23

Trickles of sweat glided down Grace’s back. She wiped her brow once again. Cooking outside in a summer kitchen in July and August was hot, but too many bodies and too many frying pans in the cramped kitchen stifled the air flow making it absolutely miserable. She’d left last night after dinner hours, the sky already dark, then returned in the morning before sunrise. At least now she had a view of daylight through a clouded windowpane.

Grover, the head cook who had been working there the longest, nudged her. He shoved a glass of water in front of her. “Take a moment while the bread is rising and get you some fresh air. Splash some water on your face.”

Grace needed to start another batch. The customers loved the boardinghouse for Hawkins’s famous rolls. She’d surely feel the grumpy owner’s wrath if they ran short. But her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She grabbed the glass and walked out the side door. The fresh air swept against her cheeks, and she removed her day cap. Loose hairs from around her scalp matted her temples. She took a big drink with her back against the wall, the coolness seeping down her dry throat.

The nearby spigot gurgled and then water came out in a rushing stream.

Grace used the now empty glass to pour the cool liquid down the back of her neck, then cupped her hands to splash her face.

The back door opened and shut again.

“Hey!” Hawkins’s voice growled behind her.

Grace continued to splash her face.

“How we doing on the bread?”

She straightened and brushed the water from her face with the arm of her sleeve. “Fine. I’m caught up with what I usually make. Can make one more batch after this one if you think, and then I’ll work on some more pies.”

“What about buttermilk? A large family just checked in, and he requested buttermilk pie for dinner.”

“If we have enough buttermilk, I can make it. Just the one?”

Hawkins thought for a moment. “Better make two. And keep those pies coming. I’m expecting a couple bushels of gooseberries this afternoon. Use those for pies. Can you do fritters with the apples instead?”

Grace nodded and then moved toward the door.

“Whatcha doing out here anyway?”

Breathing. She stepped in front of him and went inside.

He shouted behind her. “Gotta keep movin’. Can’t have people standing around while customers are waiting.”

~*~

Jed opened the door to the wardrobe and stared at the box on the top shelf. He was never much for nostalgia, but perhaps taking on a family had caused him to think differently. He called Thomas into the bedroom. Josiah trailed behind him. “Just Thomas, for now.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “Your turn to clean the supper dishes.”

Josiah’s shoulders slumped, but he trudged to the table to stack the plates. Griffin said something to him, and it didn’t take long before he was laughing.

Jed pulled the box down and motioned for Thomas to sit on the edge of the bed with him. “I want you to read something to me.” Jed lifted the leather-bound journal and rifled through a half dozen unopened letters. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear everything in one night, so he opened just the journal to the inside cover and handed it to Thomas. “This is a note from my father.”

Thomas’s eyes swept across the page. Then he cleared his throat and spoke like a prince.

Dear Son,

I am pleased that you found someone to read this to you, for these words got tangled in my throat and I was unable to share them with you before you left. Very unusual for a man who loves to talk, I know. Sending you off was not an easy task. Your mother will grieve for some time, and I will bear witness to her sorrow. Although our pain with your absence will be different, it will be no less of a struggle for me. I feel as though I have failed you as a father. You and I are very different. We don’t see eye to eye on many things. But the truth is I am very proud of you. And I hope that when you become a father you will understand the love I have for you. Whatever I have done, or didn’t do, that has made you resent me, I truly apologize. It has always been your mother’s hope that we would grow close as father and son, but that has not yet happened. Lord willing, it will be so in the future.

After your seven years of apprenticeship, I hope you will return home and start a family. Your wife, whomever you call upon, will be a very fortunate woman. Please choose wisely, as outside of asking Jesus to be your Savior, it will be the most important decision you make. I have prayed for your future wife since you were in your mother’s womb, as I have for all my children.

Take care, and write as often as you can so your mother doesn’t worry. And again, for whatever I have done to keep your honor from me, I hope our distance will begin to mend.

Forgive me,

Father

Thomas lowered the book to his lap.

Jed sighed heavily.

Thomas picked up a letter. “Do you want me to read these too?”

Jed shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“I can read this one again if you like.”

Jed took the journal from Thomas’s hands. “Perhaps another day.”

“So that was from your father?”

Jed mumbled a positive response.

“We both have a note in a book from a parent before they died.”

The love his father described Jed now understood. How much greater it should be for a man who had known his child since birth.

“I miss my mother,” Thomas said.

Jed’s tough heart broke a little more. He put his arm around Thomas and pulled him close. “I bet you do.”

“I know Josiah misses his ma and pa. I wonder if Griffin does.”

Jed had also wondered about the latter. The two sat on the edge of the bed in the quiet. Jed didn’t remember ever embracing the boy before. But he felt comfortable doing so, though his heart felt heavy. Lonely. Before the three boys came, Jed had very little, yet it seemed plenty. Now, he had them, but he felt lonely. Like a piece of something was missing.

Josiah trotted into the bedroom and stopped abruptly.

Jed opened his free arm, and Josiah huddled under it. The stillness returned. And felt good. “Actually, Thomas,” Jed gestured with his head toward the journal. “Read that to me again. And go real slow toward the end.”

~*~

Olivia Vernon nudged Grace during church service for the second time. She had drifted off, her eyelids heavy from working dawn to dusk at the boardinghouse the last five days.

Reverend Parks asked the young children in the congregation to come forward. Nobody moved at first until the preacher held up a wooden box and prodded them again. Eight to ten children scampered forward.

Josiah moved reluctantly, pausing to look back at Mr. Green.

Thomas and Griffin motioned for him to continue.

The children stood in a half circle around Reverend Parks as he opened the box and held something in his open palm. “What color are these feathers?”

Several replied that they were black.

“Yes, that’s what I thought too.” Then the reverend lifted one feather and held it in the air. “But then I started to look closer. And I held it up to the sun.” He turned the feather in his fingertips. “And I noticed that the color changes with the reflection of the light.”

He placed that one down and picked up another one, and the kids huddled in closer. “This one looks black until you hold it just right, and then you see a very dark blue.” He held up the third feather, which was smaller in size. “And then I noticed that some of the feathers felt different. Like this one is much softer.” He asked the children if they knew what kind of birds these feathers came from.

A couple thought perhaps a black bird. Another said a crow.

Reverend then asked how the birds lost these feathers.

One girl said maybe he fell out of his nest.

“Well, I learned some things about God from studying these feathers. One, that He loves his creations so much, he put much thought into what they would be like. I imagine all three of these feathers belong to different types of birds. And God knows the story behind why each feather became lost.”

Funny how a simple thought, meant for children, stirred such a pool of emotion in Grace. Yes, God knew how she had become lost. He knew her mother, how she’d died when Grace was an infant. How her father changed from a loving man of hope and joy, to a helpless, beaten farmer. And how her life had been turmoil since her mother’s death until they escaped on the train. God knew. And she felt His presence wrap around her like a worn quilt.

Reverend Parks dismissed the children who scattered back to their seats.

Josiah went to the pew and sat between Griffin and Thomas with a huge smile on his face.

Mr. Green met her gaze.

Olivia faked a cough and pulled Grace from the moment. She turned once more.

Josiah and Thomas smiled at her.

After the service, she needed to get home to care for Edith and organize both of their laundry for wash day tomorrow. As she left the church, Mr. Hennessy waved to her from a small crowd of men, and the bittersweet moment stayed with her throughout the walk home.

Mr. Hennessy aroused envy within her because of his opportunity to teach the children. And frustration that she’d rejected two proposals and might never get another. And that wouldn’t bother her so much if her heart didn’t yearn for one. But only one. Once home, she shared Reverend Park’s message with Edith as she did every Sunday afternoon.

Edith looked at her quizzically. “What’s wrong, Grace?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that. I can tell something is on your mind. What is it?”

Grace studied the red marks on her hands from the burns she’d received on the hot oven at the boardinghouse. “The sermon made me think of my name, and how my mother thought of me as God’s grace. But I don’t feel as though I’m worthy of such a name. Perhaps my mother would be disappointed in my life had she been alive all these years.”

“Now, why ever would you say such a foolish thing?”

“Because I often wonder if I have fallen from God’s grace.”

Edith chuckled.

Grace’s back stiffened. It took a lot of gumption to admit her thoughts internally, and to say them out loud even more so. And the old woman found it humorous. “You are laughing at me?”

“Child, you cannot fall from God’s grace. No one can. For whatever we have done, God gives us more grace.”

Grace stared at the corn chowder she didn’t have the appetite to finish. “Well, I must have done something to remove myself from His blessing. Maybe if I had not been so cold with your sister, or if I had been more strict with my students. Or if I hadn’t been so stubborn and gone after Josiah. I could’ve sent someone else. And I shouldn’t—”

“There’s a lot of things all of us could do differently. Badgering yourself won’t make it better.”

“Well, I don’t feel worthy of the name, Grace. And I’m not sure—”

“None of us deserve grace. It is giving us what we haven’t earned that makes grace. God gives His grace freely. We must accept it and be thankful. For it’s His grace that will lead us where He wants us to go.”

Grace‘s eyes glassed over. She blinked, and a tear trickled from each eye. “Well, sometimes I feel as if I have disappointed God, that my life would be different…it would be better if I had not disobeyed. Then I would still be teaching. Or…” Her throat hurt from the thoughts she couldn’t produce aloud.

“Or you’d be married with young’uns sprawled about the house?” Edith finished for her.

Yes. Grace let her head fall into her hands. She sobbed like she hadn’t done since a child.

Edith fumbled for her cane. She used the end to move her Bible on the table closer.

Grace stood to help her.

“Open the Bible to the book of James.”

Grace flipped through the thin pages.

“Find James four and start with verse six.”

Grace found it, a scripture she had heard many times, the words nothing new. She cleared her throat and her lips parted to speak, but Edith recited the words before she could read:

“‘But He giveth more grace. Wherefore He saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble. Submit yourselves, therefore, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw to God, and He will draw to you.’” The older woman paused a moment before continuing. “None of us ever fall out of the reach of God’s grace. None of us. Ever.”

Edith had Grace’s attention.

“But the scripture doesn’t stop there. He then says to submit yourself to Him. Give your life, your hopes and dreams to Him. And then draw yourself to Him. Like bees swarm over honey. And His grace will come to you. Sometimes in mighty waves. Other times in a whisper. But He will come.”

Grace sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Now it’s time for me to go lay down.” Edith used her cane and pushed up.

Grace spent the rest of the day in silence. She read her Bible and pondered over scripture. The words seemed to have lifted off the page and pressed into her chest as if meant solely for her. She had always believed in God’s goodness. His faithfulness. But a part of her had always held onto herself, just in case. Like her mother unwillingly did with her death. And her father with his lack of fortitude. How scared she had been to put her life in another’s hands. For years she lay awake and dreamed of what she could do, would do, once she lived finally in her control. And now, the scripture reminded her to lay her trust in the Heavenly Father. Not in herself, as she’d thought; not in a man, as the world thought; but in Him. Then, no matter what He brought into her life, she’d be safe in His care. That thought would’ve never taken seed at her arrival in Sheldon. Determined to make it without a man, she needed the strength and conviction of a woman with unlimited forbearance. Now, like a boulder had been lifted off her shoulders, she gave the course of her life to Someone else. And she was at peace.

Edith’s soft snores filtered into the kitchen.

Grace chuckled. What a woman of God. The peace she carried with her didn’t come from her own hands, but from the Creator.

She poured a glass of water and turned the page in her Bible.

A low melodic hum came from outside. A harmonica.

Grace listened but heard nothing, so she dismissed the thought until she heard it again. She stepped to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Someone sat on the top step of the porch.

She opened the front door.

Jedidiah Green played a soft, joyful tune. He had to know she was there, yet he played on.

The melody held a rhythm much slower than the beating of her heart. She sat on the bench against the wall and felt the tension from the muscles in her shoulders melt away down her back.

Finally, he paused and just held the harmonica. He didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know you could play.” Grace spoke softly.

“Hadn’t since I was twelve.” Jed placed the instrument on the porch and linked his fingers. “I’d forgotten how music says what I can’t.”

“You play quite well.”

“I used to play for my mother every night after supper. She liked it. Said it calmed her down so she could sleep.”

“I could see how that would bring rest.” Grace inhaled deeply. “Shall I bring some water out?”

Jed turned his head toward her. His jaw appeared freshly shaven. Perhaps for church this morning. He removed his hat and held it between his fingertips. Most of the curls she fondly admired had been trimmed from around the nape of his neck.

“The boys are adjusting to Mr. Hennessy better than I thought,” Jed said.

Grace, surprisingly, found the jealousy had lessened. “That’s good to hear. I’d hate to think they were miserable at school. They are such bright children. They only needed someone to believe in them.”

He looked at her, his blue-gray eyes now a shade bluer. “I found out about the letters they dropped off on your porch. I’m sorry for that.”

Grace smiled. “No need to apologize.”

“If you’d like for me to play for you again sometime I will.”

Grace smoothed the folds of her dress. “I’m sure Edith won’t mind if you visit, but I can ask.”

“She won’t. I’ve already spoken with her.”

Grace’s heart quickened. So much emotion flooded through her she couldn’t speak, even if she knew what to say.

Jed seemed confident, yet nervous. “I asked if I could begin to call upon you.”

Grace fumbled for the doorframe. “What did she say?” Grace whispered as her hand found the knob. Her knees felt weak, but she managed to stand.

“Well, she kinda laughed at first. And then gave her blessing.”

“Yes, I bet she did.” Grace laughed too.

“Well…” Jed curled the rim of his hat in his hands.

“Well?” Grace asked.

“Well, would that be all right with you if I was to come again?” Jed asked.

“Yes.” How silly that she hadn’t thought to answer him. “Yes, Mr. Green. That would be fine.”

His eyebrows pinched together, as if he was worried. “Are you sure?”

She stepped forward, and her heart raced faster. “Yes, I am sure.” Her eyes filled with water. “That would be all right with me, Mr. Green. That would be wonderful.”

He smiled, and she smiled back.

Jed lifted his harmonica. “I don’t really have to play this every time I come.”

“Oh, yes you do, Mr. Green.” Grace brushed her wet cheeks. “I insist, actually. And I may even tutor you on your reading for a few minutes afterward. And you must keep me updated on how your boys are faring.” She spoke with mock formality and held back a laugh.

He smiled big, and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes looked handsome against his dark eyelashes. “I’ll be back in a day or two or three. Whenever I can get away. Goodnight, now.” Jed put on his hat and walked toward home.

Grace stepped toward the end of the porch.

He made it to the dirt road and looked over his shoulder.

She waved, and he waved back. She stood motionless until he disappeared around the bend. Perhaps he had felt just as alone as she did, and now he was as overwhelmed with joy as she was. Hands cupped to her face, Grace cried. Thank You, God, for Your grace. The grace I don’t deserve. And the grace I will, in Your name, boldly and without hesitation, give to others.