MERCY'S HART

ELI HART

Mercy awakened a good ten hours later, sore, thirsty and hearing voices. She could see that Joanne had left her more of that broth, now stone cold.  

She caught snatches of conversation.  So, she turned over and strained to listen... The young white girl she'd met earlier was one voice she'd recognized and the other was the white man who had disarmed her and carried her in.

"....can't make the journey with that ankle. "

They were speaking about her injury. She noted pressure on her bladder and eased herself to the corner of the bed in search of the chamber pot. When she tried lifting her bad leg to the floor, so she could sit up, a sharp pain shot through her ankle and she let out a yelp and hiss.

The speaking ceased and moments later, the door opened, revealing the young white girl, Joanne.

"I have to relieve myself." Mercy whispered.  

Joanne closed the door.  "Next time ask for help, unless you want to undo the work put into tending that ankle," Joanne said, chastising her.  

She recovered the chamber-pot from the corner of the room, helped Mercy push up her gown, and placed it beneath her.

That done, she began to carry the pot out of the room to empty.

"I heard you two talking about my ankle." Mercy said.

Joanne hesitated, then sighed.  "Yes.  -and you'll have to stay a bit longer than planned, but don't fret.  We'll keep you safe until you can go."  she said, closing the door and hustling on down the hallway to the steps with the pot, before Mercy could question her further.  

 »»-------------¤-------------««

A few moments later there was a soft knock on the door.  "Are you presentable?"  

It was the white man's voice.

She sat up in the bed and tucked the blankets around herself to provide a bit more coverage than just her gown.  "...As well as I can be."

He stepped in, leaving the door ajar as he sat on a small wooden stool at the head of the bed  and placed another steaming cup of broth on her nightstand.  She got her first good look at the man who had carried her into what she thought of, as her last stop before true freedom in Canada.

He was a youngish man, but not green. Square-jawed, with a serious disposition. He had curly brown hair and startling eyes like Joanne. His well-worn hands and strong-looking forearms indicated that he was no stranger to hard work.  

"Is Henrietta, Solomon, and Paul okay?" she asked.

"Yes, they are doing fine.  They've chosen to stay in the cabin on my land until their next escort arrives."

"...I'm Eli, by the way."  he said, by way of simple introduction, "Henrietta told me that your name is Mercy.  I'm sure my sister informed you that you'll need to lay low here for awhile, so's you can heal up-."

Mercy shook her head.  "-I'd rather keep going and finish healing in Canada," she interrupted, narrowing her eyes at the man.

"...I'm sure you would," he replied cautiously, recognizing the wariness in her body language.

He'd encountered a fair few folks who didn't trust whites in the years his home has acted as a way-station to freedom for black people.  ...Rightly, as all had been horribly abused.  Given her being rather soft on the eye, and the way she was trembling at the moment, he could guess...

"-but, you're not well-enough yet," he continued, his eyes level, and keeping still so as not to frighten her.

"Your ankle can't bear weight yet and sorry to say, you'll likely walk with a limp for the rest of your days, even when you are better.  Which means you can't run.  ...Which also means, we'll have to plan carefully around that, since we've heard that there are men out looking for you. The bounty for a girl fitting your description is big enough that it's best to act with extra caution.  I'd rather not see you captured or impede that nice family who's with you, after you've gotten this far."

Mercy looked away frowning.  He could see the wheels turning. 

 "How long?" she asked.

"Until both healing and urgency in finding you has eased a bit?  ...Maybe six months to a year."

"A year!  No, that's too long. There has to be another way."

"There is no other way but allowing yourself to rest and heal; not rushing into anything  having cast your wits aside because you're afraid, Mercy." he said gently, but with a finality that indicated that he would not bend.

"No one here will harm you.  Understand?"

She pursed her lips and nodded once.

"As long as you're here, you're protected.  My property is remote. We're a good forty miles and then-some, out from town.  I'm a war vet so I'm respected by those who know me. I'm also known as one who keeps to his own council.  So we don't often get folks poking in on this land and when they do...when I allow them to,  they tend to be allies in this."

"...It's just you and your sister here?" she asked, obviously gathering what information she could about the people in what presumably could be her home for up to a year.

"Yes.  I inherited this land from my parents -God rest-them- and my pension is enough to support us here, until my sister is married off... If she's married off." he added that last bit with a slight smile, which did wonders for easing the severe angles of his face.

"...What is expected of me here?" She let that direct question hang.

"Nothing but keeping up after your own after you heal, and staying hidden on the occasion of  a visitor.  There are plenty of nooks and crannies in this house where that is possible and as I said, the land is remote, so you might even get to explore outside of the main house here, if you wish... when you heal.  It is quite a beautiful stretch."

She shook her head in disbelief... "Why?  -Why do you do this, helping us slaves? You're breaking the law.  Your own people would see you hanged for helping people like me... Why risk it?"

"Because it's not right... owning people, doing what you will to them, using them as such.  Everyone with a good soul is entitled to basic freedoms, regardless of what the law says."

Mercy could feel that he believed every word he'd just said and she eased a little, letting out a half-held breath. 

"I see.  Well, I thank you for your assistance. I assume you must have carried me into this room and had a hand in tending to my wound... -Given the stairs.  It can't have been easy."

"Yes. Learned some things about healing wounds from the Navajo, during the war." 

"Don't think on it." he continued, lifting his hand a little for emphasis.  "Henrietta says you can read.  That true?" he asked.

"Yes." she said simply.

"Good."  He removed a folded newspaper from his back pocket, unfurled it and placed it on her nightstand.  

"The Philanthropist." she said, reading the title of the newspaper aloud.  

"It's an abolitionist paper. It promotes a future in this country without slavery." he explained.

He watched as she picked up the paper and began to read the first story printed, a fugitive girl's narrative of her own time as a slave.

 "...There are many who oppose the institution and are doing whatever they can to stop it. I believe the end of it will come very soon. -Might even be a war."

She stopped reading to grant him a skeptical look.

"You think me naive," he replied, smiling a bit again,  "-but progress is inevitable."

"So, are the ambitions of greedy white men." she replied.

He chuffed and nodded an acknowledgement of her point. 

"Get some rest.  Joanne will be back to check on you soon."  he took up the old cup and excused himself from the room.

Once he'd closed the door behind himself, she realized this was his own room she was in.  He'd given it up, so she could recover properly.