Grace.
“Please, God,” he whispered and took her motionless and blood-spattered head onto his lap. The sob heaved out of his chest. “Please.”
She moved, clutching his knee and turning her head to retch. He soothed her temple, which now bore only the red skin of a healed-over wound—his wound—and stroked her hair. Her shoulders shook and she took great, heaving breaths.
“Grace Runyon.” Jeremiah Edwards spoke from above them, raising his arms. “You have faithfully and sacrificially, whole-heartedly and selflessly, used the gift you have been given. The saints stand as witness and agree with this.”
“Amen!” the congregation replied.
Jeremiah dismissed them. “Go, filled with peace and the grace of God.”
Chapter Thirty
Ted Marshall stood without aid and in peaceful reverence on the grave of Moira Eames, Grace’s grandmother. He squinted in the chill November sunshine and huddled into his coat and repeated “No greater love…” He hung the willow cane over the stone and folded his hands in front of him.
Something bright flickered nearby. He watched her walk across the churchyard toward him, smiling in a way that sent a surge of heat throughout his body. Eddy wandered along a nearby row, followed by Randy.
It was nearly Thanksgiving and he had a lot to be thankful for.
“I thought I might find you here.” Grace tucked her hand with his inside his coat pocket and burrowed against his side. He pulled her against his heart and rested his chin on the top of her head. It felt so good to be strong again, to feel his feet and to take a deep breath without pain. To walk without help. To swing Eddy high and hear him giggle.
“Oh, you think? Well, I was paying my respects,” he said.
Her nose was cold. He felt it through his shirt. There was a question he had to ask before he could leave this place. “It wasn’t just for me, was it?” He recognized his need to know as both a plea for forgiveness and for understanding.
“Would it matter if you were the only person ever to receive healing? Is that what you’re really asking?” She pulled back. He drank in her expression. “In the here and now this miracle was for me, too, and for all the others we will meet in the future. We aren’t supposed to go around shouting about what we don’t really understand and appreciate.” She cocked her head at him. “And I think we both have a much better appreciation of love.”
That answer he could accept. “I agree.”
He jerked his head and nodded in a direction over her shoulder. “I actually started out over there.”
She didn’t turn her head to see which grave he meant, stiffened in a defensive posture. He regretted his comment when she tugged her hand from his.
“Had a good conversation, then?” she asked.
He wasn’t going to back down now. “As a matter of fact, yes. Yes we did.” Ted kept hold of her hand and gave her a little shake. She had to understand him, too. He had been given the gift of another chance to make something of himself. This time, he would get it right. He would not let her down.
Her eyes widened in mock surprise, she touched his cheek. “Hmm, maybe you got too much healing.”
Ted pulled her around closer, nuzzling her ear. “It’s not a joke. I told him I was sorry. And I am! I also asked him, um, you know.” Ted looked up and away, searching for Eddy.
“Go on,” she demanded.
“Um, yeah, well, I asked if it was all right with him.” He grimaced. She had already agreed to marry him and Eddy. He did not understand why he was nervous about this conversation.
“If what was all right?”
She wasn’t going to make this easy. Okay. “Grace! You know.”
“All right, then.” She let him off the hook. “So what did he say?” She pulled his head back around to her and kissed him softly.
Ted deepened the pressure of the kiss, enjoying the freedom to love her. He lifted his mouth to brush the faint scar at her temple, the new one that matched his. It was the only remaining outward sign of her sacrifice. No jealousy in heaven, she had once told him. He believed it at last. Ted hugged her tightly.
“He said he understood. And it’s okay.” He tugged at her hand. “Come on, let’s go home.”
DISCUSSION GUIDE QUESTIONS
What kind of a person was Grace? How well did you get to know her? How did she feel about and use her gifts?
How did the personalities of Grace, Ted, and Randy support their actions?
How did Greg Evans and Matty van Ooyen fit into Grace’s life?
To what did Shelby credit her successful pregnancy? Do you think Grace agreed?
Have you ever faced a traumatic situation like Grace’s, where you just wanted to run away? Why do you think she took all the blame for her husband’s death?
In what ways did the people of East Bay need Grace? Did she meet their needs? How or how not?
How did Grace need the people of East Bay? In what ways did they support her or not support her? Is your community similar or different to East Bay?
How did you feel when Grace finally let the past catch up with her? Was her reaction a surprise? Did she need to go through that experience in order to reach out to Ted?
What were the main issues in the story? How do they compare to other books you or your group has read?
How was the Petoskey stone significant to the story?
Did the setting work to frame the scope of the story?
How easy or difficult was it to follow the course of the story?
How did the title serve the book’s theme?
About the Author
Lisa Lickel lives with her husband in an old house built by a Great Lakes ship captain, collects dragons and enjoys travel. Her published novels include the Buried Treasure cozy mystery series, Meow Mayhem, the award-winning romance Meander Scar and the linked novella anthology A Summer in Oakville with best-selling author Shellie Neumeier. She is a freelance feature writer for local news, writes short stories, magazine articles and radio theater. Lisa is an avid book reviewer, a freelance editor, a writing mentor, a hostess at Clash of the Titles.com, and enjoys blogging at theBarnDoor.net and AuthurCulture.blogspot.com. She loves to encourage new writers. Find her at LisaLickel.com.
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MuseItUp Publishing
Also by Lisa Lickel at MuseItUp Publishing
The Map Quilt
A Sweet Romantic Cozy Mystery
Death in rural Wisconsin is only the beginning to new chaos in Robertsville. What do a stolen piece of revolutionary agricultural equipment, a long-buried skeleton in the yard, and an old quilt with secrets have in common? Hart and Judy Wingate, who met in The Gold Standard, are back to solve the mystery of The Map Quilt. Hart’s new battery design could forever change the farm implement industry. But after the death of Hart’s most confrontational colleague in a fire that destroys Hart’s workshop, the battery is missing.
Throw in a guest speaker invited to Judy’s elementary classroom who insists she owns the land under Hart’s chief competitor’s corporate headquarters, and a police chief who’s making eyes at Hart’s widowed mother, it’s no wonder Hart is under a ton of pressure to make sure his adventurous pregnant wife stays safe while trying to preserve his company and his reputation.
Prologue
1860
Sasha Edwards crouched behind the huge maple, its burnished, drying leaves rustling in the night wind. Clouds drifted across a gibbous moon, occasionally shading the cold light. Dust and the smell of ripe oats too long in the field whirled around the huddled group but mercifully, the stinging pests held off. Missy Slaw’s little boy sneezed and Sasha turned with a quick finger to her lips, frowning, though she realized no one
could see it in the dark. She shook her head. She couldn’t tell if the rattle of the leaves had more purpose than what the evil air blew.
“Shh!” Sasha risked. Missy Slaw stroked her child’s nappy head while he tried to push himself closer into her great breast. Sasha could see the woman’s widened, teary eyes lit every now and then when clouds whipped past the halo of the moon.
Their planned getaway tonight was no ordinary trip. Not that any trip was ordinary—just that this segment for Missy Slaw was almost the last leg of the long journey to Canada and freedom, and one of the safest. Norm let Sasha conduct this trip by herself for that reason and only because he happened to be deep into the tobacco harvest. A woman and child alone were no trouble, and this extraordinary case made Sasha boiling mad.
Freemen having to run simply because of the color of their skin infuriated her. Missy Slaw’s man had been lynched, his papers burned right in front of them, Norm had informed Sasha tersely, before he let her start out. It had traumatized that little one into silence, and no wonder. For shame to treat any child like that. The boy clutched the new quilt Sasha had given him, the last one the Robertsville Ladies Sewing Society made. They’d hurriedly stitched in Missy’s own freeman papers, good Union bank drafts, and the deed to her property. The bank drafts were drawable on the Green Bay Union Bank branch, which meant a stop, but it would be worth it. Missy jingled when she ran, and Sasha guessed the draft wasn’t the only money the woman secreted. Slaw wasn’t their real last name either, but it was too dangerous to call them anything else.
They left the Edwards’s old drying sheds down by the stream and headed out toward the property line. Here’d be trouble, if there was trouble to be found. But Sasha never hit a problem before, and it was dark. She should have felt safe under the shadow of her own big house not far away, but something didn’t feel right. The little boy moved restlessly. The odor of not having bathed in several days rose from all of them and would attract the dogs in no time. Nothing she could do about that now. Not even the very short stint Missy and her son spent in their drying shed could cover their scent. Harvest was underway and perhaps that would keep most men occupied while Sasha took her passengers out. But there’d never been so many bountymen, and Sasha and Norm were worried. Usually this northern state was relatively safe for moving the runaways, but tonight everything cried trap.
Then Sasha heard it: the rolling barn door squealing on its tracks off in the distance. Norm was down at the sheds, getting equipment ready. Sasha could picture Old Man Hobart, or one of his hateful sons, out and poking about. She saw the silhouette as one of them straightened and slapped his thigh. “Hyear, there, Kip!” He whistled. “Come, boy.”
Oh, no! The dogs were with them!
“Those men—on that farm next, Missy—they claim to be Wide Awakes, but they’re not. They hate all your folks and would as soon shoot you as turn you in. I don’t know why they’re here, but I can guess. We have to be quiet. Maybe it’s nothing and they’ll go on. Wait. And keep quiet.”
“Wide Awakes! You don’t have them mobs here, do you?” Missy grabbed her little boy close. “They’ll kill us for sure!”
“Shh! No, Missy, they’re not like that. Our neighbors mostly help with the vote. They watch to keep things safe, provide extra help for the sheriff, and prevent riots. They won’t hurt you. They believe all people should be treated well.”
“That’s not how they act down home.”
“Fine, Missy. Well, we’re trying to avoid them at any rate. Wait here.” Sasha gathered her skirts and pushed her way through the willow, wincing as she felt the branches grab and rustle. She imagined spiders sticking to her shawl and shivered. She was too loud, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. A few moments later Sasha took in a deep breath and melted back toward the heavyset woman and her skinny, sickly little boy. “We have to move quickly, Missy. Come! The stream—over here…You have to move. Leave everything, everything but the—”
Sasha could hear the baying of the coon hounds in the distance. Missy Slaw let fat tears of fright and exhaustion, glistening when the moonbeams filtered through clouds, roll across her cheeks. “Miz Edwards, Miz Edwards, I jus’ don’ know…I jus’ can’t.”
“For your son, here, you will. You must. Come.”
The boy sniffled and sneezed.
“Shh! Quiet!” But already the dogs were close. No way would they make it to Mascen Stream now. “Oh my Lord, remember me, your servant,” Sasha began to pray. “I am surrounded by my enemies—”
“Let me not be ashamed, let not my enemies triumph over me,” Missy Slaw added before the shots rang and thunder roared.
“Who’s out there? Halt! I’m warning—”
“Get down!” Sasha whispered desperately. “I’ll try to draw them off. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.” With her heart beating so hard she could feel it in her throat, she raised herself above the tall blades of prairie grass and called out, “Stop right there! I’m Mrs. Nor—”
An accompanied whine and explosion echoed through the sky. Sasha reeled as if she’d been punched in the chest by some unseen force: once, twice. She couldn’t catch her breath. Norman…Norman will come.
Chapter One
Judy Wingate awoke with a start. Shaking her head, she realized she had been dreaming. Foggy images rolled through her mind of pioneer women doing…something. Hmm, teaching that Wisconsin history unit to her elementary school students, combined with her pregnancy, made for the most colorful nocturnal dramas. She eased the covers back, groaning with the discomfort of a full bladder. An internal kick made her grimace and rub her huge belly.
“Ugh! Two forty-five in the morning. I can’t believe I gotta get up again.” She set her feet on the floorboards, trying to rise delicately so as not to rouse her husband, Hart.
Judy headed downstairs with her eyes half-closed, holding onto the rail with both hands. The stealthy pet housecat, Pancho Villa, stopped her up short. “Pancho—outta the way—coming through,” Judy muttered as she danced around him. “We have got to get that second floor bathroom done.”
Yawning, Judy blinked and hoped she could fall asleep again easily. She could not afford to be groggy in front of her fifth grade students, who were already squirrelly this close to the end of the school year. She rubbed her arms and went to run a glass of water from the tap while she looked out the window. Something did not feel right. She frowned and rubbed at the kicks from Hart’s little soccer player practicing on her ribs. She went through the mud room to the outside door and breathed deeply while she watched the waning moon near the horizon. The sky looked hazy to the south. Judy squinted, clutching her glass, her mind roiling with the turmoil of the evening. Hart and his partner, Bryce’s, latest invention for InventivAg, their parent company in St. Louis, Missouri, had been attacked for no reason—and by one of their own team members!—at what was supposed to have been a nice celebratory dinner right here at the house. Judy shook with fury, just thinking about it.
She poked at the baby’s foot again. If that John Harding thought he was such a good agricultural engineer, he should figure out an easier way to grow a baby. Why, the man had gone ballistic at the most innocent of questions from Hart’s elderly partner-and-mentor’s wife, Ardyth.
Judy looked toward the place in the darkened dining room where the florid-faced Harding had sat, pounding his fist in response to Ardyth’s innocent question about when they could see the batteries for sale.
But Judy couldn’t figure out why Ardyth had cared that much about the battery. She hadn’t fussed about any of their other projects over the past four years. Worse, Hart and Bryce’s boss, Tim Crawford, had waffled, stating perhaps there might be a design flaw, after all.
She closed her eyes and put the cool glass against her forehead.
Not sleepy yet, Judy wandered around the moonlit kitchen. The drying towel was still a little damp under her fingers. The moaning cadence of a fire engine grew louder. The haze outside wove a blanket
around the moon. That fire truck was coming their way. She waddled as fast as she could back up the stairs.
“Hart. Hart, wake up.” Judy shook his shoulder.
Hart turned his face on his pillow.
“Hart. Wake up! I hear fire engines.”
That got his attention. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, turned to the luminous face of the bedside clock, and moaned.
“Hart!”
“Yeah, Judy. Fire engines.”
Judy leaned over the bed, hand on his warm shoulder. “Hart.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. The fire…” He swallowed the last of his sentence in a huge yawn. “…department’ll take carevit. Go back—”
“There’s smoke. You can see it in the air. The fire must be a big one. Close by.”
She watched while Hart rubbed his face. “Okay.” He pushed himself upright, twisting his neck back and forth. “I’m getting up.” The phone gave a sputtery jingle and he made a grab, dropping the instrument before answering. “Yes?”
Judy sat down next to him, worried now. She rubbed again at her stomach. The baby must be doing summersaults, although how he or she managed to turn in such a tight space was a mystery.
“Barry, hi,” Hart said.
Barry? Judy mouthed “Chief of Police?” at her husband in the dim light. She pouted when he frowned and turned away.
“At the office?”
Please, God, oh please, oh, please, keep everyone safe. Judy reached for some clothes, stopping when Hart touched her forearm, shaking his head, still listening to the other end.
“I’m going over there right now—my prototype’s—I know, Barry, but I have to get there.” Hart pushed the off button and tossed the phone on the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as he rushed to pull on his own clothes.
“That was Barry Hutchinson, wasn’t it? The office is on fire. I’m coming, too.”
Healing Grace Page 27
