Oh, Mercy!

By Linda Cushman

Craving peace and solitude, Mercy Whitney flees New York City after her friend was caught bootlegging and died in an accident. Her dreams are shattered when she finds her family and neighbors being displaced by a power company. She’s certain the surveyor for the project knows she was involved in a crime. Did he follow her to Missouri?

Dan Kelsey has two goals in life: find the beautiful woman he saw in the city and dodge the law. His new job lands him in a remote area where his contempt for the poor, backwoods people of the Ozarks soon turns to respect when he realizes they have something he’ll never attain—peace. They open their hearts and homes, knowing he’s helping destroy their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Cushman
• Release date: Feb 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463028162

Linda Cushman

Linda Cushman and her husband live in rural Polk County, Missouri. Her greatest love is the Lord, who saved her soul and promised a home in heaven. Her children, grandchildren, and great granddaughter are the joy of her life. They have encouraged her to write stories of faith, hope, and inspiration. It is her desire that her writing will help her readers turn to God during life's troubles and trials.

Book preview

Oh, Mercy!

A Novel

By

Linda Cushman

Oh, Mercy!

Copyright © 2020 by Linda Cushman

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9780463028162

Oh, Mercy is a work of fiction based on the building of Tunnel Dam in Camden County, Missouri. Many facts about the dam are used in the story, but all names and events are fiction.

Dedication

To the families who lost farms and homes to the lake, and to the men who worked to bring electricity to the rural areas of Missouri.

Oh, Mercy!

Boom!

The explosion rattled the windows as the handful of forks in Mercy’s hand clattered to the table. Her heart stalled. What was that?

Them dam construction workers—

Boone! Mom will wash your mouth with soap. Mercy gathered the silverware with trembling hands.

No, I mean a real dam. They’re goin’ to build one across our river.

Where? Why would they try to dam this little river in the Missouri Ozarks? This is 1929, and people in the hills don’t need electricity. Mercy Whitney’s gaze swept over her parent’s farm and rested on Mead’s bluff in the distance. That other power company tried in 1911, and it didn’t work.

You haven’t been back from New York City long enough to hear the news. This company seems determined to get it done. Johnny’s goin’ to be showin’ a couple of ’em around, and they’ll blast test areas to find the best place to build. Boone placed his rifle on the nails above the front door then turned to his oldest sister. You’re as pale as a ghost. Did the noise scare you that bad?

Mercy tried to pull her lips into a smile. I suppose it brings back memories of an explosion in Aunt Mollie’s factory. It was awful. A girl burned her hands and arms with one of those new- fangled gasoline irons. She shook her head and frowned, trying to force her heart to calm down. If her family knew about the motor car accident, the real reason she left the city, they’d disown her. For good reason.

I’m sorry workin’ for Aunt Molly’s dress shop didn’t work for you, sis. Grace, Mercy’s younger sister, set a basket of clean laundry on the floor then caught her in a hug. But you belong here with us.

Mercy tugged one of Grace’s golden brown braids. You just want me home to help with the work. But that Flapper lifestyle isn’t for me. Grandma Whitney would be ashamed of those girls.

We did miss you, and your help. It surprised us when you showed up unannounced, but we’re plum tickled you’re here.

My, somethin’ smells good! The screen door flung open and Johnny burst inside. Mercy, Dad said he didn’t care, so we’re supposed to take Dan to the Newland’s this afternoon.

Dan?

Yeah, one of the guys I’ll be helpin’. He’s nice.

Boone snorted. Nice enough to tear up our river and flood us and our neighbors out of our houses and land. Real nice.

Surely they won’t build here. Mercy set glasses of water on the table. I was four years old, but I remember it. The Quigley Power Company didn’t have any luck. This company won’t either. She pulled two loaves of bread from the oven and set them on the sideboard. Where are these men from?

Johnny turned from the wash basin, and grinned. Noo Yark. He snickered. They think we talk funny. They’re the ones who don’t know how to say ‘Niangua.’ They say Niaunga or Niawgua or somethin’. He dried his hands.

New York. Mercy gritted her teeth. Why there? New York City was huge, but a newspaper article about women bootleggers crashing a car had been front page news in the Times the morning she left town. Along with a hint that she might have been involved. She shivered in spite of the heat from the wood-burning cook stove.

Two hours later, a fist pounded on the door. She knew a man named Dan was coming, but Mercy sensed trouble even before she opened the door. Still, she wasn’t prepared to meet the violet-blue eyes staring at her from a face more handsome than Rudolph Valentino’s, complete with slicked-back black hair. She’d seen those unusual eyes. Where? Her heart hammered out of control. Was he at The Jazz Time Club that night? Did he know?

Mercy stuffed trembling hands into her dress pockets. Hello. My dad’s in the fields by the river if you’re looking for him. She nodded toward the south. Where was Johnny? He was supposed to be here.

Paul Whitney sent me here. He said his daughter had some business with the Newland’s, and thought you and your brother could take me. He smiled, making himself even more handsome before he offered his hand. Dan Kelsey, working with Missouri Electric. Pleased to meet you, Miss Whitney.

Mercy’s hand was caught in a firm grip while he grinned again, making him almost irresistible. Almost. Yes, he was probably used to the loose, immoral lifestyle of women during the roaring twenties. Well, she wasn’t one of them. She pulled her hand away.

You’re welcome to borrow the boat.

Your father said you planned to make the trip anyway, and I don’t know where they live. Besides, I need to study the topography of the riverbanks as we go. He glanced behind him. There comes your little brother now.

Mercy folded her arms and waited for her ten-year-old brother to reach the house. Johnny, why doesn’t Boone take the gentleman upriver?

The boy shrugged. I dunno. Boone’s cultivatin’ the corn field, and I can’t row with this broken arm. He held up the plaster-cast-covered limb like a get-out-of-work trophy. Besides, you wanted to see Abby anyway. Or Jess. Johnny giggled before disappearing around the corner of the house then trotting back with a cane pole and tackle box. I’m ready.

Dan raised his brows. Miss Whitney, you don’t seem too pleased with the arrangement. I have a Model T. Perhaps I should drive to the Newland place.

That would take hours, and the roads are horrible. You’d spend more time fixing tires than driving, and wouldn’t see any of the river. She flung her arm toward the door. Give me a couple of minutes.

Mercy didn’t try to stop the screen door from slamming behind her when she went inside. What was her dad thinking? She didn’t want to be stuck in a boat with this man for two hours. Or two minutes. She’d imagined this Dan would be a forty-year-old man with spectacles, not a handsome college-age man. She’d seen enough of his kind in New York. Arrogant, obnoxious, full of himself, and free to put his hands anywhere he chose. He probably thought she was a backwoods yokel who would fall for his charms. Not this gal.

Dan’s voice drifted inside as he talked with her brother. What’s she doing? Putting on makeup?

Naw, she don’t wear that stuff. She baked stuff for the Newlands. She makes the best bread. People pay her to bake it.

The pan of sweet rolls and loaf of bread rested in the bottom of a basket Mercy’s grandmother had made. Her heart twisted. Grandma loved to eat a cinnamon roll fresh from the oven, and Mercy wished she was here now. Even at twenty-two years, she needed advice, and couldn’t bring herself to ask her mother. Mom would be so ashamed, but Grandma had been down the road apiece she’d say. She’d lived through rough times. Covering the basket with a clean tea towel, Mercy stalked to the porch. I’m ready.

Dan rose from the steps where he lounged. Aren’t you going to lock the door?

No, why should I? She didn’t need to explain that Mom and Grace would be home soon. Or that people here didn’t lock doors. And nobody stole things either.

I guess this isn’t the Bronx. His lip curled as he glanced at the valley. Far from it.

Johnny led the way on the path to the river. Mercy followed then Dan brought up the rear carrying a tripod and a case of equipment.

My, those rolls smell delicious. Dan sounded hopeful.

You can get you one after they cool. It’s going to be a long trip upstream.

When they reached the gravel riverbank, Mercy untied the wooden boat and pushed it into the water while Johnny held the rope. Stepping over two seats, she settled on the third one and put oars in place. It had been two years since she’d rowed, and she prayed she’d have enough stamina to get them three miles upstream. The water appeared fairly calm on this mid-May afternoon, but it was always work to row against the spring-fed current.

This isn’t exactly a cruiser is it? Dan lowered his gear inside then settled in the middle seat. He brushed leaves and dust away before he sat, his knees practically touching Mercy’s.

Johnny pushed the boat off as he hopped in. We call it the Big Niangua Yacht. He uncoiled fishing line and stuck the pole over the edge of the boat. What is all this? He tapped the case with his casted arm.

Survey tools. I’ll show you how to use them if we find a promising spot. Dan put a protective hand over the leather box. Some of this equipment cost a fortune so let’s be careful with it.

Mercy clamped her lips. What did this city-slicker think he was doing poking around in the hills? Why couldn’t things stay as they were? She’d come home hungering for the peace and solitude of a simple, pure life. And God’s forgiveness most of all. Now their lives were being up-ended.

~*~

Dan glanced at the blond head when the youngster darted up beside him. Bear to your right, Mercy. There’s a log pokin’ outta the water. Johnny repositioned his pole to the left side of the boat. What are you surveyin’ for, Mr. Kelsey? All the farms around here have boundaries. Didn’t think you’d need to survey for a dam.

Missouri Electric Power Company hired me to find the best place to build then I’ll measure every day to keep the construction level and true. In a few years everyone in the county will have electricity. Won’t that be nice? Dan’s gaze drifted from the hillsides and settled on the woman. Did Johnny call her Mercy? This barefoot woman was fetching, but nothing like the lady named Mercy he’d heard sing at the soldier’s club. That woman, with a flowing mass of dark waves, was a beauty he’d never forget. He’d tried every trick in the book to get back stage to meet her, along with half the gents in the place. No dice. Nobody got a pass.

Her large brown eyes blinked back tears, and a rock settled in his gut. I take it you aren’t thrilled with the idea, Miss Whitney?

Why should I be? Her voice was soft, and he had to pay close attention every time she spoke. A tiny strand of brown hair floated across her black brows after it escaped the braids coiled tightly around her head.

Electricity makes life easier for everyone. There’s no end to the appliances you can use, not to mention having lights any time you need them.

Where do you suppose you’ll build the dam? Her haunted gaze bore into him. You won’t build in our area.

I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m studying the geology of this area. Whew, he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with this dame. Are you against progress?

Progress comes with consequences. Somebody loses. She spoke barely above a whisper.

The majority wins, right?

Ask the people in West Virginia who had their beautiful hills turned inside out for coal mines then lost their lives to black lung disease. Or the Cherokee Indians who’ve been cheated out of their territory so big companies can drill for oil.

Miss Whitney seemed intelligent for a backwoods girl. Only she wasn’t a girl. She was an attractive woman. Who would lose here? I’d think all the locals would like improvements.

Someone’s prime farmland will be covered with water. Cemeteries will be flooded. Land that was homesteaded over a hundred years ago will be lost.

The electric company will pay for the acres they cover. They always have. He rubbed his upper lip. The conversation needed to change before Miss Whitney threw him overboard. Say, how about one of those cinnamon rolls.

Mercy nodded toward the basket at her feet. Help yourself. Johnny will want one too.

Dan’s mouth watered when he dug the warm, sticky treat from the pan. He waited until the boy passed the pan back before he bit into the roll. A burst of flavor met his tongue, and the fluffy goodness melted in his mouth. Delicious. If I had a cup of coffee right now, I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven.

Heaven will be much better than anything on this wicked earth. The words were harsh, but a faint smile graced Mercy’s lips.

Johnny licked his fingers. Yeah, but these are great. Mercy’s probably tryin’ to impress Jess Newland. He hasn’t see her since she got back from….

Mercy’s oar skimmed the water, and a well-aimed splash drenched her brother. Her lips met in a firm line, her brows lowered. That was a shut-up look if Dan ever saw one.

Johnny sputtered. Hey!

I’m going to ask Mr. Newland about a teaching job, if it’s any of your business. She sent Johnny another look. What kind of place do you need for the dam? Mercy threw the conversation back to Dan.

Probably a bluff or very steep hill on one side and a place that slopes up fairly quickly on the other. And we’ll need to be able to get to it with trucks and equipment. I’ll mark possible sites then the engineers will test the soil to see if it would work. His gaze soared to the top of a cliff. What’s that called?

Kirkland Bluff. The hill over there is Joe Berry point. The river switches directions here, and the next bluff we come to is about a mile away. We can walk to the Newland’s house from here or go upriver farther. Mercy kept the boat moving as she spoke.

Let’s go on up, if you’re okay with rowing.

Mercy nodded, and was silent the rest of the trip.

Towering hills on one side and wide, fertile fields on the other created a beautiful boundary for the cold blue-green water, and Dan was sorry when Mercy docked the boat on a muddy bank.

This is it, Johnny called. He hopped out and tugged the boat further inland on the mud flat. Stowing his fishing tackle and pole, he took off at a lope.

Johnny, you get back here and help carry Mr. Kelsey’s gear.

Mercy’s voice caused Dan to stop in mid-stride. She could speak above a whisper, and the clear tone carried across the field, probably echoing from the bluffs a mile downstream, but it fetched the boy. He grabbed the tripod and left Dan to carry the case.

Dan stepped from the boat then offered his hand to Mercy. Her small hand rested in his, but she didn’t need any assistance as she deftly exited the craft. Her palm left drops of blood. Let me see your hands.

She closed her fist and yanked away. They’re fine.

No, they aren’t. Why didn’t you tell me your hands hurt? I could’ve taken a turn at the oars. I’m a heel for letting you get blisters. He grabbed the case with his instruments cushioned inside. Let me see if I have some bandages in here.

I’m alright, really. I’ll have Abby look at them when I get to her house. Her long steps carried her across the field sprouting with corn, and Dan hustled to catch up.

A team of mules hitched to a farm implement waited in the shade at the far edge of the field. A young, overall-clad man with tobacco-stained teeth ogled Mercy then stepped out to meet her. His sweaty, gangly arms grabbed her in a hug as she attempted to avoid him. Dan swallowed hard. Body odor wafted from ten feet away.

I knew ye’d come back. He spat a stream of amber liquid over her shoulder. Ye belong here with me.

Mercy pushed against his chest until he freed her. She stepped back. Jess, is Abby home? And your dad? I need to ask about teaching at Victory School this fall.

Jess’s gray eyes narrowed as he studied Dan. This your new fella?

Mercy’s large brown eyes widened when they met Dan’s gaze. No. I just met him today. He needs to talk to Mr. Newland.

He’s in the shop up by the house. Jess slapped the mules in motion down a row of corn. I’ll be seein’ ya Sunday, Mercy.

Mercy’s chin