Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (25 page)

Kesia promised to attend, Noble and Annamarie would certainly go, and of course Caroline would be there to offer moral support to the children. But Ollie would be absent. Kesia had been so concerned about Ollie’s strange demeanor that she had brought in a doctor. The man determined Ollie had suffered a concussion when his head hit the bench and had ordered three days of bed rest. She was glad the door hadn’t caused the greater injury, although had she not conked him with the door, she supposed he wouldn’t have fallen at all.

Thinking about standing at the graveside without his strong presence left her unsettled. She gave herself a mental shake for her ridiculous feelings. The night she’d come so close to falling into his embrace haunted her. She’d never behaved so brazenly with anyone before. Yesterday’s separation from him had offered her an opportunity to process her strange desire, but she hadn’t come to any conclusions. Perhaps a private talk with Annamarie would help her make sense of these unfamiliar feelings for Ollie Moore.

The Number Fourteen—Noble and Annamarie’s train—had already arrived, its gleaming engine belching clouds of steam into the air, when she and the children reached the depot. Her dear friends stood beside the baggage car, Noble’s arm wrapped protectively around Annamarie’s slight frame. Caroline’s heart lurched when she spotted them. No matter how old she got or how short their time apart was, whenever she joined them again, it was a sweet homecoming.

Pointing, she whirled and told the children, “They’re here! Come!” Then she dashed ahead, trusting the three to follow. At her approaching footsteps, Noble turned, and the fan of lines beside his eyes spread with his beaming smile. He held his arms wide, and she catapulted against him, as uninhibited as a child.

He laughingly scooped her off the ground, dislodging her knitted scarf so it fell down her back. “You said you’d be sleeping! What a fine surprise to see you here.” He set her feet on the boardwalk, tugged the scarf back in place over her hair, then chucked her under the chin with his knuckles—a gesture left over from her childhood.

Caroline flashed him a bright smile, then turned to Annamarie. The hug she bestowed on Noble’s wife was gentle, cautious, but no less sincere.

Annamarie hugged back, her thin hands curled over Caroline’s shoulders. Tears filled the dear woman’s eyes. “Ah, our Caroline. How good to see you again.” Then clinging to Caroline’s arm with one hand, she turned to the row of silent, staring children. She smiled warmly at each in turn, completely unaffected by their indifference. “And you must be Letta, Lank, and Lesley. No school today?”

Caroline said, her voice low, “Their father’s burial is today. I kept them out.”

Annamarie nodded, sympathy softening her expression. She extended one hand toward the children. “I’m so glad to meet you. Carrie told us all about you, and I’m so eager to become friends.”

After a moment’s hesitation Lesley stepped forward and took Annamarie’s hand. She leaned down a bit, her movements stiff, and looked directly into the little boy’s eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear about your father, Lesley. My father died when I was just your age—eight—and I remember how sad it made me to know he was gone.”

Lesley curled his stubby little fingers over Annamarie’s and wrinkled his nose. “You were sad to lose your father?”

“Yes, I was. I loved him very much.”

Lesley caught his lower lip between his teeth and ducked his head as if fighting a private war. Then he rose up on tiptoe so his mouth was near
Annamarie’s ear. “I loved my father, too, even though he was mean sometimes. Letta an’ Lank aren’t sad, but I am. I wish he didn’t hafta die.”

Annamarie cupped Lesley’s chapped cheek with her arthritic hand. Although Lesley fell silent and Annamarie didn’t say a word, the pair seemed to communicate silently. The little ragamuffin boy and the gray-haired, humpbacked woman—so different yet woven together by a ribbon of grief.

Looking on, Caroline battled tears. She risked a glance at Letta and Lank and noted tears swimming in their eyes. Within minutes of arrival, Annamarie and her gentle ways had already begun to melt their hardened hearts just as she’d managed to break through Caroline’s carefully built defenses more than a dozen years ago. The woman worked magic with children.

Caroline sent up a quick prayer of gratitude, then issued a soft introduction. “Letta, Lank, these are my dearest friends, Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey.”

Neither child spoke, but they shook Noble’s and Annamarie’s hands by turn, nodding when Noble and Annamarie offered words of greeting. Then Letta curled her hand over Lesley’s shoulder, pulling him against her side. Lesley went, but he kept his face aimed toward Annamarie as if fearful of losing sight of her.

Noble stepped near, transferring Annamarie’s hand from Caroline’s elbow to his own. “I hired a closed carriage so Annamarie needn’t breathe in the cold air. There will be room for all of us.” He angled an impish grin at the children. “But of course none of you would like to take a carriage ride, am I right?”

Lesley wriggled beneath Letta’s restraining arm. “Is it gonna be pulled by reindeer?”

To Noble’s credit he didn’t laugh. “What makes you think reindeer might pull our carriage?”

The child pointed to Noble’s full, white beard. “Ain’t you Santa Claus?”

Caroline coughed to cover her amusement. She’d wondered the same thing when she’d first met Noble. And over the years she’d discovered he possessed a heart as giving and open as Saint Nick’s.

Noble heaved a mighty sigh, feigning great disappointment. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but, no, I am not that jolly old elf.” Noble shepherded the group toward a line of horse-drawn carriages. “But I can tell you that he
and I are very close friends, and he doesn’t mind at all that I’ve borrowed his beard. He will not, however, lend me his red coat and hat.”

Lesley stared at Noble in open-mouthed amazement for several seconds, then he burst out laughing. “You’re funnin’ with me!”

Noble laughed, too, and rubbed his hand over Lesley’s head. “Indeed I am. You’re very clever to realize it.”

Lesley flashed a grin at Letta. “He says I’m clever.” Letta merely shrugged in reply.

At the carriage Noble lifted Annamarie inside, then Lesley. The little boy snuggled as close to Annamarie as he could get without sitting on her lap. Caroline climbed in and sat opposite Annamarie and Lesley. Letta and Lank crunched in next to her. They were tight, three abreast, but she wouldn’t complain.

Noble said, “I’ll fetch our bags, and then we can be on our way.” He closed the door, sealing them in the leather interior.

While they waited for Noble to return, Annamarie began a steady flow of questions. At first only Lesley answered, but soon Letta dropped her guard a bit and offered a few stilted replies. Lank remained silent, which didn’t surprise Caroline. The boy rarely spoke even to his brother and sister. But his interested gaze bounced back and forth between Annamarie, Letta, and Lesley, and longing to be included clearly shone in his eyes.

Two successive thuds overhead signaled the arrival of their bags, and then the door opened, revealing Noble’s smiling face. He climbed in, rocking the carriage. Lifting Lesley from the seat, he slid in next to Annamarie. Then he perched Lesley on his knee. The boy sat as proud as a king on his throne. Noble announced, “To the Troubadour Hotel we’ll go. Children, I’d like you to be our lunch guests. Yes?”

Before Letta or Lesley could reply, Caroline intervened. “Instead, Noble, I’d like it very much if you and Annamarie would agree to lunch at a little café downtown.” She couldn’t wait for her longtime friends to meet her newest friend. And when the three of them began working together, the Holcomb children would soon be laughing and smiling. If only Ollie could join them. Then her circle would be complete.

Her body gave a jolt. She blamed the involuntary start on the carriage’s sudden forward movement, but she knew the truth. Her casual inclusion of Ollie in her makeshift family rocked her to the core. That man had somehow managed to weasel his way into the center of her life. Ludicrous. Unwarranted. Even unwise. But did she want to send him packing?

She refused to contemplate the honest answer to that question.

A stubborn red leaf broke loose of its branch above Letta’s head. She watched it swirl downward and land on Pa’s sheet-shrouded chest. She stared at the bold color on the white cloth. Like a splash of blood. Her stomach turned a flip.

Lesley stepped from beneath her arm and flicked the leaf with his finger. The leaf caught the breeze and whirled into the hole on the other side of Pa’s body, out of sight. Lesley returned to her and snuggled close. Letta gave him a squeeze to thank him.

On the far side of the grave, the minister read from a big black Bible—something about mansions. Letta almost snorted. Miss Carrie’d said the minister would say words about Pa, but instead he talked about mansions. Letta knew what a mansion was. She’d seen them in the nicest part of town. Tall houses of red or brown brick with white spindles on their porches and lots of lacy-looking wood trim, set on lawns of thick green grass. So different from the little unpainted clapboard house where she’d lived with Pa and her brothers. Mansions? What did that have to do with Pa? She wished they’d hurry up and put Pa in the ground so she could take her brothers and go.

Lesley shifted from side to side, his brand-new boots squeaking. Mr. Noble and Mrs. Annamarie, as Miss Carrie’s friends told her and the boys to call them, had taken all three of them to the general merchandise store after lunch and let them choose a whole outfit to wear to Pa’s burial. Letta didn’t understand why they needed new clothes when Pa just wore strips cut from an old sheet, but she wouldn’t argue. Lesley’d never owned anything other than Lank’s hand-me-downs, which were plenty worn-out by the time he got them.
Lesley’s pride in those shiny new boots made her want to smile. But she didn’t. A burial wasn’t a place for smiling.

Behind her someone wept softly. Either Miss Kesia or Miss Carrie—Letta couldn’t be sure. But she wouldn’t turn around and look. Neither Lank nor Lesley cried, so she wouldn’t, either. But it was harder than she’d imagined to keep her tears inside. Not until they’d arrived at the graveyard and seen Pa’s body laid out next to a black hole, like an open mouth waiting to swallow him up, did it all seem real.

Pa was gone. Really, truly gone. Just like Ma. Except not like Ma, because Ma could come back someday. Not that Letta expected her to. Not that Letta
wanted
her to. But Ma was still alive as far as Letta knew, and Pa was dead. Dead. Dead was forever. A big lump formed in her throat. Tears pushed hard against her eyes. But if she started crying, would it be for Pa or for herself? She didn’t know. She only knew if she started, she might not be able to stop.

So she tightened her arms around Lank and Lesley and looked up at the tree branches. At the last waving red leaf with a little bit of gold around its edges. And she didn’t cry. Not one tear.

Caroline pressed a handkerchief into Kesia’s hand. The older woman smiled her thanks and dabbed at the tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. Caroline wondered at her own failure to shed tears. Sorrow weighted her chest, heavy as a boulder, but her eyes remained dry even when the children stepped forward at the minister’s invitation to toss a handful of dirt on top of their father’s body.

Kesia, Noble, Annamarie, and Caroline participated in the sad tradition, each parading past the grave and releasing their own handfuls of dirt atop the sheet-wrapped body stretched out in the hole’s depth. Was there a more dismal picture than clods of black dirt scattered over a white sheet? Caroline turned away from the grave and hurried across the soggy brown grass to the other adults, who surrounded the children.

The minister bade them farewell. The gravediggers took up their shovels
and began the task of covering Mr. Holcomb’s body. Caroline slipped her arm around Annamarie’s waist, ready to suggest they board the carriage and return to the hotel.

But before she could offer the suggestion, Noble stepped forward and put his hand on Letta’s shoulder. “You were very brave, Letta. I’m proud of you for being strong for your brothers. But remember there’s no shame in crying. God gave us tears to help us release our hurts. If you need to cry, no one will think less of you.”