Understanding Mercy Read online

  “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 the
n 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 good-bye 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—”