Stealing Mercy (5 page)

“You frightened me,” Mercy stammered. She should apologize. She studied his boots, because she also owed him a thank-you for his shipboard heroics, but since she didn’t want to admit to being the male clad female he’d previously met, she kept her face adverted.

“And yet you’re the one holding a weapon,” he said, still holding her hand above her head.

She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady and light. “I’ll relinquish my weapon if you release me.”

He narrowed his eyes, smiling and lowered her hand a fraction. “It seems a fair trade, but how do I know you’re trustworthy.” He dropped her wrist. “I don’t think you are.”

“Does my yardstick alarm you?” she asked, looking up at him. He hadn’t mentioned their prior meeting, but his eyes were lit with something, laughter? Recognition?

He chuckled and she blushed as his gaze swept over her thin frame. He shook his head. “I like to know who’s attacking me, male or female, and why.”

Male or female? Her heart sank. He had recognized her. She had no rational for waving a yard stick so she said, “Perhaps I wasn’t assaulting you. Maybe I wanted your measurements.”

He smirked. “And how do I measure?”

“Quite nicely,” Eloise said, appearing from behind the soap display.

“Miss Carol,” the man dipped his head at Eloise.

Eloise dropped in a slight curtsey. “Mr. Michaels.” She turned to Mercy. “Is this the something you needed to pick up?”

“First she tried to knock me down.”

“Really?” Eloise deepened her dimples. “And was she successful?”

“Nearly,” Mr. Michaels murmured, his eyes lingering on Mercy’s face.

Mercy blushed, looked away and caught sight of the tavern. Although she couldn’t see Steele, she couldn’t afford to forget him and the danger he posed. She turned back to Eloise and Mr. Michaels, and laid the yardstick on the counter.

“Won’t you need that?” Eloise asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Michaels said. “You wouldn’t want to be unprotected.”

“I’m capable of protecting myself,” Mercy said, remembering another time when that hadn’t been true. She wrapped her arm around Eloise’s waist. “And of taking a man’s measure. Come, Eloise. Aunt’s waiting for her parcels.”

Eloise looked over a shoulder at Mr. Michaels as Mercy pulled her out the door. “It’s true, you know; she’s a professional.” Eloise added, “Mercy’s a tailor in her aunt’s shop.”

His eyebrows rose. “And just how long have you been doing that? Not too long, I guess. A few months, maybe?”

Mercy squared her chin and looked him in the eye. If he did recognize her, he should just say so. “Long enough to know how someone measures.”

“Surely a person can’t be measured by mere pounds and inches.” He continued, “There’s honesty and integrity to be considered.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you at church on Sunday, Mr. Michaels,” Mercy said. “Will you be delivering the sermon?”

“I didn’t mean to preach. I just meant that one can’t tell who someone
really
is by simply height. Wouldn’t you agree,
Miss
-”

Mercy glared, and Eloise shot them both a surprised look, as if she could tell the conversation had an undercurrent she couldn’t find.

Mercy held her tongue.

“Miss Mercy Faye,” Eloise blurted. “Mercy Faye, meet Mr. Trent Michaels.”

“You work in Bradly’s Dry Goods shop?”

Mercy nodded.

“And your aunt, did you say? How does she feel about duplicity?”

Mercy straightened her back. “She values honesty above all things, as do I.”

A smile tugged at his lips, and Mercy fought the urge to go back and smack him after all. She took Eloise’s elbow and, with another glance at the Lone Stag Tavern, she said, “Come Eloise, Aunt also values punctuality.”

*****

The following morning when Mercy attended church, she hoped to meet not Mr. Michaels, but Georgina Meyers, a committed member of the Ladies Relief Society and supporter of the Children’s Home.

She met Miles.

When he and Eloise walked in the chapel, his eyes lit when he spotted Mercy already in the pew she shared with her aunt. Miles always managed to sit between Mercy and Eloise, which had at first annoyed Eloise, but recently Mercy suspected Eloise had begun to encourage Miles to press his suit. Perhaps Miles had taken his post between them at first to keep his sister from whispering, but lately Miles’ prolonged lingering after Sunday services, and steadfast, earnest looks were beginning to, if not annoy, then set Mercy on edge. Still, she nodded a welcome when Miles folded his lanky form into the pew. Eloise, settling beside her brother, shot her a quick smile.

It seemed remarkable that tall, stiff Miles came from the same cloth as giggly Eloise. Mercy wished that she had met the parents that had managed to create such totally different offspring. Tall and imposing Miles, who, if he hadn’t had a successful family business to run, would have made an excellent pastor and giddy, flirtatious Eloise seemed unlikely siblings. Yet, they appeared to get on. Miles didn’t exactly smile at Eloise’s obvious man hunting antics, but he didn’t dissuade her and when Miles tended to pontificate, Eloise did little more than roll her eyes.

Miles sat beside Mercy like a stone statue clasping a hymnal and Mercy had to peer around him in search of Georgina. She’d previously met Georgina at the Ladies Relief Society and had been impressed by not only the conversation, but of how highly her aunt had spoken of her. Georgina had a passion for women’s rights and Mercy sensed a kindred spirit and an ally. Georgina didn’t fit the dedicated social reformer stereotype. A small cupid beauty who dressed in frilly pastels, she looked like the sort of girl a boy would want to tuck under his cloak and protect.

Seconds before the opening song, Mercy saw Georgina slip into the back of the chapel and arrange her soft gray skirts. Her flushed face struggled for calm.

After the prayer, Mercy kept her eyes focused on Pastor Klum, but her attention wandered. How could she speak to Georgina alone and broach the subject of Lucky Island? She couldn’t speak of it in front of Miles, Eloise, her aunt… or anyone. She hadn’t quite decided on whether or not to confide in Georgina.

Pastor Klum spoke on the Beatitudes, but his message barely scratched Mercy’s thoughts.
I need blessings
, she thought,
as we all do, but I don’t want to inherit the earth, I just want to be able to stay in Seattle without encountering Mr. Steele
. It didn’t seem an unreasonable request when the Lord was promising much greater blessing such as the kingdom of God. The poor, the hungry, the mourners -- she’d played all those roles and she hadn’t enjoyed any of them. The meek, the pure in heart, the peacemakers -- where, exactly, did she fit? Glancing around the room at first her aunt, then Miles and Eloise, Mercy’s heart twisted. She wanted to fit in with her new family and friends.

When it came time for the closing hymn, Miles belted out
Jesus Savior Pilot Me
in a strong bass. Mercy cast him a glance. What if she told him her experiences with Steele, how would he react? Would he defend her? Could she hide behind him? Possibly, but that wouldn’t be fair. She hadn’t a romantic interest in Miles, although she wondered why not. Tall, handsome and kind, yes, but he had the sense of humor of a toad. He caught her watching him, and the corners of his lips lifted, but Mercy didn’t know if it was a smile or the just the necessary movement for the pronunciation of
chart and compass come from thee
. After the benediction, Mercy looked beyond Miles’ broad back to see Georgina slipping through the broad double doors.

“Absorbing sermon, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Faye?” Miles stood between her and the retreating Georgina as solid and immovable as Mount Sinai.

Mercy blinked up at him and said the first thing that came to her mind. “Yes, but why would anyone want the whole earth?” She laid her hand on Miles’ arm. “Please excuse me, Miles. There’s someone I--”

Miles looked momentarily stunned and then, as if marshalling his thoughts said, “I do not think that was the Lord’s intention, to give the whole earth to one person, but rather to all the meek.”

“And what would the meek do with it, and where would all the rest of us go?” she asked over her shoulder. She managed to snake past him, but he followed.

Georgina stood on the steps. The late morning sun streamed through the shade of a maple tree and cast a dappled sunlight on Georgina’s face as she chatted with Pastor Klum. Mercy breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t yet left.

“Why to heaven, of course,” Miles said.

“That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?” Mercy asked, as she followed the stream of parishioners down the aisle. “The meek, who presumably didn’t have an easy time here on earth, because of their meekness, allowing others to take advantage of them and all that, have to stay on earth while the rest of us go to heaven?”

“But, we’re to assume that there are earthly blessings for the meek --” Miles persisted as he followed her out the door.

“But, is it wise to base your eternal salvation on a mere assumption?” Mercy spotted Georgina and a Pastor Klum on the steps. “The Lord helps those who help themselves, and the meek, well I don’t think they help anyone, least of all themselves.”

“That’s not scripture,” Miles addressed the back of her head. “Nor, is it doctrine.”

Mercy stopped beside Pastor Klum and laid her hand on Georgina’s arm. “Good morning.” She nodded at both the pastor and Georgina. “Pastor, I so enjoyed your sermon, but Miles as a question for you.”

“My son?” Pastor Klum turned his dark eyes on Miles who stood at Mercy’s shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck.

Miles flinched under the pastor’s gaze. Pastor Klum had an unfortunate resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, the same build and craggy facial features, but with more hair. His eyebrows, dark, thick and long, poked from his forehead like a thorn bush and the front of his hairline had a cowlick that made his hair stand on end.

While Miles sputtered out his question about the meek inheriting the earth, Mercy whispered in Georgina’s ear and begged a moment of her time.

“A walk along the bluffs perhaps?” Georgina asked taking Mercy’s arm.

Mercy slid a glance at Miles and the pastor. Confident that Miles had been sufficiently tangled in Pastor’s Klum biblical discussion, she led Georgina to the path overlooking the harbor and bay. They discussed trivial things until they reached the park’s yellowing grass. Buttercups dotted the lawn and a cool breeze smelling of the Sound lifted the branches of the alders and birches around them. Mercy didn’t know how to say what was on her mind. As they walked their shoes beat a sharp and quick staccato on the brick path. Mercy kept looking over her shoulder, aware that at any moment they could be overtaken by Miles.

The brothel stood on an outcropping of rocks and shoal on the peninsula with a pole bearing not only an American flag, but also pair of pink petticoats. “On a clear day, I can imagine I can hear the sound of laughter and music coming from the island.” She nodded at the Victorian monstrosity.

Georgina clucked her tongue and for a moment Mercy wondered if she’d misspoke, but she pressed on. “Church attending young ladies like ourselves feign ignorance of such establishments and the needs to which it caters, but if we all turn a blind eye we all stumble.”

“Exactly.” Georgina tightened her hold on Mercy’s elbow. “Who told you?”

“Who told me?” Mercy laughed. “It’s a mansion with a pink petticoat hanging on a flag pole. It’s hard to miss!” The laugh died in her throat when she saw Mile’s lanky form cresting the hill and heading in their direction. She steered Georgina into a thicket of trees. She looked at Miles through the shade of the alders and saw him pause. He’d lost sight of them.

Georgina shook her head. “You’ve misunderstood. I was wondering what you know of my involvement --”

Mercy stumbled on a tree root and then corrected herself while Georgina’s hand clutched her arm. “You’re involved in the brothel?”

Georgina looked at the brothel and then studied Mercy’s face. “Forgive me, I spoke too quickly,” Georgina said, lowering her chin and looking away.

Mercy’s heart pounded. She had to tell someone her secrets and she’d chosen Georgina. Tilly, a gossip, and Eloise, a flirt, however loveable they might be, couldn’t be trusted. Mercy thought Georgina would at least understand, if not help, so she drew her about to be confidant to a bench, took her hand and told her of her experiences with Steele.

Georgina watched the boats bobbing out on the Sound during Mercy’s story. Lucky Island didn’t look like an island, but rather an extension of a long strip of land protruding into the Sound. Local legend had it that a small fissure spanned by a draw bridge separated the two land bodies. When the petticoat and bridge were drawn, the girls of Lucky Island weren’t entertaining.

“You may wonder how the girls come to Lucky Island,” Georgina said.

Mercy thought of her own circumstances and frowned. “No, actually, I can see how easy it would be for a young girl to fall.”

“It’s not a choice for every girl.”