mercy began walking again, she asked, "What did you say to them?"
"Mr. Hancock started an orphanage in town and I'm trying to convince them to give it a try. They are reluctant, but I suppose I don't blame them. When you are used to being free, confinement of any sort feels like jail."
Her thoughtful eyes swept over his face. "Do you miss your life at sea?"
"Sometimes."
When he offered nothing else, she stated, "It's nice you gave those little boys some money."
"Your father gave me money once and I was able to buy a warm coat and some shoes. I've never forgotten that." He stopped and pulled her to face him. "That's why it's so important to me that you know I would never hurt your father. In fact, I want to help him if I can. Do you think he would let me?"
The question obviously took her by surprise and as she contemplated her response, he continued, "Listen, Miss Creed, your father has been successful in shipping since before I was born, so I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but I would be more than happy to sit down with him and try to figure out what is going wrong. I would feel honored if I could help. Do you think he would be offended if I offered to go over his books?"
She turned away and kept walking. "I don't know. My father isn't a proud man, but he might not trust you. Many people have taken advantage of him over the years because he is so trusting. Good men have a hard time conceiving that other people can be truly evil."
"There are many truly evil people in this world unfortunately. Selfish, evil people that cannot see past their own reflection in the mirror."
"And you are not one of those people?"
"I certainly hope not." He asked sarcastically, "Are you?"
She surprised him by saying, "I don't think I'm truly evil, but I'm beginning to think I'm terribly selfish. But maybe you cannot separate the two."
"Why would you think you are selfish?"
Looking away she bit her lip and he could see numerous emotions flickering across her pretty face. Finally, she looked up at him. "I want to be good and make my family proud of me, but...well, sometimes I wonder if Noah would be proud of me."
"I'm sure he would." He had wanted to talk to her about her brother, and this seemed a good opening. "I'm sorry about your brother, Miss Creed. I heard he died in the war? I wanted you to know that I met him. Once when I made a shipment of supplies to the troops stationed in Valley Forge, Washington sent a young officer to meet me in a coach. His name was Noah. I found out last night from Washington that this was your brother. He was a fine young man. I'm truly sorry he died."
"I'm sorry too. I miss him." Glancing up, she asked, "How well did you know him?"
"Not well at all. We chatted on the journey for a couple of hours and he told me he missed his family and worried about his little sister. As I said, just last night, I found out his little sister was you."
"The last words he ever spoke were for me to be a good girl."
"And you've lived up to that."
"Not really."
His eyes flashed down to hers. "Why would you say that?"
"Never mind." He saw pain in her eyes before she quickly changed the subject. "So how did you get out of fighting in the war?"
"I didn't. I did fight. At twenty, I captained a ship and had many responsibilities and many men looking to me for their livelihoods. George Washington came aboard my ship and I told him I wanted to enlist in the Continental Army, but he said I could be used much more effectively as a sailor attacking the British ships which brought in ammunition, officers and supplies."
"It sounds dangerous."
"It was. I'm surprised I'm alive. I hated doing it. I killed men just obeying their King. If I hadn't come to America as a child I might've been on their side instead. War is an ugly business. I hope we never have another one."
"Me too." She glanced up at a bird singing in the tree as she commented, "You seemed surprised to see George Washington last night."
"Yes, I was surprised. A nice surprise. Lafayette too. I admire him greatly. I like both of their wives as well. Amazing women."
"Really. Tell me about them."
"I first met Washington's wife, Lady Washington, at Valley Forge. She stayed in a hut with her husband and did quite a bit to raise the moral of the freezing and hungry troops. She was married before and had four children, two of which died quite young. When Washington married her, he raised her two children as his own. Lady Washington's daughter died when she was only seventeen and her son Jacky, who I met several times, died at Yorktown. Washington and his wife now raise Jacky's two children."
"I heard General Washington only married her for her money. That isn't true?"
"No. That is most definitely not true. They have a strong and happy marriage."
"I also heard they own slaves. That isn't true either, is it?"
"Actually, that is true. Lady Washington's husband owned them and they became hers at his death. The Marquis de Lafayette is passionately against slavery, and he is trying to convince Washington to write into his will that upon his death all the slaves will be freed. It's strange to me how so many of the patriots are against slavery in theory, but still own slaves."
"So Lafayette is against slavery? That is nice to hear. Tell me about him."
"What do you know already?"
"I know when he was about twenty he bought a ship and brought eleven friends with him from France to help in our Revolutionary War. That's it. Oh, wait, I heard he got married at sixteen."
"Yes, he met Adrienne when he was only fifteen. She was fourteen at the time and they fell madly in love. They got married the next year and have been passionate for each other ever since. She's the daughter of a duke and one of the kindest, most humble and generous ladies I've ever met."
"He must have hated leaving her to fight in our war."
"He did, but he felt strongly about helping. She supported him. When he was just a child, the British killed his father. He didn't like the way the Americans were being treated, and he offered his services to our country. He and Washington became fast friends. In fact, Lafayette named his first son George Washington, and he insists it not be said with the French pronunciation. I visited him in Paris a few years ago when George was about two years old. Adorable little thing."
"You are blessed to have such good friends."
"You are right. I am. I consider Benjamin Franklin one of my closest friends, as well. He's had a large impact on my life. In fact, he made me memorize his thirteen virtues."
"What are they?"
He let out a chuckle. "All right. Temperance---Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation. Silence---Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation. Order---Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
"Resolution---Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. Frugality---Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; waste nothing. Industry---Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
"Sincerity---Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly. Justice---Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. Moderation---Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
"Cleanliness---Tolerate no un-cleanliness in body, cloths, or habitation. Tranquility---Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable. Chastity---Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation. And finally, Humility---Imitate Jesus and Socrates
."
"Impressive Mr. Berkeley. Have you tried to live your life by those virtues?"
"I have tried, but I think I've failed more than I've succeeded."
"Those are pretty high standards. So have you seen Mr. Franklin recently?"
"I stayed with him for awhile in Paris last year."
"Is he still living in Paris after all this time?"
"Yes, he is, but he's planning on coming home."
"I love Benjamin Franklin."
He looked at her, surprised. "You've met him?"
"Several times. In fact, we took him to the docks in Philadelphia at the beginning of the war so he could go to France. I was eleven and remember him telling me jokes and being terribly kind. I stood on the dock and watched him board the ship, praying his endeavors would be successful."
"Yes, he boarded the Pale Moon. I was the chief mate of that ship. I met him right when he walked on deck, and we've remained friends."
"Truly. What a coincidence."
"I've found life is full of them." He patted her hand on his arm. "I'm happy about the coincidence we found ourselves at the same meeting today, and ourselves needing to come to the same bookstore, and your mother needing to pick Able Cotton's brain so I could walk with you."
She laughed and shook her head. "I don't think the last part was a coincidence."
"Then I think I'm flattered. I would imagine your mother would want to keep you away from me."
"Why? Why do you always think people don't like you? You should get that chip off your shoulder."
Her harsh words almost felt like a slap in the face. He didn't know how to respond, so he just said sarcastically, "Stop beating around the bush, Miss Creed. Why don't you just say what you mean?"
Without missing a beat, she continued, "I saw the way Mr. Sneed snubbed you earlier. But he just makes himself look stupid. I'm sure he's just jealous." She stopped abruptly and announced, "Well, here we are. Would you like me to help you pick out a Bible?"
"Yes, I would."
About twenty minutes later, with his new Bible under his arm, he stood with Mercy outside the bookstore waiting for her mother and Mr. Cotton. Placing his hand in his pocket, he nervously fidgeted with the little perfume bottle, and then finally took a deep breath and pulled it out.
"This has been burning a hole in my pocket all afternoon. When I went to the docks earlier I received a shipment of French perfume and I noticed one was made of honeysuckle and roses.
"Of course, I thought of you and put it in my pocket so I could give it to you when I saw you, but then I keep talking myself out of giving it to you, because I know perfume seems like an intimate gift, and I don't want you to think I'm being forward."
He knew he was babbling, so he took another deep breath and shrugged. "I just thought you would like it." Uncertainly, he grabbed her hand and placed the little bottle in her palm. "Here."
She stared down at it for several moments and then slowly lifted her gaze and studied him from under her thick lashes. Her voice trembled when she finally murmured, "Thank you, Mr. Berkeley."
"You are welcome. I thought it must be your birthday soon."
With wonder, she asked, "How did you know?"
"When I saw you as a baby it was the day before my father died, October twenty eighth. You looked to be about two months old and since it's the end of August, I know I cannot be far off."
"My birthday is in two days."
"Well, then Happy Birthday early. Since I'll be leaving Monday for Philadelphia, I will not see you."
"Why are you going to Philadelphia?"
"Washington and Lafayette want me to go with them. I also have a meeting with the shipping magnate, Stephen Girard."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Do you know him?"
"I've met him. We have quite a bit in common. He joined a ship at thirteen, became a captain at twenty three, and now owns a worldwide shipping empire at thirty-three."
"He claims he's an atheist. You don't have that in common with him do you? I suppose not, since you just told me you want to go to church."
"No, I don't have that in common with him. There must be a God. I've always believed that."
She stared at him for a moment and nodded. "That's good."
Their gazes held until she pulled her eyes away and focused on adjusting her gloves while asking casually. "How long will you be gone?"
"Just a few weeks." He leaned in and gave her a charming smile. "Why? Will you miss me?" The question seemed to fluster her, so he quickly added, "I'm just teasing."
She squinted up at him from under the brim of her broad straw hat. "So when is your birthday, Mr. Berkeley?"
"A few days before Christmas."
"What date?"
"December the twenty-second."
"You were born on Forefather's day? I think that's nice. When everyone in Boston celebrates the landing in Plymouth, the birth of our country, you get to celebrate your own birth."
He looked at her with amusement. "Well, there you have it."
"So your birthday is right before Christmas. I bet you felt cheated, since you didn't get as many gifts that way."
He brought his lips together as he thought about her question. Surely his mother had given him a few gifts before she died, but he couldn't remember ever getting a gift of any kind from his father. Cecil had given him a few gifts throughout the years though. His kind friend had saved up and bought him a whistle for his twelfth birthday. He still had it even.
Mercy's gentle hand on his arm brought his gaze up to hers, and he saw compassion glittering in her eyes. "I should not have said that. I'm a thoughtless girl sometimes."
He quickly defended her, "No, that's not true. You aren't a thoughtless girl. I think you are kind. Exceptionally compassionate."
She glanced down as a blush crept across her face. A finger touched the elegant bottle in her hand.
He smiled. "Put some on and see if you like it. If you don't, I have other kinds to choose from."
She took off the lid and dabbed some of the perfume on her wrist and smelled it. "Oh, it's lovely. Truly." Lifting her wrist, she asked, "Do you like it?"
He took her wrist and closed his eyes while inhaling deeply. He'd already smelled it and liked it, but he liked the fragrance even better on her. He opened his eyes, but didn't let go of her hand. "It smells beautiful. But you already know how I feel about honeysuckle and roses, especially now that my appreciation of it has made me all right in your book. I still am all right, aren't I?"
She let out a laugh and nodded. Her gaze darted over, and he watched as a mixture of surprise and concern filled her eyes. When she jerked her hand away from him and stuffed the perfume in her pocket, he assumed she saw someone she knew and worried about the gossip that would follow the two of them standing together while he smelled her wrist.
He turned to see who had captured her attention and his eyes fell upon a young man walking toward them who looked quite upset about something.
Quickly she mumbled, "Oh, Mr. Berkeley, have you met my father's accountant, Mr. Magregor?"
Addison replied in a friendly voice, "No, I have not. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Magregor."
Most of Addison's friends, including George Washington bowed when meeting people, but he could tell Mr. Magregor was a common man, like himself, so he merely extended his hand in greeting.
Addison wondered at the man's hesitation, but Mr. Magregor finally took his hand and gave it a half-hearted shake. "It's nice to meet you too."
The man's dark eyes then bore into Mercy. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Creed."
"Yes. It's nice to see you too. My mother is inside the bookstore. You should pop in and say hello."
"I'm in a hurry. Tell her I send my regards. Good day."
He bustled down the street and Addison let out a chuckle. "He seems like an intense fellow."
She looked up at him and started to respond but the door opened and her mother came out with two books, handing one to Mercy.
"Here's the latest romance novel. The way you devour them, I knew you'd be in need of a new one."
Addison could tell Mercy was embarrassed, and for some reason he felt the need to carry it a little further to make her blush again.
He placed her hand on his arm and pulled her away as he leaned down and whispered, "Romance novels, hmmm? And to think, just this morning you were the damsel in distress, and I was the dashing hero valiantly risking my life to suck the deadly venom from your arm."
Sure enough, he was gifted with a delightful pink blush. "You are such an exaggerator."
"Nonsense. That's my story and I'm not changing it." Giving her a friendly pat on her arm, he stopped and looked into her eyes. "Have a nice birthday, sweetheart. I'll see you in a few weeks."
After saying goodbye to her mother and Mr. Cotton, he smiled one last time at Mercy and then walked away toward his office thinking he just had one of the nicest days of his life. He truly enjoyed Mercy's company. Somehow he'd known that he would from the first moment he laid eyes on her.
Most women looked down on him as an uncivilized savage, or else they went to the other extreme and fawned all over him. Mercy did neither.
His whole life he'd imagined marriage would be like a noose around his neck, choking him slowly, until it finally killed him...but maybe he was wrong.
The thought of enjoying Mercy's company every day sounded appealing, in fact the thought of being in her company every night sounded alluring too. It was a farfetched dream, but maybe he could dream.
He glanced back at Mercy as she continued on her way up the street. Her bouncy little walk made him smile. He could always dream.
\*\*\*\*
The steady ticking of the clock on the mantle kept pace with the silent flickering of the candlestick on Mercy's nightstand. In anticipation she waited until eleven chimes floated across the room and she quietly rose from her bed and tiptoed down the stairs and took the path that had become so familiar to her the last three months.
As she stepped inside the gazebo, she expected warm, strong hands to reach out and pull her into a hug as usual, but instead she saw Ian sitting on the bench as still as a statue.
Wispy clouds obscured the moon's illumination, but even in the shadows she could see his dark, angry eyes staring up at her and a chill of dread spread through her and she started shaking instantly. She sat next to him and grabbed his hand, which hung like a wet, fish.
"Oh, Ian. How I've missed you."
"I could tell," he replied with biting sarcasm.
"Ian, don't be that way," she pleaded as she squeezed his limp hand tightly. "I did miss you."
Anger laced his voice as he ground out, "How do you think it made me feel to see you letting that man hold your hand?"
"It was nothing." He just smelled some perfume is all."
"I don't care what he was doing. He has no business touching you. I don't want him or anyone else to touch you, Mercy. You are mine."
"I'm not just a toy that belongs to you. I agree I should not have let him touch my hand, and if it made you uncomfortable, than I'm sorry, but you have nothing to worry about. Mr. Berkeley is just a friendly man and---"
Abruptly, he cut her off, "Don't be naïve. Mr. Berkeley is an arrogant and dangerous man."
"You never even met him before today. How can you make such an assumption?"
"I can tell by the way he walks that he thinks he should be the king."
Funny, she'd thought the same thing and other negative things as well, yet whenever any one said anything negative about Mr. Berkeley, she felt the need to defend him. "Ian, how can you make a railing accusation about a man's character based on the way he walks? You know nothing about him."
"And you do?"
"I don't know if anyone could ever truly know the man, but I know him more than you do. I just found out he gave a vast sum of money to help the Abolitionist movement, and I only found out about that by accident. He didn't even want anyone to know. I've even seen him show great kindness to people who could never repay him in any way."
She smiled inwardly at his kindness to the little street urchins. "I've seen aspects of his character that are sweet and gentle and I don't think it's fair to malign him when you don't even know him."
"Why are you so defensive of him?" Anger and suspicion flashed in his eyes. "Is there something going on between the two of you?"
"No. I'm not a cheater. If anything was going on with him, you would be the first to know."
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes, I'm telling you the truth. I'm not in love with Mr. Berkeley. I'm in love with you, Ian. I'm committed to you, and I will remain faithful to you."
"I believe you, but if Mr. Berkeley comes near you again, I want you to tell him to stay away."
"Oh, right. I can picture it now...Mr. Berkeley approaches me in the street with a friendly greeting but I put up my hand and yell, 'Stay away from me!'"
"I'm being serious, Mercy. I don't want that man around you. He has feelings for you. I could see it in the way he looked at you, and you aren't being kind to him if he thinks he has a chance with you. Let him know you are taken. It's the right thing to do."
Perhaps Ian was right. Mr. Berkeley had called her sweetheart and made suggestive comments. She knew so little of men. She should listen to Ian.
"How can I let him know I'm taken? No one can know about us yet."
"You're a smart girl. Figure out how to let him know he shouldn't be wasting his time on you."
"I will, Ian. I don't want you angry with me."
"I don't want to be angry with you either." Then in a soft voice that washed over her and soothed her frazzled nerves, he commanded, "Come here."
She found herself folded into his embrace as he laid soft kisses up her neck. "I'll never give you up."
"You don't have to," she assured him. Trying to find her footing she asked, "Do you want me to tell you about the abolition meeting I went to today?"
"No," he whispered against her skin.
"Do you want me to tell you about the ball?"
"No," he whispered again as he silenced her mouth with his lips.
A breeze drifted into the gazebo bringing with it the fresh scent of honeysuckle---the flower of ardent and passionate love. She tried to ignore the scent and did her absolute best to concentrate on the man who held her in his arms.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Six
Addison wrapped his cloak around his body in an attempt to keep out the cold bite in the early autumn wind. Standing at the railing of the ship, the warm glow of the lighthouse on Beacon Island welcomed him as the Boston Harbor came into view.
He was glad John Hancock had ordered the beautiful lighthouse to be rebuilt after the British destroyed it in the war. Somehow Boston wouldn't be Boston without the lighthouse's welcoming light.
Glancing up at the billowing sails above that pulled the ship toward Boston, Addison allowed himself to enjoy the wind which almost seemed to fill him up with something...maybe like hope?
When his ship slipped by Castle Island, he studied the impressive Fort Independence, and then took in the rest of his splendid surroundings---picturesque shores of sand and rocks, shaded by groves of lush trees, and charming villages. Seagulls danced in the wind and sang out as if in welcome.
His time in Philadelphia had been profitable as well as pleasurable. His meetings with Stephen Girard had gone exceptionally well and his time spent in the bustling city with his two friends was thoroughly enjoyable. George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette stayed in Philadelphia, but three weeks was long enough to be away, and he needed to get home.
Home.
The word felt foreign to him. This was the first time in his whole life he'd really had a home, and it filled his heart with a warmth he could not explain.
The ocean was unusually rough the past two days and he hadn't wanted to risk shaving, so he knew he must look a fright. He hoped he didn't see anybody he knew or the rumors of him being a wild and uncivilized man would be confirmed.
He sighed deeply, relieved at the thought of a warm bath and clean bed awaiting him. But that was all that awaited him. He needed to get a dog. When a man walked in the door and no one cared, it was merely a house and not a home.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine Mercy as his wife, lighting up with a dazzling smile as he opened the door. She'd greet him with a welcoming kiss---a very long, delightful kiss.
These past three weeks away had not helped him to forget her in the least. He'd thought of her every day and dreamed of her several nights, and in some inexplicable way she slowly seemed to become a part of him.
When he heard something interesting, he wanted to store it away so he could share it with her later. When he saw a pretty sunset, bird or flower, he wished she was beside him so she could see it too. He hardly knew her, yet when she was not near him, he missed her.
He wondered how much longer he could fight these feelings and then he began to wonder if he even needed to fight them. Perhaps Mercy felt the same way about him, and her parents would allow him to court her if he asked.
They might say no , but then again, they might say yes . Perhaps he needed to meet with her father. As Chaucer had said hundreds of years before, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." It was as true now as it was then. Or as the French said, "Qui ne risque rien, n'a rien." He who never undertook anything, never achieved anything. That had been his motto in life, so why now should he be a coward as far as Mercy was concerned? As soon as possible, he needed to find her and try to discern how she felt.
As the ship slipped into the bustling port, he looked around in amazement at the activity surrounding the forty wharves that compromised this thriving seaport industry. Even though hundreds of people dashed about, he looked though his spyglass to see if he could spot Cecil. Sure enough, he found Cecil leaning against the wall of a warehouse talking to the widow Mrs. Turnball.
Addison smiled as he saw the woman gazing up at Cecil as if he were the only man around. Good for Cecil. He should marry the woman. She'd been sweet on him since the first week they'd moved to Boston. She ran a bake shop and Cecil loved sweets. It seemed like a match made in heaven.
Cecil looked up and waved to him on the ship. Addison lifted his hand in acknowledgment of his greeting. His heart filled with appreciation for Cecil, his faithful friend. At least someone was glad he'd come back to Boston.
Soon, he said goodbye to his captain and crew. He held his hat as he walked across the rope walk, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Mercy coming out of her father's office.
A smile lit up his face but fell away when he saw she was crying. Addison exchanged a few words with Cecil, and then handed him his bags, making his way toward Mercy.
She glanced up at him. Mortification filled her eyes as she frantically wiped at the streaming tears making salty pathways down her cheeks.
With deep concern, he asked, "Miss Creed, what's wrong? What happened?"
Weakly she replied, "Would you believe I have something in my eye?"
"No. But I'll pretend to believe it if that's what you want me to believe." He stepped closer and touched her elbow. "Can I help?"
She bravely shook her head but still trembled with repressed sobs. He forcefully had to restrain himself from wrapping her into his arms, allowing her to hide from the world that had hurt her so.
Clearing her throat, she mumbled, "This is certainly embarrassing."
"There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone cries sometimes."
"Do you cry?"
"Sometimes. When I'm really sad."
"Yes, well, I am really sad." Then lifting her chin in a show of control, she added, "But I'll be fine. When did you get back?"
"I just walked off my ship."
Her gaze roamed over him from head to toe and she muttered, "You look...you look..."
"Uncivilized? Like a pirate?" He finished for her and then teased, "Are those the words you were looking for, but too polite to say?"
She wiped away one errant tear with the back of her hand as she let out a nervous giggle. "I suppose so. You do look like a pirate right now." She stared up at him and then looked away.
He wondered what thoughts filled her mind, because for no apparent reason, she blushed deeply. More deeply than he'd ever seen her blush before.
He glanced around and then asked with concern, "Are you here alone?"
"No, my mother is still talking with my father. She should be out soon, and then we are going to walk home."
"Cecil is bringing around my coach right now. I think it's too cold for you to be out walking in this weather. Let me give you a ride. It's not like your house is out of my way."
"I don't know how much longer she'll be."
"I'll wait."
"You are a busy and important man. You don't need to wait for us."
"I'll wait." Then he slid his hand down to hers and squeezed. He added in a tone he knew must reveal his feelings, "I'm never too busy for you, Mercy. You will always be my top priority."
She glanced down at their joined hands and then her eyes flashed up to his at the use of her given name and the heated promise in his declaration.
The second the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them, for she stiffened and sounded aloof as she replied, "Mr. Berkeley, I don't think I should ride in your coach. People will get the wrong idea about us, and I would never want that to happen. I've already had people question me about you after our walk in the park, and I've made it clear that you and I are barely even acquaintances. I keep insisting to people that there is nothing between us, nor will there ever be. If I ride with you, the rumors will stir up again. If I stand here talking to you any longer, they will stir up as well."
He watched resolve fill her eyes. "I'm glad you are back safely from your journey. Good day, Mr. Berkeley."
She turned and disappeared back into her father's office. Slowly, he covered his chest with his hand in an attempt to stop the unbearable pain. Surely a mallet had just shattered his heart into a thousand jagged pieces, leaving him hollow inside.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy stepped back into the office and leaned against the door as she let out a soft moan of despair. Relief filled her that Ian was not in the office today. He would take one look at her and know. He would know she lied when she said she had no feelings for Mr. Berkeley.
For three weeks, she'd tried to not think of him. But he had some sort of strange hold over her that she could not even understand, let alone explain.
Just last night, she'd dreamed she was kidnapped by evil men, and he came bursting into her room. His powerful presence surrounding him and making him look like a pirate.
With his black cape swirling around him, he carried her away to safety and then kissed her passionately. And she didn't want him to stop!
Finally, she'd awake and then let out a groan of mortification. She didn't want to be unfaithful to Ian---not even in her sleep, although she couldn't control her dreams.
But the dream was so real, she'd never been able to go back to sleep, for every time she closed her eyes Mr. Berkeley's magnificent image filled her thoughts until she wanted to cry. What on earth was wrong with her? Her lack of sleep partly explained her emotional state right now. Partly.
Her mother had wanted to visit her father again with treats. They had walked into his office to find him crying. The financial pressure upon him was causing him to break before their eyes. He now was only a shell of the man he used to be.
Her father had told them he'd just sold his coach and four black horses to pay off his creditors. He loved those horses and needed his coach.
Mercy had fled from the room to keep her father from seeing her tears. They would only make him feel worse. She had merely gone outside to get some fresh air but conflicting emotions about Mr. Berkeley whirled around her head and made her dizzy.
Was he responsible for her father terrible situation? How could a man who seemed so kind one moment then be heartless the next?
The confusing image of his face filled her mind and then she'd glanced up and there he stood! In a black cape, unshaven, with windblown hair---looking every inch like the wild and dangerous pirate of her dream. But his eyes were tender. Instinctively, she knew the only dangerous part of this man was the hypnotic hold he had on her.
She already felt guilty about the way she reacted to Mr. Berkeley in her dreams, but the way she reacted to him just now consumed her with shame. Rushing outside her father's office, she'd forgot to put her gloves back on, so when he held her hand and she felt his warm skin upon hers, shivers had danced up her arm and took away her ability to breathe. The sound of his deep, rich voice saying her name while promising she'd always come first in his life made her want to fall against him and let him hold her forever.
Only the thought of Ian kept her strong, and gave her the ability to push Mr. Berkeley away with her harsh words. But she had the sickening feeling that her harsh words had broken his heart.
But how could that be? A dashing man like him could have any sophisticated woman he wanted. So why would he want a simple girl like her? Even if he did want her, he'd get over it quickly enough.
Ian had asked her to say something to keep Mr. Berkeley away, and she'd just done a smashing job of it. From the look in Mr. Berkeley's eyes she could see that he probably wouldn't even speak to her again. She knew this was good---it was necessary---but the thought of never again speaking to him brought a fresh wave of grief upon her. She buried her face in her hands as her body racked with sobs.
The door moving against her back caused her to suck in a breath of panic, and she moved as Ian pushed his way into the room. Instead of compassion in his eyes, she saw irritation. "Why are you crying?"
"Please don't tell anyone, Ian, but my father had to sell his coach and horses to pay off his creditors."
Flippantly, he replied, "Welcome to the real world. Few people can afford a coach and horses."
Her mouth dropped open in surprise at his callousness. Sometimes she wondered if she knew Ian at all.
He lowered his voice, his eyes narrowed and he asked, "Was that Addison Berkeley I saw walking away from here?"
"Yes. He just got in from Philadelphia. I spoke with him briefly, and I let him know that he never had a chance with me. You would be proud of the way I handled it, Ian."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
"Oh, love, I'm glad to hear it." He looked around and then nuzzled the side of her face. "I'm glad you did that." While laying kisses on her cheek, he encouraged, "I'm sorry your father had to sell his coach, but things will turn up for him soon and he can get it back."
"How do you know?"
"I just know he will. Meet me tonight at eleven?"
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Ian quickly walked to the other side of the room and began rummaging in a cabinet as her father walked in. "What are you doing here, Ian? I thought you worked from home today."
"I have been working at home, but I needed some more ink and paper."
"Well, I'm glad you are here. I have a few questions about some recent accounting, and I need you to explain things to me. Do you have time?"
"Certainly. I would be happy to explain any questions you may have."
"Good. Let me walk my wife and daughter out, and then we can get started."
As her father ushered her out of the room, she glanced back at Ian who raised an eyebrow in question. She nodded almost imperceptivity, but he saw it. He knew she would meet him at eleven.
Her father kissed her mother and then her goodbye, and turned wearily to walk back inside with a mumbled, "See you tonight for dinner."
At the look on her mother's face, Mercy tried to comfort her with a hope she didn't feel herself. "Things will get better soon."
Her mother nodded once. "I hope so."
Mercy tried to encourage her for several minutes as they walked along, and then she glanced up to see Mr. Berkeley's elaborate coach in front of his office as he stood talking on the steps to several men. Just the mere sight of him caused her heart to race until she felt dizzy. After saying his goodbyes, he strolled toward his coach and looked up to see Mercy and her mother walking right toward him.
He paused and tipped his hat with a simple, "Good-day, ladies," and then climbed into his coach and rolled away. His normally inviting eyes now looked flat and unapproachable. Mercy felt as if she'd lost something extremely valuable. Something that would never be hers again.
Her mother leaned in and whispered, "You'd think Mr. Berkeley could have offered us a ride. I suppose he isn't much of a gentleman after all."
Mercy's heart filled with pity. It seemed the poor man got misjudged at every turn. Mercy wanted to tell her mother that he was a gentleman and he had offered them a ride, but she'd refused. Refused because if she had to be in his captivating presence at all, there was little chance she would have the strength needed to remain faithful to Ian.
\*\*\*\*
"I insist you come to this, Berkeley. It will not be like the ball with a crush of people, just a small dinner party of about forty."
Governor Hancock was not a man used to being refused, but Addison was not a man used to doing things he didn't want to do.
Addison leaned back in his black, leather chair and took a sip of tea. "Forty is a small party?"
"Just say you will come." Hancock said.
"Why is it so important I come to this?"
"Because I'm hosting a group of French diplomats and aristocrats and you speak fluent French. Also, a count's young wife has a sister who is unattached and terribly pretty. Happily married man that I am, I still know a tempting morsel when I see one. The countess asked me if I knew of any appealing men who could entertain her sister since she is finding America horribly dull. Patriot that you are, I know you don't want this young lady going back to France talking about how deficient America is, now do you?"
He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. "You are intentionally putting a tempting morsel in front of a man like me?"
"A man like you? I think your reputation as a rake is all talk."
With a casual shrug, he replied, "I'm glad you think that."
He leaned his arms against his knees and narrowed his eyes as he asked, "Berkeley, have you even been with one woman in the ten months you've been in Boston?"
"Personal question, but no. I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, yet you are trying to lead me into temptation?" His voice was lighthearted, but he did have grave concerns.
After Mercy's rejection of him, he felt vulnerable, and this probably wasn't the best timing. In the last week since she'd dashed all his hopes with her, he felt a chasm of loneliness inside him that seemed to grow with each passing day.
Hancock's strong, steady voice interrupted his thoughts. "The countess is quite anxious to meet you and introduce you to her sister."
"How old is this sister?"
"Twenty five and already a widow with no children. She married a count, so she is a countess as well." He paused and pressed his lips together, "Spending an evening entertaining her will not be a hardship. She is delightful. Honestly, Berkeley, you cannot refuse."
"Didn't the patriots fight for freedom from oppression? I thought we had freedom in this country. So I'm free to refuse, am I not?"
Addison gave him a cheeky smile, but Hancock merely let out a frustrated sigh. "Can't you ever just be reasonable?"
"I tried being reasonable once. I didn't like it."
"Are you seriously refusing me, or are you just toying with me?"
"I suppose I'm just toying with you," he answered with another shrug. "If I must endure the attentions of a beautiful French countess, then I suppose I can suffer for my country."
"That's more like it. So you will be there?"
"If you insist, I'll be there. Tuesday night at seven."
"Good." His face broke out in a look of triumph. "I knew I could count on you." With a smile, he leaned back in his chair. "I heard you attended Redemption Church last Sunday. Did you like it?"
"How did you hear that? I didn't realize anyone in the church besides Able Cotton even knew me."
"Able Cotton told me. But everyone knows you."
He let out a deep, weary breath. "They might know who I am, but they don't know me."
"I feel the same way sometimes. It goes with the territory of being a powerful man. So answer my question---how did you like church?"
"It moves me. I want to know God. The pastor gives easy to understand messages. I've been reading my Bible, and what surprises me is that Jesus seems like a modest man I would have liked. Much different than I would've expected him to be."
"I know exactly what you mean."
"Last night I read in the gospel of John about when Jesus went to the temple and got mad at how the moneychangers were cheating people, so he made himself a whip and then charged in snapping that thing around and throwing all their tables over while calling them a 'den of thieves.' I have to admit---I would like to have seen that."
Hancock chuckled. "You would've probably been there helping Him."
"You're probably right. I hate seeing people get cheated."
"Well, I'm glad you are going to church and reading your Bible, Berkeley."
"Me too."
Hancock stood and gave him a hearty pat to his back. "Thank you for coming to my dinner party. I knew I could count on you."
"Yes, well, what are friends for? There is nothing I wouldn't suffer for you or my country. We cannot have a spoiled French countess think America is dull. What kind of a patriot would I be if I didn't do my part to change her opinion?"
Hancock let out a hearty laugh. "Seriously, you will enjoy her company. She is an amusing lady and she is incredibly beautiful as well." He took a few steps toward the door and then turned around. "And by the way, wear the suit you wore to the ball, and please powder your hair."
"I hate that suit."
"Blanche will love it."
"Blanche?"
"The Countess D'Aubigne. Blanche is her name."
"Well, I'm sure I won't be calling her Blanche."
"You never know."
Then the man had the audacity to wink. Addison had never heard Hancock refer to a lady by her given name before. The man was teasing him.
Addison walked his friend outside and watched him get into his coach. He wished he knew how to refuse the man. He had no desire to put that stupid suit back on and try to impress a French countess.
If Mercy thought him so far beneath her then this lady from the aristocracy would probably think of him as a worm, perhaps an appealing worm to dangle from the end of her hook for the night, but a worm, nonetheless.
Addison walked back into his office and opened the top drawer of his desk to look for a key, and sighed when he saw the little bottle of honeysuckle and rose perfume that reminded him so much of Mercy. For a couple days after he had given her a bottle like it, he would take it out and smell it just to bring a smile to his face.
But the past week every time he saw the bottle, it mocked him and shouted, " You are not good enough! You are nothing but a pretender!"
He couldn't listen anymore, and he grabbed the perfume and threw it into the garbage can where it landed with a sound of finality. Enough! It was a good thing Mercy had rejected him. He'd been allowing her to make him a pathetic fool. He would not allow Mercy, or some French countess, or any other woman to ever have any kind of hold on his heart. Never.
\*\*\*\*
"You truly look beautiful, sweetheart."
Mercy gazed down at her pretty peach-colored dress and then up at her father with love. "Thank you, Daddy. You look nice too. I have such a handsome father."
"I'm glad you think I'm handsome." His gaze drifted over her. "I'm sorry I could not buy you a new dress. I know that one is from last year."
"I have only worn it once or twice and it's one of my favorites. What a spoiled girl I would be if I thought I needed a brand new dress every time I walked out the door."
"Going to an exclusive dinner at the Governor's house isn't merely walking out the door."
"I doubt I would know if anyone there wore a dress again, and I don't think they will notice that I have. Don't worry, Daddy."
He gave her an appreciative smile and then went and took her mother's arm. They all walked down to Hancock Manor together.
As soon as Mercy walked in the door of the parlor, she smiled when she saw Priscilla walking toward her.
"Mercy, you look beautiful."
"Thank you, Priscilla. You look beautiful too, as always. Is Luke coming?"
"No. He wasn't invited. This is pretty exclusive. I think the two of us were brought here to entertain the Baron de Villepin's twenty-three-year-old son."
"Entertain? What do you mean?"
"How should I know? But I hear he's handsome and charming, so it shouldn't be too bad."
"Is he here yet?"
"No, I don't think so." Priscilla glanced around at some stunning women standing on the other side of the room and leaned in to whisper, "Have you ever seen such elegant ladies?"
Mercy looked over at them and shook her head. "All four of them are astonishing. Especially the two dark ones who look so much alike."
"I'm surprised none of them are wearing white wigs. They are obviously the height of fashion, so hopefully that means wigs will be going out of style soon. I was worried the ladies here would look at our un-wigged heads and think we were country bumpkins."
Mercy continued to stare at them in awe. "The one with the black hair, are those real diamonds and pearls sown into her dress?"
"I think so. She is the Countess D'Aubigne. She in only twenty-five and already an extravagantly wealthy widow."
"Her husband died? How sad."
"I don't think she thinks it's sad. I heard he was sixty years old or something."
"My father would never do such a thing to me."
"Mine either, thank God. My father likes my choice. He and Luke get along quite well."
"Luke seems easy to get along with."
"He is. And so are you. That is why I've chosen you to be my best friend and him to be my husband."
Mercy gave Priscilla an affectionate smile. "You think I am gentle and kind. I had no idea you could be so easily fooled."
Priscilla slapped her with her fan. "Oh, stop it."
Mercy giggled. "Has Luke proposed yet?"
"Not officially. He has to go on a tour of the South for about a year, meeting with the cotton farmers and making deals for his textile business. He hinted that we could get married now and I could go with him, but I've only known him such a short time. I'm in no huge rush to get married. I told him I'll wait for him."
"Waiting is hard," she replied without thinking.
"Not so hard." Priscilla's smile faded away and she leaned in. "I need to tell you something, Mercy. This afternoon as I was getting ready I heard a huge commotion coming from Cordelia's room, so I went to investigate and Cordelia was screaming to her mother that she'd caught Daisy reading. In the south, slaves caught reading are whipped or even killed. It's illegal according to a law passed in 1740. The person caught teaching them to read is fined one hundred dollars. Few can afford to pay that and the failure to pay has serious consequences. Anyway, Cordelia and her mother badgered the poor girl to confess who had taught her but she wouldn't say, so they whipped her. Savagely. I tried to stop it and a few lashes landed on me until my father came in and put a stop to it."
Mercy reached out to grab the back of a chair to steady herself as she felt all the blood drain from her face. Priscilla nodded. "I have my answer. I had a feeling it was you who taught Daisy to read, but from your expression, I now know it was you. This is pretty serious, Mercy. What you did was against the law."
"It's a stupid law."
"I agree."
"Daisy told me it was against the law but I didn't believe her. I did some research and found out she told the truth. But the law makes no sense. Daisy is brilliant. She learned to read in a matter of weeks. A mind like hers should not be wasted."
"Again, I agree. I'm just giving you a warning that Cordelia and her mother are on the war path and I'm sure you will be questioned soon. Unfortunately, they do have the law on their side. I hate having them live with us. I wish they would go home. But let's not talk about it anymore tonight."
Just then Governor Hancock approached them with a young man by his side. "Miss Creed, Miss Brown, I want you to meet Fabien Marceau."
The Governor proceeded to introduce them formally. Mercy smiled, the baron's fair-haired son was indeed handsome. He took her by surprise when he brought her gloved hand to his lips and held it much longer than proper before leaning in to whisper, " Enchanté, Mademoiselle ."
He glanced at Priscilla and greeted her and then turned immediately back to Mercy and took her hand again. "Your hair looks like priceless gold, and your eyes---they're amazing. You're astonishing."
She was accustomed to flattery, but this was just too much. His devouring eyes flustered her. She mumbled, "Ummm. Thank you."
"Charmed," he gushed. "I found myself anxious to meet American girls and you, my dear, have surpassed all my expectations."
She glanced up at Mr. Hancock pleadingly. How exactly was she supposed to entertain this young Frenchman when he would not let go of her?
She twisted her hand out of his grasp, and trying to be polite asked, "Have you seen much of Boston yet?"
"Yes. Lovely city. Have you ever been to Paris?"
"No, but I would like to someday."
"Perhaps that can be arranged. I'd love to take you there," he replied with a seductive grin.
She fanned herself and looked away. What would Ian think of this character's behavior? He would not be pleased.
Thankfully, Mr. Hancock pulled him away. "You can speak with Miss Creed later, but first let me introduce you to Mr. Paul Revere. He's a hero in our country."
The young Frenchman winked at Mercy over his shoulder as he was led away.
Priscilla laughed and shook her head. "My word. I heard French men could be flattering, but I had no idea. Good thing you were here for him to fawn over. Luke wouldn't like it a bit if he acted that way to me."
Mercy let out a deep sigh, fearing this would be a long night indeed.
\*\*\*\*
With a frustrated groan, Addison walked up the steps to Hancock Manor in a dark blue suit made of uncut velvet, and a white shirt with lace ruffles at the neck and sleeves. He'd compromised with Hancock by attending this dinner party, but he drew the line at wearing that ridiculous suit again. If Blanche, or whatever her name was, didn't like this suit, then oh well.
Entering the parlor, he felt every eye dart his way. Immediately, Hancock greeted him and took him to meet several gloriously arrayed ladies who stared at him in open admiration which definitely made him uncomfortable.
He tried his best to act like a gallant gentlemen when he met each of them. But when Hancock said with great drama, "And may I present The Countess D'Aubigne," he could no longer hold the ruse. Against his will, he let out a little laugh when he saw the dark-haired beauty's eager expression that looked like she wanted to devour him like a tasty treat.
Her almost black eyes glimmered at him as she asked in heavily accented English, "And what may I ask is so amusing, Monsieur?"
He kissed her gloved hand and replied, " C'était un rire de bonheur pour le plaisir de rencontrer une si belle dame comme vous ."
"Ah, what a nice surprise. Your French is perfect." She laid her hand on his arm and pulled him over to sit beside her. "Please, sit by me and tell me about America."
While perching on the dainty silk settee, he tried his best to look comfortable. In awe, he looked at the stunning countess. He'd never seen such an elaborate gown on a woman in his life. He forced himself to stop staring at the jewels that adorned her bodice.
Addison lifted his eyes and asked, "So what would you like to know about America, Madame?"
"Anything you wish to tell me. I just want to hear your voice. It's exactly as I imagined it would sound...like rich, smooth brandy."
He wouldn't know. He'd never had brandy and he had no intention of having it either. His father drank enough of it for both of them.
She gave him a flirtatious smile. "Did Governor Hancock tell you I asked to meet you?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "No."
"Yes, the day I got off the ship, I saw you on the docks and thought you were the most dashing man I had ever seen. For all I knew you were just a dock worker, but someone informed me you were the shipping magnate, Addison Berkeley. I could not have been more pleased."
He doubted he was the most dashing man she'd ever seen, but she was quite convincing in her overblown adulation. "I'm flattered, but I don't consider myself a shipping magnate. Not yet."
"But you are on your way? Oui ?"
"I'm on my way." He could feel his Adam's apple bob in his tight shirt as he tried to swallow. He felt a little woozy.
Maybe it was her dark, exotic beauty, or the strong perfume of heavy spices and musk, the way she leaned in so close to him and made him feel confined, or the way a countess in the highest rungs of the French aristocracy sat here openly pursuing him.
Maybe it was any, or all of those things, but for some reason he felt out of his depth. What did Hancock expect of him? The man wanted him to keep her entertained. What exactly did that mean? From the look in her eyes he could see what type of entertainment she had in mind.
With her extremely revealing, low-cut gown shown off to full advantage, she leaned in even closer in a way he knew these Bostonians would consider scandalous, and practically purred in his ear, "I heard you were a pirate."
He pulled back and shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I was never a pirate. Merely a privateer."
"Same thing to me. Both show you are a brave and adventurous man. You are an adventurous man, Oui ?"
Her voice was laced with innuendo and he honestly had no idea how to respond to her while sitting in this proper Bostonian parlor with dozens of people surrounding them.
At last he said casually, "At times I'm adventurous, but more often I'm careful. Especially lately." He wanted to change the subject so he said, "Governor Hancock told me your name is Blanche, which I know means white in French, yet you are so dark. Your lovely sister is dark as well."
"We are from the island of Martinique. Have you heard of it?"
"Yes, I have actually been there. I import sugar from Martinique."
"My father owns a sugar plantation there. Do you like the Caribbean?"
"Tremendously. I would like to go back again soon."
"I would like to go back too. Perhaps we can coordinate our trips?" He opened his mouth trying to fill it with words, but thankfully she said, "Monsieur, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"When I saw you at the docks, your magnificent hair was blowing in the wind, and I longed to run my fingers through it. When do you think I'll get to see, and feel, that glorious dark hair of yours un-powdered?"
How on earth was he supposed to answer that?
She laughed lightly, "I'm sorry if I'm too bold. It's just my way. Some people don't know what to make of me. Have I flustered you?"
Yes, she had, but he wasn't about to admit it. "No, Madame. You have not flustered me, just merely surprised me."
"Oh, yes. I'm just full of surprises."
I can only imagine. With uneasiness, he glanced around to see who was watching this heated exchange, and just about swallowed his tongue when he saw Mercy looking straight at him, confusion marred her brow.
Their gazes met and she quickly looked down and adjusted her gloves awkwardly, continuing to talk with Priscilla Brown. He didn't know Mercy would be here. Part of him felt a little embarrassed to have Mercy see this beautiful, sophisticated woman practically throwing herself at him, but then again, part of him gloried in it.
Mercy thought herself far above him, but apparently this countess didn't, at least, not right now. Let Mercy squirm. The appealing countess' attention seemed to work like a balm on his bruised and battered pride.
The countess followed his gaze and her eyes swept over Mercy. "She is a sweet little thing. Do you know her?"
"Yes, she is a friend."
"A friend? Do you have a past with her?"
He let out a harsh laugh. "No. No past, no present, and definitely no future."
She lifted an eyebrow in question.
"What? You don't believe me?"
"Should I?"
"I'm not lying."
"If you say so, but your gazes were so hot I feared I might be singed just from near you two."
"No. I'm not sure what you think you saw, but Mercy and I have nothing...we have nothing."
"Mercy?"
"Miss Creed, I meant. That is her name."
Thankfully, the awkwardness of the moment was interrupted by the dinner bell. He rose and helped the countess to her feet, but she didn't let go of his arm when she stood. She clung to him as they walked into the dining room, and not surprisingly he found himself sitting next to her.
As soon as they got situated, he asked, "So what do you like best about Boston so far?"
She raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. "You."
He chuckled in amazement.
She gave a deep, throaty laugh. "Now I don't think Boston will be so dull after all."
About an hour later, he had to reluctantly admit that he was enjoying himself. The food was delicious, the countess was a witty and interesting woman, and the pained looks Mercy cast his way when he laughed at something felt like a triumph. He didn't consider himself a cruel man, but right now he wanted Mercy to hurt. She had certainly hurt him. Let her regret that her castoff was being snatched up by a beautiful countess.
Once when he glanced at Mercy out the corner of his eye, he saw the handsome young son of the baron flirting with her outrageously. But instead of being flattered as any other single young girl would be, she looked horribly annoyed. He wondered why. In some small way it made him feel better. The haughty little thing thought she was too good for the aristocracy!
Later, as everyone gathered in the parlor, Hancock asked, "Miss Creed, would you be so kind to play the pianoforte and sing for us, please? You have the most glorious voice."
She looked embarrassed, but nodded and made her way to the pianoforte. Flipping through some sheet music, she finally settled on a piece.
The baron's son jumped up and offered, "I'll turn the pages for you."
She gave him a polite nod, cleared her throat, smoothed her skirts, and placed her fingers on the keys.
Addison held his breath in anticipation. He hadn't even known she played the pianoforte. He assumed there must be many things he didn't know about her. He draped his arm around the back of the sofa and the countess scooted closer to him, leaned back against his arm and smiled up at him. He had never felt so flattered, or so uncomfortable in his life.
Finally, Mercy began to play and sing the lovesong, Plaisir D'Amour , the haunting melody about the bitter-sweet attachment to an unfaithful love. His heart swelled with emotion.
The lovely music floated across the room and seemed to wrap around him like a rope which pulled him to her side. Why did he feel this connection with Mercy when she wanted nothing to do with him?
The shimmering candles in the room illuminated her and the glistening curls framing her face shined like gold. Her rapturous expression stirred his soul, and he had to tear his eyes away. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.
When the last note died away, everyone applauded.
The countess leaned closer to Addison and whispered, "Your Miss Creed is a talented girl."
"She isn't my Miss Creed," he replied harshly, then took a deep breath and softened his voice, "Do you play?"
Her dark eyes sparkled at him. "I love to play," then she added, "Oh, did you mean do I play the pianoforte?" She shook her head as she answered her own question, "Not really."
The woman was shocking. She continued to surprise him when she suggested, "I think I'd like to get some fresh air. Would you care to join me?"
"I'm sure if we walked outside together, we'd certainly raise some speculation. I don't want to be responsible for ruining your reputation."
She laughed. "Do you know of my reputation? Actually, going outside with a man like you, would only enhance my reputation."
He laughed as well. "What of my reputation then? If I go outside with you, I might be ruined."
"Perhaps, but that remains to be seen if we keep sitting on the sofa." She motioned to the balcony with her head. "You go out that door and I'll go out the front and make my way around the garden and up the back stairs."
Without waiting for his response, she stood and slipped out the door. Now, he had no choice. He couldn't just sit here and leave her waiting for him on the balcony. Reluctantly, he stood and wandered out the doors. How on earth had he gotten himself into this?
Within a minute, she stood behind him and touched his arm. "You came." She pulled him into a dark corner and placed his back against the wall. "You are a stunning man, Mr. Berkeley."
"Thank you. I must say, you are a stunning woman, Countess D'Aubigne."
"Call me Blanche." She stepped closer until their bodies were almost touching. Rubbing her fingers along the collar of his coat, she said huskily, "Governor Hancock tells me you are the grandson of an English Earl. Is that true?"
He nodded.
"Then you are of the aristocracy."
"No, believe me, I'm not. I never met my grandfather or anyone else in his family. I don't consider myself a part of the British aristocracy. In fact, I don't even consider myself British. I am an American."
"I can tell you have noble blood. You walk like the grandson of an Earl. You carry yourself like an aristocrat."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Well, my mother was a chamber maid."
She laughed.
"Do you think I'm teasing? I'm not. I tell you the truth. My father fell in love with her and when he married her, his family disowned him. That is why we came to America."
He thought she would quickly find a way to leave and hurry back into the parlor, but instead she gave him a bright smile.
"What a wildly romantic story. Are you a romantic like your father?"
That question picked at an old and painful wound, and he didn't know how to answer. She leaned in even closer and he could feel her breath on his face.
"You are amazing. I have to confess, I find you quite a challenge. I'm used to men throwing themselves at me, but I seem to be the aggressor here. I think I like it."
She rubbed her fingers along his jaw and he reached up and stilled her hand.
"Countess D'Aubigne. Blanche. I know this must sound like an awkward question, but what exactly do you want from me? Am I an amusing toy for the evening, or a man you admire and want to court?"
She thought for a moment and then replied, "The latter." Then she added seductively, "But the former has its appeal as well." She gazed up at him with heated eyes while she traced his lips with her fingertip. "You know what I want right now?"
"What is that?"
"I want to kiss those perfect lips of yours."
Before he knew what was happening, her lips were against his and her hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him toward her. The attention and the affection felt nice and instinct led him to wrap his arms around her waist and deepen the kiss. But he would pull back soon. As appealing as the countess was, this just didn't feel right.
She sighed against his lips and immediately he heard a sharp intake of breath come from across the balcony. Addison pulled his mouth away from the Countess. He'd known someone would catch them. Slowly he opened his eyes and his heart stopped! Mercy stood there with her hand over her mouth.
He simply stared at her wondering what to do or say when she muttered, "I knew it."
Letting out a weary sigh, he asked, "You knew what, Miss Creed?"
"That you were a scoundrel," and with that she spun on her heel and walked back into the house.
The countess laughed and purred into his ear, "Hm. Show me what a scoundrel you are."
He kissed her again so she wouldn't know how much Mercy's words affected him, then pulled away. "We should get back inside before my reputation is irreparably ruined," he teased with his best charming smile.
"Do we have to? Things are just getting interesting."
"I'm afraid so. Go back the way you came. I'll stay out here for a few moments, then I'll see you again inside."
"If I must," she sighed with a pout. Reluctantly, she turned and walked away.
Addison leaned forward against the banister and watched the Countess until she disappeared from sight.
He closed his eyes and sighed as Mercy's face came into his mind. Why had she looked so hurt? She didn't care about him. She'd made that clear.
Oh, what did any of it matter?
He walked back into the room and looked around. Everyone mingled, chatted and laughed. No one seemed to notice he'd gone outside, or that he'd come back, except Mercy who quickly looked away when his eyes landed on her.
He wanted to speak with her and apologize, but he had nothing to apologize for. He walked over to Hancock and talked. The Countess soon joined them and they all conversed for a while.
Addison smiled. "I have an early morning tomorrow, so I must be on my way." He glanced at the lovely Countess and gave her a smile. "It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps I'll see you again."
"The pleasure was mine, and I hope I get to see you again."
He nodded, excused himself and walked out into the icy, cold wind. Wrapping his cape tightly around himself, he walked home with a heavy heart.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Addison walked to work. He glanced over at Mercy's house, and his heart almost stopped when he saw her sitting on the ground, digging away with a vengeance. He'd never expected to see her in her garden on such a cold and windy morning. A scowl covered her pretty face as she literally attacked the dirt.
He walked toward her and called out in a friendly voice, "If you can wield that much damage with a little spade, I would hate to see you with a sword. On the other hand, perhaps I should teach you how to use a sword. It might come in handy aboard my ship if I ever decide to become a privateer again."
He hoped to see a pleasant smile, but instead she glared up at him as if she wished to slash him with her little spade.
"My, you are a fierce one, Mercy Creed," he teased, determined to see her smile.
She merely glared at him even more fiercely if that were possible.
Maybe he should try another tactic. "By the way, I never got to tell you how much I enjoyed listening to you play the pianoforte last night."
She continued stabbing the dirt and mumbled, "No. You were a little too preoccupied last night to find the time to tell me that."
Nearing her, he carefully took the spade out of her hand and dropped it to the ground. "Come here," he murmured as he reached down to pull her to her feet. He dragged her behind a small grove of elm trees, hidden from the view of the house and the street.
Mercy struggled the entire way but was no match for Addison. He leaned her against the trunk of the largest tree and held her there while he stated calmly, "I want to talk to you about last night."
"Why?" She fired back. "You owe me no explanations."
"I know I don't. But I want to clear the air. When I see you in the future, I don't want to feel uncomfortable around you."
"The only reason you would feel uncomfortable is because you know the words I spoke are true. You are a scoundrel."
"I will not argue with you, Miss Creed. I've never claimed to be a saint."
"Saint? Ha! It's just like you trying to seduce a grieving widow."
Letting out a humorless laugh, he replied bitingly, "If any seduction was happening, it was on her part, not mine, I assure you. But I suppose as a gentleman, I shouldn't say that."
"You are no gentleman."
"I won't argue with you there, but why are you so angry with me? Why do you care what I do?"
"I'm not angry." She seethed while she squirmed, but he held her firm.
"You are angry."
"No, I'm not." She ceased struggling as her large green eyes swam with tears.
Suddenly everything became clear to him. Softening his voice, he said, "Yes. You are angry, and now I know why."
She took his bait. "Why?"
He tried to fight the smile tugging on his lips. "You are jealous."
Her eyes widened with surprise and embarrassment. She stamped her foot. "I'm not jealous."
"Yes, you are." He rubbed his hands across her shoulders and stepped even closer before whispering, "You wish it was you I was kissing instead of the countess. I know I wish it was you I was kissing. I admit it. I want you to admit it."
"Why of all the nerve!" Her whole body shook with the intensity of her emotions. "You arrogant, pompous man." He grinned at her, which infuriated her more. She fumed, "I have no desire to kiss you."
"That isn't true. You might not want to want me to kiss you, but you do."
Covering her face with her hands, she moaned, "Go away."
He grabbed her hands and brought them to her side, holding them. "I think what you say and what you feel are two different things. I believe you're as attracted to me as I am to you."
"If you are attracted to me, why did you kiss the Countess last night?"
"She kissed me and I let her because it felt good to be desired by someone after your brutal rejection."
"My rejection was not brutal."
"It was to me."
Compassion softened her expression. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"But you did."
Tears spilled from her eyes as she slowly shook her head. "I'm not the one for you, Mr. Berkeley."
He heard her words, but it didn't match what he saw in her eyes. Slowly, he bent and kissed away a few tears on her cheek, then brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "I think you are the one for me."
She trembled against him. He felt her melting, but then she let out a little moan of anguish and shook her head. "No. No. I'm sorry. I'm not the one for you," she repeated with as much authority as her shaky voice would allow.
He kissed her cheek and then spoke against her skin, "Why are you pushing me away like this?"
"Because...because you terrify me."
Letting out a chuckle, he pulled back and held her face in his hands. "Mercy, when you get to know me better, you will find out I'm not that scary."
She shook her head. "You should choose the Countess. You are better suited to her than me."
"I beg to differ." With a laugh he added, "She terrifies me ."
When he saw a slight smile on her trembling lips, he knew he was making headway. "Mercy, don't say you don't have feelings for me, because I won't believe you. I know what we have is not all one-sided. But if you can honestly tell me right now that you feel nothing for me, I will leave and never speak to you like this again."
He could see her inner turmoil. With a ragged sigh, she lowered her forehead against his shoulder and began to cry. He'd never held a weeping woman in his arms before and had no idea what to do.
Finally, she spoke amid sobs, "I'm so confused."
Her words pricked at his pride. What was so confusing?
She continued to cry, and he spoke into her hair. "Mercy, I won't push you. Take your time and work out your confusion. Let me know if you want me, and I'll ask your father if I can court you properly."
Both of them jumped when a harsh voice called out, "Mercy, where are you?"
Mercy looked up at him in panic and Addison covered her lips with his finger. He then held onto her shoulder to steady her. If someone found them now, this would not look good.
The strident voice came closer. "Mercy. I know you are out here."
Addison could see the dread wash over her as the color drained from her face.
"Mercy, I'm not leaving until I talk to you. Don't hide from me."
Addison stood as still as a statue and held his breath, but it did no good. Cordelia suddenly stood before them. A dark, malevolent look filled her eyes.
"I should've known. Somehow I'm not surprised to find you in the arms of a scoundrel."
Her face white and arms trembling, Mercy managed, "What is it, Cordelia? What do you need?"
She waved a book in her hand like a weapon. "Do you know what this is?"
"The novel Pamela by Samuel Richardson?"
"Yes. I found it with Daisy and you cannot deny you gave it to her. This book has your name in it. I also figured out it was you who taught her to read. How dare you!"
Cordelia's fury grew like a bonfire. "Teaching a slave to read is against the law. I think I will prosecute you, and you will have to pay a one hundred dollar fine. We all know you cannot afford it. Your father just had to sell his coach and horses. He also just offered to sell your beloved pianoforte to Mr. Brown. Do you know what happens to people who break the law, teach a slave to read and cannot pay the fine? Do you know?"
Addison stood frozen in absolute shock.
But Mercy calmly asked, "Why do you care if Daisy knows how to read? It doesn't hurt you."
"You had no right," she screamed as the veins popped out of her neck. "She's my slave! My slave! You'll pay for this. I'll make you pay!" The girl was hysterical and lifted her hand ready to strike Mercy.
Addison quickly grabbed her wrist, halting her. "What on earth is wrong with you, Miss Turner? So the girl knows how to read. Calm down."
She glared at him, a wild look in her eyes. "How dare you touch me? You will pay. You will both pay for this." Tears streamed her face and she ran away.
Addison shook his head in bewilderment. All these emotional ladies . He didn't know what to say. Mercy lifted her wet lashes to meet his gaze and his stomach twisted in knots. She was clearly terrified.
He brushed the hair back from her face and soothed, "Nothing will happen to you. This is Boston, not the south. You cannot be prosecuted for teaching a slave to read. Don't worry. And if any fine arises out of this somehow, I'll pay it. I'm glad you taught the girl to read. You gave her a gift that can never be taken away." He brought his lips to her forehead and gave her a light kiss. "I'm proud of you, Mercy."
She stared up at him with her big, innocent eyes and a wave of longing swept over him. He wanted to hold her, kiss her and make her sigh in his arms. But he didn't want to be anymore of a scoundrel in her opinion. He wouldn't kiss her unless he had permission to court her properly. The air between them sizzled, but he forced himself to step back. "Will you be all right if I leave you here?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'll be fine. Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for?"
"For everything."
Her gaze lifted to him again and he felt himself leaning toward her. With great effort, he stopped himself. Not yet.
He chucked her chin in order to lighten the intensity of the moment. "You are thanking me for everything? Well, then I suppose you are welcome." Taking another step backwards he explained, "I have a meeting. I need to go, but I'll call on you soon. Perhaps you can come to church with me this Sunday. I like my new church and I want to share it with you. Last Sunday the pastor spoke on the Good Samaritan. I am anxious to see what this Sunday's message will be. I'm sure you will like it."
She nodded and he turned to walk away. He didn't want to leave her, but he really did need to go. Several captains were waiting at the docks for him right now, and he was already late.
A small tremor of apprehension shot up his spine when he realized he'd basically just asked Mercy if he could court her.
What had he done? He'd taken steps down a path he'd sworn he'd never set foot upon. But being married to Mercy would not be like marriage to any other woman. Mercy was a saint. He smiled and tried to picture marriage to a saint. It sounded positively---heavenly.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy stared up at the stately elegance of the tree branches above her and the magnificence of the lush, green foliage. It made her feel terribly small and insignificant in comparison.
With her back against the tree, she slid down until she sat on the ground, brought her legs up to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. She sucked in a slow and ragged breath hoping it would somehow ease the aching in her chest, but it didn't.
Life had always been simple. It had always made sense. Now nothing did. She had always had a handle on her life...but now the handle was broken. It seemed as if the ground underneath her was as unstable as quicksand.
When she had seen the countess fawning all over Mr. Berkeley, she'd wanted to scratch her eyes out, while seething, "He is mine, you cow. Stay away from him," but that irrational anger scared her.
And anyway, he wasn't hers. Ian was hers. But last night, she'd forgotten that. Watching Mr. Berkeley smile, laugh and speak French with that pushy countess had made her stomach twist in knots, and she had the feeling he knew it...and was glad.
When he walked out on the balcony, she'd followed to see if she could still get him to smile at her like he had before. But instead she saw him kissing a beautiful woman who sighed in his arms.
Anger and disappointment swelled inside her like a tempest, which disgusted her since she had no right. If Mr. Berkeley came to the gazebo behind her house any night, he would see her kissing Ian.
On top of everything else, she was a hypocrite.
She clutched handfuls of the green blades of grass while a dozen painful emotions came gushing out in a torrent of tears. She wanted to pray, but she was sure God wouldn't hear her. God only loved good people, and she'd long ago ceased being good.
She could confess her sin, but that would mean giving up Ian and she didn't think she could. She'd become an immoral, lying, and jealous girl over a man who was not even hers.
She was despicable in every possible way. Mr. Berkeley was far too good for her. Ian was a liar like her. Their lies somehow bound them together in a web of deceit.
What was going to become of her life? What was she going to do about Cordelia's threat? What if she had to pay a fine but her father could not? Her father couldn't afford anything. He was trying to sell her pianoforte? She hadn't even known.
What was she going to do about Mr. Berkeley's declared intentions? What was she going to do about Ian? Would he ever earn enough money to marry her, or would she spend the rest of her life waiting---and lying?
So many concerns weighed her down. She feared they would crush her and she'd simply blow away in the wind. Then, the thought ceased to be a worry and became a wish. If only, she could just blow away in the wind.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Eight
Rain clattered against Mercy's bedroom window, awaking her. She sat up and glanced around. The tumultuous grey sky outside seemed to mirror the roiling emotions inside her. Grabbing her robe off a chair, she wrapped it around herself, walked to the window and stared outside. With her finger, she slowly traced the dark, wet leaves that clung to the glass, and wished her life was as easy to delineate.
For the past three days, Mercy had been awaiting Cordelia's wrath. The last two nights she'd gone to the gazebo, and waited alone in the cold, but Ian had never come. Deep down, she felt relieved.
Lately, her kisses were not enough and he'd pressured her to do more. She wasn't even sure what more was, but she knew she didn't want to do it. She'd already given him so much, and she refused to give him what was left of her virtue. They had argued, and now it seemed he was punishing her.
Then, there was Mr. Berkeley. Thankfully, he'd not come to call, and she hadn't left the house. Not once. Not even to garden. She could not bear to see him, if she didn't know what to say. She continued to trace the wet leaves and for some stupid reason found it calming and couldn't stop.
A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Her mother walked into the room looking terribly concerned.
"Sweetheart, your father would like to see you in his office."
"Let me get dressed and I'll be right down."
"No. He needs to leave, but he must speak with you first."
With dread she asked, "What is it?"
"Just put on your slippers. You'll find out soon enough."
Mercy followed her into her father's office and bit her lip when she saw him sitting in a chair looking haggard and hallow.
She sank down into the chair across from him and managed, "What is it Daddy? What's wrong?"
"Mercy. You must tell me the truth. Did...did..." He looked down and twisted the ring on his finger and then lifted his lids and blurted out, "Did Mr. Berkeley attack you?"
"What? Attack me? What do you mean?"
"Did he rape you?"
"What does that mean?"
He let out an unusual breath of annoyance. "Did he force himself upon you? Did he touch you? Did he kiss you? Did he make you do things you didn't want to do? Tell me the truth, Mercy."
"He touched me and he kissed my cheek, but he didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do."
"Where did he touch you?"
"Um. He touched my wrist once. A few days ago he touched my shoulders. And he did hold my face for a few seconds."
"That's all?"
"Yes, I promise. Mr. Berkeley has been nothing but respectful. He said if I want him to, he will ask you if he can court me." She shook her head in confusion. "Why do you ask me these things?"
"You don't know what rape is?"
"No, I told you I don't."
Her father proceeded to explain, generally, what constituted rape, and then asked, "A horrible rumor is spreading that Mr. Berkeley was raping you, someone saw it and he ran away. Is this true?"
Mercy jumped to her feet in horror. "That is a lie. That is an absolute lie! Mr. Berkeley never did anything like that. I would take an oath in court and swear it upon a Bible."
She paced around the room in agitation. "I know who started this rumor, and I know why. I taught Daisy to read and Cordelia found out about it. When she came over to confront me, she found me talking to Mr. Berkeley. His hands were on my shoulders.
"I think Cordelia fancies him and was jealous, in addition to already being mad at me about Daisy. She lifted her hand to strike me, but Mr. Berkeley grabbed her wrist and stopped her. She flew into a rage and said we would both pay."
Her father let out a deep, weary breath. "What an evil girl."
"No one will believe her, Daddy."
"I'm sure most people will believe her. People love to believe lies, especially when they bring down a powerful man."
"There is no proof."
"Proof? Who needs proof? The tongue is powerful. The Bible says one little spark can quickly bring about horrible destruction. Irreparable ruin. I'm not sure Mr. Berkeley can recover from this."
"He did nothing wrong."
"It doesn't matter."
"He just needs to tell everyone he didn't do it."
"Most people won't believe him."
"I'm the one he supposedly raped. I'll tell everyone it's not true."
"Sweetheart, I don't think they will believe you either."
"Cordelia is a stupid, silly girl who lies all the time. Why would people believe her over a good man like Mr. Berkeley?"
Her father shrugged, and shook his head, burying his face in his hands with a moan. She sat on the floor at his feet and rested her head on his knees. He absentmindedly stroked her hair and sighed. "Oh, Mercy. I don't know what to do."
After a long and heavy silence, she asked, "Am I ruined?"
"Maybe. I don't want to lie to you."
Tears began to stream down her face. "I don't understand how God could let this happen."
"Don't blame God. He instructs us over and over again how to act in his Word. When people don't listen, it's certainly not His fault. He doesn't control people like puppets. He gave everyone free will. For instance, the Bible clearly states that a fool decides a matter before he hears both sides. But most people will decide the matter without ever talking with you or Mr. Berkeley to discover the truth."
"Then most people are fools."
"Sadly, yes. I know many times I believed what others have told me without going to the source. I'm guilty too."
"Have you spoken with Mr. Berkeley?"
"Not yet. I wanted to talk with you first. I'm going over to his house now. I hope he is home."
"I'm coming with you."
"No, sweetheart. Let me handle this."
"Please, Daddy. I want to talk with him." She looked up into his eyes. "Please let me come."
"Go get dressed. I'll wait."
She ran upstairs and let her maid help her dress. Then she twisted her hair in a bun and rushed back downstairs in less than ten minutes.
When she walked into her father's office, she could see he hadn't moved. His arms still rested on his knees. His head hung low, hopeless.
Gently, she touched his shoulder. "I'm ready."
Nodding slowly, he stood. "Let's go."
They stepped out into the pouring rain, walked to Mr. Berkeley's door and knocked. A butler answered the door.
Mercy's father asked, "Is Mr. Berkeley in?"
With a nod, the man opened the door and ushered them through a stunning antechamber into a parlor. "I'll let Mr. Berkeley know you're here."
Mercy stared at the roaring fire surrounded by an exquisite Italian marble fireplace. A deep forest green rug partially covered the elaborate inlaid floor that must have come from the wood of at least two dozen different kinds of trees.
Beautiful tapestries and artwork covered the walls. Costly moldings adorned every available nook and crevice. Rich velvet drapes of gold hung from the large windows while leather chairs and sofas sat scattered about the room in cozy clusters.
She continued to gaze around the parlor at the magnificent surroundings that seemed such a perfect compliment for such a magnificent man.
So this was Mr. Berkeley's home. She'd wanted to see it, but not under these circumstances. She glanced at herself in a mirror and almost shuddered in embarrassment.
She looked like a drowned rat.
The door opened slowly, and Mr. Berkeley stepped inside looking splendid as always, but his eyes looked different. They had lost their sparkle.
He nodded politely. "Mr. Creed. Miss Creed. Would you like some tea?"
Her father answered quickly, "No, thank you, Mr. Berkeley. I'm glad you're here. We need to talk."
"Yes, we do."
He walked forward, took a thick, velvet blanket off a chair and came and wrapped it around Mercy's shoulders tenderly, offering a slight smile.
He motioned to the sofa. "Have a seat."
Shaking his head, her father countered, "No. We will get your furniture all wet."
"Believe me. I don't care. It will dry."
Tentatively, Mercy and her father sat on a brown leather sofa.
Mr. Berkeley sat in a chair across from them and sighed. "Mercy told you the rumors aren't true?"
"Yes, she did. I even had to explain to her what rape is, and she adamantly denies you did anything even remotely close to that. She says you merely kissed her cheek."
He nodded. "That is true. I have to confess I wanted to do more, but I would not allow myself to unless I had your blessing to properly court her. Yet I wonder how many people will believe it."
"I suppose a few will believe it, but most will choose to believe the worst, especially since the rumor is about you."
Mercy cast her father a disbelieving glance. "Daddy, what a horrible thing to say!"
"The higher someone has climbed in life, the greater people enjoy their fall."
"Why is that?"
She asked her father the question, but Mr. Berkeley answered by asking her a question. "Miss Creed, have you even seen the crab pots down at the harbor?"
"Crab pots?"
"Have you?"
"Yes, I have seen them."
"Well, once when I was a little boy I asked the crabman, 'Why don't the crab pots have lids? Don't you worry the crabs will climb out and get away?' The man had shook his head and said, 'No, son. Watch the crabs for a minute and you will see why.' So I watched and I noticed that every time a crab got near the top and was about to climb out, another crab would reach up and pull him back down. It happened over and over again."
Mr. Berkeley leaned back against his chair as if all energy had simply drained out of him. "Many humans are like the crabs. They want to see people be yanked back down."
Mercy stared at him for several moments and then looked at her father who nodded. "He is right."
She shook her head in confusion. "You both sound so cynical."
Mr. Berkeley's eyes looked heavy. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench and waited for him to speak.
Finally, he gave a weary looking shrug and muttered, "It's hard to live in this harsh world for long without getting cynical."
"Surely it's not as bad as the two of you are saying. Truth will prevail."
Both men let out a bitter laugh and again she shook her head in confusion.
"But Mr. Berkeley, you've worked so hard to make a good life for yourself. Surely one foolish girl can't hold the power to destroy it with a few words."
"Miss Creed, think of how much work, effort and time it took you to create your garden. Years, am I right?"
She merely nodded.
"It would take one fool about ten minutes to completely destroy it. It takes much less effort to destroy something than it does to build it in the first place. I'm not a defeatist. I'll try my best to fight against these lies and I know you will too, but we need to be realistic. Lies are usually more alluring than the truth and people love to be tantalized."
"It seems that without a victim there can be no crime. Can't people see that if the courts don't have enough evidence to prosecute you that the claims are untrue?"
"You would think so." His beautiful blue eyes looked tired. "But speculation destroys as many lives as hard, cold facts."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Have you talked to your pastor about this? Surely, he'll want to help you."
He let out a bitter, sardonic laugh. "My pastor?" Suddenly, he stood and demanded, "Wait here." He strode from the room and in less than a minute walked back in holding a piece of fine stationary. "I just got this last night. Read it."
Mercy took the letter from his hand and read out loud:
Mr. Berkeley,
Word has come to me that you have been accused of something unsavory. As you can imagine, my concern is for my congregation. Your name has been tainted and any association with me or my parishioners could taint us as well. I'm asking that you wait for the dust to settle a bit and then perhaps you can return. Your understanding is appreciated.
Sincerely,
Pastor Lawrence
The letter slipped from Mercy's hand to the floor and she lifted her eyes to Mr. Berkeley in utter and complete shock. "The man knows God's word, preaches God's word and yet acts like this! The letter is so condescending. How can he just assume you understand? I don't understand."
"No, I don't understand either."
Mercy's father offered, "Mr. Berkeley, please don't blame God for this. Pastor Lawrence's words are in direct opposition to the true heart of God. Galatians 6:1 tells us, 'Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such a one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.'
Mr. Berkeley listened closely, but said nothing.
Her father continued, "Even if you were at fault, the end result should be restoration. People aren't trash that you just cast out when they become inconvenient. I'm sorry, Mr. Berkeley. I'm truly sorry for this man's behavior and I'm sure the Lord is sorry too.
"But mark my word, his day is coming when he will need mercy, understanding and compassion, and it will not be there. Jesus clearly said that whatever measure of mercy you measure out to others will be measured back to you when you need it. This man seems too worried about his reputation that he has forgotten mercy."
Again Mr. Berkeley just nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.
Her father grabbed her hand and sat forward. "I'll tell you what I think we can do to help fight these rumors. Mr. Berkeley, you were going to ask my permission to court my daughter. Well, you have it. Tomorrow if the rain has stopped, you and Mercy can take a stroll through town with my wife and me. The four of us together. It will show to the world that my wife and I don't believe the rumors. Let's hope it's a sunny day tomorrow."
Mercy looked at her father and gripped the edge of the chair to keep the room from spinning. What had just happened?
She glanced at Mr. Berkeley but he merely lifted his eyebrow in question, as if to say... Is this what you want, Mercy ?
No. It's not what she wanted. How could she go about town pretending to be courted by Mr. Berkeley if she was already secretly engaged to Ian? She would be the only one to know it was a charade.
But if Mr. Berkeley thought he was truly courting her, when she had to call it off, she would hurt him. Yet if she refused to be seen in his company and allowed these horrible rumors about him to grow and spread, he would be hurt too.
Her father clapped his hands in resolution and stood. "Yes. Today I'll do what I can to meet with people and spread the truth. I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow, we'll meet at your office around noon and go for a stroll."
Mercy stared at her father who now seemed to have hope glimmering in his eyes. She couldn't shatter it.
Mr. Berkeley stood and offered his hand. Her eyes shot up to his face. She placed her hand in his and arose, never looking away from his unwavering blue gaze that seemed to bore into her soul.
She could see that he desired her assurance that this is what she wanted. The poor man had been through enough. She gave him the best smile, her trembling lips would allow. "I look forward to our stroll tomorrow."
He leaned forward and spoke near her ear, "Will you?"
"Certainly. We will dash these rumors or die trying."
Mr. Berkeley allowed a small smile to escape. "Well, I'd prefer the dashing to the dying ."
"Me too," she reassuringly patted his arm.
The whole way home her father talked of how all things worked together for good for those who loved God. Somehow good was going to come of this.
She hoped so. Oh, how she hoped so.
\*\*\*\*
Addison stood at the window and watched Mercy and her father walk toward their house in the pouring rain. Somehow he found himself officially courting her.
This is what he wanted, but he could see it wasn't what she wanted. She'd put on a brave face and tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, but the thought of them courting displeased her. He wondered why.
He knew other women found him handsome and charming. He was a hard worker and would always do his best to provide well for her. Did she really see herself as above him?
With a frustrated sigh, he reclined on the sofa and placed the back of his hand against his forehead. Maybe it was for the best that Mercy didn't love him since he had no intention of falling in love with his wife.
He'd always known he wanted children, and that this would require a wife. But he knew his wife could never become too important to him. He would not become a weak man like his father.
He was a strong man. Alcohol, he'd never touched, and women, well he had certainly touched his share of them, but he'd never allowed any of them near his heart.
The marriage he'd always imagined for himself would be easier if neither one of them loved the other. Perhaps, this was all for the best. Swiftly, he stood. Yes, it was for the best.
Later, he sat in his coach looking at the rivulets of rain making pathways down the window. Everything beyond that lost its focus. But the world was not so easy to make fade away.
He forced his eyes to adjust to the people scurrying about their day. The coach pulled up to his office, and he slapped his knees before getting out.
Time to go dash those rumors. Or die trying.
\*\*\*\*
As soon as Mercy walked in the door, she dried off and got to work. She retrieved her Bible, some stationary and then sat at her writing desk, chewing on her pen, trying to decide what to say.
Finally, she dipped her pen in the ink and the words flowed onto the page. About an hour later, she went down and found her father who was preparing to leave.
"Daddy," she asked, "Do you have a minute to hear a letter I just wrote?"
"Yes, who is it to?"
"Pastor Lawrence."
"Mr. Berkeley's pastor?"
"Well, former pastor, I suppose. I don't want to overstep my bounds, so I want you to be honest and tell me what you think."
"I will."
She sat on the sofa and motioned for him to sit next to her. When he sat beside her, she flattened out the letter on her lap and began to read:
Dear Pastor Lawrence,
My name is Mercy Creed. I'm the girl who Mr. Berkeley was accused of doing something "unsavory" with. Let me first assure you that the accusation is a complete lie. Mr. Berkeley is a gentleman and has never been less than respectful while in my company.
The charge, which I again assure you is false, was started by a vengeful and spiteful person who was truly malicious in trying to besmirch another's good reputation.
Now, Pastor Lawrence, Mr. Berkeley had never attended church before your service. He really enjoyed it and wanted to take me with him to hear you this Sunday.
But Mr. Berkeley also showed me your letter and I have to say that I am shocked. You said you didn't want any association with him until 'the dust settled,' because you didn't want to get dirty.
These lies against Mr. Berkeley have hurt him, but your banishment from the church, which makes it seem like you've investigated the claims and found him guilty, is akin to betrayal.
My understanding is that a man of God's job is to help people who need help. Not cast them aside if they become inconvenient.
With that in mind, I felt compelled to write you and share one of my favorite passages in the Bible---the story of the Good Samaritan. I find it interesting that you recently used this story in your sermon.
Jesus told of a man who walked alone from Jericho into Jerusalem, which was very dangerous since robbers hid in the hills.
A man was brutally attacked and left for dead on the side of the road. A religious leader came walking by, saw him but quickly crossed to the other side because he didn't want to get involved and get his fancy robes dirty. He probably told himself that this man deserved what he got, but whatever the case may be, he didn't help him.
Another religious leader came along and did the exact same thing.
Then a Samaritan walked by. He was not religious, but he loved God and was compassionate. He saw the injured man and stopped to help him.
Sitting down on the dirt, he cleaned and dressed the man's wounds with oil. When the task of mercy was finished, the Samaritan was probably covered in dust, dirt, blood and oil, yet helping another was more important to him than staying clean.
He took the man to an inn and paid for him to recuperate there. He was concerned about his welfare. Helping this man cost him dearly in time and money. He even risked his life because the robbers could have been near and attacked again. But helping the injured man was more important to him.
When Jesus told this story he asked, "Which one of these men was the neighbor to the man who was hurt?" The answer was obvious. The neighbor was the one who helped him, when he needed it.
Jesus preached that our goal in life should be to love God with our whole heart, mind and soul, and to love our neighbor as our self.
That's it!
Sometimes I am amazed that so many people who claim to be believers miss this simple fact entirely. Pleasing God isn't about looking polished---it's about helping others in need.
I hope I have not overstepped my bounds by writing this letter to you. This passage of scripture always speaks to me about the importance of helping those who need help, and I hope and pray it speaks to you as well.
Mr. Berkeley is an innocent man, but these false accusations could hurt him greatly. He could really use a friend right now. I hope and pray you can be the Good Samaritan and help him, since we both know this is what pleases the heart of God.
Sincerely,
Mercy Creed
She dropped the letter to her lap and looked up at her father. "What do you think?"
"I like it. I'm sure he will not."
"Why do you say that?"
His mouth turned down slightly at the corners as he considered his words. "Because I'm sure he considers himself an important man, and he will not appreciate being reproved by a young girl. Some pastors are used to people hanging on their every word, and they have a false sense of their own importance. Go ahead and send the letter to him, but don't expect him to change his mind."
"I will not expect anything, but I still want him to have it. Can you drop it off to him for me, please?"
He took the letter. "I'll make sure he gets it."
"Thank you, Daddy." She reached over and took his hand. "I made another copy so I could show Mr. Berkeley what I wrote."
"Good. Well, I best be on my way." He gave her a kiss on the forehead, stood and quickly left the room.
She hated to see her father with added stress. Just thinking about Cordelia made her so angry she could feel her ears getting hot. Cordelia, and probably her mother too, had spread these awful rumors about her, trying to make something petty into a huge problem.
Mercy had the power to destroy them both if she wanted to. One leaked word that Cordelia's father had impregnated a slave while his own wife was pregnant would be so scandalous they could hardly show their face in public again.
Oh, how she wanted to. But she couldn't. First of all, Daisy would get hurt in the process, and second, she could not justify lowering herself to their level.
An old Chinese proverb said, "Those who sling mud, lose ground." She had no desire to be a mudslinger...or to lose ground.
But she did need to speak with Mr. Turner since he was back in town this week. Dashing off a quick note that asked him to come over as soon as possible, she handed the note to their footman Barry and asked him to deliver it next door.
Barry looked at her with concern. "Are the rumors true, Miss Creed? Because if they are, I will kill him."
"No! The rumors aren't even slightly true, so spread the truth as quickly as possible."
"Are you sure? Because I saw the way he touched your wrist that day."
"Are you serious, Barry? Touching my wrist is a far cry from raping me. How can you compare the two, and how can you question me? If Mr. Berkeley actually raped me, I would want him punished. I would certainly not defend him."
He nodded and turned to deliver the note.
She called out after him, "See if you can get Mr. Turner to come back here with you. I need to speak with him right away."
Again he nodded as he walked out the door.
About twenty minutes later, Barry ushered Mr. Turner into the parlor. Mercy offered him a seat close to the fire. Mr. Turner sank into a chair, looking like a mere shell of a man.
She'd seen this vacant look upon other men who had a difficult wife. He looked old, wrinkled, frail and beaten down. But she supposed that at one time he could've been a handsome, vibrant man.
She wasn't sure where to start, but she needed to start somewhere. "Mr. Turner, I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but I need your help."
"My help?"
"Yes. I think sometimes things that are hidden get rotten and moldy, but if they are brought out into the light...well, what I'm trying to say is that I figured out Daisy is your daughter..."
At the look of sheer terror on his face, she stopped and put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
"Please know I have no desire to use this information against you. I've come to care for Daisy deeply and would never want to see her hurt in any way. She said nothing to me about being your daughter and even tried to deny it at first, but the resemblance between Cordelia and Daisy is remarkable even though Daisy is a mulatto, she..."
"Actually, Daisy is a quadroon. Her mother was a mulatto." In spite of the anxiety in his voice, Mercy heard the tenderness when he spoke of Daisy's mother.
She leaned forward a bit in her chair. "You loved her mother, didn't you?"
He nodded slowly. "We were playmates as children, but then it changed as we grew older. She was smart, beautiful and kind. She loved me too. I would have married her if I could."
"Your parents would not allow it?"
"Of course not. I was the first-born son, chosen to run the plantation. I could not marry one of my own slaves. My parents forced a marriage with the daughter of the wealthiest man in Savannah. She resented the marriage too." His thin voice wavered. "I tried to make her happy but never could."
"I'm not here to judge you, Mr. Turner. I promise. But I believe Cordelia knows Daisy is her half-sister."
Dismay and confusion covered his face. "She couldn't know. How could she know?"
"She has a mirror. If I can see the remarkable resemblance between your two daughters, you don't think she can see it too?"
She let out a tight breath. "Besides, it's the only thing that explains Cordelia's irrational hatred of Daisy."
He just stared at her with broken eyes.
Mercy continued, "I'm not sure if you know, but I taught Daisy to read. She is absolutely brilliant. When Cordelia found out about it, she came to confront me and found me talking with Mr. Berkeley. He had his hands on my shoulders, but nothing more. He never even kissed me.
"But when Cordelia found me, she flew into a rage saying I had no right to teach her slave to read. She swore to make sure I was punished. Both Mr. Berkeley and I tried to calm her down, but that just made it worse. She screamed that she would make us pay. And she has. Oh, she has."
Mercy fingered the embroidering on the handkerchief Daisy had given her. "Cordelia started a horrible rumor that she caught Mr. Berkeley trying to rape me. I don't even know how she knew what that was. I didn't until this morning.
"Anyway, there isn't an ounce of truth in it, but the lie has caught hold and it's ruining both our lives. I need to ask Cordelia to try to undo the damage she's created, but I'm afraid of speaking with her alone. I need your help."
He shook his head dejectedly. "Cordelia doesn't listen to me. She's just like her mother. I gave up trying years ago."
"You are her father. You need to do something."
"If I don't do something, will you spread the truth about me?"
"No, of course not. I haven't told a living soul. Not even my parents. I will not spread the truth about you, but are you telling me you will sit back and allow your daughter to spread lies about me...and Mr. Berkeley?"
"Miss Creed, I'll try to get Cordelia to stop, but it won't do any good. I know my daughter."
"Mr. Turner, I'll not presume to tell you how to run your family, but not getting the truth out in the open with your daughters is just hurting both of them. If you want my advice, tell Cordelia the truth that Daisy is your daughter and then set Daisy free. If she has no where else to go, we can pay her to be my maid."
She knew Mr. Berkeley would give her the money if her father didn't have it. She hated to ask him for money, but she would in a case like this.
The poor man stared at the fire. "If I set her free, I may not see her again. She's all I have left of her mother."
"Would her mother want her to be whipped by a resentful girl just for reading?"
"Cordelia whipped her?" The man spoke with no emotion, but she could sense his concern.
"Yes, and your wife whipped her as well. Priscilla told me Daisy's back is covered in welts. If you truly loved your daughter, you would not allow her to endure that type of abuse just so you could selfishly see her once in awhile. And if you set her free, you can know that if she chooses to see you it will be as a daughter who loves her father and not just a slave who must obey her master."
He let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his thinning hair, his expression both thoughtful and pain-filled.
After a long silence, he looked at her. "You are a kind girl, Mercy Creed. I'm truly sorry about what Cordelia is doing to you. I'll ask her to stop, and I'll consider setting Daisy free. You've given me much to think about."
As if to justify himself, he said, "Did you know George Washington's stepson Jacky had a daughter with one of his slaves before he died in the war. Her name is Anne and she is an inside slave at their household."
"No. I didn't know that. But I do know the Marquis de Lafayette is pressuring Mr. Washington to release his slaves. Lafayette said he wouldn't have supported us in the war if he'd known we'd continue the barbaric practice of slavery. Mr. Washington respects him, and will hopefully listen and set his slaves free. What an example it would be."
Again, he nodded slowly. The man seemed to move in slow motion. Pushing himself to his feet with a weary effort, he made his way out of the room.
Mercy ushered him to the front door and called out, "Good bye, Mr. Turner."
Without turning around, he muttered, "Good bye, Miss Creed." As she watched him shuffle back to the house all she could think was...poor man.
Poor, pathetic, broken man.
Later in the afternoon, Priscilla came bustling into the room with a frantic, "Tell me it's not true."
"Oh please, Priscilla. You know it's not true. Cordelia flew into a rage about me teaching Daisy to read. She stormed over to my garden and found me standing by Mr. Berkeley with his hands on my shoulders. That's all. We both tried to calm her down but she screamed that she would make us pay."
Priscilla grabbed her hands tight. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. Maybe it will all blow over soon."
"Hopefully." But her strained voice didn't reveal much hope.
That night, Mercy fell into bed drained, discouraged, and completely exhausted. She glanced over at the clock. Ten o'clock.
She thought about reading until eleven. Instead she blew out the candle on her nightstand. The rain pounded against the window, and all she wanted to do was snuggle under her down comforter and get warm.
The thought of sneaking out in the cold weather to sit alone in the gazebo while waiting for Ian held no appeal. If he wanted to pout and ignore her, then she could do no less in return. Yawning, she rolled over and fell asleep.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Nine
Dark grey clouds actively rolled and changed shapes, but for now the rain seemed to be held at bay. Mercy wore her favorite bright yellow dress and she nervously twisted the ribbons on the sides as she and her father and mother walked into Mr. Berkeley's office.
A friendly man sitting behind the desk, jumped up with a cheery, "Welcome, I'm Cecil Branson. Come into Addison's, wait, I mean Mr. Berkeley's office. He sent over a note that he is running a few minutes behind schedule. Let's have some tea and sit by the fire while we wait for him."
Mercy followed the pudgy, jolly looking man into the office and gasped. She'd never seen such a beautiful room in her life. It was stunning and elegant, yet comfortable...just like its owner.
Mr. Branson poured everyone some tea and then leaned back in his chair. "It's an honor to meet you Mr. Creed. I think it's interesting what a small world this is. I met Addison when he was a little boy. He asked me if he helped sell my chestnuts would I give him some burlap to keep him warm. We made a deal and he ran and sold those chestnuts to you. It was your little girl's christening. Addison remarked to me later that she was so pretty. Now here she sits, all grown up and being courted by Addison too."
Her father remarked, "I remember that day and that little boy. He was Mr. Berkeley?"
Mercy looked at her father in surprise. "You didn't know that, Daddy? Mr. Berkeley told me that story the first time I met him. I assumed you knew."
He shook his head. "I've only met him briefly a few times and he never said anything."
Cecil answered with a big smile. "He wanted to tell you. He tried, but he got intimidated by you."
"Intimidated by me? You must be joking."
"You have always been the image of the ultimate man to him. You had a huge impact upon him the day you gave him those coins. No one had ever shown him such kindness."
Her father nodded with a faraway look on his face. "I remember that day like it was yesterday."
Mr. Branson smiled, "Me too. That day changed my life too, so I'll never forget it. I often wonder where my life would be if I hadn't met Addison."
Her father leaned forward. "Why is that?"
"I was a loafer and a scoundrel when I met Addison. He was only nine and already had a strong code of honor. We joined a ship together and became fast friends even though I was ten years older."
Mr. Branson sighed, a look of gratitude on his face. "He taught me to read, write and instilled in me the satisfaction of hard work. Throughout his life, Addison has achieved many successes yet he always shared them with me."
He motioned down to his fine, wool suit. "Look at me. Because of Addison, I've come a long way from hawking chestnuts. I'm now the assistant to one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Americas."
Mercy smiled at the man. "He was blessed the day he met you too, Mr. Branson. A faithful friend is one of life's greatest treasures."
"Thank you, Miss Creed." He almost looked like he might cry. "Thank you for saying so."
A compelling question swirled inside Mercy and almost unbidden, it slipped from her lips. "Mr. Branson, did Mr. Berkeley ever beat his sailors when he captained the ship?"
A look of complete bewilderment covered his face before he replied carefully, "Beat them? No. He had to administer a few whippings, and sometimes he delegated the unpleasant task to me. But he does not have a mean streak in him and he didn't enjoy doing it."
Mr. Branson frowned at her look of dismay when he mentioned the whippings. "Miss Creed. A Captain must maintain order. Many sailors are rebellious, therefore at times the Captain must administer discipline or chaos would occur."
He leaned forward, a serious look in his eyes, "But Addison is a fair and honorable man. After the appropriate discipline, Addison always offered them mercy. He is a man who believes in second changes. His sailors respected and admired him and that is why even now many of them would follow him to their deaths. There is something about the man that fosters loyalty. Perhaps that is why I've been willing to follow him for almost twenty years."
"You've followed him since he was nine years old?" Mercy asked.
"Pretty much. Even at nine years old, he had the same wise ways about him. From the day I met him, he has tried to take care of me. He is quite protective of those he cares about."
"You seem to admire him greatly." Mercy said.
"I definitely admire him. He is a good man."
The door burst open. Mercy jumped and the teacup rattled against the saucer in her hand. Mr. Berkeley stood in the doorway, positively radiating power and energy like he always did.
What an impossibly beautiful, vibrant man. She didn't want to think it but couldn't help herself.
He placed his hat on a table and stepped into the room as his black cape swirled around him. Mercy instantly remembered her dream of him as a pirate and could vividly picture him striding across the room and lifting her into his arms.
Oh, what on earth was wrong with her? She read too many romance novels.
He didn't sweep her into his arms. He merely poured himself a cup of tea as he said lightheartedly, "Have you been doing a good job entertaining my guests, Cecil?"
"A splendid job," Mercy answered with enthusiasm. "We are finding out many interesting things about you."
With a slight chuckle, he sank into a chair. He murmured, "I shudder to think of the secrets you are telling about me."
Mercy's father leaned forward and looked at him intently. "I don't know if it's a secret, but I just found out you were the young boy I bought chestnuts from the day of Mercy's christening."
Mr. Berkeley glanced at Mercy for a moment and then looked back at him and nodded. "It's a small world indeed."
Her father still looked shocked. "I bought Mercy the doll you told me about."
"She told me." Mr. Berkeley smiled.
Mercy's father added, "I also bought the black toy horse next to it that you had admired. I tried to find you to give it to you. I looked all over town, but I never saw you again. Finally, I gave the horse to my son. Now here you sit. This is astonishing."
In amazement Mr. Berkeley asked, "You bought me the toy horse?"
"Yes, and I carried it with me for weeks."
"I left on a ship the day after I met you."
Pity filled her father's eyes as he commented softly, "You were on a ship at that young of an age."
Mr. Berkeley's jaw muscles tighten. He squirmed and looked away, obviously embarrassed.
Mercy's father mused, "I'd heard the famous Mr. Berkeley was once a street urchin, but I didn't believe it."
With a bitter laugh, Mr. Berkeley replied, "Ironically, some rumors are true." Taking another large sip of tea, he stood. "I think we should go for that walk before the rain moves in and ruins our plans."
With a gallant display, he offered Mercy his arm. When she took it, he leaned over and whispered, "Well, let's go put on a good show, Miss Creed."
A great rush of irritation came over her and she couldn't hide her frown. This was just a show. There was nothing real about them actually courting, but for some stupid reason it bothered her to hear him say it.
As they walked out the door, he murmured, "I'm sorry you have to go on display like this. I know you don't want to be here with me."
Her eyes flashed up to his. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to say it. I can tell. I can read your face like I can read the winds. I'm afraid you would never be able to hide much from me."
His serious side left her feeling uncomfortable. She liked his teasing, lightheartedness better because then she didn't feel so guilty. She knew she had to say something, but she needed to choose her words carefully. This was a fine line she found herself walking. Balance was paramount!
Finally she said, "It's not you, I assure you. I think very highly of you. This is just an awkward situation."
He looked down at her skeptically and lifted an eyebrow. "You think highly of me?"
"Yes, I do," she replied with a hint of irritation.
"Quite recently you told me I was a scoundrel. When did your opinion change?"
"I just said that because I was embarrassed. I believe you that the countess was the one pursuing."
She glanced up at him, but he stared straight ahead. His face looked like granite.
With the most lighthearted voice she could manage, she said, "You aren't putting on a particularly good show, Mr. Berkeley. People will think we are arguing...and then what will the rumor mills say? Try acting like you enjoy my company, then this outing will probably accomplish more."
In a voice so quiet she could hardly hear him, he mumbled, "I do enjoy your company. I just want you to enjoy mine."
"Well, if you were not acting so grumpy, you would make it easier for me."
He let out something between a breath and a laugh. "Grumpy?"
"Yes. Grumpy. Peevish. Cross. Sulky. Testy. Irritable. You get the picture."
She watched as a smile tugged at his beautiful, full lips and she felt like raising her hands in victory. Squeezing his arm a bit to stress her point, she explained, "Mr. Berkeley, I know it has been a stressful few days for you. I feel guilty because if you had not been standing next to me when Cordelia came out to yell at me, you wouldn't be in this mess."
"Miss Creed, this isn't your fault at all. Don't feel guilty."
She wondered why he was calling her Miss Creed again. The day Cordelia caught them in the garden he'd called her Mercy.
Trying to disguise the true seriousness of her thoughts, she asked in a teasing way, "Do you think it ever works to tell someone not to feel guilty about something they already feel guilty about."
He shook his head with a slight smile. "Probably not."
"Right. So please don't."
She glanced around at the people bustling about the city and noticed a few curious stares. Glancing back, she saw that her parents walked several steps behind them. They were smiling, talking and looking quite comfortable.
She leaned in and commented lightly, "Mr. Berkeley, I have to say that I think we are dashing some rumors at this exact moment."
"I hope so," Mr. Berkeley nodded.
Mercy reached into her pocket and handed him a letter. "Here, this is for you. It's a copy of a letter I sent to Pastor Lawrence. I thought since the letter concerned you, you might like to know what I said."
He opened the letter and his sharp, blue eyes scanned the page. Finally, he folded the letter and put it in his pocket, looking at her with an expression that melted her heart.
She saw him as he must have looked as that little nine year old boy alone in the world with no one to hold him and love him.
Blinking back some tears, he looked away, as he mumbled, "Thank you."
A warm feeling came over her and she wanted to be the one to comfort and hold him, wiping away his tears. But she couldn't. With all the horrible things she'd become, she couldn't add unfaithful to the list.
Mr. Berkeley needed someone to love him and as long this charade continued, he wouldn't be looking for his true love. She hoped these rumors died quickly, so they could both get back to their lives.
To lighten the situation, she asked, "So tell me about you becoming a Captain at such a young age?"
His voice was low and steady as he answered. "I was one of the only people on board who could read and write, and I had a natural inclination toward understanding the wind patterns and the best way to turn the sails to maximize their force, so I became helpful to the Captain.
"When I was seventeen, typhus broke out aboard the ship and many of the men died. So by default, I ended up being promoted to chief mate for the rest of the journey.
"I assumed when we got to port, I would be demoted again, but the Captain liked me and I remained chief mate. Once when we were out at sea, a British ship attacked us. My captain was gravely injured and rendered unconscious. The men looked to me and I was only twenty.
"I thought I would crack under the pressure, but I knew if I froze, we would all be killed. We were able to defeat the British ship and when I captured their officers, they were humiliated to see a mere boy had led the Pale Moon to victory.
"Again, I assumed a new captain would be found when we reached port, but I was given the permanent position. I kept it for over seven years."
"What an amazing story." Mercy gasped.
"I suppose it sounds that way when it's summed up in a few sentences, but to me it was years and years of hard work and monotony."
"I thought you liked sailing."
"I did. I do. But it's not particularly glamorous."
"I suppose few lives are glamorous from the outside looking in." Mercy conceded.
"Your life is glamorous."
"What?" She laughed and for some reason couldn't stop. At last she took a breath and managed to say, "You must be joking."
He shook his head. "No. Not at all."
"Don't get me wrong. I have a nice life and I'm not complaining, but I'm just a plain, simple girl living a plain, simple life. There is nothing glamorous about me or my life."
"Mercy, there is nothing plain and simple about you."
Mercy. There it was. He'd called her Mercy again. She liked hearing him say her name.
He placed his hand over hers that rested on his arm and squeezed. "I've been all over the world and met thousands of females. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing one I've ever met. Every time I see you, every time we're near each other, you take my breath away. If that isn't glamorous, I don't know what is."
She took his breath away? That speech just took her breath away. Literally.
"Mercy, could I ask you something?" She simply nodded, unable to speak. "Could you call me Addison? If we are courting, you should call me that, don't you think?"
She nodded again and thankfully her mother stepped forward and asked, "What do the two of you say we head into a few shops?"
He turned and gave her mother an irresistible smile. "I'd say that's a splendid idea, Mrs. Creed."
The rest of the afternoon they spent going in and out of shops trying to run across as many people as possible. In the course of their ruse, Mr. Berkeley surprised her by buying her a wide brimmed straw hat, some flower bulbs, and a romance novel that he handed to her with a wink and a whispered, "Perhaps I should be the one reading this to learn how to be a better dashing hero for you."
They had a wonderful meal at the Old Brasier Inn that Mr. Berkeley insisted on paying for, and he told them this was George Washington's favorite place to eat in Boston. She could see why.
Throughout the day, Mr. Berkeley's mood had lightened and by the time they parted company he was much more his usual self. It seemed being in her presence made him happy. And that broke her heart.
\*\*\*\*
Addison walked into his office just as a storm cloud burst above him. Rain poured to earth from the angry sky. Shaking the water off his cape, he hung it by the door. "So Cecil, have I lost much more business yet today?"
When Cecil didn't answer out loud, he looked over to see him nodding slowly with a terribly worried expression on his normally jolly face. "We just lost the contract with Calwell Textile Company. Calwell himself came by and brought his final payment to you."
"That is my largest contract. What did he say?"
"He said he could not have his name associated with such a scandal."
"You know, I thought that man was more than just a business associate. I actually thought he was my friend."
"I suppose in a situation like this you are going to find out who your real friends are." He added softly, " I'm not going anywhere, Addison."
"Thank you, Cecil. Truly. I hope you know I've always appreciated your faithfulness."
"I know you have. And I've always appreciated your faithfulness to me." He let out a tight breath. "Speaking of real friends, have you heard from Governor Hancock?"
"He's out of town. I'm sure I'll hear from him when he gets back. He is a good man."
Cecil stood and grabbed Addison's arm. He led Addison into his office and sat across from him in the chair.
With a wry smile, Cecil asked, "So tell me about this Miss Mercy Creed. She looks like an angel. She is so beautiful, she hardly looks real. Is she as angelic on the inside too?"
"Yes."
After waiting for several moments, Cecil chuckled. "Is that all the answer I get? I have waited all these years for a girl to capture your heart and when one finally does, that is all you are going to say?"
Capture his heart? That made him sound like a victim, while she stood above him holding his heart, waiting to crush it in her hands. Mercy would never purposely crush his heart. Yet, knowing she could, gave her more power over him.
Cecil placed a concerned hand on his shoulder, "Addison, what's wrong? Falling in love is supposed to be wonderful."
"Well, it makes me feel sick. Quite literally."
"Why?"
Strumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, he wondered how to make coherent words out of his jumbled thoughts.
At last he began, "My mother was astonishingly beautiful, smart, kind and my father gave her his heart completely. But when she died, she took his heart with her. He couldn't even love me."
Leaning his head against the back of his chair, he closed his eyes. "I never wanted to be like him. I never want to give a woman that much power over me. I made up my mind long ago that when I finally took a wife she would be plain and simple. She would not captivate me, and my heart would remain beating in my own chest."
His friend's voice prodded, "And?"
"And I'm a confused man. Mercy is just like my mother, astonishingly beautiful, smart, and kind. I'm quickly becoming a man just like my father, against my will. I think about Mercy night and day. When she smiles at me, I think the world is wonderful. When I sense her pulling away from me, I feel as if the world is a dark and lonely place. I don't want my world wrapped up in her."
"But when you are in love, your worlds are wrapped up in each other. That is what true love is. You are a stronger man than your father was. If you had a child with Miss Creed and she died, you would not abandon your child emotionally like your father did to you. I know you Addison. You wouldn't do that. Look at the faithfulness you have shown to me. You would do no less for your own flesh and blood. But don't let your fears keep you from loving. Life without love is lonely."
"How would you know?"
"I'm in love, Addison. I'm going to marry Jane Turnball. I asked her yesterday."
Lifting his head, Addison opened his eyes and stared at his friend. "That is good news, Cecil. I'm happy for you. Truly. Mrs. Turnball is a good woman, and she obviously adores you."
"Yes, and Miss Creed adores you as well."
"No, she doesn't."
Cecil's expressive face looked perplexed. "Why do you say that? All women adore you."
"Well, not her. She hardly even likes me."
"Why on earth would you say that?"
"Because it's true."
"Give her time. She will learn to adore you." He leaned over and punched his arm playfully. "How could she not? You are adorable."
A bell chimed announcing someone's arrival, and Cecil went to welcome the visitor.
Addison groaned, hoping it wasn't someone else canceling a contract with him. He had worked terribly hard to build his life just the way he wanted it, and now it seemed as if everything was tumbling down around him.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy bundled up in her warmest wrap. She walked through the backyard to the gazebo. When she and Ian started these late night rendezvous in the garden, it had been springtime. Then it was summer, and the warm, sultry air seemed to be the perfect backdrop for their adventures.
But now it was autumn, and the frigid weather made this trek absolutely miserable. Winter would be here soon and bring with it the freezing snow. These meetings in the gazebo would no longer be possible. For one thing, she'd leave footprints in the snow that'd look suspicious in the morning.
When she had started this affair with Ian, she'd thought they would be married by now. She and Ian would have to discuss some more devious plans for clandestine meetings during the day since nighttime visits in the garden would soon be impossible.
When she stepped into the gazebo, the look on Ian's face made her blood run cold and a violent chill caused her whole body to tremble.
In a frigid voice that matched the air, he seethed, "Where were you last night. I waited for over an hour."
"Well I waited for over an hour the two nights before that."
"I was busy and couldn't get away. What were you doing last night?"
"I fell asleep."
"You fell asleep?" A steamy puff of air punctuated each hot and angry word. "I've been living in hell thinking you'd been raped, and you fell asleep? I honestly plotted how I was going to leave here and kill Mr. Berkeley. I waited outside his house making plans. Then today I see you strolling about town on the man's arm---with your parents!"
With alarming force, he spun around and punched a post of the gazebo. The whole structure vibrated above their heads.
She took a step near him, and he held up both hands. "Don't come near me yet. I think I want to strangle you."
"Ian, please." While wiping a tear that escaped down her cheek, she begged, "Please forgive me for falling asleep last night. I had a horrible day."
"So did I," he ground out.
"I'm sure you did." She took a tentative step closer. "Please let me explain. Mr. Berkeley is my neighbor. I was working in the garden, and he stopped by to say hello. We were talking, and I did let him put his hands on my shoulders. I should not have allowed that. I know it, so don't reprove me."
She explained about Cordelia and her threats. Then said, "Obviously Mr. Berkeley never raped me. But the rumors have spread. They are ruining his life, and they could ruin mine as well if we don't nip them in the bud. My father had the idea of the four of us strolling through town together in an attempt to stop the rumors.
"I didn't want to do it. I promise I didn't, but how could I say no without raising suspicions about us. Mr. Berkeley is a good man, and he thinks he is courting me.
"You are right, Ian. He does have feelings for me. I have to break this off soon, and I know it will hurt him. But I have to go along with this charade for a while until the rumors die down."
She closed the distance between them and took his hands in her own. "Listen to me, Ian. My courtship with Mr. Berkeley isn't real. I'm in love with you. I'm going to marry you. I've made a commitment to you.
"I know this is hard on you, but it's hard on me too. We both need to be patient with each other until we can be together. Forgive me for whatever I've done wrong." Over a choked sob, she asked, "Can you just hold me right now? I need you to hold me."
Letting out a deep sigh, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her and brought her into his embrace, simply holding her.
After a long silence, he spoke into her hair, "I love you, Mercy."
"I know you do. I love you too."
"I'm glad you know you are mine."
She nodded against his chest. "Let's not quarrel anymore. I hate quarreling with you."
"I hate quarreling with you too, and all is forgiven and forgotten, but I need you to call off this pretend courtship with Mr. Berkeley immediately. I mean it. And not just because the thought of it kills me, but because the longer it goes on, the harder it will be to break off. I'm telling you the truth, and you know it."
She nodded again. "You are right. I'll tell him the next time I see him."
"Thank you. Now come here." He brought his warm lips to hers and suddenly all her misgivings simply melted away.
\*\*\*\*
After a long and horrible day, Addison walked home while enduring the reproachful looks of people as they stared and whispered.
Oh, how he hated this. He glanced over at Mercy's charming house and felt a physical pull to see her. After spending the whole afternoon with her yesterday, he felt lonelier today. He didn't want to wait until he got home and freshened up a bit. For some reason, he needed to see her now. He needed some reassurance. He wished she would hold him and just make the world go away.
He walked past her beautiful flowers and knocked on the door. A huge, surly looking man glared at him as he silently showed him into the parlor. Addison paced around the room and when his eyes fell upon the pianoforte, he pictured Mercy's beautiful face as she played and sang. It stirred something inside him and he let out a mournful sigh.
He wanted to be with Mercy more than anything in the world, but something was not right between them. Much of his success in life was built upon his uncanny ability to read people, and when he read Mercy, he knew she was profoundly attracted to him, but hated herself for it. Something held her back from him, and he wished he knew what it was.
Suddenly, the door opened and he held his breath. Wearing a simple white muslin dress, Mercy looked like an angel as she floated across the room toward him. A smile graced her beautiful lips, but he could see the strain in her eyes as she said politely, "Mr. Berkeley, this is a surprise."
"I hope it's all right that I'm here. I figured if we were courting, I could stop by to see you. And please, call me Addison."
She glanced around the room apprehensively, before blurting out, "My father is still at work, and my mother is at a literary meeting. Since I've never been officially courted before, I'm not sure what the rules are." She motioned to a chair by the fire. "But have a seat and get warm. Shall I call for some tea?"
"No, thank you. I just had some before I left my office." He sank into the chair and watched as she perched on the end of the sofa across from him looking horribly uncomfortable as she smoothed out her skirts. "You look pretty today, Mercy. Like an angel in white."
Letting out a bitter laugh, she replied, "I'm far from an angel."
He shook his head in confusion. "Why do you say silly things like that?"
"It's not silly. It's true." Continuing to smooth down her skirts, she asked, "How was your day?"
"Horrible. How was yours?"
"Not much better. Again, I'm sorry you are going through all this."
"Me too, but you have nothing to feel sorry about." She nodded quickly and then her eyes darted around the room. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
He leaned forward and asked with concern, "Mercy, are you unwell?"
Pressing her lips together into a flat line, she shook her head and then one word squeaked out, "Yes." Then she cleared her throat and added, "No. I mean yes."
Reaching across the table, he placed his hand on her knee. "What is it?"
She stared down at his hand and blew out a breath of air with such force it startled him. "Oh, Mr. Berkeley. I cannot do this. I like you. I truly, truly like you. I think you are a wonderful man, and I think you are going to make a wonderful husband someday...for someone else. But not for me. The love of your life is waiting for you somewhere and as long as you are wasting time on me, you will not find her. You need someone to love you, Mr. Berkeley, it just cannot be me."
Somehow he knew this was coming, but it didn't lessen the pain. A rising ball of anguish settled in his throat. The only word he could say was, "Why?"
"I just...I wish...It cannot be me. Please go find a woman who will love you. I know you will make such a good husband."
"But not for you?"
"Not for me," she stated with finality.
A heated, heavy silence filled the room and a log fell on the fire and they both jumped. He knew he needed to get up and leave, but somehow he just could not move.
She leaned forward and said softly, "You will forget me quickly, I just know it. You are handsome, kind, smart, loyal, and hundreds of other good things. You'll have no trouble finding a woman who'll adore you."
He could not keep the frustration out his voice. "If I'm all those good things, then why don't you want me?"
The tears swimming in her eyes spilled over the sides, and she gripped his hand on her knee. "I'm just not the one for you."
He stared at her angrily. "Why not? You at least owe me an explanation for your rejection of me."
"I'm not rejecting you , I just---"
"You're not? Then why do I feel so rejected?"
"I don't want you to feel that way."
"Then don't discard me."
She let out a groan of pain and frustration. "It's not that simple. In fact, it's quite complicated."
"What's complicated? I've time for you to explain."
"Oh, Mr. Berkeley, I wish I could explain."
"Do you think you are too good for me?"
"No, of course not. I actually think you are too good for me."
"That is ridiculous. You are talking crazy."
She just stared at him.
His confusion and frustration turned to anger. "Just my luck that the first time I fall in love it's with a crazy person."
She stared back at him with blank eyes.
It infuriated him. Jumping to his feet and glaring down at her, he said with scathing intensity, "Fine. I don't need this. I don't need you. I lived my life on my own without you, and I'll continue to do so now. I'll find someone else. I hope you are happy." He stormed from the room, the door slamming behind him.
He made it to his house and up to his bedroom before he allowed the tears to fall.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy wiped at her tears as she sat numbly on the chair staring at the fireplace. Mr. Berkeley had just said he was in love with her. In love with her. He looked like granite, but he was capable of love?
She couldn't wrap her brain around the inconceivable idea. He had said she was crazy. He was probably right. Something was certainly wrong with her. A dam of emotion had built up inside her and she knew it would soon burst. She needed to get upstairs and lock herself away in her room before the torrent of emotions could no longer be contained.
When she rushed from the parlor in a mad dash to make it up the stairs unseen, she ran right into the strong wall of Barry.
With a look of sheer torture on his face he asked with barely contained rage, "Miss Creed, did Mr. Berkeley hurt you? Why are you crying?"
"He didn't hurt me. I hurt him. But hurting him, does hurt me. He is such a good man."
"I heard him yelling at you."
"He only raised his voice out of pain and frustration."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her with worried eyes. "What happened?"
"Barry, I don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe later."
She pulled from his grasp and ran up the stairs and away from the ox of a man who had protected her from the time she was a baby. But he could not protect her now. What could he do? What could anyone do? She flopped across her bed and cried until her tears drenched her pillow and she wondered if she would ever know what it was to feel normal again.
The squeaky hinges on her door alerted her that someone had entered the room. She twisted around to see her mother walking toward her bed with concern written all over her pretty face.
"I saw Mr. Berkeley leaving the house and then I come upstairs to find this. Mercy, what on earth happened?"
Mercy sat up and her mother perched on the side of the bed and brought her into her arms.
She repeated, "What happened?"
"I just told Mr. Berkeley I cannot allow him to court me anymore and I hurt him, which hurts me. He is such a good man."
Her mother looked at her like she'd gone crazy. "Mr. Berkeley is a good man. The whole day yesterday I kept thinking how perfect the two of you are for each other. I cannot tell you how happy I was. You are an amazingly blessed girl to have a man like that want to court you. I don't understand. Why would you reject him?"
What could she say? There was only one reason she'd rejected Mr. Berkeley...Ian. But she could not explain that to Mr. Berkeley and she could not explain it to her mother.
But she knew she had to say something. "He is just not the man for me. I cannot explain it any other way right now."
"You aren't making any sense. I was already picturing my beautiful grandchildren."
"I'm sorry, mama. I'll give you grandchildren someday, just not with Mr. Berkeley."
"But I wanted Mr. Berkeley to be their father. He would be such a good father."
"I agree. He will. But just not to my children."
"You aren't getting any younger. At nineteen, I was already married and had Noah. What are you waiting for?"
She wasn't waiting for anything. She'd already found the man of her dreams, but she couldn't say anything. First, she had to stare into Mr. Berkeley's hurt and confused eyes and now her mother's, while being able to explain nothing. These secrets were destroying her.
A knock sounded on the door and a maid announced that Mercy had a visitor. As she walked down the stairs she wondered if Mr. Berkeley had come back, but when she opened the door to the parlor she saw Mr. Turner nervously pacing the room.
He stopped and faced her. "Is this a good time?"
"Yes. Have a seat, Mr. Turner."
She sat and waited for him to speak.
Finally he said in weak, shaky voice, "I want to tell Cordelia that Daisy is her sister, but I just cannot do it. I just cannot. Last spring, my wife was ranting about how I'm a shell of a man and have no emotion and Daisy felt the need to defend me, and without thinking blurted out that I had once loved deeply.
"Immediately, Daisy backtracked and tried to say that she just heard gossip from the slaves that I had been in love once before, but the woman had died. My wife had a fit and questioned me. I admitted it was true. She assumed it was a white woman I loved who died before I met her. Just with that information she has made my life miserable for the past six months."
He lifted his tired eyes to her and she could see the pain deep inside him. "Can you imagine if she knew the truth? She might suspect the truth, but she doesn't know and I cannot bring myself to tell her. I'm a weak man, and there are many things I cannot control. I've begged Cordelia to stop spreading these rumors about you, but she says Mr. Berkeley had you up against a tree and you were crying and she knows what she saw."
"She is lying."
"I know she is. I believe you before I would believe my own daughter. But I cannot stop her. As I said, I cannot bring myself to tell my wife and Cordelia the truth about Daisy. But there is something I can do. There is something I must do. I know I need to set Daisy free, but I cannot justify it. Money is tight for me right now and I cannot just set her free if I cannot afford to buy Cordelia another maid.
"I have it figured out, though. I will sell Daisy to you and you can set her free. Then I'll have enough money to get another maid. And that way I can say I wanted to get rid of Daisy because I'm afraid she will teach the rest of the slaves to read."
"How much would you sell Daisy for?"
"I know you must think me a monster for wanting to sell my own daughter, but this is the only way."
"How much?"
"One hundred dollars. I could get more for her anywhere else if I was actually selling her."
"One hundred dollars? My father's in a financial slump, and I know we don't have that much money."
Her mind scrambled for a solution. The fine for teaching Daisy to read was one hundred dollars and Mr. Berkeley said he would pay that for her. She could ask him. She didn't want to, but Daisy's destiny was as stake.
Mr. Turner interrupted her thoughts by saying, "I leave to go back to Savannah the day after tomorrow. Please try to come up with the money before then. I truly want to set Daisy free."
"I know you do. Give me until tomorrow to see what I can come up with." She stood and walked him to the door. "Mr. Turner, you are doing the right thing."
He nodded. "I'm sorry about Cordelia. Please know that."
"Thank you for saying so. Good night, Mr. Turner."
After he left, her mother came into the room with a puzzled expression. "What was that about?'
"He wanted to apologize for Cordelia's behavior."
"That was good of him."
"Yes, it was." She wanted to tell her mother about his offer to sell Daisy to them, but it would be hard to explain. Slavery was illegal in Boston and she didn't even have the money anyway. She would take this one step at a time, and the first step would be to speak with Mr. Berkeley tomorrow.
The next morning she slipped out of the house and into the pouring rain as she hurried up the street to Mr. Berkeley's house.
A pleasant butler opened the door and told her Mr. Berkeley already left for the day. She wanted to visit him at his office, but without a coach it would be almost impossible. In this horrible weather the journey to the docks would be miserable.
That night after dinner, she slipped out of the house. This time the butler led her to Mr. Berkeley's magnificent parlor. She warmed her hands by the fire, and when Mr. Berkeley walked in the door, she thought her heart would pound out of her chest.
He seemed to have this affect on her and now it was beyond awkward. He stood before her, looking at her questioningly, but she couldn't say the words.
Finally he asked, "Did you want to sit down?"
She nodded and sank into a comfortable leather chair as he sat across from her without ever taking his eyes off her face. When she still said nothing, he asked, "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yes, there is. That is why I'm here." She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I need a favor. A huge one and I don't know who else to ask but you."
"What is it?"
"You know that Cordelia is a horrible person."
"Yes."
"Can you imagine being her slave?"
"No."
"I have come to care for Daisy and Cordelia's father has offered to sell her to me. Of course, I'd immediately set her free. She could stay with me and be my maid if she wanted to. I desperately want to get her away from Cordelia and her mother. She has whip marks all over her back right now."
Fidgeting in her chair, Mercy continued, "Mr. Turner will sell her to me for one hundred dollars. You once offered to pay that amount to keep me from getting punished. I was wondering if the offer would still hold to set Daisy free. I know you don't know her, but she is a wonderful girl."
She placed her head in her hands and stifled a sob. "If you don't help me, I don't know what to do."
His deep, soft voice washed over her as he said, "I will help. Wait here."
Several minutes later he returned and handed her a beautifully carved little chest. "There are one hundred coins in there. One hundred dollars."
She opened the lid and stared at the coins, her eyes lifted to his. "How can I ever thank you?"
He sat in the chair across from her and leaned back. "I'm doing it for Daisy. I spend a great deal of time fighting against slavery and here is a chance to set an actual slave free. How could I refuse?"
"You are a good man, Mr. Berkeley."
"So you have told me before." He sat forward in his chair. "Is there anything else?"
She nodded slowly.
He let out a slow breath of impatience. "What is it, Miss Creed? I'm busy."
"I wanted to bring you a book I thought you might like."
"A book?" He said the word like he had no idea what a book was.
"Yes." She pulled it out of the pocket in her coat and handed it to him. "I found it in our library. It's about Arabian horses. Since you have one, I thought you might enjoy it. I wanted to give it to you."
He took it from her and glanced at it quickly. "Thank you. I'll read it on my journey."
"You are going on a journey?"
"Yes, I am. I leave tomorrow, in fact. It's more than a journey. I'm leaving Boston."
"But why?"
"I cannot stay here, Mercy. I've already lost over half my shipping contracts. I need to go establish new ones and hope these wicked rumors don't follow me to the other side of the world."
"Where will you go?"
"France. Then later the Caribbean."
"But if you run away, won't it make you look more guilty?"
"I'm not running away, I'm walking away. I know I'm not guilty. Let people say what they want."
"But you finally found a home here in Boston."
"That was short lived wasn't it?"
She glanced around, "You're selling your house?"
"I don't have time to sell the house. For now I'm just going to let Cecil and his new wife stay here."
"Cecil is getting married?"
"Yes. I'm going with them to the courthouse in the morning, and then I'm leaving on one of my ships in the afternoon."
A sick feeling settled inside her. She should be happy he was leaving---but she wasn't. Fighting tears, she asked, "Do you have to leave?"
"I don't have to, but I want to. I have no real reason to stay." He stood and looked down at her. "You don't want me, Mercy, and I don't want to stay and watch you find someone else. I couldn't bear it." He walked to the door and rested his hand on the doorknob. His broad shoulders rose and fell on a heavy sigh. He turned and looked at her with heartbroken eyes. "I hope you find happiness, Mercy. I truly do. Maybe when I see you again you'll have found the man you want and be bouncing his baby on your knee."
Without giving her a chance to respond, he slipped out the door. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. Glancing around the elegant room that looked and smelled like him, she then sank back into his deep, leather chair. A punishing wave of grief washed over her. Unable to hold her tears at bay, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Ten
Boston, November 1786
The cold Autumn wind sliced through Addison like a knife as he stood at the railing of the ship while it slipped into the entrance of Boston Harbor.
So many questions and uncertainties sliced through him as well. Everything about this trip unsettled him, but he'd put it off as long as he could. He saw the lighthouse on Beacon Island sending forth its radiant light and as always he thought of the words his dear friend Benjamin Franklin had spoken to him so many years before--- In many ways, this is a dark, storm filled world, and those who show God's mercy to others are like that lighthouse, shining out a welcoming light to those longing to find a safe harbor.
Not much had changed. He still wanted to feel as if he'd found that safe harbor. Addison missed Benjamin Franklin and now that he was back in America, he would have to make a trip up to Philadelphia to see him. But he needed to come to Boston first unfortunately.
John Hancock was desperately sick, had been so for quite some time. His wife had not come right out and asked him to visit, but the words were implied in the last few letters she'd wrote him.
Hancock had been given the tremendous honor of being elected as the President of the United States in Congress, but he'd been too ill to attend any of the meetings in New York. His little boy, John, was only seven years old, and Addison certainly hoped he didn't have to grow up without a father the way Addison did.
A two year break from Boston's busy tongues had been nice, but the break was over and the gossip would begin again soon.
Oh, well. He had no choice. He needed to focus on Cecil and his little family. That is why he was here. Lifting his spyglass to his eye, he scanned the dock looking for Cecil. It had been much too long, and he couldn't wait to see him again.
Sure enough, Cecil stood on the dock with his wife and baby son Royce. The little boy was Addison's namesake, Royce was Addison's middle name, and yet he'd never even seen the little boy.
If it wasn't for seeing Hancock and Cecil, he would never come back to Boston. It held too many painful memories.
He hoped he didn't have to see Mercy again. Certainly she would be married and with a baby, or at least a little one on the way.
He hoped if he saw her she would be fat, pregnant, or had lost her good looks so he wouldn't be attracted to her any longer. He looked up at the cloud covered sun and snorted with embarrassment. What a stupid, petty thing for him to think.
The ship came to a jerky stop and after bidding adieu to his French crew he crossed the rope bridge and instantly found himself welcomed by Cecil and his sweet little family. His friend handed the baby to Addison with a proud smile. "Meet your godson."
Addison gazed down at the happy little baby in his arms. "He is beautiful, Cecil. Truly. How old is he now?"
"Six months. It's about time you see him."
"Yes, you are right. It's about time." With a genuine smile, he looked at Cecil's wife. "Good job, Mrs. Branson."
"Call me Jane." With a sweet laugh, she teased, "I hope he doesn't grow up to be as handsome and charming as his godfather, or I'll be so busy chasing all the girls off with a broom, I'll never have anytime left over to get my work done."
He laughed and she took his arm and led them toward the waiting coach.
"I've made a meal for you fit for a king, complete with three kinds of desserts." She patted his flat stomach. "Apparently you don't like desserts as much as my Cecil."
"Hey," Cecil patted his own bulging belly and acted like he was offended.
Later, after dinner as Addison and Cecil drank tea by a roaring fire, his friend asked, "So tell me, are you going to marry this French countess of yours?"
"Heavens, no."
"Why not?"
"She isn't the marrying kind. I find Blanche amusing, but I certainly wouldn't want her to be the mother of my children someday."
"Does she want to marry you?"
"I don't think so. She likes to go to parties and balls and bedazzle men. Countless men. She is quite good at it. From the moment she discovered I was living in France she has certainly pursued me, but I think she mainly likes the challenge. If I ever stopped running, she would probably get spooked and take off in the other direction. She likes her life the way it is---spending her dead husband's money and dodging all the men who fall at her feet."
Addison gave him a wry smile. "One thing about her though, I don't have to worry she is after me for my money. She is probably wealthier than me."
"I doubt that. Not many people in the world are wealthier than you."
Taking a sip of tea, he spoke over the rim of the cup, "These last two years have been extraordinary."
"I don't know how you do it. When you lost all those accounts here in Boston two years ago, I thought it might be done for."
"I thought so too. Thank God, we were both wrong."
"Yes, literally, thank God. He has always had His hand on you in a special way. He seems to delight in blessing you."
Addison cast Cecil a puzzled frown. "Why would you say that?"
"You left a Bible in your office when you moved to France. I took it and started reading. Suddenly, all the random puzzle pieces of my life started coming together and making sense. When you have God's word and God's perspective in your heart, you see everything differently. Jane and I started going to a wonderful church with a real man of God, not like the idiot who kicked you out of his church. This pastor has a heart and nurtures those who are hurt or downtrodden. In fact, he doesn't mind if dust gets on him when he is helping those who are in need. You would like him, Addison, and our little church. I know you would. It would mean a great deal to me if you would come with me this Sunday."
"I'll come with you. Of course I will."
"Good, I'm glad. I want you to understand the joy I have."
"I don't see how going to church gives you joy. Over eighty percent of Bostonians go to church every Sunday, but most of them don't seem terribly happy to me unless they are gossiping about someone or tearing them down."
"Don't be bitter. You have encountered some bad apples, but that doesn't mean all apples are bad. Some people go to church like they go to a club or a meeting, forgetting the words they hear the minute they walk out the door. But others go because they truly want to know God." He leaned forward and his cheerful face became serious. "Addison, do you ever feel as if you have a hole in your heart, like something is missing?"
"All the time."
"I did too. But I don't anymore. I have the Lord in my heart and my family by my side. I want the same for you, Addison. I truly do. I want you to be happy like me."
"I'm glad you are happy. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that."
Cecil leaned back comfortably against the back of the chair and crossed his legs. "Speaking of families, Luke Ainsworth invited me to his wedding the day after tomorrow. I told him you would probably be staying with me and he said he would love for you to come as well. In fact, he came back later with a handmade invitation for you."
"I'll go. I like Luke Ainsworth." He paused for a moment and then asked with concern, "Oh, wait, is he marrying Priscilla Brown?"
"Yes, he is. Finally."
He set down his teacup with a thud and rolled his eyes. "Great."
"What's wrong?"
"Maybe I don't want to go, after all. I'm sure Mercy Creed will be there. and I don't want to see her again."
"Why not? Are you still pining for her?"
Yes. But he wasn't about to admit it. "I never pined for her."
"Then what is the problem."
"Did she ever get married?"
"I don't think so. I don't know. But come to the wedding with us. You are more handsome and successful than ever, Addison. Show the girl what she missed out on. Show her you have gone on with your life just fine."
Something about that did sound satisfying and with a slow nod he agreed, "I suppose I'll go to the wedding."
Little Royce woke up from his nap and his mother plopped him in Addison's arms with a bottle. The sweet, little bundle gazed up at him as he greedily ate and it made Addison laugh. "He loves food like his father."
"Yes, in a lot of ways he is like me, but I hope and pray he grows up to be an amazing man like his godfather."
"Thank you, Cecil." He rubbed his finger along the baby's soft cheek, and with a lump forming in his throat, he choked out, "I want one of these. I want one of my own someday."
\*\*\*\*
Priscilla sat as still as she could while Daisy twisted some pearls into her long, dark hair and arraigned it in a towering pile on her head.
"There," Daisy announced with a pat on her shoulder, "I think this is the best hairstyle yet. What do you think, Mercy?"
Mercy sat on the side of her bed swinging her legs back and forth and studied Priscilla's hair."Turn to the side."
Priscilla quickly obeyed.
"Yes, I like that hairstyle the best and I love what you have done with the pearls, but maybe pull a few curls out so they hang down her back."
Daisy loosened a few curls.
Mercy nodded. "Yes, that is it. Perfect. Now you just have to remember how you did it, so you can do it the same tomorrow."
"I'll remember."
"I'm sure you will," Mercy encouraged as she smiled up at her.
Priscilla examined herself in the mirror some more. "I like it Daisy. You are truly gifted with hair."
"I should be. I had to fix Cordelia's hair enough."
Letting out a deep sigh, Priscilla dramatically laid her arms across the dresser and rested her head on her shoulder. "Must you say that name? Since her family got in a few days ago for the wedding I think she is going to drive me insane. If Cordelia's mother and my mother were not sisters, I would never have to endure her again. But now I'm getting married and I won't have to be in the same house with her again, thank God."
Through gritted teeth, Mercy murmured, "I just hope I can avoid her. If she starts anything, I swear...Oh, never mind. Just talking about her gives me a headache."
Standing, Mercy crossed the room and placed her hands on her best friend's shoulders. "Priscilla, you are going to make the most beautiful bride that ever was."
"Only until you become a bride someday." She looked up at her with a cheeky smile. "And when do you think that day will be?"
What could she say? When Ian saves up enough money? How could she know when that day would be? Ian had been telling her for two and half years that it would be soon. Somehow his definition of soon, and her definition of soon, didn't seem to be the same thing.
Finally, she shrugged. "I don't know. Soon I hope." There was that stupid word again. Soon.
Priscilla twisted around in her chair and looked up at her with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, I have a surprise for you, Mercy."
"What is it?"
"Addison Berkeley is coming to my wedding."
Just the mention of his name caused her heart to flutter in her chest like a dozen birds inside trying to get out. She steadied herself by leaning against the back of chair and mumbled, "He's...a...he's back?"
"Not for good. Just for a short time. He came to see his godson. His friend Cecil Branson had a baby. They named him Royce which is Mr. Berkeley's middle name."
"Royce. That's a nice name."
"It is a nice name, I agree. All three of his names are nice. Addison Royce Berkeley. It sounds like a hero in one of your romance novels."
She nodded stupidly. "Umm-humm."
Priscilla laughed and stated with authority, "My word, Mercy. Just admit you are in love with him."
"I am not!" It wasn't true. She wasn't in love with him. She was in love with Ian, although lately she couldn't remember why she was in love with Ian. She hardly saw him anymore, and when she did he was often grouchy.
She glanced down to see Priscilla looking up at her with a knowing smile. "Stop looking at me like that Priscilla. I'm not in love with Addison Berkeley."
Priscilla let out a playful, mocking laugh. "You are not a good liar."
Mercy wanted to say, I'm a much better liar than you think. I've been lying about Ian for two and half years and you have never caught me.
The thought made her sick. She and Priscilla told each other everything from the time they were about five years old.
Priscilla told Mercy every single detail about her courtship with Luke, while Mercy always had to bite her tongue, keeping important parts about her quite.
There were many times she'd wanted to tell her best friend the truth, but Priscilla was honest to a fault. Asking her to hold onto such a lie would be unfair.
Mercy let out a sigh. She just couldn't carry on this deception any longer. How many times had she said that? The words had no meaning anymore.
Mercy walked across the room and sank into a chair. "Anyway, Mr. Berkeley is probably married to that French Countess by now. You saw them together over a year ago."
"I doubt it. I don't think he is in love with her. There must have been four hundred people at that huge Paris ball, so I would say there were about two hundred men, and at least half of them were falling all over her. I've never seen anything quite like it. I mean, she's rich, beautiful, witty, and so I guess I'm not surprised. But I could tell Mr. Berkeley wasn't jealous in the least. She kept hanging all over him, but then quite a few other women did too. French women are much more daring than little colonial girls raised on puritan values. Anyway, Mr. Berkeley never danced. Not once."
"What makes you think he wasn't jealous of the countess?"
"I could just tell. He looks at her like he thinks she's amusing, but he never once looked at her like he used to look at you."
"Well, that was a long time ago, anyway."
"Not really. The sparks were there between the two of you before. Now when you see each other, perhaps those sparks will kindle into a flame."
"No. I'm sure there won't be any flame." She hoped there would not be any flame. She would do her best to make sure there wasn't.
Flames burnt people. She watched the flame as it danced and swirled in the fireplace and let out a nervous sigh.
That night she lay in bed staring at her ceiling and wondering how she would get any sleep knowing she would see Addison Berkeley in the morning.
What would she say? How would she act? How would he act? Would he be happy to see her? She twisted over to her side and punched her pillow trying to get comfortable. But that didn't help.
Oh, how she wished Priscilla hadn't told her he was going to be at the wedding in the morning. This whole night would be sheer torture.
\*\*\*\*
After a restless night, Addison groggily stumbled to the washbowl and splashed water on his face. Part of him didn't want to go to this wedding today. People would be there who still thought he was a rapist. But what did he care about that?
His main misgivings came from seeing Mercy again. He should probably just stay home. But he wanted to throw it in her face that he was fine although he wasn't really.
Soon he walked down Salem Street toward the Old North Church with Cecil and Jane. As he got close, he practically ran into Mr. Creed who looked at him with a welcoming smile, but Addison almost didn't recognize him. He looked so old. And tired.
Addison shook his hand and said genuinely, "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Creed."
"It's nice to see you again Mr. Berkeley. Truly. You are looking good."
Addison wanted to return the compliment, but he couldn't. "Thank you. Do you realize that twenty-one years ago we stood right in this same spot having a conversation, and now here we are again?"
"Yes, and now our situations have reversed."
"What do you mean?" Addison asked.
"Now you are the wealthy one, and I'm...I'm not." He looked around with apprehension. "I suppose I should not say that. I don't know why it slipped out?"
Addison kept his voice low. "I knew you were having a little financial slump, but I assumed you were past it now."
"No. I just cannot understand why."
"Mr. Creed, please all me to help you figure out what is going wrong. Can I come to your offiice on Monday morning and we can go over your books and do some investigating. If we can find the problem, maybe we can find a solution."
"You would do that for me?" Mr. Creed asked.
"Of course I would. I would be honored. You gave me money for a coat and it kept me warm for five years. How could I not spend a few days helping you and return the kindness?"
"I would appreciate your help, Mr. Berkeley. I hate to admit this to you, but I'm desperate. If something doesn't change soon, I'll be forced to sell my house. I've already had to sell almost everything in my house, but my wife and daughter never complain. It breaks my heart."
His weak voice faded away and Addison put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you told me this. We will get to the bottom of it, I promise. I'll not leave Boston until we have your business humming along like it should be. You won't lose your home. I promise!"
"Thank you, Mr. Berkeley."
"You are welcome, but if we are going to be spending time together as friends, please call me Addison."
"Fine. Addison it will be, and you must call me James."
"Well James, we had best get inside for the wedding. If I don't talk to you again, I'll see you on Monday morning at nine?
"Perfect. See you then. Good day, Addison."
Addison squinted up at the amazing bell tower and could not believe he was about to walk into this building he'd always admired from the outside. This was the church of the beautiful people and he was now a part of it.
Somehow it felt odd. He didn't see Cecil and Jane, so he assumed they must have already gone inside. He strode into the church and looked around with an assessing eye. It certainly was not as glorious as the cathedrals in France, but it was a pretty building in its own simple way.
Behind a partition he heard a familiar giggle and without even thinking he went to investigate. He walked around the corner and there Mercy stood with another girl as the two of them fussed over Priscilla in her wedding gown.
He shouldn't have come back here. What an idiot. Slowly he backed out hoping they would not see him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Mercy. She wasn't fat. She wasn't pregnant. She had most definitely not lost her looks. In fact, she was more beautiful than ever. How was that possible?
He almost made it out of the room without them seeing him, but at the last second Mercy glanced over and saw him. Her mouth and eyes opened wide at the same time, and her gloved hand floated up and rested over her heart.
Finally, she gathered her wits and walked toward him with a warm and radiant smile that touched his cold and lonely heart like a ray of sunshine. "Addison Berkeley. My word. Somehow I thought I would never see you again. Where have you been?"
"Mostly France."
"And is everything going well?"
"My business?"
"Well that is a good place to start. Is your business going well?"
"Yes. Extremely well."
"I'm terribly glad to hear that."
His eyes slid down her body and back up again aggressively, boldly, in a way that probably offended her, but he couldn't stop himself. He gave her a crooked smile. "You look good."
With a self-conscious frown, she glanced down at the low cut, elaborately made gown of fine green satin and lace. "Priscilla had the gown made for me since I'm her bridesmaid. She said it's the latest French fashion." Scrunching her little nose in a comical way, she looked up at him. "Is it?"
He nodded as he fought back a laugh. "Yes, it is, but somehow I never thought to see a dress like that on you."
She glanced down at the dress again. "It is rather daring."
"Yes. Rather."
Her eyes lifted to his in worry. "You don't like it."
"I do like it." He liked it too much. Much too much. Even right now it took great effort to keep his eyes on her face. Who would've known little Mercy Creed was so voluptuous?
She interrupted his thoughts by saying, "Priscilla told me that when she was in Paris last year she saw you at a ball with the Countess D'Aubigne. It's such a small world."
Mercy was trying to find out if he'd married the countess. Well, he wouldn't tell her. Let her wonder. As lightheartedly as he could manage, he replied. "Yes, it was lovely to see your friend and her family. I always enjoy speaking English once in awhile."
She shifted a little and then asked, "Are you married?" Just like Mercy to get to the point.
With a disbelieving laugh, he replied, "No. Are you?"
"No."
"You are twenty one now. Why aren't you married?"
"Well, you are thirty now. Why aren't you married? You are a lot older than me," she teased with a laugh.
A beautiful laugh. A laugh that he felt in the depths of his soul. He glanced over and saw Priscilla and the other girl staring at him, but they both quickly looked away.
He took a few steps toward them. "Miss Brown, you make a beautiful bride, although I'm terribly embarrassed about seeing you before the wedding. Please forgive me."
Closing the distance between them, she grabbed his arm with a reassuring smile. "It's fine. Just don't go give Luke the details of my wedding dress."
He chuckled. "I'm afraid you cannot stop me. I'm planning to find Luke this minute and tell him every detail. You know how we men are."
She laughed and then surprised him by saying, "I'm truly glad you are here for my wedding. It's wonderful to see you again."
"I'm glad it worked out I was here in Boston for your happy day."
"How long will you stay in Boston?"
"I don't suppose I'll stay long." Addison replied.
She glanced over at Mercy and then back to him. "So how is Countess D'Aubigne?"
"Well, she was fine when I last saw her."
"She certainly is one of a kind, isn't she?"
"Yes, she most certainly is."
"She still lives in Paris?"
"Paris is her primary residence. She has several homes."
"She didn't want to come to America with you?"
He wasn't sure why she would ask him such personal questions, but she kept glancing at Mercy out of the corner of her eye. He could tell Mercy was trying her best to pretend she wasn't listening.
Finally, he said, "I don't think she wanted to come to America. I didn't even invite her. She didn't care for America much the last time she came here."
"She did tell me that when I saw her last year. She said the only good part about coming to America was meeting you."
He nodded with a slight laugh. "That sounds like something she would say. Only she could get away with insulting your entire country and still come off making you think she is charming."
Feeling a little uncomfortable, he glanced around the room and his eyes landed on the girl standing next to Mercy. Addison wondered if this was Daisy.
Mercy sensed his interest and quickly said, "Mr. Berkeley, this is Daisy."
The pretty, young girl shocked him by grabbing both his hands and with tears brimming in her eyes declared, "I've always wanted to meet you. You gave me my life. You will never, ever know what you have done for me. Thank you does not seem a big enough word. I pray for you constantly. Every day I ask that God will bless you."
Squeezing her hands, he gave her a sincere smile. "Daisy, it's my absolute pleasure to meet you. Miss Creed has said wonderful things about you, and I can tell she didn't exaggerate. I'm glad you are happy."
"I am happy. I love Mercy. I love the Creed Family. And I'm free."
"Yes, you are." He smiled at Mercy and then at Priscilla. "Well, I should go find a seat so we can get this wedding started. If I stand back here all day chatting with the bride, Luke and the rest of the guests might be cross with me. I'll see you after the wedding."
With one quick look at Mercy, he strode from the room. He felt he'd done quite well. Everything within him wanted to grab her into his arms and tell her he missed her desperately and thought about her every day for the last two years. He wanted to rub his finger over her skin and watch her tremble. He wanted to lean in close and say something that would make her blush. He wanted to kiss her and feel her lips against his. But he wouldn't do any of those things. If she wanted him, she'd have to make the first move.
\*\*\*\*
As soon as Addison left the room, Priscilla turned to Mercy. "Have you ever in your life seen a more magnificent man? I love my Luke, don't get me wrong, and I wouldn't trade him for anything, but Mercy, what is wrong with you? I still think you might have a chance with him."
"Don't be silly. He is involved with the countess still. He didn't deny it."
"I'm telling you that he likes her, but he doesn't respect her, and Mr. Berkeley would never marry a woman he didn't respect."
"He's such a complicated man. Why do you think you have him all figured out?"
"He's not that complicated. Listen to me, Mercy. He isn't staying here in Boston long. Make the most of your time with him. If he leaves, you will probably never see him again, and if you let him slip through your fingers, you will regret it the rest of your life."
"What makes you think I have a chance with him? If he could have a rich, sophisticated, gorgeous French countess, why on earth would he chose a simple little Colonial girl, or American girl, or whatever we are called now?"
"Don't sell yourself short, Mercy. Just promise me you will flirt with Mr. Berkeley a little bit and see where it goes."
"I don't know how to flirt."
"Don't be silly. Every female knows how to flirt. We are born with the ability." Mercy didn't agree with that statement, but she merely nodded, because she didn't want to argue with Priscilla on her wedding day.
A matronly woman bustled into the room and asked in a clipped tone, "Are you ready?"
With laughter in her voice Priscilla replied, "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good. Your father is waiting outside the room to walk you down the aisle."
Mercy reached over and squeezed her best friend's gloved hand and said with a big smile, "This is the last time you will be Priscilla Brown. From now on you'll be Priscilla Ainsworth. Isn't that something?"
Priscilla giggled. "Yes, it certainly is."
During the ceremony Mercy stood next to Priscilla, but she glanced out at the crowd and immediately her eyes landed upon Mr. Berkeley who stared at her with an intensity that made her blood feel hot. Surprisingly, he didn't look away in embarrassment, but held her gaze as if he searched for something.
Oh, how she wished she knew what thoughts went on inside that handsome head of his. With sheer force, she pulled her gaze away from his and turned to listen to the Pastor.
The Pastor said the word "holy" and it seemed to pierce through her soul like a knife. Two people coming together in marriage should be open, honest and honorable---not hidden, secret and surrounded by deceit like her relationship with Ian.
For some reason she could not imagine standing here holding hands with Ian in front of a room full of beaming people. How had her life become such a confusing mess?
Later after the ceremony, everyone went to the Brown's house for an elaborate feast. Tables, china, and cutlery had been borrowed from every neighbor on Beacon Hill, and Mercy looked around in amazement at the tremendous amount of work and organization that went into pulling off this feat.
For the meal, she found herself seated next to Able Cotton, Luke's best man. She chuckled as he devoured not only the clam chowder, but the stewed oysters, duck, baked rye bread, potatoes, pumpkin casserole, Indian cornbread, and a whole platter of maple syrup candy.
"Where are you fitting all that food, Able? Honestly, you eat enough to feed an army."
With a playful glint in his eye, Able replied, "I'm nourishing myself to sustain my energy for a whole night of dancing with you."
She laughed and then looked over to see Priscilla cutting the bride's cake. Mrs. Brown and some other ladies passed out the spice cake to all the unmarried ladies. Mercy let out a little groan when a plate was placed in front of her.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched to see who got the nutmeg root. Mercy hated doing this at weddings. It always made her uncomfortable when people watched her eat, but especially when they all waited in anticipation to see if she would be the one to bite down on something in her cake . Please don't let it be me.
Within seconds she realized her silent plea went unheeded when she felt her teeth hit a root. With as much dignity as possible, she reached into her mouth and pulled out the root.
Sure enough, she heard shouts of, "Mercy Creed is the next to marry."
She wished the earth would swallow her whole. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Berkeley leaning up against a wall watching her, but again she had no idea what he was thinking.
Suddenly Able grabbed her hand. "Are you ready? I hear the band starting up outside."
"But it's cold outside."
"The dancing will get our blood running and warm us up."
Mercy allowed Able to pull her to her feet.
As they walked outside, Able asked, "Do you think Mr. Berkeley will make it to any of our abolition meetings while he is here?"
"I really wouldn't know."
"You should ask him to join us next Saturday."
"You ask him."
He lifted an eyebrow. "I would gladly ask him, Mercy, but he would be much more likely to come if you ask him."
Mercy smiled but reserved comment.
Able quickly stepped her into a dance and spun her around in the steps of the Virginia Reel.
"You are a fabulous dancer Able."
"I know. So are you."
Once the music stopped, Able asked, "I have some friends visiting who would like to meet you. Would you allow me to introduce you?"
"Of course."
"That's why I like you, Mercy Creed."
Able led her to a group of three young men. After the introductions, Mercy found herself being spun about for three more dances. The men were friendly, charming, amusing and she had to admit she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Several times she caught a glimpse of Mr. Berkeley who looked as if he was chewing on rocks. She wished Priscilla was watching so she could ask if Mr. Berkeley's expression meant he was jealous. For some silly and selfish reason, she hoped he was.
The musicians took a break, and Mercy walked to the refreshment table to pour herself a glass of punch.
As she reached for the ladle, a large hand grabbed it first and a deep voice from behind her murmured, "Here. Let me."
She felt his breath on her bare shoulder and a riot of sensation shot down her side. Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she steeled her spine and turned around to see Mr. Berkeley's magnificent face gazing down on her.
Without saying a word, he held out the glass. When she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his.
Her body reacted so strongly it flustered her and she barely managed a breathy, "Thank you." When he said nothing, she added, "I was thirsty."
"I can imagine. You have been a busy bee tonight."
"I like dancing. It's fun."
"You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself."
"That's probably because I am." Oh, why had she said that? Mr. Berkeley made her nervous and she wanted to sound amusing and instead she sounded like a bragger...like Cordelia.
His response surprised her when he asked with annoyance, "So each of those fellows thinks he has a chance with you?"
She shrugged and mumbled, "I suppose so," because she had no idea what else to say.
He looked at her with concern. "When I heard you still had not married, I thought perhaps it was because the men in these parts thought the rumor you were...thought the rumor was true. Is that not the case? Has the rumor died down?"
"It has died down, but it has not died completely. I can still feel whispers behind my back sometimes." She tried to lighten the embarrassing subject, so she said flippantly, "I might have even more men attempting to court me if it wasn't for the rumors, so it's probably a good thing."
He shook his head in bewilderment. "You confuse me. You act like you don't want anyone to ever court you. Why is that?"
She wasn't about to answer, so she just shrugged and looked away.
He muttered, "You are such a mystery."
"Yes, well, better a mystery than predictable, I suppose." She took a quick sip of punch and wanting to change the subject, asked lightly, "So why aren't you dancing?"
His normally confident eyes flashed with insecurity. "I told you once before. I don't know how."
"I remember that. But I'd think the countess would insist you learn so you could dance with her."
"I did more than go to balls when I was in Paris." He looked over her shoulder as he said with irritation, "You know, I did spend the last two years building a European shipping empire. You cannot do that an hour or two here and there between parties." He moved away from the table and leaned his hip against the wall.
She stepped closer to join him. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"You didn't." An awkward silence fell between them. Finally, he offered, "I'm sorry if I sounded short with you." She watched him swallow hard. "I get the impression you and Miss Brown, I mean Mrs. Ainsworth think my relationship with the countess is serious."
"You aren't serious with her then?"
"Would it matter to you?" His eyes were so probing it flustered her.
How should she answer? It did matter. It mattered to her more than she ever wanted to admit. But the wretched part was that it should not matter to her. Not at all. The charged silence between them became an almost tangible thing.
Finally, he let out a harsh laugh. "You seem to be giving that question quite a bit of thought." He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll await your response before I answer."
She took another sip of punch and spoke over the rim of her glass, "Are you toying with me?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm testing the waters."
She had no idea how to respond to that. He surprised her by taking the punch away from her and setting it on the table before grabbing her hand and placing it on his arm.
"Shall we take a turn about the place?"
"I suppose so," she muttered stupidly.
"I would've preferred a more enthusiastic reply, but I guess that will have to do."
He pulled her along and before she knew it, he led her around the side of the house to a secluded part of the garden.
Trepidation danced along her spine. "Where are you taking me?"
"Some place where I can be alone with you."
"Do you think that is wise?"
"Probably not." He stopped abruptly and leaned her against an ivy covered brick wall and stared down at her while he gripped her shoulders.
The feeling of his warm hands against her bare skin was a strange sensation. Priscilla had said any girl would melt like butter if Mr. Berkeley merely touched them. And Priscilla was right!
In fascination, she watched the muscles in his wide, strong jaw clench and unclench.
At last, he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "I cannot keep up this charade, Mercy. I just cannot. Tell me the truth. Did you miss me?"
She couldn't lie. She should, but she couldn't. Almost against her will she nodded slowly and heard herself ask, "Did you miss me?"
His words came out in a torrent of heated emotion, "Every day. Every single day. I wanted to forget you. I tried hard to forget you. I just couldn't do it. You are all I want."
"But why? The countess is beautiful and sophisticated. Why would you choose me over her?"
"I like her, but I don't respect her, Mercy."
"You shouldn't respect me either."
In frustration and bewilderment, he shook his head. "I just don't understand why you always say things like that."
"Because it's true. I'm not as good a person as you think I am. You could do better than me."
"Stop it, Mercy," he said tenderly as he brought his forehead to rest against hers. "You cannot talk me out of how I feel about you. Believe me; I've tried enough to talk myself out of it."
He pulled back and stared into her eyes with a scorching heat. "I assumed you would be married by now. That is the only reason I thought I could be strong enough to see you. But you aren't married. You could still be mine. I don't understand this attachment I have to you. I'm surrounded by beautiful, talented, amusing women, but all I want is you. Even though you don't want me. All day I've been thinking that I'll not put myself in the position to be rejected by you again---that if you want me, you must come to me this time. But I'm not strong enough to wait for you to make the first move."
He closed his eyes for several long moments as if in pain before opening them slowly and pleading, "Mercy, please tell me your feelings for me have changed. Tell me that this time you want me too."
His chest heaved with emotion as he brought his face a hair's breath away and traced the contours of her lips with his thumb.
"If you want me to kiss you, I will." His voice took on an urgent intensity, "Tell me you want me to kiss you, Mercy. Tell me."
She could only imagine what it would feel like to be kissed by this passionate, vibrant man. Moment by moment, she could feel her resolve slipping. But if she lost her resolve, what would be left of her? In many ways, she felt as if she dangled at the end of a thin rope that kept her from plunging into the pit of being a complete reprobate.
She longed to melt against Addison's strong chest and feel his lips upon hers. She wanted it more than anything.
Never once had she allowed herself to think of Mr. Berkeley like that when she was awake. In her dreams though, he was always Addison. Now, she could surrender to him like she did in her dreams.
As she looked up into Addison's devouring eyes, she could feel his heated breath on her face as he waited...for the slightest acceptance on her part. She wanted this as much as he did.
But when she closed her eyes, she saw Ian's face and she just could not do it. A tear spilled down her cheek and as she lifted her eyes, a look of confusion slowly crept on his beautiful face.
His voice dripped with concern, "Mercy, why are you crying?" He gently kissed the tear away. "Sweetheart, what is it? I told you once I can read you. I know you care for me. I can see it. I can feel it. You want me to kiss you right now more than you have ever wanted anything in your life. But something is holding you back from me. What is it?"
Somehow she managed between little sobs, "I can't tell you. I wish I could tell you. I want to tell you." The tears now came fast and furious. "You are right. I do want you to kiss me more than I've ever wanted anything. I do care for you. Oh, Addison. I care for you deeply. More than you could ever know."
"Then what is stopping you?" Anger crept into his voice. "Tell me, Mercy. You owe me that."
"It's because...because...I---" The words choked in her throat. She wanted to tell the truth. Her long held, dark secret almost slipped out from its dungeon.
A harsh, shrill laugh sounded and both of them looked over into the mocking, dark eyes of Cordelia.
Something snapped inside Mercy, and she wrenched away from Addison's hands on her shoulders and in a few short steps she lunged at Cordelia, grabbed the top of her arms and shook her.
Seething, Mercy said, "What are you looking so victorious about, you little snake? Mr. Berkeley and I have not seen each other for two years and we are just talking. Just talking, did you hear me? If you go back over and say anything...anything other than that, I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life. Do you hear me? Last time, I turned the other cheek, but I've only got one more cheek, and this time I won't turn it. You keep your venom filled tongue in your mouth, or I'll rip it out. In fact, I ought to just rip it out right now!"
Cordelia's eyes widened in shock, and Addison's strong hands restrained Mercy from behind as he soothed, "It's all right. Shh. She won't say anything."
Then his gentle voice took on a foreboding tone, "You won't say anything. Will you, Cordelia?"
Cordelia paled and nodded, clearly frightened.
"Good. I'm warning you; don't cross me again, or as Miss Creed put so eloquently, you will live to regret it. Your careless words had devastating consequences last time for both Miss Creed and me, but this time, any careless words you speak will have devastating consequences for you." His voice was edged with steel, "Do I make myself clear?"
With a terrified nod, she agreed, "Yes. Clear."
"Good. Let's return to the festivities, shall we?"
As soon as they got near the dance floor, Mercy was snatched up for another dance. She spun and twirled around the floor. She noticed Mr. Berkeley glance at her once, and then walk into the house. She never saw him again the rest of the night.
As much as she despised Cordelia, she had to admit her timing had been perfect. If she hadn't shown up right then, Mr. Berkeley would've demanded answers from her. But Cordelia's interruption only offered a reprieve. Mr. Berkeley would come back for answers---answers he deserved, but she didn't know how to give.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Eleven
Colorful leaves swirled around Addison as he made his way down the street toward Mr. Creed's office. The crisp autumn air seemed to help wake him up a bit, but he still had to lift his gloved hand to cover a yawn. For the second night in a row he slept little. The first night he tossed and turned because of his apprehension in seeing Mercy again. Last night he tossed and turned because of his confusion in seeing Mercy again.
Somehow he always knew that under Mercy's calm and serene surface lurked a passionate, hot blooded person. He bit back a smile recalling how she'd lunged at Cordelia and threatened to rip her tongue out of her mouth. Her whole body shook with fury, and he wondered if he hadn't restrained her, whether or not she would've done it right then and there. What a bloody mess that would've been. Picturing Cordelia squirming on the ground while Mercy stood above her holding her tongue did have a certain appeal, but he was glad he stopped her. He certainly hoped he was never on the receiving end of Mercy's fury.
In some ways Mercy seemed like such a simple girl, but he'd come to realize that she was actually quite complicated. For the last two years he lived with the painful thought that Mercy rejected him because she didn't want him. But now he understood this wasn't the case. Mercy did want him. He knew it like he knew his own name. She did care for him. She tried to hide it, but she couldn't. When he looked into her bottomless green eyes he saw depths of restrained emotion. The question was why. Why did she try so desperately hard to resist her feelings for him?
Mercy was a mystery and he would not leave Boston this time until he found his answers. But another mystery awaited him right now. He put his hand on the doorknob of Mr. Creed's office and paused for a moment as a sharp prickle of apprehension shot up his spine. His well-honed instincts told him an enemy lurked nearby, and he survived years of heated combats by listening to these instincts. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then swung open the door and found himself staring into the eyes of Ian McGregor.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy looked out the window and watched the wind push the wispy clouds across the moon as she waited for the clock to strike eleven. The last few nights when she waited for Ian, he never came, but for some reason she had a feeling he would be there tonight.
Sure enough, as soon as she walked into the gazebo, he reached out and grabbed her with even more force than usual. "You are late."
"No I'm not. I left when I heard the eleven chimes like I always do."
With disgust, he asked, "Why do you always have to argue with me?"
"You are in a bad mood again tonight. Maybe you should just leave."
"Maybe I should." He actually walked out the gazebo, but within seconds he came back inside and leaned heavily against a post as if he didn't have the strength to stand on his own.
With concern, she asked, "Are you ill?"
"No. I had a hard day."
"Why? What happened?"
"Did you know Mr. Berkeley is back in town?"
"Yes, I did. I saw him at Priscilla's wedding yesterday."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"When would I have told you? Did you forget you didn't show up last night?"
"I don't need your sarcasm right now, Mercy?"
"Well, what do you need?"
"A break."
"A break from what?"
"From life."
She shrugged as she leaned against a post. "Yes, well unfortunately life isn't like a coach you can just get in to and out of whenever you please."
"Well, I wish I could get out of it until Mr. Berkeley is gone."
"What do you mean?"
He hung his head as if the weight of the whole world rested upon his shoulders. "The aggravating man spent the entire day at the office with your father and he distracted me horribly. I couldn't get any work done."
"Mr. Berkeley was at the office with my father? Why?"
"I thought maybe you would know?"
She shook her head. "Neither of them said anything to me."
"I hate that man," he spit out harshly.
"Mr. Berkeley?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I hate him because he thinks he owns the world. He cares about no one but himself and tries to make everyone around him feel like they are nothing. I'm not nothing." His speech began to slur, as he continued, "I don't care how high and mighty he is, walking around like he is king, he is the one who is nothing."
Mercy stepped forward and grabbed his arm and asked with worry, "Ian, why are you talking so slow? You act like you are half asleep?"
"I'm tired, Mercy."
He reached out to pull her against him, and she placed her face against his chest as he rubbed her back in slow circles. But after several moments, she pulled back and asked, "Ian, what is that smell?"
"What smell?"
"I don't know. I've smelled it on you lately. It's a sticky, sweet smell. It makes me feel sick."
He pushed her away and went and sat on the bench. "Then stay over there where you don't have to smell me."
"What is wrong, Ian? You have been acting so strange lately."
"I didn't come here to be insulted by you all night."
She started to just leave since nothing she could say would help when he got like this, but she glanced back to see his shoulders shaking and she heard him crying. A wave of pity washed over her and she rushed to his side and soothed, "Ian, why are you crying?"
Through sobs, he managed, "I just know you are going to leave me."
"No, I'm not, Ian. I made a commitment to you long ago, and I keep my commitments. I'm not going to leave you, but you are making it more and more difficult for me to want to stay."
"I'm just under so much pressure. I need you. I don't know what I would do if you left me."
"I said I won't."
He straightened and took a deep, shaky breath while wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I should leave town. I need to leave town. I am sick of Boston. But I can't leave without you. Just come with me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just come with me. Go pack your things and come with me now."
"Now? You know I can't leave now."
"Why do you always have to be so proper?" He asked with disgust, "Do you think you will earn a medal if you do everything right all the time?"
"Ian, my parents have been through so much. You don't know what it did to them when my brother died. I am all they have left. I cannot just leave with you. I would be ruined. That would destroy my parents and I cannot do that to them."
He placed his head in his hands and spoke through his fingers. "So you love your parents more than me?"
"That question is unfair and you know it. I love my parents, but I love you too. I love you deeply Ian and we will be together someday, but I cannot just run away with you." She placed her hand reassuringly on his back. "You know how much I love you, don't you?"
He lifted his head and nodded. "Mercy, I know you think I smell bad, but could I hold you anyway? I need to know you are mine." Without saying a word, she let him hold her and tried to breathe through her mouth. That sticky, sweet smell clinging to his clothes literally made her feel sick. It reminded her of something. What was it? It almost came to her, but then slipped away.
\*\*\*\*
For the fifth day in a row, Addison sat in a back room of Mr. Creed's office pouring over paperwork. Five days before, he had a series of questions facing him concerning the man's floundering shipping business. The first being what caused Mr. Creed's business to suffer, and it didn't take long to figure out someone had been embezzling from him for about three years.
The second question was who was capable of doing such a thing. The obvious answer was his young accountant, but something didn't seem right. Whoever the embezzler was had a brilliant and devious mind and went to elaborate extremes to hide the stolen money. The end of the twisted and complicated paper trail led to gambling halls and brothels. Addison looked at Ian Magregor several times, but could not imagine his large, brown eyes hid such wickedness.
The last two days Addison discreetly did some investigating and discovered some alarming facts about Magregor. This morning, the final piece of the puzzle fit together and there was absolutely no doubt that Mr. Creed's accountant was a depraved man. Addison wondered how it was possible for a human being to exist in the world with absolutely no conscience.
The quest of solving the mystery had consumed Addison, but it was finally over. As soon as he turned his findings in to Mr. Creed, he was going to devote himself to another mystery---Mercy. But, first things first. After stuffing all the evidence into his bag, he stood and made his way to Mr. Creed's office. He glanced at Mr. Magregor who gathered his things as he prepared to leave. Trying not to raise any suspicion, he smiled and said in a friendly voice, "So are you leaving, Mr. Magregor?"
He glanced at his pocket watch and replied, "Yes, it's time for me to leave."
"Well, you have a nice evening then."
With a wary nod, he turned to leave and then came back to stand before Addison. "Mr. Berkeley, I'm sure it's none of my business, but why have you been spending so much time in Mr. Creed's office?"
"I thought I already told you that Mr. Creed and I are working on a shipping venture together."
"Yes, but why?"
"Mr. Creed was kind to me when I was a child, and I wanted to do something kind for him in return. I've been doing all the work necessary for a profitable venture and I'm finally finished."
He narrowed his eyes as he gave a quick nod. "That is good of you."
Addison wondered if the young man was calculating how he would steal more of this new batch of money. He had not told Magregor a lie, since he was preparing to include Mr. Creed on a profitable shipping venture bringing silks from India. The money should soon start pouring in for him. Good thing the devious thief would be out of the picture and unable to get his grubby little fingers on any of it. For soon Ian Magregor would stand trial for a number of crimes that went far beyond embezzlement.
Addison itched to wrap his hands around Magregor's neck, but instead forced himself to grip his leather bag tighter that held the evidence which would make sure Magregor paid for his crimes. He forced himself to give a friendly nod. "Mr. Magregor, I hope you have a pleasant evening." He wanted to say, For it will probably be one of the last pleasant evenings you will ever have. But he bit his tongue and headed for Mr. Creed's office.
When he knocked and opened the door, he again felt a wave of despair at the look of Mr. Creed's tired, haggard face. The poor man. He had worked hard his whole life only to have everything nearly destroyed. And to think what Mercy and her mother had been forced to endure because of this selfish thief. The thought of it made him want to chase after Magregor and strangle him after all. With a heavy breath, he sat and spread the papers across the desk and spent the next three hours explaining the twisted and complicated way that Ian Magregor had used to bilk Mr. Creed out of an absolute fortune.
Mr. Creed removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes as he muttered, "I feel like such a fool. I allowed myself to be deceived so treacherously."
"No, don't say that. You are a good and trusting man and it's difficult for you to understand that a human being could be this despicable. The boy is brilliant and it's a horrible shame he would use his astonishing brain for such wickedness. If he'd applied himself to good, there is no telling what he could have accomplished. And believe me, as the trial will show, you aren't the only one he has deceived. He is a master at deception. No one can believe someone as boyishly handsome and charming as Magregor could be so evil."
"He is clever. Sometimes I just knew the accounting figures didn't make sense, but he explained everything away with such authority that I didn't question him." He let out a long, breath of frustration. "So the money has been spent in gambling halls and brothels. Is there any of it left? Can any of it be recovered?"
He shook his head. "It has all been squandered. But don't worry. We'll start this shipping venture together in India and soon you will have more money than you know what to do with."
"Mr. Berkeley. You understand I have no money to invest. This would not be a fair deal for you."
"I'm going to use your ships and crews. Believe me, it's not a bad deal for me. I cannot imagine what else I would rather do with my money than help you. I don't think you will ever understand how much your kindness meant to me when I was a child." Choking with emotion, he managed, "And to think you bought me that toy horse. I just..." He couldn't say anymore, and with embarrassment he wiped a tear that slipped from his eye.
Mr. Creed leaned over and placed a hand on his arm. "You are a good man, Addison Berkeley."
Hearing such genuine praise from a man he greatly admired touched him. "You are the good man. I just hope I can be half the man you are."
He smiled weakly and leaned back in his chair. "Addison, how can I repay you? What can I do?"
He leaned back as well. "Just one thing. Can you answer a few questions I have about Mercy?"
"Mercy? I will try."
"Your daughter is a sweet, smart, beautiful young lady. Has she ever been courted by anyone?"
Shaking his head with a frown, he mumbled, "No, and it's the strangest thing."
"Do you have any idea why?"
"No idea at all. It makes no sense to me. She has scores of young men interested in her, but she keeps them all at arm's length."
"She has never shown an interest in anyone?"
"None at all. I could tell she cared for you. I could see it in her eyes. I thought you cared for her too, and I wondered why nothing ever came of it. I thought you were courting her, but the next thing I knew you had taken off for France."
"I thought I was courting her too, but she rejected me and told me I was not the one for her. My feelings for your daughter run deep and I believe she cares for me too. But something is holding her back. I just don't know what. Sometimes I wonder if she is in love with someone else, but you say that is not the case?"
"No. There has been no one else. I can assure you of that. Mercy rarely leaves the house and when she does, she is either accompanied by my wife or by my footman Barry. I watch her when we go to dinners and parties, and while many young men try to get her attention, none succeed. A few brave men have actually called on her, but they never come back. I am not sure what she says to them, but apparently she makes it clear she is not interested."
Addison shook his head in confusion. "Your daughter is a mystery to me."
"I wish I could help you. In many ways Mercy is a mystery to me also. She and I were always close, but when Noah died, a big part of me died too, and I think I have not been there for her like I should."
"Maybe your wife would understand more?"
"No. In fact, we had a discussion about this a few days ago that was brought about by you. When we saw you at the wedding we both noticed that Mercy spent a considerable amount of time watching you out of the corner of her eye. Her mother thinks you are the perfect man for Mercy, and she cannot understand what is keeping you apart."
Addison steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Perhaps her friend Priscilla knows, but she is on her honeymoon."
"No, Priscilla doesn't know either. She approached Elizabeth and me at her wedding reception and commented that she hoped whatever was coming between you and Mercy would get worked out so the two of you could be together. She said if Mercy let you slip through her fingers again, she would regret it for the rest of her life." He paused and then added, "Priscilla did comment that Mercy said you would never choose her over a sophisticated, beautiful, French countess."
"Mercy knows all I want is her. I told her."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You did?"
"I told her the last time I saw her."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. It's terribly frustrating."
"Addison, please know we are all hoping you and Mercy can work this out with each other."
Addison glanced over and watched as the flame consumed the log in the fireplace, and then he looked back at Mr. Creed's tired face. "So you, her mother, and her best friend all think the two of us belong together, but Mercy cannot see that?"
"I don't know what Mercy sees. I wish I knew." He let out a deep, weary breath. "You have helped me tremendously, but I seem to be of no help to you."
"I suppose this is just a mystery I'll have to solve on my own. But I'll figure it out this time and I'm not leaving Boston until I do."
"Good." Mr. Creed slowly arose and assembled the papers strewn about his desk. "Let's take these to the justice of the peace."
Addison took the papers from him and put them back in his bag. "I think it will only be a matter of days before the arrest is made. Please try to act as normal as possible around Mr. Magregor. We don't want him to get suspicious and run."
"I'll try. But I hope to God I don't see him before the arrest is made."
"I understand."
"I cannot even explain the anger. It's one thing to destroy me even when I've been good to him, but what he has done to my wife and Mercy. He has reduced us to a state of living in poverty. I had to sell everything, even Mercy's beloved pianoforte. I've not been able to buy either my wife or daughter a new hat in almost three years. And neither one of them complains, which almost makes it worse. How could that wicked boy look in the mirror?"
"Somehow he justifies it."
"How could he possibly justify it?"
"It's amazing what people can justify."
The two of them continued talking as they made their way to the home of the justice of the peace. After some explanations, they handed over the paperwork, and Addison said, "My coach is back at the stables by my office. Let me give you a lift."
"I would appreciate it. Thank you." When they got in the coach, Mr. Creed glanced at his pocket watch and sighed. "Would you look at that? It's almost eleven o'clock. What a long night. I'm usually fast asleep by ten o'clock. I cannot remember the last time I was up this late."
"It has been a long day. For me it has been a long week. I'm glad it's over."
"Me too. This nightmare is over, thanks to you."
He gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. "Listen, James. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even your family or servants. No one. I don't like secrets, but this is a secret we must keep for a few days until the arrest is made."
"I tell my wife everything, and this will be hard to keep from her, but I can wait a few days." They chatted for awhile longer and soon the coach pulled up in front of the Creed's house and he slowly got out and walked to the door. Addison knew Mr. Creed was in his early fifties, but he moved like an eighty year old man. It broke his heart. As he started to lean back, he could've sworn he saw a dark figure dart behind a tree. What on earth? He looked closer, but it was gone. His coach began to roll forward and he practically leaned out the window trying to get a better look, but he saw nothing. Oh, well, maybe it was just his tired imagination playing tricks on him. He looked back one more time and saw it again. He banged against the side of the coach and his driver stopped and he jumped out and hastily whispered, "Head back. I'll just walk home in a minute."
Thankful for his black cape, he wrapped it around him and followed the prowler to the back of the house. As if Mr. Creed didn't have enough problems, now a common thief was planning to steal from him. He reached for the knife he kept hidden in his boot and quietly followed in the phantom's footsteps. But instead of heading toward the house, he made his way to a white gazebo in the middle of a secluded garden. How strange. What could he steal in there? Well, Addison was about to find out.
As he got closer, he could hear a low, angry voice seething, "Are you calling me a liar?" Then he could make out a faint female voice, but could not hear any actual words. Perhaps he just stumbled upon a late night tryst and right now they were having a lover's quarrel. It seemed one of the Creed's maids had found herself a clandestine suitor. He could hear the murmur of soft, angry voices, and he decided he should probably just leave. But something would not let him. He stuffed his knife back into his boot and stepped closer as he heard the man plead in a slow and slurred voice, "Don't say that. Don't say that. After all our years together, how can you say that to me? I know you don't mean it. I would die without you. I'm telling you the truth. I would die."
Addison rolled his eyes in disgust. He hoped the gullible girl didn't fall for this type of manipulation from a man obviously under the effects of a heavy narcotic. Opiates made people act crazy sometimes, and as much as he hated to intrude, he decided he should stay and make sure the girl was safe. He heard a struggling sound and he peered around the corner of the gazebo to assess the situation. In the dark, he could only see shadows and the back of the man in a long, black coat.
At last he heard the slurred words, "Oh, my love, don't struggle. You know I love you. You know I love you more than anything in the world, and I know how much you love me. You are the one who always says we were meant for each other. Don't push me away now when I need you so much. Just kiss me. Please."
The woman ceased her struggling and Addison watched her arms come around the man's neck as she relaxed against his kiss. Stupid woman. Oh, well, it was none of his concern. He turned to leave when he heard the words, "Oh, Mercy, my love," and he stopped and jerked back as suddenly as if a knife had plunged into his heart. It felt like it had.
He needed to leave, but he couldn't move. His legs had become paralyzed. When he reached out to steady himself on a beam of wood, it creaked and Mercy untangled herself and gasped when she saw that someone stood watching them. Slowly, she took a few steps forward and when her eyes met his, they widened in shock and horror. She looked as if she might faint. His instinct took over and he reached out to grab her. She mumbled almost incoherently, "How long were you watching?"
Anger, frustration, concern and a dozen other emotions whirled around him at such a dizzying rate that he couldn't begin to form words. He looked up to the dark form approaching him with daggers in his eyes and gasped in surprise, "Magregor?"
Addison spun Mercy around and sat her on the bench, then turned to face the wild-eyed monster who screamed, "Get your hands off Mercy. She is mine!" A fist flew at Addison's face in slow motion, which he easily blocked and returned a hard punch to the gut and another to the face. Magregor flew back against a pillar before sliding into a heap on the floor. Wild, bloodlust overtook him, and he picked up Magregor's body, slugging his fist into the man's face again.
Mercy flew at his back, trying to restrain him, "Addison, don't hurt him. Please don't hurt him."
Fury buzzed in his ears and blocked out her words. This despicable worm had been destroying Mercy's life by day and then holding her in his arms and kissing her at night. He deserved to hurt. He deserved to die. Magregor tried to get up and Addison punched him again in his side and heard something snap. He hoped it was a rib.
"Addison, stop! You'll kill him."
How could Mercy's concern be for this monster?
"Addison," she cried, "If you kill him, you might hang." She clung to his back, and somewhere through the fog of his anger, he felt her stroking the side of his face and kissing his cheek as she begged, "Please. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't do something you will regret forever. Please, stop."
He stilled and let her continue to kiss his face. A deep and profound yearning overcame him mixed with an equal measure of disgust. Her lips had just been on Magregor's lips. The thought repelled him and he pushed her away. Suddenly everything made a great deal of sense, yet no sense at all. Mercy had chosen this bag of scum over him. Slowly, he stood and grabbed her arm, "I'll walk you to your house."
She clung to his arm desperately as he pulled her along at a frantic pace. Her chest heaving against him, she asked in a barely audible voice, "Will you tell my father?"
"No. It would break his heart. He is going through enough right now."
In complete despondency, her head flopped against his shoulder, "Do you think I'm a horrible person? Have you lost all respect for me?"
Somehow he managed, "Mercy, you don't want my opinion on anything right now."
She let out a moan of anguish which reverberated into the innermost core of his being. He longed to comfort her, but right now he couldn't even think, leave alone speak. He opened up the back door and shoved her inside.
She spun around and grabbed onto his collar as she cried, "What about Ian?"
"I'll have my driver take his good for nothing body and drop it off at Madame Framboise's place. He spends enough time there. I'm sure he has an account."
She looked up at him in utter confusion. "The brothel. What do you mean?"
"Go to bed, Mercy. And don't come back out here. I mean it."
As he stalked toward his house, a dozen conflicting emotions descended upon him with such force he actually felt his knees buckle. He placed his hand against a tree and rested his head on his arm. He wanted to tell Mercy the man of her dreams was about to stand trial and would probably hang, but he didn't trust her. She could warn Magregor and he'd bolt before he even came to trial. Mercy would find out soon enough what kind of a man Magregor was, but she would not hear it from him.
He pushed himself away from the tree and made his way back to his house to find his driver. The poor man had already dressed for bed, but he was all that came between Macgregor and death. If Addison left the bag of scum where he was, he would freeze to death. But if he got anywhere near him, he'd certainly be unable to restrain himself from breaking his worthless neck.
When he walked in the door of his home, he barely had the energy to climb the stairs, put on his nightclothes and fall into bed. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about the many times Mercy had tried to tell him she didn't deserve his respect. He wished he would've listened. Anger burned in his chest, radiating across his body until he had to swallow over a rising ball of acid in his throat. Then a realization hit him with startling force---he was a hypocrite. He wasn't perfect, yet he expected her to be? With a groan, he rolled onto his stomach and everything became clear. He'd been infatuated with a saint, but now he needed to face the truth. He was in love with a woman...a woman who was in love with a demon.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Twelve
The door burst open and Mercy glanced up with blurry eyes to see her mother bustling across the room with a breakfast tray. She set it on a table and opened up the drapes with a flourish while practically singing, "It's a rare, sunny November day. Too pretty for you to spend another day in bed." A dainty spoon clanked against the sides of the china as her mother stirred the cream and sugar and then she sat on the side of her bed as she offered Mercy a teacup with a little biscuit on the saucer.
Mercy shook her head. "No thank you." The last three days of not hearing from Ian or Addison was sheer torture and the anxiety of it all twisted her stomach into knots and took away her appetite.
Her mother let out a breath of frustration. "You haven't eaten anything for three days. You are already so tiny. I will not leave this room until you drink your tea and have this biscuit. It's right out of the oven."
"I'm not feeling well."
"Mercy, eat this biscuit now and then I have to tell you some news."
"Good news or bad news? Because if it's bad news, I don't want to hear it."
"Well, it's disturbing news, but when it's all said and done, it will end up being good news."
"What do you mean?"
"Eat your biscuit, and I'll tell you."
Mercy's curiosity was too strong, so she ate the biscuit in two bites, gulped down her tea, and handed the empty cup to her mother. "Here. Now what is it?"
Her mother reached behind her and placed the teacup down and grabbed a newspaper off the tray. "It's on the front page of the paper. Your father's accountant Ian Magregor was arrested yesterday. He has embezzled over a hundred thousand dollars from your father in the last three years. Can you even imagine that? Your father was generous with him too. Mr. Magregor had more than enough money to live quite well on, and yet he did this. Inconceivable."
At first Mercy began to shake her head slowly in shock, and then her shaking became hysterical. "No, no, no, no. That isn't possible."
Her mother reached out and held her face to stop her frantic shaking. "Mercy. It's going to be fine. I know it seems impossible that someone could even spend such a vast amount of money, but this horrible person squandered it at gambling halls and brothels and other unsavory pursuits. To think your father trusted him. But I have to admit his big, brown eyes looked so trustworthy. What a shame such a handsome young man could be so wicked."
"It's not true! It's just not true!"
"Mercy, it is true. Don't be so upset. As I said, this is actually a good thing. We were about ready to be forced to sell our home, but now we will not have to. Now that we have figured out what has gone wrong, your father's business is going to get back on course. I know it must be terribly embarrassing for your father that he trusted such a scoundrel, but he is handling it quite well."
Mercy grabbed the newspaper from her mother and quickly scanned the article. This had to be a nightmare. So many times she read the newspaper before with little or no compassion for the people whose private lives where on open display for people to devour with their morning toast.
When she read the last horrible word, she gripped the newspaper tightly. "Where is daddy?"
"He is still in his office."
Without even putting on her slippers, she flew out the door, and down the stairs and into her father's office where she heard him say, "... and that is the truth. If it wasn't for you, I never would've figured out Ian Magregor was guilty and who knows..." Her father stopped midsentence and looked up at her in surprise. Then none other than Mr. Berkeley turned around and his eyes widened as he stared at her.
The expression on his face caused her gaze to slide down and look at herself. She could only imagine the image she presented in her thin, almost transparent, linen nightgown with her wild hair tumbling all around her. She should be mortified, but the only thing she could feel right now was anger. With as much dignity as she could muster, she stepped forward. "What did you just say, Daddy?"
In shock, he asked, "Sweetheart, what are you doing?'
She repeated louder, "What did you say when I came in? Mr. Berkeley made you see that Ian Magregor is guilty?" With a flourish she held up the newspaper and glared at Mr. Berkeley. "This is your doing?"
Her father walked toward her and placed a blanket around her shoulders as he said soothingly, "It's not Mr. Berkeley's doing. The mess was made by Mr. Magregor, but thank God, Mr. Berkeley helped me expose it." He wrapped his arm around her and ushered her toward the door. "Sweetheart, go get dressed and then come back and we will talk about it. Mr. Berkeley has an appointment at Hancock Manor in a few minutes, but I'll be working out of my office at home for the rest of the day, so I can answer any questions you have."
Without giving her a chance to argue, he shoved her out the door and closed it behind her. She stood in the hallway shaking with a blinding rage. Her original impression of Mr. Berkeley was the right one. He was a horrible man. No he was more than that. He was a spiteful, vindictive, repulsive excuse for a human being. To punish Ian for taking what he wanted, he framed him for something he didn't do. The man was pure evil. The devil himself sat drinking tea with her father. She would stop Mr. Berkeley. She would stop him if it was the last thing she ever did.
\*\*\*\*
As Addison walked up the hill toward John Hancock's house he shook his head trying to bring himself out the daze that came over him the moment he turned around and saw a vision beyond belief. Never in his entire life had he seen anything so heart-stoppingly beautiful as Mercy flushed and disarrayed with her spectacular blond curly hair cascading down to her waist and every square inch of her perfect body on glorious display through her transparent nightgown. He knew he should not have stared at her like he did, but he couldn't have pulled his eyes away for all the silk in India.
The last three days away from Mercy had been torture, but he knew he couldn't see her again until Ian had been arrested and she found out about it from someone other than him. This must be a horribly difficult time for her, discovering the man she'd been in love with was truly evil. Addison decided he needed to be patient and give her time to get through this. The trial would be a difficult experience for their family and he didn't want her to associate him with any negativity. He would wait. He actually thought this would be a good time to go to Philadelphia to visit Benjamin Franklin. That way, by the time he got back to Boston, the trial would be over, Mr. Creed would be ready to start focusing on their business ventures together, and Mercy would be ready to move on in her life---with him.
\*\*\*\*
After Mercy got dressed she came back into her father's office and sat on his desk and pleaded, "Tell me what is happening Daddy."
"The newspaper explains it all well, sweetheart. I've been treacherously deceived by someone I trusted."
"How do you know Ian is the one who deceived you and not Mr. Berkeley? How do you know he didn't frame Mr. Magregor?"
"Don't be silly. Why would Mr. Berkeley do that? Don't worry your pretty, little head. Everything will be better now. Run along. I have a lot of work to do."
So many emotions swirled in her head that she became tongue tied. How could she explain to her father that Ian wouldn't deceive him this way? Ian loved her. He would never do this to her family. Never. She knew it. But Ian was supposed to only be an acquaintance she met a few times in her father's office. How could she defend his character without her father becoming suspicious? She couldn't confess her relationship with Ian to her father now, or he would be furious and even less likely to listen to reason that Ian was incapable of deception. She stopped herself short. Well, Ian was capable of deception, but not the type that would lead him to do something as horrible as embezzlement. Her father patted her leg and brought her out of her deep musings. "Run along. The trial starts in a few days, and I need to get to work." With a reluctant nod, she left his office.
She went outside and tried to garden, but she couldn't do it. She tried to read. She tried to paint. She tried to just sit and come up with a plan to prove Ian's innocence. Her restlessness led her to contemplate doing something horribly reckless. After leading her mother to believe she would be taking a long nap, she slid out the back door and ran all the way to the jail.
Standing at the back of the brick building she stared at the three windows with bars covering the openings. Grabbing a fallen tree stump she dragged it to the first window and stared inside. An old, grey haired man lay on his side snoring loudly. She dragged the stump to the next window and overwhelming emotions of love and concern filled her heart as she saw Ian sitting on a cot with his face in his hands.
"Ian," she whispered, and his head shot up and he stared at her, but didn't move. Purple and green bruises covered his swollen face and he looked horrible. "Come here. I need to talk to you."
He walked to the window slowly, obviously in pain, and then he held onto the bars. "Mercy, what are you doing? Does anyone know you are here?"
Wrapping her fingers around his, she almost wept at the mere feel of his skin on hers. "I know you have been framed. I know you aren't capable of embezzling from my father. You could never do that to him. You could never do that to me." He nodded, but said nothing. "I know this must be overwhelming being accused of something you didn't do. But don't worry. The flimsy evidence Mr. Berkeley has planted to make you look guilty will be exposed. The truth will prevail."
"Mercy, I'm glad you came, but you should leave before someone sees you here."
The harsh voice of the jailor called out, "Magregor, who are you talking too?"
"Just talking out loud," he called back and then lowered his voice, "You need to leave, my love."
"I don't want to leave you here," she replied desperately.
"Shhh. I'll be fine. Just go." She nodded reluctantly and kissed his fingers, not even caring that someone could walk to the back of the building and discover them. He wrenched his hands away and stepped back with despondency in his eyes.
"Magregor," the jailor's voice came closer. Mercy forced herself to leave Ian and with overwhelming anger and emotion she ran as if the devil was at her heals. But he wasn't, because right now she knew the devil sat in an elaborately beautiful office at the docks. Her blinding rage clouded her mind and without thinking, each step brought her closer to this devil who she intended to stop from his further devious ways.
She pushed open the door of Mr. Berkeley's office and the welcoming face of Cecil Branson greeted her with a cheery, "Good day, Miss Creed. What a nice surprise."
She liked this man, but she could barely pretend to be friendly. "Yes, good day. Is Mr. Berkeley here?"
"As a matter of fact, he just got in. Let me tell him you're here." He disappeared and then almost immediately returned. "Right this way." As they walked down the short hallway, he asked, "You look quite winded, Miss Creed. Have you been running?"
"Yes I have." Doing her absolute best to force a smile, she swept past him into the office and then closed the door behind her and steeled herself to face evil itself.
As she turned to look at Mr. Berkeley, he rose from the desk with a smile and prowled toward her with a silky, "What a nice surprise."
He reached out to touch her and she slapped his hand with a force that even surprised her. "Don't touch me. How can you think I would let you touch me after what you've done? You are a fiend. A wicked man!" He shook his head in a display of confusion that infuriated her. "Don't try and act innocent with me. I know what you did."
"I'm sorry, Miss Creed. I seem to be at a loss. Do you mind explaining to me what I did?"
"Do you think you will get away with this? Do you think you can frame an innocent man? I know you think you are all powerful, but you will get caught. The net you have set for Ian, you will fall into yourself."
"What are you talking about? The only net Ian Magregor finds himself in, he set for himself."
"You liar." She lifted her hand to strike him and he caught it easily and twisted it behind her back bringing her up against him. With revulsion she turned her face, and she could feel the repulsive man's breath on her cheek, so she tried even more desperately to squirm away.
"Mercy, calm down. Let me reason with you. I can prove to you that Magregor is guilty. I would never frame an innocent man. You must know that about me."
"I don't know that about you. I don't know anything about you, but I do know Ian and he isn't capable of embezzling from my father."
"Mercy, please stop it. You're acting on raw emotion. Your irrational behavior right now will embarrass you later. I've done nothing wrong, and you need to let me explain."
"I will not listen to your lies, but I want you to know that your treachery will be exposed."
She reached for the doorknob and he quickly stepped around her and locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "I will not let you leave until you listen to reason."
Hot and angry tears streamed down her face as she fumed, "Open the door right now. I cannot bear to be in the room with you...you...you despicable creature."
"Stop it, Mercy. Now." His voice rising in intensity, he grabbed her shoulders and held on with an iron grip. "If you would just let me speak to you I could explain." With a ragged breath, he pulled her against him, and whispered in her ear, "Shhh. Mercy, please. You are overwrought."
"Overwrought? Overwrought?" Desperately she tried not to lose total control, but her trembling voice barely contained the volcanic fury simmering under the surface. She pushed at him as she cried, "You don't think I should be overwrought? You are trying to make sure the man I love hangs from the end of a rope. Should I be happy about this? You assume if you can get him out of the way, I will want you. Is that it? Well, I won't. I won't ever want you. I hate you. I will hate you forever. I would not ever be with you if you were the last man on earth. You make me sick. And nothing you could say or do would ever, ever, ever change my mind. I hope I never have to see you or speak to you again for the rest of my life. "
His arms dropped to his side and she stared at the door and seethed, "Let me out." When he made no motion to move, she pounded on the door and shouted, "Help, Mr. Branson. I've been locked in here."
Without a word, Mr. Berkeley reached behind her and unlocked the door and pushed it open. She raced out the door and all the way home feeling as if her life had entered into some sort of strange and horrifying nightmare that she just could not wake up from. Her lungs heaved, her feet practically screamed out in agony, her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest, and things could not possibly get worse. A terrifying clap of thunder sounded above her as a dark cloud burst open and cold, and pounding rain assaulted her painfully. A gut wrenching moan escaped from deep within her soul...and she ran faster.
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When Mercy left the room, Addison wanted to kick something, punch something, or throw something. But instead he sank into a chair and let out a low, angry groan. Cecil came into his office tentatively. "What on earth was that?"
"She is angry."
Sarcastically, he murmured, "You think?" When Addison said nothing, he added, "Who would've thought such a sweet looking little thing could get that angry?" Cecil came and sat in front of him and looked at him questioningly. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really." Cecil nodded slowly and made a motion to stand, but Addison said quickly, "She thinks I did something I didn't do. But she won't listen to me. She won't let me explain."
His gentle voice replied, "Give her time to calm down. I'm sure it will all work out."
Addison shook his head. "No. It's over," he spoke with conviction, and then added wearily, "Although I suppose it never really started." Putting his face in his hands, he sighed. "I want to leave for Philadelphia as soon as possible."
"Will you come back to Boston?"
Without removing his face from his hands, he nodded. "I have to. I promised Mr. Creed I would help him get a shipping venture started." He leaned his head against the chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I'll come back to Boston in a few weeks when Ian Magregor's trial is over, and Mr. Creed has time to work with me. Then once I get that started with him, I'll probably head back to France."
"For good."
"Most likely."
"Well, you have a ship leaving for Philadelphia on Monday, but you promised you would come to church with me this Sunday."
"That I did," he murmured with a reluctant roll of his eyes. "I'm sure God will be thrilled to have me there."
Cecil leaned forward with a sincerity that touched Addison's aching heart. "Listen to me. You cannot blame God for the way people act. God loves you. Don't ever doubt that. He created you, and He has protected you, and provided for you every day of your life. Your heart was searching for Him, until that horrible preacher threw you off course. But I believe God is going to bring you back. He wants you for his own, Addison. He is your Heavenly Father and He loves you as His son."
Roiling emotions threatened to erupt, and he just could not do that right now. He pushed himself to his feet and went and looked out the window. Somehow the words "Father" and "love" didn't fit together in his mind, but he certainly liked the idea. For as long as he could remember he wanted to believe God loved him. He wanted to believe his life had a purpose more than just living, dying, and become worm food someday. Slowly he turned to look at Cecil who watched him with concern. "I'll look forward to going to church with you on Sunday."
Cecil's face broke out in a happy smile and he nodded and left the room, but he poked his head back in and encouraged, "Addison, God has the perfect lady picked out for you. If it's not Mercy Creed, it's someone else." The door closed quietly behind him and Addison turned to look back out the window. He'd never prayed much before, but he closed his eyes and whispered, "God, I know you are there and I need you right now, like I've never needed you before. Please take my shattered heart and put it back together."
Placing his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his mind wandered back to the vicious words Mercy had flung at him and they seemed to sink through his skin and corrode his soul. Truly, he'd thought Mercy would think of him as a hero, saving her father's business from a deceiver, and even more importantly, saving her from a deceiver. When he heard she came to see him, he thought she was going to fall into his arms, and thank him, and proclaim her undying love. How could he have been so wrong? If he dwelled on it right now, he would go crazy. He couldn't think of her words. He couldn't think of her. If he did, he was sure he would want to just curl up into a ball on the floor and never get up again.
Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw and made for the door. He would go inspect some of his ships in the harbor and do anything else he needed to do to keep his mind from thinking about the one thing it kept trying desperately hard to wander back to---Mercy Creed. He needed to expel her from his mind once and for all. And he would do it. He would.
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Mercy paced her bedroom like a caged wild animal, feeling trapped and alone and confused. Ever since she got back the day before from seeing Ian holed up that small jail cell, and telling Mr. Berkeley what she thought of him, her emotions had been raw. Oh, how she wished she knew what to do. She felt completely helpless. A quick knock sounded at the door and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Her mother poked her head inside and at the look on Mercy's face she let out a little laugh. "Well, for pity's sake, sweetheart. It's just me."
"Sorry, I guess I'm a little jumpy."
"I guess so. Listen I have to go to town to pick up a few things. I want you to come with me."
Mercy knew she would not be fit company right now and she started to shake her head, but from mother's expression she knew she couldn't refuse. Reluctantly she grabbed her cape and mumbled, "Let's go."
The cold autumn wind stirred up the leaves around them as they made their way toward town. "The snows should be coming soon," her mother commented with a shiver, as she wrapped her coat around herself. Mercy nodded as she wondered if she could sneak an extra blanket into the jail for Ian. He must be so cold. She would try to figure out a way to do that soon.
After running several errands, her mother pointed across the street. "I need to get a few things at the bakery and then we'll head home before it gets even colder." About fifteen minutes later as Mercy walked out of the bakery with her mother, a smell other than fresh bread assaulted her senses. She placed a restraining hand on her mother's arm and whispered, "Wait." She sniffed in the air like a dog. "Do you smell that?"
Her mother looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "What?"
"That smell. That sticky, sweet smell."
"Cinnamon buns?"
"No, not a good sticky, sweet smell. A bad sticky, sweet smell."
Her mother shook her head. "I don't smell anything."
"Well, I smell it." Holding her nose in the air, Mercy continued to sniff as she followed the scent. She walked down an alley until at last she stood in the backyard of a dilapidated house. The backdoor stood slightly ajar, and without thinking, she pushed it open and a puff of smoke burst from the room. Squinting her eyes to see into the darkness, she made out at least a dozen people lounging about on the pillow covered floor passing around a bamboo pipe of some sort. Several sets of sleepy eyes registered surprise, but no one seemed to have the energy to actually move. A partially glad woman lying across a man's lap grumbled, "Close the door. The light hurts my eyes."
Suddenly a strong hand clasped around hers and she looked up the see Able Cotton's concerned face. He covered his lips with his finger and whispered, "Shhh," as he reached across her to close the door. "Come along." Without a word, he quickly escorted her and her mother away until they stood in front of the bakery again.
Shaking her head in bewilderment, she asked, "Able, what was that place?"
"That is an opium den."
"What were they doing?"
"Smoking opium. It's a horribly addictive drug. The Brits use the East Indian Trading Company to import opium from India to China because they want the Chinese to get addicted. It has worked and China is crumbling under the addiction. Many of the British sailors smuggle a bit of the opium themselves and unfortunately some of it ends up leaking over here to America. Not much, thank God. It's a terrible drug."
"Is it illegal?"
"Yes, but the drug is so new to America that most of the law doesn't even know what it is."
She squinted up at him. "How do you know about it?"
"We learned about it in one of my law classes."
"Should we do something about what we just saw?"
"Yes, I'll go report this to the justice of the peace right now."
"Thank you for explaining that to me, Able."
He patted her shoulder. "You are welcome, Mercy. But stay out of trouble. I saw you come out of the bakery and I waved, but you had your nose in the air, literally. It's a good thing I was curious as to what you were up to. You had no business being there."
"I've smelled that smell before. That place has been there awhile."
"Has it?"
Her mother gave a worried smile. "Don't question Mercy's nose. Years ago, I stuck a piece of chocolate in my mouth before dinner and I didn't want Mercy to know, but about ten minutes later she said, 'You've been eating chocolate. I can smell it on your breath.'"
Able chuckled, but then got serious, "Well, don't let your nose lead you into any more trouble."
"I'll try not to."
He glanced behind him and then offered, "Shall I give you a lift? My coach is right around the corner. We'll stop by the justice of the peace on the way."
"Yes," her mother answered quickly. "That would be much appreciated. It's getting terribly cold." They walked around the corner and Able assisted them into his coach, the whole time talking about the frigid weather. On the ride home, Mercy looked out the window, but didn't notice the passing scenery for her thoughts were fully focused on what she'd just seen. With disturbing clarity, she could picture Ian sprawled across the floor of that opium den as the sticky, sweet smell of the smoke permeated his clothes. She still didn't believe Ian could be guilty of embezzling from her father, but she would admit there were alarming aspects of his character that he kept well hidden from her.
A small flickering of concern began to arise that perhaps Mr. Berkeley was right, and Ian had embezzled the money, but that meant the last two and a half years of her life were a complete and total waste of time and she was the biggest, stupidest, most gullible fool on the planet. The thought of that was way too painful, and she tamped it down immediately.
The coach pulled up in front of her house and Able leaned forward and asked her mother, "Would you like me to pick up your family Wednesday morning before the trial?"
Her mother replied, "Oh yes, Able, that would be nice."
"It would be my pleasure. The trail starts at nine. I'll pick you up at eight thirty."
"Thank you."
Mercy frowned a bit as she asked, "Why do you want to come to the trial, Able?"
"First of all, because I'm becoming a lawyer and second of all, because I care about your family and I want to watch this man get his due."
"How do you know he's guilty?"
Able looked at her with confusion, and then lifted a red eyebrow and asked, "Do you think he is not guilty?"
"I think people are too quick to jump to conclusions."
"I agree. I absolutely agree. But in this case, Ian Macgregor has more than circumstantial evidence against him. He has cold, hard facts." When she stared at him skeptically, he continued, "When the trial starts we'll find out the truth."
He jumped to the ground and turned to help her mother out and then as he assisted her, his voice lowered with concern, "Try to get some sleep, Mercy. You look completely worn out."
She nodded. "I'll try. Good afternoon, Able." She quickly walked toward the house before he could see her cry. As quickly as she could, she raced up to her room and sprawled across her bed as the tears streamed down her face. For so many years she pictured her wonderful, perfect, beautiful life with Ian and now all those dreams were crashing down around her until she was left with nothing but rubble.
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With an agitated glance at Cecil, Addison stepped out of his coach and headed toward the doors of the church. Able Cotton, with his friendly face, approached him with a cheery, "What a nice surprise. Welcome to our church."
Addison shook his hand. "I didn't know you came here. I thought you went to Redemption."
"I used to until I heard what the pastor there did to you. I couldn't be a part of a church that treated people that way. When the pastor tried to justify his behavior to me, I knew I needed to leave before I did something wrong and got booted out too. And since I'm not perfect, the chances of my doing something wrong or having someone accuse me of doing something wrong are pretty high. And on top of that, the pastor criticized Mercy and said she was out of line in reprimanding him in a letter she wrote to defend you. Mercy is the nicest girl I know and I didn't like him calling her pretentious. But this pastor and this church are different. I'm sure you will like it." Able gave him a hearty pat to the back. "This place fills up quickly. You better find a seat."
As they walked toward the pew, Cecil handed him a Bible. "Here. This is yours. I bought my own."
Addison took it with nod. "Thank you." He remembered the day long ago that Mercy had helped him pick out this Bible while wearing such an earnest little expression on her pretty face. She must have looked at ten Bibles before declaring this one was "perfect." With disgust, he reprimanded himself for the hundredth time in the last few days for thinking about her. How long would it take to expel her from his mind? He hated this.
Cecil motioned with his head. "Over here. Let's find a seat." Looking around the little gathering place Addison noticed something about the people mingling about---they all looked so happy. He knew he had just about everything the world had to offer, yet he didn't feel the joy that so obviously radiated from the humble people in this room. An unpleasant emotion settled in his chest and he frowned when he realized it was jealously. He wanted this joy they had. He wanted it in the worst way. But he didn't deserve it. He'd done too many things wrong in his life.
Not only did he have the blood of British soldiers on his hands, but he'd carried on with women he had no intention of even seeing again. He never seduced an innocent girl, but that didn't excuse his callous behavior to the countless women he'd used. But that wasn't the worst of it. He cringed when he remembered the shipment of slaves he'd been forced to bring to Savannah his first year of being a captain. He hadn't wanted to do it, but the owner of the ship insisted, and he'd given in out of weakness. To this day the lingering looks of terror on their faces made his stomach feel as if he had a rock in it. Their traveling conditions were hideous and many of them died on the treacherous journey. He winced as he remembered the tears on the mother's face as he took the dead little girl from her arms and threw her overboard. And as if this was not bad enough, he had transported slaves two times more. God couldn't forgive that. Addison wanted the rest for his soul that Hancock told him about, but a soul that had done such horrible things, deserved no rest.
When he first got to Paris and met up with Blanche again, he made a comment about how he was tired because he'd been working so hard. She laughed and said, "Oh, well, as the good book says, 'There is no rest for the wicked." He questioned her if the Bible really said that and she flippantly replied, "Yes, I promise it says that, so since we are wicked and don't rest, let's stay up and do something naughty." She could never have known the hope her words had killed in his heart. A man who transported slaves was wicked. A man who was wicked, could not have any rest for his soul. Therefore, he could never have rest and being here at this church was a big waste of time.
A jolly looking older man walked up to the pulpit and announced, "Before I begin my message, let's spend some time in worship. I taught you a song recently that was written by the famous British preacher John Newton. I would like to sing the beautiful song again and this time I want to tell you the story behind it. John Newton was not always a famous preacher. He used to be the captain of a ship. A ship that transported slaves." At that, Addison's heart leapt in his chest and he leaned forward with eagerness as the man continued, "A storm descended upon the ship and Newton called out to God and begged His forgiveness. Of course, God granted it because God is a forgiving God, and no sin is so great that God cannot forgive if we merely ask."
Was that true? Everything within Addison wanted to believe that was true. The man's booming voice continued, "But John Newton struggled with believing that God had truly forgiven him for his past when he had such a difficult time forgiving himself. He fought hard against slavery, but still he wore his past around his neck like a shackle. He could not allow himself to break free and go forward. But one day as he read his Bible, Newton came to realize that salvation comes not because we are good, but because we recognize we are sinners. We are wretched, but God loves us and forgives us anyway. As Titus 3:5 says, 'It is not by works of righteousness that we have done, but according to God's mercy he has saved us.' The thing is, we are all sinners and sinners need to be saved and the only thing that keeps anyone from being saved is they haven't asked. John Newton wrote this song when he came to understand God's Amazing Grace."
Addison felt warmth spread across his chest and he fought back tears. Could it be true? All he had to do was ask? The pastor's deep, baritone voice began to sing the words, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind, but now I see."
The wondrous words continued to roll over Addison and seep into his soul like a healing balm. Emotions overwhelmed him and rushed to the surface and spilled out in the form of tears. He quickly wiped at them with the back of his hand and then reached for his handkerchief.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed, "Oh, God. I'm a wretch. You know I'm a wretch. Forgive me. If you could forgive John Newton, you could forgive me. I've been lost, but you have found me. I'm yours if you will have me. I'm yours for the rest of my life and beyond. I have always been self-sufficient, but help me to cling to your hand as I walk from this life into eternity."
Not only did the words of the song touch him deeply, but so did the words of the sermon. The pastor spoke on chapter three in the gospel of John about how God loved the whole world and died for them so they may be saved. When the pastor said, "God didn't send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world," Addison felt as if his eyes had been opened. Now he knew what John Newton meant when he said that he was once blind, but now he could see.
After the service, Addison watched as the children hung all over the pastor as he passed out candy to them with a big smile. The man positively exuded joy, and now Addison didn't have to be jealous anymore. He had that joy too. He could feel it in the deepest places of his soul. As they walked outside, Addison remarked to Cecil, "Thank you for bringing me here. I'm not the same man who walked inside a short time ago."
"No. You are not. The sins which held you down were left there. Old things have been passed away and all things have become new."
"Now I understand the book Pilgrim's Progress. Christian left his heavy burden at the foot of the cross and walked away free."
"I haven't read that book."
"You should. I'm going to read it again now that I understand what it means."
Cecil gave him a big smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Now you will never be rid of me. We'll spend eternity together." Addison laughed and they walked home together while Jane sang the words of Amazing Grace in her pretty voice. This was a monumental time in his life and he knew from this point on, he would never be the same.
Addison couldn't wait to see Benjamin Franklin and tell him he understood what Pilgrim's Progress meant. The burden on his back now rested at the foot of the cross and the rest of his life was a journey to the celestial city. Suddenly all that had been blurry, now became clear. Suddenly his life had true purpose and meaning and a definite destination. Suddenly his life made sense.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Thirteen
As Able Cotton's coach rumbled along the streets of Boston, Mercy looked out at the cold, cloudy, disagreeable day. Thunder rumbled ominously and a dark cloud burst open and heavy drops of rain pounded upon the coach until the sound became almost deafening. When they pulled up in front of the courthouse, Mercy frowned to see the crowds of people milling around outside as if they were about to watch an entertaining sideshow. Didn't they know that a man's life was at stake? An innocent man.
Able jumped out of the coach first and helped her father, and mother alight and then he offered his hand to her as he held his coat above her head. As she took his hand and descended, he whispered, "Mercy, I know this is difficult, but it will soon be over." She nodded, but he could not possibly understand how difficult this was, and it would not soon be over. It would never be over. How could she ever be with Ian now after this horrendous scandal? All of her hopes and plans were being dashed upon the rocks by a powerful, punishing tide she could not control.
Amidst the bustling crowds, Able ushered her family into the courthouse and they filed into their seats and waited. She saw people around the room glancing back at them and she wondered if they were thinking thoughts of compassion and pity, or scorn and ridicule. It was hard to tell. With shame she looked down and adjusted her gloves nervously and wished everyone would quit staring at them.
Mercy closed her eyes to block out the disturbing sights, but the horrible sounds and smells still assaulted her. Heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, harsh whispers, and carriages rattling outside mingled with the overpowering smells of tallow wax candles, wet wool, tobacco, orange scented wig powder, and unwashed bodies mixed with the scents of heavy perfume overwhelmed her until she felt ill. She squeezed her eyes tighter, just wanting it all to go away.
At last a man in a white wig with horizontal ringlets hanging to his waist stepped up to the bench and the proceedings began. Twelve men filed into the jury box and Mercy hoped these men could be fair and impartial for Ian's very life rested in their hands. In shackles, Ian was led to a chair and she strained to see him. Finally, she caught a glimpse of his bruised and battered face, and a rush of strong emotions washed over her. She gripped her chair until her fingers turned white in an attempt to remain seated. It took every ounce of resolve she had to keep from rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. For the longest time her eyes bore into the back of his head. She wanted him to turn around---she willed him to turn around so he would know she sat here silently supporting him. But he stared straight ahead.
Hour after hour after hour the lawyer presented condemning evidence against Ian. Her brain hurt trying to understand the twisted, complicated way the money had been embezzled from her father. She didn't understand it completely, but one thing she could see, was that the embezzling began before she or Ian had even met Mr. Berkeley. As the day wore on, the wall of conviction she'd built up maintaining Ian's innocence continued to be dismantled brick by brick. The evidence against him was not circumstantial. It was not flimsy. Ian had wrapped himself completely up in a web of deceit. Her father took the stand and answered questions and it broke her heart to see how difficult this was for him.
After a break, the trail began with more of the same embezzling charges, but quickly became worse. A young, haggard looking man slowly walked to the witness stand and sank into the chair with a dour expression. After taking an oath, the lawyer questioned him, "State your name and your relationship with the accused."
"My name is Walter Hunt. I'm the cousin of the accused."
"I know this must be difficult to testify against a cousin, but---"
The man cut him off. "Not really. When he was sixteen, he stole my horse and disappeared. I didn't see him again until we were both stationed at Valley Forge. He begged my forgiveness and I gave it to him. He said the horse was stolen from him, but I doubt it. He has a gambling problem. He always has. Throughout our time at Valley Forge, he racked up gambling debts with some of the other soldiers that he could never repay."
Mr. Hunt covered a cough with his hand. "Umm...One night he got caught in a...in a compromising position with an officer's wife, but he got away. He came to say goodbye to me and I tried to stop him from going since I knew the severe punishments for desertion. I told him to be a man and take responsibility for his bad behavior. He knocked me out and when I came to, I realized he'd stolen all my money, my coat, and my musket. He deserted the Army and changed his name. His real name is John Hunt. He has never sent a dime to support his widowed mother back in the Delaware Valley. My wife and I have taken her in, and we don't have the money or the room to support her, but how could we leave her destitute. I'm surprised John has finally been caught. With his good looks and charm, he seems to weasel his way out of any and all consequences for his behavior."
Mercy felt as if a knife had plunged into her heart. This man could not be describing her Ian. There had to be some mistake. She thought this trial would prove Ian's innocence, but instead it seemed to be proving his guilt over and over again. His commanding officer from Valley Forge testified that Ian Magregor and John Hunt were the same man and therefore he was to be given the penalties of desertion. She knew the punishments for desertion could be harsh---face branding, ear mutilation, or even hanging.
That night Mercy lay in bed recounting the events of the horrible day. The bad nightmare she found herself living had become a horrendous night terror. Somehow she managed to go to sleep and the next day it started all over again. Owners from businesses around town testified that Ian had racked up debts he never paid. They all said he promised them money was coming soon and it would not be much longer. Soon. That certainly seemed to be Ian's favorite word.
Just when she thought the pressure squeezing at her heart could not become any more unbearable, another witness was called to the stand. A prostitute from Madame Framboise's testified that Ian was one of the brothel's best customers. Somehow this seemed to be the one establishment Ian didn't owe money to. In fact, the woman said Ian was their biggest tipper.
A gruff-looking man testified that Ian had been accused of cheating at cards and had been banned from his establishment. A justice of the peace from another county stated that Ian been charged with four counts of horse thievery, but he killed the guard and escaped from the jail. Each of these people painted the picture of a horrible, selfish, evil person. But as distressing as all that was, nothing could've prepared Mercy for the next witness. A young, pretty, red-haired girl took the stand looking like a wounded, terrified little animal.
The lawyer asked in a gentle voice, "State your name and relationship to the accused."
"Sarah Guiness. I'm...I'm...the mother of his child."
Audible gasps could be heard throughout the room and Mercy felt as if the knife that had been plunged into her heart now twisted. The question was asked, "How old are you?"
"I'm sixteen."
"And how old is your child?"
"He just turned one."
"And has the accused ever supported you in any way?"
"No, sir."
"He has never given you money or offered any type of help."
"No, sir. He always said he would. He promised he was making money, and he would help me as soon as he could."
"But he never did. Even though he has been in possession of over one hundred thousand dollars of Mr. Creed's money, you never saw one cent of it."
"No, sir."
"You were an innocent girl before you met the accused?"
"Yes, sir, I was. He has been living at my mother's boarding house." Mercy watched in utter shock as the girl's large blue eyes lifted to Ian's in a silent apology, then she turned back to the lawyer and stated, "But it's my fault too. I allowed him to seduce me. I fell in love with him. I thought we were getting married soon."
Soon. That hideous word again. A sharp pain lashed at Mercy from the inside out. She placed her hand on her forehead in an attempt to make the pounding go away. Her head felt heavy. This was too much. She couldn't hear anymore. Leaning over to her mother, she whispered, "I have to go outside to get some air."
Somehow her feet managed to move and she made her way outside past a roomful of staring eyes. Her weak legs gave way and she sank onto a bench and put her head in her hands. Within seconds a strong hand rested on her back and she looked up to see Able's worried face staring down at her. "Mercy, are you unwell? You look as white as a ghost."
With a quivering voice she managed to say, "This is all a little overwhelming."
"I can imagine. Especially that last part. I'm sure someone as innocent as you could not understand how a girl could allow herself to be seduced by someone like Ian Magregor, or whatever his name is. She seems like a nice girl too."
Mercy let out a soft moan and murmured, "He is truly evil, isn't he?"
"I hate to think anyone is truly evil, but it certainly seems to be the case with him. I don't believe anyone is past redemption, but I hope he calls out to God to have mercy on his soul. He will probably hang."
In despondency, she whispered, "Able, I'm too upset to speak right now. Could we just sit here together and not talk."
"Certainly, Mercy. Whatever you want." She wished he would just go away, but she knew he only wanted to help.
She put her head in her hands and tried her best to hold back her corrosive emotions. Soon people streamed outside and milled about and her father came and sat beside her, his face lined in weariness. "The jury is deliberating. It shouldn't be long. I'm sure there isn't much to deliberate. Shall we wait for the verdict?"
Nodding slowly, she replied, "I would like to wait, but it's up to you."
"Why don't we head over to the Bunch of Grapes Tavern. I could use a bite to eat."
Able quickly stood. "Good idea. I'm famished. My treat."
Soon Mercy found herself at the tavern, pushing food around her plate hoping no one noticed she wasn't eating. How could she eat? It surprised her she could even breathe. Her eyes flew to her mother's face when she asked, "Do you think he will hang?"
Her father wore a frown. "I'm sure he will. Statutory rape alone carries the death penalty, and the mother of his child was only fifteen at the time of conception. Counterfeiting, embezzling, and horse theft all carry the death penalty, and desertion often does, especially in a case like his---trying to escape punishment for his bad behavior. But what clinches it is the guard he killed the last time he escaped jail. The man had a wife and children." Her father glanced at her and Able. "You missed that part when you went outside during the closing arguments."
Mercy wondered aloud, "Hanging seems so harsh. Couldn't he just stay in the jail?"
"No sweetheart," he answered. "I've heard talk of creating a permanent place to incarcerate people after their sentencing, but nothing has come of it yet.
"His crimes are bad, but are they worthy of death?"
"I'm sure the court thinks they are."
"The British used to send their criminals to Georgia before the Revolution. Isn't there a place he could be sent? Like a penal colony."
Able nodded. "I've heard the Brits discovered a continent on the other side of the world, and they are planning on turning that into a penal colony. But as of yet, nothing has come of it."
Mercy asked, "Couldn't he be sold as a galley slave?"
Her father gave a dejected sigh. "I'm afraid not since slavery is illegal in Massachusetts, the law cannot exactly sell him as a slave."
Able cut in, "I would rather be hung than be a galley slave anyway."
Her mother added, "I almost feel bad for the wretched soul. Perhaps he had a difficult childhood."
Leaning forward, her father said intently, "Perhaps he did. But that isn't an excuse. He had a mother. Look at Addison Berkeley with no mother or father. An orphan alone in a difficult world at only nine years old. And he is without a doubt one of the most honorable men I've ever met."
Able quickly agreed, "He is a good man, no doubt."
Her mother shook her head in amazement. "It's hard to believe a man like Mr. Berkeley had the beginnings he did. Just think James, if you hadn't asked Mr. Berkeley to use his brilliant mind to help you figure out what was causing your business to fail, we would be moving out of our house right now, completely destitute. How can we ever thank him for his kindness to our family?"
"I don't know. I wish I knew."
"Where has Mr. Berkeley been?" Her mother added, "I haven't seen him for awhile."
"He's in Philadelphia," Able replied.
Her mother asked, "Is he coming back to Boston?"
Able nodded. "I believe he's coming back to Boston for a short time before returning to France. At least that's what he told me."
Mercy stared at them blankly. She heard their words, but they were too painful to register. Mr. Berkeley had told the truth. He was the hero and not the villain. But now it was too late. He'd never forgive her, and she didn't blame him. He said once that he couldn't love the countess because he didn't respect her. If that was the case, then he could never love her. She long ago forfeited any respect she deserved. Then she'd made it one hundred times worse by screaming at him and calling him horrible names. She shuddered in embarrassment. He must think her repulsive. And he was right, she was.
Her father put his hand lovingly on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Mercy? You have been so quiet and you look terribly distressed."
"The last few days have been difficult."
"Yes, but now everything is over." How right he was. Her hopes and dreams were over. Her life and Ian's life was over. Her despair was so great, she wished she could end her life, but she could never do something like that to her parents. Losing one child was bad enough.
When they made their way back to the courthouse, people still mingled around outside, but within minutes an officer came out and announced the sentencing was about to be read. She didn't want to go back in the courthouse, but she knew she had to force herself. Sometime later, when everyone got assembled, the judge turned to the jury foreman and asked, "How do you find the defendant?"
Without hesitation, the foreman boomed, "We the jury find the defendant guilty of counterfeiting, embezzlement, theft, horse theft, statutory rape, desertion from the Continental Army, and murder."
Mercy could hear voices from the judge, the lawyers, the foreman, but they became nothing more than a clamoring noise to her ears until the pronouncement was made, "The sentence of the accused is death by hanging." Her eyes fell upon Ian as he was led away. He never even turned around to look at her.
Able put out his hand to Mercy. "Let's get you home. You look completely spent."
She nodded and allowed him to lead her to his coach. "I can't believe he has to die. It seems harsh."
Able said with compassion, "Mercy, you have such a gentle heart, but this is the way of the world. Magregor knew each one of his crimes carried the death penalty. He knew horse thieves are hanged, yet he did it over and over again, thinking he was above the law. Apparently he thought he was so charming he would never get caught. For his own selfish gain, he took the life of an innocent guard which shows he does not value life. Not the man's life and not his own. Magregor might be smart and charming, but everyone's sin must be accounted for eventually. But I believe in forgiveness. He can still repent and go to heaven. The thief on the cross did."
She nodded in agreement. She wanted Ian to find God's forgiveness. That night in bed, so many emotions swirled inside her head, she could not even think, but mercifully she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The next morning she knew she needed to see Ian one more time. She needed closure. There had been enough deception, so she found her mother in the parlor sewing and she asked, "I know this must sound like an odd request to you, but I want to go see Ian Magregor at the jail. I want to make sure he has an opportunity to repent."
Her mother's brow furrowed, but finally she nodded. "Let's go. I don't know how much longer he will be there."
About an hour later Mercy found herself walking into the jail and she asked the guard, "I need a quick word with Ian Magregor."
He stared at her in disbelief, but said, "I can't let you in, but you can talk to him through the bars."
"That's fine. I just need a few minutes." She followed him until she stood in front of Ian's cell. He sat on his cot staring at the wall. When his dark eyes lifted to hers, he slowly stood and walked to her. "Miss Creed," he said as he looked at the guard.
"Mr. Magregor." She turned to the guard. "Can we have just a few minutes, please?" He nodded and stepped away, but didn't leave the hallway. She leaned in and whispered, "All I can ask is why?"
"I did it all for you, Mercy, you must see that."
She let out a harsh breath of disgust. "You stole my father's money and gambled it all away for me?" Sarcastically, she asked, "Should I thank you?"
"Mercy, I saw no other way and I---"
"Are you trying to justify what you have done?"
"How else could I earn the money to win you? I borrowed the money from your father. I'm a good gambler. When I won, I was going to pay it all back."
"You must not be a good gambler since you never won big. But your charming ways will not work on me anymore. I saw the paperwork. I know you began embezzling from my father months before you even met me, so don't try to justify what you have done." Over a choked sob, she asked, "And how can you possibly justify being with other women. I stayed faithful to you for two and half years."
"You don't understand men. Did you really expect me to do nothing more than kiss you each night and then leave and go to bed alone? These other women were just a distraction for me, until I could win you and have you for my own."
Struggling to keep her voice down, she seethed, "You had a child with one of them! And she was just a child herself."
"I didn't mean for that to happen. I only wanted children with you. I wanted us to be a family."
"I wanted that too, but now you have ruined it, and that day will never happen. Never. You have caused our family immeasurable pain, suffering and humiliation, and yet you don't even feel remorse. I thought I knew you, but I didn't know you at all. I know God will forgive you if you ask, and I must forgive you so I don't allow bitterness to destroy me."
"Don't say that my love, you must know---"
"Stop it! I can't believe you have to hang. It makes me sad. You had so much potential."
"Mercy, no matter what happens to me I want you to know that I love you."
"Ian, your definition of love and mine are two different things. Listen, I haven't been living like a good Christian, but I still believe in God and I believe in heaven. You can go there if you ask."
He leaned forward, "Do you have any idea how many jails I've broken out of? Don't worry about me."
"If you break out, don't come looking for me. I don't ever want to see you again."
"Seriously, Mercy, do you think I would stay in Boston. I'm not stupid."
"No. You aren't stupid. Just wicked. But you don't have to stay that way. You can ask God to forgive you." He merely rolled his eyes. She wanted to say more, but emotions overwhelmed her. "I need to go," she managed. Wiping her eyes, she fled the room and tried to compose herself.
On the walk home with her mother, she held herself together, but the minute she walked into her room she fell on her bed and cried. Pounding her pillow, she ground out, "I'm so stupid, naive, gullible, and idealistic. I'm such a fool. I'll never trust myself again. Love is a horrible thing if it makes you feel like this." She sobbed for hours, unable to imagine how life could get any worse.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Fourteen
The next several days Mercy went through the motions of living, but inside she felt numb...dead. She stood gazing out the window at the first snow fall of the season, but the peaceful sight of the glimmering snowflakes floating to earth brought her no peace at all. A knock sounded at the door and her mother entered with a worried frown. "Mercy, what's wrong with you? I've never known you to be so mopey. Things are going to be looking up for us now."
"I'll be fine."
"Well, I would hope so. There is a whole big world out there. You need to leave your room once in a while." She nodded, but said nothing. Her mother grabbed her arm, "Well, come along it's time for dinner."
She wanted to say she wasn't hungry, but she knew her mother would only argue. Forcing herself to try to sound normal, she asked, "What is for dinner?"
"All sorts of good things. Come down and see. Gingerbread is for dessert."
"It's tradition for you to make gingerbread the day of the first snowfall."
"Exactly."
Mercy forced herself to eat and forced herself to listen and respond appropriately while her mother spoke. Her father was unusually quiet and when he didn't eat his gingerbread she knew something was wrong. He loved gingerbread. She stared at him intently for a few moments and asked, "Do you feel poorly, Daddy?"
Weakly he replied, "I've felt better."
Her mother suggested, "Well, shall we go to the parlor and sit by the fire and read?"
Her father stood and reached over to take Mercy's hand. They took a few steps when he clutched his chest and let out a terrifying moan and crumpled onto the ground. Her mother rushed to his side and Mercy ran from the room screaming, "Barry, Barry!"
The man came dashing from the other side of the house in a panic. "What is it?"
"Get the doctor. My father has collapsed."
"Collapsed?"
"Barry, hurry." When he ran from the room, she rushed back to the dining room and fell to the floor by her father, as she looked at her mother with desperately pleading eyes. "Is he going to...Is Daddy..?" She couldn't even make herself form a question.
Her mother couldn't seem to find words either and she just stared at her in shock. Mercy put her hand over her father's mouth and could feel a slight breath. He hadn't died yet. She hadn't prayed in so long and she was sure God could never forgive her for all she'd done, but in desperation, she prayed anyway, "Oh, Lord, please don't let my father die. Please help him get better."
Before long, Barry came back with their family's doctor in tow. After a quick examination he turned to them and explained, "It seems Mr. Creed has what Hippocrates referred to as apoplexy also known as brain attack. We don't know the exact cause, but it seems to have something to do with a blood vessel breaking in the brain."
Her mother questioned, "What can we do?"
"Nothing really except make him comfortable and wait. If he recovers he will most likely have difficulty speaking and walking, but do not be alarmed, some patients recover fully."
"Some?"
"Yes, but I will be honest with you Mrs. Creed, I have no way of giving a prognosis for your husband. He could recover fully, partially, or not at all. Only time will tell. Let's make him as comfortable as possible."
Barry carried her father upstairs and together, with her mother, dressed him in his nightclothes and put him to bed. Mercy sat beside her father and wept as she took out a handkerchief and wiped away the drool careening down his cheek. She thought life could not get any worse. It just had.
\*\*\*\*
Addison wrapped his cloak around him to block out the blindingly cold snow and walked toward his office. With a shiver, he made his way to the fireplace and tried to allow some of the heat to soak into his bones. Cecil entered and handed him a cup of hot tea. "One day back in Boston and already you are working yourself near to death."
While watching the steam swirl up from his teacup, he murmured, "I would rather do business in nice weather, but this could not wait."
"Do you really need three new ships right this minute?"
"I can always use new ships. I have a plan, and I'll tell you all about it in a few days when everything comes together."
"I'll look forward to it." Cecil took a few steps toward him and asked, "How long do you plan on staying in Boston?"
"A little bit longer."
"Do you have to go back to France? Can't you run your business from here?"
He could easily run his business from Boston. But he needed to leave for the same reason he needed to leave two years before. He could not bear to be this near Mercy and not have her for his own. The thought of seeing her around town with another man made his stomach clench. He needed to get away. He took a sip of tea and replied, "I like France."
"Are you missing your countess then?"
He let out a harsh laugh. "She is not my countess." Honestly, he'd barely even thought of her. "Listen, Cecil. I need to go visit Mr. Creed. I heard he is ill and I...well, I need to go visit him."
"All right. I'll see you at dinner." Cecil left the room and Addison gathered his paperwork and put it into his attaché case. A lot of planning needed to go into this new venture, and he would be busy far into the night.
Soon he found himself knocking on the Creed's front door. A hulk of a man answered the door with red and puffy eyes as if he'd been crying. After being ushered into the parlor Addison warmed himself by the fire. His heart raced in anticipation of seeing Mercy. She told him she never wanted to see him again and he would honor her request, but right now he had a debt he needed to pay to her father and that took precedence.
The door opened and Mrs. Creed entered the room and he felt both relief and disappointment that it wasn't Mercy. She held out her arms and walked toward him and he grasped them firmly while trying to decide what to say. He sucked in a breath of surprise when she fell against him and cried until sobs wracked her body. He never expected this. Her voice came out muffled against his coat as she mumbled, "I'm sorry. I haven't cried like this. I've been strong for days."
"It's all right, Mrs. Creed. I'm glad I'm here. I want to help."
"I know you do. That's why I'm so relieved to see you."
Uneasily he asked, "How long has Mr. Creed been like this?"
"A week."
"Has he been conscious at all?"
"No. He has mumbled incoherently a few times, but he isn't conscious."
"I wanted to see him, but I suppose that isn't possible."
"You could see him, but he wouldn't know. Mercy has been awake for days worrying herself sick, and she finally fell asleep on his bed next to him. I hate to wake her."
"No. Don't wake her."
She stepped back and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry about weeping against you like that."
"Please don't be sorry." He held her shoulders and assured her. "I want you to know that I'm here for you. For the most part I'll be working at home for the next few days, so if Mr. Creed awakens, please send for me. I have some extremely important business I need to discuss with him."
"Thank you, Mr. Berkeley."
"You are welcome."
She wiped at her eyes, as she asked, "Did you have a nice time in Philadelphia?"
"I did. Mr. Franklin has become quite involved with the Abolition movement in Philadelphia and we traveled around the city while he gave speeches. He is eighty years old and I can hardly keep up with him. I also played enough chess with him to last me the rest of my life. But we did other things as well. There is quite a bit to enjoy in Philadelphia, but now it's back to work." He stepped toward the door. "I will not keep you. Let me know if you need anything."
"I will." She walked him to the front door and watched him walk away. He turned around and waved at her as he got into his sleigh. She'd asked him how long he would stay in Boston. The answer was that he would stay as long as necessary to make sure the man who was kind to him as a child didn't have a family left destitute.
\*\*\*\*
Mercy stood at the window of her parent's room as she watched the snow float to the ground and cover the backyard shrubs and plants with a blanket of white. She slept for a few minutes beside her father, but something had awakened her, and she couldn't go back to sleep. The door creaked open behind her and her mother said quietly, "Oh, Mercy. You are awake."
She nodded. "I can't sleep. Did I hear Barry tell you someone was here to see you?"
"Yes. Mr. Berkeley came by."
Just hearing his name caused her heart to stand still in her chest. With a shuddering breath, she asked, "Mr. Berkeley. He is back? Why...I mean...what...what did he want?"
"He wanted to speak with your father, but he also wanted to let me know that he is here for us if we need him." She walked over and stood next to her at the window. "I'm quite embarrassed. I feel so weak and small and when I saw his strength and vitality I fell against his chest and wept."
"What did he do?"
"He just held me and comforted me. It worked. I feel a little better just knowing he is here."
Mercy nodded and turned back to the window. She was glad her mother felt better knowing Mr. Berkeley was near, but it brought on a whole new wave of grief for her. A shuddering, sick feeling of embarrassment and shame descended upon her and she gripped the windowsill and placed her head on her arm. What a fool. She'd been such a fool, and she'd ruined everything.
Her mother picked up a Bible on the nightstand and sat by her father's side and read from the psalms just in case he could hear her. Every time her mother's soft, melodious voice spoke aloud the words, "enemies of God," Mercy knew she must fall into this category. She didn't want to be there, but how could she not. For two and a half years her life had been nothing but deceit after deceit with a deplorable man. God could never forgive her for that. God might have forgiven Ian if he had asked because he didn't know any better. But she did. She knew better. A knock sounded at the door and her mother called out, "Come in."
Barry stepped inside and said softly, "Mrs. Creed. There is a man to see you from the bank. A Mr. Lawman."
"The bank. To see me?"
Barry nodded and her mother turned to her. "Mercy, would you come with me so you can help me remember what he says. My brain doesn't seem to be functioning properly right now." Mercy turned from the window and followed her downstairs. A stern looking man paced the room, and stopped to face them as they entered. Her mother asked, "Would you like some tea?"
He shook his head briskly. "No, thank-you. I just need a moment of your time."
"Certainly." She motioned to a chair. "Would you like to sit?"
He positioned himself stiffly in a chair across from the sofa they both sat upon and glanced at Mercy quickly and then turned to her mother and without wasting any time got right to business. "Mrs. Creed. This isn't pleasant for me. My bank has dealt with your husband's money for many years and it has been a profitable business for both sides. However, as you know the last three years have been difficult. Now I, along with everyone else in Boston, know why. But over the last two years your husband has sold two ships to pay debts, but he used the other three ships as collateral for loans. Loans now he unfortunately cannot pay. Your husband's inability to pay his banknotes has put me in an extremely difficult situation."
Shifting in his seat uncomfortably, he continued, "I don't know how much you understand about banking, but I must have the gold or silver in my bank to cover the notes I've issued. If I don't, I'm considered insolvent and I could lose my charter. Yesterday, I was forced to sell your husband's three ships to cover the debts, but it wasn't enough. The only thing of value your husband has left is this home. He has used that as collateral as well and I'm afraid I will have to collect on it. It pains me to say this, but I have no other choice. With your husband in the condition he is in right now, it will be a long time before he can work and earn back enough to pay his debts. That is if he gets well at all. In the meantime, I could lose my bank. I need to ask you to start packing. I will put the house up for sale tomorrow.
"But my husband is ill. This cannot wait?"
"No. I'm afraid it cannot wait. If it could, I would not be here." He stood and Mercy saw a glimmer of pity in his eyes as he stated, "I wish I didn't have to do this. Your husband is a good man."
He quickly left the room and Mercy stared at her mother blankly in a state of utter shock. Finally she muttered, "I've lived in this house my whole life."
Her mother nodded and mused aloud, "And to think everything your father worked so hard for was squandered away in gambling halls and brothels."
The painful thought slashed at Mercy like a knife. If a villain had done this to her it would've been bad enough, but it was done by the man she allowed to hold her and kiss her countless times. The man she'd thought she was in love with. The man she wanted to marry. The man she wanted to be the father of her children. Ian had deceived her, but she allowed herself to be deceived. How was it possible for anyone in the world to be as stupid as her?
The door burst open and Priscilla rushed inside with Luke at her heels looking a little chagrined at his wife's failure to observe protocol. Priscilla threw herself onto the sofa and a torrent of words spilled out, "We just got back this morning from our honeymoon and we went to see my mother and father and they told me about everything. The arrest of your father's horrible accountant---I told you he was evil---I knew it from the first time I saw him. The trial sounds horrendous. You poor thing, and now your father is sick too. Well, I'm here now, Mercy. What can I do?"
Stupidly she mumbled, "You can help me pack."
"Pack? What do you mean?"
"Mr. Lawman the banker just left and said my father used this house as collateral and he needs to sell it, so we have to be out immediately."
"You can't leave your house," Priscilla practically wailed. "This is horrible. Oh, Mercy, I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too, but what can be done? We have no choice."
"Where will you go? What will you do?"
"I don't know."
"You can stay with us." She glanced up at Luke. "Can't they?"
His warm brown eyes looked so concerned. "Of course they can, sweetheart."
Her mother stood to her feet. "Thank you for coming by. I need to go check on James." She quietly left the room, and Mercy literally felt her heart breaking.
Priscilla patted her arm reassuringly. "We need to go see Luke's parents before it gets dark, but I'll be by tomorrow to help you pack."
"Thank you. Both of you. Thank you." Mercy walked them out and then went up to go and check on her father. Her mother lay beside him with her arm across his chest and tears streaming down her face. Mercy lay down beside her on the bed and they held each other and wept.
The next morning, Mercy awoke still on her parent's bed. She slept about fifteen hours which was much more than she slept in a week. She made her way downstairs to find Barry and asked him to bring some trunks up from the basement for her. Her heart squeezed in her chest when she realized that Barry would have no place to go. He'd been with her father for over thirty years. Ian's carelessness had affected so many people.
She packed all day and tried to remove herself emotionally and not become sentimental. Daisy began wrapping pictures on the wall and she removed one and stared at it for awhile. She held it up and asked, "Did you make this sampler, Mercy?"
"Yes, I did. When I was eleven."
"I like the lighthouse. I like what it says." She came and stood before Mercy and read it out loud, "May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God's love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life." Daisy took her hand and spoke softly, "That is what you have been for me."
She shook her head as she proclaimed adamantly, "Oh, no, Daisy, don't praise me. I'm not worthy of it. I've fallen short. I've fallen so far short." With despair, she remembered Noah saying this was his prayer for her, and thoughts of him made her feel horribly ashamed.
Daisy took her hand and squeezed it. "Mercy, I didn't say you are perfect. No one is perfect. But you must let me praise you. You showed mercy to me in a way no one ever had before in my entire life. You have been kind to me and taken care of me. You are the first friend I ever had and I love you."
Daisy took a deep breath. "I wish you could understand what it means to me to be able to read. Every day I read my Bible you gave me and I'll tell you what I've learned. We are all sinners and we all need mercy from God. Without his mercy, we would be in big trouble, because the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. Can't you see that mercy is a gift? No one deserves mercy. We all have a debt of sin we cannot pay. Jesus paid our debts for us. He wiped our slate clean----not because we deserved it---but because he loves us. Jesus loves you Mercy. He loves you just the way you are. You don't have to be good to come to Him. You just have to be willing."
Mercy listened intently to Daisy's passionate words. She wanted for it to be true. She wished she could have her slate wiped clean. She wished she could have her debts paid. But who would pay a debt they didn't owe? She wanted to ponder these words some more, but she would have to think on it later. Right now there was just too much work to do. She gave Daisy a long hug. "Thank you for sharing that with me." Daisy nodded and wiped away a tear and then turned and got back to work.
In the early evening Priscilla came into her room with a broad smile. "Mercy, you can stop packing."
She looked up at her with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Just trust me. Don't pack anymore. You don't have to move."
"But Mr. Lawman says our debts must be paid. We have to move."
"Come downstairs. My father wants to talk with you." She pulled Mercy along and then said, "Go get your mother."
Within minutes, Mercy and her mother both sat in a trance on the sofa as Mr. Brown sat across from them with a pleased smile on his face. He let out a huge sigh of relief and began, "You cannot know how pleased I am to give you this news. Your debts have all been paid. You can keep your house. And if that wasn't enough, a savings account has been started in your name in such a large amount that you can live comfortably off the interest."
Baffled, her mother wondered aloud, "What? Wait? Who would do such a thing?"
"I've been sworn to secrecy. I can't tell you."
Without really paying attention to what he just said Mercy asked, "Who would do something like that for us?"
His brown eyes twinkled as he explained, "Well, only a few people in these parts could afford to pay off your families enormous debts with enough left over to start you a savings account." Leaning forward, he whispered, "I'll give you a hint. It wasn't John Hancock."
Mercy looked up at him with eyes full of confusion. "Mr. Berkeley? Was it Mr. Berkeley?"
A smile tugged at his lips and he acted like he hadn't heard her. "Not only that but the three ships Mr. Lawman sold yesterday have been given back to Mr. Creed."
With wonder in her eyes she looked at her mother who stared back at her with a dumbstruck expression. "Here," Mr. Brown announced as he set a pile of seven dollar bills down on the table. "This is for incidentals you may need."
Mercy gazed down at the ivory colored bills with red and black ink and then picked the pile up and counted them. With astonishment, she remarked, "There are ten bills here. This is seventy dollars."
"Yes, seventy dollars." She noticed bemusement on his face that she thought this was a great sum of money considering the vast amount that had already been given to them.
Looking closely at one of the bills, she read the inscription in Latin, " Serenabit . That means, 'It will all clear up.' What a strange thing to be written on these bills."
"Why is that strange? Things often have a way of clearing up. And by the way, a pianoforte is being brought here tomorrow, so make sure you are here to receive it."
"My...you...I get a pianoforte again?" She couldn't believe it. She just couldn't believe it.
"Yes, you get a pianoforte again. And I'm glad. You are far too talented to not have the opportunity to play." Slapping his hands onto his knees, he proclaimed, "Well, I must be on my way, but I'm terribly happy I will not lose you as my neighbors. If you have started packing, go unpack. Your financial problems are over. Your debts have been paid."
Mercy looked up at him and muttered softly, "I just don't understand why Mr. Berkeley would do such a thing. We don't deserve it. Why would he show such unbelievable kindness?"
He reached down and chucked her chin. "I believe it's called mercy, Mercy."
\*\*\*\*
Holding little Royce in his arms, Addison sat by the fire and stared at the sweet face looking back at him. The baby just finished his bottle and his sleepy eyes kept staying closed longer with each blink. "I wish you didn't have to leave," Cecil said from across the room, and then came and sat next to him. "Why can't you stay in Boston?"
"I need to go." He couldn't explain to Cecil his complicated feelings in a way that would make sense.
"Can't you stay a little longer?"
"I need to leave before the Harbor freezes over and the ice blocks me in and I can't leave."
"All right," he murmured with a reluctant nod. "I won't try to talk you out of it. I'll see you off in the morning."
"That really isn't necessary. I leave at the first light of dawn to meet with some merchants before we sail. You can see me off on the ship before I leave. I'll just take Lancelot and leave him at the stables. You can tie him to the coach and bring him home later."
"All right. Whatever you say." While drumming his fingers on the chair, he asked, "Lancelot is having another foal with Lily. You missed the last birth. Are you sure you want to miss this one too?"
"Nice try, Cecil." He cleared his throat. "You do understand my instructions concerning Mr. Creed?"
"Yes, you've asked me that three times. If he wakes up I'm to give him the paperwork you have prepared and have him sign it and then send the paperwork to you so you can start your shipping venture together."
"Right. And keep an eye on his ships."
"Will do." Cecil stood. "Well, Royce is asleep now. Let me take him from you."
"Just leave him for awhile. I want to hold him. Go spend some time with Jane."
"Will do," he said again with a jaunty wink and left the room. Addison continued to stare down at the sleeping baby's peaceful face, and realized that right now he truly understood peace. Life was not working out as he wanted it to, but in spite of that, he felt a deep contentment in his soul. For so long he worked terribly hard watching out for himself, but for the first time in his life he truly felt as if someone was watching out for him. He had a Heavenly Father now who loved him and cared for him. He had Him all along...now he just knew it.
With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the chair. What a good feeling to know Mercy and her family were falling asleep in their beds tonight that would remain their beds. Years ago Benjamin Franklin had given him a Shakespeare quote, 'The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It's twice blessed---it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.' Shakespeare was right. The person who is shown mercy is blessed, but the person who shows mercy is blessed as well.
He felt blessed to be able to show the Creed family mercy. But as good as it felt, he hoped Mercy didn't know it was him who paid off their debts. She probably figured it out though. He wished he knew what she was thinking right now. It made him shudder to imagine her feeling indebted to him against her will. He only wanted her to love him for him not because she felt obligated. The thought of looking into her eyes knowing that she hated him but had to be kind out of duty made him feel ill. He couldn't see her. He wouldn't see her. She hadn't come to see him tonight, and he would be gone before she even woke up in the morning. Everything within him hoped she was happy. He wanted her happiness more than anything in the world.
Addison sighed as he looked at the beautiful, peaceful baby sleeping in his arms and he prayed, "In the midst of this tumultuous world, please give me peace like this and help me to trust you." The sweet assurance of peace settled upon his soul as he continued to gaze at Royce with a contented smile.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Fifteen
As the first rays of the morning sun peaked over the horizon, Mercy stirred in her bed. Loud footsteps in the hallway had ruined her perfectly wonderful dream. A reoccurring dream. Bad men trapped her in a room and stripped her of all she held dear, and just at the perfect moment, Addison burst down the door, wearing his black cape, and looking quite dangerous. But then he rescued her, carried her away, held her and kissed her with such tender, yet passionate love.
Somehow she always knew Addison was meant to be her rescuer. Reluctantly, she sat up as she realized the first part of the dream had come true, Addison had rescued her, but the second part could not come true. He would never want to hold her and kiss her with such love. After she treated him so horribly, he could never forgive her. He paid off her family's debt as a payback to the kindness her father had shown him as a child. Nothing more. Her heart had been so horribly battered and bruised she could not allow herself to even hope. A harsh knock sounded on the door and Daisy rushed into her room. "Mercy, come here. Your father is awake."
Her eyes widened in surprise and she jumped to her feet and practically flew to his room. Her mother sat on the side of the bed, holding his hand as he gazed up at her weakly. She stroked his face with her other hand and spoke words so softly Mercy couldn't hear them. She hated to interrupt this moment, but her mother turned around with a wide smile of relief. "Oh, Mercy. Come here."
She walked over to the side of the bed and took her father's other hand. "Oh, daddy. You scared us."
His glassy eyes gazed up at her, and he tried to smile and then with a slur, mumbled, "Sorry."
Overwhelming relief washed over her like a wave and she fell to her knees and wept against his chest. "I missed you. I missed you desperately."
She glanced up at his face and watched as a single tear slipped from his eye. With concern she asked, "Is that a happy tear, daddy?"
He managed one slight nod in response.
Her mother patted her hand. "Sweetheart, I've just been telling your father about what Mr. Berkeley has done for us."
In a thin, gravelly voice, that sounded slow and strange, he stated, "I want to see him. Go get him, Mercy."
She nodded slowly and rose to her feet. A thousand emotions swirled through her head at the thought of seeing Mr. Berkeley right now. She needed to see him. She needed to thank him. But her embarrassment and shame made the idea unbearable. "Mercy," her mother repeated, "Go get him."
After getting dressed quickly in her warmest clothes she made her way up the street and knocked on Mr. Berkeley's impressive front door while her heart pounded in her chest with such force she thought it might break through. A butler answered the door and she asked, "Is Mr. Berkeley in, please?"
"No, I'm sorry, miss. He left back for France this morning."
"France? He is leaving for good?"
"Yes, miss." She let out an involuntary moan of disappointment.
A pleasant looking woman came to the door with a beautiful baby in her arms. "I'm Jane Branson, Cecil's wife. Would you like to come in and have a spot of tea with me?"
She didn't have time for socializing, but she didn't want to be rude. Tea did sound good and maybe this lady knew something about Mr. Berkeley that the butler didn't know. "Yes, just for a minute. My father is expecting me back home."
"Are you Mercy Creed?"
"Oh, dear. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm sorry."
"Well, I knew you from your description," she stated as she ushered her in and motioned for her to sit.
"My description?"
"Yes, Cecil said you looked like a golden haired angel---almost too beautiful to be real."
She handed her a dainty teacup, and Mercy took it with an embarrassed smile. "That was kind of him to say."
"Not kindness. Just honesty. I agree. Cecil also said he could understand why Addison is so in love with you."
The woman's bold words flustered her and she looked away for a moment and then stated with assurance, "Maybe he loved me once but not anymore. He could not possibly still love me."
"He still loves you."
"How do you know?"
"Cecil has been his closest friend for over twenty years. He knows. He said Addison is leaving Boston to run away from you."
"If he loved me, why would he want to run away?"
She let out a little laugh. "Men are strange creatures sometimes. We think they are bold and confident and audacious, but oftentimes they are more uncertain and insecure than we are. For a year, I had to convince Cecil that he was good enough for me. Can you imagine that?"
"Well, you convinced him. You are married and have a beautiful baby."
"Yes, we do. And that is what I want for Addison, so see if you can catch him before his ship leaves and tell him you don't want him to move to France."
She didn't want him to move to France, but she didn't know if she was brave enough to tell him that. But she needed to see him. She had to thank him and hopefully bring him back for her father. She needed to get to the docks in this horrible weather, but how?
Jane interrupted her thoughts by laughingly saying, "Are you going to sit here and drink tea with me all day or are you going to get to the docks and stop Addison."
"We don't have a coach."
"Cecil took the coach, but Addison has a little carriage you can take. Let me order it brought round. I'm sure his ship has not left yet. Have you seen his new ship The Charity ?"
"No, I don't think so?"
"It's the biggest ship in the dock."
"I'll find it. Could you please let my parents know I've gone to find Mr. Berkeley? My mother would love to see your baby. I want to see him too when I'm not in such a hurry."
"Certainly. Your mother is a lovely woman. I've wanted to meet her."
"Well, she will be as pleased to meet you as I have been."
A short time later Mercy found herself sitting in Mr. Berkeley's carriage barreling along to the docks. The freezing air stung her cheeks, but she hardly noticed. Jane Branson had just said Addison was still in love with her. If he was still in love with her, the thought terrified her. How could she ever trust a man again? But if he wasn't in love with her, that thought terrified her even more. How could she live her life without him? How could she ever possibly marry another man? She twisted the black cording on her cape around and around her finger and wished the driver would hurry.
\*\*\*\*
Addison had been conducting transactions all morning and his brain hurt. Amazing how some men wanted to haggle an hour over a dollar. What was a man's time worth? He paced the deck of his new ship with a touch of pride. What an amazing vessel. Everything looked in order and they should start sailing soon. Cecil would be aboard in a few minutes to collect the money he just made, but he wanted to count it first so he could place the amount in his log. As Addison walked to his cabin, he motioned to the chief mate and explained, "I need to count some money and I hate getting interrupted and losing track. Stand outside my door and make sure absolutely no one disturbs me until I come out."
"Certainly, Mr. Berkeley."
"Thank you." He entered his luxurious cabin, threw his coat on the bed and sat at his desk. He hated counting money, but the sooner he started, the sooner he could finish and get up to the deck.
\*\*\*\*
The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Mercy got out at the docks. The driver pointed to a glorious ship with its unfurled sails fluttering in the wind. "There she is. The Charity . Mr. Berkeley's magnificent new ship."
"It's spectacular. Thank you for the ride. I should be back in just a little while." She scurried along the docks and noticed several strange looks. A man let out a low whistle and she wondered if he thought she was one of the many prostitutes who loitered around the docks looking for lonely sailors. Lowering her head, she walked with purpose and headed straight for The Charity.
Mercy carefully made her way across the rope bridge and then climbed up the gangway to the ship. She'd been on a few of her father's ships before, even though she hated sailing. Once on the way to Philadelphia she vomited the entire trip. Now she felt like vomiting again. She held her hands together tightly in front of her to keep them from shaking. What on earth was she going to say to Mr. Berkeley? She practiced, but nothing sounded right. A gruff looking sailor stood in her path. "May I help you, miss? This is not a passenger ship."
"I know. I need to see Mr. Berkeley."
He looked at her warily and said with a touch of sarcasm, "We have many ladies coming around here wanting to meet him."
"Well I already know him. This is extremely important. Could you please tell him Mercy Creed is here to see him?"
He let out a heavy sigh and commanded, "Stay right here," and then he hurried away. Less than a minute later he came back and said briskly, "Mr. Berkeley is busy. He cannot see you."
"But---"
"There is no but. He asked not to be disturbed."
"I see. Well, I'll just be going then." Biting back tears, she hurried along the rope walk in fear that she would break down sobbing and embarrass herself in front of everybody on the docks. She should not be surprised. What did she expect? Did she actually think he would forgive her? Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cecil Branson in the distance, but she could not talk to him right now. With a shaking hand she wiped at a tear that slipped down her cheek, and then she jumped into Mr. Berkeley's waiting carriage.
The driver turned and looked at her curiously. "That was fast."
"Yes, it was. Take me home please." With a clicking noise and a flick of the reins the carriage lurched forward and Mercy buried her face in her hands. Taking several deep breaths to steady herself, she lifted her head and looked at the scenes of the city as they raced by. Soon she found herself on Tremont Street and she glanced over to see Granary Burying Ground. Impulsively, she called out to the driver, "Excuse me, but could you stop please."
He pulled the carriage over to the side of the road. "Did you need something?"
"I just need to get out for a few minutes. I'll be right back."
"Would you like me to get you an escort?"
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll be right back."
Without giving him time to argue with her she raced toward the graveyard and opened the rod iron fence and stepped inside. She hadn't been here for such a long time. Carefully she walked through the path trying not to slip on the ice and snow that still sprinkled the ground from the last storm.
At last she found her brother's grave, and she sat on the ground and placed her hands on the tombstone. Choking over a sob, she whispered, "Oh Noah. I miss you. I wish you were here so you could tell me what to do. You thought it was your job to always tell me what to do and I didn't always like it then, but now I would. It has been really hard for me since you've been gone. Daddy and mommy changed and I was really lonely. I've done bad things. Awful things. You would be terribly ashamed of me."
Placing her head against the tombstone, she let out a soft moan. "Then Daddy almost died. It has been dreadful. I've made bad choices and I ruined everything. But I will be strong. I know you would want me to be strong. You always used to say, 'Don't be a crybaby, Mercy.' I don't want to be a crybaby. I don't want to spend my life crying." She let out a deep pent up breath and went on, "I know it's stupid talking to you when you're not really here. Your body is here, but your soul is in heaven. You were a good person. You died as a hero. Anyway, I need to go home before mommy and daddy get too worried." She just told him she needed to go, but somehow she just could not move. With a weary sigh, she muttered, "I'm missing something in my life. I need something, Noah. What am I missing?"
"Mercy." The voice was so low and commanding, she thought it must have come from God, and she looked straight up in the air and began to tremble. Mercy. Is that what I need?
"Mercy." The voice came even louder this time and she spun her head around looking up through the trees. "What are you doing sitting in the snow? You will catch your death of cold?" Her eyes slid lower and she let out a breath of astonishment to see Addison sitting on his majestic black stallion just like the first time she'd seen him. With the same fluid grace he jumped down and tied his horse to the fence and came inside the cemetery and crouched down beside her. "Mercy, what are you doing?"
"Talking to Noah. I know that is silly. He cannot hear me. But I needed to talk to somebody, and I know God won't listen. I'm too bad."
"You are not too bad---"
"Oh, but I am. I know God could never forgive me, and you could never forgive me either."
"I forgive you, and I know God will forgive you. I can speak for Him because I know He is a forgiving God. Numbers 14:18 says, "The Lord is longsuffering and abundant in mercy, forgiving iniquity and transgressions." He placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "If you want to be forgiven, all you have to do is ask."
"I want to ask you to forgive me, but I'm too embarrassed and ashamed. How could you just dismiss the horrible things I said about you?"
His eyes glistened with compassionate tears, but he let out a slight chuckle. "For someone named Mercy, you certainly don't understand much about the word."
"What are you doing here? I'm confused. The sailor on your ship told me you didn't want to see me. I didn't blame you. But here you are. How did you find me?"
"I have reprimanded the sailor for sending you away. I was counting money and asked the chief mate to stand by the door and not allow anyone to disturb me until I finished. The sailor approached my chief mate who told him I could not be disturbed at the moment. The sailor relayed the message wrong. It was a simple misunderstanding. Cecil saw you running away from the ship and getting into my carriage. He told me, and I ran to the stables and got Lancelot and I was on my way to your house, when I saw my empty carriage on the side of the road. Then I looked over here and saw you lying in the snow." He lifted his gloved hand and placed it on her cheek. "Oh, Mercy, how could you think I would not want to see you? How could you think I would send you away?"
"But you left without saying goodbye. You left without even wanting to see me one more time. I wanted to thank you for what you did."
"You are welcome," he said softly.
"How could you be so kind to someone like me? I thought many horrible things about you and none of them were true. How could you ever forgive me?"
"How? Quite easily. We have all been guilty of making wrong judgments about people, but I'm sure you have learned from your mistakes. Experience is the best teacher."
Overcome with shame, she buried her face in her hands. "I hope I learn from this, but I doubt myself. The man I thought was good, was a scoundrel, and the man I thought was a scoundrel, was good. How can I ever trust my judgment again?"
He tipped her chin up and forced her to look at him. "Mercy, don't you understand that everyone has issues and problems. Everyone. There isn't one perfect person on this planet. If we all had to be good to come to God, we would be in big trouble."
"That is what Daisy said."
"Well, then listen to her. She is right."
"I want to listen to her, but I don't even listen to myself. My own conscience told me what I did was wrong, but I tamped down my conscience so many times that I barely even heard it anymore."
"Everyone does that sometimes." He sank down on the ground next to her and took her hands in his own. "Listen, sweetheart, I've recently come to understand God's mercy, so this is new to me, but I needed his mercy more than you do. I've done much, much worse things than you."
He seemed so perfect she could not imagine him doing anything bad. With a slight frown he looked away and she could tell he carefully formed his words. "For years I tried to justify the things I did as if that would make them all right. The fact that I never took a lady's innocence, never carried on with someone underage, and never actually seduced anyone made me believe that my using women for pleasure was not wrong. But I did use them. I treated them like objects...like worthless toys to be enjoyed and then tossed away when I was finished playing. Then there is all the killing I did."
Glancing down at his hands, he continued, "I cannot begin to tell you how many men these hands have killed. You cannot imagine how horrible it is to watch a man's life drain from his body from a blow you just inflicted. I know it was war and in many cases it was kill or be killed, but I still cannot look at my hands without seeing blood dripping off them. I killed people's sons, and brothers, and husbands."
He looked down and took in a deep, shuddering breath. "And then...and then...to me...the worst of all. I don't even want to tell you this. I'm too ashamed."
She squeezed his hands and he looked up at her with haunted eyes. "When I was a captain I transported slaves. Not once, but three times. The first time made me feel horrible, and I never wanted to do it again. But I did. Then I said I would never do it again. And I did. Later, I tried to make amends. I've figured up how much I earned on those voyages and I've given all that money to abolition causes, but no matter what I do now, I cannot turn back the clock. I cannot undo what I did. People are living in misery here in America, because I took them away from their homes and brought them here. I have to live with that every day. I've done horrible things, Mercy, much worse than you. When I first met you, I thought you were a saint, way, way too good for me. I'm glad you are a sinner."
She let out a breath of disbelief and asked with a shaky smile, "You are glad I'm a sinner?"
"Yes, because now we are both just sinners who need a Savior. I've come to understand God's saving grace. I want you to understand it too." He leaned forward and brought his face close to hers. "You asked for my forgiveness and I freely gave it. Now you need to ask for God's. He will give it to you, I promise." With deep conviction, he stated, "1 John 1:9 says, 'If we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' That is a promise, Mercy." He made it sound so simple. Could it be? He gave her hands another squeeze. "You just need to pray."
"Right now?"
"Today is the day of salvation."
"Out loud?"
He nodded. "You can pray in your heart if you like, but the scripture says, 'If you believe in your heart and confess with your mouth, you will be saved." He added, "It doesn't say you might be saved, if God is in a good mood, but you will be saved."
She took a deep breath, and a step of faith, and began, "Dear Lord, I have ignored you for far too long. I'm sorry for that, and I'm sorry for all the wrong things I have done and thought. Please forgive me. Help me to believe that you can forgive me and wipe my slate clean. Teach me mercy. I must receive it before I can give it. Thank you for bringing Addison to me. Amen."
He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "That is how easy it is."
"Why do we make it so hard? That was easy."
"People like to complicate things." Rubbing his thumbs along her cheeks, he said slowly, "You called me Addison."
"I like your name."
He brought his forehead to hers. "Well, I like your name too." Grabbing her hands, he lifted her to her feet and stared down at her with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Imagine my surprise to see you lying over here in the snow."
She glanced around. "There isn't that much snow."
"Enough, you silly goose."
"I'm glad you want to take me home. My father wants to see you."
Visible relief washed over his face and he let out a deep sigh. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that."
"You thought he might die?"
"I thought there was a good chance." They took a few steps in silence and he suggested, "Let's tie up Lancelot on the back of my carriage and get you home." When they got seated, he asked, "Mercy, why did you come to my ship? In my carriage?"
"My father woke up this morning and asked me to get you because he wanted to talk to you. I went to your house, but Jane Branson said you had already left and she offered me the use of your carriage."
He pressed his lips together and nodded and then muttered, "So you were simply being a messenger."
How could he think that? Suddenly the words of Jane Branson came blazing into her mind. Here was this handsome, wealthy, smart, amazing man, and he was not confident enough to discern how she felt. But how could he? He couldn't read mind. She scooted next to him and he asked with concern, "Are you cold?"
"Not really. I just want to be close to you." His eyes sparkled at her simple words as if she'd just lit a candle. She snuggled against him, "I dreamed about you last night."
"You did?"
"I have this dream all the time. Bad men have captured me and hold me captive in a dark and scary room and you come bursting in the door wearing your black cape and looking like a pirate and you vanquish the enemies and then you pick me up in your arms and take me to your room and kiss me...like the French think about the honeysuckle flower...with an ardent and passionate love."
His lips turned up in a slow, seductive smile as he leaned in closer and whispered, "I think I like this dream."
"Well, I know I like this dream. I just don't want it to be only a dream anymore. I want it to be real. The first part already is real. You have rescued me from a terribly bad man. Then you rescued me again when you paid all our debts. If you could ever forgive me, I want the second part of the dream to be real."
"Oh, Mercy, of course I forgive you. I already told you that and you must believe it. And I want the second part of the dream to be real even more than you do."
"No, that isn't possible."
"Do you want to bet?"
"No. My father taught me not to gamble. But if I did bet, I would win." He let out a laugh of pure amusement and then took her hand in his and leaned close to her ear and teased, "I'm already wearing my black cape. When can we pretend I'm the heroic pirate?"
"The first opportunity we get." She tried to look flirtatious like she'd seen Priscilla do so well, but at the look of pure anticipation on Addison's face, she burst out laughing and hugged him.
He hugged her back tightly and then he pushed her away just a bit and called out, "Winslow, can you take me back to the docks please."
"Certainly, sir."
He turned the coach around and Mercy asked, "Are you still leaving on your ship?"
"Not now, silly."
"You don't really want to go to France?"
"Why would I want to go to France when you are here in Boston?"
She stared at him as the importance of his words sank in, and she could not hold back a smile. "You really do care about me, don't you?"
"Are you just now realizing this?"
"I think I'm just now believing it." She snuggled against him and let out a sigh of happiness.
When the carriage came to a stop at the docks, Addison grabbed her hand. "Come with me. I just need to get my things."
As they walked toward the ship Mercy looked out at the lighthouse shining its illumination into the grey and cloudy sky. Addison glanced down at her and asked, "Why do you look so pensive?"
She pointed to the lighthouse in the distance. "At my christening my pastor prayed, 'May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God's love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life.' That is such a beautiful prayer. Noah liked that prayer, but I have not done it. I have failed."
"I think in many ways, you already have been a beacon of light to others, but your life isn't over, Mercy. You are only twenty one years old. You still have the rest of your life to live up to your name."
"I want to. I want to be like a lighthouse."
"Then you will be."
Not caring that dozens of people milled around the docks, she placed her head on his shoulder and gazed up at him. "But I don't want to be a lighthouse alone. I want you to be a lighthouse too...with me. We can be lighthouses together."
He squeezed her against him and smiled down at her. "Sounds like a plan."
\*\*\*\*
Addison walked across the deck of his new ship with Mercy as she looked around in appreciation. "This is an amazing ship."
"Yes, I agree. I can't believe she is mine."
Mercy glanced up at the sails fluttering in the strong breeze and then stopped and turned toward him. "I'm truly impressed by you, Addison. You have worked terribly hard and accomplished so much and look at you now. You have everything."
He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't." With a dainty gloved hand she held back her long golden curls from blowing in her face, and her large green eyes stared up at him with an adoration he'd never dreamed of seeing from her. "I don't have everything Mercy." He pulled her into his embrace and whispered against her cheek, "But now I do."
"Oh, Addison," she murmured in a voice overcome with emotion, "I must be dreaming."
He pulled back and gave her a cheeky grin. "Speaking of dreams. Come here."
"Come where?"
"Just come with me." He led her down a narrow stairway and knocked on a door. When no one answered, he said, "Good. The chief mate isn't here. He won't mind if we borrow his room for just a minute." He walked in and pulled her along behind him and then pointed at the bed. "Here. Sit down."
She started to protest and he took her shoulders and sat her down. "All right. Stay there while I go out in the hallway. And pretend you have been kidnapped." When she realized what he was up to, she shook her head in amusement as he closed the door behind him. A few moments later he came bursting into the room. "The dreaded pirate Héroïque, here to save the day---"
"Héroïque?"
"It means heroic in French. Just go along, you are making me lose character."
She giggled. "Oh, sorry. I wouldn't want to do that."
"I've vanquished all the bad men in the hallway before I got here. The time has come to save you." With a great flourish of his black cape, he swooped down and picked her up and carried her down the hallway and into his room, but as he walked through the door he knocked her shoulder into the wall and he gave her an embarrassed smile. "Well, that wasn't terribly dashing, but we'll just pretend it didn't happen." Her giggles turned into laughter and the melodious sound brought joy to the deepest places of his heart. He asked with a great display of sincerity, "Now in this dream of yours, did I kiss you ardently and passionately while I still held you in my arms, or did I set you down first?"
"You set me down first."
"All right then." He set her down and brought his lips close to hers as he spoke against them, "I hope the next part is like your dreams. If I'm doing anything wrong, let me know." He closed the last little distance and when he felt her lips against his, his heart swelled with a happiness he never knew existed. She melted in his arms and molded herself against him so closely he could feel their heartbeats throbbing together as one. With words and sighs and kisses, he poured out his love to her and the passion she returned was so pure, so right, so wonderful. Finally, he pulled his lips from hers and she stared up at him, her green gaze smoldering with fire.
"That was better than my dream," she murmured breathlessly. "But..."
"But what?"
"In my dream it lasted longer," she replied with a flirtatious smile that left him weak.
"Well we can't have the dream better than the real thing, now can we?"
"No. We certainly cannot." She ran her fingers through his hair as she pulled his mouth back to hers. "Now come here, the dreaded pirate Héroïque, and kiss me some more."
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Sixteen
As Mercy stepped into the door of her home with Addison by her side, she leaned in and whispered with a teasing smile, "Playing heroic pirate was fun. You are good at it. Can we do it again soon?" He let out a laugh of pure joy, and she quickly added, "If I didn't already tell you, I think you make a fabulous dashing hero. Even better than in any of my books."
He continued to laugh and then his eyes filled with emotion as he gazed at her. "I want to ask your father's permission to marry you."
She tried to act surprised. "You are just going to skip the courting part and go right to the engagement."
"Your father already gave me permission to court you two years ago. You were just too busy being stupid, so let's make up for lost time, shall we?"
He said it with such a sweet smile and a twinkle in his eye that she couldn't even be angry. And he was right. She had been busy being stupid. "I don't want to waste any more time with you, Addison. I've wasted enough time already."
"That's my girl. Anyway you already proposed to me."
"I did not."
"Yes, you did."
"When did I propose to you?"
"When you said you wanted us to be lighthouses together."
She thought about her words to him and then nodded. "I suppose you are right. What do you think of that? A woman proposing. Well, it's 1786 now. Times are changing."
"Well, let's go talk to your father, my progressive future wife."
When they walked into her father's room, her mother sat at a chair by his bedside reading and when she turned around and looked at them her face broke out in a smile. "It took you long enough to find him, Mercy."
"I know. But I found him and I brought him here. Better late than never."
She gave Addison a knowing smiling and he returned it, with a whispered, "My sentiments exactly."
Her mother stood and motioned to the chair. "Here, Mr. Berkeley. James wants to talk with you."
Addison quickly sat and leaned toward her father whose tired eyes looked up at him and he managed a weak smile and said slowly, "Thank you. I don't know what else to say."
"You don't have to say anything else."
"But I feel the need. You have showered blessings upon me, and I've done nothing to deserve it."
"That isn't true. I told you before that when you were kind to me as a child, I never forgot it. You planted a seed in me, and it reaped a harvest."
"What if I hadn't planted that seed? What if I'd rushed to my coach and ignored you? Where would we be right now?"
"Well, you don't need to think about that because you didn't ignore me." He leaned a bit closer and continued, "I have some papers I want you to sign tomorrow so we can get started on our shipping business." He reached up his hand and Mercy came and stood beside him and took it. Her father understood what the gesture meant and his eyes sparkled with happiness. Addison continued, "With your permission, I would like Mercy to be my wife."
His voice came out somewhat garbled, but his sincerity was evident as he declared, "This is good news. You have my permission. Of course you do. And since Mercy is my only child, my shipping business will be yours one day anyway. Actually, I would like to retire and Elizabeth and I can live quite comfortably on the interest of the account you set up for my family. Draw up the papers and I'll sign over what is left of my company to you."
"However you wish to do it. I want you to know I will always take good care of your daughter."
"I have absolutely no doubts about that." With difficulty, he sat up and asked, "Elizabeth, do you know where I put my attaché case?"
"Yes, it's right over here." She disappeared for a moment and then came back with the large leather bag.
"Good. There is a black toy horse in there. Can you get it please?" She pulled out the toy horse and looked at it questioningly, as he said, "Give it to Addison."
She handed it to him and he took it with a smile and then turned to her father and simply stared at him for several moments before saying in a voice choked with emotion, "I cannot believe you got this for me."
"I saw it in the toy shop window, and I just had to get it for you. Better late than never, right."
"That seems to be the motto today."
"I know it must seem silly to you. But you can just save it for my grandchild."
"I'll give it to your grandchild, but what you have given me in this gift, you could not begin to imagine. I wanted that horse desperately. I wanted it so desperately that I thought about stealing it, but I just couldn't do it. I heard a voice tell me that if I worked hard and did what was right I would get it someday. I listened to that voice, and now I know it was the Lord speaking to me. He has watched over me, and protected me, and provided for me, even when I didn't know it was Him. Now I know. I told my own father about that horse, and I wanted him to buy it for me, but he never did. But now God has brought me you as a father. You will be my father now."
He turned and looked at her mother who frantically wiped at the tears streaming down her face. He took her hand and said with deep feeling, "And He brought me you as a mother. Thank you for having Mercy and raising her to be my wife. She is everything I've ever wanted. I have a family now. I belong." He pulled Mercy to his side and gazed up at her as he said tenderly, "Without even knowing it Mercy, you have shined like a lighthouse and brought me to a safe harbor. I have found my safe harbor."
Mercy's heart burst with love for Addison and she brought his head to rest against her chest as she stroked his hair. "My family's lives were in turmoil being tossed to and fro in the storms of life and God has used you to help us find that safe harbor as well."
Letting out a soft laugh, he replied, "We are off to a good start, being lighthouses together already."
\*\*\*\*
Daisy's pretty face scrunched up into a frown. "Are you sure this church allows negroes?"
"Yes, I promise. And you look beautiful in that dress, Daisy."
"Thank you. But are you sure Mr. Berkeley doesn't mind if I come to church with you?"
"Silly, he's the one who told me to invite you. He wants you to come to church with us. I want you to come to church with us."
"Is it a good church?"
"I've only been once, but I thought it was wonderful and you will too. Let's go or we'll be late."
As they went downstairs, Addison waited at the doorway with a beaming smile. "Well, look at the two of you. How pretty you both are."
Mercy held out the lovely lavender fabric and spun around. "You like it?"
"Yes, I do."
"Thank you for buying it for me. Thank you for buying all of my dresses."
"And mine too," Daisy added.
"My pleasure." He lifted both elbows with a charming smile. "Shall we go?" He escorted them through the falling snow to the sleigh where Cecil and Jane sat waiting, while holding little Royce.
When they got situated, Mercy asked, "Can I hold him?"
"Certainly," Jane proclaimed with relief. "He is getting so big, my arms get tired." Mercy took Royce and he smiled at her while he reached up and played with her hair.
Addison chuckled and then whispered in his ear loudly enough for everyone to hear, "You know Royce, I wanted to do that the first time I met her too, but you can get away with it because you are just a baby."
Everyone laughed and then Mercy kissed Royce's little hand and said dreamily, "I want one."
Jane patted Addison's shoulder. " That is exactly what your fiancé said when he held him."
Mercy looked at Addison intently. "You will be such a good father."
"I hope so. And you will be a good mother."
"I hope so too."
With amusement Cecil interjected, "Well first things first. When exactly is your wedding?"
"Saturday, April seventh," she answered quickly.
Cecil teased, "Why are you making poor Addison wait that long?"
"I always dreamed of a springtime wedding reception in my garden and it's only a little over two months away. It takes that long to make a wedding dress anyway."
Addison put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. "She is worth waiting for."
Soon, the sleigh came to a stop and as they entered the church Able Cotton walked toward them with a concerned expression. "Did you hear that Ian Magregor escaped? He attacked the guard and the poor man may not live. Magregor's hanging was supposed to be in a few days. I am surprised they waited this long to hang him, but it had something to do with paperwork. But now look what the delay has done. That madman is on the loose."
Mercy's heart began to race as Able continued, "I don't think Magregor would be foolish enough to show his face around Boston, but I just came from warning Sarah Guiness. Poor little thing. Magregor never showed any care to her or the baby, but you never know what he will do." He looked at Addison. "I gave her some money and she said you already gave her some. That was nice of you."
Mercy's eyes shot up to Addison's face. Part of her was glad he wanted to be generous to a poor girl that needed help, but part of her wondered why he'd kept it from her. Was he going to see Sarah Guiness as Ian had? She didn't want to believe it.
Addison nodded and said to Able, "Thank you for letting us know. We best get inside out of the snow." Addison's strong hand gripped her arm and led her away to a private corner of the church. "Mercy, please don't look at me that way. I heard about this young girl and how she'd been abandoned with a child. My heart went out to her. I dropped an envelope with a little money off at her mother's tavern, and I spoke with the girl for less than two minutes. I should have told you, but I didn't want to do or say anything to remind you of Magregor. I know you have been betrayed in the worst way and it must be hard for you to learn to trust again, but you can trust me."
"I do. I trust you."
"Good. Now let's find a seat." As he led her toward a pew, she tried to settle her racing heart. She desperately wanted to trust Addison, but she'd been stupid and gullible once before. She'd handed Addison the broken pieces of her heart. If he betrayed her, he would smash these broken pieces into powder. But she couldn't think that way. She wouldn't allow herself.
The pastor walked to the pulpit and began to sing Amazing Grace and Addison leaned over and whispered, "I love this song."
She nodded. "Me too." She sat next to him, holding his hand as his deep voice boomed out the words. She stifled a chuckle when she realized how horribly out of tune he sang. He glanced down at her and whispered, "What is it?"
Shaking her head, she whispered back, "Nothing."
"Tell me," he insisted.
She felt a little bad telling him, but she patted his arm and said, "Did you know you are tone deaf?"
His brows knit together in a frown. "Tone deaf? I'm not tone deaf."
"Well, actually the fact that you are tone deaf means you cannot tell you are off key."
He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment and then shrugged. "Oh, well." Then he continued to sing as loud and off key as ever. Oh, how she loved this man.
The pastor gave a sermon about Joseph and the power of forgiveness which he showed when he granted his brothers mercy, when they deserved judgment. The message touched her deeply, but throughout the sermon she noticed the muscles in Addison's strong jaw clenched and unclenched and she knew the news that Ian had escaped put him on edge. She didn't blame him. It put her on edge too. Ian certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to stay around Boston, but just the thought of him out on the loose unsettled her.
As they filed out of the pew, Addison leaned down and said, "Listen, Mercy, I don't want you to go anywhere by yourself until Magregor is caught. Not even your yard."
"But he might never be caught."
"I just...I don't have a good feeling about this."
"Well, I'm sure he is long gone."
She could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, then his eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "I don't like this."
Later that night, Mercy stood by the window looking outside at the falling snow, and the clock on the mantelpiece chimed eleven times and she groaned out loud at the reminder of her stupidity. Well, that part of her life was over. Old things had passed away. All things had become new.
She climbed into bed and smiled as she remembered how Addison sang so off key. He was truly adorable. The hinges on her door creaked, and she sat up expecting to see either Daisy or her mother. Instead she saw Ian. Before she could scream, he lunged across the room and placed his hand over her mouth and then quickly pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gagged her. "Shhhh, my love," he cooed. "You can tell me all about how much you missed me later, but for now, I think I will leave this on."
She kicked at him and when her leg came around it knocked over a vase that came crashing to the ground. He grabbed her shoulders and whispered harshly, "That was not smart. Now if anyone comes in here I will have to hurt them." He pulled out another handkerchief and tied her hands together, and sure enough Daisy came running into the room and her eyes widened in terror. Mercy's gaze flew up to Ian's as she shook her head made frantic noises past the gag. Her heart leapt in horror as she saw Ian's fist heading toward her face, and then a piercing pain exploded as blinding lights twinkled in her eyes...and the world faded away.
\*\*\*\*
Addison placed his Bible on the nightstand and leaned over to blow out the candle. A smile came over his face as he thought about how he would only be sleeping alone for two more months. It most certainly would be the slowest two months of his life. He sat up when he heard a commotion going on downstairs and he jumped out of bed and ran toward the noise to investigate. "Wake him up, then," he heard a gravelly voice yelling.
Addison came around the corner to see his poor butler shaking in fear at the wrath of the Creed's bear of a footman. Addison called out, "What is it?"
"My name is Barry. I'm the Creed's footman." In a panic he declared, "Magregor kidnapped Mercy. He came into her room and gagged her and tied her up. Daisy heard the struggling and came in to investigate and she saw Magregor punch Mercy so hard that he rendered her unconscious and then he hit Daisy. He split her lip, and knocked her out, but she came to and watched them leave on a grey horse...bareback. She woke me and here I am. I ordered your groom to saddle up two horses before I came in here. Go get dressed. I'll meet you outside. Hurry before the snow covers their tracks." Addison felt a cold and prickly fear shiver down his spine. But he needed to remain calm. When he turned to leave, Barry called out, "Mr. Berkeley, do you have a pistol?"
"Yes."
"Bring it."
\*\*\*\*
Mercy's eyes fluttered open and a blinding pain made her shut them again. Her head must be broken. Never in her life had she felt such pain. A swaying motion caused her stomach to lurch. Was she on a ship? Ships made her sick. With a violent heave, the contents of her stomach came spewing forth. "Mercy, what did you do that for? You got puke all over my boot."
Who did that annoyed voice belong to? Forcing herself to open her eyes she saw the ground swaying precariously under her dangling fingertips. Her hand just hit something. In the moonlight, she could barely make out a horse's leg. She wasn't on a ship. She was on a horse. Upside down. Her hands were tied together with a white handkerchief. "I need up," she somehow managed to say.
"All right," the annoyed voice came again. The swaying stopped and strong hands jerked her to where the world was right side up again. She blinked rapidly trying to bring this confusing world into focus. She sat sideways on a horse, but why? Almost incoherently, she muttered, "Where am I?"
"You are on an adventure with me, my love."
Slowly things became clear and a tightening fear squeezed at her chest. A madman had kidnapped her. Carefully she asked, "Ian, what do you plan to do with me?"
"You want me to tell you now and spoil the surprise?"
She glanced down at herself and groaned in mortification. "I'm in my nightgown. I'm freezing and sore and sick. My head hurts."
"I'm sure you feel horrible, my sweet, but soon I'll make you feel much, much better. I'm taking you to my cabin. We're almost there."
"I'm in my nightgown."
"I'm aware of that. I have plenty of money. I'll buy you new clothes."
"Where did you get money?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that."
"Ian, you said if you escaped, you wouldn't come back for me."
"I know, but I knew you would miss me too much."
A slicing pain shot through her temple, and against her will, her head toppled over on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her and his hand slid up and down her waist. "That's my girl. I knew everything would be all right between us." The man was insane. Totally and completely insane. But she hurt too much to even move...let alone argue.
She began to shiver from the cold and from the fear and revulsion that raced up and down her spine. Through chattering teeth, she asked, "Can I wear your coat? I'm freezing."
"No. I'm cold too. We're almost there." Soon Ian jumped down from the horse and carried her toward a cozy looking cabin by a lake. The moon reflected off the still water and the canopy of fragrant pines swayed in the breeze. At one time she imagined living somewhere like this with him and being deliriously happy. Oh, what a fool she'd been. He carried her inside and placed her on a chair and then began building a fire. She looked around at the sparsely decorated, but charming little home and asked, "This is your place?"
"Yes. It's a perfect hideout. I've used it for years. No one will ever find us here. Now we can live together just like you always wanted."
"But I don't want that anymore Ian. I'm getting married...to someone else."
He stopped building the fire and turned and looked at her with a dark glint in his eyes that terrified her. "You are mine, Mercy. You know that. Do you think I would let you marry someone else?"
"I used to be yours. I'm not anymore. I'm in love with someone else now."
"Who is it?" When she didn't answer, he stepped closer and seethed, "Is it Berkeley?" When she still didn't answer, he screamed, "Tell me."
Before he became completely unhinged, she nodded. "You need to let me go, Ian. What we had is over and I---"
He lunged at her and began kissing her neck roughly while crying out, "No, it's not over. Don't say that. I told you once before that I would never give you up. Never."
She tried to squirm away, but her arms were still tied and her head felt as if it would literally explode at any moment. He ripped her nightgown open and in humiliation, she realized she could do nothing about it. His hands were everywhere and she knew her only hope was to try to reason with a man who didn't even understand the concept of right and wrong. Against his plunging mouth, she begged, "Ian. Please stop. This is wrong. Rape is wrong."
"It's only rape when you don't want it too, but I know you do, no matter what you say."
"I don't want you to do this. You have me tied up. I would stop you if I could."
"All those nights in your gazebo I stopped. All those years of taunting me and teasing me are over. I'll have what I waited for so patiently."
Terror gripped her and clawed at her heart like talons and she called out, "Oh, God, please stop him. I beg of you to help me. Please God."
He pulled back and shook her shoulders violently. "Stop it! Even if there is a God, he doesn't care about you. Call out to him all you want. It won't stop me."
His rough hands jerked her down to the floor, and his body hovered over hers, as he ripped her nightgown the rest of the way. While continuing to kiss her neck, he fumbled with the buttons at his breeches. Sobs wracked her body as she begged, "Please don't do this to me, Ian. Please. I beg of you not to do this."
A loud noise caused Ian to stop for a moment, and he looked toward the door and screamed, "Get out!"
A slow, deep voice said smoothly, "Get off her, Magregor. Now."
"Oh, Addison," she called out, "I knew you would come."
"Shut your mouth," Ian screamed at her, near hysteria, then he turned and shrieked, "Get out or I'll kill you."
"Do you realize we are the ones with the pistol?"
Ian jerked Mercy to a standing position and suddenly he held a knife to her throat as he shouted, "Get out or I'll kill her!"
Shaking violently, Mercy pleaded, "Ian, just give up. You don't want to kill me."
Ignoring her, he screamed again, "Get out!" Mercy watched as Addison glanced at Barry, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. In a flash, Addison lunged toward her and covered her body with his own as Barry pulled the trigger and a deafening boom rattled the windows. Her ears rang and she couldn't breathe with Addison's heavy body on top of her, and for several moments time stood still. Addison straightened his arms and pushed himself back, his eyes swimming in tears. "Did he hurt you?"
"Nothing permanent."
He quickly untied her hands and then kissed the raw skin tenderly. "Oh, Mercy. I'm sorry. But it's over now." He grabbed a blanket from the chair and wrapped it around her and then covered her eyes as he helped her to stand. "Don't look." He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall as he called out, "Barry, please clean up the mess and let me know when you are finished so we can come out."
"Certainly, sir."
Mercy buried her head in Addison's chest, as she mumbled, "Thank you, Barry."
"Anytime," he answered in his typical gruff way.
Addison walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind him and softly kissed her face in near reverence. "Mercy. I don't know what I would've done if I lost you."
"You didn't. I'm here," she murmured against his cheek. "Is Ian dead?"
"Yes. He's dead. I'm not sorry. If Barry had not shot him, we would have taken him back and he would have been hung anyway. At least he got to die in private without a cheering crowd." Ian was gone. Forever. She felt bad for him, but she wasn't sorry.
Addison pulled away and stared at her temple and swollen eye and shuddered as he let out a soft groan. "Oh, baby, your face. Your poor face."
"Do I look awful?"
"No, you look beautiful...just battered and bruised."
"External bruises heal. Sometimes faster than internal ones I think." Worry creased her brow. "Do you think these bruises will heal by the wedding?"
"In two months? Certainly they will."
"Well, that is good." She looked up at him questioningly. "Addison, how did you ever find me?"
"As deviously brilliant as Magregor could be, he was also quite stupid. The tracks of his horse in the snow led us right here. Did he think I wouldn't follow?"
Her eyes widened in fear and she asked with a gasp, "How is Daisy?"
"She will be fine. She is a brave girl. Even though being half unconscious, she had the presence of mind to watch you leave on a horse, and then awaken Barry, who came and got me."
Unbelievably, Mercy's lips turned up into a slight smile. "Oh, Addison. The last time we did this was just pretend. But now...but now it's real. You are my real life dashing hero."
"I suppose I am. And look, I'm even wearing my black cape. Does that mean I get to kiss you ardently and passionately now?"
"Please do." He covered her mouth with his own, but his kisses were not ardent and passionate. Instead, they were sweet and achingly gentle. After all she'd just been through, she appreciated his tenderness. There was plenty of time for ardent and passionate kisses later. She could hardly wait.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Seventeen
Carrying a box of treats in her hand, Mercy strolled down the street with Daisy as the first of the cherry blossoms burst forth from the trees in much the same way that thankfulness burst forth from her heart. All her life she'd accompanied her mother when she brought treats to her husband. Now she had Addison to bring treats too. She imagined his face when she walked into his office. He would be thrilled to see her. Imagining his smile made her smile. Daisy patted her arm as they walked along. "Just two more weeks and you will no longer be Miss Creed, but Mrs. Berkeley."
"I know. And what about you? Mr. Seeger, the handsome blacksmith seems quite smitten with you. Perhaps you will soon be Mrs. Seeger."
"Perhaps." She couldn't contain her pleasure as she continued, "I hope so. He is going to ask your father if he can court me."
"And of course my father will say yes. He thinks of you as a daughter, you know."
"I know. That is why I told Mr. Seeger he needs to ask your father for permission." Daisy reached up her hand and caught some falling blossoms and examined them. "Um...I got a letter from my real father, from Mr. Turner yesterday. Cordelia is getting married."
"Poor man."
Daisy giggled. "Yes, well, Mr. Turner says the man is a widower with two children and known as being a strong person who will not easily be wrapped around Cordelia's finger. He is one of the richest men in the south, so Cordelia should be happy."
"I don't know if I want her to be happy," she replied, only half teasing.
In her sweet way Daisy reprimanded, "Mercy, maybe Cordelia just needs to grow up. Hopefully she's learned her lessons."
"Hopefully, but I doubt it."
"Do you pray for her?"
"No. I do my best to forget about her."
"You should pray for her. The Bible tells us to pray for our enemies."
Mercy teased, "Oh why did I ever teach you to read. I could do without you giving me scriptures I don't want to hear."
Daisy smiled. "Well, the Bible is not like a buffet where you can just take what you like and leave what you don't. As I said, the Bible says we should pray for our enemies so therefore you should pray for Cordelia whether you want to or not."
"All right, all right. I'll pray for her." She stopped in front of Addison's office.
"Well, we are here." She swung open the door to see the friendly face of Cecil Branson. "Good day. I brought these treats for Addison, but I know he won't mind sharing them." She placed a piece of cheesecake on his desk. "I got all his favorites."
"You can leave the box, and I might give him some when he returns," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
"He isn't here?"
"No, he left a while ago. For the last few weeks, he leaves daily at two and comes back at about four."
"Where does he go?"
"I have no idea. Your fiancé can be quite secretive." A sick, uneasy feeling seeped through her, but she tried not to let it show. "Well, give the treats to Addison if any are left when he returns."
"Will do."
As she headed home, she tried to tamp down her feelings of distrust, but something wasn't right. The night before when Addison had stopped by after work she could've sworn she smelled perfume on him. A strong, spicy scent. She had discounted it that maybe a perfume bottle broke in one of his shipments. But now in combination with this, it chafed at her. She heard that some wealthy men had mistresses. Oh, she didn't want to think this way.
Daisy's voice interrupted her worrisome thoughts, "Are you upset about something, Mercy?"
"No. I'm fine." How she wanted that to be true.
When Addison came over that night for dinner she greeted him at the door with a hug, and the strong, spicy smell of the perfume almost slapped her in the face. As casually as her pounding heart would allow, she asked, "So Addison, why do you smell like a woman's perfume?"
He laughed nervously and shrugged. "Do I?"
"Yes, you do. A strong, spicy scent."
"I don't know." He looked a little embarrassed and she realized that he was nowhere near as good a liar as Ian. He quickly changed the subject. "Oh, thank you for the desserts you brought by today."
"You are welcome. Did Cecil leave any for you?"
"Two."
"I brought six."
He laughed. "Well, that is just as good. I don't want to look fat in my suit on our wedding day." He pulled her against him and lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss. He spoke against her lips, "Which I'm eagerly anticipating." He kissed her again, and she melted against him, loving the way she felt in his arms, yet wondering if she was again being deceived.
She pulled her lips from his and asked, "Where were you when I came by today?"
"Here and there. I had things to do."
"What type of things?"
"Just things."
The words spilled out before she could stop them, "Are you involved with another woman?"
He let out a harsh breath and frowned. "No, of course not. How can you ask me such a thing?"
"I'm sorry. But you understand how important faithfulness is to me, don't you? I know some women put up with affairs, but I'm not one of them. Unfaithfulness would be a deal breaker for me."
"Yes, of course, sweetheart. How could you think I would ever want to be with anyone else?" He pulled her to him and with great skill assured her in words and kisses. But she'd been through this before.
That night she hardly slept and she decided if she was being deceived again she wouldn't just sit back and be stupid this time. Right after lunch, she slipped out of the house and made her way down to the docks and waited outside Addison's office. She knew it must be almost two o'clock and she hid behind a building as she watched his front door. A few minutes later, the door swung open and he stood on the front stoop as he adjusted his gloves. What a glorious looking man. No doubt he had woman throwing themselves at him every day and she just could not be with him if she couldn't trust him. Living with a man who you knew was involved with other women would be torturous. She would rather be a spinster than to be in a marriage like that. Better to be alone than to wish you were.
Addison happily walked down the street, whistling a tune and she noticed how almost everyone stared at him in awe as he passed. Hopefully, he was just going shopping, or to a meeting, or something else innocent. She followed from a distance for a least a half a mile until he made his way up the steps of a charming little house, and walked right in the front door without even knocking. What on earth could he be doing here? Pain gripped at her heart as she came up with only one explanation. But she had to catch him. She knew how charming men twisted things around until you thought you were the crazy one. Addison could make up some story unless she caught him.
The most horrendous, torturous, ten minutes passed until she walked up the steps of the little home and followed him inside. She tiptoed around downstairs, but sure enough, he wasn't there. He'd gone upstairs. Quietly, she made her way up the steps until she heard laughing coming from behind a closed door. She heard Addison's lighthearted voice tease, " Revenez ici. " She knew enough French to know he said, "Get back over here," and then she heard a female voice laugh and say, " Mais vous êtes si mauvais ," followed by more laughter. Merci knew that meant, "But you are so bad."
In anguish, she placed her ear against the door and heard a steady thumping sound and quiet murmurings. She'd felt pain before many times in her life, but nothing quite like this. Addison had promised her she could trust him. He promised. Hot and angry tears streamed down her face and she turned to leave. She would never trust again. Never. She would remain a spinster. A bitter spinster. She got halfway down the stairs and stopped. No. As humiliating as this was, she needed to catch him.
With dread, she walked back up the stairs. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath to steady herself and pushed open the door and stepped inside. But what she saw was not what she expected. An old white haired man stood in the middle of the room pounding a stick on the floor to keep time, while Addison held hands with an old, white haired woman as she taught him the steps of the Virginia reel. Addison stopped and stared at her in shock. He shook his head in confusion, "Mercy, what are you doing here? Did Cecil tell you where I was? He weaseled it out of me this morning."
With a trembling voice, she squeaked out, "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm learning how to dance. I wanted to surprise you and dance with you at our wedding reception." He gave a one shouldered shrug. "Oh, well. So much for surprises. Get over here and help me learn. According to Mr. and Mrs. Marseille here, I'm completely hopeless."
With a laugh, Mrs. Marseille corrected in heavily accented French, "I said you were quite hopeless. Not completely. There is a difference."
He laughed as well. "Oh, thank you for the encouragement, Mrs. Marseille. I feel much better." Addison walked toward Mercy and his laughter died away. He leaned in and said quietly, "Mercy you are so pale. Have you been crying? What is wrong?"
Slowly, she shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Everything is right. Perfectly, wonderfully right." Placing her hand on his face, she gazed up and whispered, "Do you know how much I love you?"
"From the look in your eyes, I would say quite a bit. But the question is do you know how much I love you?"
She scrunched up her nose, as she titled her head. "Quite a bit?"
"I love you with all of my heart and soul and everything that is within me. I love you, and only you , for the rest of my life. Don't ever doubt that."
"I won't. I won't doubt it again."
"Good. Then come and teach your clumsy fiancé how to dance. You once promised me that if I learned, you would dance with me. I'm holding you to it." She smiled at him as he led her to the dance floor and her heart burst with thankfulness to God that this amazing man belonged to her.
Understanding Mercy
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Eighteen
The glorious spring morning dawned bright and beautiful and the happily singing birds, and busily ringing bells seemed to announce to the world the importance of this day. Wearing a frothy white dress, Mercy made her way into the Old North Church for the most important day of her life. Her mother and father escorted her inside with beaming faces and Pastor Thompson greeted them at the door with a kind smile as he took Mercy's hand. "Look at you, all grown up. I did your christening, you know, and you wore a pretty white dress then as well."
She glanced down at her dress with a smile. "I couldn't decide what color to wear and now I'm glad I choose white."
Placing his hand on her back, he ushered her toward the back of the church and into the little room where she waited with Priscilla for her wedding to begin. So much had happened in these few short months. It was in this room she'd first seen Addison again. He took her breath away when she looked up to see him in all his spectacular glory and now he would be her husband. Her husband. She just couldn't believe it. What had she ever done to deserve him?
Pastor Thompson patted her hand. "Well, Mercy Creed, I will see you in a few minutes."
"Yes, you will. And then a few minutes after that I will be Mercy Berkeley."
"Yes, you will." With one last smile, he left the room.
Her father came and stood before her and held her hands in his. "My beautiful baby girl," he murmured, his eyes shining with love.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Oh, Daddy, I'm so happy you are well enough to walk me down the aisle."
"That makes two of us." He brought both her hands up for a quick kiss and then squeezed them. "It just seems like yesterday that I held you in my arms before your christening. Now it's your wedding day."
"And in many ways that day, led to this one, didn't it?"
"You are right. That is the day Addison Berkeley came into our lives. Who would've known then the blessing he would turn out to be for us all?" His voice filled with emotion, as he added, "I could never have asked for a better son-in-law."
"He feels the same way about you. He says all the time that he could never ask for a better father-in-law." She glanced over at her mother's pretty blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Or a better-mother-in-law. He loves you both."
Priscilla came bustling into the room with a brilliant smile. "Oh, Mercy, you look gorgeous. That dress is spectacular. You put Marie Antoinette to shame." She turned to Daisy who followed close behind. "Oh, Daisy, I love how you styled her hair so high with the white roses and pearls and this lovely veil. You are positively brilliant with hair."
Daisy merely smiled at Priscilla's enthusiastic praise. Mercy's heart filled with warmth to be surrounded by so much love. Not long before, she'd thought her life was over, and she had actually wanted to end it, but now here she stood on the threshold of a brand new life---with the man of her dreams.
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Addison paced back and forth across the room and looked at his pocket watch, but his restlessness came from anticipation, not anxiety. Within a few minutes, Mercy would be his wife. What had he ever done to deserve her? Closing his eyes, he stopped for a minute and breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Cecil strode into the room with a big smile lighting up his happy face. "You look spectacular, Addison. Look at you in your burgundy velvet suit and fancy embroidered gold waistcoat." He flicked the lace at his neck and sleeves. "Who would've thought I would see my boy in lace fit for the King of France."
He mumbled, "It's the style."
"I've no doubt it is. And you even powdered your hair."
"Mercy thought I should."
He chuckled. "Not even married yet and she is already telling you what to do. Hey, with that in mind, I have a question for you. If a man speaks in the forest and no woman is around to hear him, is he still wrong?"
Addison just shook his head in amusement. Cecil slapped him on the back and proclaimed, "So this is your last few minutes as a bachelor."
"Yes, it is, thank God."
"Yes, thank God."
"Actually, I was just thanking Him when you walked in."
Cecil became uncharacteristically serious and nodded. "Can you believe the little baby girl you thought was so pretty when Mr. Creed showed her to you over twenty years ago is now going to be your wife?"
"No. I can't believe it."
Cecil pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. "I'm not sure if this is good timing to give this to you, but it came by post this morning."
Addison took the letter from him and looked down at the flowery script in French and knew who it belonged to. He opened the letter and read:
Dear Addison,
I appreciate you letting me know you are getting married. I truly enjoyed our two years together, but I always knew in my heart it would not end in anything permanent. I admit I will miss you, but don't be sad for me. I adore my life. I must say I'm not surprised you have chosen Mercy Creed for your bride. Long ago in John Hancock's parlor I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. You assured me you had no future with her. How wrong you were. But I'm glad you were wrong if she makes you happy. You are a good man Addison Berkeley and I wish you true happiness.
Sincerely,
Blanche
He handed the letter back to Cecil. "You can read it if you like, and then throw it away. I never made Blanche any promises, but I still felt a little bad about informing her of my marriage in a letter. She certainly seems to have taken it well. I knew she would."
Cecil skimmed the letter and then remarked, "She seems like a nice lady."
"She is. I would not have spent time with her for two years if she wasn't. And she is right that Mercy makes me happy. I want to make Mercy happy too. I know I'm doing the right thing."
With an encouraging pat on the back, he replied, "I know you are too."
An elderly lady walked into the room and announced, "It's time, Mr. Berkeley. Follow me." She walked him out into the church and pointed to the stage. "You and your best man go stand up by Pastor Thompson now." He quickly obeyed and then clasped his hands in front of him while he waited.
A violin quartet began to play Bach's sonata fugue in A minor and Priscilla and Daisy came down the aisle looking lovely, but they were not who he wanted to see. At last Mr. Creed stood at the back of the aisle with Mercy on his arm and she looked as gloriously beautiful as he knew she would. Her exquisite dress and elaborately arrayed hair were stunning, but nothing could tear his eyes away from her face. She positively glowed with happiness, expectation, and love. Love for him. He couldn't believe it.
When Mercy stood before him beaming up at him in adoration, he felt his heart would burst with joy. He leaned forward and whispered, "When I watched you standing up here next to Priscilla, I wished it was me standing next to you. I wished it was us getting married. And now it is. Now we are."
"I wondered what you were thinking that day."
"Now you know." He winked at her and then turned to face the pastor.
Pastor Thompson spoke about the two becoming one flesh and his message touched Addison deeply. He asked them to face each other and say their vows, and Addison took Mercy's hands in his own. The pastor asked, "Do you promise to love, honor, and cherish her until death do you part?"
He blurted out, "Yes, I do. I will. I promise." A few chuckles rippled across the church and Mercy's face radiated happiness as she let out a little giggle.
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After the wonderful reception dinner, Mercy cut the bride's cake and she waited to see who would bite down on the nutmeg root. When Daisy carefully took it out of her mouth a chorus of, "Daisy is the next to marry," rang out across the room.
Mercy scurried over to her and whispered, "It works, Daisy. At least it worked for me."
She smiled up at her. "I hope so. Although if I got married, I would miss you."
"We would still be friends, silly."
The strains of the small orchestra tuning their instruments floated into the room and she glanced up to see Addison staring at her and he lifted an eyebrow in invitation. With a smile of pure joy she walked toward the magnificent man who was now her husband. He raised his hand, and she placed her gloved hand in his and he lifted it to his lips. "May I have the honor of this dance, Mrs. Berkeley?"
Placing her finger on her chin she looked up as if the question required deep pondering, and then teased, "Hmmm. Let me think about it."
"All right then. Let me rephrase it. Let's go dance."
"Hmmm. I don't know. I think I'm pretty busy."
"Well, I want to dance and you just promised to obey me," he declared with pretend seriousness.
She placed her hand on her hip and looked confused. "Did I? I don't remember that part."
"Well, I remember it. Let's go." He pulled her outside and as the first notes of the music began, he did his best to execute the complicated steps of the Virginia Reel. His beautiful face looked terribly serious, and she could see his lips moving while he counted, and it touched her heart to see him trying so hard to dance. Mrs. Marseille was right. He was quite hopeless...but positively adorable. When the dance finished, he let out a big sigh of relief and in front of everybody she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as she gushed, "I love you. I love you so much it hurts."
With a twinkle in his eye, he asked, "Is it my dancing skills that has you so enthralled?"
"Most definitely," she proclaimed as she gazed up at him with a teasing smile.
He looped her arm over his and pulled her away as he whispered, "Would you care for a stroll, Mrs. Berkeley?"
"You like saying Mrs. Berkeley, don't you."
"You have no idea."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I would care for a stroll. Where would you care to stroll me?"
"Around the corner, where I can kiss my wife and no one will see."
"Oh, good. I was hoping you would say that. But wait right here for me. I want to get something first. I'll be right back." She dashed upstairs to her room and grabbed two presents she'd wrapped for him and then came back to find him patiently waiting for her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a secluded part of the garden on the side of the house. "These are for you. They may seem like silly gifts, but they mean a great deal to me."
He took the first package from her and replied, "Well, if they mean a great deal to you, then I know they will mean a great deal to me as well." He untied the bow and took the lid off the box and his face broke out in a wide smile. "Ahh. I haven't seen this for over twenty years." He took out the pretty little doll in a yellow dress and held it up next to Mercy. "Yes, I was right. The resemblance is uncanny."
"Yes, well, when you went to that toy store, you only wanted the horse, but now you have ended up with the horse and the doll."
"I like the doll. But I must say I like the real-life version even better." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then unwrapped the paper of the next gift, and she suddenly said, "Stop." He looked up at her with questioning eyes and she laughed. "Sorry. I just want to remember this moment forever. You look so beautiful standing under the cherry tree while the blossoms float down around you. I can smell the honeysuckle on the spring breeze and I can hear the lovely music from the orchestra. Every part of me is just bursting with joy and I want to remember right now, forever." He gazed at her in appreciation for several moments and then continued to unwrap her gift. He stared at it and then his eyes lifted to hers "What is this?"
"It's a sampler I made of a lighthouse when I was eleven. The words are what the pastor spoke over me at my christening. Remember, I told you about those words before. Noah saw me making this sampler and said he liked the prayer and he hoped I fulfilled it."
He read the words she'd so carefully stitched, "May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God's love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life." Overcome with emotion, he placed the little frame carefully on the bench and then brought her into his embrace. As he held her and stroked her back she spoke against his chest, "I wanted to give this to you, because we made a promise to each other that we would be lighthouses together. This prayer is now your prayer too. It's our prayer together. I get to spend the rest of my life with you, and I could never put into words how happy that makes me. God has blessed me beyond measure with you."
Kissing her temple, he murmured, "Oh, Mercy, you don't have to put it into words, because I know exactly how you feel. You are God's priceless gift to me and I'll cherish you forever. And thank you for my gifts. They mean more to me than you could know." He pulled back and gave her his best charming smile that melted her every time. "So Mrs. Berkeley, I think I should like to give my wife a proper kiss now."
"Not too proper I hope."
He laughed and then held her face as he brought his lips to hers with such sweetness that at first it was an entirely proper kiss, but then the kiss deepened in intensity until she sighed and melted against his strong chest. She could feel him smile against her lips and she pulled away a bit and asked, "Why are you smiling?"
While chuckling softly, he asked, "Do you think anyone would notice if we left early?"
"I think they probably would."
He leaned back against the wall and rolled his head to the side. "I suppose if I waited three years for you, I can wait another hour or so." When he lifted his head back up, he gave her a dazzling smile that made her weak in the knees. "Shall we pass the time dancing? I have moves you haven't seen yet." She burst out laughing and he kissed her again as a swift breeze swept through the trees and a flurry of cherry blossoms floated down upon them. Holding her tightly against him, he murmured against her lips, "I love you, Mercy Creed."
"Thank you. I love you too, but I'm Mercy Berkeley now."
"That you are."
With her arms still wrapped around his neck, she looked up at the soft pink and white blossoms swirling around them, as the birds serenaded them from the trees. "Oh, Addison," she proclaimed, "This right now...this is beautiful." Her eyes lowered to his, and she kissed his nose. "You are beautiful." Taking in a deep breath, she let out an emotional sigh. "My life...my life is beautiful."
"I'm glad you think so Mrs. Berkeley." His eyes glistened with love as he gazed at her. "I know we need to get back, but I think I want to give my wife one more improper kiss."
"Please do." And he did.
Understanding Mercy
Epilogue
February 1793
Mercy looked up at the steeple of the Old North Church as the bells rang their melodious music across the city. She could hardly imagine one heart containing such happiness and smiled as snowflakes covered her face. Impulsively, she stuck her tongue out to taste one like she did when she was little.
A deep laugh startled her and she turned to see Addison shaking his head in amusement. "What may I ask are you doing? You look quite silly standing out here with your tongue stuck up in the air."
She laughed. "I'm sure I do." Taking a step to him, she reached out. "Can I hold Cassandra now?"
"No. I just got her back from your father, and your mother had her before that, and she had to steal her from Daisy, and Daisy had to snatch her away from Barry. It's my turn. Let's get inside."
He put his arm around Mercy and led her through the doors of the church while he rubbed noses with his little baby. "Anyway, Cassandra, you like me best. Don't you?" She let out a coo and he gave Mercy a proud look. "See. She agrees. She likes me best."
"Unless she's hungry," she countered quickly.
"That I must confess is true."
"But I must confess that she is definitely a Daddy's girl." His handsome face beamed, and she rested her head on his shoulder. It warmed her heart to see how proud Addison was of his baby.
Their little copper haired beauty looked so tiny as her father's big hands adjusted a bow at her neck. "I must say, Cassandra, you look just as pretty in this dress as your mommy did. I thought she was the prettiest baby I had ever seen...until I saw you."
Mercy wiped away a tear of that slipped down her cheek. "Addison, can you believe this day is here? For four years, I despaired of ever having a baby, and now here we are at her christening."
While nuzzling Cassandra's little cheek, he murmured. "She was worth the wait."
Pastor Thompson appeared. "Are we ready?"
"I don't know." Addison looked down at Cassandra, "Are you ready, sweetheart?" She let out another coo and he nodded. "Yes, she is ready."
With a laugh, Pastor Thompson took her in his arms and they walked to the front of the church and Mercy looked out at all the smiling faces staring back at them, and then she looked at her handsome husband as he smiled at her, and then she looked at the little bundle of love being dedicated to God. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine it was possible to be this happy. The same man who'd dedicated her to God, held up her baby and prayed. His words touched and humbled her, and he finished by saying, "May this beautiful little girl grow up to exemplify the characteristics of her middle name---Rose. Just as a rose blooms and spreads its fragrance to the world, may she spread the fragrance of Your love to all who are near."
When the christening ceremony was over, all their friends and family gathered at their home, and it made Mercy laugh to see such a boisterous crowd all arguing over whose turn it was to hold Cassandra. Besides feeding her a few times, she hadn't been able to hold her all day. Priscilla held Cassandra, but with difficulty since her own baby was due any day. Mercy hoped Cassandra and Priscilla's baby would grow up to be friends.
Mercy looked up to see Addison approaching. He led her down the hallway into his office, where he pulled her against him and held her face in his hands as he gazed down at her reverently.
"Mercy, I recall the night after I met your father for the first time. I wondered what it would feel like to have a shipping business, and a fancy black coach, and a beautiful little daughter. Now I know. The only part I didn't think I wanted was a wife."
He took a deep breath and his voice thickened with emotion as he continued, "But you, my darling Mercy, are the best part. I always thought my father's love for my mother made him weak. But now I know that isn't true. My mother's death just exposed a weakness that was already there. In many ways, I was already a strong man when I met you, but my love for you...your love for me only made me stronger. God must certainly love me to have given you to me. I hope you know how much I adore you."
Without waiting for her to respond, he walked over to his desk and opened a book and took out a sprig of dried honeysuckle, and then twirled it in his fingers as he walked back to her.
"That day in your garden when I handed you some honeysuckle, I broke off a piece and put it in my pocket. When I got to my office, I pressed it between the pages of a book of love sonnets. Lately, I've been thinking that I want you to understand how much I love you, and since I'm not always good at words, I thought if I looked at some poetry I could get some ideas."
His smile held a hint of embarrassment. But he cleared his throat and continued. "When I opened the pages, I saw this dried sprig of honeysuckle. The day I handed it to you in the garden, I told you that the French consider the honeysuckle the flower of ardent and passionate love. Your cheeks turned a hundred shades of pink when I told you. I'll never forget it. I know I'm not a poet, but that is how I love you. My heart is filled with an ardent and passionate love for you. It always will. You're the joy of my life."
He glanced over at the framed sampler she'd given him for a wedding present that he displayed prominently above his desk. It looked silly in his exquisite office, but he always told her it was one of his most prized possessions. Reaching over, he took the frame off the wall and stared at it intently for several moments and then looked at her and smiled.
"Everyday I'm at the shipyard where I hear arguing, and harsh voices, and complaints from people about a thousand different things. In many ways it's a harsh, cold, storm filled world I find myself in, but when I get in my coach and head up Beacon Street, it touches my heart to think of your warm and radiant light welcoming me home to my safe harbor. My whole life I felt adrift. But not anymore. I once thought I wanted a dog to greet me when I got home, but since you are allergic, I can't. But you are even better than a dog. I love how you look at me every night when I walk in the door."
The darling man was trying to be romantic, but as much as she tried, she couldn't hold back a little laugh. "So I'm better at greeting you than a dog? You're a shameless flatterer, Mr. Berkeley."
His eyes twinkled and he shook his head. "Don't laugh. I'm trying terribly hard to impress you."
"I know. And I truly appreciate the effort. Now pick me up and carry me to the sofa and let's play heroic pirate for a little while until we are missed."
"But I don't have my black cape on right now."
"I'll overlook it this time."
"Thank you for overlooking my inadequacies. I suppose that's why your name is Mercy." He placed the sampler upon his desk, then swooped her into his arms with a dramatic flourish, and carried her to the sofa. She giggled the entire way.
About the author...
Janelle Ashley has loved books since she was a baby and took a rubber one into the bathtub every night. She won every book-reading contest the library could offer from the time she was four years old. She read Gone with the Wind in two days at the age of nine. As an English major in college she was in her element being exposed to the great works of fiction.
Janelle loves the encouragements found in the Bible, the education found in historical biographies, and the entertainment found in the compelling characters of the great British classics. She has chosen to combine her love of all three in her hope to create a novel that not only encourages and educates but also entertains.
Understanding Mercy
Mercy walked to an open window and closed her eyes...
breathing in deeply of the honeysuckle scented air. She sensed someone standing beside her and instinctively knew who it was. When she lifted her gaze to his, she again felt her heart racing in his presence as it always did---like a timid little rabbit in the presence of a dangerous wolf. The other women in the room might think Addison Berkeley an exotic jungle cat, but she knew he was just a common wolf. His deep voice held amusement as he leaned in and murmured, "The open window seemed a good idea, so I decided to copy you. I can hardly breathe." She nodded and tried to think of what to say when he added, "The honeysuckle smells wonderful. Of all the floral scents I think I like honeysuckle the best. Well, maybe after roses."
"Roses and honeysuckle are my favorite scents too." He gazed at her with his penetrating blue eyes and she mumbled nervously, "Anyone who likes roses and honeysuckle is all right in my book." She gave him an appreciative, but shaky smile.
He lifted an eyebrow. "You have a book? Where can I get a copy? I think I would like to read it. I'm sure it's fascinating." He teased, "I have to admit I thought you didn't like me, and I wracked my brain thinking of how I could redeem myself, and now I find all I had to do was like the scent of two particular flowers." He reached out the window and snapped off a sprig of honeysuckle and handed it to her with a slight smile. "I'm glad that in this book of yours I'm all right."
She stammered while trying to avoid his gaze. "I...um...thank you." Being around him made her head feel fuzzy. Why did this dangerous wolf always have to be so kind? It confused her. People were much easier when you could compartmentalize them into good and bad. But which was he? She'd made up her mind. He was bad, but maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.
Understanding Mercy
Chapter Three
The sun rose with splendor and bathed the city of Boston in a warm, golden light. White, puffy clouds remained immobile in the clear and serene sky. The sails on the ships in the harbor hung limply from lack of the slightest breeze, and the unruffled waters remained as still as a mirror. Addison's morning at the docks had been pleasant, but as the day wore on, the heat became almost unbearable.
He looked down at his pocket watch with both hands pointing straight up, glanced at the noonday sun above him and groaned. Boston's infamous August humidity hung in the air like a heavy cloak. He wiped perspiration from his brow as he walked toward the tailor's shop for the final fitting of his ludicrous costume for this ridiculous ball.
The silly French tailor had insisted he wear a pale pink embroidered silk jacket, but Addison had adamantly refused.
What man wore pink?
Addison compromised that the material could be shiny silk and embroidered but had insisted the color be black. The tailor had groaned and refused to make something so out of fashion. He'd compromised again with cream but absolutely no pink.
As he walked into the shop, the tailor's pretty little black-haired daughter sashayed over to him. "Oh, Monsieur Berkeley, I've looked forward to seeing how handsome you'll look in your new suit."
"Well, it appears you won't have to wait much longer. Where is it? I would like to try it on and get this over with." He didn't want to sound rude, but he had appointments all afternoon and didn't care to encourage the attentions of this flirtatious girl.
He was no longer on a ship willing to oblige the anonymous females looking for adventure on the high seas. Now he wanted to be a respectable business man. He now lived in this city of eighteen thousand people and didn't want to be running into past conquests on a daily basis.
The little, bony man appeared from a back room holding up the elaborate suit with pride. " Très magnifique . You'll look astonishing. A powerful man such as you should wear a suit fit for a prince---"
He lifted a hand to stop the man. "There's no need to flatter me. I already paid for the suit. Let me try it on, and then I can get out of your way."
Several minutes later, he stood gazing at himself in the mirror. The elegant coat clung to his body with the back of it hanging to his knees. The open front of the coat exposed the tight breeches, making him terribly uncomfortable. With all the shiny cream fabric elaborately decorated with silver thread, he looked as if he belonged in the court of the French King Louis the XVI. It was just too much, but he didn't have time for a new suit to be made.
The tailor's daughter wandered into his dressing room, and her dark eyes roamed his body. "It fits like a glove," the young girl purred as she stepped closer and gazed at him adoringly.
"A tight glove," he mumbled with dismay. Every part of his body seemed to be bursting at the seams.
"Yes, a tight glove that showcases the glory of the man underneath. All your years as a pirate made you strong," she gushed, as she ran her hand provocatively across his chest.
Stepping away, he declared, "I was never a pirate. Where did you hear such a thing?"
"Everyone knows," she replied looking hurt.
He softened his tone as he corrected her. "Well, everyone is wrong." It frustrated him that the unscrupulous could spread lies, and the gullible believed them as if they were fact.
He wanted to leave, but he needed to give credit where it was due. The suit was not his taste, but he had to admit that the workmanship was impressive. He stepped into the next room and found the tailor. "You truly are a talented man. Thank you for the suit. I'll change now and be on my way."
The man glowed with pride. "Come again when we can be of service to you."
"I will." Several minutes later, he left the shop with the huge box holding his carefully folded suit. His stomach tightened at the thought of attending this ball of Hancock's. If he didn't like the man so much, he would never go. He'd stared down the cannons of enemy ships and didn't feel as much fear and apprehension as the thought of putting on this suit and pretending to fit in with people who didn't want him in their midst.
As he kicked at a pebble in the pathway, he wished it wasn't so blasted hot and sticky. He'd forgotten how miserable Boston summers were. Suddenly, a shop door swung open, and he stopped abruptly to keep from plowing over two females who walked into his path.
"My word," Mercy declared with a smile, "It appears both of us are reckless walkers and narrowly escaped a dangerous collision."
"I'm sorry, Miss Creed. All of my focus was on a pebble. I must admit it's a nice surprise however to look up from a little rock and see your pretty face instead."
That same delightful pink color stained her cheeks, and she glanced at her mother who he'd forgotten stood next to her. Embarrassed, he bowed and said, "We haven't met, Mrs. Creed. I'm Addison Berkeley."
She seemed speechless for several moments but finally managed, "Yes, Mr. Berkeley. From your description, I knew this must be you. But I have to admit, I wasn't aware you had met my daughter."
"Is that so?" He glanced at Mercy with a teasing smile. "Were you keeping me a secret, Miss Creed?"
A look of panic and guilt flashed in her eyes which confused him. He'd only been teasing.
Looking horribly flustered, she said, "I only met Mr. Berkeley once, and I forgot to mention it to you."
So apparently he hadn't made the same impression on her that she'd made on him.
She pointed to his box and asked, "I see you have been out shopping. Did you get a new suit?"
"Yes, I did. I needed one for the Governor's Ball tomorrow night. But I must admit, I think I look ridiculous in it. Too much fancy silk and embroidery for a simple man like me."
"We are going to the Governor's Ball as well."
"I thought you might. I hoped I'd see you there." He watched her cheeks turn pink again. It tickled him. "I'd ask you for a dance, but I don't know how to dance. So to save your toes, I'll spare you."
Mercy looked at him as if he'd just sprouted horns. "You don't know how to dance?"
"No," he answered with a casual shrug. "I never took the time to learn. Maybe someday I will."
"Dancing is fun. You should learn."
Her little face looked so earnest that he couldn't hide his smile. "I'll keep that in mind. And if I learn, will you promise me a dance someday?"
"Certainly."
"Then it's settled. I will learn." He glanced at her mother who stared at him questioningly. He knew he needed to stop flirting with Mercy, so he looked at the little package in her hand and asked, "I can see you are out shopping today as well."
"Yes, we just picked up some trimmings to sew onto one of my gowns."
He wondered why she only bought trimmings instead of a new gown. He was certain every female attending the Governor's Ball would want to be arrayed in the latest fashion. Her father must still be in a financial slump. He wished he could buy Mercy a new dress. A dress fit for a princess. But it didn't matter what she wore. She could dress in a burlap sack and still be the prettiest girl around.
With enthusiasm, she pulled out some lace and silk flowers. Holding them up proudly, she said, "See. Aren't these pretty?"
With amusement, he glanced down at the bobbles and bows in her hand. "Yes, they are pretty, and they will be prettier still on you." With a gentlemanly bow, he tipped his hat and said gallantly, "Good day, ladies. Until tomorrow night."
He quickly walked away and resisted the urge to turn and look at her again. Part of him had hoped Mercy would be at the ball but part of him hoped she wouldn't. Being around her was like putting a mouthwatering meal in front of a starving man and saying, "Don't touch."
But the thought of not being around her made life seem dull and tedious. Mercy was sweetness personified, but he had to remind himself that she was a sweetness a man like him didn't deserve.
He glanced at his roughened hands, thinking of all they'd experienced in this difficult world. Mercy was too pure for a man like him---too young, innocent and untouched. He needed to stay rooted to the ground. Not thinking of reaching to the stars.
\*\*\*\*
Mrs. Creed stared at Mercy with a shocked expression which melted into a sly smile. "I heard Addison Berkeley was handsome and charming, but gracious, I had no idea." She fanned herself. "Why did you never tell me that you met him?"
"It slipped my mind."
"How could a man like that slip your mind?"
"Really mother. He has enough women panting after him. He doesn't need you added to the list."
She laughed, embarrassed. "I wasn't panting, just admiring." Tapping Mercy's arm with her fan, she asked, "Did you notice the way he looks at you? I think he might be smitten with you, Mercy."
"Don't be silly. And anyway, I'm not smitten with him. He's a cold-hearted man and a rake."
"How do you know that?"
"I know he is cold-hearted because he doesn't care that he's ruining Daddy's business, and everyone knows he's a rake."
"What makes you think he's ruining your father's business?"
"I heard daddy mention that Mr. Berkeley's successful business is cutting into his."
"Hmmm. I know your father's business isn't doing well right now, but I don't think your father would lay the full blame of that upon Mr. Berkeley's success." A slight frown pulled her brows together. "And how do you know the man is a rake?"
"I've heard the rumors."
"Rumors aren't always true. And even if it is, some say reformed rakes make the best husbands."
"Well, I have no desire to reform him. I'll leave that up to some other poor soul."
"He is charming. How could you resist him?"
"Priscilla said he's so charming he could get the bees to hand over their honey. I'm sure it's true, but I'll keep mine. Let him get his honey from some other bees."
Her mother frowned, "Mercy, do you look down upon him because he isn't of your class?"
"No. That has nothing to do with it."
She wished she could tell her mother that she didn't look down upon Ian who wasn't in the upper class. The last three months had been the most thrilling of her life. Love was glorious. She now understood why the poets spoke of the rapturous wonder of two hearts entwined as one. Someday soon her name would be Mercy Magregor. It even sounded good. And once she got married, they'd have brown-haired, brown-eyed boys like their father, and blond-haired, green-eyed girls like their mother. Her life would be a fairytale. She had it all planned.
But she couldn't tell her mother this. Ian had not made his money, but he kept promising that he would soon. He wanted her to be patient, and she was trying.
Her mother's sweet voice interrupted her thoughts, "You know Mercy, some may look down upon Mr. Berkeley, but I don't. I admire a man who can work hard and make something of himself. This is America, not England and all its class regulations. Our ancestors came to America to be free from that. Keep an open mind toward Mr. Berkeley."
She nodded, but how could she keep an open mind toward him? Her Ian had been a war hero, while Mr. Berkeley roamed the seas like a pirate taking advantage of the war, stealing loot to line his own pockets. Ian helped her father with his business, whereas Mr. Berkeley hurt her father's business. Ian was humble and kind, whilst Mr. Berkeley walked around with a strut as if he owned the world. And at this rate, he probably would.
Mercy could never be with a man that cared so much about money. Just the sight of Mr. Berkeley took her breath away and made her insides feel like pudding. All this more evidence of his danger. The less she had to be around him the better.
"I have an idea," her mother suggested. "Let's stop by the sweet shop, buy some treats and take them to your father at his office."
"Oh, can we please just go home," she begged. The thought seeing Ian in front of her mother and father made her feel nauseous.
"Mercy, this isn't like you. You always like to visit your father. Although he told me you haven't been there for awhile."
"I do like visiting him, but I'm tired right now, and I need to start working on my dress."
"There's plenty of time for that and I will help you. Let's go."
Mercy found herself being pulled along to Pierre's Sweet Shop, and less than thirty minutes later, they walked into her father's office. Her heart pounded when Ian glanced up at her.
Ian nodded politely, "Hello, Mrs. Creed."
"Hello, Mr. Magregor. This is my daughter Mercy."
He nodded with a smile. "We met when she came in to visit with her father several months ago." He glanced at Mercy as if she was a person of little consequence. "Nice to see you again, Miss Creed."
My, he was a good actor. He should be on the stage. Deception seemed to come a little too easily to him. But not to her. She felt wretchedly dishonest and she stumbled awkwardly. "Oh, a, yes. You too."
Her mother looked at her frowning. "So you already met Mr. Magregor? You didn't tell me that Mercy. Is that a habit you are forming, going around meeting handsome men and not telling me about it?"
Ian tilted his head and looked at her darkly as he raised an eyebrow. "Handsome men?"
In a lilting voice her mother patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, you are a handsome man, Mr. Magregor. Don't act so surprised."
Mercy knew that wasn't where his surprise came from. He already knew he was a handsome man. She wanted to put his mind at ease. "It's nothing. I met Mr. Berkeley a few months ago. It was of little consequence to me so I forgot to mention it to my mother. We just ran into him down the street. Well, actually," she continued nervously, "We almost ran into him, but he stopped just in time."
Ian's eyes darkened more. "Addison Berkeley?"
Her mother laughed. "Yes. Can you imagine she met a man like that and failed to mention it to me?"
With a sweet smile, he looked up at her mother. "No, Mrs. Creed. I cannot imagine that."
Happy to have an ally, she reached into the box and declared, "Here have a treat." She placed a little lemon tart on his desk.
"Thank you," he smiled up at her again, his eyes full of innocence. "That is kind of you."
With amusement, she said, "Yes, well, just don't tell James that I gave you one. He is quite stingy with his tarts. I know he likes you, but if he knew you were touching his tart, he would not be happy."
Mercy knew her mother was trying to tease, but she couldn't even force a smile. Shame washed over her like an angry wave, and she braced herself by a table to keep from toppling under its weight. It almost seemed like her mother was trying to make a point, but it must be her own guilty conscience.
She was like the tart, and Ian kept touching her, and she had no doubt that her father would not be happy about it. She'd always wanted to be a good girl, and now she had become a liar. All along she'd known she was deceiving her mother, but to have it flaunted right in front of her face made her feel sick.
Her mother looked at her with concern and walked to her side. "Sweetheart, are you ill? You look terribly pale. Actually, you look a little green."
"I'm not feeling well."
"I'm sorry. I should've taken you home when you asked me to earlier." She led Mercy to a chair. "Here, sweetheart. Sit down and I'll take these treats to your father. I'll be right back."
As soon as her mother disappeared down the hall, Ian looked up at her. "Are you truly sick or was that just an excuse so you could be alone with me?"
"I truly feel sick. The guilt of deceiving my parents makes me ill. I don't like it, Ian."
"I don't like it either, but what do you want me to do? I cannot have you yet, but I will not give you up." His voice filled with intensity as he murmured, "You are mine, Mercy. You do know that?"
His? Somehow his words didn't sit well. "You speak of me like I'm your property, and I don't like that. But to put your mind at ease, you must know I'm committed to you. Don't ever doubt my loyalty."
"I don't like you talking with Addison Berkeley."
"I can't be rude and ignore him. You have nothing to worry about." Letting out a weary sigh, she whispered, "How much longer, Ian? I cannot continue this deception. It's eating away at me."
He ran both his hands through his hair in agitation. "Mercy, believe me, I'm trying. You must trust me. I'm sorry for making you wait, but I'm making my money soon. It won't be much longer. Meet me in the gazebo at eleven o'clock tomorrow night, and I'll make it up to you, love."
"I have to go to the Governor's Ball tomorrow night, but I'll meet you there the next night."
"You're going to a ball without me?"
"Well, you weren't invited, and I have to go. I wish you were going, believe me."
"You don't have to go." Anger crept into his voice as he commanded, "Get out of it."
Shaking her head with a frown, she answered, "I cannot. Besides, I want to go. I'll get to see many old friends that I haven't seen for awhile. But I'll tell you all about the ball the next night when I see you."
His eyes darkened as he opened his mouth to respond, when footsteps sounded in the hallway. Ian looked down and began writing as if he didn't even know she sat in the room.
When her father walked in, she noticed deep lines creasing his handsome face that she'd never noticed before. He crouched down in front of her and laid his hand across her forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God you don't have a fever." With worry etched all over his face, he asked, "Where do you feel sick? I heard about a few more cases of yellow fever breaking out in Philadelphia. I hope it has not come here too. Blasted mosquitoes."
Mercy reassured him, "I'm just tired, Daddy. That is all. I promise." Losing Noah had just about destroyed him. Losing her would finish the job.
"I'll have my coach take you home." Lifting her gently to her feet, he soothed, "Come along, darling."
As she found herself being ushered out of the room, she glanced back at Ian to see him glowering. Did he really expect her to stay home from the Governor's Ball? How selfish. She truly wished he was going. When he became an important man, they could attend functions like this together. In the mean time, she wasn't going to sit at home. He shouldn't expect her to.
When she got home, she took a quick bath. After putting on a simple, cotton dress, she stood at the window and noticed Daisy lurking behind a tree in the garden. With all that happened, she'd forgotten their reading lesson. Grabbing her Bible off the nightstand, she crept out to the gazebo.
As soon as Daisy saw her, relief flooded her face. "I'm glad you made it, Mercy. I was getting worried."
"Everything is fine. Sorry I'm late."
"It's all right. I'm just anxious to find out what happens to Jacob and Rachel. It's so romantic that he had to wait seven years to marry her, but it seemed like a day because of his great love for her."
Mercy nodded and let out a deep breath. She'd only waited three months for Ian and already she grew aggravated as if the wait was an eternity. She just needed to be patient.
Mercy read the story and then handed the Bible to Daisy to read. She stumbled over a few words, but it was obvious that Daisy had become a good reader.
"Honestly, Daisy, I think you have got to be one of the smartest girls I've ever met," Mercy praised.
Daisy beamed and then reached into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief with an exquisite embroidering of daisies and the initials MPC for Mercy Prudence Creed. "This is so you won't forget me. I wish I could give you more." She looked away and wiped tears from her lovely brown eyes. "You've been good to me, and you aren't even related to me."
Something about those words reverberated inside Mercy and it was as if a candle had been lit, bringing illumination inside her. Related. Daisy was much darker, but her large brown eyes and the shape of her face looked remarkably like Cordelia. She gasped at the thought. "Daisy. Is Mr. Turner your father? Is Cordelia your half-sister?"
Panic covered her face, and she shook her head. "Why would you think that? I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to. You look just like Cordelia."
"Please say nothing. Mr. Turner knows and that is why he allows me to live in the big house. My mama died when I was a little girl, and Mr. Turner took me in. He's a busy man, but when I see him, he's kind to me. But Cordelia and her mother don't. They'd be even more horrible to me if they did."
"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. We are friends, and I must say I like you much better than Cordelia."
Daisy laughed, "I will not tell her you said that."
"Good idea."
Daisy stood and smiled at Mercy. "I never thought I would have a friend like you." She turned to leave. "Goodbye until tomorrow."
Mercy walked to the house, considering another bath, but as soon as she opened the back door, she heard her mother's voice.
"Mercy, come into the parlor." She walked into the beautifully decorated room and her mother patted the sofa next to her. "Sit, Mercy. I want to talk to you about something."
A rising sense of panic filled her. "What is it?"
Her mother stared at her for several moments. "I know you are keeping something from me, and it hurts that you wouldn't trust me enough to tell me."
Instantly, the pressure of all the secrets flooded out. Tears streamed down Mercy's cheeks. "Oh, mama. I wanted to tell you. I did." Between sobs she got out, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
"Did you think I wouldn't see you in the gazebo?"
"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I've not been thinking clearly for awhile."
Her mother brought her into an embrace. "Oh, darling, don't weep. I'm actually proud of you."
Mercy pulled back and stared. "Proud?"
"Of course. You are risking the intense anger of the Turner family, and yet you defy their oppressive ways by teaching Daisy to read. I think it's a noble thing you're doing. It's best that no one else knows, but I'm glad I do. I can tell I raised you right. Pastor Thompson prayed you'd be a guide to others, showing mercy. And look at you, darling."
Mercy buried her face in her hands and let out a moan of anguish. She couldn't bear her mother's praise when she'd been so wicked. She sneaked out almost every night after her parents went to sleep and let Ian hold her and kiss her in the gazebo. Yet her mother was praising her virtue. If only she knew. Mercy wanted to confess, but what if her parents forbid her from seeing Ian again. She couldn't live without him. As much as she hated the dilemma she found herself in, she saw no way out.
Her mother patted her leg. "I know you feel poorly so sit here and I'll get your gown. We can sew on the appliqués together. I'm going to lower the neckline, shorten the sleeves and then add lace to both. I'll cut away the front, adding an underskirt of lace. It'll look so different when we're finished, no one will know the original gown was from two years ago. They'll think it's the latest fashion from Paris."
With a smile, Mercy asked, "When you're finished, I'm sure they will. But what about you, Mama? What are you going to wear?"
"Oh, I don't know, and I don't care. No one worries about what an old, married woman wears."
Mercy loved her for putting on a brave face, but she knew that her mother loved to dress pretty and wear new gowns. This had to be difficult on her.
"Well, no matter what you wear, you'll still be the prettiest, old married woman there." Mercy said.
Her mother reached down and kissed her forehead with a smile. "I'll be right back."
The next afternoon, Mercy tried on her finished dress. She held it out and spun around. Her mother's magic with a needle had indeed turned this dress into a gorgeous gown that looked entirely new. "Thank you, Mama. It's truly beautiful."
"As are you. Every man there will want to dance with you."
Mercy nodded and tried to smile. The man she wanted to dance with wouldn't even be at the ball. She turned around and asked, "Can you unbutton me please? It's so hot and humid I'll sweat all over this dress and ruin it before tonight."
As her mother undid the little buttons, she teased, "Ladies perspire. They don't sweat."
Mercy forced a half-hearted smile. Since I'm not much of a lady, I probably just sweat.

