Finding Grace: A Novel

by Sarah Pawley

  “You’re blushing. Does sitting like this make you nervous?”

  She shrugged, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t figure nervous is the right word. Overwhelmed, maybe. But in a good way.”

  Reaching for slices of orange, he handed her one and nibbled on one for himself. “You’re imprinted, I suppose, with the idea that intimacy is evil. I’m sure your mother and father never sat together like this.”

  A tiny laugh escaped her. “Most likely not.” As she finished her bit of fruit, her face blushed again. He was about to ask why when she cleared her throat, rather nervously and spoke. “You know, one time I asked Mama what is was like to have a husband.”

  He raised a curious eyebrow. “I can only imagine her answer. What did she say?”

  “She quoted the bible, of course. She said, ‘A husband is the head of his wife as Christ is the head of his body, the church; he gave his life to be her Savior. As the church submits to Christ, so you wives must submit to your husbands in everything.”

  He had a livid memory of seeing the marks on her back. And now he was seeing that, because of her mother, her mind was nearly as scarred. Good God, where did it all end? He clenched his teeth in fury. There was an urge pulsing in his veins - the urge to destroy something, to spend his outrage and wish it was John and Rachel Langdon he was punishing. They deserved to burn in hell for the way they’d nearly ruined their daughter. He thanked God that by some miracle, they hadn’t fully succeeded in their task.

  His temper just under control, he nonetheless couldn’t hide the seriousness of his voice when he turned his eyes to her and spoke.

  “Some men may like that in a woman, but I don’t. I want a wife, not a pet. I don’t want to be married to someone who rolls over at my command…” Just as he was about to say more, she reached out her hand and placed it over his mouth. And she gave him a little grin.

  “Since when have you known me to be like that?”

  When she looked at him that way…smiled in that way, he found his anger melting away fast. And he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

  “I know you’re not like that. And I’m so thankful for it. But I know there has to be some little part of you, like a little voice in your head, that wonders if it’s wrong to enjoy marriage. And I mean in every way.”

  “What could be so wrong about loving someone?”

  Before he could respond, she put her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his, kissing him deeply. All other thoughts fled from his mind, and all he knew was the nearness of her…the feel, the scent. And especially her sweet taste. Briefly, she held him back to catch her breath. And she gave him a saucy little smirk.

  “I have to be honest. Thanks to my folks, sometimes there are those little voices in my head. I’m sure that once in a while, they’ll try to sway me from your wicked ways.”

  Chuckling, he trailed warm lips along her collarbone, and kissed the little hollow at the base of her throat. “And how will you answer them?”

  She let out a warm sigh. “I don’t know, because I’m just not listening right now…

  *****

  "I wonder if this is what Eden looked like."

  She sat with him on the soft sand. Leaning back against him, his arms around her, they watched the afternoon sun as it slowly descended into the sea. There were other visitors from the inn watching as well, but most of them were at a distance, away in their own little places. She didn’t notice anyone except her husband, the dazzling sunset, and the soft sound of the waves rolling in and out from the shore. To her words about their paradise, Henry didn’t say anything. But she felt his lips in her hair, and it made her smile. Words weren’t really necessary.

  As the sun dropped below the waterline, she let out a little sigh of contentment, and made to rise. It had been a long day in the sun and the water, and feeling happy but rather tired, she wanted to retire for the night. She reached for his hands, thinking he would rise and go with her. But he pulled her back down, and though she was getting sleepy eyed, she found his invitation impossible to resist. But to her surprise, instead of embracing her, he reached into his pocket and brought out a small velvet box. He placed it in her hand, and the moment she looked at it, she let out a sound of protest. She knew he wanted to spoil her…he’d said so several times in the last few days. But accepting gifts was something she just couldn’t get used to, no matter how he tried to change it. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he put a finger to her lips to quiet her.

  "It is a husband's right to give a gift now and then. And I think you will like this one very much. It's more symbolic than anything else."

  She sighed, knowing he would argue with her all night long if he wanted to, and she was simply too happy with him to fight. So she relented and opened the box. It turned out to be a silver compass, and her eyes sparkled with delight. Without him saying a word, she knew just what his gift implied. She said nothing, and just smiled at him, as she cradled the trinket lovingly in her hand. Then it was he who rose to his feet, and pulled her to hers.

  “The mainland is to the north," he said. "But let’s look in other directions." They faced the water, which still shimmered with the lingering red light of day. She lifted the compass and showed it to him. "Now we’re facing the west," he said. "Across the gulf is Mexico, if you want to take that direction. Personally, I found it much too hot.” Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so she looked down the stretch of the sandy shore. He reached out and lifted her hand, asking her what the direction read.

  “South,” she replied.

  “And somewhere out there is the Caribbean.” With a smile he turned her again, this time in the direction of the inn and the open evening sky behind it.

  "That’s the east,” she said, looking at her compass.

  He nodded. "To the east is the Atlantic, and if you go as the crow flies, you wind up in Africa.” She looked up to see him smiling at her, and she couldn‘t help but smile back when he asked, "So, Mrs. Shaw. Which direction would you choose if you could?"

  She sort of tilted her head to one side, thinking. A moment later she left his side, holding the compass and turning until she had found a direction she desired, and he came to stand close behind her, where he bent his head and placed a kiss on her shoulder. "So? What did you choose?"

  She lifted the compass to show him. "North, Northeast. I think you know just what lies in that direction."

  A little grin turned up the corner of his mouth. "I expected as much," he said. "Which is why, in three days, we will board a ship to New York. And after a day or two of visiting that most American of American cities, we will travel across the Atlantic to Europe, and you will finally get to see all those far-away places you've been dreaming of."

  She slipped the compass into her pocket. Then she slid her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. She sighed in contentment. “Sometimes I wonder if this is all my imagination.” She looked up at him, seeing his sly little smirk. It was a look she was coming to know very well, and to look forward to.

  “Let me assure you,” he said. “This is all very real.” As if to prove his words, he kissed her firmly and she responded in an instant, snaking her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she could. When he broke the kiss she whimpered in protest, but he just gave her another wicked smile and replied, “I don’t think you’re completely convinced. We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”

  She nodded, her head spinning slightly as he took her hand and they walked back to the inn.

  Chapter 26

  “Epilogue”

  After two days in New York, they traveled by luxury liner to England. Her sea-legs were not as steady as his, but she managed to enjoy the shipboard entertainment and the constant attention of her doting husband, despite her seasickness.

  They spent a whirlwind month in Europe, taking in the cities of old and loving every moment of it. Paris had been her favorite, as she had always known it would be. It was truly t
he city of romance, and she found that it was not only a romance of the heart, but of the mind and soul. It seemed the whole city was overflowing with great writers, poets, artists, and musicians, and she could not help but be inspired by the creative spirit and beauty. As she and Henry walked along the Champs-Elysees, she told him of the thought that been swirling in her mind since their arrival.

  "I think I will be a writer...I think Paris has inspired something in me that I have to express. A kind of creativity that needs to flow from my mind, and I think a pen and paper will be the only way to really express it."

  He smiled at her, giving her a knowing look. "I didn't think you would be content for long with just being married and settling down. Just keeping a home and family never did seem like something that would suit you. You're much too independent for that."

  "You're right. But I do want to keep a home and children. And I just love being married to you. But I want something else in life. Something that is my own...all my own. I think being a writer will give me that."

  She kept a journal of their travels, writing her thoughts and feelings about Europe and all of its wonders. All in all, it was filled with treasured memories. But one memory she chose to keep locked safely in her head. For the rest of her days it would remain there, to serve her time and time again…

  She often thought back to that first night in Paris. It had been a long and tedious journey, and they retired early, both exhausted. When they slept, it pleased her to rest with her back against his chest. His solid warmth made her feel safe and secure, and his arm around her was only an added pleasure, and that time was no different.

  Until, sometime late in the night, he began to shudder strangely in his sleep. His arm moved away from her as he rolled to his back. He murmured words she couldn’t understand at first, and for a moment she thought he was just talking the gibberish of dreams. She tried to brush off the nonsensical words. But when they became clear and frantic pleas for help, she realized he was having a severe nightmare. A war memory, she sensed, from the terrified way he cried out. In his state he flailed his arms about, and on her knees beside him she tried to shake him from his sleep.

  “Henry, wake up!” She reached out and gave his cheek a light slap, and he jumped so violently that she moved back slightly to give him a bit of space. He lay very still for several moments, though his chest rose and fell sharply, his eyes wide with fear. For a second or two she hesitated touching him. The sight of him was fearful. But the need to comfort him was overwhelming, and though her heart beat fast with fright, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly at the touch of her hand, but she didn’t withdraw it. And after a few passing moments, he seemed to calm under her touch. She looked down at him and spoke softly.

  “Are you all right?”

  Though he was calm in the physical sense, his breathing slower now, his eyes were still wild. To her question he gave no reply, and she didn’t press him for answers. Instead she slowly sank down beside him and put her head on his shoulder. They lay silently that way for some time, until in a swift gesture he rolled over and put his arms around her. Now it was her shoulder that cradled his head. She felt a trickle of moisture on her skin, and realized they were tears that fell from his eyes. Her heart broke, and she wanted so much to ask what shook him so. But something within her said he needed her to listen, and not to speak. It was a long time before he said anything, and when he did, he sounded to her like a frightened little boy.

  “I’ve tried so hard to forget it. But in the middle of the night it comes back to me, and it’s like I’m there all over again. It’s like the years since then have never really been. And I’m so afraid I won’t make it home.”

  She let him go on as he needed to. She just held him soothingly, stroking the curls of dark hair at his temples. When a good deal of time had passed, she heard him give a shuddering sigh. And he muttered sadly.

  "What you must think of me. A hopeless shell of a man, that's what you've married."

  Moving slightly, adjusting her position so they were nose to nose, she gently kissed his forehead, his eyes, his lips. She brushed her fingers through his hair, speaking softly to him.

  "So neither one of us is perfect...but maybe together, we can be something better."

  Even in the dark, she could see how he tried to smile, despite his sorrow. He whispered lovingly. "So the whole may be greater than the sum of our parts?"

  She didn't say a word. Taking his head in her hands, she kissed him softly. Then she gently brushed her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away his tears. In moments such as these, she realized that deeds were more powerful than words. The comfort of her arms, her body, was the very thing he needed to ease his pain.

  * * * * *

  In early October, when they left the continent, she was sad to depart from it. But she was also happy to be coming back to Jack and Alice…and to the home that was now hers as well as her husband's.

  Jack was there to meet them when they arrived at Union Station. Delighted as she was to see him again, she was a bit disappointed not to see Alice. Many times she’d smiled to herself, thinking of the day she and Henry had arrived in Key Largo, when she’d called Alice and told her what they were planning. She could still recall the delighted squeal over the other end of the line. And she’d imagined how they would dance around in girlish delight when they saw each other again. But Alice wasn’t there. And after she kissed her brother’s cheek, greeting him, and he and Henry shook hands with some polite words, her first question was about her sister-in-law.

  “Why didn’t Alice come with you?”

  Jack sighed, and the look on his face was that of a weary, frustrated man. “She’s home taking a nap. She’s having an awful time sleeping lately.”

  “Why? Is something wrong with the baby?”

  He shook his head. “The doctor says everything’s fine. But Alice is having back spasms that wake her up in the middle of the night. It’s gotten so bad that sometimes she has to sleep in the armchair.”

  As it turned out, the back trouble was the least of Alice’s concerns, as far as she said. When Grace came into the living room, where Alice was resting on the sofa, they exchanged great smiles and hugs. Then, Alice told the men to go away and leave them alone so they could talk. And when they were gone, she turned to Grace and beamed.

  “You little devil, running away and getting married like that. Did you have that planned all along?”

  Grace shook her head. “Not at all. I was just as shocked as you were. I still can’t believe all this is happening. I pinch myself every morning.” She reached out a hand, placing it on Alice’s. “Enough about my little life. I heard your back is giving you trouble.”

  “Yes, it hurts. But I’ll live. What’s really driving me crazy is your brother.”

  Now Grace smiled. “What’s he doing?”

  “What’s he doing? He’s won’t leave me alone. I’m surprised he even went out of the room with Henry. Do you know that he calls me two or three times a day from work? He won’t let me lift the smallest thing. And I can’t even make the slightest moan or groan without him asking me what’s wrong. He’s like a mother hen from hell.”

  Grace couldn’t help but be amused. She knew how much Jack wanted to be a father, and how much he adored his wife. The idea of something happening to either of them was probably what motivated his nervousness. And until the baby actually arrived, that wasn’t likely to change.

  * * * * *

  It was an odd thing, having her own house to run. But it was even harder getting used to the idea of having a housekeeper. It was the source of the first real argument in her marriage.

  “I don’t need nobody to cook and clean for me. I’ve been doing those things since I was five years old.”

  “But you’re not a poor little mouse anymore. You don’t need to slave away like your mother. I pay my housekeeper a salary, so let her earn it.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. Why shoul
d you pay some poor little old lady to work when I can do it?”

  “Because that’s how she earns her living. She’s a widow. She has no family to care for her, and she has no other source of income. What should I do, throw her out on the street?”

  She knew he had a point in that. And Mrs. White was a kind-hearted soul. The last thing Grace wanted was to cause trouble for an elderly lady. And so they all reached a compromise. Mrs. White would stay, but as a helpmate to the lady of the house. Henry wasn’t at all thrilled with the idea, but Grace would not budge. If she was forced to have a housekeeper, she insisted on sharing in the work. And for the first time in her life, housework was a choice, not a burden. She was proud of keeping a tidy home, and looked forward to entertaining visitors, though she knew Henry balked at the idea of guests invading his privacy.

  “I don’t like people traipsing in all the time. I’d rather it be just the two of us.”

  Jack liked to slyly remark that Henry never liked having company because he wanted his wife all to himself.

  “No argument there,” Henry would reply. Then he would look at his wife and give her a wink, which always made her smile but roll her eyes at the same time.

  Of course, Jack and Alice were their most frequent guests, just as they were theirs in return. While Henry was gone working, Grace spent much of her time helping Alice around the house. By December, she’d grown so large with the baby that she had to accept any help she could get, for it was difficult to manage some of the smallest tasks. Just getting up from the sofa was a chore, but Grace was there to lend a hand whenever she could. And when she left, Jack gladly took over, and was happier still to have his help accepted, if grudgingly so.