A Family for Gracie

by Amy Lillard

  She stumbled backward from the force of his embrace but managed to stay on her feet. But he needed consoling, and doctoring if the amount of blood staining his pants was any indication.

  “Here.” She thrust Baby Grace at Matthew in much the same way he had to her that first day, when she had come over to ask him to marry her.

  And just as she had, he grabbed the crying baby, shock and surprise overtaking his features.

  Baby Grace screamed even louder. Gracie wasn’t sure her hearing would recover. But she couldn’t worry about that now.

  “Let me see your leg,” Gracie said. Her voice was loud, near a shout in order to be heard above the cries of both children.

  She cast a quick glance at Matthew, who was struggling with Baby Grace, trying to calm her even as her cries escalated. He would have to figure out something on his own. Just one more chip out of her perfect-wife-and-mother façade.

  “Henry.” She pulled his arms from around her and plopped onto the ground. She urged him down next to her and braced his leg on her lap.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” He stopped crying long enough to answer, then decided to quit altogether with a sniff and a wipe of his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Something bit me.”

  Gracie pulled apart the ragged and bloody edges of his pants to examine the wound. It was long and jagged. Not a bite at all, but a scratch, most probably from a nail.

  “I don’t think it needs stitches,” she said, “but when was the last time he had a tetanus shot?”

  “Tetanus shot?” Matthew repeated. At least she thought that was what he said.

  “We had to get them when we went to help the hurricane victims. In case we stepped on a rusty nail or something. It keeps a person from getting sick from it.”

  He frowned as if he had never thought about getting sick from a nail. “Never, I guess.”

  “Well, he needs one,” she said flatly, then realized her mistake.

  “A shot?” Henry whined. “I don’t want to get a shot.” He shook his head. “No-no-no-no-no-no-no. I had to get a shot when I hurt my arm,” he wailed.

  “It’s okay,” she promised. “This is a good shot.” But she remembered how much it hurt and how her arm ached for a day or two afterward. She was certain chicken and ducklings were in their future. It might be the only thing that would overcome this betrayal.

  “Can you take him?” she asked Matthew. She couldn’t imagine leaving him and the baby alone together with three other boys to watch after. The thought was ridiculous, seeing as how he was Grace’s father and she had been living with him her entire life.

  “Nooooooo,” Henry whined. “I want you to take me.”

  Gracie met Matthew’s gaze over the top of Henry’s head. I’m sorry, she mouthed.

  He scowled and gave her a stern nod. He understood, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  * * *

  “You boys go play outside,” he told Stephen and the twins. Grace was still squalling, inconsolable since Gracie and Henry had left. Well, Gracie.

  “Jah, Dat,” Stephen said, gabbing each twin by the shoulder and turning them toward the door.

  “And no more crawling under the house.”

  “Jah, Dat,” they chorused and disappeared out the door.

  Just add that to the collection of rules along with no jumping out of the barn loft onto a wagon full of hay.

  What was it his mother used to say? Boys will be boys?

  But she didn’t have any saying for girls other than sugar and spice.

  The baby might be sweet on the inside, somewhere, but it wasn’t a side she showed him.

  “Shhhh . . .” He bounced her and rubbed her back, walked around the room, singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” but nothing.

  And the continued crying was wearing him down. It broke his heart and made him feel like so much less of a father, of a person, that he could hardly stand it. But she knew what he had done. She knew that he was responsible for her mother’s death. He could have done something. He could have saved her, but he’d been too far away. And now she was dead.

  After what seemed like hours, the baby finally fell asleep in his arms. He was afraid to put her down and risk waking her, so he checked on the boys, who were throwing a baseball around. Well, Stephen was tossing the ball to the twins, who were chasing after it, then kicking it back like it was a soccer ball. He could tell that Stephen was about at the end of his patience. And then he would toss down his glove and storm away, not able to handle when things weren’t in perfect order. In some ways that was exactly like Matthew. But everything that had happened this year had almost cured him of that trait. He knew all too well that he could make all the plans he wanted, but God was in charge of all his steps.

  He should see if Gracie would stitch that Bible verse on a pillow for him. A cute reminder might be a good thing for them all. Proverbs, he thought, if his memory served him.

  A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.

  With one last look at the boys, he took Grace over to the rocking chair and sat down with her.

  Her weight was warm and solid in his arms, and she smelled like baby lotion and the special detergent that Gracie used to wash her clothes. How could he love someone so much even when they hated the very ground he walked on? And he did . . . love this baby. She was the last piece of Beth. It was only fitting that she looked just like her. Beth had wanted a girl so badly. Had asked, almost begged Matthew to have one more baby after the twins. All boys, she used to say as she made a face like she had smelled something bad. If they didn’t have a sister, they wouldn’t grow up knowing how to treat women. They needed a sister, she had told him, and convinced him to try one more time.

  And that last time she had gotten her girl and never had a chance to enjoy her. Two weeks wasn’t any time at all.

  In a way, he had only had two weeks with her as well. For once Beth died, the baby changed. Now she cried all the time.

  Not when she’s with Mammi Glick. Or Eunice. Or Gracie.

  Maybe it was men that she had an aversion to. Or his beard. He had heard of that; a baby not taking to her father’s beard and crying every time she saw him.

  But he knew that wasn’t the reason, no matter how badly he wished it so.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against the blond curls coming out from under the fabric of her head covering. He kissed her there, softly, enjoying the feel of her fine, silky hair against his lips. His little girl. He loved her so much. “So sorry,” he said. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’ll spend my life trying to make it up to you. You deserve a good and sweet mamm. I got you one. I love you and I will always take care of you.”

  As he said the words he realized how true they were. He would always love her, always care for her. She could cry all she wanted, and he might get frustrated and a little frazzled, but it didn’t change his love for her.

  “I miss her sometimes too,” he said. “But I miss her how she used to be. You didn’t know her then. But she was a wonderful woman. And she loved you very much. And I know, no matter what, she’s looking down from heaven watching you grow and loving you still.”

  Tears rose into his eyes and he pressed his cheek against her head and let them fall. He did miss Beth. He missed her how she was, and how she ended up. He had loved her, but their love wasn’t meant to be. Now he was in a marriage with a dynamo of a woman who seemed to make sunshine light her footsteps and rainbows trail behind her. She was perfect, beautiful and sweet. And he almost hated her for that, even as he was starting to fall for her.

  His thought came to a screeching halt. He didn’t want to fall for Gracie Glick. Falling in love would bring a host of problems that he didn’t want to face. Couldn’t face, not yet. So he took that little thought and locked it away. Then he kissed the top of the baby’s head again and fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Matthew.” Gracie laid one hand on his shoulder,
afraid to startle him when he was holding the baby. They looked so content there, dozing together, that she really didn’t want to wake them. But when she took inventory of the angle of Matthew’s head, she decided that waking him would be better than him having to deal with a sore neck tomorrow. Besides, it was almost time for supper. “Matthew.” She shook him gently and he finally responded, stirring slightly, opening his eyes and focusing on her.

  “Gracie?” He blinked at her a couple of times, then pushed himself up a little straighter in his chair. He ran one hand down Baby Grace’s back as if assuring himself she was still there, still okay, and still asleep.

  She stirred just a bit, turned her face the other direction, then smacked her tiny bow-shaped lips, never once opening her eyes.

  “I must have fallen asleep,” he muttered, obviously still trying to get his bearings.

  “While we were at the medical center.”

  That woke him up. He sputtered a bit, looking from her to Henry, who stood beside her. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “It is not,” Henry said emphatically. “Gracie said it wasn’t going to hurt and it did. Real bad.”

  So she was back to Gracie now.

  “It?” he asked.

  “The shot,” Henry grumbled.

  “I’m sure Gracie thought she was telling you the right thing.”

  Henry shook his head, unconvinced. “She has to make me chicken and ducklings tonight for supper.”

  “Henry,” Matthew started, his voice a clear warning. He didn’t even bother to correct him on dumplings. “That’s not how we get the things we would like from people.”

  Henry frowned, obviously hurt. “She promised.”

  Matthew looked at her, and Gracie nodded.

  “All right, but next time, even if you are hurt, you may not talk to people that way, understand?”

  “Jah, Dat.”

  “Is everything else okay?” he asked, nodding at Henry.

  She nodded. “The doctor said the cut was deeper than it looked, but the place on his leg was bad for stitches. Though I think he meant bad for stitches when you’re five and like Henry.”

  “What does that mean?” Henry asked.

  She continued without responding. “He had the nurse put some of those strips on it to hold it shut. And the shot.”

  “I hated that part,” Henry told them as if they didn’t already know.

  Matthew nodded and started to stand.

  It all was good news and he seemed satisfied. Henry would be fine, though he had a gash on his leg to match the cast on his arm. And the doctors didn’t overly question her about the incident. Thank heavens.

  Gracie moved closer. “Want me to take her?” she asked, holding out her arms.

  But to her surprise, Matthew shook his head and headed toward the bedroom where her crib had been.

  “Matthew,” she called as he started down the hallway. The crib wasn’t there. It was still sitting at the foot of the stairs, waiting for someone to take it to its new place on the second floor.

  He stopped, turned around.

  “Her bed is not in that room any longer.”

  He frowned, that look she knew so well. And she knew that scowl of his would deepen when he heard what else she had to say. “Where is it?” he asked.

  “At the foot of the stairs.”

  “And why is it there?”

  “Henry . . . it’s time to go out and get your barn chores done,” she said. “Get your brothers to go with you.” Stephen and the twins had been outside playing when they returned from the doctor.

  He opened his mouth to protest, remind her that he had a cast and a cut leg, but she stopped his words with a sharp shake of her head.

  Henry groaned, then trudged outside. For once he didn’t let the door slam behind him. Baby Grace slept on.

  “Why, Gracie?” Matthew asked again.

  “Because I was moving it up to the second floor.”

  “Why?”

  She blew out a breath. She had known that this moment would come, she just wished she’d had more time to prepare. But with the boys crawling under the house, Henry’s cut leg, and a trip to the medical center, there hadn’t been any time. “Because I was moving it into my room.” Not the best answer, but the best one she had right then.

  “And your room is upstairs?”

  “It is now.”

  Matthew shifted Baby Grace’s position ever so gently to adjust her but not wake her. Thankfully she slept on. “Stop talking in riddles,” he growled. “Why is your room now on the second floor?”

  “Because I want to move up there.” It was all he needed to know, and yet it was nothing at all.

  Still, it seemed to satisfy him. “And the crib?”

  “I was trying to get it up the stairs when you came in and then Henry and the boys . . .” She trailed off. He’d been here for that entire exchange. But he’d been caught up with other things and missed the fact that she had been moving furniture.

  “I see.” The shadows of his churning thoughts moved across his face. He didn’t tell her what he was thinking, but she could see that he was, and he was making his mind up about everything, and she had no say in it at all.

  Because she refused to give him details.

  “Take her.” He moved toward her and gently handed the baby over. The soft action was a direct contrast with his hard expression.

  Gracie took the baby and followed Matthew into the foyer. With a grunt he lifted the crib and hoisted it up the stairs. In a second, he had disappeared into the room that she had claimed as her own.

  “You’ve been busy,” he called.

  She didn’t respond. She could use the fact that she still held the sleeping baby as an excuse not to answer. But really she didn’t have anything to say back. Yes, she had been busy cleaning out closets, rearranging furniture, moving all the stored items from that room to the room down off the kitchen. There were a few pieces of furniture that she couldn’t move. There was a dresser in there and a cedar chest she hadn’t looked in but supposed contained an heirloom quilt or two. It was a specific assumption, but it seemed to fit what she had known of Beth Byler.

  Matthew came back down the stairs a few moments later, his gaze focused on his feet. Finally, when he came nearer he raised his eyes to hers. “You can take her up to bed now.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. This was supposed to have been a good decision. She was supposed to have been set free by claiming her own space and not letting this sham of a marriage push her around. So why did her heart break a little as she looked into his soft blue eyes?

  Because despite everything—his scowl and booming voice, the fact that they had married under false pretenses and that he seemed to treat her more like a housekeeper-nanny combo than a wife—she was starting to have feelings for him. Stronger than sympathy that he had lost his wife. These feelings had to do with the way he treated his children. The way he scratched Pepper behind the ears, the way he would do little things for her that branded him a gentleman. Helping her hang the sheets after she washed them so they didn’t drag in the red Mississippi dirt. Helping her down from the buggy when they went to church. Meeting her gaze over the dinner table and smiling just for her when Henry said something particularly funny. All those things and more rolled into one and made her realize he wasn’t the man everyone thought he was. He had a soft heart, a kind spirit, a loving hand, even though that hand was almost the size of a dinner plate. He was, as they said, a gentle giant. And the scowl he wore most of the time wasn’t anger, but thoughtfulness. And she couldn’t find fault in that.

  She wanted to apologize for moving rooms. For disrupting the balance they were working so hard to achieve, but she bit back the words. Now wasn’t the time to kowtow. She needed to stand up and be strong.

  Though she be but little, she is fierce.

  She might not be little like Baby Grace, but she was innocent in her own ways, young on knowing how to stand up for herself. And now was the ti
me to be fierce.

  She lifted her chin and stiffened her resolve. “Thank you.” Then she moved past him and up the stairs to place Baby Grace in her newly moved crib.

  * * *

  Matthew watched his wife move up the stairs with a grace that befitted her name.

  She had moved her things into the other bedroom. There hadn’t been a bed in there since he moved it down into the baby’s room. But it was up there now. She must have moved it. Along with the rest of her things. Some of the furniture was the same, but the rest she had switched out. All but the crib. Why hadn’t she asked him for help?

  Would he have helped her?

  Most probably, though he didn’t understand her desire to move rooms. He wanted to ask her but didn’t. What difference did it make to him where she slept?

  It didn’t. It shouldn’t. And that wasn’t exactly what was bothering him. It was that she didn’t say anything to him about it until now. Why was it a secret? Was it a secret? He had no idea. And that’s what bothered him. He thought he’d gotten her all figured out and then bam! She hit him with a part of herself that he hadn’t known about. Had it been there all along? Or had she just developed it because of their marriage?

  He wouldn’t ask. He couldn’t.

  He watched her come out of the room she had claimed and back down the stairs. She stopped when she got to him and lifted her chin to a new angle. Another something he hadn’t seen before.

  “I guess I need to start supper if I’m going to have dumplings ready in time.”

  “Ducklings,” he said, trying to draw a laugh from her. He got only a smile. “You don’t have to make that for him,” Matthew continued. “He was being disrespectful.”

  “Have you ever had a tetanus shot?” she asked.

  “Not that I can recall.”

  She gave a quick nod. “If you had, you’d have wanted chicken and ducklings too.”

  * * *

  The next few days fell into a pattern of complacency. It was strange to Matthew. After Henry’s run-in with the rusty nail, Gracie had seemed to change a bit. She had lost that overly happy smile and too bright voice. They were replaced by her normal smile and her normal voice. And that was something Matthew could live with.