Falling for Grace

by Robert Farrell Smith

“I’m serious, Trust.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I informed her.

  “I need to support Noah.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes too loudly.

  “What?” Grace smiled, perfectly aware of how I felt about her boss.

  Grace and I had talked a couple days earlier about what Noah had told me at the bagel shop, and once again Grace had chosen not to believe. It wasn’t that Grace thought I was making up lies to turn her against him, she just felt I was misunderstanding what Noah was actually trying to say. I had volunteered to wear a wire and get a conversation with him on tape, but Grace simply told me to be the bigger man. Actually, she begged.

  “Noah’s just using this town,” I said, trying to not sound too heavy.

  “Let’s not talk about it,” Grace said, fixing her hair.

  “I didn’t mean to spoil your big night,” I joked.

  Grace looked at me and smiled.

  “It’s only one date,” I added. “And it’s a fixed group date in the cultural hall at that. It won’t be too bad.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. “How do I look?”

  “Perfect,” I answered, unable to think of a single English word that accurately described how beautiful she was.

  “Your opinion’s no good,” she piffed. “You’re in love with me.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  Grace leaned up and kissed me.

  The last two days had been so nice. Grace and I had gotten along perfectly. We had both worked during the days and spent the evenings talking and being together. The more I found out about Grace, the more enamored I grew. And the more she discovered about me, the more . . . well, we really liked each other. The only unpleasantries we had encountered over the past couple of days were the constant phone calls that Doran was making to Grace, now that he had my permission to pursue her. He was going at it “full guns.” I’m not really sure what that meant, but it had been the last line of the latest poem he had written her. The other concern in my life was the emotional deterioration that my family was going through. My father had still not called. Even his partners at work said they didn’t know where he was. They added that if he didn’t report to work in two weeks, they would have to take disciplinary action. It didn’t look good. But Mom refused to call the police to report him missing. That would be going public, according to her, and she had more faith in Roger than that. Besides, she said, she felt strongly that he was okay. Whatever he was doing was important and we just needed to be patient. Abel, Margret, and I prayed for the best and tried not to fear the worst.

  The sky was dark by the time Grace and I arrived at the church for the auction. The cultural hall was one happening place. It was trickier getting in than we had anticipated, due to Brother and Sister Phillips protesting the auction outside. The two of them were marching around carrying signs that said, “Going once, going twice, going down the drain,” and, “The low bidder isn’t the only loser.” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one bothered by Noah and his ideas. Either that or Brother Phillips didn’t want to put out any money to bid on his wife.

  Once inside, I hung up our unneeded coats and looked around at the large crowd. Everyone was there, looking and smelling their best. The Scouts stood inside the doorway to welcome people to this, hopefully, once-in-a-lifetime event. The walkway looked sturdy enough, and tables lined the walls filled with covered food and drink. There were hundreds of chairs scattered everywhere, and garlands were looped liberally through the basketball hoops on either end of the room. Grace wandered off to take her place behind the curtain. I took a seat near the middle of the room, right next to Sister Cummings.

  I didn’t really know Rachel Cummings all that well. She and her husband, Keith, had moved into the ward while I was serving my mission. She was an attractive woman with a mousy disposition. She was one of only a handful of women in the ward who didn’t color her hair, letting a touch of gray show through the dark. Keith was in the military and had an amateur magic business on the side. They had five very little kids and lived in a nice house they had fixed up themselves. It was no secret that she was a nervous woman. She was always worried about finding the right thing to say.

  She nodded politely at me.

  I picked up a program lying on the chair beside me. I looked it over and set it back down.

  Sister Cummings suddenly pointed across the room toward my brother. “Abel looks nice in his new Scout uniform.”

  I looked at Abel. He had come earlier to help set up the chairs. His neckerchief was hanging loosely around his neck, his hair was matted in a hat ring, and his shirt was untucked and wrinkled. Sister Cummings was obviously just being kind.

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  Sister Cummings sighed, happy that her comment had gone over all right.

  I think she was about to say more when Noah Taylor strutted out onto the walkway and stood there waiting for everyone’s attention to be focused solely on him.

  “Brothers and Sisters,” he finally began. “I am honored and sobered by your participation tonight.”

  I started to get sick. Noah was wearing another sweater with khaki pants, and his hair was doing that hair thing. He held the microphone like an Englishman would hold a cup of tea, his pinkie sticking up and out.

  “I would like to thank all of those who have helped put this together. Many hands have made light work. I’d list you all by name, but this old mind of mine isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be,” he said in an attempt at self- deprecating humor.

  A few folks chuckled. I noticed, however, that people weren’t quite as quick to find everything Noah Taylor said as amusing as I had thought.

  “A brief reminder to us all,” he continued. “The proceeds from this event will go to help those who cannot afford their own preparedness. We will take this money and stock up all those who are less fortunate.” Noah cleared his throat loudly. “Also, we have been busy getting the warehouse on Frost Road ready. I’m happy to say that all of you who have made the monetary commitment are now one hundred percent prepared. Take comfort in knowing that your food storage is up to date and stored in a climate-controlled place where you won’t be tripping over it. It’s sobering to think how close the seventeenth is, but come heck or high water, we’re prepared.”

  A few people clapped.

  “Back to the matter at hand,” he chirped. “After the auction, all those who have been lucky enough to get a date will stay here and enjoy a great meal put on by Sister Barns and the Relief Society. Sister Barns, will you please stand so that all of us can recognize you?”

  Sister Barns stood and bobbed out a couple of curtseys. She was wearing a bright yellow dress with puffy sleeves that made it hard for me to see her whole face. From the parts I could see, however, it appeared as if Sister Barns had chosen this night to experiment with new makeup. On a normal day, Sister Barns was above average in height, but tonight, with the heels she had chosen to wear, she towered over most people in the room. She smoothed and tucked her dress behind her rear and sat back down.

  “Thank you, Sister Barns,” Noah said. “Now, our auctioneer tonight will be Brother Clyde Knuckles. So after our opening song and a prayer from Brother McLaughlin, we will begin.”

  Noah Taylor stepped down from the walkway, and Sister Morris began playing “Count Your Many Blessings” while young Celion Morris directed poorly. After the song, Brother McLaughlin walked to the front and gave a long prayer begging the heavens that even with his limited income he might be able to afford one of the nicer- looking sisters being auctioned for dates tonight.

  Brother Knuckles climbed up onto the walkway. Clyde Knuckles was an active Mormon—as long as “active” meant activity. He came out to all the ward plays, the barbecues, the socials, anything that meant food served up in the cultural hall. He just usually didn’t make it to Sunday services. He worked for a big bank in the city. He was a tall, thick-haired guy with a smooth voice. Brother Knuckles was always chosen as MC. If the activity requ
ired a vocal tour guide, Clyde Knuckles was the one doing the talking.

  “Good evening,” Brother Knuckles said. “I hope you’re all as excited about this as I am. I know that . . .”

  Bishop Leen slipped him a note.

  “This just in,” Clyde said. “The bishop wants me to say that he hopes this evening will go over in the spirit in which it is intended.”

  “The spirit of slavery!” Sister Phillips shouted out from the back of the crowd. She had just slipped into the room to cause trouble. Two young Scouts quickly whisked her away.

  “All right then,” Clyde continued unscathed. “Without further fuss we’ll begin. Volunteer number one is Sally Wheatfield.”

  Sally stepped brashly out from behind the curtains as Noah Taylor handed Clyde a small stack of cards. Sister Morris played soft music on the piano as Brother Knuckles described Sally’s attributes.

  “Sally is the seventh child from a family of eight. She has just recently received a degree in veterinarian studies and prelaw. Sally describes her age as moderate . . .”

  Sally Wheatfield was an attractive young woman. She had big blue eyes and an innocence about her that made it hard for you to believe that she could be interested in prelaw. She was currently dating Michael Fits, a member of the Rockwedge Ward. As she walked down the runway, she smiled and waved to Michael. Michael got out his wallet.

  “All right,” Brother Knuckles said. “Who will be the first to bid?”

  “Two hundred dollars!” Brother McLaughlin yelled, having been suddenly struck with auction anxiety and prematurely bidding everything he had the first chance he got.

  “Two hundred dollars?” Clyde asked incredulously.

  “Two hundred dollars,” Brother McLaughlin tried to say with confidence.

  Sally Wheatfield looked worried.

  Brother McLaughlin was considerably older than Sally. And even though the winners weren’t required to hold hands or do much more than simply eat next to each other, the idea still smacked of inappropriateness. I saw Michael Fits frantically count the bills in his wallet and realize he couldn’t match the current bid.

  Michael looked at Sally. Sally looked at Clyde. Clyde looked at Noah. Noah looked at his papers and shrugged. Sally buried her face in her hands and ran from the stage crying.

  I had a feeling we would see a lot of that tonight. This wasn’t such a good idea.

  Brother McLaughlin walked up to Noah Taylor and handed him his two hundred dollars. Then he walked back and took his seat.

  Noah nodded to Clyde, indicating that he should continue.

  Brother Knuckles cleared his throat. “Our next contestant is Daisy Cravitz.”

  Everyone gasped. No one could believe that Sister Cravitz would willingly submit herself to be auctioned off. Even more than that, no one could imagine anybody bidding for her. Sister Cravitz walked out with confidence. She had on her biggest and shiniest brooch, and her hair was done up like one of those old movie stars that no one but she could possibly remember.

  “Daisy Cravitz is the second child of a family of twelve,” Clyde read. “She was raised up north in the wholesome environment of Idaho but has spent the last thirty years of her life out here. She is currently retired and addicted to latchhooks, whatever that means . . .” Brother Knuckles added. “She would like for her bidders to know that she is all woman, except for her artificial knees.”

  Everyone winced silently. I wondered who the marked man was that was supposed to bid on her. The idea behind the auction was that no one would participate unless there were a surefire bid. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “Who will start the bidding?” Clyde asked.

  “Twenty dollars,” Brother Victor waved.

  Everyone turned to stare. There was obviously something going on with these two older singles that the entire ward had been previously blind to. When no one else offered a bid, Brother Victor yelled out, “Fifty!” topping his own amount.

  “Fifty, going once, going—” Clyde began to close.

  “Seventy!” Brother Victor hollered.

  Everyone looked at him, wondering if he was familiar with how auctions actually worked.

  Brother Knuckles rolled his shoulders and continued. “Seventy, going once—”

  “One hundred dollars!” Brother Victor yelled, acting as if he had just discovered gold.

  Sister Cravitz blushed onstage, happy to be the subject of such attention.

  “Is there anybody here besides Brother Victor who would like to bid on Sister Cravitz?” Clyde asked.

  I had never seen the ward in such universal agreement.

  “Sold to Brother Victor for one hundred dollars.”

  Clarence Victor gave Noah his money and then sat back down.

  Brother Knuckles took a sip of water, licked his lips, and continued.

  “Our next contestant is Grace Heck.”

  Grace walked out from behind the curtain, smiling with embarrassment. The entire room lit up. She was like a golden grain in a sea of common rye. Her red hair and white skin shone under the makeshift stage lights like stars in the night sky. She had on jeans, with a brown shirt tucked into them. Never had brown looked so fetching. Her green eyes flashed out at me, sending hurricane-like winds to every region of my soul.

  “Grace Heck is a native of Thelma’s Way, Tennessee,” Clyde Knuckles described. “She is the oldest of three children and is currently working with Brother Noah Taylor. She lists her age as twenty-three. Grace would like for whoever bids on her to be about six-foot-two, with blue eyes, and have a name that starts and ends with ‘T.’”

  Everyone turned and looked at me as if I personally had written Grace’s card for her.

  “Who will start the bidding on the lovely Grace Heck?” Clyde hollered out.

  Brother McLaughlin raised his hand. “Will you take jewelry, or does it have to be cash?”

  “You already have a date,” Clyde pointed out.

  “I know,” he huffed. “But I think I spent my money too soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clyde said. “No refunds, no exchanges.”

  “But—”

  “And no buts,” Clyde joked. “So, who will start the bidding on our lovely Tennesseean?”

  “Twenty dollars!” seventeen-year-old Leon Treat hollered, his voice cracking as he spoke.

  “Thirty,” I threw out.

  “Thirty-two dollars and . . . sixty-eight cents,” Leon bid, looking at some loose change in his hand.

  “Fifty,” I yelled, actually feeling a little bad about ousting Leon.

  “Shoot,” Leon complained and looked toward his father in despair.

  “One hundred dollars,” Noah Taylor jumped in.

  “Two hundred,” I hollered.

  “Three,” said Noah.

  “Four,” I offered, personally vowing that there was no way I would let Noah win.

  The crowd inhaled at the bid of four hundred dollars.

  “Five.” Noah smiled.

  “Seven hundred dollars,” I said, knowing that I had just over that amount in my checking account.

  The audience ohhhhed. Sister Laramie fanned herself as Brother Knuckles looked at Noah.

  “Too rich for my blood,” Noah said.

  “Seven hundred dollars going once, going twice—”

  “Nine thousand dollars!” a voice boomed from behind me.

  The entire room gasped. Necks craned to see who it was. I turned around to see Doran Jorgensen holding the biggest wad of cash I had ever seen in my life. I had forgotten he was going to come out tonight. I was reminded in a big way.

  “Nine thousand dollars?” Brother Knuckles asked in disbelief.

  “Nine thousand dollars,” Doran bragged as he strode to the front of the room waving the money.

  Noah’s eyes widened to the size of bike tires. Clyde Knuckles looked at Noah as if to say, “what should I do?” Noah was amazingly quick to hiss, “Close the bid.”

  “Nine thousand going once, goi
ng twice, sold to the young man with more money than sense.”

  Everyone cheered. Everyone except me.

  Doran gave the money to Noah Taylor and climbed up on stage to claim his prize. Grace stood there looking wounded. I tried to explain to her with my eyes that I didn’t have that kind of money, and that if I had, I still probably wouldn’t have tried to outbid Doran, because all she would have to do is put up with one lousy group date and then she and I could go out and spend the nine thousand dollars that I didn’t actually have on something far more exciting and worthwhile. Unfortunately, my eyes just weren’t that expressive.

  This was awful. I just kept thinking that I had let Grace down, and that Doran was an idiot not to have bid lower. Grace would have been his for the taking for a mere seven hundred and fifty. And where had he gotten nine thousand dollars? He must have come from a far wealthier family than I had imagined.

  “That tall kid is nuts,” a hooded woman sitting on the other side of me said. “More nuts than a squirrel.”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring at her out of the corner of my eye. I turned away from her and then looked quickly back, realizing that there was something oddly familiar about her.

  It was Leonard.

  He was dressed in a huge muumuu and house slippers. He looked half-Arab, half-frumpy housewife.

  “Is that you, Leonard?” I whispered. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Hiding,” he whispered back.

  “This is ridiculous,” I whispered back. “Someone’s going to notice that you’re not a woman.”

  “I can’t help it,” Leonard said urgently. “I’ve always had big hands.”

  “It won’t be your hands that give it away,” I said, looking at the hairy ankles that his disguise didn’t quite cover.

  “I had to tell you about Noah,” he insisted.

  “What about Noah?” I asked, trying to not look like I was talking to him.

  “The warehouse he’s supposedly stocking is empty.”

  “What do you mean empty?”

  “Empty, not full.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Forget what you thought, you were right about him, Trust.” Leonard congratulated me.