Finding Grace: A Novel

by Sarah Pawley

  "Is there something I can get you?" he asked.

  She smiled shyly, unsure of what to do. She'd never been in a place like this by herself. "I don't know," she said. "I've never been here before. What would you have?"

  "Try the banana split," said a familiar voice. "It's a classic."

  She turned her head, and saw Henry sitting a few stools down. He must have come in while she was on the phone. He didn't look her way. He didn't get up and come to sit beside her. He just sat where he was, sipping a bottle of something. She looked at the soda jerk and nodded, and she waited as he went to prepare her dessert. She sat for several moments, wondering if Henry would come to her side, as he had before. She wondered if he would speak to her, as he had before. But he did nothing. So after several quiet moments alone, something within her drew her out of her seat. She knew in the back of her mind that she should not do it, but she found herself making her way down toward him, and the next thing she knew, she was standing beside him. Part of her wanted to flee, as she had before. But something made her stay. I’m not a scared little bird, she told herself. It’s time he learned just how brave I can be. And as if to prove it to him, and herself, she took a bold stance and posed a question.

  "Do you mind if I sit here?"

  She couldn’t believe she’d just invited herself to a place at his side. She’d imagined them forming a bond, but now it seemed she was telling him what she’d only had as a thought a few minutes ago. And she wondered, Gracie Langdon, what are you getting yourself into now?

  Chapter 13

  “Confessions”

  He watched as she came his way, and his mouth cracked in a tiny smile. It wasn’t so much that she was walking towards him, but it was the way she was doing it. He could read the tension in her face. And yet her chin was lifted…her shoulders were set, as if someone had dared her to approach him and she’d accepted, just to prove herself. When she came to stand beside him, asking to sit down, he couldn’t help but tease her.

  “Go ahead and sit. I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”

  Immediately there was a disgusted curl of her lip. She started to turn away, but he reached out and stayed her arm.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, I was only teasing.”

  As she cautiously sat down again, he rolled his eyes, letting out a breath. “Touchy, touchy. You good girls are all the same.”

  “So are all you flea-bitten hounds.”

  His little smile broke into a full grin…one he couldn’t hide. And he wondered...

  If I push her buttons just a tiny bit more, what will she do or say?

  With amusement he asked, “How so?”

  Her eyes flashed boldly. “If no one puts a good strong chain on you, you’ll run around and chase every cat in the neighborhood.”

  And to that, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Touché,” he replied.

  From the look on her expression, he could see she was very satisfied with herself, and he let her have her little victory. If it meant she would stay there beside him, it was worth the little jab at his pride.

  As she sat down, her dessert arrived. But before she could reach into her purse for a coin, he took one from his own pocket and put it down. He felt a sudden need to be generous, hoping it might soften any further resentment she felt. He was rewarded when she smiled slightly and nodded in thanks.

  "So,” he asked, wondering if they could manage a conversation without something going wrong. “What are you doing in here by yourself?"

  "Running away from home," she replied

  He smiled slightly. "I take it your brother wasn't too happy with the little show that Victoria put on."

  "That's putting it mildly. I just wanted some time to myself, you know what I mean?"

  He nodded. "That's why I'm here. Victoria is moving out of the house, even as we speak. So I'd rather be here than there. I think she'd like it that way too."

  He watched as she slowly took little bites of her ice cream. She seemed like such a nervous creature at times, even in the way she ate. It was almost like she was afraid to relax, afraid to take a few moments and enjoy herself. Even with their topic of conversation, she seemed wary and self-conscience, as if the blame of the whole situation was supposed to fall on her shoulder.

  "I'm sorry to hear that she left. I feel like it's all my fault."

  Instantly he found himself trying to shield her, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need.

  "Don't be ridiculous. It's her petty jealousy that brought it all about, but maybe it's for the best. I think we were doomed from the start. That's what happens when you get together with someone for all the wrong reasons."

  She looked at him, concerned. "But what about your show? Will you be able to find someone to take her place?"

  He waved a hand at her question. "I'll find someone sooner or later. It won’t be easy, that's for sure. Victoria could sing and dance and look like a million bucks doing it. But she's gone now, so I'll just move on and find someone else. What else can I do about it?" He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink.

  "So what made you come here?" she asked.

  He shrugged, letting out a breath. "A man can’t drown his sorrows the way he used to. Not with the damned laws the way they are. Oh, I could go out and find a drink if I really wanted to. There are plenty of hooch mills in this town. But sometimes it’s nice to pull back a little and enjoy the simpler things. Like a nice bottle of root beer.”

  She smiled a little, much to his surprise and delight. And he raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

  “What’s that smirk for?”

  “I was just thinking about home,” she replied. “If you gave a man anything but a jar of moonshine, you’d be laughed right out of town.”

  He smirked. “Moonshine? What would an innocent little thing like you know about that?”

  Now she sat up slightly, looking at him, adjusting herself as though she were about to teach him a school lesson. She leaned an elbow on the bar, resting her head in her hand…and he found himself admiring how lovely she looked when she relaxed. It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying, but he did his best to listen.

  “Well, down in the mines it’s kind of like hell. And when a man gets out alive at the end of the day, I suppose the whiskey is a way to relax. But it’s good for other things too. Like when I was a kid, Mama used to mix a little bit of shine with water and honey when we were sick. It don’t really cure anything, but it’s good to make you sleep.”

  She paused a moment, her smile fading away. She sat up straight, shifting her eyes away from him.

  “Of course, there are folks who drink too much. Mama always said that drinking whiskey was like putting a thief in your mouth to steal your brain. And when Daddy used to go out and drink, she used to pray and pray because she thought for sure he wouldn’t make it home.”

  What had started as a light conversation suddenly became covered in shadow. His own light manner became a bit less as he listened and remarked. “I take it it’s not all sunshine and roses at home?”

  She shook her head, and he felt the need to pose a question he’d long wanted to ask.

  “You know, I’ve been wondering something about you.”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes full of curiosity.

  “Why didn’t you run away like your brother did? Surely the thought crossed your mind a time or two.”

  “I did run once,” she replied. “When I was twelve I tried to, but it didn’t work.”

  His eyebrow raised in curiosity. “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “Jack sent me a ticket so I could come and stay with him. But I only got to the depot before I got caught, and Daddy came and got me. I remember it clear as day that on the way home, we came across this bridge that I was always scared to death of. It has big gaps in it and you can see clear down to the bottom of the river. And I remember that Daddy made me get out of the wagon and walk all the way across the bridge.”

  He didn’t kno
w what to say, except to think to himself...

  What an evil old bastard.

  He was suddenly angry on her behalf, thinking of how scared she must have been. But he’d admired her spirit before, and now he thought her to be one of the bravest young women he’d ever met, and he wanted to tell her so.

  “You managed it, didn’t you?” he said. “You walked right across, and I bet you didn’t blink once.”

  He hoped to see her smile, wanted to remind her of how proud she should have been of herself. But there was no smile, and he felt a chill as he watched her expression grow darker than he’d ever seen it. Somehow he knew that in this story, there had not been the happy ending that he’s hoped for.

  “When I got home he blistered my legs with a switch off a birch tree. Then he locked me in the closet and I stayed there all night.”

  He had to swallow a sudden lump that rose in his throat. Good God. Looking at her, she seemed to change before his very eyes. She wasn’t so childish to him now. She looked more like a woman, and he found that in her, he could now see something of himself. She had deep wounds that were bound only by the barest of threads. Those wounds were fragile...so easily capable of being torn open. The realization struck him deeply, and suddenly he wasn’t just angry. He was livid.

  How could anyone raise a cruel hand to her? Of course, he knew that she had sharp claws, which he found wickedly delightful. But she only brought out those claws in self-defense. She meant no real harm to anyone. And her defenses were no match for anyone who really wanted to hurt her. He had a sudden impulse to put his arms around her, to comfort her. He had a sad feeling that she’d never been held and soothed. She needed someone to care for her, to defend her from the cruel world. And he realized how much he wanted to be that person.

  He was suddenly struggling with his own conscience.

  How long has it been since I cared about anyone but myself? Am I just going soft? Or am I too stupid to remember how a woman can manipulate a man?

  He didn’t know what to be sure of. He only knew that when he looked at her, his heart swelled with something tender and profound. For a moment he met her steel-blue eyes and saw a look of pure vulnerability. But in a flash it was gone, replaced by that stubborn and willful look he was coming to know so well.

  “I think I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But I don’t need your pity.” She turned her eyes from him, taking a last little bite of her ice cream. When she’d swallowed it, she cleared her throat, and a thoughtful look came across her face. “You know, there’s a passage from my favorite book. I’m pretty sure I’m not saying it right but...”

  She sat up a little straighter, her eyes slightly pinched in concentration, which he thought was quite amusing and lovely. But he didn’t interrupt her as she recited the passage as best she could.

  "Pity is a noxious and insulting sort of tribute, which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of those who offer it. It is the sort of pity native to callous, selfish hearts. It is a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes, crossed with ignorant contempt for those who have endured them.”

  An impressed smile came to his face at her words. “Very well said,” he declared. “And it’s pretty impressive that you can remember all of that.”

  She only shrugged, saying nothing. He could have sworn she was blushing, but he kept the thought to himself, not wanting to embarrass her. And as he thought of her speech, he realized how well that passage reflected some of his own thoughts.

  “I wish I’d had that written down when I came home from Europe.”

  He took a sip of his drink, sighing as he remembered the strange homecoming from the war. In all these years he’d hardly spoken of it at all. But in Grace, he sensed an understanding of pain and isolation, and he found himself speaking of things he’d long had buried inside.

  “When I came back from France, it was like landing on another planet. I had all these people shaking my hand, patting me on the back, telling me what a great big hero I was and all that. But then, there were times when people said some of the stupidest things to me.”

  Hesitant, she asked. “Like what?”

  He shook his head. “I actually had people say, ‘It must have been tough.’ Christ sakes, what an ignorant ass thing to say. And then they would come back with something like, ‘Good to have you home. Now you can get back to your life.’ He pursed his lips in disgust. “As if they had the foggiest notion of anything. They had no idea what kind of hell was in my head.”

  He knew she was watching him. He could feel her eyes. But the floodgate of memories had been opened, and he couldn’t close it, even under a pair of watchful and innocent eyes.

  “The military was so engrained in my brain. I just couldn't adjust. I had this kind of numbness inside that just wouldn't go away. It took years for it to wear off. But by then, Mary was long gone." He sighed, putting his drink down on the bar. "Casualties of war, I suppose.” As he spoke, a sudden fog came over him. He didn’t feel the world around him, or see the woman sitting next to him. He could hear distant voices, ones that cried out in terror and pain. The noise of battle echoed in his ears. And the smell of blood and waste filled his nostrils. And yet while his mind wandered on the bloody fields of France, his body remained in the present and his voice continued to speak.

  "Some people know nothing of hell. They’ve never seen the blood and gore of other men mixed with the mud on your boots. They’ve never seen a land that’s hacked to pieces by artillery and cannon fire. You sit in that trench, with your fingers and toes bitten to death by the freezing rain, and the stench of rot and death all around you, wondering if every moment will be your last. You live every day in the bowels of hell. Then, they suddenly snatch you up and away, and throw you in with 'civil society', and they expect you to go back to a happy life with a happy little job and a happy little home. And that’s nothing but complete and total horse shit."

  Something snatched him from his memory, and suddenly he blinked as if realizing where he was again. He glanced at her, seeing the way her eyes were wide with amazement and something close to fear. He wanted to apologize for his sudden loss of control, but at the moment he was still gathering himself together. He took a deep breath as he muttered a few more bitter words. "War does not determine who is right. Only who is left."

  He took another deep, cleansing breath and felt his self-control being reigned in, enough so that he could relax and look at her without knowing how harsh his expression could be. When he glanced at her, those eyes were searching his face. He’d never seen such a tender and concerned expression on her face before, and it made his heart swell a little. But he didn’t speak of it. He simply smiled, and was happy when she returned the gesture. There was something so warm and lovely when she let that pretty little mouth turn up, even in the smallest way. He turned and retrieved his hat from the stool beside him, putting it on his head as he stood.

  “Let me give you a ride home.”

  In a flash the softness was gone from her face. It was replaced once again by that cool and defensive air, and she said quite firmly, “No thank you. I’ll just walk.”

  “Don’t be silly. I live across the street from you. Let me be neighborly.”

  She shook her head, and it occurred to him that despite the close little hour they’d just spent together, her guard against him had not come down at all. Perhaps the memory of that night at the pier was just too fresh. Perhaps they hadn’t lingered long enough. If he had talked with her a little longer, would it have softened her at all? He had no way of knowing, and now it seemed too late to go back. He sighed, frustrated, a little at himself and a little at her for having no faith in him. But then again, he didn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he would be suspicious too. And that was strangely troubling, which he didn’t hide from her.

  “Despite what you think, I do have a few decent bones in my body. I swear on oath that you’ll get home with your reputation unharmed.”

  He turned and walk
ed to the door, not looking back at her but hoping she would follow. He paused at the door and turned, waiting and watching. And much to his pleasure, a moment later she came towards him. He opened the door to let her precede him. As she passed by, he brushed the small of her back with his hand, guiding her. He had done it so many times before that it was simply a habit. But he’d never felt the reaction she had…a nervous kind of jolt as if she’d been electrocuted. He realized that whether or not she cared to admit it, she was still afraid of him. And while it bothered him now more than it ever had before, it made him quite determined to change the way she thought of him. He was a much better man than she gave him credit for, and he had her at just the right place, at just the right time, to prove it to her.

  Holding open the car door for her, he winced slightly at how she hesitated. But when she got in, he smirked slightly and closed the door after her.

  Now you can’t get away so easily.

  He went around to his side and got in, noticing the way she nervously pulled at her dress collar. But he didn’t make mention of it as he started the car and drove away.

  As they drove along, he kept his eyes on the road for the most part. But he saw from the corner of his eye how she pressed herself against the door...the way she kept subtly pulling at the hem of her dress.

  Silly girl, he thought. Do you really think I’m so low that I’d force myself on you? Of course if I wanted to, I could have you without a fight. You have no idea how persuasive I can be.

  But there was a deeper need he wanted to fill, and it went beyond temptation and lust. She triggered something profound inside of him, a feeling of caring and empathy he’d thought to be long dead. But she brought it to life, and he wondered what magic she possessed to make him feel this way. Whatever witchcraft it was, it was quite powerful. He was starting to feel a certain possessiveness when he thought of her. He wasn’t much of a believer when it came to fate or destiny, but something told him she’d been sent to him for a reason. He had a faith in that reason. She needed someone to defend her…and that was just what he intended to do.