Heart of Mercy (Tennessee Dreams) by Sharlene MacLaren

front walk. Her stomach clenched. What had brought him here? She didn’t remember arranging to get together today. Had he come to pay her a spontaneous visit? Or had he taken ill and come in search of medical attention?
    Mercy stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “Hello, Mr. Beauchamp.”
    Seeing her, he halted, removed his bowler hat, and took to turning it in his hands. “Miss Evans.” He nodded. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your workday.”
    “No, not at all. I was about to pick up the boys from Mrs. Parsons’. I must say I’m surprised to see you. Did you close the post office early?”
    “No. Mr. Lawson, my clerk, is manning it for a while.”
    “I see. Is everything okay?”
    “Uh…not exactly.”
    “Dear me, you don’t look so good. Do you need to see the doctor?”
    “No, nothing like that.” Sweat beads had formed on his forehead and now dripped down his plump face. “I’ve come to talk to you about this…marriage deal.”
    “Oh.” Marriage deal? Uncertainty made her pulse accelerate. “In that case, why don’t you come up on the porch so we can talk?” The sweltering heat only exacerbated her sense of dread.
    Next door, a screen door slammed shut, and the squeals of John Roy and Joseph traveled over. “Mercy! Are you comin’ to git us now?” This from John Roy, who ran across the drive separating the two houses, Joseph close behind. After greeting her with a hug, they commenced skipping up and down the wooden steps.
    Mrs. Parsons ambled out onto her front stoop and shielded her eyes against the sun. “Hullo there, Miss Evans! Them boys is plain anxious to see you. Guess they’re tuckered out from all the jobs I gave ’em today.”
    Mercy smiled. “Thank you for watching them,” she called back. “I appreciate it.”
    Mrs. Parsons flicked her wrist. “Think nothin’ of it. My pleasure. They sure got energy, though.” Turning to go back inside, she gave Mr. Beauchamp a quick appraisal. “Afternoon, Mr. Beauchamp. Lovely day, ain’t it? Plenty hot, though.”
    He shuffled his feet. “Yes, ma’am. Quite so.”
    “Well, you have a good afternoon, both o’ you.” Her skirts flared as she disappeared inside her house, the screen door flapping against the frame.
    “We helped Mrs. Parsons clean out ’er shed today,” Joseph announced to Mercy.
    “Did you now?”
    The boy stretched to his full height, which wasn’t saying much. “She gived us cookies and milk afterward, ’cause we done so good.”
    She ruffled his hair, noting that it needed a trim. Add that to the long list of things to think about with boys, along with clothing, shoes, toys, and games. Heavens, she needed a man just to help her sort out all their needs. She hoped Mr. Beauchamp was up for the task.
    John Roy gazed down at him from the porch steps. “Are you comin’ over for supper again, Mr. Bonechomp?”
    Mercy almost laughed at the mispronunciation, but the postmaster merely cleared his throat and gave her a desperate glance, so she cleared her throat to cover her giggle. “Um…boys, why don’t you go out back and play a bit? Mr. Beauchamp and I have some discussing to do.”
    “’Bout your weddin’?” asked Joseph.
    “Uh, yes,” she answered. “Go on, now.”
    They bounded off the steps and made for the backyard.
    “Now then, Mr. Beauchamp—or perhaps I should begin calling you Harold—why don’t you come up on the porch and make yourself comfortable?”
    But something in his expression told her that making himself comfortable was the last thing he’d be doing. He lowered his gaze. “I’m not sure I’ll be staying long.”
    Her heart bumped hard against her chest, and she took a deep breath, fighting down her dread. “I see.”
    “I’ll just get on with it,” he said, casting her a troubled glance. “I’m not so sure this marriage is a good idea, after all. I’m afraid I—”
    “Please, Mr. Beauchamp, don’t do this to me!” She flew off the porch.