When Grace Sings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Both men stood and pushed in their chairs. The father said, “It’s been a long time since we were there, so I’m eager to see how the house and outbuildings look.” He flung his arm around his son’s shoulders, smiling for the first time since Briley entered the room. “We want to make sure the roof hasn’t caved in and the walls still stand.”

  “Clete has maintained the property, the way his father taught him.” Mrs. Zimmerman lifted her chin. “He wouldn’t have watched everything fall apart without contacting you. He’s a responsible renter.”

  Briley surveyed Brungardt’s face for signs of resentment. According to his research, the Amish and Mennonite were nonconfrontational, but Mrs. Zimmerman had come close to issuing a challenge. Would Brungardt meet it?

  The man waved one broad hand in dismissal. “Of course he is, Mrs. Zimmerman. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Cecil Zimmerman’s son. But as I said, we haven’t been there in more than a dozen years. Things change in that amount of time, and if Steven is going to live in the house, then—”

  “Live in it?” If Mrs. Zimmerman was able, Briley suspected she’d leap out of the chair and grab the man by his shirtfront. Her startled gaze bounced from the pair of Mennonite men to Alexa and back to the elder Brungardt. “But what of the land? Clete grows wheat there every year. We depend on that acreage.”

  The Brungardt son hung his head. The father’s face pinched into a grimace of regret. He patted his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zimmerman, but the land belongs to Steven now. That’s what we wanted to talk to Cletus about. Steven will be farming it from now on.”

  Mrs. Zimmerman stared at the man with her mouth open. Alexa crouched down and whispered something into her ear while the two Brungardt men shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

  Briley sipped his tepid coffee, his mind whirling. What an interesting turn of events. Might he have arrived in Arborville in time to see a feud erupt between supposedly nonconfrontational people?

  Steven

  If the floor opened up and swallowed him, Steven wouldn’t complain. Standing there with Dad’s arm heavy on his shoulders, Mrs. Zimmerman whispering frantic messages to her granddaughter, and the man from Chicago smirking into his coffee cup, he’d never been more uncomfortable. God, I’m supposed to be able to do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Why can’t I find the courage to tell Dad I don’t want to be a farmer like him?

  He nudged his father. “Let’s get our things and go.” He’d spoken softly—hardly more than a whisper—but apparently Mrs. Zimmerman heard because she jerked upright in her wheelchair and aimed a determined look at him.

  “Take Alexa with you.”

  He hadn’t expected such a command. But he understood why she’d given it. He’d noticed how the Chicago reporter looked at Alexa, and he’d also seen how Mrs. Zimmerman looked at the reporter. Mrs. Zimmerman didn’t want Alexa near the man. Steven wanted to take her along. They’d leave for home after meeting with Cletus Zimmerman, so he wouldn’t get another chance to ask her about living outside a closed community. He’d hoped to talk to her after they arrived last night, but Dad ushered him up to their room, and they stayed there until breakfast. The opportunity presenting itself was too good to pass up, but he couldn’t be the one to agree. Dad would have to do it.

  Dad cleared his throat. “We’ll be there a long time—all morning and into the afternoon.”

  “That’s fine.” Mrs. Zimmerman patted Alexa’s hand. “You go look at the old Meiers place with Mr. Brungardt and his son. As clever as you are, you can probably give them some ideas for fixing up the house again.”

  Alexa rose from her kneeling position and gestured to the table. “But I need to clear the mess here and load the dishwasher.”

  “I’ll do it. I’m not helpless, you know. You go on with the Brungardts. Clete can bring you home when they’ve finished looking and talking.” Mrs. Zimmerman had it all arranged. Alexa didn’t offer another argument.

  But Dad did. “Mrs. Zimmerman, I appreciate you wanting to help Steven, but it would be better for him to wait and let his wife suggest the improvements.”

  Mrs. Zimmerman’s head snapped up. “You’re married, young man?”

  The same uncertainty that struck every time someone mentioned the wedding came again. Steven laughed nervously. “Not yet.”

  A proud smile formed on Dad’s face. “Steven and your great-niece, Anna—Grace Braun, are planning a February wedding. They will live together at his grandfather’s farmstead and farm the acreage.”

  “So you’re Anna—Grace’s Steven …” Alexa gazed at him. “I suppose we should have made the connection already.” She turned to her grandmother. “It would be better, Grandmother, for Anna—Grace to—”

  “Obviously I don’t know your fiancée.” The reporter interrupted. He pinned his gaze on Steven and leaned back in his chair, looping one elbow over the ladder back, and gestured toward Alexa with his coffee mug. “But I’ve seen how Miss Zimmerman here can take something old and make it work. If that farmhouse is old—and I’d wager it is, the way you talked about it earlier—then she ought to be a good one to take a look at it. Give you some ideas to take back to your girl.”

  Your girl. Steven broke out in a cold sweat. Everyone said Anna—Grace Braun was the sweetest girl in Sommerfeld, and he agreed. The other young men envied him. With his parents’ and the fellowship’s blessing, he’d proposed. He couldn’t change his mind now without disappointing too many people who mattered to him. But in that moment, if he could find the courage—and the selfishness—he’d charge out the door like his brother had done and not come back.

  Sommerfeld

  Anna—Grace

  Anna—Grace set plates of flaky biscuits swimming in a sea of sausage gravy in front of the two café patrons. Steam rose from the plates, carrying the mouthwatering aroma of Deborah Muller’s home-ground sausage. Her stomach twined in hunger—the morning had been so busy she hadn’t been able to grab so much as a bite of toast—but she sent a bright smile across the pair. “There you are. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  The woman glanced in her coffee cup. “Maybe a little more coffee.”

  “I’d like some Tabasco,” the man said.

  Anna—Grace couldn’t imagine putting hot sauce on gravy, but she only nodded. “Of course.” She crossed squares of black-and-white tiles to the scarred counter where pots of hot coffee and bottles of condiments waited. She tucked a small bottle of Tabasco sauce in her pocket, grabbed a pot of steaming coffee, and wove her way back between the crowded tables. After taking care of the couple in booth three, she made the rounds and refilled coffee cups for other patrons. Setting the empty pot near the four-burner coffeemaker, she ran a hand across her forehead and released a tired sigh.

  Ten o’clock, and the café still bustled with activity. Saturdays were ordinarily busy days at Lisbeth’s, bringing in both local and out-of-town patrons, but by midmorning the crowd usually thinned. Not today. Would her boss be able to let her go at her usual eleven o’clock quitting time? She hoped so. She’d been at the café since five that morning, and she was eager to get home and put her feet up for a little while. That is, if Sunny would let her relax. Her little sister probably had her hand-me-down tea set laid out and waiting for Anna—Grace’s arrival. And if she did, Anna—Grace would sit, sip pretend tea, and eat pretend cookies, because in a few more months she wouldn’t have the opportunity to have tea parties on Saturday mornings with Sunny.

  “Would you clear table four?” Cassie Muller, the other waitress, paused beside Anna—Grace and touched her sleeve. “Some people are waiting to use it, and I need to serve the folks in booth one before their food is cold.”

  Embarrassed that the boss’s daughter-in-law caught her daydreaming instead of working, Anna—Grace grabbed the dish bin and rag and hurried off. As she mopped the table clean, the couple waiting to use it walked over. Anna—Grace glanced up and smiled in relief at Mr. and Mrs. Wil
lems from her fellowship. They wouldn’t express impatience for the wait, the way some outsiders might. “Hello. It’s been a busy morning in here. I’ll have this ready in just a moment.”

  “Don’t rush, Anna—Grace.” Mrs. Willems fingered the end of one black ribbon trailing from her cap as Anna—Grace swept crumbs into her hand. “Darrin and I aren’t in any big hurry. We just wanted a place to sit and sip coffee while we wait for the auctioneer to get past the farm implements to the household items.”

  “That’s why it’s been so crazy in here.” Anna—Grace laughed at herself. She should have remembered the auction at the Penner farm. They’d been advertising it for weeks. Apparently she’d gotten too wrapped up in her own little world to be aware of what was happening outside her door.

  “You should try to go out there, too,” Mr. Willems said, “since you and Steven will be setting up housekeeping soon. In Arborville, I hear. There might be some things you could use in your new place.”

  “That’s true, Anna—Grace.” Mrs. Willems nodded in agreement. “Why, that old house belonging to Steven’s grandparents will surely need a new stove and refrigerator, and the Penners have appliances listed on the auction bill.”

  Anna—Grace hid a smile. Just as Steven’s mother had suspected, it hadn’t taken long for the townsfolk to learn about the gift of land in Arborville. But she wouldn’t add to the gossip. Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve. She lifted the dish bin and stepped away from the table. “I’ll talk to my folks about it and see what they think.”

  “You do that.” Mrs. Willems gave Anna—Grace’s cheek a soft pat before she slipped into one of the chairs. “I know the Penners would be happy to think their refrigerator and stove were going to be used by such a nice young couple as you and Steven.”

  Anna—Grace thanked the woman, then hurried off. Although it was a bit disconcerting to be the topic of conversation by half the town, she appreciated how everyone in Sommerfeld supported her betrothal to Steven. In the past, there had been some couples who met with mild disapproval or outright objection. She could recall twice when the fellowship leaders refused to offer their blessing on a potential union.

  She emptied the dirty dishes into the tray beside the dishwasher, then moved to the sink to wash her hands. As the warm water flowed over her skin, warmth flooded her soul. The fellowship’s blessing only verified how perfect she and Steven were for each other. Surely she was the most blessed girl in the whole town.

  Arborville

  Alexa

  Alexa explored the interior and wandered the area around the Meiers house with Steven and his father. Their slow, meticulous examination complete, they stood on the sloping porch where age-grayed gingerbread trim wore ropes of spiderwebbing. She grimaced as she took in the peeling paint and cracked windows. She’d be the first to admit the place needed help. No one had lived in it for over twenty years, and it showed signs of neglect both inside and out. But Steven’s father declared the house structurally sound, and Uncle Clete, who had arrived only a few minutes ago, voiced his agreement.

  Mr. Brungardt and Uncle Clete ambled toward the barn, discussing land yield and other things Alexa wouldn’t even pretend to understand. Oddly, Steven stayed behind, and his father didn’t seem to notice. So Alexa felt accountable for entertaining him, the way she would any guest to her bed-and-breakfast.

  “You must feel so blessed to receive such an incredible gift.” She gingerly placed her fingertips on the railing and peered across the brown yard, more dirt interspersed with clumps of weeds than grass. “It’ll take some real work to fix it up, but it’s a charming little house.” Her mind whirled with ideas for turning the single-story Depression-era bungalow into a warm and welcoming family home, and it took great self-control not to blurt them all at the man who would bring Anna—Grace Braun to Arborville.

  Her heart jolted. Dear Lord, how will I handle having Anna—Grace living on the farm next door? Alexa pushed aside her worries and focused on the house. “I especially like the built-in cupboards in the dining room and the egg-and-dart trim over the doors and windows. They add lots of character, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Do you plan to start work on it right away so it’s ready by the time you get married?”

  “If Dad says I should.”

  Alexa glanced at Steven, puzzled by his lackluster response. She wouldn’t expect a soon-to-be-groom to be so … reticent. When she’d met Anna—Grace at Grandmother’s birthday party last June, she’d been surprised to discover that the girl, who was only nineteen like Alexa, was already pledged to be married. Although Anna—Grace had exercised restraint—she seemed like a quiet, reserved girl—she talked of little else than her upcoming wedding the entire evening. Alexa didn’t know of any other young women who married at nineteen. Unless they had to. But apparently that wasn’t the case with Steven and Anna—Grace. They simply wanted to get married and start a family.

  The idea of marriage frightened Alexa. Maybe because she’d been raised by a single mother, she wasn’t ready to even think about being a wife. More frightening than marriage, though, was the idea of Anna—Grace—the biological daughter released for adoption by the woman Alexa knew as Mom—living so close. At least Alexa would have a few months to reconcile herself with the idea before Steven and Anna—Grace moved in next door.

  She shifted to face Steven. “Anna—Grace will probably want to help work on it. I know I would, if it were going to be my house. Will you bring her over soon so she can see it?”

  “Probably.” If she wasn’t mistaken, a hint of melancholy colored his tone. Before she could form a question that wouldn’t sound too nosy, he said, “Did you finish high school?”

  The change in topics took her by surprise. “Yes.”

  “What was it like?”

  How could she answer? “Um … good, I guess. I liked it.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” His gaze bored into hers, his expression serious. “Isn’t it allowed by your fellowship?”

  Alexa couldn’t stifle a short laugh. “Mom and I attended a Mennonite Brethren church, but we never referred to it as ‘our fellowship.’ It’s just …” She shrugged. “Our church. Mom really wanted me to go to college, but I couldn’t decide what career path to follow. So I put it off. And then I used the money I’d saved for college to turn Grandmother’s house into a bed-and-breakfast. I’m not sure whether I’ll ever go.”

  “But you could, if you wanted to.”

  “Well, sure.”

  He clamped his hands over the railing and stared outward, seeming to search the empty fields. Watching him, Alexa experienced a rush of sympathy she didn’t understand. He had so much—a father and mother willing to give him a start toward his future, a lovely girl who would soon be his wife, a family legacy he could pass to his children and beyond. She and Mom, all on their own without a family support system, had to work for everything, and she didn’t even know who her birth parents were. She tried to summon envy, or even disgust at his shortsightedness, but it refused to rise. He seemed so forlorn, she could only feel sorry for him.

  Understanding dawned. She released a little gasp that caught his attention. “You want to go to college, don’t you?”

  He frowned, zinging a look toward the barn. But his father and her uncle were inside. They couldn’t overhear. He almost seemed to deflate, his tense frame collapsing and his head dropping low. “Yes.” He swallowed. “Yes, I really do.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to be a teacher.” The longing in his voice proved how much he wanted it.

  “Then why don’t you?”

  He sent a sideways glance that communicated frustration. “Because I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  His face twisted with a snide grimace. “Because in my fellowship, teachers are women. Men are farmers, or furniture makers, or business owners. They aren’t teachers.” />
  A chilly blast of wind slapped the house, rattling the windows and releasing a low howl. Alexa pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and crossed the flaps. “Just because it’s never been done before doesn’t mean it can’t be done, right? My mom grew up right here in Arborville as part of the Old Order fellowship. She went to college and became a nurse. That was new to her fellowship. But her family was proud of her for doing it.” Of course, they hadn’t realized what else Mom was doing—raising a baby on her own and keeping it secret. But that information wouldn’t benefit the confused young man standing on the porch with her.

  Steven sighed. His breath formed a little cloud. The temperature had dropped more than Alexa had realized. “My family wouldn’t be proud if I asked to go away to school. They’d be—”

  “Steven?” Mr. Brungardt waved from the open doorway of the barn. “Clete says a storm is brewing. We need to leave soon, but come look at this barn first. You’ll have to do some patching on the roof and on the north side, but the loft is still usable. Come see.”

  Steven bent his elbows and did a push-up off the railing. The old wood complained as it released his weight. Looking toward the barn, he finished softly, “They’d be disappointed. They want me to marry Anna—Grace and farm my grandfather’s land. So that’s what I’ll do.” His expression resigned, he moved slowly toward the rotting steps.

  Alexa watched him go, disjointed thoughts tumbling through her mind. He planned to bring Anna—Grace here, but he didn’t really want to do it. He wanted to go away somewhere and become a teacher. If he pursued his desire, she wouldn’t have to live next door to the girl her mother had given up for adoption. Was it selfish to hope his dream came true so she didn’t have to face what would certainly be her worst nightmare?

  Arborville

  Alexa

  Alexa always looked forward to Sunday. Traditionally the Zimmermans gathered for a meal and a time of fellowship after Sunday service. When Grandmother Zimmerman’s son and daughters brought their families together, there were fourteen of them in all—a dozen more than had sat at Alexa’s kitchen table during her growing-up years. She loved the noise, the happy chaos, even the messes. When she sat at the table with her grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, it didn’t matter that they weren’t her blood relations. They were her family, and she savored every moment with them.