To Love Mercy © 2006 by Cathy Marie Hake
To Walk Humbly © 2006 by Cathy Marie Hake
To Do Justice © 2006 by Cathy Marie Hake
ISBN 978-1-63409-669-0
Ebook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-824-3
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-825-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever read something that sticks in your mind? My freshman year in high school I set out to read the entire Bible. Not just any Bible would do. I chose the Bible my daddy gave me many years previously on the Sunday I accepted Jesus into my heart—a black leather, red-letter, King James Version. Having grown up in a God-fearing, churchgoing home, I knew most of the stories in the Bible. Or so I thought. Then I embarked on an incredible journey for myself.
I was seeking to find what God wanted of me. Books have been written on what God wants. Sermons and songs address the matter. But my journey was to discover on an intensely personal basis what God willed of and for me. Micah 6:8 jumped off the page. “He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”
Years—okay, decades—have passed, yet that verse still resonates with me. When I was asked to write this book, I prayed about it. In that year, I had three surgeries, a major car accident, and had to put my beloved dog to sleep. Through it all, I’ve clung to the knowledge that this verse isn’t one-sided. God is the final arbiter of justice, even if I do not see the results here and now. He continually covers me with His tender mercies, and I never walk alone because He is with me.
I hope you enjoy reading about the Gregor brothers. Each received a gift and a piece of advice from their father, Micah. Their heavenly Father uses that to open their hearts to some very special Texas brides.
Love,
Cathy Marie
To Love Mercy
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
To Walk Humbly
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
To Do Justice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
You’ll stay together?”
Robert Gregor curled his hand around his father’s. “Aye, Da. You’ve my word on it.”
“Dinna be grieving, boy-o. ’Twas my wish to see you to the New World. As for me, my destination’s heaven. God and your mama will welcome me with open arms.”
The ship rolled gently, and sorrow as deep as the Atlantic washed over Robert. It didn’t come as a sudden shock but as a swell, carrying him from the security he’d known and leaving him adrift. Not yet. Please not yet. “We’ll see land in another day.”
“That you will.” His father had a way of putting together words to intensify their meanings. He’d done it now, and Robert felt the tide of life shift in those moments.
“Rob?” Duncan looked down from the upper bunk. His black hair stood up boyishly, making him look only half his age.
“Go fetch Christopher.” Robert knew his eldest brother would be pacing the deck. A restless man, Chris avoided situations where he’d bare his emotions or soul to others. Had it just been the four of them, he’d have stayed, but the ship teemed with hundreds of folks with nothing better to do than mind everyone else’s business. Christopher left the crowded steerage compartment round about midnight, grief ravaging his features.
Lord Almighty, must You take Da yet? Robert knew the answer. As a doctor, he’d witnessed births and deaths aplenty. Powerless to do anything but give comfort, he smoothed back Da’s thinning gray hair. “Save your breath, Da. The others’ll be here soon, and they deserve to hear your love.”
Minutes later, Christopher shouldered past the neighboring berths and knelt by the bunk. Duncan came to a halt behind him and rested a warm, calloused hand on his shoulder. Robert saw the tension in their jaws, the sheen of tears in their eyes. The Gregors were stoic with others, but among themselves, they always loved, laughed, and wept unabashedly—except for now. Time grew short, and Robert knew his brothers’ hearts were breaking, as was his, yet they both stayed strong for Da’s sake. A man ought to slip from this world and into God’s arms with the peace of knowing those he left behind would fare well.
“I’ve been blessed to have ye, lads.” Da drew in another breath. “Stay close to the Almighty so we’ll meet again at heaven’s gate.”
Each of them gave that promise without reservation.
Da squeezed Rob’s hand. “My da’s watch—to Chris.” He stared at his eldest and whispered, “Time is a gift, dinna waste it.”
Christopher nodded solemnly.
“Bible—I’m wanting Duncan to hae it. He’s a man of deep thoughts and quiet truths fit to soothe the soul.”
“I’ll treasure it, Da.” Duncan bent closer. “I’ll have a son and read to him as you read to us. He’ll know the Word of God, and Da—I’ll name him after you.”
A smile chased across Da’s features. Aye, Da’d been right, Robert observed. Duncan just spoke words that gave comfort.
Da then turned his head. “Robert—”
Rob leaned down and looked steadily into his father’s eyes. “You already gave me my gift, Da. I know what you sacrificed for me.” The compensation Da received for the arm he lost while working in the zinc mine had paid for Robert’s medical schooling.
Da smiled. “Mama’s ring. I kept it for ye, Son. Caring for bodies makes a doctor close off his heart so he doesn’t have to feel the pain. Dinna do that. Take a chance at love.”
Within the hour, it was all over. Rob wrapped Da; Christopher pushed everyone away and cradled his lifeless form up to the deck; Duncan carried the Bible. During the voyage, they’d assisted with other burials, but this was different. All three of them stood in a sorrowful knot as Chris prayed.
The Anchoria’s captain made a motion as he somberly said, “Lord, we commend the body of Micah Gregor to You and commit his mortal body to the deep until the day of Your return.”
It was over. Those who had come up to pay their respects murmured their condolences, then wandered off to leave the brothers some privacy.
Duncan opened the Bible. The ribbon marker was set in the book of Micah. He cleared his throat and read in an unsteady voice made thick with tears, “ ‘He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’ ”
Christopher nodded solemnly. “Da did those things.”
Rob wrapped his arms about his brothers’ shoulders. “Aye, and we will, too, in his honor.”
The Gregor brothers stood shoulder to shoulder along the ship’s rail as the Anchoria cut through the choppy waters. The copper Statue of Liberty towered over their vessel, but her long-awaited welcome felt empty since Da wasn’t beside them to see the grand sight.
Duncan nudged Rob. “I’m thinking she has the biggest feet I’ve ever seen.”
His joke lightened the tension. All three brothers chuckled. It made sense that Duncan would notice such a detail, him being a cobbler.
All about them, folks craned to see the sight. Mamas clutched their children close, and men stood a bit taller. Freedom. Opportunity. They’d scrimped, saved, sacrificed, and some nearly starved to come to America. Seeing Liberty did something—they’d gotten here…Didn’t that mean other dreams and hopes could come true, too?
“Ellis Island,” a sailor announced through a megaphone. “First-class passengers, please remain aboard. We will assist you with all your needs. Second class and steerage, gather your belongings and prepare to disembark.”
“Remember what I told you,” Robert murmured to his brothers. He shot a meaningful look at a woman coughing into her handkerchief. Americans didn’t want diseased immigrants flooding their land. Processing newcomers through this facility allowed officials to turn back those they determined might be sickly. Robert had known that fact full well, but Da refused to listen. He’d insisted on making the voyage.
“We’re hale as horses,” Chris said as he withstood a hefty bump from someone on his other side. “I’m heartily sick of being crowded. I’m going below to get our gear.”
“I’ll come along.” Duncan shifted sideways.
Robert didn’t say a word. He’d given Da his promise that they’d stick together, and he’d meant it. From here on out, he’d be sure to keep what was left of his family intact. After an overcrowded, noisy voyage, the steerage compartment was eerily empty and silent. They walked down the companionway and wended past bunks to reach the berth they’d shared with so many others.
Chris and Duncan knelt and yanked Duncan’s trunk from beneath the bunk. Filled with a cobbler’s tools, the thing weighed a ton, but Duncan hefted it with relative ease.
Robert turned his hand over and felt under the bunk for a package he’d secured there when they’d first boarded.
“Is it there still?” Chris asked in an undertone.
“Aye.” Rob untied the corners and carefully reclaimed his precious supply of medications and medical instruments. Theft below decks had proven to be a persistent problem, and he’d taken care to protect these things from sticky fingers and shifty souls. “I’ll put this in my bag with the rest of the things now.”
Two battered suitcases, a physician’s bag, and a cobbler’s trunk. The Gregor brothers carried all their worldly possessions off the ship and onto American soil. In short order, workers herded them through lines and into a large wooden building. Workers chalked numbers on the immigrants’ baggage and gave them pasteboard tickets for each piece.
“I’ll have that.” A man tugged at Robert’s valise.
“No.” Robert held fast. “I’m a physician. ’Tis my bag.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” The man shot him a disgruntled look and went on down the line to the next men.
Duncan folded his arms and looked about. “Aboard the ship, the noise all rolled back on us. Here, I can make out all of the different tongues. How are they ever going to be able to ask us all questions and understand our answers? ’Tis like the Tower of Babel in here.”
“Chris.” Robert elbowed him. Christopher had an uncanny ability to learn languages. “How many do you hear?”
“German. Dutch. French. Russian. Some of it sounds like Latin, so I’d venture that it’s Spanish or Portuguese.” He shrugged. “Probably both. Judging from clothing, there are Slavs aplenty, too.”
Their group spent time in what looked remarkably like a livestock pen. Older folk slumped on wooden benches and toddlers fussed.
Women went one way; the men went the other. Robert watched in silence as each man underwent a cursory examination. Those with light sensitivity or red, runny eyes received marks on their coats. So did the ones whose coughs revealed consumption.
A father and son ahead of them were drawn off to the side; the son’s eyes were diseased—would the father stay in America while his son was shipped back home?
Lord Almighty, what a horrendous situation. Da wouldn’t have made it through this. You took him from us, and that was hard enough—but to have a stranger rip us apart would have been unbearable. I didn’t realize at the time just how merciful You were being.
“Destination?” The tall man at the desk looked at Duncan for an answer.
“Texas,” Christopher answered. He pulled Connant’s letter from his vest pocket and carefully laid it on the desk. Connant had enclosed a note with that letter, warning them that New York teemed with immigrants. Officials would be glad to hear the brothers would leave the area.
“I can see you’re all brothers.” The man gave them a friendly smile. “Black Irish?”
“Scots,” they said in unison.
“Brawny ones at that.” The man scribbled something on a document. Robert wondered how someone in the midst of this madhouse managed to stay cheerful all day. Perhaps the news that they were headed clear off to Texas pleased him. God, thank Ye for Connant’s friendship and sound advice.
“What trades do you boast?”
“Doctor, cobbler, and miner.” Christopher jabbed his thumb at each of them in turn.
“Make yourselves useful, men. America needs men of peace and productivity.” He stamped something and waved them onward.
“Now what?” Duncan frowned. “I’m not liking this business of them keeping our belongings somewhere.”
A lanky man with a fringe of bright orange hair beckoned them. He’d gathered several others around him who all looked to be from the Isles. “Immigrant Society!” he called loudly.
“Connant wrote about them.” Robert headed that way.
“There we are, then.” The man smiled broadly. The lilt in his voice sounded wonderfully familiar. “America’s a wondrous land, and I won’t be sayin’ otherwise, but I need to warn you that many an unscrupulous man waits across the harbor. They’ll make promises and take what little ye’ve left, but ’tis little to no help you’ll get back. The Immigrant Society will help, and ’tis honest. If you ken where ye be headed, we’ll help transport you there at minimal cost and less fuss.”
“Minimal cost and less fuss turned out to be an honest assessment,” Robert said later as he tucked his black leather bag beneath the train bench and took a seat.
Duncan chuckled. “It bewilders me, it does, how you recall every last word a body says. How long’s the trip to Texas?”
“Three days.” Christopher folded his arms across his chest and scanned the others filling the train car.
Robert watched the other passengers, too. Long ago, he’d learned he watched people just as avidly as Chris, but they saw entirely different things. Where from his clinical perspective he saw undertones in complexions, strained breathing, guarded moves, and grimaces from pain, Chris focused on eyes and hands because he’d learned to measure a man’s ability to help or do harm. Together, they would evaluate their fellow travelers and exchange terse comments if something struck them as important.
Duncan, on the other hand, slouched in the seat so he’d be at eye level with a small boy. They’d struck up a conversation, and once the train set in motion, Duncan wrapped his arm about the lad’s shoulder and nudged him to rest his head against Duncan’s ribs. It wasn’t but a few minutes ere the lad fell fast asleep, and the mama gave Duncan a look of sheer gratitude.
“Well?” Robert didn’t even look at Chris when he asked.
“Left of the bald man in the green jacket—man’s armed to the teeth. Behind us three rows are two Poles with more fight in their eyes than brains in their heads.”
“That’s all?” He slanted a glance at Chris and gave him a slow, easy grin.
“Aye.” Chris pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, folded his arms, and stretched his long legs out before him. “I could whip all three of ’em without breaking a sweat, and you could wash the scratches on my knuckles afterward if you were of a mind to be helpful.” His chin dipped to rest on his chest, he let out a throaty chuckle, and before long he slumbered.
Robert couldn’t sleep. Then again, he’d learned to do with less sleep than most men needed. Relentlessly, the train chugged across the nation, belching clouds of black smoke and covering mile after mile of this huge, strange country. The rhythmic clack-clack-clack as they advanced didn’t make him sleepy—it energized him.
Three days. Three days of stopping here and there. Of changing trains. Of going through big, stately cities that looked newer than anything Scotland boasted, past grand stretches where nothing but forests commanded the land, and past patchwork plots covered by verdant crops. The streets weren’t exactly paved with gold, but from where he sat and what he saw, Robert knew America offered what every man craved most: an opportunity to make something of himself.
Back home, the zinc mine was played out. Christopher would have faced the humiliation of having no way to earn a living. Folks couldn’t spend money on shoes when their bellies were empty, so Duncan had experienced a severe drop in demand for his skills. Even Robert found he’d been paid far less reliably by his patients. This would be a fresh start. They’d have a meager beginning, but that thought didn’t trouble him, or his brothers, one bit. Strong, motivated men could forge a new life. Besides, they had one another, and they had God. In the end, those were what mattered most.
Mercy Ellen Stein clipped the floss, turned over the dish towel, and smiled at the pattern. Violet-blue morning glories trumpeted across the corner, and she closed her eyes for a moment to imagine just how well they’d match the pale blue cabinets in Otto’s house. Otto would be here for supper in less than an hour. Tonight they’d choose which Bible verses and hymns they wanted for the wedding. In preparation for that, Mercy had marked her favorite selections in the hymnal on the piano.
The family Bible always rested in the place of honor—a small oak table. Depending on the season, Grossmuter used to change the little tablecloths. Since her death last year, Mercy had followed the tradition. Fall’s maple and sycamore leaves embroidered on ecru cotton gave way to holly and ivy linen at Christmas. During spring and summer, partly for fun and mostly because dust was so prevalent, a whole variety of scarves decorated with flowers and birds took turns each week. In honor of their wedding plans, Mercy had used the satin one with delicate orange blossoms and airy tatted lace edges.
The hope chest in her room held a plethora of such linens. She didn’t need this dish towel at all, but she enjoyed needlework. The bodice of her wedding gown bore testament to that. She’d spent hour upon hour doing French cut lacework on the white cotton. They couldn’t afford satin, but that didn’t trouble her. Grossmuter had taught her to draw contentment from making ordinary things beautiful—and though it would be brazenly proud to speak the words aloud, Mercy believed her wedding gown to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever created.
Otto’s mother came over yesterday to help her pin up the hem. She’d pronounced the dress exquisite. After Grossmuter died, Otto’s mother had become Mercy’s confidant and mentor. Helpful and kindhearted, Mrs. Kunstler would be a fine mother-in-law.
The back door banged and feet pattered on the new linoleum floor. Jarred out of her musings, Mercy called out, “Walk in the house, Peter.”
Her little brother swung around the corner and half shouted, “Grossvater said I can keep one of Freckle’s puppies!”
Setting aside the almost-finished dish towel, Mercy laughed. “I suppose you’ve already decided which one.”
“Come see!”
“Why don’t we set the table first?”
“Mercy, I can’t wait. Please come now.”
She couldn’t resist her eight-year-old brother’s pleading brown eyes. “Okay. Let me check the roast first. The puppies aren’t going anywhere.”
Mercy glanced at the pan of green beans she’d cook in a little while, set potatoes on to boil, and peeked under the flour-dusted towel to be sure the dough was rising. The yeasty smell promised tasty rolls.
“You said you’d check the roast.” Peter wriggled with impatience. “You’re looking at everything else.”
“You’ll be glad later when you sit down to a good meal.” She opened the door to the Sunshine stove and pulled out the gray roasting pan. Fragrant steam billowed as she lifted the lid. “Mmm.” Quickly, she clanged the lid back down and pushed the pan back into the oven. No use letting out any moisture. Grossvater and Otto both loved gravy, so she’d want every last ounce of drippings she could get.
“Otto eats a lot,” Peter said as she took his hand and started toward the barn. “That roast better be really big.”
“Men who labor hard work up hearty appetites. Otto works hard, so he eats a lot. So does Grossvater. Someday, you’ll do the same thing when you’re doing a man’s work around here.”
Peter’s lower lip poked out. “I work hard around here.”
“Yes, you do.” She resisted the urge to ruffle his wind-tousled brown curls. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “Fast as you’re growing, you’ll soon be a man.”
His face brightened. With that issue resolved, he seemed to concentrate on their destination. Peter tugged on her hand, silently urging her to walk faster.
Mercy wished she’d taken time to put on her shoes. Grossvater scolded her whenever she came out to the barn barefooted. It was just that with the oven’s heat and spring sunshine, she’d peeled off her shoes and stockings in the house.
“If I guess which puppy you want,” she teased Peter, “you have to gather eggs this week.”
“Nuh-unh!” Peter yanked away and streaked ahead.
Caught up in his joy, Mercy laughed and ran after him. Early evening sun slanted into the barn, lending a golden glow to everything in sight. A horse whinnied, feet shuffled the straw-covered ground, and Freckle growled.
Mercy’s eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the dim place, but she guessed what was happening. “Peter, be careful. Mamas don’t take kindly to someone handling their babies.”
A muffled sound made her stop and tilt her head. Something wasn’t right. It was then that she saw Grossvater’s legs and boots sticking out from a stall. She cried out in alarm.
“Shut up.”
Mercy spun to the side. Cold horror washed over her. A stranger stood three feet away. Light glinted off the wicked-looking knife he held to Peter’s throat.
What do you think?” Connant Gilchrist swung his arm in a grandiose gesture.
Robert took in the room with nothing short of delight. “It’s perfect. And so modern!”
“Old Doc Neely’s widow didn’t know what to do with it. She sold the house and moved back to Boston to be with her daughter. The office—well, she told the mayor she reckoned the town folks bought most of this when they paid Doc for his services. The city council voted to pass it on to the next qualified physician.”
“It sure pays to have friends in the right place at the right time,” Chris said as he tested the examination table by pressing his palms downward on it.
Sturdy. Robert assessed the table with glee. He’d worked on many a patient who lay on a wobbly dining trestle. Good height, too. I won’t have to hunch over when I perform surgery.
“You came in through the waiting room.” Connant jerked a thumb toward a wide flight of stairs. “Two rooms up there—Doc Neely kept one as a sick room and used the other for himself on nights he needed to stay and keep watch on a patient.”
“Stove there is big enough to cook on when you’re not boiling instruments,” Duncan said. “After being crammed in that ship, even a small bedchamber will feel roomy.”
Connant nodded. “You can ask the bank for a loan or wait till you save up a bit, but the lot here’s plenty big enough. You might want to be building a wee house and a shop for Duncan in the back.”
“So the land is ours?” Robert gave his childhood friend a startled look.
“Aye, and why not? I put a stipulation in the contract, though.” His grin looked smug as could be. “Says you have to stay here five years, else the land and all of the supplies go to the next doctor.”
“That’s more than fair.”
Christopher’s face darkened. “Is there a problem so no one wants to stay here?”
“Flash floods, scorching summers, and occasional tornadoes. Worst of all, the cook at the diner serves charcoal instead of food.” Connant recited those flaws in a gratingly cheerful tone. “As my memory serves me, none of the lot of you ever did more in a kitchen than burn perfectly good food to cinders.”
“True,” Robert groaned. The best he could say about the food in the steerage compartment of the Anchoria was that it filled a stomach. Then again, the same could be said of anything the Gregor men cooked.
He walked over to the cabinet containing pharmaceuticals and noted a generous bottle of bicarbonate of soda. Good thing, that. More often than not, if they cooked for themselves, the Gregor men ended up needing bicarb to settle their bellies. He continued to scan the bottles and vials. All bore neatly printed labels and sat in alphabetical order. “Atropine. Belladonna. Calomel. Cascara sagrada. Chloroform,” he read aloud. “I take it there’s not a local apothecary since the supply here is so complete?”
“That’s right. I have a key for the file cabinet. Doc kept his patient books locked in there.”
“Good. Good.” Privacy was important, and Robert planned to maintain it. Nonetheless, it would be wise for him to read the records so he’d be familiar with the cases he’d be taking on.
He turned toward the filing cabinet and made note of the fact that both drawers locked. I’ll move some of those bottles and vials into the second drawer. In the years he attended school, he’d seen more than a few patients grow dependent on certain elixirs and compounds. At the earliest opportunity, he’d lock away most of the laudanum, cocaine muriate, and morphine sulfate.
Duncan looked down at his hands and made a face. “Half the soot from that train fell on me. We’d best wash up, even if the food at that diner turns out to be as black as the mess on our shirts.”
Duncan and Christopher stripped off their shirts over at the washstand. “You’re a filthy mess, boy-o,” Duncan teased Chris.
“No more than you.” Chris nudged him to the side. “But the admission galls me. Fill the pitcher again. I’m planning to scrub my head, and you can rinse it. I’ll return the favor.”
“I should go first. You’ve such a big head you’ll use up all of the water!”
Robert let their good-natured horseplay fade as he continued to walk about the office, opening drawers and taking stock of what was on hand. In my wildest dreams I never thought this is what I’d find. Everything I read said how backward the American West is, but this is the best medical setup I’ve ever seen. Holy Father, help me to use these things to Your glory.
“Quit daydreaming and wash up. We’re hungry,” Chris called over to him.
Rob looked at his brothers. “I’m not daydreaming. I was standing here thinkin’ on how proud Da would be to see such a grand arrangement.”
“Aye, he would.” Duncan nodded.
“True.” Chris nodded curtly, then tacked on in a raspy tone, “But he’d not want us to starve half to death whilst you gawked around. Let’s go eat.”
Duncan walked back to the waiting room where their trunks sat. “I’ll get your clean shirt.”
The cool water refreshed Robert. He scrubbed, enjoying the astringent scent of the soap. He moaned aloud at the simple pleasure of Connant pouring a pitcher of water over his head to wash out the dust, soot, and soap.
Dripping wet, shirtless, and with his suspenders hanging down, he wheeled around when someone burst through the door to the building.
“Sheriff!” A strapping man swayed in the doorway. “I killed him.”
“Killed who?” Connant pushed the man into the nearest chair. “Who did you kill, Otto?”
“Don’t know.”
Robert assessed the man quickly. His eyes were wide with shock, his whole frame shook, and he’d been violently sick all over the front of himself. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Tell me what happened,” Connant rapped out.
“They’re hurt.”
“Who?” Connant demanded.
“Mercy.” Otto groaned, then leaned forward and retched.
Robert automatically held out the towel even though nothing came up. He turned toward the luggage to grab his bag.
Duncan had opened the trunk and gotten out shirts. He tossed one to Robert. Christopher’s shirt hung open, but he’d moved on toward the next item of business. He was strapping on his gun.
“The Steins live about three miles out,” Connant said as they all barreled through the door. He grabbed the reins to his own sorrel mare and yanked Robert up behind him. “That’s Otto’s horse,” he told Christopher.
Christopher said nothing. He was swinging up into the saddle as Connant set off.
Robert leaned forward. “How many in the family?”
“Three. Old man and his two grandkids. Girl’s engaged to Otto; the boy’s a mere lad.”
They dismounted and entered the house first. Something was burning in the stove, but the place lay empty. Chris and Duncan had gone toward the barn. “Here!” Chris bellowed.
Duncan exited the barn carrying a schoolboy. Blood dripped from a lump on the boy’s head. Robert determined he was breathing well as Duncan rasped, “Old man’s alive.”
Once inside the barn, Robert paused by the body of a man. Connant had his pistol drawn and shoved Robert ahead. “It’s not Stein.”
“Back here,” Christopher called. He squatted beside an old man and was slicing through his britches with a knife.
The lanky older man lay unconscious. Robert shouldered past Chris and knelt by the man’s chest to quickly assess his condition. Pale. Clammy. Shock. Breathing slow. Pulse thready. An ugly bruise on his jaw proved he’d fought, but the real injury was impossible to miss. The pitchfork in his thigh hadn’t hit an artery, but the extent of the damage couldn’t be determined yet.
A young blond cradled the old man’s head in her lap. She was tenderly smoothing his brow with her shaky hand, but the sight of her made Robert’s stomach lurch. Her dress was torn, and hay clung to the back of her shoulders and hair. Her left eye was starting to swell shut, and other marks at her throat and wrists let him know she, too, had been hurt.
Robert knew he could patch the old man back together. The girl bore wounds no man could heal.
She knew the sheriff. The black-haired men were strangers. The first one—the one with the gun—scared her; the one who knelt closer touched Grossvater with a mixture of confidence and care. He looked her in the eye and spoke in a low tone, “I’ll be able to fix him up. He’ll be fine.”
He sounded reassuring, but Mercy couldn’t respond.
“My brother’s going to take that out of his leg, and I’ll hold a compress on it to keep it from bleeding. We’ll be moving him into the house. Do ye ken what I’m telling you, lass?”
She swallowed and nodded.
Grossvater moaned a little when they did the deed, and she bit back a cry.
“ ’Tis a good sign that he’s feeling his leg, lass. I’m thinking the wound will make a mess of his bed. Is your dining table sturdy?”
She nodded and led them inside.
Another stranger in her kitchen looked much like the other two. He had Peter sitting in a chair and was dabbing at a knot on her brother’s head. Peter jabbered about the puppies.
“This is Dr. Gregor, Mercy,” the sheriff said as he gave the kind-voiced man’s shoulder a quick pat. “He’ll help your granddad.”
She wrapped her arms about her ribs and stepped back.
“I could use some bandages. Do you have any?”
Mercy went to the cabinet where they kept the liniment, Epsom salt, and bandages. She set all of the bandages at the head of the table.
“There’s a fine help.” He pulled out a chair and patted the seat. “You sit here. If your grandda wakes, you’ll be nearby. I’m wanting you to drink this for me, too.” He set down a glass of water.
She slipped around the edge of the room and did as he directed, then watched in silence as he used the things from his black leather bag. Nothing he said seemed real. Most of it was muffled, but the tone and cadence lulled her.
Finally, he finished tending Grossvater. After he knotted the bandage in place, he took Grossvater’s pulse again.
“Well?” one of the other men asked.
“I’m cautiously optimistic. Let’s put him to bed.”
The sheriff and the other man carried Grossvater to his bedroom, and the doctor took a look at the bump on Peter’s head. “Nothing wrong there this won’t cure.” He drew a glass tube from his medical bag and pulled out a sour ball.
“Thanks!” Peter popped the candy into his mouth and regained his usual, cocky grin.
The doctor turned and held out his hand to Mercy. “Let’s go see to things.”
When she stood, her legs felt rubbery. Even so, she didn’t take his hand. They walked across the kitchen, but to her surprise, he murmured, “They’ll put your grandda in a nightshirt for you.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
He didn’t touch her, yet his nearness made her sidestep. He pushed open the door to her room.
Mercy stared inside. The tub. What is the tub doing in my room? And who put out my nightgown? It’s not bedtime yet.
“Miss Stein.”
She jumped at the sound of her name.
“I’ll stay out here and make sure no one bothers you. I thought you might want to bathe. Afterward, I’ll see to your bruises and such.”
Once in her room, Mercy locked the door. She didn’t want to undress with those men here, but she caught sight of herself in her mirror and choked back a sob. Her dress was in tatters and her hair hung in snarls. Those were just the outward things.
I can’t stay like this. Grossvater and Peter need me. Her hands shook so badly, she could scarcely undress. Everything took great effort. It hurt to move. She stepped into the big galvanized tub, then knelt. All of the scrubbing in the world couldn’t make her feel clean.
The thin walls of the house didn’t block out the sound of her weeping. Robert and Duncan exchanged a glance.
“Mercy’s crying.” The lad stopped eating the inside bits of the roast Duncan salvaged for him. “Does she need a hug?”
“She’s upset that the bad man hurt you and your grandda.” Duncan tapped the edge of the plate to divert the boy.
Peter wrinkled his nose. “You said Grossvater is going to be fine. I’ll go tell Sis my head doesn’t hurt too much.”
Duncan put a restraining hand on the boy’s arm. “Doctor will tell her. Hearing it from him will be more reassuring.”
“Is she scared that bad man will come back?”
Connant and Chris were out in the barn at this very moment, loading the body onto a buckboard. Duncan shook his head. “I give you my word, lad—he’ll never bother you again. Now you finish eating, then we’ll chop up the crisp bits of that roast and go feed them to your dog. After whelping, a mama dog needs lots of food.”
After they’d left with the body and while Duncan took Peter out to feed the dog, Mercy’s door opened. Instead of putting on her nightwear, she’d donned a rust-colored calico dress. Avoiding looking at Robert or speaking, she sidled into the other bedroom.
Robert stood by the door and watched as she smoothed the quilt over the old man’s chest, then combed back an errant lock of his white hair. Her hand shook.
Though she’d washed her hair, it was too thick to towel dry well. Wisps that didn’t make it into the simple bun started to coil around her wan face and nape, reinforcing a vulnerability that tore at him.
She didn’t seem in a hurry to leave her grandda’s side, and Robert struggled with that fact. If she drew comfort from seeing the old man was all right, that was good. She deserved solace whatever the source. Then again, he needed to examine her and hoped to have it finished before Peter came back into the house.
Hooking his thumbs into his suspenders so he’d appear friendly and casual, Rob said quietly, “He’s resting well. With time and attention, he’ll be up and about.”
“Thank you.”
She whispered the words so quietly, he almost didn’t hear her. The hoarse quality to her whisper worried him. Is she having trouble breathing? She has marks around her throat. If she screamed… Robert shut down that line of thought immediately. It caused his ire to flare brighter, and she needed him to stay composed. He made the next overture. “Come out to the kitchen. I’ll examine your eye.”
She ducked her head and turned to the side, as if to hide the bruising, swollen eye.
“If we put a cool compress to it, you’ll not look so bruised tomorrow.” He paused. “Your little brother’s out feeding the beasts in the barn.”
She shuddered. “Peter—”
“We’ll talk about him.” Robert tilted his head toward the kitchen table. “Come.”
’Twasn’t an easy span of time, those next minutes. Mercy Stein left her grandfather’s side only to hear about her brother’s condition. Wary as could be, she tried to keep as much distance from Robert as possible.
Robert turned his back on her and took a dishcloth from the rod by the pump. He dampened it, then methodically folded it into a compress. Each move he made was deliberate in an effort to keep from spooking the lass. As he drew close to her, she flinched.
“There, now. This will make a difference.” He extended his hand and offered her the compress.
“I don’t need it. Tell me about Peter.”
The lass has grit. Robert laid the compress on the table easily within her reach and turned back to his bag. “Other than the bump on his noggin, he’s right as rain.”
The corner of her mouth twitched in acknowledgment.
After taking a few items from his bag and closing it, Robert approached her again. This time, he pulled out a chair and sat at an angle from her—close enough to touch, far enough that she wouldn’t feel crowded. “This is witch hazel.”
He opened his other hand. Cotton wadding tumbled free. “I’ll dab this on your temple, throat, and wrists. It’ll lessen the soreness.”
She cringed back into her chair. “Don’t need it.”
“Miss Stein, did you hear Sheriff Gilchrist? You know I’m a doctor.”
“I have witch hazel if I decide to use it.”
“I’m here to help you,” he said gently. He waited a beat, then stated, “Something happened in the stable.”
Her breath caught.
“Women are delicate, easily hurt. It would be wise for me to—”
“Leave me alone!”
He stood and picked up the cotton wadding piece by piece, then took up the Thayer’s witch hazel. “I’m going to take these into your chamber and bring out the tub. You want your privacy, and I’ll honor that. Witch hazel is very safe and mild. A woman can use it anywhere she hurts. Do you understand me?”
He got no response and didn’t wait beyond a heartbeat. His shoes made the only sound in the small wooden home as he went to her chamber. A tidy little place it was. An airy green-and-white quilt covered the iron bedstead, and matching cushions covered both a small chair and a dowry trunk.
A dowry trunk—no doubt filled with all sorts of useful linens she’d prettified as she dreamed of a happy future. Robert winced. The dreams could still come true, but she’d not go to her wedding with the joy of an innocent bride. Otto knew already. At least she’d be spared having to tell him.
Lily of the valley. He inhaled again. The scent from her soap lingered in her room. Robert lifted the tub and carried it through the kitchen to the back door. As he emptied the water into a flower bed, Duncan and little Peter came strolling back. Peter went on inside while Duncan stopped.
“I’ll spend the night here. I want to be sure the old man’s all right when he awakens. The lass isn’t in any condition to do much, and if they needed help, the boy’s too young to fetch it.”
Duncan nodded. “Should I stay?”
“Nae. ’Tis already hard enough on the lass. The last thing she needs is folks hovering.”
Hours later, Robert moved from the old man’s bedside and peered over the trundle to be sure Peter was sleeping well. Mr. Stein had awakened an hour ago. He answered questions appropriately and worried about Mercy and Peter before slipping back to sleep. In a day or two, he’d learn the truth. For now, he slept with the same innocence as his grandson, deaf to the sound of his granddaughter’s sobs.
Where’s Otto? Connant said she and Otto were engaged to be married. If ever a woman needed comfort, now was the time. She deserved all of the solace and reassurance Otto could give.
Robert carried the kerosene lantern with him to the parlor. A photograph of a woman and the old man in his younger days standing in front of a different house was propped beside another photograph of a family of four. The third photograph was of the children with their grandparents. It didn’t take much to deduce that Mercy and her little brother were orphaned and reared by their grandfather. Puir lass hasna had an easy life.
Even if Peter hadn’t knelt and said a bedtime prayer, Robert would have known this was a believer’s home. A well-thumbed hymnal, a much-loved Bible, and little colored picture cards from Sunday school bespoke that these people lived their faith. And their faith was just put to an awful test.
He didn’t want to snoop. Casual observations were fine, but this parlor held too many personal touches. Robert went to the kitchen stove, where he stirred up the coals. Spending the night here was a prudent choice, but it wasn’t a comfortable one.
He wanted to be sure Mr. Stein didn’t brew a fever and hadn’t lost his mental abilities. Between the punctures in the old man’s leg and the bump on the back of his head, either of those complications could occur. So far, neither had materialized. Robert had confidence in his own professional skills, but medical science could only do so much. His faith in the Great Physician’s healing knew no bounds, and he sought wisdom and assistance from the Lord for each case. In regard to Mr. Stein’s welfare, his prayer was being answered.
Robert also stayed for Mercy’s sake. He knew she didn’t want him there, but folks often resented a physician’s presence because it underscored problems they wanted to deny. She might seek care from him still; he’d discovered that in the dark of night, folks sometimes could ask a doctor things they couldn’t speak of in daylight.
He’d set a pot of coffee on to boil after he tucked the boy in for the night. Sickened by the violence these people had suffered, Rob hadn’t bothered to eat. Grumbling in his stomach now made him lift the towel draped over a pan. The yeasty smell drifted up to him as he gazed at the dough that had risen and finally fallen flat. Fried in a dab of bacon grease, such dough still gave an empty belly satisfaction.
The scents of fried bread and coffee filled the house. Robert sat down at the table and ate by the light of that single lantern until a faint creak made him look up.
Still wearing her calico dress and clutching a shawl about her, Mercy slipped out of her own room and directly into the other bedchamber.
Robert walked to the doorway and whispered, “Peter’s been sleeping like a bear. Your grandfather woke about an hour and a half ago. He knew where he was. He’s able to move his leg and wiggle his toes—both excellent signs. I expect him to make a full recovery.”
“I’ll watch over them. You should go.”
“I’ve no doubt you’d hover like a guardian angel if you had the chance, but ’tisn’t necessary. I’m stuck here. I’ve no horse, and even if I did, I couldn’t find my way back to town since I just arrived today. After I change the dressing on his leg in the morning, I’ll leave.”
She pulled the shawl more closely about her shoulders.
“You’ve yet to slumber, and you need your rest. I’ve powders in my bag that will help you fall asleep.”
“No, thank you.”
Robert grudgingly admitted to himself that Mercy shared a trait of his own—she knew her mind and stuck to her plans. Often, that perseverance paid off, but in this case, her stubbornness resulted in needless suffering. He decided it wasn’t worth arguing with her. If anything, she needed to feel she’d regained control—however simple or slight it might be.
“Forgive me, Miss Stein. You’re barefoot and likely catching a chill whilst I natter away the night. I’ll go back to my coffee. If you’d like, I can pour you a cup.”
“I’ll retire.” Though she stated her plan, she made no move to carry it out.
Robert turned and went back to the table. So that was the way of it. She’d refused to brush past him to leave the room. He couldn’t fault her for being skittish; she had just cause to be wary—extremely wary. He’d have to earn her trust, and from this encounter, he reckoned it would take a good long while.
Mercy woke and promised herself it was just a bad dream, but that false hope disappeared the minute she rolled out of bed and hurt all over. Deep purple-black ringed her left eye, and she turned away from the mirror as she pinned her braid into a bun.
The door to Grossvater’s room stood open. A quick peek reassured her that he and Peter still slept soundly. Usually, Grossvater would be stirring, if not up by now. Knowing how he’d chafe at being kept in bed, Mercy hoped he’d sleep late.
She tiptoed past the doctor, too. He’d fallen asleep with his head resting on his folded arms at the dining table. The settee in the parlor was far too short for a man of his height to stretch out on. Just seeing him made her balk. She’d need to speak to him before Grossvater woke up. Would he honor her request to keep what happened from Grossvater?
Otto. Surely Otto wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d shelter her from the humiliation of others knowing the full truth of what had happened. He’d responded to her screams and come—too late to stop the worst—but Otto knew what happened and killed that awful man. I’m glad he’s dead. Glad. He can’t come back to hurt me again.
Steeling herself, she stepped into the barn. Bile rose, and she swallowed it. Just off to her right was where that man died at Otto’s hand. Another few steps and she was near the place where he’d held the knife to her sweet little brother’s neck, then struck him in the head. Her legs shook so badly, she could hardly walk deeper into the barn. Over there, in that straw, he’d…
She stumbled and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. Evalina’s lowing jarred her back to what she needed to do. I can go on. I can. I’ll do my chores and make it through the morning. Then I’ll make it through the afternoon.
Mercy rested her cheek against Evalina’s warm side and listened to the shhh-shhh-shhh as the bucket filled with the rhythmic motions of her hands. The smell of milk, hay, and cow were so common. After promising herself that staying busy with tasks would keep her from remembering, Mercy discovered she’d been lying to herself.
How could life ever be ordinary again? Swollen as her left eye had become, she could see only a narrow strip out of it. The cuffs on her sleeves rubbed against the tender bruises on her wrists.
Shame and embarrassment kept her from accepting care from the new doctor. He’d tried to be helpful, but Mercy wanted to forget what happened. The aches in her body, heart, and soul wouldn’t let her forget, though. The doctor said he’d leave this morning. She hoped he’d keep his word—in fact, that he’d sneak in, check on Grossvater’s leg, and be gone by the time she got back to the house. She didn’t want to face him—or anyone—today.
Pouring the milk into the separator strained her wrists. Everything she’d done this morning—combing her hair, washing her face, milking the cow—all of the simple pleasures of life had been tainted by painful reminders. Mercy felt a bolt of hatred. She’d never hated before, but she knew exactly what the emotion was. I’m glad Otto killed him. The thought went through her mind again. Even hell is too good for a wicked man like that.
A roar of pain echoed from the house.
Mercy tossed aside the milk pail and ran for the house. She tore through the door and ran full tilt into Grossvater’s bedroom, only to bump smack into a broad back. She shoved the doctor aside and stopped cold. The sheriff stood by the bedside, and anguish contorted Grossvater’s dear face. She’d seen that look only once before—when Grossmuter died.
Grossvater turned his head and looked at her. Tears filled his eyes.
“What have you done?” she cried to the sheriff.
Hands curled around her shoulders from behind. She immediately struggled to free herself.
“Shh, lass.”
“You told! You didn’t have to tell him.” Tears she couldn’t hold back broke forth as her knees gave out. Strong hands gently tightened about her—not in binding restraint, but in comfort. The doctor kept her from collapsing.
“There’ll be time to talk later,” the deep baritone said from over her shoulder.