Mercy's Way

By Maggie FitzRoy

In 1845, a young woman risks her life to travel the perilous Oregon Trail to marry a man she's never met. But when she falls in love with the leader of the wagon train, she must make a decision: to go through with her contracted marriage, or to follow her heart.

When Mercy Montgomery is let go from her governess position in Massachusetts, she impetuously answers the newspaper ad of widower George Crawford, a man in search of a wife and mother for his three young children. Crawford hires former army officer and wilderness expert Luke Owen to transport Mercy across the continent to his home in Oregon Territory. But from the moment they meet, Mercy and Luke face a clash of wills—and the fact that they are undeniably attracted to each other.

During the months-long struggle to stay alive amid storms, accidents, illnesses, injuries and near starvation, Mercy increasingly regrets her promise to marry a stranger, wrestles with her growing feelings for Luke, and finds out she is far stronger than she ever realized.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543919325

Maggie FitzRoy

Maggie FitzRoy is the author of three historical romance and romantic suspense novels, Mercy's Way, Beacon Beach, and His Haven. She first fell in love with reading in third grade, when she discovered Nany Drew mystery books. Since that time, she has always enjoyed reading mystery and romance, which inspired her to write Never on Monday, the first novel in her Story Smith Mystery Series. Maggie is a former journalist and magazine and newspaper editor who holds a bachelor's degree in history from Ursinus College and a master's degree in education from the University of Virginia. She lives with her husband, dog, and two cats in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, travel, swimming, choral singing, pickleball, yoga, and Pilates.For information about Maggie's previous novels, or to sign up for her newsletter and receive updates about her next Story Smith book, visit her website www.maggiefitzroy.com.

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Day

Chapter 1- A Sad Leave-taking

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

March, 1845

The sight of herself in the mirror frightened Mercy Montgomery more than anything. And at that moment, she was grieved by a great many things.

She’d been trying to tame her normally curly red hair into submission by twisting it into a bun on top of her head, but it was acting wild. As soon as she wrangled one lock into place, another tumbled out. It looked like she had just survived a wind storm, with hair sticking out in all directions. Her swollen cheeks were a horror as well, as splotchy as if she’d been attacked by a swarm of bees.

Mercy rubbed her eyes to try to stop her tears, but they kept streaming down her face. The more her shaking hands wiped them away, the worse she looked. Her big brown eyes were now reduced to pink slits, and when she stared into the mirror, everything was a blur.

She stifled a sob. On this day, of all days, she needed to at least appear to be happy. But she was failing, miserably.

She reached up to unfasten her hair, comb it out and begin again. But she froze when she heard footsteps in the hall. Perhaps it was a servant, in which case her appearance was none of their business. She threw her hands over her face, willing herself to calm down.

But it was only dear little Lucille.

Miss Mercy—oh my—Miss Mercy… the little girl cried as she burst into Mercy’s room. Her soft slippers made barely a sound as she half-ran, half-slid across the pine floor to the vanity. She stared at her governess’ reflection in the mirror.

Why are you so sad? A frown creased the ten-year-old’s normally cheerful countenance. Aren’t you excited about finally beginning your new adventure?

Mercy slowly turned to face her and blinked.

I thought you were happy… Lucille’s voice trailed off but then she found it again. About starting your new life in Oregon Country?

Mercy tried to smile, but failed. She swallowed hard and met Lucille’s gaze, searching for an answer that wouldn’t upset the child.

Aren’t you excited? Lucille cocked her head. You are going to meet your new husband at last.

Mercy knew she should be. Everyone in the household had assumed she was, because until today she’d been putting on a cheerful face.

When she was alone, she tried not to think about it at all. But now that it was actually time to leave, she could no longer hide the truth from herself or anyone else.

She had been Lucille’s governess since the child was a toddler. Never once had she cried in front of her. Her appearance must alarm her now, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Lucille’s sweet smile faded as tears crept down Mercy’s cheeks.

Now, now, Lucille said, patting her shoulder, the way Mercy had often comforted her. Mercy stifled a sob. Barring a miracle, she would never see this intelligent, loving child again.

Lucille tilted her head. Are you crying about Mr. Crawford? Are you worried about what he will look like? She shrugged and gave Mercy a hopeful grin. Because I’m certain he will be quite handsome.

Mercy shook her head. Truth to tell, she had not been giving Mr. Crawford’s appearance much thought. Under different circumstances, she would have found Lucille’s comment rather amusing.

She coughed, stalling as she tried to come up with the right words to explain her feelings. I’ll be alright in a minute, she said, reaching out to pat Lucille’s hand.

The truth was, it would take her a long time to get over having to leave Lucille and the entire Sweed family. Not to mention their grand Cape Cod estate, which had been her beloved home for the past seven years. She’d been so happy there, had felt so secure and loved. After so much loss in her life, she’d allowed herself to believe the Sweeds really were her family, and that she could stay there forever.

Her apprehension about traveling west to marry a stranger was intensified by her grief about losing them.

She longed to tell Lucille how much she would miss her, but didn’t want to burden her. The child would soon be leaving home for a girls school in Boston. Her brothers, thirteen-year old Edward, and twelve-year old Thomas, would attend a boys academy there. She was truly happy for them. But their school plans had put her out of a job. As a result, she’d impulsively answered the newspaper advertisement of a widower with three children on the other side of the continent, and agreed to marry him.

She touched Lucille’s cheek, cleared her throat and found her voice.I am crying because I will miss you, she whispered. But I am also proud of you.

Swallowing tears, she beckoned Lucille to her lap. Together, they faced the mirror and Mercy sighed. There she was, dressed in her purple tear stained traveling gown, and there was Lucille, in her pretty lemon-yellow dress. The imp was gaining on her in height, and would be a beauty some day, just like her mother.

Mercy lifted her chin. Don’t worry about me, she said, her voice raspy. I’m just being a silly ninny. I know you’re going to love your new school. And I am also sure that my betrothed is a very handsome man. I can’t wait to meet him. Though—of course—it will be many months before I do.

Lucille’s face brightened. I bet Oregon Country will be very nice, almost as lovely as Cape Cod. She stood up. I envy you going there, you know. You get to travel in a covered wagon.

Well, that’s true.

Lucille grabbed Mercy’s hands and hopped up and down. A mischievous smile spread across her face. I know. I could go with you! Then you wouldn’t have to miss me.

Mercy shook her head. Oh no, dear. For one thing, I am pretty sure there are no schools out there yet. It’s all farms and wilderness. And… She noticed with relief that her tears had finally stopped. And traveling the Oregon Trail will be quite perilous, you see. Few people have taken it yet, and those who have say there are many wild animals along the way.

Immediately, Mercy regretted her choice of words. Lucille’s eyes grew large and her lips started to quiver. Oh, no. Mercy reached for her hand and squeezed it. It’s just that..you see...your parents wouldn’t like it at all if you went with me.

But it would be so adventurous. Lucille said. I would be brave.

Mercy sighed. I am sure you would be. But the Trail is long. It runs through prairies and deserts and mountains and Indian Country. It’s possible that we could run out of food and water.

Lucille gasped. She looked on the brink of tears.

Look, I’m just being foolish, Mercy said, chastising herself for making things worse. I’m so sorry for allowing my imagination to run wild. I really shouldn’t do that.

She pulled Lucille toward her and hugged her. I will be just fine. You know I will, because I’m strong.

Lucille jumped to her feet. She glared at Mercy with her hands on her hips. How can you say that? She stamped her foot. You are not strong. You are a wisp of a thing—at least that’s what Mother always says! She says that you are too skinny. That you need to eat more. That you need to put some meat on your bones. A tear slid down her cheek. Miss Mercy, I’m afraid you might die.

Mercy’s heart sank. What a mess she’d made. Lucille saw right through her pronouncement about being strong. Mercy wanted to believe that about herself, that she had the physical strength for the journey. But wanting it and having it were two different things. Frail, her aunt always called her, reminding her she came from a sickly family.

No, I will not. I wouldn’t dare die, Mercy said, forcing a smile. So you see, you have no cause for worry. I promise that, when I get to Oregon, I will write to you and tell you all about my wonderful new life.

She took a deep breath. Now I really must stop all this nonsense and get myself ready. Because I look ridiculous. It is bad enough that you have seen me this way. I would at least like to appear presentable when I go downstairs.

She lifted a frizzy curl and grimaced. Please be a dear and run and fetch me a wet cloth so I can wash my face and then try to repair my hair.

Lucille frowned.

Of course, Miss Mercy, she said. I’ll be right back.

Alone again, Mercy sighed and glanced around at her comfortable bedroom. She would never forget its four poster bed and floor-to-ceiling window with a sweeping view of the estate’s gardens and woods beyond.

Her tears had stopped, but now she felt completely numb. Lucile had stirred up the very thoughts that had been keeping her up at night.

The first wagon train to brave the Oregon Trail had made the journey only two years earlier, in the spring and summer of 1843. A slightly larger group followed the next year. A series of roads and paths connected by fur traders and mountain men, the Trail ran from Independence, Missouri to Oregon City near the Pacific Ocean. And it was fraught with danger.

Mercy had read some published passages from emigrant journals, which told of physical exhaustion, drownings, severe weather, starvation and dehydration, not to mention fatal illnesses and injuries.

She had accepted the risks.

But what would happen once she finally reached Oregon?

When she’d accepted Mr. George Crawford’s proposal by mail, she’d just assumed he would be a nice man. A fine upstanding man, like her boss, Captain Sweed. She assumed he would be a good father and husband, like her own dear papa.

But what if he wasn’t? What if he turned out to be cruel? Dictatorial? She shuddered. Whenever she thought about it, her blood turned to ice.

The truth was, Mercy knew little about him. Basically only that he was thirty-five-years old, a decade older than she, and that he lived on a farm at the edge of civilization with his three young children.

She’d panicked last fall when Captain and Mrs. Sweed announced it would soon be time for their children to go away to school. If she’d had a sensible bone in her body, she would have sought a new governess position in Boston, as everyone expected.

She was, after all, an orphan with no family, so it seemed her only option. The Sweeds promised to help her find a suitable position. They told her they’d kept their children home as long as they had because she was an excellent teacher, and the entire family loved her.

Mercy yanked her brush through her knotted hair and winced. The problem was, when she thought about spending the rest of her life as a governess to other people’s children, it depressed her. So when another option magically appeared, she grabbed it without really thinking it through. Now it was too late to change her mind.

She fixed a smile on her face when she heard Lucille returning.

Mother’s coming, the little girl whispered as she handed Mercy a damp cloth. But I didn’t tell her you’ve been crying.

Thank you, Mercy said, dabbing her eyes as Priscilla Sweed majestically swept into the room, cheerful as always.

How are you coming along, Miss Mercy? she sang out. Have you finished your packing?

Mrs. Sweed’s light blue gown swished softly as she approached the vanity. Her smile faded. Miss Mercy, whatever is the matter?

Mercy tugged on a knot in her hair as she met her employer’s eyes. She put the comb down. Pretending was useless. I’m so sorry. It’s just…just that I am more upset about leaving than I thought I would be. She lifted her chin. But I will be alright. Don’t worry. I will compose myself.

Mrs. Sweed, too polite to pry any further, nodded and looked around the room. Mercy’s few possessions were packed and ready: her large black trunk, her fishing poles and gear, and her most prized possession—her golden brown lute.

Her mother had given her the lute when she was six, and taught her how to play it. Of course she was bringing it. Her father had taught her how to fish. Perhaps it wasn’t lady-like, but she didn’t care. The poles were coming too.

Mrs. Sweed gave Mercy a sympathetic smile. It looks like you are all set. Are you about ready to go downstairs?

Yes, except for my hair, I’m afraid.

Your hair looks fetching, my dear, hanging down just as it is in curls.

It does?

I have an idea, Mrs. Sweed said, raising a finger to her chin. Why don’t you just tie on your bonnet and we’ll all go for a nice walk around the grounds. It will give you a chance to get some fresh air and say your goodbyes while we wait for Mr. Owen.

She looked back and forth between Mercy and Lucille. He will arrive soon, you know. Hopefully Marcus and Deborah are ready too.

Mercy suppressed a groan. Captain Sweed’s brother Marcus and his wife, Deborah would serve as her chaperones for the next few weeks until they reached Philadelphia, where the Sweeds lived. Thinking about that filled her with dread.

She hoped Mr. Luke Owen—the man Mr. Crawford had hired to escort and guide her to Oregon—was a patient man. He would need patience to tolerate Marcus and Deborah. And perhaps herself as well. Because she was beginning to wonder whether she had the courage and strength to make it all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

She took a deep breath and smiled.

A walk sounds lovely, she told Mrs. Sweed. Just what I need.

Chapter 2 - A Last Goodbye

The entire Sweed family was waiting for Mercy by the front door.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she vowed to herself that she would never forget them. There they were: Captain, looking distinguished with his neatly trimmed beard, in his navy blue gold-buttoned jacket. Lucille, wearing a flowered bonnet that matched her dress. Dark-haired Edward, looking positively grown up in a blazer that matched his father’s. And Thomas, his light brown hair slightly tousled, standing proud in a grey jacket and pants.

And Mrs. Sweed, of course. She placed a white bonnet over her brown curls and gave her husband a serene smile as she took his arm. Mercy envied her. She had a loving husband, charming children and a grand home that would be hers until the day she drew her last breath. Her future was settled and secure, while Mercy found herself trembling in fear at what hers might bring.

Mercy looked at them all and grinned. Are you all coming with me on my walk?

Of course we are, my dear, Captain said.

I’m flattered, Mercy said. I would like to visit the stables and the lake and then go through the woods down to the beach. Do we have time for that?

We do, Mrs. Sweed said. If we hurry.

Mercy glanced around. But what about Marcus and Deborah?

Mrs. Sweed looked up the stairs. Deborah hasn’t finished packing yet, so we won’t concern ourselves with them, she said. I’m certain they’ll be ready by the time we return.

The fresh air and walk did Mercy much good. It was a relief that Marcus and Deborah didn’t come along. They visited often, and had been at the Sweed’s home for six weeks. Mercy always tried to see the best in people, but she struggled with this couple. Childless and middle aged, Deborah was a vain and silly woman, and her adoring Marcus indulged her every whim.

Mercy knew she should be grateful for their offer to chaperone her as far as Philadelphia, where she and Mr. Owen would meet other emigrants. She just wished they were better company.

She hesitated when they reached the garden. In a few weeks the daffodils, tulips and cherry trees would bloom without her. She was afraid she might cry again. She had helped tend the garden in her free time, and had a corner of her own, where she grew blackberry, pink root, Lady’s Slipper and other medicinal herbs.

She had learned so much from the gardener, Mr. Howard Brown, who was an expert when it came to healing plants and concocting medicines for animals. An eager student, Mercy was just as interested in medicine for her own health as well as any creatures that might need her doctoring.

Goodbye Mistress Mercy, Mr. Brown said, hurrying out of the greenhouse, wearing his signature brimmed straw hat. I will miss you terribly.

I’ll miss you too, she said.

Then, before she could utter another word, Deborah interrupted.

Mr. Owen! she screeched from the doorway at the back of the mansion. Mr. Owen is coming! He’s coming down the drive!

Chapter 3 - Setting Out

Mr. Luke Owen didn’t look anything like Mercy had expected, not that she’d given him much thought.

Despite what she’d told Lucille, she’d at times tried to imagine what Mr. Crawford would look like, hoping he was at least passably good looking.

But as for the man he’d hired to escort her west? She had just expected him to be older. Grizzled, perhaps. With a weathered face that reflected a life lived largely outdoors.

Captain Sweed told her that he’d served in the U.S. Army in the wilds of western Pennsylvania, which gave him the experience needed to be an Oregon Trail wagon train guide.

But Mr. Owen was relatively young. And strikingly good looking. He appeared to be in his early thirties, and very tall, over six feet. He wore black boots, black pants, and a black brimmed hat, which he removed after he entered the Sweed mansion and looked around. His thick dark brown hair reached to the collar of a tan checked linen shirt, over which he wore a suede jacket.

He had a confident air and a tanned, clean shaven face. Mercy couldn’t help noticing that his tan complimented his chiseled cheekbones and piercing gray eyes.

Good day, Miss Montgomery, he said, bowing to her after Captain introduced them. Captain had hurried down the drive to greet him as he rode up on a rented horse from Provincetown. He’d traveled to the Sweed’s Cape Cod estate on one of Captain’s steamships from Boston. Later, they would take the same vessel back. The entire family hurried into the parlor to greet him, Marcus and Deborah included.

Mercy wasn’t the least surprised when Deborah commanded his attention right away.

My goodness, Mr. Owen, what a fine looking man you are, she said in her simpering sing-song voice, followed by a giggle. Marcus and I are so very fortunate that you will be escorting us on what is usually a tedious journey home.

Mercy covered her lips to stifle a giggle of her own.

Mr. Owen had no idea who Deborah was, given that she had yet to be introduced. He looked at her with barely concealed amusement as she stepped forward to offer him her gloved hand.

When he took it, she cocked her head and paused, as if to allow him time to admire the blonde curls artfully arranged in careful ringlets around her face.

Marcus hurried to her side. Let me introduce myself, sir, he said. I am Marcus Sweed, the Captain’s brother. He bowed. And this charming woman is my wife, Deborah. We are regular visitors here, and it isn’t a secret that Deborah normally hates the post road between Boston and Philadelphia.

Marcus was gazing into his wife’s pale blue eyes. Short and wiry like her, it always amused Mercy that they looked like a matched set. This time, however, we are looking forward to our trip home, he said. And we are pleased to be of service to Miss Montgomery.

Mr. Owen smiled politely. Thank you, he said. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and grateful that you can serve as her chaperone.

A single woman on the way to meet her future husband needs one. Deborah fluffed her curls. But I might as well tell you that I can’t for the life of me understand why she got herself betrothed to a stranger who lives all the way across the continent in the first place.

Mrs. Sweed, obviously embarrassed, darted over to take Deborah’s arm, but Deborah waved her away. Why, she continued, shooting Mercy a look of pity. I would have thought it would have been far easier for her to just find a man to marry in Boston.

Deborah, that is quite enough. Captain Sweed stared at his brother. Marcus—

Deborah glared at Marcus, as if daring him to stop her. He shrugged and gave Captain an apologetic smile. I’m afraid my Deborah is just a curious woman. She has questions.

Deborah looked at Mr. Owen. I heard you will be traveling to Oregon with a great many people. Did I hear it was to be with as many as fifty wagons?

Mr. Owen nodded. Yes, that’s about—

And how many of those do you think will actually make it?

Mercy was appalled by Deborah’s question. But before Mr. Owen could reply, she batted her eyelashes and looked him up and down. I am sure most of of them will, she said with a counterfeit smile. I am sure you will be an excellent guide.

Deborah— Mercy stepped forward. Marcus was obviously going to let his wife blabber on and on.

But Mr. Owen took control of the conversation.

I mean to do the best job I can, ma’am, he said, flashing Mercy a sympathetic look. And I appreciate your concern for the safety of Miss Montgomery and the others. Then he turned to Captain Sweed. Now sir, he said, could you please introduce me to the rest of your family?

Certainly, Captain said. Be glad to.

Mercy had never felt so humiliated. The truth was that she didn’t know any men in Boston. How could she? She’d been living on an isolated estate on Cape Cod since graduating from school.

Anyway, from what little Mercy knew about men, they weren’t usually interested in tiny women like her. Especially women with untamed red hair, freckles and no money to their name.

From what Mercy had observed growing up in Boston, men favored women who were soft and shapely, who charmed them by telling them what they wanted to hear. They didn’t like strong-willed females like her, who spoke their mind.

George Crawford was willing to marry her regardless of her appearance, personality, or financial situation. He needed a young woman willing to work hard. While Mercy had no idea how many other women had answered his ad, she was the one selected.

Mr. Crawford’s father, who lived in Philadelphia, had agreed to pay Mr. Owen a nice sum of money to see her safely to his son. Which made Mr. Owen a temporary employee of the Crawford family, if she chose to look at it that way. That didn’t mean she didn’t care what he thought of her.

Mercy pressed her lips together, annoyed with herself. What did it matter what he thought of her? He was the least of her problems. She was suddenly eager to get going, to get on with the rest of her life, and the sooner Deborah was no longer a part of it, the better.

Mr. Owen, she said. I have complete confidence in your leadership.

He seemed surprised and turned to face her. I’m glad to hear it. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but then thought better of it, and instead gave her a lopsided grin that warmed her heart.

She blushed. No man had ever looked at her like that before.

Captain Sweed cleared his throat. You all have a ship to catch. It is waiting.

It seems we are all ready, sir, Mr. Owen said. But I have one request before we go. I plan to ask everyone on the wagon train to call me Luke. So, I would like everyone here to address me that way as well. He turned to Mercy. We will be together for many months, and calling me by my first name will make life much easier.

She felt a warm tingling in her chest. Of course, she said. Luke.

Deborah sniffed. We should all go by our first names then.

Yes. Mercy nodded. I would like that very much.

It’s settled, then, Luke said as he watched two male servants carry Mercy’s trunk down the stairs. They lowered it to the floor with a thump. A maid followed with her fishing gear, followed by another, carrying her lute. She carefully set the lute on top of the trunk.

Thank you, Mercy said.

Luke shook his head, looking dumbfounded. What in the world? He frowned. I’m not sure where you think you are going, Miss Montgomery, I mean Mercy. But it is no place for a fragile musical instrument, whatever that thing is. And fishing poles? Are you planning on catching our dinner on the Trail?

Luke pressed his fist into his forehead. It had been a long day. And it was not yet noon. He had spent the night in a rowdy Boston inn, where he’d been forced to share a bed with three foul smelling men.

Rising before dawn, he’d washed, shaved and secured his duffle bag at the dock, where he also arranged the services of a carriage and driver to take him and his charges to Philadelphia.

In Provincetown, he’d rented the fastest horse he could find. Eager to meet the woman who would be his ward for the next eight months or so, he was surprised to find her a pretty sight for tired eyes.

But now, what was this?

Fishing poles?

And a stringed musical instrument that resembled a fat violin?

It’s a lute, Mercy said, lifting her chin in defiance.

They would be traveling three thousand miles across rugged terrain, fording swift rivers with wagons crammed with provisions necessary for survival. Did she think they were going on a picnic?

She was not what he’d expected. He had assumed that any woman who would commit to life on the frontier would be hardy and rugged. No nonsense and plain of face.

The woman facing him, however, was not that. She was petite, even dainty. Maybe five feet tall, she was slight and uniquely attractive. She had long, curly auburn hair and a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks, which gave her an impish look. Her lips were full and the color of rose petals. But her large brown eyes were her best feature. Framed by long dark lashes, they had streaks of amber. When she smiled, they crinkled in the corners in a most charming way.

But she wasn’t smiling now.

A lute? he said. It looks awfully fragile.

She just stared at him.

Do you fish? he asked. Are those your poles?

Yes and yes.

Well. That’s surprising. He wondered what type of woman George Crawford was expecting.

She shrugged.

I can accept the fishing poles, he said. But we will have to leave the lute behind. It looks like it might break easily. I can’t worry about it, and we won’t have room.

She shook her head. No. I’m bringing it.

He frowned, surprised he was feeling as angry as he was. He stared at her as the servants awaited further instruction. Then he turned. The entire Sweed family was watching with interest.

He took a step toward her. May I see it?

She handed it to him. Please handle it carefully. It’s extremely precious to me.

So it is fragile? He plucked a string and a deep twang echoed around the room. What do you plan to do with it?

I mean to play it at night, around the campfire. Surely we could use entertainment.

Do you think we are going to the park?

Of course not.

This looks like it could get easily cracked or broken.

I will take responsibility for it.

"But that is the problem. I have assumed responsibility for you, and I am afraid you have no idea what you are in for. Do you