Traces of Mercy (18 page)

“Are you sure?” she asked, aware that her voice had risen just a bit and that Rand had taken hold of her arm. “Because if there is any chance that you might … I need to know. Please.”

John Henderson leaned over and put a hand on Captain Hale’s shoulder. “Yours is a memorable, beautiful face, Mercy. I would highly doubt a man would ever forget meeting you.”

“He’s right, of course,” Captain Hale said. “I misspoke. Again, I’m sorry.”

Ilene turned to the next person in line, and Mercy heard her laugh. She felt Rand’s tension radiating through his shoulder as Captain Hale stared a moment longer.

“You should join us for our annual pheasant hunt on New Year’s Eve, Captain Hale,” Rand said, a little too loudly. Mercy heard the false cheerfulness in his voice. “John is a good shot, but I imagine that you, being a military man and all, can show us all a thing or two about taking aim.”

To Mercy’s relief, Captain Hale finally pulled his eyes from her and looked at Rand. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“We’ll bring him along if we have to hog-tie him,” John said.

“Splendid,” Rand said halfheartedly.

“Congratulations,” Captain Hale said.

“Thank you,” Mercy said.

John and Mary had already moved out of the line by the time Captain Hale followed after them. Rand watched them go and then leaned toward Mercy, and she heard him try to recapture the cozy, conspiratorial tone he’d used all evening long.

“I think the war has made the good captain a little daft,” he whispered into her ear.

She smiled and nodded, even as she watched the retreating form of Captain Hale turn back and give her one last searching look before joining his friends.

“Mercy,” she heard Ilene say, “you remember Leon and Anna Zimmerman.”

And it was with great relief that Mercy could turn and say, “Yes, of course, I remember.”

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Tomorrow there is to be a pheasant hunt on the property adjacent to the cottage. Though it’s been an annual event with the Prescotts, Rand said they didn’t have the hunt the last few years because of the war. He’s anxious to return to the tradition and, in a rare moment of bragging, told me he’s an excellent shot. He even showed me a cabinet filled with rifles at the cottage. They are all in good working order, and there is enough ammunition to have been able to hold off the rebel army if it had come to that.

I can’t help but wonder if Captain Hale will attend with the Hendersons. He looked at me so strangely the night of the engagement party. I’ll admit I felt a moment of excitement coupled with dread when he asked if we’d met. But then when he changed his mind, all I felt was relief. I keep telling myself I want to know my past, but I’m not sure that’s true. There is always the fear that my past will completely upend my life with Rand, and I know I don’t want that. I suppose what I’m admitting to you, my dear journal, is simply that I’m willing to live without my memory—so I can live with Rand.

Mercy would be the first to admit that she had no idea what to expect from a pheasant hunt, but she was surprised it was such a spectator event—albeit a quiet one. Rand and Ilene had both advised her that all conversation would be in hushed voices so the quarry wouldn’t be spooked.

As the hunt was to take place in close proximity to the cottage, Ezra, Letty, Kizzy and even Isaac were there to see to the needs of the women who were piling out of buggies and carriages with thick woolen blankets in tow. Mercy and Ilene settled themselves on a blanket that soon became the centerpiece for all the other guests who vied for a spot near the hostess and her future daughter-in-law. Cora and her mother arrived, instructing Letty to place their blanket right beside Ilene’s. Mercy supposed that Cora would be a permanent fixture in her life at social occasions, and the thought both depressed and annoyed her.

She turned her attention to the men and watched them go through their hunting rituals. It seemed as if the hunters preened more than the quail she’d seen on the fringe of the cottage grounds. There was plenty of chest puffing and strategy talking in quiet voices so as not to alert the pheasants loafing in the tall grasses about fifty yards from the hunters. The bird dogs sat anxiously at their masters’ feet, tails barely sweeping back and forth in anticipation of flushing and pointing out the quarry.

Captain Hale stood slightly apart from the others—surveying and watching just as Mercy was doing. His rifle was secured under his arm, his expression one of almost sardonic amusement. Mercy had the impression that the sole reason he was there was out of respect to his hosts, the Hendersons. He didn’t have the same eager air of anticipation as the others—wasn’t jockeying for position with the men who were spreading out and getting ready. He had greeted Mercy politely, and she was relieved when no mention was made of his mistake the night of the engagement party.

Ilene leaned closer to Mercy. “Rand has been shooting since he was five years old,” she said proudly. “He got his first rifle from my father that Christmas and has proven himself to be an accomplished hunter ever since.”

Mercy watched as Rand adjusted a Henry rifle on his hip and then lifted his eyes to the grasses in the distance.

Mercy smiled. “He looks very handsome in his hunting clothes.”

“Yes, he does,” Ilene agreed. “You know, I have always found it amusing that the male pheasants—the roosters—are the beautiful birds. The white ring around their necks, their lovely copper breast and sides. Even the blue patch on their back end is decorative.”

“And the females?” Mercy asked.

Ilene chuckled. “The hens are plain as plain can be. They’re a dull beige. Mottled from head to toe. Smaller, of course, than their male counterparts.”

Mercy smiled. “Am I the dull hen compared to the brilliant rooster, Ilene?”

“No,” Ilene said quickly. “Of course not. I was simply making an observation about nature.” They both watched Rand a moment more, then Ilene continued. “But you are very blessed, my dear. He is simply
the
most eligible bachelor in St. Louis, you know.”

“
Was
the most eligible bachelor in St. Louis,” Mercy answered.

Ilene raised her brows and then smiled. “You are quite right. I stand corrected.”

Mercy sensed the change in the hunters, the dogs—the general air of anticipation that settled over everyone as the men lined up.

“What now?” she asked quietly.

“Now they send in the dogs to flush out the birds. Pheasants prefer to run but can fly quite quickly if they lose ground cover.”

“And then it’s over? Just like that?”

“No—they’ll keep hunting until the dogs can’t find another bird to flush.”

Rand glanced over his shoulder and caught Mercy’s eye for just a moment. Ilene smiled. “Men love to be watched when they are doing something well.” She nodded toward the group of men. “Here we go.”

All eyes were on Charles, the host of the hunt, as he leaned down and gave Beau, his dog, a tap on the rump. Beau and the other dogs took off for the tall grass, barking, baying—hurtling toward the hidden prey.

Mercy heard the first panicked cries from the pheasants—a loud, raspy
kok, kok, kok, kaw-kok
—just before they scattered from their cover in a dead run. Some burst into the air at speeds far greater than she would have imagined possible.

With the sound of the repeating rifles echoing in her ears, Mercy watched the first round of the hunt come to a close in less than a minute. Dogs trotted after their prizes, returning with pheasants hanging gingerly from their jowls.

She heard pleased exclamations from the women around her. Cora leaned over toward Ilene to confide in her.

“I plan to try my hand at shooting this year,” she said.

“Really?” Ilene said. “I didn’t think you had an affinity for hunting, Cora.”

“I don’t. But I do have an affinity for something else. I thought I’d ask Captain Hale for some pointers.”

Ilene and Mercy glanced over at Captain Hale as he reloaded his gun. The Hendersons’ dog sat at his feet next to two large roosters laid out on the ground. “I will admit that Captain Hale would be a very handsome instructor, Cora,” Ilene said with a small smile.

Cora cast a quick look at Mercy. “I think he’ll do just fine, since Rand is otherwise engaged.”

Mercy smiled. “Yes. He is.”

Cora got to her feet as the hunters repositioned themselves by turning toward the south. She crossed the space between the spectators and the men and walked boldly up to Captain Hale.

“I have a feeling she always gets what she wants,” Mercy said quietly to Ilene as they watched Cora make her case to the captain.

“Not always,” Ilene said. “She didn’t get Rand.”

The hunters were positioned to shoot again, their dogs obediently waiting for the signal to charge.

This time, Rand was the one who set Beau in motion, and the dog sprinted toward a new fringe of wild grass—other dogs baying right on his heels. The birds took flight quickly now, leaving behind only a handful who tried to stay the course and outrun their predators.

Again the whole thing was over in less than a minute, and dogs returned with roosters and hens and placed them with pride at their masters’ feet.

Mercy looked over and saw a look of mild irritation on the face of Captain Hale. He had missed the second round of the hunt because of his instruction to Cora. She played the part of the helpless female perfectly; even Mercy could see that.

“She’s an excellent shot,” Ilene said. “Her father taught her when she was just a little girl.”

“Really? Then why …?” But as Captain Hale leaned a little closer around Cora, Mercy knew exactly why she was pretending to be a novice with a gun. Cora smiled, then leaned over and said something to Rand.

Rand looked from Cora to Mercy, then frowned. Mercy could see that Cora was trying hard to make a point—but just what that point was, she didn’t know. Until Rand headed right for her.

“What are you doing, Rand?” Ilene asked.

“Cora suggested that maybe Mercy might want to try and shoot,” Rand said. Mercy wanted to strangle Cora. She had no interest in getting up in front of everyone to make a fool of herself.

“How about it, Mercy? Want to give it a try?” Rand asked.

Mercy shook her head. “No. I’m fine just watching.” But even as she said it, she looked past Rand and saw the smug look of satisfaction on Cora’s face.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Rand said. “But …”

Mercy held out her hand. “I changed my mind.”

Rand helped her up. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want Cora to think I’m afraid to try,” Mercy said through gritted teeth.

Rand chuckled softly and led her back to the spot where Beau was waiting. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a quick lesson on how to hold the Henry rifle.

“Keep the butt of the gun braced hard against your shoulder,” he advised her in a low voice. “This rifle has quite a kick that can leave a bruise if you’re not careful.”

She nodded. “All right. Anything else?”

“Just remember to stay composed and not rush the shot,” Rand said. “And make sure you aren’t aiming at anything but the birds. We don’t want any dead dogs or hunters out here today.”

Mercy felt her heart start to race. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“You’ll be fine,” Rand assured her.

“What if I miss?”

Rand smiled. “You
will
miss. It takes skill and practice with a rifle to be able to hit anything—let alone a flying or running bird.”

Mercy nodded and expelled a pent-up breath. “All right.”

She raised the rifle and adjusted the position until it felt comfortable. She cocked her head to the side and felt the wood against her cheek. She could smell the earthy residue of spent gunpowder. From the corner of her eye she was aware of Charles getting ready to turn the dogs loose. She cocked back the hammer, instinctually lowered her shoulder, and widened her stance to brace for the recoil. The dogs were sent flushing—birds shot skyward from the last stand of tall grass. Mercy felt the pressure of the trigger under her finger and squeezed, dropping a pheasant in an instant. She cocked the gun again, led with the barrel of the rifle, aimed at another large rooster, and fired. Not even breathing, she repeated the process, tracked a hen gaining height, and fired. The loud noise from the barrage of bullets ceased, and she took a deep breath as she lowered the rifle. It was only then she became aware that every pair of eyes in the field was trained directly on her.

“I don’t believe it.” Rand’s voice was stunned as he came up beside her. “You shot three before Cora even fired once,” he said. “Three shots—three kills.”

Mercy’s knees felt weak; her stomach knotted into a cold ball of nerves over what she’d just done. A group of hunters was gathering around them.

Mercy smiled weakly at Rand. “Must be beginner’s luck.”

Cora and a very intense-looking Elijah Hale joined the group, along with Charles, who gave her an awkward pat on the back.

“Nice shooting,” Charles said.

“Thank you,” she said, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“You better watch yourself, Rand!”

“Got yourself quite a shot there, Prescott!”

“Maybe you can send the little woman out in the field and you can cook the birds,” someone else called out.

Mercy could see the color starting to rise in Rand’s cheeks, but he grinned good-naturedly. “I think a better idea is that I make sure to keep her happy,” Rand quipped. “For all I know, she’s a trained assassin who might dispatch me in my sleep after we marry.”

Mercy was relieved to see that everyone laughed. Everyone that is, except for Elijah Hale.

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The leather wing-back chairs were deep, comfortable, and at the perfect angle for conversation in front of the fire crackling in the hearth of Congressman John Henderson’s study. Elijah Hale and John were savoring their brandies when Mary entered the study and positioned herself directly in front of them.