When Grace Sings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Anna—Grace laughed. One of the best parts of being in Arborville would be getting better acquainted with her cousins. “I will. Thank you, Sandra. I’ll call you soon and let you know for sure where I intend to stay.”

  They disconnected the call, and Anna—Grace remained in the kitchen for several minutes, the pros and cons of the lodging options forming in her mind. Oddly, she found an equal number of reasons both for and against each location. Mom and Dad would have to make the decision.

  She entered the living room and sat next to Mom, who’d lifted out her basket of mending and put a needle and thread to work. For a moment Anna—Grace sat and watched the needle go in and out, closing the tear on the skirt of one of Sunny’s little dresses. Mom stitched with such care, the tear slowly disappearing into a nearly invisible seam. Such a gift her mother had, to make worn things seem like new. She wished she’d inherited it. She could sew but not with the natural ability her mother possessed. But that was probably because Mom wasn’t her real mother. Tears stung and she sniffed.

  Mom stopped midstitch and looked at Anna—Grace. Concern lined her brow. “Was the phone call bad news?”

  Anna—Grace shook her head. She explained the purpose of Sandra’s call while Mom listened carefully. When she finished, Mom took her hand. “You’re not feeling cast aside, are you?”

  “No!” Her answer was half-true. Every time she thought of her biological mother she felt cast aside. But Sandra hadn’t done anything wrong. She tamped down the brief stab of guilt and said, “Sandra made it very clear I’m welcome with her. She just wanted me to know there was another place if I preferred it.”

  “I see.” An unreadable expression on her face, Mom seemed to examine Anna—Grace for several seconds. Then she spoke quietly. “You don’t have to go at all, you know. Steven would understand.”

  He’d said as much before he’d driven off that morning. Her heart warmed, recalling his tender embrace and whispered assurance that whatever was best for her would be best for him, too. A smile tugged at her lips. “I know he would. But I want to give it a chance. I can’t make Steven give up his inheritance without knowing for sure living there would be too difficult for me.”

  “That’s unselfish of you, sweetheart.”

  “I want to be unselfish, Mom. And fair. I really do.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Mom spoke so matter-of-factly, with such sureness, more tears stung. These of gratitude. “If you didn’t have a needle in your hand, I’d hug you.”

  Mom laughed, set aside the little dress pierced with a silver needle, and held open her arms. Anna—Grace melted against her, savoring a few minutes of being little again, being comforted, feeling secure. Somehow the letter from her birth parents had sucked much of the security out of her world—the opposite of what parents were supposed to instill in their children.

  She pulled back and stood. “I’m going to go write Steven a letter and then walk it to the post office. Do you need anything from town?”

  “No. Tell Steven hello from your dad and me.”

  “I will.” Anna—Grace went to her bedroom and sat at the little student desk where she’d finished homework, written dramatic poems in her diary, and penned letters to friends over the years. She laid out her stationery and picked up a pen.

  Dear Steven, she wrote in her neatest handwriting. Steven had beautiful penmanship for a man, and she always felt as though she should write just as neatly. I know you only left this morning, but I miss you already. I’ll be counting down the days until the 24th, when you come home for the weekend. And after that, I’ll get to see you every day.

  A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard. Gripping the pen, she continued writing. I love you so much, Steven. When you told me to do what was best for me because it would be best for you, too, I almost cried from happiness. I want to make sure what I do really is best for both of us. I’ll be praying every day for God to help me see His will in this situation, and I know you will be praying for the same thing.

  She wrote until she filled the page, then she signed with her customary My love always, Anna—Grace and sealed the letter in an envelope. Gazing at the plain envelope with Steven’s letter inside reminded her of the envelope she still hadn’t opened. Even though she’d closed it in a drawer, putting it out of sight, it continued to tug at her to peel back the flap and remove the missives.

  Leaning over the envelope on the desk, she hurriedly added Steven’s new address, stamped it, and then headed for town with his letter gripped between her fingers. As she dropped it into the outgoing mail slot, she recalled her mother’s affirmation that of course she wanted to be unselfish and fair. The remembrance solidified her decision to leave the truth of her parentage sealed inside that envelope. Because if she didn’t know their names, she could go to Arborville and face the people there without any preconceived notions about the ones who gave birth to her and then gave her away. She could treat everyone fairly and kindly.

  Until she figured out who they were. Then being fair and kind would be a test beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.

  Arborville

  Alexa

  Alexa watched as Grandmother tore the check from her checkbook and laid it on the corner of the bed. She stared at the slip of paper, unwilling to pick it up. “I’m sorry you’re having to pay the utility bill this month.” She’d refigured the amounts in her checkbook every day that week, hoping for some miracle that would multiply the amount, but Friday morning’s finding was no better than Monday’s had been.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Grandmother dropped the checkbook in her lap and wheeled her chair to the dressing table. She transferred the checkbook to the drawer in the dressing table, then turned and rolled back to the bed. She picked up the check and pressed it into Alexa’s hand. “I think you forget I’ve been taking care of the bills for this house for more years than you’ve been alive. I certainly don’t expect you to cover everything just because the house is going to be shared with guests now from time to time.”

  When she opened the bed-and-breakfast at Grandmother’s farm, Alexa had vowed to cover the bills so Grandmother could keep her money for herself. Having to dip into Grandmother’s account to cover basic expenses left her feeling as if she’d failed. Alexa released a heavy sigh. “But I expect it of myself. I really want the B and B to pay for itself and even experience some profit.”

  “Give it time, Alexa.” Grandmother shook her head, the ribbons from her cap gently swaying beneath her chin. “You only opened for business two months ago. It can take two years to get a business up and running. Be realistic.”

  “Well, you aren’t going to cover expenses for that long! I’ll find some other way to bring in money.” She rose and paced the room, fanning herself with the check. “Steven Brungardt’s mother paid me well for putting together that cooler of sandwiches. Maybe I could start catering parties or picnics for people.”

  “Picnics in October?” Grandmother sounded skeptical.

  Alexa’s defenses prickled, but she kept her tone in check. “Okay, maybe not picnics, but with the holidays coming, people will be hosting get-togethers with family and friends. Wouldn’t there be an interest in hiring someone to set out a variety of hors d’oeuvres or to bake cupcakes or pretty cookies? Maybe I could even do wedding cakes.” Hope built in her chest. She looked at her grandmother. In one glance, her hope disintegrated.

  Amusement tinged Grandmother’s face. “In Arborville? Every person I know does her own cooking and baking. And when they have get-togethers, everyone contributes to fill the banquet table. I can’t imagine anyone in town hiring someone to prepare food for them. We don’t even hire caterers for weddings. We do it all ourselves.”

  Alexa plopped onto the edge of Grandmother’s bed and bounced her fist on the mattress. “Well, then, I’ll advertise in some of the towns around us.”

  “Would that really be cost effective? You’d have to add transportation expenses to your services.
I imagine the larger towns already have caterers available, making the competition tough.”

  Even though her grandmother spoke reasonably rather than condescendingly, Alexa felt foolish for making the suggestion. She threw her arms wide. “Then what? I can’t just sit here month after month with no income. I need to pay my way.”

  Grandmother rolled her chair close and took Alexa’s hand. “You’ll have the check from the newspaper in Chicago when Mr. Forrester has completed his article. Given the length of his stay, it should be sizable.”

  Alexa nodded slowly. Even though she’d offered a discounted weekly rate rather than charging the full daily rate, she still anticipated a profit. “Yes, and I’m grateful for that income. I just wish …” She hung her head.

  “You wish what?”

  She murmured, “I wish I didn’t feel like a freeloader.”

  “Alexa!” Grandmother caught Alexa’s chin and raised her face. She looked sternly into Alexa’s eyes. “Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “It’s not true!”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The V between Grandmother’s snapping eyes sunk deeper.

  Alexa sighed. “It’s at least partly true. I took over your house, promised to pay for the privilege, then couldn’t do it. What else is that besides being a freeloader?”

  Grandmother’s frown remained intact. “A freeloader does nothing to earn his keep. A freeloader is lazy. Something you certainly are not.” She pinched Alexa’s chin, driving home her point. Then she patted Alexa’s cheek before lowering her hand to her wheelchair’s armrest. “Think of all the ways you’ve contributed to this household other than with money. You cook and clean, and your decorating makes it feel like new. And—more importantly—you are my granddaughter. Family members are never considered freeloaders, even when they behave like ones.”

  Alexa managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  “A freeloader … honestly …” She tsk-tsked and rolled her eyes. “The things you say …”

  The telephone jangled, stealing Alexa’s opportunity to defend herself. She scurried to the kitchen and grabbed the receiver from its cradle. “Hello. Grace Notes Bed-and-Breakfast Inn. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, Alexa, it’s Sandra.”

  Alexa erupted with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Did she really want to tell her favorite aunt she’d hoped a prospective guest was calling? Sandra would think she wasn’t welcome to call. “Sorry. Nothing. Just caught me off guard.”

  “Okay. Two things … First, the fellowship men plan to meet at the Meiers farm tomorrow to repair the barn. I had volunteered to be in charge of the drinks table, but Ian started running a fever last night.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “I don’t think so—just a cold. But I shouldn’t take him out until he’s been fever-free for a full day. I wondered if you’d fill in for me.”

  She’d wanted to go and watch the men work, anyway. “Sure I will.”

  “Thank you, Alexa. I knew you’d come to my rescue.”

  Alexa smiled, envisioning herself in a cape, flying in to save the day. “What’s the second thing?”

  “I finally heard from Anna—Grace.”

  The amusing images disappeared. “And …”

  “She agreed it would be better to stay closer to the Meiers farm. She’ll take the room.”

  Alexa eased against the wall, in need of support. “Oh.” She swallowed. “Good.”

  “Good?” Sandra’s voice held hesitance. “Are you sure?”

  She straightened her spine. “Of course I’m sure. I offered, didn’t I? It’ll be better for her to be here, close to Steven and close to …” She couldn’t bring herself to add Grandmother. She didn’t want to share the grandmother she’d only recently met with the girl who truly belonged in the family.

  “So you know, I did tell her if you got calls to rent the rooms, she’d need to come stay with me instead.”

  Alexa appreciated Sandra more by the minute. “Thanks.” She blew out a soft breath. “But given how many times the phone hasn’t rung with requests to stay here, I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

  “Just the same, if something changes, the hideaway bed is available.”

  “All right. Thank you, Sandra.”

  “Thank you for being such a sweetheart. Your mama raised you right.” They laughed together before Sandra disconnected the call.

  Grandmother rolled her chair into the kitchen. Anticipation glowed in her eyes. “Was the call about a guest?”

  Alexa forced a smile. “Yep. Anna—Grace will be staying with us instead of with Sandra.”

  “Good for her.” Grandmother gave a brisk nod that crunched her cap’s ribbons against the shoulders of her gray-checked dress and then sent them springing. “And good for us, too. Even though she won’t be a paying guest, her being here will give you a chance to practice your hotel-keeping skills and also provide you with some company besides a crotchety old lady and her outspoken nurse.” Her expression softened. “And I confess, Alexa, I’ll enjoy having two girls in the house for a while. This old house needs the voices and laughter of young people.” She turned the chair and wheeled out of the room, leaving Alexa alone.

  Alexa chewed her thumbnail and tried to imagine what it would be like to be with Anna—Grace every day. Instead of images forming in her head of the two of them getting along together, she pictured herself donning a cape and flying far, far away.

  Briley

  He’d heard of Amish barn raisings, but he’d always been a little cynical. Putting up a shed maybe, but an entire barn in a day? Yeah, right. But by noon that Saturday, Briley’s cynicism had packed a bag and moved to another state.

  Despite the promised cold front dropping the temperature a good twenty degrees and sending a nose-numbing breeze across the plains, twelve men with tool belts clanking on their hips and seven boys eagerly waving paintbrushes arrived by eight o’clock in the morning. Armed with a load of lumber, pouches of nails, and buckets of red paint, they swarmed the barn, as industrious as a hive of bees. Briley snapped close to a hundred pictures, but even though he recorded the event frame by frame, he could never determine who was in charge. Shouldn’t there be an unofficial foreman directing everyone? If one existed, he remained well hidden. The workers simply seemed to know what needed to be done, and they did it, all sharing equally in the barn’s reconstruction.

  While he watched, something Aunt Myrt had told him eased through his memory. “Every man has two equal abilities—to build up or tear down. The challenge lies in knowing which is the right choice.” The Mennonite men had decided to build up the barn instead of tearing it down and starting over. Briley wasn’t sure he’d have made the same choice given the appearance of the structure, but watching the barn’s transformation made him think they’d chosen wisely.

  When the walls and roof were repaired and the building bore a proud new coat of rusty-red paint, the boys cleaned their brushes in the gushing flow of water from the pump behind the barn, and the men gathered around the food table set up by a half-dozen women. Alexa was off to the side at a second, smaller table. Pitchers of lemonade and tall, silver, spigoted urns and stacks of mugs covered the table. The sandwiches, two inches thick and filled with slivered ham and slices of white cheese, looked wonderful. He hadn’t done any work on the barn, so he didn’t feel as though he should take a plate, but he’d gotten a whiff of what filled those urns, and he couldn’t resist asking Alexa to fill a mug for him.

  He drew a deep breath as she lifted the spigot handle and a stream of steaming apple cider flowed into the mug. The spicy scent carried him backward in time. Aunt Myrt stirred up a kettle of cider mixed with Red Hots candies for Christmas every year he’d been with her. The memory warmed him as much as the mug he gripped between his palms. He sipped, enjoying the tang on his tongue, and waggled his eyebrows at Alexa. “Mmm. Good stuff.”


  She offered a shy grin. She looked very girlish and cute with furry pink earmuffs forming puffballs on both sides of her head and a thick blue-and-green plaid jacket buttoned all the way to her chin. “One of the fellowship members has a small grove of Granny Smith apple trees, and he recently purchased an apple press to make cider. This is from one of the first batches. It’s much better than store-bought.”

  Briley mentally recorded this piece of information. “You people are pretty self-sufficient, aren’t you?”

  Alexa blinked at him twice, as if he’d startled her. Or maybe offended her. He decided to explain himself.

  “Look at this.” He waved his arm, indicating the immediate surroundings. “I bet the lumber used on the barn came from the lumberyard in town. And no grocer sold the bread or sandwich fixings, right? The bread probably started with wheat grown in the fields nearby, the ham from pigs raised behind the barn. You’d definitely want pigs far from the house.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I’d wager the cheese was made by one of the ladies in her kitchen, using milk from a neighbor’s cow.” He raised the mug as if making a toast, careful not to waste even a drop of the flavorful cider. “If you had a kiln in town, you’d probably even make your own cups and plates.”

  Her eyebrows pinched together. “Is there something wrong with purchasing from local merchants?”

  Briley repeated something Len had told him. “You people are more than eager to sell your wares to visitors in your town, but when it comes to spending your dollars and making purchases, you keep it close at hand. Kind of a double standard, isn’t it?”

  Her gaze narrowed and she set her rosy lips in a firm line. He’d irked her. Maybe deliberately. But how else would he get underneath the cheery, helpful, all-is-well veneer to the truth of the person? He took another sip of his cider, waiting to hear what she’d say.

  Two men ambled over. The older of the two nodded toward the waiting mugs. “I would take some of that hot cider, please.”

  Without a word Alexa filled a mug and handed it to him. The second man lifted a pitcher and poured lemonade into his mug. Lemonade Man wandered toward the porch, where others were sitting along the edge with plates in their laps, but Cider Man turned his gaze on Briley.