Mercy's Rain: An Appalachian Novel

By Cindy K. Sproles

When your life is built around a father’s wrath, how can you trust in the love of Father God? Mercy Roller knows her name is a lie: there has never been any mercy in her young life. Raised by a twisted and abusive father who called himself the Pastor, she was abandoned by the church community that should have stood together to protect her from his evil. Her mother, consumed by her own fear and hate, won’t stand her ground to save Mercy either.
The Pastor has robbed Mercy of innocence and love, a husband and her child. Not a single person seems capable of standing up to the Pastor’s unrestrained evil. So Mercy takes matters into her own hands. Her heart was hardened to love long before she took on the role of judge, jury, and executioner of the Pastor. She just didn’t realize the retribution she thought would save her, might turn her into the very thing she hated most.
Sent away by her angry and grieving mother, Mercy’s path is unclear until she meets a young preacher headed to counsel a pregnant couple. Sure that her calling is to protect the family, Mercy is drawn into a different life on the other side of the mountain where she slowly discovers true righteousness has nothing evil about it—and that there might be room for her own stained and shattered soul to find shelter. . . and even love.
Mercy’s Rain is a remarkable historical novel set in 19th century Appalachia that traces the thorny path from bitterness to forgiveness and reveals the victory and strength that comes from simple faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kregel Publications
• Release date: Feb 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9780825479595

Book preview

Thomas

ONE

Spring 1897

Wadalow Mountain, Tennessee

MARRIED AND WIDOWED at thirteen, a mother and childless at fifteen. Ain’t nobody should have to learn life like I did. No soul should have to claw their way back from the bowels of hell, scared and scraped up like I was. I hate these memories.

What don’t kill ya will make you better. I reckon them was the only words from the Pastor that stuck. Don’t you make your Momma late to the river. Don’t look right for the Pastor’s wife to be late to a baptizin’. My arms weighed down from the pile of kindling the Pastor stacked on them.

Yes, Pastor. I turned and walked fast to the porch, daring not to drop nary a piece of wood. We’ll be on time with a basket lunch. Nothing had changed since I was a youngin. Even as a woman, I still cowered at the sound of his voice. But I was never the same after the morning Pastor took on judge, jury, and Jesus.

Life ain’t much different on the mountain than it is in the valley. A man’s lucky to have a horse and wagon, lucky to have a shack with a tin roof. There are sinners on the summit and sinners in the foothills and I reckon Pastor Roller planned on washing every sin from every man.

They was no washing my sin away. I made a mighty harsh decision. One I’d grow to regret. One I’d have to live with.

I spread a blanket over a stand of grass and brushed down the wrinkles. Over here, Momma. Bring that basket over here. I got us a spot laid out. Momma carried an apple pie in one hand and a basket full of chicken in the other.

There you are, Mercy. She lifted the basket and wiggled her fingers in a half wave.

The aroma spun in the breeze, meshing with Mrs. Taylor’s fresh sourdough bread. It couldn’t be a prettier day for a man to repent and then go down to the river for baptizing, is they, Momma? Ain’t it a wonderful mornin’?

I turned my face to the sky and let the sun draw out the mess that seemed to fill my mind. Best I can remember, I was happy for once.

I knew Stanley Farmer and what he lived with. When he mustered the courage to go to the Pastor and ask to be forgiven of his sin, be cleansed, I began to understand what forgiveness meant. It took a big man to fall on his knees before the Pastor instead of beating the tar out of him. Especially knowing what Stanley knew.

The Pastor scowled when he stepped into the water. He yanked Stanley to his side, raised his hand into the air, and started to preach on the sins buried in his soul.

Pastor, be careful. Stanley’s legs ain’t strong. That cold water will wash more from him than sin, I said. I tinkered with the pages of Pastor’s Bible. The rough edges of worn leather snagged the flesh on my fingers.

I’ll be up on the rocks when you get settled. Come on up. Maddie’s hair flailed in the breeze like a sheet hangin’ on the line. She’d been my friend for years. She stayed my friend, even though.

I’ll catch up in a bit. I winked at Maddie as she headed toward the rocks that jutted like fingers over the river. We spent a fair amount of time on them rocks tellin’ secrets. She knew things not another soul knew.

In the name of the Lord, I baptize you. The Pastor’s voice boomed over the noise of the river water. He dunked Stanley Farmer by the forehead deep beneath the icy waters of the Indian River … held him under the rushing wash, all the time shouting for God Almighty to bring the man redemption. Sin will kill a man. Take the soul right out of him. Even the sins a man ain’t got the guts to name. The Pastor growled the words like a grizzly bear on the hunt.

My stomach turned and the feeling in my gut forced me closer to the river’s edge. Let him up, Pastor, I shouted. Let him up. Elsi Farmer, Stanley’s wife, stood on the bank crying for Stanley’s salvation and when the Pastor finally let Stanley catch a breath, he had the fear of God written all over his face. As fast as Stanley caught a gulp of air, the Pastor shoved him under the water again.

Stanley’s hands stretched from beneath the cold wash, knuckles tight and bent. He grabbed for anything to save him.

You ain’t cleansed of your sin yet. Hell awaits your soul. I offer you back to the water and back into the hands of the Savior.

I raced to the edge of the riverbank. My shoes sucked into the mud and held me tight. Stop, Pastor. You’ve done baptized him. Let him up. It’s not for you to pass judgment. I grabbed my knee and tugged my leg. The mud popped when my foot pulled free. Stop, Pastor. Stop. Let him go. The Pastor shot a glare at me that stopped me dead in my tracks.

I’m the Lord’s servant. Here to serve. Don’t take neary another step. I’m doin’ the good Lord’s biddin’. He yanked Stanley up by the collar. Stanley coughed and gasped for a precious breath and before I could get close and into the water, the Pastor commenced to press Stanley down again.

Stanley dropped to his knees in the river, clasped his hands around the Pastor’s wrist and pleaded not to be dunked again. Good Lord has forgive me. He has. Don’t put me back under, Pastor. I’m a changed man. I can’t take the water again. His legs, weak from polio, couldn’t hold his weight and once he got chilled in the Indian River, all he could do was plead for his life.

Let Stanley up. God in heaven, don’t let the Pastor kill him. The men on the bank splashed into the water to help.

Pastor Roller grabbed Stanley by the hair, yanked him backward, and placed his knee in the middle of Stanley’s chest. A weak body is a weak soul. Come out of this man, demon. God save his soul.

Oh Lord, no! shouted Elsi. He’s gonna drown Stanley. She dropped her Bible and lunged into the water with me. I fought at the current of the river surging against me. He’s changed, Pastor. Let him up. Her four children screamed in terror from the bank.

Stanley’s feet and arms thrashed around—but Pastor Roller wouldn’t give in and by the time me and Peyton Simmons got to the man, his body had stilled. A man riddled with polio wasn’t strong enough to fight the cold water and the Pastor. Peyton shoved the Pastor off Stanley and pulled him from the clutches of the river. He tossed Stanley over his shoulder and carried him to the bank while Charlie Macon and Tom Boy Ralston dragged Pastor Roller out of the water.

I looked square into the Pastor’s eyes and said, What have you done in the name of God this time? I lifted my hand to slap him but he caught my wrist mid-swing.

Tom Boy grasped both arms around the Pastor in a bear hug. I never know’d you to be a murderer, Pastor. Tom Boy gritted his teeth as he fought to get the Pastor to the riverbank and tie his hands. But you just outright slaughtered a man and a sick man at that. They ain’t no mercy for that.

Maddie stood on the rocks, her hand over her mouth. Mercy, stop. Wait for me. Maddie was always my redeeming grace. Any time I was ready to do something foolish, she was the voice that reasoned with me. Not this time.

Not this time, I shouted. She come tearing down the hill toward me, pushing her way through the crowd hunkered around Stanley.

I looked into the eyes of my momma and saw fear. My past fell into place and she saw that it did.

I was just nineteen years old when Pastor murdered Stanley Farmer, and every one of them years I bore the Pastor’s pain and righteous indignation. All the shouting, all the condemning—the punishments in the name of the Lord—all came together. It’s funny how it takes a spell for a body to figure what’s happening. But when it sunk in, when I finally figured out what was going on, my redemption went to hell in a rush and come back with a fury.

A blue tinge stained the outline of Stanley’s lips. His face a slate grey, tinted with red. His eyes were wide open, his stare empty. Water pooled in the dimple of his chin and his jet-black hair lay strung across his face. Elsi bellowed like a cow giving birth and Momma pulled her away from Stanley’s lifeless body.

Help me, Mercy, Momma said.

Help you? What about Elsi and these youngins? What about poor Stanley? How could Momma ask me to help her? I’d helped the Pastor far too many times and now my eyes were as wide open as Stanley’s.

He was saved, Pastor. You killed my husband. Elsi fought to lay across the dead man’s body. Murderer. She sobbed into Stanley’s chest.

A weak body is a weak soul. The man was dammed to perish, shouted the Pastor. It’s the will of God Almighty.

Pastor Roller lifted his hands into the air and claimed the good Lord ripped the soul out of a sinful man. What’s done is done. Some men can’t be saved. God have mercy on his soul.

I heard my name. Mercy. Mercy on his soul, and I wondered why Momma gave me that name. My guess, it was her cry to the good Lord to have mercy on her.

Mercy. Mercy! I heard my name echo through the angry crowd.

I was ashamed as I watched those four little girls smack at their daddy and cry for him to wake up. I was ashamed that this man of God … this pastor, was my daddy. He never was a father. He was a monster clothed in a high-collared white shirt that hid behind the Bible and served up his justice. Justice in the name of God.

Between the screams of Elsi, her girls, and the numb realization they’d just witnessed the murder of their father, the men in the crowd riled in a hurry. Justice on the mountain is quick. It’s like a tornado, swirling and ripping a man’s desire to make things right, pressing his anger to a point of no return—leaving a trail of twisted righteousness in its path.

Up here, men live by a code. They protect their own and when somebody takes a life, especially in front of a slew of witnesses—it isn’t long before theirs is took away in return. It’s just the way of the mountain folk. We see no need to drag things out. Just hang the devil and pray for his soul later. Charlie Macon and Tom Boy were hotheads anyway so justice would be served swift and heavy on the Pastor for outright killing a man who sought forgiveness.

The mighty stirring winds of revenge began. It swirled and whipped like a tornado tearing its way through the valley. The angry crowd only took a split second to accuse, convict, and serve the sentence.

The Pastor struggled to get free and when he couldn’t he hauled off and belted Charlie in the face with his head.

Let me go. Hell hath no fury like the wrath the Lord will bring down!

Tom Boy winched the Pastor’s hands tight behind his back. I knew what was coming. So did everybody else and not one of us took a step to climb into a storm shelter and let the tornado pass. We all stood headlong into the turmoil.

Mercy, bring me God’s Word. Bring me my Bible, the Pastor shouted as the men dropped a rope around his neck then tossed the other end over the limb of the giant elm tree.

Mercy, the Pastor shouted. But the cries of Elsi and her youngins nearly drowned him out. Momma stood behind me, handkerchief clutched against her mouth while the Pastor spouted Scripture verse after Scripture verse.

Mercy, you have to stop this. Don’t let them hang your daddy, Momma screamed.

The men heaved the Pastor onto the back of Stanley’s horse. Their shouts of revenge for an innocent and deformed man but loved by his family, stirred a vengeance in the crowd.

Edom Strong, a colored man who found his way up the mountain after becoming a free slave, raised one hand to quiet the crowd. Don’t you think we’s oughta think this through? Takin’ a man’s life don’t seem right, no matter what the crime.

Tom Boy shoved Edom backward. Git on outta here if you don’t agree. This here is a cold-blooded killer.

Folks knew Elsi looked past the draw in Stanley’s face and the limp in his walk. She looked deep into his heart and though she’d admit to anyone who’d listen he needed to get his soul right, snuffing his life out like a candle was not what she had in mind.

There he lay, soaked to the bone in his ragged overalls and worn boots. Stanley had given it all.

Mercy, stop them. Stop them. Don’t let them do this.

Momma’s screams faded into the background and at that very moment, my heart grew colder than the river. It ends here … today.

Maddie run alongside me, grabbing at my arm. Listen to me. This ain’t the way to handle things. Mercy, please. I slapped her hand off my arm. The look in my eyes was louder than words.

Mercy, I’m beggin’ you. Let’s go up on the rock. Ain’t nothing you can do here. Come on.

Git outta my way, Maddie. If you call me your friend, git outta my way. I regretted them words as soon as they come out of my mouth ’cause Maddie dropped her hands to her side and walked away.

Mercy. You bring me my Bible. Read to me before these men commit a sin. Read the part where Jesus cried from the cross, ‘Forgive them.’ Mercy, now. Bring it, now. You people ain’t to judge that which cannot be judged.

Pastor, you done been the judge of Stanley. You sayin’ you’re God? Tom Boy spit amber juice at the Pastor’s feet. Seems like cockeyed thinkin’ to me.

My hand shook as I bent and picked up the Pastor’s Bible. Mercy was the last thing he deserved. After all the wicked things the Pastor done to me, it was almost funny he’d call to me for help. Ask me, of all people, to read from his Bible. I felt the blood drain from my face and my cheeks turn icy. So did my heart. So did what little feeling I had for the Pastor. Suddenly the veil of naivety dropped from my eyes and I realized, like Elsi, all I’d lost at my daddy’s hands.

The Pastor’s Bible was worn. Its leather cover frayed and the edges tattered. Yellowed pages were dog-eared and ink smudges blurred some of the words. I looked at the Pastor. Looked at the men and their rage. Glanced at Elsi and her children. Remembered the bruises and slaps I’d taken over the years … all in the name of God. Memories of hearing Momma plead for leniency from her sin just before the Pastor beat her with a horse whip. Her cries … my cries as he carted off my innocent infant. From that minute on, I wasn’t his daughter. He was nothing to me.

What kind of man are you? I shouted. You call yourself a pastor? You claim to be a man of God. What kind of God do you serve?

The Pastor glared at me, rope tight beneath his chin. I serve a righteous God who punishes sinners. Now read to me out of my Bible, girl. My eyes drew into a squint, the sun glared behind the Pastor, turning him into a black outline, faceless and empty.

Even now, his tone never changed. He never seemed sorry he’d drowned Stanley. He just kept shouting for me to bring him his Bible.

I licked the end of my thumb and pressed it against the dingy pages, turning them to Exodus. My rage boiled. You want me to read to you? I scanned the words, then closed the book on my finger and held it high in the air. At that moment, I was judge and jury. The crowd quieted.

"You want me to read to you? How ’bout I read your favorite Scripture. How about this one, Pastor. An eye for an eye."

I stuffed the Bible under my arm.

The Pastor opened his mouth, but no words came out this time. I didn’t let them.

I drew back and slapped my hand, hard, against the rear of Stanley’s horse. I watched the animal bolt.

The Pastor slipped off the horse’s back and I heard the sickening crack of bone snapping above my head. I stared into his lifeless face, an expression of disbelief froze into place. Somewhere in the breeze, the scent of honeysuckle floated by.

The Pastor’s feet dangled inches above the ground. There was silence all around me.

An eye for an eye, I said. An eye for an eye.

TWO

I DIDN’T BIND the Pastor’s hands behind his back or drop the noose over his head, but I was the one who drew it tight. I was the one that killed the man.

Stanley Farmer wasn’t the first person the Pastor condemned to hell in his ungodly judgments. There was a bunch. When I was seven, he made me carry his leather saddlebag to the Widow Starling’s house.

The old woman was half dead and nearly starved because she was too weak to get out of bed when Reburta Owens come to visit her. Reburta found her naked and lying in a puddle of her own vomit, a bottle of hooch clutched tight to her chest. The Pastor slammed open the door, yanked the Widow Starling up, and began to rant.

The Lord has sent me to teach you His wrath. You’re a disgrace to womankind and a drunk. Your tongue is evil.

Girl, he demanded. His forefinger crooked as he pointed toward me. Stoke that fire. Hang me a pot of coffee to heat. I inched to the fireplace and pulled the cast iron hook toward me. I pumped the billows and the fire roared. The smell of hot ash twisted and curled into the air and I coughed when I sucked in the suet. I was horrified at the sight of the Widow. She muttered things like, Pastor, your hands are unclean. You ought not touch the goodness of a woman. The Pastor slapped her across the mouth and when the coffee was nearly to a boil, he commenced to pour the scalding liquid down her throat.

Dear Lord in heaven, she cried. Save me from this man. Blisters bulged on her lips as she pleaded.

There wasn’t a thing I could do except run onto the porch and huddle against the side of the cabin. Her screams echoed through the valley and through my hands pressed against my ears. Her cries for mercy taunted me. The sound of a battle raged inside the cabin as the Widow kicked and clawed. Dishes fell to the cabin floor and chairs thumped across the room. She fought hard to escape the messenger who delivered a deadly message. You’ll be the one burning in hell, she screamed.

For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind: but the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. The Pastor spouted Scripture at the old woman. Your tongue is your sin. The Widow gurgled for the Pastor to stop. I pressed my hands tighter against my ears and my legs began to quiver with fear. A puddle formed between my ankles.

The Pastor preached his hell-fire and brimstone message, all the time pouring hot coffee down the old woman’s throat until finally her house was silent.

I heard the taps on his boots clank against the rough cabin floor. A thump rang out as he kicked a chair into the wall. The latch on the door jiggled and clicked.

Mercy, the Pastor said opening the cabin door. Get in here and clean up this woman. Put her in her Sunday best and I’ll fetch the undertaker. The good Lord has took her.

Yes, sir. Is she …

Dead? He grabbed my arm and tossed me toward the cabin door. I told you, child, the good Lord took her. Now, clean up the mess. All of it. Start with the floor, then the old woman. He shoved me into the cabin and slammed the door. Dishes were strewn in every direction. Both cane-bottom chairs toppled. I picked up a tin cup from the floor and walked the edge of the room trying not to step in the pools of coffee mixed with blood. The fire, embers now, barely shed enough light to see. Widow Starling laid long-ways across the bed, naked—her skin glowed as red as hot coals and a huge handprint was burned into her neck. It was like the Pastor’s hands were hotter than the coals, but I knew it was where he held her down. I pulled a blanket over her body and tried not to look at the horrible twisted expression on her face.

Even at seven years old, I knew what the Pastor had done. Terrible things he didn’t want told. I knew the old woman got loose-lipped when she got moonshine in her and the Pastor didn’t like his antics being spread across the mountain. I wasn’t stupid. I knew and I was horrified it could have been me. So I kept quiet about what I’d seen and what I’d heard. Still, in the back of my mind, I was storing up these things. One day I’d put the pieces together.

A peck come at the door and startled me. Mercy. Mercy, you in there? It was Maddie.

Go home Maddie. Go home before the Pastor comes back.

Won’t do no sucha thang. Open the door.

I did as she asked. When the door swung to the outside, I fell into the arms of my best friend, my only friend. I felt her shiver as she looked at the Widow, but she never whimpered.

I’ll help you. Get the old woman’s dress off the line.

And I did. The two of us dressed the Widow then cleaned up the cabin and when we was done Maddie twisted a strand of my hair around her finger. Just remember to be better than this. My daddy always says to be better than what’s bad. Maddie squeezed my hands then took off toward the ridge.

Be better than what’s bad. Be better than what’s bad. I sat on the porch step and closed my eyes. Be better than what’s bad.

The roar of the river was as loud as the cheers of the crowd while the Pastor wallowed like a fish on a hook. His feet jerked and that same gurgle came from his throat, what come from the Widow Starling all them years earlier. Justice was served for the Widow. And it was served for Stanley too.

Momma wouldn’t look at me when I passed her. I dropped the Pastor’s Bible at her side then leaned and kissed her head. She never flinched. Never spoke. Never acknowledged me. Her way, I guess, of showing the people around her, she was disgusted at my actions and theirs.

There must have been twenty congregants at the river to see Stanley baptized. Twenty folks who witnessed the Pastor murder an innocent man. I stared at the palm of my hand, still red from the slap. No one seemed to care it was me that sent the Pastor to his death. All that mattered was the sound of a rope creaking against a tree limb while it sawed an impression of death into the branch. All that counted was the crack of my hand against the horse’s rear and the wild flailing of the Pastor as his body jolted and bounced in the wind. When there’s a crowd of angry men, it doesn’t matter who fuels the rage just so it gets stoked. But I knew. I’d figured out the sickness the Pastor had. That didn’t excuse his actions, and for the time, I was content with the peace I’d felt with the justice I’d served.

Elsi Farmer cradled her girls, one on each knee, and one under each arm. The least, was Bet. Her long black curls twisted and fell around her shoulders. They plastered tight with tears to her cheeks. I wrapped my arms around Bet and brushed her hair from her face. It’s alright, baby girl. It’s alright. Elsi pulled Bet by the dress tail away from me. Three of the men crossed Stanley’s arms over his chest. It must have been an hour before they sliced the rope that held the Pastor. His body dropped limp and twisted to the ground. Ben and Tom Boy grabbed an arm and a leg and tossed him into the back of a wagon.

I ain’t usin’ my last quarter to press his eyelids shut, one man argued. Money is too hard to come by. It ain’t worth wastin’ on a murderer.

Jess Macon, Charlie’s boy and the town tattletale, ran down the mountain path to tell Undertaker Whaley. Stanley would remain laid out in the back of the wagon for three days while the neighbors kept watch shooing away vultures and wild animals.

I hated wakes. Never saw the point in watching a dead man rot before shoving him in a hole. But it would give Peyton time to build a pine box sturdy enough to hold Stanley.

I stopped at the river’s edge and stared at the water washing over the boulders. In our parts, boulders are bigger than ten men put together and the water pushes so hard across the rocks that you can walk beneath the spray without getting doused. The Indian River was a thing of beauty; I could see where the Pastor thought it might wash away

Reviews for Mercy's Rain

[judithdcollins · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A special thank you to Library Thing for a complimentary reading copy in exchange for an honest review. MERCY’S RAIN, by Christian writer, Cindy K. Sproles, a chilling, and heartbreaking portrayal of the historic nineteenth century Appalachia mountains of Tennessee—a poignant story of the evils of man, and the mercy of God. A novel of betrayal, faith, forgiveness and redemption.Set in 1897 in Wadalow Mountain, Tennessee, Merc Roller, a young woman has lived with abuse most of her life, at the hands of her father, the Pastor. It appears no one will stand up to this man, as he uses his authority and control to ruin lives. He is twisted and took on the role of Judge, Jury, and Jesus.How will she escape this life? What about God’s love? She has only known what she has experienced in her own environment? Abused, broken, and bitter, she takes the Pastor’s life. Now she becomes what she hated about him. Sent away by her angry grieving mother, and she meets a young preacher and a different life. Now there was no washing away her sin and guilt. She had made a decision and one she would regret, and one she would have to live with. Until she finds herself on the other side of the mountain, and learns about God’s real love through others. With memorable characters, Sproles creates an emotional and captivating story of suffering and damage, and uses God’s compassion, love, grace, and mercy to transform a broken life. A great lesson for us all.

[lisa_wojcik49 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Hmmmmm....I have mixed feelings about this book. It was well-written and the author did capture the essence (or so it seemed) of life in the late 1890's Appalachia. I realize that the theme was suffering, forgiveness, and redemption, but the overwhelming empasis put on God was just a little off-putting. I should follow that last sentence by saying that I am a Christian myself, but I found that the endless thread of God and his mercy through the book became tiresome at times. Someone who is not a Christian might be truly offended by the unceasing references to God and Jesus. The author has every right to evangelize through her work, it just might not make the book appealing to a wide audience.

[doseofbella · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Mercy’s Rain (An Appalachian Novel)By: Cindy Sproles Pages. 272Kregel Publications January, 27, 2015Copy Courtesy of Librarything Members GiveawayReviewed By: tkHow much abuse, mental and physical can one person take and still survive? Mercy Roller has a heartache that can never be healed. Starting from the earliest that she can remember, she has been a victim of her father’s rage. It only begins with Mercy and her mother. The Pastor rains his rage on most that cross his path. Mercy must find her inner strength and stop the Pastor before he causes more harm to the families of the small mountain community.I recently have noticed that more stories are being published in regards to the severity of the Mennonite communities. Why this is I do not know. It is possible I just never noticed before, or some members are taking charge of their current and future outcomes. This story will take into that community. Mercy Roller will help you survive throughout her tale. I would love to see this become a series. Cindy Sproles gives you incredible insight into the life and times of the Mennonite community, and takes you back to the 1800’s with rich narrative and expression. I look forward to more. 4/5

[fictionzeal · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What is mercy? Whatever it is, Mercy Roller is tired of hearing her name called each time people pray openly to God to have mercy. She doesn’t feel like she’s received very much mercy from God in being born to a father who is a Pastor and yet is abusive in the name of the Lord. She ultimately kills him. She didn’t set out to kill him, but in the baptism of Stanley Farmer in the Spring of 1897, Pastor Roller held him under the surface of the Indian River. With his legs weak from polio, Stanley couldn’t fight to stand back up. The men who witnessed the baptism (and death) grabbed Roller; tied his hands behind his back; threw a rope over a tree; sat him on a horse and … Mercy slapped the horse’s hind.Her mother who had also been abused by Pastor kicked her daughter out. At nineteen, Mercy was on her own with nothing except the clothes upon her back and her horse, Slouch. She knows how to take care of herself; she knows how to hunt. In her journey from Wadalow Mountain, TN, she comes across Samuel Stone, a preacher, headed in the opposite direction on his way to see Pastor Roller. She immediately thinks the worst of him. Why should this Pastor be any different from the one she’d known all her life?Told in first person, Mercy says, “Nothing had changed since I was a youngin. Even as a woman, I still cowered at the sound of his voice. But I was never the same after the morning Pastor took on judge, jury, and Jesus.” I loved the rudimentary level at which this story goes to display human kind. The cruel, diabolic character of Pastor Roller is sharply contrasted with the moral and pure character of Samuel. As a preacher, he didn’t just speak the word ‘love’. His actions were loving and tender but yet firm and resolute. Use of dialogue was very effective. I loved the spunk and backbone displayed by Mercy and how well the author showed us her pain and anguish through all of her actions, words, and thoughts. Parts of it are hard to read, but it is worth your effort. I seldom cry while reading a novel, but this one had tears flowing down my cheeks. Rating: 5 out of 5.

[beverlylynnt · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

With a mix of nineteenth century tradition, customs, and superstition, a young woman's fears and flashbacks of the ugliness of her past, the sordidness of her present, and the uncertainties of her future, this tale mesmerizes the reader from beginning to end. If you are looking for a book with a touch of edginess, a poignant back story, and a painful journey toward the light, this book is for you.Her name is Mercy, but she hates the word. She has heard it used and abused all too often, but experienced it seldom. The book's first two chapters sets the tone for the reader. The storyline begins in the middle at the cusp of Mercy Roller's 19 years, the turning point that thrust her forward into the uncertainties of a future while relentlessly reviewing her painful past until the baffled reader sees the pattern and begins rooting for her to heal and move on in life. Not all of Mercy's flashbacks are painful. Some of them reveal to us the depth of her relationship with her best friend, Maddie. Maddie understood Mercy's troubling family life, nor was she blind to the Pastor's double standards and shifting image. She stood as a pillar of sanity for Mercy, silently supportive, always there to pick up the broken pieces of her friend's shattered self-worth, tirelessly easing Mercy back to normal. These flashbacks also revealed simultaneously the strength of Mercy's mother's protection as well as the weakness of a woman who stands by her man even during the torridness of his sick mind. The flashbacks showcased a cohesive community that maintained an unspoken code of honor, protecting each other from abuse, helping each other in the aftermath of violence. In essence, the author's authentic voice rips the bandage off the scabs to open our eyes to both the sordidness and the blossom of life as it truly existed. That makes this book a unique piece of historical fiction. What I liked best about Cindy Sprole's novel is the honesty with which she portrays Appalachian life. She doesn't paint a fanciful picture of this segment of history. There 's no room for idealistic fantasies or perfection. Sometimes we readers tend to gloss over the past and call our version of it "simpler times." The truth is that there are no simple times. When people are involved, life becomes complex and usually delivers up starkness along side the beauty. When an author can tell a story with all its honest parts and yet instill hope and triumph into the message, we have a good story. Mercy's Rain is a good story. The second element I like about Mercy's Rain is the balance the author incorporates. Once Mercy leaves the familiarity of her home, it becomes obvious she has trust issues. Eventually her travels lead her to a river where she rests a bit. She has gone beyond the place where she knows the landmarks. She meets young Samuel Stone there and he offers to accompany her to his friends' homestead, where they need some help. The young father lost his arm recently in an accident; Samuel was on his way to help the couple with their harvest. On the way, Mercy learns that Samuel is a pastor. Her first reaction is distrust because the only pastor she had ever known was her father. The remainder of the tale is like a study in contrasts as Mercy embarks on a healing journey. While settling into life on Terrance and Isabella Johnson's homestead, Samuel stays on to help her adjust to her new life. The author excels in writing gut-wrenching tension, anguish, triumphs and hope. Mercy's process of recovery balances her painful history very well. While the book is beautifully written, I have to admit that I was a little uncomfortable with the content of some of the back story and flashbacks. Some were graphic and reminded me that if these scenes were made into a movie, they would be rated PG-13 to R for the violence. For that reason, I advise caution for those readers with young children around. This book contains many gritty, unpleasant details. It's fine for young adults, but I don't recommend it for young teens. Overall, however, I give this book an enthusiastic thumbs up. Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from LibraryThing.com on behalf of Kregel Publications. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

[alekee_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Mercy’s Rain is a hard to read book, not the wording, but the abuse that is done in the name of the Lord. I know that people like the Pastor really do exist, and are working with the hand of Satan, and not Christ.The setting is rural Tennessee in the Appalachian foothills in the 1890’s, and as the story opens Mercy’s father, the Pastor, is baptizing a crippled man in the river. What happens next is a horror story, and the story begins to unfold. Have a box of tissues handy; what happens to this young girl in the name of God is horrific.You will feel that God has forsaken Mercy, and as we travel and the flashbacks continue to happen, we find people of Christ being put in her path. In fact, I was a bit surprised how some of these individuals ended up being at the same place at the same time, but was it a coincidence, I think not.The road to healing and redemption is long, but the God’s hand is on Mercy’s shoulder. We meet the people God has chosen to put in her path, and she is made to give of herself, and in the end find what we all are looking for.The author Cindy Sproles has done an amazing job of putting this story together, it will make you think, cry, and will definitely linger with you for a long time.I received this book through the Publisher Kregel, and was not required to give a positive review.

[jfe16 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Mercy Roller’s young life has been filled with cruelty, pain, torture, abuse. She has come to know that her name is not truth; for her there has been no mercy.Readers are transported to the late 1890s, to the rural Tennessee Appalachian Mountains where they become acquainted with Mercy through her own thoughts, words, and actions. Following the death of her father, the Pastor, she sets out to find where the river begins, something she has wondered about since childhood. She is certain that if she finds the beginning of the river, she will also find the answers. Will her search bring her the peace she so desperately seeks? Can she find her way through the bitterness to forgiveness and find faith and redemption for herself?From the first page of Mercy’s amazing narrative, readers are drawn into this young girl’s life. As Mercy’s story unfolds, readers experience her joys and her grief; they feel her fears and marvel at her remarkable resilience. It’s an incredible journey, one that will remain with readers long after the last page has been turned and the book has been closed.Highly recommended.

[gatorhater · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very powerful gut wrenching journey though the rollercoaster life of Mercy, the daughter of Paster Roller in the community around Wadalow Mountain, Tennessee. The Paster is more than just that, he's the "Judge, Jury and Jesus," the emotions and physical actions that the author describes, range from compassion-humorous to savage-inhumane leaving the reader gripping for revenge.

[graffitimom · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A victim of horrible abuse at the hands of the Pastor, her own father, Mercy struggles to come to terms with the meaning of her name. Like a wounded animal, she strikes out at those who offer her kindness until their gentleness teaches her mercy. The story of Mercy and the treatment her father gave her and her mother is one of terrific cruelty. Her father's temper and need to control leads to the death of church members. Mercy is freed from his abuse when her hand is the one that strikes the horse he is on when he is strung up by the witnesses to the murder he committed. Mercy must work her way through her guilt for that act and learn that God is not like the father she knew but, rather, a gentle loving father, a river of Mercy. Turned out by her mother, she meets Samuel, a preacher on his way to help some friends. Together, they help Mercy learn to trust, to love and have faith in God.I have not been compensated in any way (other than being given a copy of this book to review) and my opinion on the book is entirely my own

[vintagebeckie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Mercy’s Rain is the debut novel of Cindy Sproles. This book conjured up lots of different emotions inside of me. Hard to read, it is nevertheless a moving, beautifully written book that explores the pain of abuse and the mercy in God’s love. I would categorize this book as edgy – the scenes are graphic, the emotions raw. But really, how can you honestly and thoroughly tell a survivor’s story without it. This is not a book for those who don’t want to be uncomfortable or shocked. But for those who are willing to enter someone else’s pain to gain a bit of understanding, then I recommend Mercy’s Rain.Mercy Roller is the daughter of the Pastor, a man who does unspeakable things and rules his congregation with fear. Set in the Appalachian mountains of eastern Tennessee in 1897, Mercy’s Rain draws it strength from an outstanding sense of place and well-drawn and exceedingly complex characters. The themes of mercy, grace and forgiveness in the face of horror and depravity are powerful The madness that surrounds Mercy’s life comes across as both unbelievable and all too real. It’s knowing that there are real people out there who face similar lives that grips the reader.Mercy’s questioning of where God is in the midst of her torture is met with love and support by the family she finds in the Johnson’s and Samuel, who is ironically a preacher. They help her to tell her story and quiet the noise that drowns out God’s message. But it is the relationship between a pleading Mercy and God that in the end speaks to the heart of the reader.Mercy’s Rain is told in the first person voice of Mercy herself. The cadence and dialect of the mountains perfectly fit the story. The book is relatively short — only 260 pages — and was quick to read, yet I felt that a good portion of my life was lived along with Mercy. The story alternates between Mercy’s present and flashbacks, which I really appreciated. The flashbacks would have been harder to bear without the assurance that Mercy had somehow survived.Again, not for the faint of heart or for those who are a bit weak-stomached, I do recommend Mercy’s Rain.Recommended.Audience: adults.(Thanks to Kregel for a review copy. The opinions expressed are mine alone.)

[mizroady · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was more than a novel! The setting may be in the 1890’s but the social issues that are involved in the story are still very relevant today: abuse, substance abuse, broken relationships, terminal illness and more. It doesn’t just stop with the suffering and pain involved. The reader is drawn into feeling and experiencing the affects these things have on the lives of those facing such problems; their struggles and turmoil physically, mentally, emotionally, and physically. The author goes the full circle and also shows God working in such a wounded life. The reader also sees His love, guidance, healing, and comfort. Mercy in her 20 years of living has faced more heartache and hardships that most people do in a lifetime. Her father is sick, cruel, and abusive to her, her mother, and others. Sadly, he is also the pastor of a church in a small Appalachian community. Everyone turns a head to his evil out of fear and his position, including Mercy’s mother. Everything comes to a head when her father dies and her mother confused and grieving kicks the young woman out her home. Mercy leaves determined to make it alone, no matter what it takes. Even as she travels, God is already preparing to bring her to people that will show her His true love and mercy. On her way, she meets a young preacher, a true man of God. He helps her and takes her to another mountain community where she meets a Christian couple that takes her in. Along with the preacher, they show her patience and conditional love. Her heart is very hardened and she is overwhelmed by bitterness and distrust toward everyone. They tenderly guide her never chiding her for her outbursts or false ideas. They look past her rough and angry exterior and see a much wounded heart. Here she experiences problems of a different kind, not only personally but in the lives of her new family she is growing to love. I found it beautiful how they faced every tragic event with a strong faith in God. The author does a beautiful job of handling very delicate subjects tastefully and showing that God has power to heal hearts, no matter how devastating the damage is that has been inflicted. She leaves no doubt the influence Christians have on others by allowing Christ to live through them and touch the lives of those in need.It is one of the most unusual books I have ever read. The reviews may make it sound depressing, but it is incredibly uplifting and hopeful. I anxiously await the opportunity to read more books by Sproles.I received a complimentary copy of this book from Kregel Publications in exchange for my honest review. The opinions I expressed are my own. I am not required to write a positive review .

[devlindusty · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A tough read about child abuse. Mercy is abused by her father who is a Pastor. The Pastor also abused his wife as well. Mental and physical abuse abound. This a great novel but very dark in places.

[lusetta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Married and widowed at 13, a mother and childless at 15. Ain't nobody should have to learn life like I did". So begins Mercy's Rain: An Appalachian Novel by Cindy K. Sproles. Set in the waning years of the 1800's in the ruggedly beautiful Appalachian Mountains, this tale weaves man's cruelty in the name of righteousness with God's true righteousness, love and forgiveness. Mercy Roller is a survivor of unspeakable horrors perpetrated by the one man in the entire world who should protect her -- her father. Follow Mercy for two years in her young life as she grows from hopelessness and despair to mercy and love. The author uses graphic imagery to recount the abuse Mercy and her momma sufferd at the hands of the Pastor, as do other members of his congregation and community. It was hard for me to read and I almost stopped reading after the first few chapters. But I am glad I didn't stop. The recounting of Mercy's earlier experiences are woven with her new life in a new community as she struggles to reconcile the Scriptures she had memorized as a child with her experiences past and present. This contrasting of past and present, evil and good resonated with me in my own daily struggle to live the Christian life. By the last page, I also felt the mercy of God in this imperfect world. This novel is well worth the read for adults and mature teens. I would also recommend this title for book discussion groups and as supplemental reading for new Christian groups and other Bible study groups.

[joyanne-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A touching story of the hardships of living in the Appalachians, life was really tough for those folks. The story of a girl whose life was one of abuse by a father that was a Pastor. Wow, aren't Christians supposed to be perfect? The author has done a great job of showing no one is perfect and that one can overcome a life of abuse. Good read!I received a copy of this book through the Early Reviewer's program in exchange for an honest review.