Free Sweet Mercy by Ann Tatlock Page B

know.” He stuck his thumb to his mouth and tilted his head back as though he were drinking from a bottle. Then he winked.
    I took a step backward. Alcohol again! Bad enough to have it floating down the river, but to have someone come around the lodge looking for it—that was even worse. “Of course we don’t have alcohol here,” I said sternly. “That stuff’s illegal.”
    Link laughed. “So it is,” he said. “Not that that ever stops anybody.”
    â€œWell, it stops us.”
    â€œDoes it?” He sat back down on the wall, as though he were expecting dessert. He shrugged. “Now, don’t get your feathers all in a ruffle. Just thought I’d ask.”
    â€œThis is a respectable place.”
    â€œI’m sure it is.”
    â€œIf you’re looking for liquor, you can go look somewhere else.”
    â€œI wasn’t looking for liquor when I came here. I was looking for a good meal and I found one. Give my compliments to the chef, will you? And don’t go off in a huff.”
    I’d started to walk away but I turned back. “You’re nothing but a bum, aren’t you?”
    He smiled. “I’m a bum and a good one, at that.”
    â€œWhy don’t you get a job instead of going around looking for handouts?”
    â€œPlenty of men looking for jobs, little lady. In case you haven’t noticed, they’re kind of hard to come by these days.”
    â€œBut you could be out asking around, instead of sitting here doing nothing,” I argued.
    At that, he glanced one way and then the other, as though looking for an opportunity right there on the grounds of the lodge. To my dismay, he found one. “Tell you what,” he said. “Looks like your hired man there is carrying crates down to the cellar. How about if I give him a hand? No charge, of course. Would that make you happy?”
    I looked over to where Morris was lifting crates out of the truck and loading them onto a dolly. “Well,” I replied, “I’m sure Morris would be happy for the help, but frankly, I don’t care what you do.”
    He hopped off the wall and began scissoring across the driveway in great strides. About halfway there he turned back to me, bowed, and tipped an imaginary hat. “And a lovely day to you too, little lady,” he said with a laugh. And then he ran off to help Morris.

Chapter 10

    A couple of evenings later, Uncle Cy held a fish fry on the island for our extended family and a number of his friends from town. Uncle Luther was there with his wife, Suellen, and their sons Earl, Jason, and Denny. The mayor of Mercy, Granville Drake, came with his wife and children, as did several members of the town council. Reverend Ralph Kilkenny of Grace Presbyterian Church showed up and invited us to services on Sunday, an invitation Mother and Daddy accepted gratefully.
    Mother mingled with Aunt Suellen and the other ladies while Daddy spent most of the evening in quiet conversation with Mercy’s Chief of Police, a ruddy-faced bear of a man named Neal Macnish. He and Daddy had been friends all the way through school but had lost touch when Daddy left Mercy back in 1902. The intervening years had left them with a lot of catching up to do.
    As for me, I wasn’t feeling very sociable. Uncle Cy said he’d invited the sheriff of Warren County, Jerry Wiant, which meant Marcus should have been there, but he wasn’t.For whatever reason, the sheriff and his family weren’t able to attend. I was trying to come to terms with the idea that there would be no more dances with Marcus. I hadn’t heard from him since Saturday, and here it was Wednesday. The passing of the days told me he wasn’t interested in coming back.
    After eating, I stood barefoot along the river’s edge, my toes in the water. I looked up and down the river for bootleggers, but the only boats out on the water were our own rowboats and