by Amanda Cabot
Grace nodded. “I’m not surprised. I think that’s part of every girl’s dream. We keep ourselves pure, wanting that to be our bridal gift, and we dream that our husband will have the same gift for us.” She closed her eyes for a second, her expression telling Catherine her thoughts were not peaceful.
“Life doesn’t always happen that way,” Grace said as she raised her eyelids. “Sometimes unforeseen things happen, and everything is changed in an instant.” She paused again, dropping her gaze to the sheet she had been mending. “I never thought I’d marry a man old enough to be my father, but Douglas was right—God brought us together for a reason. I didn’t delude myself by thinking that he loved me the way he did Marjorie, but I knew he loved me. What I learned is that there are many kinds of love. They’re all different, but one isn’t better than another.”
Catherine felt Grace’s words flow over her like a benediction. “That’s what Lydia said. She told me that being a man’s last love was more important than being his first. She claimed that what we call first love is often nothing more than infatuation.”
“That could be,” Grace agreed, “but it wasn’t the case for Douglas. His love for Marjorie was deep and abiding. The love he gave me was different, but I never doubted that it was real.” As was typical of her, Grace continued speaking without a pause. “I can’t make any decisions for you, Catherine, but I urge you not to dismiss the idea of marrying Austin simply because he’s a widower. Second love can be wonderful. Don’t fear it.”
Catherine closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the way the evening breeze swept over her. The day had been warm enough that Grace had opened all the windows to let the house air out, and though she had closed most of them, she’d left this one half open. As the sweet scents of spring soothed her spirits, Catherine nodded. Grace was right. She had been afraid.
“I’m trying not to be afraid, but there are times when I’m confused by what I feel and what I think I ought to feel. I tell myself I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking about Austin. Even though I know it’s silly, I count the hours until I’ll see him again, because the times we’re together are the best part of my days.”
“That sounds like love to me.” Grace’s expression was somber, her scars more prominent than usual. “How does Austin feel about you? Has he given you any sign that he considers you more than a friend?”
For a second, Catherine regretted that she had initiated the discussion, but then she realized Grace was asking the same questions she’d asked herself. “Not in words, but when he looks at me, the expression in his eyes makes me believe he feels the way I do.” The caring glances Austin gave her never failed to warm Catherine’s heart. “I feel as if he’s waiting for something—maybe the end of my mourning—before he speaks.”
Grace rested the mending on her lap and turned her focus on Catherine. “Then what’s the problem?”
Though Grace’s tone was even, Catherine felt as if she’d been censured. Somehow, she needed to make her understand. “I’m worried, because I sense that Austin is keeping secrets from me. Important ones.” Catherine knew he’d started to say something other than “I’m a grown man” when she’d been trying to persuade him to swing and that he was angry with himself for whatever he’d almost revealed.
“Everyone has secrets.” Grace folded her hands together, almost as if she were trying to keep them from trembling, as she added, “Sometimes we need to keep things secret to protect ourselves or someone else.”
Though it was an interesting theory, Catherine wasn’t sure she agreed. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Don’t you? What about Seth’s entering the contest? You’re keeping that secret from his father.”
“To protect Seth.” Catherine nodded as she recognized the validity of Grace’s words. Though she hadn’t liked the deception, she believed it was necessary.
“Exactly. We all have secrets.”
“Including you?”
“Oh yes, indeed. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you mine, and I think this might be it.” Grace laid her mending aside. “It’s a long story and not a particularly pleasant one. We need a pot of tea and some of Lydia’s chocolate creams to get us through it.”
That sounded ominous, leaving Catherine more than a little anxious about whatever Grace was going to reveal. Trying to keep her concerns under control, she arranged an assortment of candies on a plate while Grace put water on to boil. Ten minutes later, she led the way back to the parlor.
Grace settled into the same chair as before, taking a sip of tea before she began to speak. “The first day I met you, I knew you were special. You were being kind to a stranger, but it was more than that. I felt as if you were a kindred spirit, that you would listen and not judge.”
Catherine nodded. She felt the same way about Grace. That was why she had finally shared her feelings for Austin with her.
Grace took another sip of tea. Though words normally flowed from her, today the stream seemed to have turned into a trickle. “From the beginning, I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us. I knew my secrets were a burden and that they’d be lighter if I could share them. I wanted to confide in you, but I had to be certain I could trust you.” She paused for a second, waiting for Catherine’s nod before she continued. “No one else can know what I’m about to tell you.”
“I won’t say anything.” Catherine could not imagine what secrets Grace was holding. Travis’s investigation had revealed that she was exactly who she claimed to be: a woman named Grace Brown who’d worked for Douglas and Marjorie Sims, then married Douglas when Marjorie died.
Grace pressed her lips together as if unwilling to let the words escape. Then she gave a brisk nod. “There’s no pretty way to say this, so I’ll be blunt. The last twenty years of my life have been a lie.”
Catherine felt the blood drain from her face. If she’d had a hundred guesses, she would not have guessed that Grace would say such a thing. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Grace took another sip of tea, then set the cup aside. Fixing her gaze on Catherine, she said, “My maiden name was not Grace Brown. It was Joan Henderson.”
“J-Joan Henderson.” Though Catherine never stuttered, the shock of Grace’s revelation was so great that she could barely force the words out. “Aunt Bertha’s daughter?”
If it was true, it explained so much. No wonder both Catherine and Lydia had thought there was something familiar about her. This woman was part of Cimarron Creek’s founding families, just as Catherine was. No wonder she had paused for what seemed like a long time in front of Lydia’s house the day Catherine had shown her around town. The home Lydia and Travis now shared had been where Grace had grown up. No wonder her conversations tended to be lengthy. She’d learned that from her mother.
Grace nodded. “I wasn’t sure whether you had heard the story or even if you knew my name. My parents tried to hush it up, but the ugly truth is that a man attacked me when I was walking home from my cousins’ house.” Though she did not elaborate, Catherine knew what that attack had entailed. Lydia had told her of the aftermath.
“When I discovered I was going to have a child, my father accused me of encouraging the man. He wouldn’t believe I didn’t even know who he was, that he dragged me into the shadows, and that I never saw his face. The man only spoke in whispers, so there was no way of identifying him. All I knew was that he had a scar on the back of his neck. I felt that when I was struggling to get away.”
Catherine tried not to shudder at the horror Grace’s words evoked. When Lydia had told her that Joan had found herself with child, she had hoped that Joan had not been forced. That had not been the case. “Sometimes unforeseen things happen, and everything is changed in an instant.” When Grace had spoken those words, she’d been speaking of herself.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Grace’s green eyes were filled with remembered pain. “There’s nothing you can say. Nothing anyone can say. Fortunate
ly, Mother believed me when I told her I had done nothing to encourage the attack, but she agreed with Father that the Henderson name could not be besmirched by a child born out of wedlock. They sent me to live with Mother’s cousins in Ladreville until the baby was born. The plan was that I would return to Cimarron Creek after the adoption.”
“But you didn’t.”
Grace laid her hand on her cheek. “Even before the smallpox gave me real scars, I felt as if I were scarred inside. I couldn’t face my parents again. All the time I was in Ladreville, I kept remembering my father’s face. Oh, Catherine, he was so angry that I believed he would never forgive me, and I knew Mother wouldn’t stand up to him.”
She took a shallow breath. “Looking back, I realize that I was foolish, but I was little more than a child, and I wanted a life where I wouldn’t feel ashamed of what had happened to me. That’s why I ran away in the middle of the night. I walked for a whole day before I accepted a ride with a farmer and his wife who were headed for San Antonio. Once I arrived, I claimed my name was Grace Brown and that I was an orphan.”
She picked up her teacup with hands that had started to tremble. “There were times when I wanted nothing more than to come back here, but then I’d remember Father’s anger, and I’d rip up the letter I started to write to my parents.” Grace took a sip of her tea before laying the cup back on its saucer. “If I could change one thing in my life, it would be that I didn’t contact them, but now it’s too late.”
Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Catherine. “Though I didn’t deserve it, God was good to me and brought Douglas and Marjorie into my life. They loved me. They trusted me. They never knew I was living a lie, but when Douglas died, I knew it was time to make peace with my parents.”
“Those were the graves you were looking for in the cemetery.” Though her heart ached at the pain Grace had endured, Catherine managed to speak. So much made sense now.
Grace nodded. “When I walked by the house I used to call home and saw a young couple leaving, I realized they lived there. I didn’t know who they were, but I did know that if there were strangers in my parents’ home, it must mean Mother and Father had died and I was too late. I can’t begin to tell you how much it hurt to know that I would never have the chance to tell them I loved them and to learn whether they still loved me.”
Reaching forward, Catherine took one of Grace’s hands between both of hers, hoping to comfort her with both the gesture and the words she was about to utter. She couldn’t undo the pain—no one could—but perhaps she could help Grace find peace.
“Your mother loved you and never gave up hope of being reunited with you. She hired Pinkertons right after you fled Ladreville, but they couldn’t find any trace of you. Last fall, she and Lydia and Travis went to Ladreville to see if they could discover any clues to where you’d gone. Lydia can tell you more about the trip.”
Grace’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head. “No. You can’t tell her. No one can know. I came back to Cimarron Creek to make things right with my family. I was ready to be Joan Henderson again, but when I realized Mother and Father had died, I knew Joan had too. I’m Grace Sims now, and I’ll be Grace until the day I die.”
“Are you certain? You have aunts and uncles and cousins galore here.” Catherine thought back to the day when Grace had claimed she and Catherine had a right to claim distant kinship. “We’re cousins, aren’t we?”
“You and Joan would be cousins. I’d rather think of you as my adopted sister.”
Though her head was still reeling from Grace’s revelations, Catherine managed a smile. “That’s how I think of you too.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Grace continued, “and I’ve decided to put my life as Joan behind me. I’d give almost anything if I could undo the day I agreed to give my baby away, but I know that’s not possible. Now I’m praying that God will continue to be good to me and that one day he’ll lead me to her so I can tell my daughter I love her. In the meantime, I’m grateful to be here with you. It feels like home.”
“It is your home. You’re the sister I always wanted.”
And sisters helped sisters. Catherine wished with all her heart that Aunt Bertha had lived long enough to be reunited with her daughter. That hadn’t happened, but surely there was a way to help Grace, the woman who’d become Catherine’s sister of the heart, find her daughter. There had to be.
17
I’m so glad you came in,” Lydia said as Catherine entered Cimarron Sweets, seeking a few minutes alone with her friend. She was still reeling from the revelation that Grace Sims was actually Joan Henderson, Aunt Bertha’s long-lost daughter and the woman Lydia and Travis had tried to find last fall. Though Catherine longed to tell Lydia what she’d learned, she could not, for Grace had been as adamant about keeping her real identity secret as she was about hiding her scars.
The two, Catherine suspected, were related. While she did not doubt that Grace worried that her scars would alarm some people, Catherine now believed that the heavy veil was a way for Grace to keep from being recognized. Though it was possible that the attacker had died or moved away in the last twenty years, it was equally possible that he still lived in Cimarron Creek. Catherine couldn’t imagine what Grace would do if she came face-to-face with the man who’d fathered her child.
The attack was not the reason Catherine was here. Grace’s daughter was. Ever since she’d heard the story, Catherine had been searching for a way to help Grace. While she could have asked Grace for the information she sought, she didn’t want to raise her friend’s hopes only to have them dashed. The woman had already endured enough disappointment.
Lydia straightened a nonexistent wrinkle in her apron, smiling as her hand curved over her slightly rounded abdomen. “I hope you can stay more than a minute, because I need you to tell me whether this fudge is good enough for the church social.”
And Catherine needed to get some information from Lydia without appearing to pry. When she’d settled onto one of the chairs reserved for guests, Lydia handed her a plate with two pieces of fudge, then returned to the small kitchen.
“I don’t need to taste this to tell you it’ll be perfect.” The store was small enough that Catherine did not have to shout to be heard in the back room. “Everything you make is delicious.”
Lydia shook her head as she emerged with two cups and a teapot on a tray. “You’re biased. Tell me the truth, Catherine,” she said as she took her place at the small table where customers sampled her concoctions. “This is my first social, and I want my contribution to be good.” She fixed her gaze on Catherine, relaxing only when Catherine popped the smaller piece of fudge into her mouth.
“Just as I predicted, it’s delicious,” Catherine announced after she’d savored the bite. “And don’t forget that you’re not the only one bringing food. There will be a dozen cakes and at least as many pies, not to mention cookies. You don’t need to feed all of Cimarron Creek.”
When Lydia looked dubious, Catherine continued. “The point of the social is to encourage fellowship. It’s not like Founders’ Day with all those speeches. This is just an evening for us all to spend together.”
“With dancing and singing and food.”
“Exactly. What does Travis say about the dancing?” Lydia’s apron was no longer able to hide the thickening of her waist, and while the town’s midwife had decreed that she was perfectly healthy, Travis had begun to worry about every ache, pain, or even slight twinge that his wife experienced.
“He’s grudgingly admitted that if Mrs. Steele says it’s all right, we can dance, but he’d prefer that I spent the evening on the sidelines with you.” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Or have you changed your mind about that?”
Catherine shook her head. “As the town’s teacher, I need to attend the social, but I don’t plan to dance. I want to honor my mother’s memory, and going a year without dancing is one way to do that.” So too was refusing to think about marriage, but that w
asn’t something Catherine wanted to discuss today. “Tell me about the baby.”
Her eyes sparkling, Lydia patted her stomach. “The little one has been dancing inside me. Oh, Catherine, I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful it is. Travis and I are so excited about the thought of having a child. We can’t wait to see whether it’s a girl or a boy and then watch that tiny infant grow up.” Lydia’s smile faded. “I can’t imagine how any woman could give up her baby.”
It was the opening Catherine had sought. “Were you thinking about Aunt Bertha’s daughter?”
Lydia took a sip of tea and nodded. “Yes. I can’t explain it, but I keep thinking about Joan and wondering what happened to her. Aunt Bertha was certain Ruth and Sterling would have an answer for her, but they didn’t.”
“Those were Aunt Bertha’s cousins in Ladreville, weren’t they? The ones you went to visit?” Catherine wanted to be certain.
“Yes. Sterling—I guess I should call him Pastor Russell—was Aunt Bertha’s cousin. Ruth’s his wife. They’re both wonderful people, and they tried their best to help us, even put us in contact with the sheriff and the midwife. It wasn’t their fault that Joan left no clues.”
Though Lydia’s expression reflected the disappointment of that trip, Catherine was not disappointed. Instead, she was exulting over the fact that she had gotten the names she needed so easily.
“Let’s talk about happier things,” Lydia said as she refilled their cups. “What are you planning to wear to the social?”
They discussed clothing for a few minutes before Catherine announced that she had to return home. There she found Hannah helping Grace cook dinner. For everyone else, it was an ordinary evening, but Catherine found herself counting the minutes until Grace would retire for the night. Once she did, Catherine moved to the desk that occupied a corner of the parlor and pulled out her stationery.
“Dear Pastor and Mrs. Russell . . .”
They might not have learned anything more about Grace’s daughter since Aunt Bertha’s visit, but if they had, Catherine wanted to find out. She signed the brief missive, sealed it, then redoubled her prayers for Grace.
