Traces of Mercy (12 page)

“She’ll never find us,” Mercy whispered. “We need to give up.”

Rand frowned as if he couldn’t hear her and moved closer. He was so close she could see gold flecks in his eyes before he dropped his gaze to her mouth. She felt the lightest touch of his hand under her chin before he leaned in and covered her lips with his own. She felt herself give in; it was as if her bones had become liquefied—she could barely remain sitting there as the kiss deepened.

“Deirdre! There you are! Did you find them?” Oona’s voice on the other side of the hedge brought Mercy quickly back to reality. She pulled back from Rand and started to say something, but he put his finger against her just-kissed lips and shook his head with a small smile. “Wait,” he whispered. “They’ll go away.”

“Mercy? Rand? I give up,” Deirdre said loudly through the hedge. “Did you hear me? You win!”

Moments later, they heard the muted sounds of conversation as Deirdre and Oona walked away.

“We need to get back,” Mercy said. “I don’t want them to be mad. The sisters have been so good to me. If I spoil things, they might not let me live with them anymore.”

“At least it would mean the end of chaperones,” Rand said.

“Don’t tease about that, Rand. I’d be homeless without them.”

“I would never let that happen to you.”

Mercy watched his gaze travel to her mouth again, and she blushed. “We need to go.” She started to get to her feet, but he pulled her back down beside him.

“Mercy, it’s time you met my parents,” Rand said.

“No, it isn’t.”

He studied her in the way that made her feel light-headed and filled with anticipation. “Yes. It is. That kiss meant something to me. And I’m quite sure it meant something to you too, didn’t it?”

She hesitated. “It shouldn’t have, but … yes.”

He looked both relieved and victorious at her admission.

“My mother is insisting on meeting the young woman I have been going on and on about,” he said.

She felt a kind of panic seize her. “What have you told them about me?”

“Enough to pique their curiosity,” he said evasively. “Please. Just agree to one small dinner party, and if you never want to see them again after that, so be it.”

“Dinner party?” she asked with alarm.

“Mother, Father, and a few of their close friends get together every few weeks.”

“That sounds worse than dinner with just your parents,” she said bluntly.

He smiled. “It will actually be easier for you. My mother won’t exclude all her other guests by peppering you with personal questions.”

She sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

He shook his head. “You’ll find once I set my mind on something, it’s almost impossible for me to let go.”

Deirdre dropped the unopened picnic hamper into the back of the carriage. “They were on the other side of the hedges, Oona. I heard them!”

“They would have said something if they were,” Oona said. “Mercy wouldn’t keep hiding if she knew we were looking for her.”

“That’s the point of the game!” Deirdre sounded exasperated. “To hide!”

“Do you suppose that Rand and Mercy planned this whole thing?”

“Yes, Oona. That
is
what I suppose.”

Oona folded her hands. “We need to pray.” She bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, forgive us for failing at the task of keeping watch over our sister Mercy. Please keep her safe from harm—and, Lord, please spare us from Mother Helena’s wrath if we return to the convent alone.”

“Amen,” Deirdre muttered.

“Deirdre! Oona!” Mercy’s voice preceded her appearance into the small clearing where they stood.

Oona hurried toward Mercy when she saw her. “There you are! Are you all right?”

Rand came up right behind her and exchanged a glance with Deirdre. “She’s fine. Just fine.”

“Yes,” Mercy agreed. “I’m fine.”

“What happened to the two of you?” Deirdre asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rand cleared his throat. “The truth is …”

“The truth is that Rand was going to show me a good hiding place, but I got distracted when I saw his house in the distance, and I really wanted a look at it—and he took me to a spot where I could see just how lovely it is from way up high, and we forgot about the game …” Mercy’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I guess I lost track of time.”

“We both did,” Rand said. “Can you forgive us for ruining the game?”

Oona exhaled. “Of course. There’s nothing to forgive. Isn’t that right, Deirdre?”

Mercy felt the blush creeping up her neck and knew that Deirdre saw it. The young woman was staring hard at her, but then she smiled.

“That’s right, Oona. Nothing at all to forgive.”

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

I have had my first kiss. At least the first kiss that I can remember. And the most glorious part of the whole thing is that at any given time, if I want to, I can call up the exact moment when Rand leaned over and kissed me—and relive every second of it. What an amazing thing. This must be how it is for everyone else—think of something pleasant that has happened, and voilà, you can make it happen again by memory.

We didn’t fool Deirdre one little bit at the picnic—she knows. I’m sure of it. Just as I’m sure she won’t outright ask me. Instead, she’ll wait for me to confess and then get me to tell her the details. But the only place I do my confessing is here, dear journal. You can’t judge—you can’t comment. You only take note.

I told Mother Helena about Rand’s insistence that I meet his parents and how much I don’t want to do that—but she was unsympathetic. “Don’t build mountains out of molehills, Mercy,” she told me. “Whatever you imagine might go wrong, most likely won’t.” I’ll never know for sure until I have the courage to go through with it—so I accepted Rand’s invitation.

Deirdre is upset she won’t be joining us for dinner. She didn’t say so—but I can see it on her face and in her eyes when she looks at me. I wonder if she’s thinking again of her potato farmer and dinners with his family.

According to God (and Mother Helena), the children will be arriving soon. We won’t know the exact day or hour, but we are to be ready.

Sister Martha said Mother has a heart for children nearly as big as her heart for God. It makes me wonder again how these women can give their lives away in an act of faith before some of them even had enough time to really live. Does Mother Helena ever mourn the loss of the children she never got to have? Does Oona want to have one more dance with her father on this earth instead of saving all her dances for her Father in heaven? Sister Rebecca can play the piano as if it was the only thing she was born to do—and Sister Gertrude is so skilled with a needle and thread, the other sisters say she could be making clothing fit for a queen. Sister Marie must have been very beautiful as a young woman with many husband prospects, and Sister Rachel has a voice like an angel. Their faith is staggering to me. How I wish I had just an ounce of what they have—but I don’t. I don’t have the same faith in God, and I certainly don’t have faith I can sit at a dinner table with Rand and his parents tomorrow evening without stumbling over my missing past.

Mercy shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of several nuns. After Mercy turned one way and then the other in her pale-green taffeta dress, Sister Gertrude finally smiled.

“I know it’s boastful,” she said, “but I believe ’tis the finest-looking frock I’ve ever made.”

Oona, Deirdre, Ruth, Rachel, and Marie murmured and nodded in agreement with her.

“It
is
beautiful, Sister. Thank you so much,” Mercy said sincerely.

“You look just perfect. He’ll be so enamored with you.”

“She’s not worried about Rand, Sister,” Deirdre said. “It’s the parents she’s hoping to win over, isn’t that right, Mercy?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Mercy said with a worried shake of the head. “I just don’t want them to think I’m not fit to shine their son’s shoes.”

“Well, now, if that is their attitude, it’s them who aren’t fit to sit at the same table as you.” Oona sniffed.

“Just mind your manners and see to it that you don’t make any big blunders, and you’ll be fine,” Sister Ruth chimed in.

“If it were me, I’d not be knowin’ what piece of cutlery to use at a big, fancy table such as the Prescotts might have,” Sister Rachel said.

Mercy’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Sister Gertrude threw a sidelong glance at Rachel before turning back to Mercy. “’Tisn’t so hard to know. You use the flatware farthest to the left and just work your way in.”

“But don’t be reaching for your fork until your hostess does,” Oona said.

“And if they serve a piece of fruit, for goodness’ sake don’t just pick it up. You should eat it elegantly,” Sister Marie said.

“Elegantly?”

“Yes. Peel it with your knife and cut it into small pieces,” she answered. “Likewise with bread or rolls. Small, manageable pieces, or you’ll look like a cow chewing its cud.”

“Don’t monopolize the conversation,” Oona said. “A lady always listens more than she speaks.”

“When you are introduced to the guests, never offer your hand to a man,” Sister Marie said. “Just bow politely and say, ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance.’”

Deirdre puffed out a breath. “I say be yourself, Mercy. Rand is smitten with you as you are—he isn’t looking for some stiff-mannered woman who doesn’t have a thing to say.”

“I’d be sick with worry if I were you,” Sister Rachel said, eliciting another glare from Sister Gertrude. “Aren’t you just the tiniest bit nervous?”

“I’m shaking in my borrowed shoes,” Mercy said.

“You look calm as the day is long,” Sister Ruth said.

Mercy swallowed. “Say a prayer that I can keep up that charade, will you, Sisters?”

Mother Helena approached the group. “I imagine this little meeting means everyone has finished with her tasks for the day?”

The nuns scattered like leaves on the wind, leaving Mercy alone with the older nun.

“You look lovely,” Mother Helena said.

“Thank you. And thank you for allowing me to go unchaperoned.”

Mother Helena raised a brow. “I’m trusting that Rand’s parents will act as chaperones,” she said, “and I’m also trusting that you won’t give them the slip as easily as you did Oona and Deirdre.”

Mercy’s cheeks colored. “But that was all a mistake, Mother. We didn’t actually mean to …”

“I live separate from the world, but I am not ignorant of it, Mercy,” she said. “So please don’t insult my intelligence with excuses. And please remember our curfew. I’ll expect you back by then.”

“Yes, Mother, I’ll remember.”

Mother Helena crossed her arms over her chest and slipped her hands into the bells of her sleeves. She looked out the window of the common room and then smiled, the lines in her face softening. “Your escort is here.”

As Rand led her up the wide stairs of the Prescott mansion, Mercy couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked. Dressed in a black waistcoat with velvet lapels, he looked every inch a well-to-do gentleman. She tried to tamp down her nerves as he looked over at her with a reassuring smile.

“Ready?” he asked.

She shook her head but answered in the affirmative. He laughed. “You truly don’t know how charming you are, do you?”

He opened the door before she could answer, and they stepped into a huge foyer handsomely furnished with side tables and arrangements of freshly cut flowers. From another room, voices carried on the floral-scented air, and an ornate pendulum clock ticked off the seconds like a metronome. As Rand closed the door, the clock chimed loudly—then once again. Mercy felt the world tilt, felt her heart stutter in her chest, then on the third chime, saw a face as black as night magically appear in the foyer. She slammed her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, and her knees buckled. Rand slipped an arm around her. “Mercy! What is it?”

She looked pointedly at the black man standing a few feet away. “Who is that?”

“Ellis, our butler,” Rand said.

Ellis offered a small, puzzled smile. “Good evening, sir. I am sorry I didn’t hear the bell on the door.”