Falling for Grace

by Robert Farrell Smith

  Trust Williams Trilogy: Book Two: Falling for Grace

  Trust at the End of the World

  Robert Farrell Smith

  © 1999 Robert F. Smith.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company (permissions@deseretbook.com), P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.

  Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.

  Visit us at deseretbook.com

  First printing in hardbound 1999 First printing in paperbound 2003

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Smith, Robert F., 1970–

  Falling for Grace : Trust at the end of the world / Robert Farrell

  Smith.

  p. cm.—(Trust Williams trilogy ; bk. 2)

  ISBN 1-57345-585-7 (hardbound)

  ISBN 1-59038-268-4 (paperbound)

  I. Title. II. Series: Smith, Robert F., 1970– Trust Williams

  trilogy ; bk. 2.

  PS3569.M53794F35 1999

  813’.54—dc21 99-40611

  CIP

  Printed in the United States of America72076-032P Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT

  10987654321

  One smile and I was captive.

  Two words and three children later, I’m still in awe.

  Krista.

  Table of Contents

  Life and Limb

  Ready, Set, Go

  Open Harms

  Close Proximity

  Debating the Odds

  Lucy

  Fact-Finding Feast

  Be Prescared

  Hollow

  Spinning Cookies

  Kicking ’Em When They Fall Down

  Contrition

  Infiltration

  Dizzy

  Signs o’ Stress

  The Problem with Widowers

  A Little Closer

  Forewarned

  Applying Stucco

  Sinking

  Bio-Doom

  Who Would Have Thawed It?

  Conversations with the Competition

  Swapping Wounds

  Be Thou Bumble

  Dial Tone

  Fit to be Tied

  Teach Ye Adequately

  Smear

  Love Vigilante

  Dating Myself

  Fries Like Us

  Assume

  One Wish

  I Think We’re Falling

  Grainy Days and Tuesdays Always Get Me Down

  Tall Drink of Water

  Confined

  A Normal Blood Flow

  Setting Things Right

  Oh Buoy

  One Last Fling

  Ding

  When All is Over-Done

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Since the dawn of time man has predicted and prepared for that one giant event that would end it all. Not just a simple flood, mind you, or a bothersome plague, but an occurrence so catastrophic, so powerful, that all pestilence and adversity would have to bow before it. For almost as long the time and place of such an advent has remained unknown and hidden—even the angels above were said not to know. That was then, this was now, and Noah Taylor claimed he knew. According to him the end would come on December seventeenth at exactly 3:15 p.m.

  Hell’s bells and heaven’s whispers, misery was on the horizon. There were fewer than thirty-eight days left of life as we knew it.

  1

  Life and Limb

  November 9th

  I could hear Pete Kennedy breathing to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain” through his nose. My blue eyes gazed over at Leo Tip and President Heck as they crouched down together behind a fallen tree. President Heck was decked out in a safety-orange jumpsuit his wife Patty had made him, and Leo was wearing a pair of fake antlers he had constructed himself. I was baffled as to why we weren’t currently surrounded by a horde of does who had been tricked into thinking Leo was some hot buck. Leo adjusted his antlers and picked up his rifle.

  Pete suddenly stopped breathing. I looked up at him. He had on a small knit cap and a big faded flannel shirt. He looked like a grown-up gang member who didn’t know how to properly wash and care for his colors. I watched his jaw drop and eyes grow big. Then quietly and with muted enthusiasm he pointed toward a huge buck that was wandering into our sights. It was the biggest animal I had ever seen. It walked slowly, radiating such confidence and self-esteem that even I began to feel inferior to it. The deer came to a stop in front of a tall thin tree and posed as if auditioning for a special-edition belt buckle. We had seen a couple bucks earlier in the day, but it would take the two of them to equal a single side of this one.

  Leo, having the best shot and position, lifted his gun and pointed toward our huge prey. In the far distance a bird sang. President Heck nudged Leo, giving him both encouragement and the go-ahead. I watched Leo’s hand twitch as he began to squeeze the trigger. Once again I just couldn’t stand for this.

  “Haaaawwwchhhewwww!” I forced out a fabricated sneeze.

  The giant buck flinched and bounded away as Leo jerked and misfired. President Heck leaped from his spot and began shooting in hopes of hitting the dashing deer. Pete shot off his rifle a few times and then pulled a pistol from his holster and continued blasting. Leo, not one to pass up an opportunity to waste bullets, kept shooting as well. I covered my ears and watched in amazement. The buck was long gone—he had jumped away unscathed—but these three continued firing. Birds took flight from every tree. Small animals came out of hiding all around us and scampered away from all the noise. Not a single shot hit anything with feathers or fur. Nope, they just kept firing at the spot the deer had once occupied.

  The tall thin tree that had been behind the buck was now being blown away by my trigger-happy companions. I assume that they would have eventually stopped shooting on their own, but that theory would never be tested due to the fact that the maimed tree was beginning to fall toward us. It cracked and screamed as it tore its wounded torso from its trunk. Leo and Pete stopped shooting so as to better be able to holler. President Heck kept firing in a panic at the thin pine as it came directly toward him. With a loud thud the tree hit President Heck on the head, knocking him to the ground.

  It took a couple seconds for Pete’s screaming and the echoes of gunshots to drift off and leave us in silence. President Heck lay there next to the fallen tree, his orange attire making the dark earth beneath him look black. We huddled over him, gazing down, until he opened his eyes.

  “President Heck!” Pete said with concern.

  “What?” He moaned.

  “You okay?” Leo asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. A huge goose egg was growing on the top of his head and making his hair look as if it were doing the wave.

  Leo gazed at the fallen tree.

  “Is it dead?” he asked somberly.

  Pete knocked Leo on the shoulder. “Don’t be dumb,” Pete said. “Trees don’t die, they just . . .”

  Pete paused, realizing that he had never really contemplated the mystery of where trees go. He scratched his head and remained silent.

  “Darn it Trust,” Leo said to me, suddenly remembering that this was all my fault. “That’s the third buck you’ve scared off today. The antlers on that one would have looked amazing over my fireplace.
”

  “Wouldn’t they,” Pete agreed. “You coulda put them right above that picture of you and CleeDee at the fair.”

  “I’ve always liked that picture,” Leo reflected.

  “Me too,” Pete agreed. “Those electric lights make CleeDee look fancy. I . . .”

  “You know,” I interrupted, “maybe I’ll head back to the meadow. I’ve probably had enough hunting for one day. Besides, Grace and I still need to go to Virgil’s Find.”

  Leo and Pete just stared at me.

  “I’ll head back with you,” President Heck said. “This knot on my head might need some tending.”

  I helped him up from the ground. Leo took his antlers off and straightened out the left one. He put them back on.

  “Come on, Leo,” Pete commanded, “let’s go do some real hunting.”

  Pete and Leo walked off to find something to shoot at. President Heck and I turned toward the direction of town and started downhill.

  “I guess hunting ain’t your cup of stew,” he said almost kindly.

  “I guess not,” I replied as we walked.

  “I remember when I was just a kid,” he reminisced. “I used to be all squeamish and cowardly about death, like you. Then my father took me out and made me smack our family pig over the head with a shovel. I felt real bad at first, but the bacon seemed to cheer me up. That’s how life works, you give in to change and it feeds you.”

  “Actually, I have no problem with—”

  “I’m glad you understand,” he interrupted, not hearing me out. Then he began whistling to himself as he turned to walk downhill.

  President Heck was a number of things to me. At the moment he was my branch president, my girlfriend’s father, and my friend. He was closing in on fifty. His brown hair had finally surrendered, letting the gray invade in full force. He was actually quite distinguished-looking when he wasn’t speaking (or wearing orange coveralls, for that matter). But his best asset by far was his oldest daughter, Grace. I had served my mission with these people and fallen in deep like with Grace. My mission had come to an end this last summer, but it only took me a few months to realize that I needed to come back to Thelma’s Way—to find out if Grace and I had a future.

  It was still too soon to tell. There was no doubt that Grace and I loved each other, but there were piles of issues and feelings and problems we needed to work through. I was staying at the boardinghouse while we sorted things out. In a way it was as if we had just met. Sure, I had served almost two years practically in her backyard, but we had never dated, or even really been alone together.

  We had a long way to go.

  I had hoped I could just come back, sweep Grace off her feet, and then the two of us could be one. It was still a possibility, but I could see now that it wouldn’t be “for sure” without real effort.

  My parents were livid that I had returned for Grace. In their view, I was jeopardizing my potentially affluent future for the sake of some unpolished Tennesseean. I had come back to Tennessee without telling them, and they now felt as if I had trampled on their plans of living vicariously through me. We weren’t speaking, for the time being. Of course, for the time being, I was thousands of miles away from them, trying to keep up with a whistling orange.

  My sense of direction was pathetic. I had lived and worked in this area for almost two years, and I still couldn’t find my way around. My parents should have named me “Lost,” or “Confused”—it would have been so much more fitting than “Trust.”

  President Heck stopped.

  “You know, Trust,” he said, “I don’t think you belong here.”

  “What?” I asked, surprised.

  “I was just looking up at those turtle-shaped clouds and I got the strongest feeling that you need to be back at home with your folks.”

  “That’s silly,” I smiled, somewhat taken aback.

  “I know,” he stated. “Turtle-shaped clouds. But if you look at that one right there you can see the . . .”

  “No, not the clouds,” I clarified. “Going back to Southdale is silly.”

  “I don’t think so,” he sniffed.

  “What about Grace?”

  “Well, the wife and I have been talking.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “And I think maybe we could send Grace out your way to get some college in. She’s always been wanting to further her education.”

  “Grace in Southdale?”

  The idea was absurd.

  “Sure,” President Heck said. “It might be good for her to get away.”

  I had honestly never thought of such a thing. Taking Grace from Tennessee was like taking the water from the beach, or the marshmallows from my favorite cold cereal. I couldn’t imagine the Volunteer State drawing a single voluntary tourist without the lure of Grace Heck at its core. Sure, I was a little exaggerated in my thinking, but it still didn’t seem right. Plus, as discombobulated as the idea of removing Grace was, it seemed even less plausible trying to fit her into Southdale. My hometown would eat her alive. I could see my parents now.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Grace.”

  “Trust, I told you never to bring a girl from Thelma’s Way into our house.”

  “Why don’t you just put her outside, Son, so we can eat.”

  Grace had lived her whole life in Thelma’s Way. She had spent her lifetime simmering slowly. I couldn’t drag her into the seething, boiling ways of Southdale. There wasn’t a single thing in my hometown that she would relate to. Even the gospel was faster there. My ward back home had just posted its own web page with announcements and pictures of the latest ward activity. Grace had grown up in a ward that thought the Internet was the extra stitching on the backsides of winter long johns.

  She just wouldn’t mesh.

  “Do you think Grace would want to go to Southdale?” I asked.

  “Sure,” President Heck said. “Patty and I have put aside some money. We might be able to help her out a little.”

  “Grace in Southdale,” I said softly.

  “You don’t really think Grace would be happy living her whole life here forever, do you?” he asked. “She’s always tinkered with the idea of seeing the world outside. She could just try it for a while,” he said, beginning to walk again.

  “I honestly hadn’t thought about it,” I confessed.

  “It might be good for the two of you to spend some time in your part of the country,” he went on. “I know there must be a lot more things for people to do there than here. She could meet your folks, go to school.”

  “You think Grace would go for it?”

  “Can’t really see what you’d be tearing her away from.”

  “Well, what about her family, for starters?”

  “Grace is ready for more,” he winked. “It’s time for her to start looking into a new family, if you know what I . . .”

  President Heck tried to elbow me in a friendly manner, but he missed and lost his balance, falling to his knees on the ground. I didn’t even have time to catch him. His head knocked against an old tree trunk. I tried really hard not to laugh. President Heck rubbed the new knot on his head.

  “I used to like trees,” he laughed, embarrassed, trying to stand himself up.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I smiled, grabbing his elbow and lifting.

  “I’ll be fine,” he fussed. “Toby will wrap my head when I get back.”

  Toby Carver was the unofficial doctor of Thelma’s Way. By unofficial I mean he owned an Ace bandage and tried to cure everyone in town by wrapping up their ailments. Sister Watson was wearing his bandage at the moment. She had procured a really deep splinter a couple days back while stacking wood. Her fear of tweezers prevented her from having the sliver removed. She was hoping that by keeping the finger wrapped the splinter would just disappear. I’m sure Toby would ask for the bandage back, claiming that head injuries receive first priority.

  We walked on in silence, with me thinking about Grace and Southdale. After a while the mead
ow came into view.

  “I’d have a hard time leaving,” I said, almost to myself.

  “Things are easier if you just don’t think about them,” President Heck replied.

  I could see the boardinghouse off in the distance. A speck of red moved across the porch as smoke twisted up and out of the chimney.

  “Do you want to talk to her?” President Heck asked. “Or would you like me to?”

  “I’ll do it,” I replied. “I’ll do it today.”

  2

  Ready, Set, Go

  November 11th

  The next day I called my parents from the boardinghouse and told them that I had partially seen the light and was coming home. They said they were partially happy, but wanted to know what the catch was. I told them the catch, in every sense of the word, was Grace, and that she was coming home with me. Surprisingly, my parents were okay with this. I think they saw the opportunity of picking her apart on their turf as somewhat of a blessing.

  “Mom, I’m not bringing her home so that you and Dad can make her feel uncomfortable and unwanted in person.”

  “We’ll see,” Mom replied sweetly.

  “You’ll see what?” I asked, bothered.

  “Trust, why don’t you talk to your father.”

  I could hear Mom hand the phone to my father. He cleared his throat.

  “Son?” he questioned, as if there was a possibility that I had morphed into someone else while my parents were making the phone handoff.