When Grace Sings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He drove with care back to the bed-and-breakfast, parked his car in the barn, then headed across the dry grass beneath a dusky sky. Inside the little cottage he kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair. He started to hook up his new television, but then he changed course and pulled his laptop from the case. He unfolded the Murphy bed, and then, giving a limber leap, he plopped on the bed with his legs extended and rested the laptop across his thighs.

  While he waited for the laptop to boot, he mentally replayed his day, setting the events in chronological order so he could record them correctly. But when he opened his “The Truth on Plain Living” file and placed his fingers on the keys, the first line that formed concerned his last hour in town.

  Paul Aldrich (son: Danny)—carpenter; fisherman; involved father; good dad.

  A band wrapped around his chest. He slapped the laptop closed, set it aside with enough force to make it bounce on the mattress, then pounded across the floor to the television. He’d do his notes later. When he’d cleared his mixed-up head.

  Alexa

  Grandmother’s night nurse, Marjorie Wells, arrived promptly at eight thirty to help Grandmother prepare for bed. After spending a few minutes visiting with the friendly woman, Alexa excused herself to go up to her temporary room. She closed herself in the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, then settled on the bed. She pulled the teddy bear Grandmother had given her into her lap, resting her chin on the bear’s dapper top hat, and took out her cell phone.

  During her first few weeks of living in Arborville, she’d called her mother every evening for a chat. Over time, however, they’d slowly transitioned to talking two or three nights a week. With the arrival of guests, she hadn’t taken the time to call Mom, but tonight she needed her.

  A few deft clicks with her thumbs, and the sound of ringing met her ears. After only two rings she heard, “Hi, honey!” Mom’s cheerful greeting brought an unexpected prick of tears.

  She hugged the bear tight and sniffed hard. “Hi, Mom. How was your day?”

  “Mine was fine, but what’s the matter?”

  Alexa stifled a laugh. How well her mother knew her. “What makes you think something’s the matter?”

  “I hear it in your voice.” Worry now laced Mom’s tone. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Alexa closed her eyes and sighed. “And everything. I don’t really know.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Her arm coiled around the bear, Alexa wriggled against the pillows and created a little nest for herself. “It’s nothing, really. I just feel … unsettled.” Saying it aloud brought an element of relief. She only wished she could understand the root of the feeling. “It’s silly. I have the business up and running—have even welcomed guests already. Grandmother and I get along great, I’ve attended some of the fellowship’s young-people gatherings, and I love time with Sandra when she isn’t too busy with Ian and Isabella. Really, everything’s good. I should be happy. But I’m not.” Her voice broke on the last word. She closed her eyes for a moment, suppressing the desire to cry, then forced a glib tone. “Like I said, it’s just silly.”

  “Honey, feelings are feelings. Don’t berate yourself for having them. And just because things are going well doesn’t mean you’re going to automatically be happy.”

  “But why not?” Alexa tipped her cheek against the bear’s hat. “I’ve always wanted to be part of a big family. Now I am. When I was fixing up the summer kitchen and the bedrooms to open the B and B, I had so much fun. I was so sure God was paving the way for me. Now that guests are coming, I should still be having fun. It doesn’t make sense that I have what I wanted and I’m so discontent. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Alexa, there isn’t anything wrong with you.” Mom spoke kindly, but Alexa detected a hint of amusement underneath her words. She set her jaw firmly to hold back a defensive protest and made herself listen instead. “Think of all the changes you’ve had in the past few months. You moved from the town where you were raised to a new community. You placed yourself in the middle of a new family unit. You quit your old job and started a business. Psychologists say the stress from even one such change can have an adverse effect on a person’s emotions.”

  Mom’s comments made sense, but one thing remained unclear. She sat upright, tension straightening her spine. “So why now? Why not when we first came to Arborville?”

  “Maybe because you’re just finally slowing down enough to recognize the changes. You’ve been going nonstop since you got the idea to renovate the farmhouse, and before that your focus was on finding your niche with your grandmother, uncles, aunts, and cousins.”

  The amused undertone that had stirred irritation was gone now, and Alexa relaxed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Mom was teasing, but this time Alexa chuckled lightly in response. “Or maybe I should say Linda is always right. She mentioned a couple of days ago she was worried about the effect all the change would have on you. She’s praying for you.”

  Alexa melted against the pillows as images of dear Linda, the spunky lady who’d been a surrogate grandma to her since she was very small, flooded her mind. Tears stung again. She missed Linda, as well as her husband, Tom, and so many others from the church back in Franklin. “Tell her thanks, will you?”

  “I sure will. Now … you said you’ve welcomed guests already. Tell me about them.”

  Alexa set the little bear aside and shared the details of the Brungardts’ overnight stay, including Mr. Brungardt requesting her breakfast-casserole recipe, then told her about Steven Brungardt’s plans to move into the old Meiers place and farm the land. But she didn’t mention that Steven was going to marry Anna—Grace Braun, the daughter Mom had given up for adoption nearly twenty years ago. Why she wanted to keep the information to herself, she didn’t know, but thinking about Anna—Grace deepened her feelings of unrest. “Uncle Clete was disappointed to give up renting the land, but we’re praying someone else will rent acreage to him.”

  “Please tell him I’ll be praying, too.”

  “I will,” Alexa said.

  “What about your other guest? The long-term one?”

  Alexa’s spine stiffened again. “How do you know I have a long-term guest?”

  “You told me when you scheduled his stay, remember? You were all excited about someone from Illinois knowing about Grace Notes.”

  She sagged in relief. Grandmother was concerned about Briley Forrester taking advantage of Alexa, and Uncle Clete didn’t seem to trust him. For a moment she’d suspected someone from Arborville had contacted Mom about the handsome reporter staying in the cottage. What to say about him? Mom would worry if she knew how the man’s flirtatiousness had affected her. She chose her words carefully. “So far he seems to be okay. He hasn’t complained about what I’ve served for breakfast, and he pretty much keeps to himself. I think it’ll work all right to have him here. I do miss being in my cottage, though.”

  “I imagine so, after all the work you put into it. But you’ll have it back by Christmas, right?”

  “Yes.” Something occurred to Alexa, and she let out a short huff of irritation. “But we won’t be able to stay out there when you come for Thanksgiving.” Disappointment brought a new threat of tears. She’d anticipated one-on-one time with her mother after their months apart. They’d have time together, but it wouldn’t be the same, staying in the house with Grandmother.

  “Alexa, about Thanksgiving …”

  Alexa swung her legs off the bed and sat up straight. The bear flopped onto its side and lost its hat. “Don’t tell me you aren’t coming after all.”

  “Well, there’s a possibility I’ll need to stay here.”

  “Mom!” Alexa rose and paced the room twice.

  “I’m sorry.” Mom’s contrition did little to soothe Alexa. “You know how short-staffed we are here, and the other lead nurse—Bridget, you’ve met her—has a daughter who’s in the mid
st of a troublesome pregnancy. The baby is due the first of December, but it could come early. Bridget has asked for emergency release when her daughter goes into labor and for two weeks afterward.”

  Alexa blinked rapidly. She couldn’t fault Bridget’s daughter for wanting her mother with her. But she wanted her mother, too. I do want my mother. I want my mom and my mother … The realization struck like a bolt of lightning. She sank onto the edge of the mattress.

  “If I can’t come for Thanksgiving, I will definitely be there for Christmas. All right?”

  A selfish retort formed on Alexa’s lips—No, it’s not all right!—but she held it inside. “I understand. Bridget needs you more than I do, I guess.” Her attempt at a glib tone failed. Only resentment came through. Before Mom could offer a reprimand, Alexa went on in a falsely cheerful voice. “Well, I probably should let you go. I know you need to leave for work soon.”

  “Honey, I—”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. Honest. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call again on Wednesday, okay? Love you! Bye now.” She disconnected the call and slipped her phone in her pocket. From downstairs, Grandmother’s and Marjorie’s soft laughter filtered through the heat vent below the window. She crossed to it and used her toes to close the flap behind the iron grate. The happy sound was instantly muffled.

  Loneliness descended. She tugged the wispy curtains aside and gazed across the yard. When she’d first arrived in Arborville, she loved looking out the window at the sturdy, old buildings and the fields unfolding toward the horizon like a giant quilt. The view had given her a sense of peace and homecoming. She tried to stir the former feelings, but they refused to rise. With a sigh, she lowered her gaze and noticed a flickering light behind the windows in the cottage. She frowned. Was a lamp bulb going out? Or—her pulse skipped into nervous double beats—was there a fire?

  She headed for the hallway, her thoughts tumbling nervously. Had Briley returned yet? If he were in there, he’d make use of the fire extinguisher. Unless he was asleep. She quickened her pace, and the thud of her feet on the wooden risers competed with the pound of her heart. Not until she was out the front door and trotting across the steppingstones that led to the cottage did she remember she hadn’t put on her shoes or a jacket. The rough stones poked her soles through her socks and the night air nipped at her bare arms and legs, but she couldn’t turn back now. All of the work and time and money she’d invested in renovating the old summer kitchen could be going up in smoke.

  The windows glowed eerily against the darkened landscape, the flickering more pronounced as she drew near. Then quick as a flash of lightning, understanding struck. She came to a stop outside the cottage. Not a fire. Not even close to a fire. A television screen’s changing images created the odd flicker behind the lace curtains. Irritation chased away the worry that had gripped her. She’d signed a contract for Internet via a cable line, but she wasn’t paying for TV service. How had he hooked up a television?

  Shivering, she hugged herself and shifted from foot to foot. Should she knock on the cottage door and ask Briley to disconnect the television? Or should she ask Uncle Clete to discuss it with her guest? As she debated with herself, a ball of fur charged at her from the direction of the barn. Pepper! She braced herself, then changed her mind and turned to run, but she hesitated a moment too long. The dog plowed into her legs.

  Alexa threw her arms in the air and shrieked.

  Barking wildly, Pepper jumped again, this time planting her front paws on Alexa’s middle. The weight of the dog pushed her backward. She caught her heel on the edge of a steppingstone. Her arms flailing and another involuntary shriek leaving her throat, she fell flat on her bottom.

  Briley

  Briley scrambled from the bed and darted for the door. At first he’d thought the scream came from the movie he’d popped into the DVD player, but when he heard the second one—shriller, louder, more panicked—he realized it was real. He slapped the push button for the porch lamp and threw open the door. In the yellow shaft of light, he spotted the black-and-white border collie wrestling someone to the ground. Obviously the dog was playing—tongue lolling, tail waving so fast it became a blur—but the person on the ground didn’t seem to realize it. She’d rolled into a ball with her hands over her head, and little grunts of terror emerged from behind her crossed arms.

  Briley put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Served her right, whoever she was, for sneaking around out here where she didn’t belong. “You get’er, Muttski.”

  The dog barked and then gave a nimble leap to the opposite side of the woman’s body where it began poking its muzzle beneath her balled fists, and Briley got a glimpse of a long, mink-brown ponytail spread across the grass. Alexa!

  He bounded over with one wide stride and caught the dog by its thick ruff. “Here, now, that’s enough! Get off of her!”

  With a whine the dog plopped onto its behind and stared up at Briley with bright eyes. Now that he had the dog under control, he reached for Alexa. When he gripped her upper arms to pull her to her feet, she let out another bloodcurdling scream.

  “Will you knock it off?” He yanked her upright and shot a glance toward the house. “Somebody’s going to think I’m murdering you.”

  Her eyes flew open and she stared into his face. “B-Briley?”

  He hid a grin. She must be scared to forget her manners. “That’s right.”

  She looked frantically right and left. “Where’s Pepper?”

  “Pepper?” Had she hit her head? She wasn’t making much sense.

  “That stupid dog!”

  The dog, which was named Pepper, rose up and whined as if to protest Alexa’s exclamation. Automatically Briley commanded, “Sit.” To his relief the furry beast obeyed him. All in all, Pepper was a pretty good dog. He looked at Alexa. “What did you do to aggravate the poor mutt?”

  She wriggled free of his grasp and stepped a few inches away from him. She sent a smoldering glare from the dog to him. “I didn’t do anything to her. I never do anything to her. But she hates me! She must, because she always attacks me. And I don’t like her all that much, either.” In the space of three seconds, the angry glint in her eyes changed. Her gaze seemed to travel his length, and bold red stained her cheeks. She folded her arms across her middle, hunched her shoulders, and turned sharply away.

  Briley scowled, puzzled by her odd behavior, and finally the chill air brought realization. With his adrenaline pumping he’d forgotten he’d pulled on a pair of pajama pants in place of his jeans and had shed his shirt to watch TV. So he stood under the moonlight—under Alexa’s embarrassed gaze—only half dressed. In the past he’d taken advantage of opportunities to strike a pose and showcase his muscular form, but to his shock he only experienced a real rush of mortification. For her and for him.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he inched toward the cottage door. “Well, since you’re all right, I’m—”

  “Alexa!” A middle-aged woman—the nurse who showed up every evening—trotted across the yard toward the cottage. She’d had the sense to wear shoes and even put on a coat. And she carried a frying pan. He swallowed a snicker. The woman was armed for bear. Her gaze landed on Briley, and her eyes narrowed into slits. “We heard you scream. Are you all right? Did he—” She waved the frying pan.

  Alexa darted to the nurse. “Pepper jumped on me and scared me. Of course Bri—Mr. Forrester—didn’t do anything to me. Except come to my rescue. I’m sorry I frightened you and Grandmother.” She looped her hand through the nurse’s elbow and steered her toward the house. “But it’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”

  Pepper sidled close and leaned against Briley’s leg as the pair of women scurried off. Briley absently stroked the dog’s head. Had Alexa just defended him? He replayed her words—“Of course Mr. Forrester didn’t do anything to me.” Spoken staunchly. With a touch of you-should-know-better in her tone. She trusted him. The realization should please him, but instead an uneasy knot formed in the pit of his s
tomach.

  Sommerfeld

  Anna—Grace

  If only this knot in her stomach would go away. Anna—Grace sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the sealed envelope leaning against the scrolled base of the accent lamp on her dresser. The bulb was on, sending down a triangular glow that seemed to spotlight the envelope and its neatly penned, simple line on the front: For Anna—Grace. Except she didn’t know if she wanted it.

  During the night, each time she awoke—and she’d awakened every hour—the envelope seemed to mock her with its presence. With each awakening her thoughts bounced back and forth like a monkey she’d once seen in a zoo cage frenetically leaping from one corner to another in its attempt to find an escape hatch.

  Just open it. Get it over with.

  Don’t open it. Throw it away.

  The same back-and-forth exchange roared through her mind again, nearly dizzying in its insistence. But which command to follow? Mom and Dad had told her to open it when she was ready. Would she ever be ready to discover the names of the people who’d cast her aside?

  Strange how she’d never really thought about her birth parents when she was growing up. Little Sunny often talked about her Chinese mom and dad, asked questions, seemed to require assurance. But Anna—Grace had always been so secure, so loved. She’d simply accepted that the ones who raised her were her parents. Period. Maybe if she’d experienced curiosity before, the envelope would serve to satisfy her rather than confuse her.

  A tap at the door interrupted her thoughts. She called wearily, “Come in.” The door opened and Mom peeked her head in. Furrows marched across her forehead and formed a V between her eyebrows. Anna—Grace hated that she’d put the look of worry on her mother’s normally relaxed face.