Understanding Mercy Read online

  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 amusemen
t 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.”