Finding Grace: A Novel

by Sarah Pawley

  She smiled a little to herself and thought, Take that you big bully. But his reply came as a complete shock.

  “I shall not say that you are mistaken. Because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you, and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own.”

  Her eyes grew big. Even as a smug look came to his face…one that said he had bested her challenge…she was too stunned by what he’d said to pay attention to his look.

  “You know Pride and Prejudice?” she asked, enthralled for a tiny moment…until he replied with distaste.

  “I hate it. But it was my wife’s favorite book, and she used to read her favorite parts to me. Unfortunately, they’re branded in my brain.”

  She felt her spirits sink. She looked down, and as she closed the lid on the piano, she wished that his fingers were there so she could slam the lid down on them.

  “I prefer masculine reading,” he said, “Like Robert Louis Stevenson and Jack London. Call of the Wild was always one of my favorites. You should read it sometime, instead of all that romantic nonsense.”

  She sneered. “Why am I not surprised to hear that from you?”

  Eager to escape him, she rose to her feet and started to walk out. But before she got to the door, she heard him call out to her. When she turned to look, he was coming her way. His look was defiant and stubborn.

  “If you expect me to feel guilty about what happened, I won’t. And if you expect an apology, then you’re off your nut, sister.”

  He came to stand in front of her, blocking the door. When he leaned his hand on the doorframe, looking down at her, she felt herself growing tense. That overwhelming sensation came to her again as she stood so close to him. A flood of warmth flowed from his frame to hers, and for a moment she wondered if she might melt under the heat of his gaze.

  But she suddenly remembered the way he had looked last night…how he had talked to her. And it gave her fresh courage. Her eyes narrowed up at him.

  “You’re a jackass, Henry Shaw.”

  To her frustration, he only smirked.

  “Sticks and stones may break my bones,” he started to say. But she refused to hear anymore. With an angry shove she pushed past him, going off in search of Jack and Alice.

  * * * * *

  They went to lunch in town. She tried to enjoy the little diner they took her to, where she had her first hamburger and fries, and her first milkshake. But her mind kept wandering back to Henry. Oh, what a troublesome monster he was. Why couldn’t he just go away?

  As they were coming home, her mind was still on him. As they came up the front porch, Jack opened the screen door…and a little square parcel, wrapped in brown paper, fell out on the stoop. Picking it up, looking at it, he turned to Grace.

  “What’s this? Why does it have your name on it? You don’t know anyone around here.”

  Alice smiled. “Maybe it’s from a secret admirer.” Taking the package from his hand, she handed it to Grace.

  Jack’s eyes grew. “What? Who? Open it and let me see.”

  But Alice scolded him. “Leave her alone. It’s her mail, not yours. She’ll open it when she’s ready.”

  She guided him away towards the kitchen, while Grace went up the stairs, opening the package as she went. A moment later, she was holding a book in her hands.

  It was a copy of Jack London’s Call of the Wild.

  Chapter 9

  “Cat and Mouse”

  Henry was in bed, again unable to sleep. But now, it was not a nightmare that kept him up…but a busy mind.

  He was overcome with curiosity, wondering what had happened since she’d found the book. He’d given it to her just to tease her…to see if she could keep away from it.

  But had it worked? Had she given in to temptation?

  Suddenly he had a thought…a realization. Knowing what a little hard-head she was, she’d probably kept away from his gift just to spite him. It seemed like something she would do.

  Stubborn little brat, he thought.

  He rolled over, giving his pillow a hard thump of his hand, trying his best to get comfortable…trying to retrieve his common sense.

  To hell with the book, he said to himself. To hell with her. Who needs this aggravation?

  * * * * *

  Standing at the living room window, he casually sipped his cup of coffee…and stared at the house across the street.

  Two days had passed. Not once had he caught sight of her, even though he found himself looking for her more and more often. He’d tried not to do so…but found he couldn’t keep himself from it.

  “Henry, do you plan on sitting down to eat this morning? Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  He didn’t look at Victoria, who sat at the table behind him. Several times over the last few days, she’d questioned his occasional moments of distraction. But his replies gave her no real information. Most times he changed the subject, as he did now. He put his cup down on the table.

  “I’m going out to get the paper.”

  Stepping outside, he found his newspaper waiting on the step. He reached down to pick it up…and as he rose, his eye caught sight of the front door across the street. It was opening. A familiar little figure was emerging. But no sooner did she look at him, pausing in the doorway, than she stepped back again, slamming the door shut.

  He shook his head. Clearly, two days time had not eased her temper…

  Over a few more days, though he kept vigilant watch, he saw no sign of her. She never came out to work in the front yard, or to take a walk. He never saw her leaving for a trip into town. And he soon came to understand the reason.

  She’s in there hiding.

  So that was the contest she played at. How typical of a woman, to make a man give chase. To play cat and mouse, as it were. And he thought to himself…

  Well what am I, if not game?

  What would she do if went over and knocked on the door? He was very tempted to give it a try. But as he thought about it, he realized that he didn’t have a clever enough reason to go.

  What should I do? He asked himself. Ask to borrow a cup of sugar? Actually, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. It was a tired excuse, but that would be part of the fun of it. And he almost went through with his plan.

  But then he was overcome with a sense of self-loathing. He hadn’t been this silly over a woman before. Not even his wife. And he wondered what washer was missing in his brain to make him act this way. He shook his head, snorting at himself in disgust.

  Good God man, get a hold of yourself. Why are you mooning over a little country bumpkin? Look what you have here at home.

  But that argument didn’t hold much water, especially of late. Over the last several days, amidst his distraction, he’d rarely given Victoria a thought. His head was filled with thoughts of another, though he tried his best to push her from his mind. Several times he found himself looking at Victoria and thinking…

  I wonder what you’d do if you knew who I was thinking about? If you knew whose face I sometimes see when I look at you, you’d lose your pretty little mind.

  Just last night, after a bit too much drinking, they’d tumbled into bed and had a long, lusty night. Right afterwards he’d fallen asleep, feeling quite satisfied.

  But upon waking, he’d turned to look at his partner and found he was quite disappointed in what he saw. Turning away from her, he had stared out the window for a long time… impatient for the day to arrive.

  * * * * *

  He felt Victoria’s presence as she entered the dining room. He ignored her, concentrating on his newspaper. He knew she was standing just behind him, but still he paid her no mind. He hoped his indifference would make her throw a fit and leave the room. But it seemed she wasn’t bothered. She reached up to trace the trimmed hairline on the back of his neck. She was either trying to tempt him, or hoping for something else. Per
haps she wanted money, or a favor of some kind. Perhaps she was seeking information. Whatever her reasons were, he was indifferent to her touch. He sighed deeply, rather irritated, as he spoke to her.

  "Weren't you pleased last night?"

  There was an amused note to her voice.

  "I was more than pleased."

  He felt her fingers running through his hair. To that gesture of affection, he reached up to take by the hand, leading her to the chair next to him. Then he promptly went back to reading his paper.

  She pulled out her chair and sat down. He didn’t look directly at her, but he could see how she was trying to maintain a cool and collected aspect. As she ate her breakfast she made small talk, most of which he didn’t pay attention to. She sought information…that was her motive, he now realized. But he didn’t intend to give her much to go on. Whatever his thoughts or intentions, they were his own business. From the corner of his eye he saw how she lifted her coffee cup and, with a mask of innocence, peered over the rim as she sipped.

  "You've been restless these last few days. You're not getting sick, are you?"

  He shook his head. "I'm fine.” He continued to read his paper. Several long moments went by before she posed her next question.

  "I talked to Hal yesterday. He said the two of you had some kind of scuffle the other night. Some girl wandered backstage or something. Hal said you jumped on him like a dog after a bone. What was that all about?"

  None of your business, was his first thought. But for the sake of satisfying his own curiosity…to determine exactly what course she was pursuing…he chose to humor her.

  "He was being rude to a guest.” As he thought of Grace, he found himself getting angry all over again…and he couldn’t keep the displeasure from his voice. "She was just a kid who wandered where she didn't belong. She wasn't bothering anyone. And he started acting like a fool, so I called him on it. I won't have anyone treating my patrons with disrespect."

  He snapped the page of his paper…as if to tell her, without speaking, that her questions were beginning to irritate him. She knew he hated to be questioned. And yet, she kept on.

  "I take it she wasn't one of the regulars. She must not have been, if she was wandering around the place that way, looking it over and getting herself in trouble."

  For the first time that morning, he looked at her directly, his expression stern.

  "What’s this inquisition about the other night? Those kinds of things have happened before. They’ll happen again. It's all part of the business, Victoria. You know that."

  He kept his eyes locked on her until she looked away. From the way she sat back in her chair, he could see she would prod no further for information. Satisfied that he’d silenced her for the moment, he went back to reading his paper. There were several minutes of silence that passed before she began with her small talk again.

  "So, are we going to the lake to watch the fireworks tonight?"

  For the first time that morning, she had his attention. He’d completely forgotten that it was Independence Day. He recalled that today would be the annual block party. The neighbors would all be there. Each and everyone.

  Suddenly, the day became full of promise. But he was careful not to let Victoria see how he felt. He tried to maintain a careless expression.

  “I suppose we could go to the lake if you like. But before that, there’s the block party to go to. And we have to be sociable with the neighbors, whether we like it or not.”

  To that, Victoria wilted a little. He tried not to express his satisfaction. He knew that in order to keep up appearances, he would have to take her with him. But it was his hope that she would do what she usually did, which was to find a corner and sulk. She didn’t like his neighbors, who in turn didn’t think highly of a divorced woman living with her lover. Out of respect for him, they treated her politely. But her friends were artists, musicians, and actors who lived in the Pilsen neighborhood, and she wouldn’t find any of them at the party tonight. It was his hope that while he conversed with people, she would go off on her own. And then, he could talk to whomever he pleased. One person, in particular. To her sulky expression, he thought to add a little twist of guilt, just for good measure.

  "I’m doing you a favor by going to the lake. You can do me a favor by going to the party. It’s only fair, wouldn’t you say?”

  He looked at her, and after a moment he saw her frame slack in defeat.

  “Very well,” she replied. “I’ll humor you for tonight.”

  A smirk, very small, appeared on his face. His thought was childish…but gleeful.

  So, little mouse. The game has begun…

  * * * * *

  The book sat on the top of the dresser, just within Grace’s eyesight as she sewed. Since it had showed up on her doorstep six days ago, she’d kept it hidden in her dresser drawer to avoid temptation. She didn’t want anything to do with Henry Shaw or his gift, and for the most part, she’d done well in forgetting him.

  Except for the little matter of Henry, life with Jack and Alice was so peaceful, so content. Even the housework was more of a pleasure than a chore. It helped that Alice had her very own selection of machines to help her along. The first time Grace watched a washing machine, she saw the satisfaction that Alice took in it, and her declaration seemed to say that she hadn’t forgotten how things had once been.

  “To hell with washboards and bleeding fingers,” she said with a smile.

  Just as there had been at home, there was a back yard garden from which she and Alice gathered vegetables, but the patch was small and took no time at all to tend. Most of what they needed they bought when they went to market, which they did every other day or so.

  Of all the little luxuries they had, it seemed that time was what they most enjoyed. There was no need to slave from dusk til’ dawn, and in those wonderful spare moments, they all reveled in whatever idle activity came to mind. Jack seemed to take the most pleasure in his freedom. Seeing how he was, she had to wonder if he was making up for a childhood and youth spent in servitude. It wasn’t unusual, especially at night, to find him walking around the house with a glass of milk in one hand and cookies in the other. He had his own chair in the living room…a large leather wingback right beside the radio…that he claimed was fashioned just for him, and he got fussy if anyone else sat in it.

  “My hind end has made its mark in this seat,” he often said. “If you sit in it, you’ll mess up the dents.”

  She sometimes liked to sit in the chair just to tease him, but it was all in good fun. Life was happy, and it would have been perfect…if not for a certain person lurking just across the street.

  She knew he was probably watching from somewhere, just waiting for the chance to antagonize her. But she was determined not to let him. She’d gotten quite good at sneaking out of the house, while always watching for him.

  She and Alice went downtown a few times, getting lost in the huge department stores or going sightseeing. On one of their trips they’d found the material and patterns that she wanted for her dressmaking. The room where she now slept had been the sewing room, complete with a fine sewing machine, and she had kept herself busy with her work. But this morning as she’d been rifling through her dresser drawer, she’d come across the book that Henry had left.

  It was so tempting to put everything else aside and read it, as much as she loved a good story. But she’d told herself she wouldn’t, and with a determination to stick to her word, she had tossed it down on the dresser top.

  Now while she worked, she occasionally glanced over at the book that lay just within her reach, and more than once she was tempted to go over and pick it up.

  But she kept telling herself she didn’t want anything to do with the gift, even if it was a book…and books were like gold to her. She wanted nothing to do with Henry or anything concerning him, and she was determined to keep her vow.

  It was just after seven that Saturday morning. Jack was out playing golf with a friend, and she
was in her room, busy once again. There was a knock on the door. A moment later, Alice came in.

  “How’s it going in here?” She came to stand just behind her, looking over her shoulder.

  Grace put a spool of thread on the bobbin. “Pretty good I think. I finished this one last night.” She held up the dark violet dress she had completed. “I was working on it all day yesterday.”

  Alice smiled, brushing her fingers over the embroidery. “You sure have a way with a needle.” She looked around the room, and seeing the book on the dresser, she went to it up. Her smile became a cheeky grin as she looked at it. “You haven’t read it yet, have you?”

  Grace looked up for a moment. Then her eyes fell back to her sewing. “Nope. Not yet.” She tried to sound casual. But Alice was too clever to be fooled.

  “It’s because it’s from Henry. That’s why you won’t read it.”

  Grace’s head shot up. Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “How did you know it was from him?”

  Alice only shrugged. “It was just a guess. I figure you don’t know anyone else around here. And I know this is one of his favorite books, because he gave Jack a copy of it a long time ago. So now we know who the secret admirer is.”

  Grace stopped her sewing, setting the material down on the machine. She turned to look at Alice, who had taken a seat on the edge of the bed. Looking almost like a little girl, she dropped down on her stomach and leaned her head in her hand, a big smile on her face.

  “I saw him watching you the other night. He was standing under the stairs, and I’m sure he thought no one could see him. But I did.”

  For a long moment, Grace was stunned speechless. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she shook her head, quickly retrieving her material.