A Merciful Secret

“Only a momentary escape,” clarified Truman.

“Right. But sometimes men don’t look beyond what is right in front of them.”

The existence of Truman’s job backed up this statement. Most of his arrests were of people who hadn’t considered the consequences of their immediate actions. Or else simply didn’t care.

David got out of his seat and went over to the giant bookcases. He ran a finger along some spines, searching for something. “I know people have gone out to the Sabin home, looking for assistance with their problems.”

“Problems?” Truman asked.

“Hoping to get help with their health, or financial situation, or love life.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

David pulled out a book, glanced at the cover, and put it back, continuing his search. “Everyone wants a shortcut. If they hear that someone offers a magic pill, they try it.” He removed two more books and nodded in satisfaction at the covers. He handed them to Truman. “Maybe these will help you understand what happened in the woods.”

Truman reluctantly accepted the books, ill at ease with the titles. “You have books on witchcraft?”

“I have books on everything. You can’t answer questions about something unless you study it.”

“Do you think Olivia could have been killed for her beliefs?”

David held Truman’s gaze. “Absolutely.”

ELEVEN

Mercy steered over a large chunk of ice in the center of the road.

“Dad got called out on a birthing cow,” Rose stated, sitting next to her in the Tahoe.

Their father was known for his knowledge and talent with livestock. For as long as Mercy could remember, Karl Kilpatrick had gotten calls in the middle of the night, neighbors stating that the vet was busy, but their cow or goat needed someone now. He never turned anyone down. He wasn’t a vet—and he always reminded the owners of that fact—but he knew his way around the inside of a cow and easily recognized nutritional deficiencies in horses, goats, and pigs. Some neighbors would call Karl before they contacted the vet, but he always knew when a situation was beyond his ability and urged them to get professional help.

Animal medicine was a valuable survival skill that made him an asset to other preppers in his community. If Karl Kilpatrick was around, they could rely on him in a livestock emergency. Livestock were worth their weight in gold if healthy, but if sick or injured, they could threaten a family’s bottom line. If modern conveniences vanished, the loss of a cow could mean the difference between life and death for a family.

“Three nights ago Dad pulled twin calves,” Rose went on. “The Rickmanns couldn’t get anyone out to their place, and the poor cow had been trying to deliver for hours.”

“Both calves lived?”

“They did,” Rose said with pride. “I would have loved to touch them.”

Mercy had watched her father deliver dozens of reluctant calves. Some lived, some died. When possible he had brought his kids along, sometimes hauling them out of bed in the dead of night in the belief that they should learn how to handle an emergency situation. Mercy hadn’t watched her father slide his arm inside the hind end of a cow in years. As a child she’d never been bothered by the sight; that was how it was done, and immediate action was vital to save the life of the cow and calf. But right now the memories were slightly disturbing. If the calf was dead inside its mother, he’d send young Mercy and her siblings out of the barn. Except for Owen, the oldest of the group. He’d use Owen to help him remove the calf. Sometimes in pieces.

But when a healthy calf was born, her father beamed. Many times she’d watched him run his hands over a newborn cow as it nursed, pride filling his face. He’d kindly slap the mother’s hide, telling her she’d done a good job. Back then, when a slimy, live calf landed in the hay, Mercy envied the praise the mama cow got from her father. He wasn’t an easy man to impress.

“I haven’t touched a newborn calf in years,” said Mercy. Big eyes, wet nose, awkward legs.

“I’ll let you know when we have one at the farm,” Rose offered.

Mercy pulled into Walker’s Lumberyard on the outskirts of Eagle’s Nest. It’d been a town institution all her life, but its previous owner had had a reputation for crotchetiness. “What happened to old man Walker?” she asked.

“He died about ten years ago. Nick has been running it ever since then.”

“He would have been rather young to take over,” observed Mercy.

“People took right to him,” said Rose. “Dad has never complained about Nick like he constantly did about his father. I think Nick worked hard to be the exact opposite of his predecessor.”

“I always liked Nick,” said Mercy. “He was in Levi’s circle of friends, right?”

“Yes. I always thought of him as the one in that group with a bit of common sense.”

“It didn’t take much to gain that title. Most of those guys acted like idiots.” She parked while watching Rose out of the corner of her eye. An aura of excitement surrounded her sister. Her hands wouldn’t hold still, and she sat straighter in her seat than usual.

The building was a huge yellow metal structure with three sets of giant sliding doors. A wooden sign over one of the doors announced that they’d arrived at Walker’s Lumberyard. Neatly stacked piles of boards filled one end of the parking lot. Someone had taken the time to dig them out of the snow.

After crossing the plowed lot, Mercy opened the only human-size door and was greeted by the scent of fresh-cut wood. On Mercy’s arm Rose paused and inhaled deeply. “I love that smell,” she admitted.

“One of the best,” agreed Mercy. They entered a small salesroom that was closed off from the warehouse portion of the lumberyard. A space heater whirred, and a few metal chairs lined the far wall. The sales counter was unmanned and an ancient ornate cash register took up a third of the counter’s work space. Mercy remembered the gold-colored metal register from her childhood lumberyard visits; the relic had to weigh several hundred pounds.

A door between the warehouse and salesroom opened. A large German shepherd and Nick Walker entered, and Nick’s eyes lit up as he spotted the two women. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Nice to see you, Nick,” Mercy replied as Rose told him, “Good afternoon.” Her grip tightened on Mercy’s arm, and the black-and-brown dog nosed Rose’s other hand.

“Hi, Belle,” Rose said to the dog, and Belle turned her attention to Mercy, begging for a head rub.

As in high school, Nick gave the impression of being all gangly arms and legs, even while wearing his winter coat and heavy pants. He was tall and slightly stooped, with a long, angular face, but his brown eyes were warm and kind.

And focused on Rose.

“I’m glad you could come down today, Rose,” Nick said. “I thought about delivering it to your home, but I first wanted to be certain it was something that interested you.”

“I’m dying of curiosity,” admitted Rose.

He stepped forward and offered his arm. Mercy transferred Rose’s hand and felt oddly alone as Nick led them through the door into the warehouse. A small forklift zipped back and forth near one of the huge doors, swiftly picking up and transferring stacks of lumber as if they were weightless. The driver raised a hand at them, never missing a beat, and Mercy waved back, impressed by his rapid pace.