Steven grinned. “I won’t argue. I might even ask Mr. Aldrich to delay finishing the kitchen just so I can keep coming over here. You always fix something good, Alexa.”
A pang of jealousy stabbed through Anna—Grace. She caught Steven’s hand. “As soon as your kitchen is done, I’ll come over and cook for you. No sense in troubling Alexa.”
Alexa bounced up and began collecting their empty bowls. “It’s really no trouble. I have to cook for Bri—for Mr. Forrester, Grandmother, and me anyway. What’s another two people around the table? But I understand if you’d like to cook for Steven, Anna—Grace, so the house will begin to feel like your home.”
Steven stepped away from the table. “You decide what you want to do. For now, I’m leaving you here to visit with your aunt and get better acquainted with your cousin.” He waved, his gaze bouncing across Alexa and Aunt Abigail before returning to Anna—Grace. A soft smile that seemed to hold a hint of sadness curved his lips. “I’ll come see you this evening?”
Anna—Grace turned to her great-aunt. “Is that all right with you, Aunt Abigail?”
“Fine as spiderwebbing.”
Steven laughed. “All right then. After supper, Anna—Grace …”
She waited until the front door closed behind him before rising and reaching for the scattered silverware. “Let me help you, Alexa.”
“No need. It’s my job.”
“But I don’t mind helping.”
“You’re a guest, Anna—Grace.”
Anna—Grace scooped up the spoons and held them tight in her fist. “Please? I’d rather be treated like a member of the family than like a guest.” Her heart caught at her statement. She wanted to be a family member both in name and blood. Maybe if she focused on her adoptive family, she’d think less about the unknown blood relations who lived somewhere outside of these farmhouse walls.
Aunt Abigail chuckled. “Well, it appears both of you are in possession of the Zimmerman stubbornness. I’ll let you two battle it out.” She wheeled her chair into the living room.
Anna—Grace looked at Alexa.
Alexa looked back. Finally she heaved a sigh. “All right. If you want to help, I won’t argue.”
Anna—Grace smiled. “Good.” She placed the spoons in one of the glasses and followed Alexa into the kitchen. “While we’re cleaning up, we can do what Steven said—get better acquainted.”
Alexa’s long denim skirt and royal-blue sweater told Anna—Grace the girl hadn’t joined the Old Order church. Which meant she was free to pursue relationships with men outside of the Mennonite faith. The way she and Briley Forrester had joked with each other made Anna—Grace wonder if a romance might be blooming between the two. As soon as she felt comfortable with this cousin, she would ask.
Steven
Steven entered the house through the back door, and an intense chemical smell nearly sent him running for cover. Ick! Pinching his nose, he made himself move through the small mudroom and into the kitchen. Sawhorses filled the middle of the floor, with cabinet doors laid flat on the wooden frames. Paul Aldrich stood amid the sea of doors, a can balanced on one hand and a small brush in the other.
He looked over when Steven entered and broke into a wide smile. “Hey. You’re back.”
How could he look so happy when the odor was strong enough to send an elephant to its knees? “Uh-huh.” His voice came out nasally. He released his nose, then grimaced. “Is it okay if I open the window?” If he didn’t clear some of the smell, he wouldn’t be able to work in here today. Already a headache began to form in the center of his forehead.
“I opened one in the front room.”
A cross breeze would take more of the smell out. “What about this one?” Steven pointed to the square window above the sink.
“That window looks north.” Mr. Aldrich slid the brush along a cabinet door from top to bottom in one smooth sweep. “The way the wind’s blowing, it’ll bring dust into the house. Don’t want anything to mar the surface of these doors.”
Steven put his hand over his mouth and nose and moved closer. He didn’t like the smell in the room, but he had to admit the doors looked great. Mr. Aldrich had suggested a honey-oak stain, not too dark but not too light. Steven had little experience in choosing stains, so he’d told the carpenter to use his own discretion. The cabinets were only inexpensive pine, unfinished, ready-mades, but thanks to the carpenter’s careful sanding and added embellishments, they looked better than Steven would have imagined.
He watched the older man draw another line of varnish, the path as smooth and shiny as ice on a pond. “You were right. That stain is perfect.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Aldrich went on working as he spoke. “I mix it myself. When you’re working with pine, it can be a little tricky not to go too dark. It’s a softer wood, so it absorbs faster than oak. But if you get the color right, it can look just as pretty as oak or cherry for a lot less expense.” He paused and shot a scowl in Steven’s direction. “What are you planning to do today?”
Steven backed away several feet. The stink followed. “Finish sanding the walls in the second bedroom. The Spackle ought to be dry enough since it sat all weekend. Now that Anna—Grace is here, she can pick out paint colors. I hope to start painting tomorrow.”
Mr. Aldrich’s hand paused for a moment, and his forehead pinched into sharp lines. Not lines of thought, but the way a person grimaced from pain. “She’s staying at the B and B, is that right?”
Steven nodded. “Yes.”
The man lifted his face toward the east—the direction of the Zimmerman farmhouse—as if searching for something. Then he turned with a jerk of his neck to the cabinet door and dipped his brush. “Could I talk you into holding off?” His hand trembled slightly, and the line of wet varnish formed a squiggle.
“Why?”
“No matter how hard you try to block it, the fine dust from the Spackle finds its way out of the room. These cabinet doors need to be completely dry before you do any sanding.”
Steven stifled a huff of displeasure. The sooner he got the place finished, the sooner it could go on the market. If Anna—Grace agreed. Let her agree … “How long?”
“I’d give it a good twenty-four hours at least.”
So tomorrow afternoon … “Is there anything I can work on in here today then?”
Mr. Aldrich paused, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “You really need to finish the sanding and get all the dust cleaned out of the house before you start painting or putting the tile in the bathroom or just about anything else. That dust wreaks havoc on nearly every project.”
“I guess I’ll work outside today then.” With Briley’s help, he’d cleared the overgrown brush from around the foundations of the house and barn and cut down several sapling trees that had sprung up in odd places around the yard, but the garden area still needed clearing. Weeds had overgrown the spot. Working outside would take him away from the pungent stink that was making his head throb. He inched toward the mudroom, careful not to bump any of the wet cabinet doors.
When he reached the mudroom doorway, Mr. Aldrich spoke. “Will Anna—Grace only choose the colors, or will she help you paint the rooms?”
They hadn’t discussed her involvement beyond selecting shades for the walls, but if he knew Anna—Grace—and he knew her pretty well—she’d want to wield a brush. “She’ll be helping.”
The man nodded slowly. “Okay. Remember, don’t plan on painting until you’ve got all the dust cleared out. That’ll take a couple of days for sure—it tends to settle over time, so you’ll need to clean, leave, then clean again.” He paused, swallowed, then went on almost as if he’d forgotten Steven was listening. “So Thursday. She’ll be here working on Thursday.” His hand visibly quivered as he dipped the brush into the can.
Had inhaling the varnish fumes made him wobbly? “Are you all right?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” Mr. Aldrich coughed out a short laugh. “Just thinking about what I’ll be d
oing in here on Thursday. Probably putting in the tile backsplash.” He frowned. “Are you planning to stay in Arborville on the weekends, or will you go back to Sommerfeld?”
“I only went back this past weekend to get Anna—Grace. We both plan to stay here now until the house is finished.”
“So you’ll work … on Saturday?”
He wanted this project done. “Probably.”
“And Anna—Grace, too?”
“I’d say yes.”
Another frown. “Do you mind if I bring my son along with me on Saturday? Would he be … underfoot?”
The boy had joined his dad on previous Saturdays. Steven liked Danny—a polite boy who asked lots of questions and then listened intently to the answers. He’d enjoyed chatting with the youngster. “It’s fine with me.”
“And it wouldn’t bother Anna—Grace to have him here?” He drew the question out, as if it were difficult to form the words.
Steven shrugged, puzzled by the man’s odd behavior. “Why would it?”
“Just making sure.” Now Mr. Aldrich spoke briskly. He turned his attention to the cabinet door and scraped the brush on the edge of the can. “I’d better get busy on these things. I want to varnish the cabinets for the bathroom, too, before I leave today, even though it’ll be a while before we can put them into place in there.”
Steven took that as a hint to get out of the way. He left the house and headed for the barn, where he stored his tools. He lifted the rake from its hook and propped it on his shoulder, but then he stood still and replayed Paul Aldrich’s reaction to the news that Anna—Grace would work at the house. He hadn’t seemed pleased. And he acted hesitant to have his son around her.
Steven frowned, remembering Alexa Zimmerman’s less-than-enthusiastic welcome that morning even though Mrs. Zimmerman appeared happy to have Anna—Grace with them. How would others in the community respond to her presence? Would they accept her as readily as they’d accepted him, or would they hold themselves aloof?
He set off for the garden, his thoughts seesawing with each clomp of his foot against the hard ground. Accept her, reject her, accept her, reject her … As his left boot reached the edge of the garden plot, his mind reverberated with reject her. An unexpected twinge of protectiveness pinched his chest. Rejection would hurt her, and he didn’t want her hurt. Yet if people shied away from her, she’d be more likely to want to live elsewhere, more likely to approve his desire to do something other than farm for a living.
He hung his head. I know I’m cowardly, Lord, not telling my parents I don’t want to be a farmer, but how can I tell them without disappointing them? It’s got to be Anna—Grace who decides she can’t live here. Dad and Mom will understand if it’s too hard for her. He lifted the rake high and then drove the forked tines into the tangle of weeds. He gave a mighty yank, tearing the weeds from the soil. He shook the dried stems loose, then aimed another blow. His jaw clamped tight, his muscles straining, he finished his prayer. But don’t let her be hurt too badly, please? It isn’t fair that no matter what I do, somebody I love has to suffer.
Alexa
How frustrating to have Anna—Grace traipsing around in the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and putting things away as if she owned the place. The prickle of resentment took Alexa by surprise. She’d anticipated feeling awkward around the girl who’d grown in her mother’s womb, but she hadn’t expected to battle anger. But that’s exactly what burned in her chest—anger. She bit down on the end of her tongue to prevent telling Anna—Grace to get out of her kitchen, out of her house, out of her family’s affection.
Dear Lord, help me …
Anna—Grace clicked the silverware drawer closed and turned a smile on Alexa. “All done.” She glanced around. “With all the people in here for Aunt Abigail’s party, I didn’t get a chance to really see the kitchen. It’s so different from the way I remember it as a little girl when my family visited. Did the carpenter working on Steven’s house do this kitchen, too?”
Alexa swallowed against the knot in her throat. She feigned great interest in hanging the tea towel just so over its bar. “Mm-hm. It was a big mess for a long time. He pulled everything out, lowered the height of the counters so Grandmother could reach them from her wheelchair, and reconfigured the design. Even though it was all planned with Grandmother’s needs in mind, it works well for me, too, in cooking for guests. I’m very happy with it.”
“I can see why.” Anna—Grace wandered to the baking center and slid her fingers along the butcher-block top. “I really like this area. I wonder if the kitchen in Steven’s house will have something like this.”
She knew it was spiteful, and guilt descended with the thought, but Alexa hoped the kitchen at the Meiers farm was nothing like the one Paul Aldrich had constructed here. She turned and leaned against the counter. “I usually take Grandmother in to do our grocery shopping on Monday afternoon.” Saturdays were hectic in Arborville with out-of-towners, local farmers, and townsfolk descending on the shops. Grandmother’s wheelchair and the busy aisles weren’t a good combination, so they preferred the quieter weekday. “Would you like to stay here and rest after your drive?” She knew she should offer the option of coming to town, too, but she needed a little distance. Some time alone with Grandmother. A touch of normalcy to face the uncomfortable changes to which she’d opened the door but now found difficult to accept.
Anna—Grace smiled brightly. “Actually, I’d like to see the town. Steven drove straight out here, so I didn’t get more than a passing glance.”
Alexa’s lips twitched with the effort not to laugh. “I think you’ll discover you don’t need much more than a passing glance when it comes to Arborville. There’s not a lot to the town.”
“Oh, I know it’s very small. Before my great-grandparents died, we came to Arborville every year for Christmas and again each summer for a short visit. I was pretty young when we stopped making the yearly trips, though, so my memories are fuzzy.”
“Probably because there isn’t much to remember.” Alexa hadn’t intended to be snide, but her tone emerged on a sarcastic note. Anna—Grace’s smile faded. Her hurt reaction stung Alexa. She found herself adding, much more kindly, “We’re just going to the grocery store, but you’re welcome to come along, if you’d like.”
Her smile returned. “I would. I’ll go get a sweater.” She darted off.
Alexa rolled her eyes and clunked her forehead with the heel of her hand. Why had she agreed? Hadn’t she decided she needed a little separation? But she couldn’t deny some of her guilt had dissolved when she’d asked Anna—Grace to join her and Grandmother.
Grandmother set her handwork aside when Alexa came into the front room. “Have you finished in the kitchen?”
“It’s all spick-and-span.” Alexa forced a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Are you ready for your Monday afternoon excursion?”
“I sure am. Anna—Grace went upstairs to wash her face and recomb her hair. She said she felt mussed.” Grandmother chuckled. “I think she wants to present herself well to whoever we encounter today.”
Alexa glanced down the length of her sweater and skirt. She’d worn an apron in the kitchen, but a tiny dot of gravy decorated her skirt, and her sweater showed a slight smudge of flour from the biscuits. She brushed at the flour. “Maybe I should change.”
Grandmother waved her hand. “Oh, you’re fine, Alexa.” She wheeled her chair to the piano, where her purse waited on the keyboard cover. “It’ll be a treat for me, having two girls along today. After today Anna—Grace will probably spend her days at the Meiers farm, or I guess I need to start calling it the Braun farm. So I intend to make the most of this outing.”
She peeked inside her purse. “I’ve got enough cash for us to have a treat at the quilt shop’s soda counter. I’d also like to take Anna—Grace on a little tour of the town, point out the house where my sister and I lived when we were girls and the school where her pare—” She stopped, shook her head hard, and started again. “
Where the local children attend class. Just to help her become familiar with everything.”
No one had offered Alexa such a tour when she came to town. Jealousy poked her, and she shrugged its persistent prickle away. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
“She has a history here. Even though she isn’t aware of her full connection, I want her to see the town.” Tears winked in Grandmother’s pale-blue eyes. “I want to be the one to show it to her.”
The patter of footsteps on the staircase alerted them to Anna—Grace’s return. Grandmother brushed her fingertips across her eyes and put on a smile.
Anna—Grace breezed around the corner, her hair neatly swept under her cap and a light-blue sweater over her dress. “I’m ready!”
“Give me a push to the car, Anna—Grace.”
Alexa held back a disgruntled huff. She always pushed Grandmother’s chair to the car.
With a little giggle Anna—Grace darted behind the chair and took hold of the handles. “Here we go.” She rolled Grandmother through the little vestibule and, after a little juggling to prop the door open, onto the porch.
Alexa followed the pair. She yanked her jacket from its hook and jammed her arms into the sleeves, punching her fist through the openings. Then she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and tromped down the steps while Anna—Grace and Grandmother made use of the ramp. She hurried across the yard to the car with Grandmother’s comment—“She has a history here”—tormenting her.
She might be the one to call Abigail Zimmerman “Grandmother,” but Anna—Grace was already being claimed as the grandchild. More than ever Alexa recognized that her history was rooted somewhere else.
Briley
From his perch on the hardware store’s windowsill, Briley observed Anna—Grace Braun pushing Mrs. Zimmerman up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Alexa trailed behind. The older woman and her great-niece appeared to laugh and talk, but Alexa’s lips remained in a sullen line—unusual for the girl. He’d seen her be serious but rarely sullen. His reporter instincts kicked up a notch.
When Grace Sings Page 21
