<< Go Back

Scars of Mercy

By Connie Stevens

Order Now!

SCARS OF MERCY

Chapter 1


Willow Creek, Iowa 1885




Everett Behr shot a scowl of self-loathing at his reflection in the hand mirror. If it weren’t for having to shave, he might well refuse to own a mirror. With cautious, deliberate strokes, he drew the razor around the scars along his jaw line on the right side of his face. He’d hoped a thick crop of whiskers would hide the scars. He couldn’t abide the stares, however sympathetic. They only served to remind him the price of his arrogance would be forever branded across his face. Much to his frustration, his beard grew in patches, refusing to sprout in the scarred areas he most wanted to hide. The fragments of whiskers popping out in an irregular, crazy quilt pattern surrounded the scars instead of covering them, as if framing the ugliness for display.
He wiped the last of the shaving soap from his face just as the bell on the little church at the end of the street began calling the people of Willow Creek to worship. Everett didn’t hurry. Attending church services meant doing so on his terms. Accepting his scars was one thing, and he wanted to know more about the God who’d allowed them. He just didn’t relish mingling with people before or after the service.
He turned the mirror glass-side down on the washstand and released an involuntary huff. With practiced fingers, he tied his cravat and combed his hair—grateful he could perform those duties by feel rather than by sight.
By the time the church bell stopped clanging, Everett knew most the congregation had entered the building and taken their seats. With curious eyes now safely confined within the walls of the church, Everett picked up his Bible and prepared to walk to the church and slip in unnoticed.
He descended the recently completed back steps that afforded him a private entrance to the living quarters over the mercantile his father owned. In the past several months he’d memorized every alley and wooded path so he could avoid walking down the town boardwalk whenever possible.
A squirrel chattered from a nearby tree, scolding Everett for disturbing his breakfast. Digging into his pocket, Everett withdrew a few peanuts and held them aloft. “Here’s your treat, little buddy.” He tossed the peanuts at the base of the tree from which the squirrel regarded him, now with less animosity. But the little creature switched his bushy tail back and forth like the lash of a buggy whip and refused to come closer until Everett backed off.
“All right, I don’t blame you. Nobody else wants to come near me, either.”
A twinge of guilt over his self-pity pricked him. He should be grateful to be alive. Everett turned and proceeded toward the church. By the time he reached the edge of the church yard, the sounds of the hymn singing beckoned him to draw near the little house of worship. He hoped he’d find a seat at the back near the door.
The congregation’s enthusiastic praise rang within the walls of the church as he opened the door just enough to step inside. It didn’t seem to matter to these people that their church had no stained glass windows, thick carpeting, or ornately carved pews. They raised their voices to God as though they stood in a magnificent cathedral.
“How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in His excellent Word.” Everett’s heart started singing along with the congregation in praise to his new-found Lord.
He closed the door silently and took his place on the bench against the back wall. No heads turned, no pitiful or repulsed looks greeted him. Everett relaxed. The hymn ended and the congregation sat. Everett opened his Bible, being careful to turn the pages quietly.
Looking over the backs of the heads in front of him, he located Father with his new bride. Hubert and Pearl Behr sat on the second row near the aisle. When Pearl leaned closer to his father as they shared one Bible, Everett berated himself again for his past misguided efforts to separate the two. Pearl was a good woman, and she made his father happy.
Across the aisle from Hubert and Pearl, Tillie O’Dell sat with her family. Her dark blonde hair, pinned up and secured with a green ribbon, gleamed in the morning sun that streamed in the window. A memory teased his subconscious. The afternoon he’d spent with Tillie last year at a church picnic wafted across his mind like a gentle breeze. He shook himself and pushed the picture away. No sense in entertaining thoughts now far beyond the reach of reality. Even if his face, neck and hands weren’t scarred, the disdain with which he’d treated Tillie a week after the picnic when he learned she worked in the hotel dining room ensured she’d want nothing to do with him.
Everett pulled his attention back to the sermon. Deep in his heart he wanted to know how God could use him. Could God take a broken and marred vessel like him and remake it into something good? Doubts pricked him, but he listened intently anyway, hoping to grab on to some fleeting comment from the pastor--anything to give him a glimmer of worthiness.
He followed along as the pastor read the scripture and made a notation in the margin of his Bible in preparation to return to the passage later and study it in depth. But his attention kept drifting to the back of Tillie’s head. Something within him kept tugging at his mind, a futile wish to turn back the calendar and recant his arrogance. He supposed nobody lived without some regrets of one type or another, but his behavior hurt people he cared about.
The singing of the congregation startled him. He’d been so lost in his own brooding, he’d missed the rest of the sermon. Heat crept into his face, even though he was relatively sure his presence at the back of the room had gone unnoticed. He stood and slipped out the door, hurrying down the steps before the people began spilling out of the church.
Halfway across the church yard, he heard a familiar voice call out his name.
“Everett! Wait up, son.”
He welcomed the pleasure of his father’s company, but he’d rather choose a less public place. Stepping into the shadow of the thick cedar trees that lined the church yard and casting self-conscious glances around him, he waited for his father and Pearl to approach.
“We weren’t sure you were coming to church this morning, son.” His father extended his hand and clasped Everett’s.
Pearl reached out and touched his arm. “We’d be pleased if you’d join us for Sunday dinner.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I suspect that you’re partial to my chicken and dumplings, since you asked for seconds the last time I made them.”
Everett’s mouth watered. He’d never tasted anything quite as good as the simple, hearty dishes Pearl served at her table. Even the fancy beef roasts and lobster on which he’d dined while growing up in his grandparents’ home couldn’t compare to Pearl’s chicken and dumplings.
The rest of the congregation milled about the church yard, shaking hands with the pastor and visiting with each other. If he wished to escape their scrutinizing stares, he needed to give Pearl an answer.
“I would enjoy that. Thank you for the invitation.”
“This way, son. Our wagon is over by those cottonwoods.” Father placed a tender hand on Pearl’s back and led the way to the conveyance. Just as Everett started after them, another voice hailed him.
“Everett? Everett Behr.”
His feet froze momentarily. The unmistakable lilt identified the voice as belonging to Tillie O’Dell. Two other times in recent weeks she’d called out to him in the church yard, but he’d pretended not to hear. No longer the same man with whom she’d spent a carefree afternoon almost a year ago, he couldn’t face her. Even if he wanted to apologize for snubbing her, the fingerprint left by the flames on his face and hands made him wish he could duck into a cave somewhere and never emerge again. He forced his feet to move rapidly toward his father’s market wagon.



Tillie O’Dell plunked her hands on her hips and heaved an exasperated sigh as she watched Everett hasten away. Goodness, that man was as elusive as a will-o-the-wisp. She hurried to help Ma gather her younger siblings into their family’s farm wagon, then turned toward her father who was checking a hoof on one of the horses.
“Da?”
He dropped the hoof and straightened. The moment he fixed his gaze on her, merriment danced in his eyes. “Lass, you look like a cat preying on a sparrow.”
She pressed her lips together. No use trying to fool Da. His sage insight pierced right through her. “Would it be all right if I’d go talk to Everett Behr?”
Da glanced across the church yard where Everett was climbing into the back of the wagon his father used to make deliveries from the mercantile. A wistful expression came over her father’s face as he ran one finger over the scar that carved a ragged furrow from the bridge of his nose to his ear—an unconscious gesture she’d seen her father do from time to time, usually when he was contemplating something. If he had any misgivings about her spending time with Everett, he’d say so. Instead, he gave her a nod, and she could have sworn she caught a glimpse of a smile.
“Thanks, Da. Don’t bother waiting for me. It’s a delightful day for a walk.” With lifted chin, she scurried across the yard before the Behr’s wagon left.
As she approached, she caught Pearl Behr’s eye. The sweet, gray-haired woman sent her a warm smile, then flicked her gaze over her shoulder where Everett settled himself behind the bench seat. Taking the welcoming smile as encouragement, Tillie walked up to the wagon and drew in a deep breath.
“Hello, Miss Pearl, Mr. Behr…Everett. How are all of you this morning?”
“Hello, Miss Tillie.” Hubert Behr’s mustache always jiggled when he smiled and spoke at the same time. “Fine Lord’s morning, isn’t it?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Everett hunch his shoulders and pull his collar up despite the warm sunshine. His left hand slid toward his face and he turned away from her. A pang of sadness twisted within her and she wished Everett weren’t so self-conscious of the scars he sustained in the fire.
“Yes, it’s a lovely day. Don’t you think so, Everett?” She’d use whatever means at hand to engage Everett in conversation, even a trivial discussion the of the day’s weather. To her dismay, Everett merely shrugged a non-committal response and tugged his broad-brimmed hat a bit lower. Clearly, she needed to come to the point. She sucked in another deep breath to fortify her waning courage and plunged ahead.
“Everett, I’ve been trying to speak with you for weeks now, but every time I see you, you hurry away. Is there some reason you don’t wish to talk to me?” She waited to see if her boldness might loosen his tongue.
“I apologize, Miss Tillie. I didn’t mean to be rude…” Everett’s mumbled reply from behind his hand barely reached her ears.
“Tillie, won’t you join us for Sunday dinner?” Miss Pearl’s graciousness made Tillie’s heart speed up and her cheeks grow warm. She hadn’t been fishing for an invitation to dinner, but if it meant spending the afternoon with Everett, the prospect sent a tingle all the way to her toes.
“Why, that’s so kind of you, Miss Pearl. I’d love to.”
Everett jerked his head toward his step-mother. The expression on his face, either anger or panic—she couldn’t tell which, pulled his mouth into a frown. For a split second, she thought maybe Miss Pearl might rescind the invitation, but she didn’t, and Tillie’s acceptance put a smile on the woman’s face, if not on Everett’s.
Since Everett made no move to help her climb into the wagon, Tillie turned with her back to the wagon and placed both palms on the edge of the tailgate, hoisting herself up. She tucked her feet beneath her to steady herself and scooted back farther into the wagon bed. Not a very lady-like maneuver, to be sure, but since Everett chose to leave her to her own devices, she scrambled aboard the best she could. Once seated across from him, she primly arranged her skirt to cover her ankles. With teeth clamped together, she forced a smile and willed herself not to make mention of Everett’s lack of gallantry.
“Everybody set? Let’s go. I can smell the chicken and dumplings from here.” Mr. Behr released the brake and slapped the reins on the horse’s back. The lurching motion of the wagon caught Tillie off balance and she careened into Everett’s shoulder. His hand flew out to catch her but he immediately snatched it back.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tell-tale heat climbed up her neck and her mind raced to remember which of Everett’s arms was burned. “Did I hurt you.?”
Everett glared at her from under the brim of his hat. “No harm done,” he mumbled, and shifted his position until she could barely see even the unblemished half of his face.
Tillie brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. “I missed seeing you in church. I was hoping I could speak with you before the service.”
A soft huff defined Everett’s opinion of her attempt at conversation. “I arrived late.”
“Oh.” She waited to see if he would elaborate. He didn’t.
“You know, my Ma and I made a huge batch of Irish Soda Bread yesterday. I just love it with fresh currant jelly. I should have brought you some. Perhaps Miss Pearl and Mr. Hubert might enjoy some as well. As soon as the currants are ripe for picking, I’ll bring you a jar of jelly. With six brothers and sisters, we certainly go through a lot of jam and jelly at our house. My brother, Phillip can eat almost a whole loaf of bread by himself if he has a jar of jelly at hand. Ma and I just finished putting up a double batch of strawberry jam, and the wild blackberries should be ready in a few weeks. Do you--”
Everett cleared his throat. “That’s fine, Miss Tillie. I’m sure Father and Pearl would appreciate it.”
Too late she remembered her Da’s twinkling eyes when he teased her. 'Don’t know of another female who can out-chatter a magpie like our Matilda.' Clearly, Everett wasn’t inclined to engage in small talk. She could either carry the conversation, or they could sit in uncomfortable silence.
Perhaps silence wasn’t uncomfortable to Everett. Growing up in a houseful of noisy children, with a blarney-filled father and a mother who liked to sing while she worked, the O’Dell house was never quiet. She didn’t even know if Everett had siblings.
They rode the rest of the way to the Behr house without any further attempts on her part to coax Everett into talking. Tillie studied his profile—what she could see of it. His hat brim shadowed his brow and eyes, but the corner of his mouth bore a distinct downturn, evidence that he wasn’t happy being stuck with her company. If he remained in such a sullen mood, a very long afternoon threatened to stretch out before her.

Order Now!

<< Go Back