a Miller’s Creek Novel
Book Three
C A T H Y B R Y A N T
WordVessel Press
Books By Cathy Bryant
MILLER’S CREEK NOVELS
Texas Roads
A Path Less Traveled
The Way of Grace
The Way of Grace
© 2012 Cathy Bryant
Published by WordVessel Press
A Division of ASDG, Inc.
Bentonville, Arkansas
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 0-9844311-4-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-9844311-4-4
To my wonderful husband Travis.
Thank you for believing in me when I lost all confidence, encouraging me when I was ready to quit, and helping me
follow my heart’s desire to make Him known.
Above all, thank you for being a man of grace.
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith,
we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,
through whom we have gained access by faith into
this grace in which we now stand.
~Romans 5:1-2a
Special Thanks
To beta readers: Barbie Bray, Travis Bryant, Jimmie Croker, Maggie Culp, Carolyn England, Judy Fager, and Sherlee Grimstead. Your invaluable assistance makes what I do possible.
To my personal “Grace Fellowship,” my spiritual family which literally encircles the globe: Thanks for encouraging me by demonstrating God’s grace. Your friendship is a blessing, and I look forward to spending eternity with you as we forever proclaim praises to the Lamb.
To my family: Mom, you patiently read every word I write, bringing with you wisdom gained in the school of life. Josh, Jase, and Megan, like John I say: “I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth.” Harrisen, you brighten my eyes and quicken my step, even as my earthly tent grows more frail. Travis, I’m grateful to God for giving you to me. He knew I needed someone exactly like you to walk beside me.
To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ: Thank You for allowing me the privilege of being one of Your sheep, in all my human weakness and imperfection. Thank You especially for providing the way of grace.
PROLOGUE
Childhood
Graciela flinched as Papa pounded a fist on the table, his dark eyes flashing at Mama.
“We do not have money for this!”
Mama acted as if his words didn’t bother her at all. “I’ve saved part of the egg money for weeks, Juan. It doesn’t cost much for a few flowers for your only daughter. This will help her learn how to grow a garden.” She kept her voice low and steady.
Papa glared at Graciela momentarily, but didn’t say anything. Instead he unclenched his fists and picked up his fork to resume eating.
Her two older brothers finished their meal quickly. “Can we go outside to play, Papa?”
“Si. You two have worked hard today.” As they scraped their plates into the slop bucket for the pig, Papa shifted his gaze back to her. “But you will do the dishes to earn the flowers your Mama is determined to give you.”
“Okay, Papa.” She tried to enjoy the thick tamales Mama had made, but all she tasted was unshed tears. Why did he dislike her?
The next day, Graciela hummed happily as she skipped to the backyard, her thick braid bouncing between her shoulder blades. Laughter bubbled out of her chest and molded her lips into a happy smile. She and Mama had spent the past hour choosing not only vegetable plants, but also colorful marigolds, begonias, and geraniums from B & B Hardware.
All winter long she’d longed for this moment, had poured over catalogs and picked out pictures of those she liked best, while Mama made sure the flowers would survive the brutally hot Texas summers.
A frown furrowed her young forehead as she remembered Papa’s objection to the flowers. He was so hard to understand. Sometimes he was so rough and gruff, all she wanted to do was climb the wild plum tree beside their little house and stay up there forever. At other times—mostly at times when Mama coerced him into a good mood—he was fun and happy. Almost like two different people, and she never knew which one would show up.
She climbed the bottom rung of the fence, looked out across the pasture at the goats munching happily on the new spring grass, and breathed deeply. Did anything smell as lovely as spring? Next she focused her gaze on the puffy white clouds floating across the sky and the chirping sparrows that flitted from tree to tree. How wonderful it must be to soar through skies of azul.
“There you are, la hija.” Mama’s voice broke into her reverie. “Ready to plant your flowers?”
“Si.” She began to prattle away in her native tongue, but one look from Mama was all it took to silence her. Graciela pressed her lips together in an effort to still her tongue. “Sorry, Mama. I forgot.”
Mama sighed and shot a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, but we must learn to speak the language of our new country. I must do better, too.” Her mother took hold of Graciela’s hand. “Come, let’s get these flowers planted before your Papa gets home.”
“Will Papa be upset that we’re planting flowers?”
Her mother’s face darkened as they made their way to the patch of ground they’d cleared of grass and weeds. “We will see, won’t we?”
Mama demonstrated how to dig a hole in the soil and loosen the roots of the seedling before placing it in the ground and giving it a big drink.
Graciela stooped to sniff the newly planted marigold and made a face. “That flower stinks.”
Mama laughed, a musical sound that never failed to capture Graciela’s wonder and attention. “Yes, but it will keep the bugs off our tomatoes.”
At the mention of the tasty summer tomatoes, her mouth watered, and she licked her lips. “Why is Papa so grumpy sometimes, Mama?”
“He has many worries. I know it must seem to you that he doesn’t love you, but he does.”
She tried to understand, but quickly gave up. Papa rarely gave her a second look, but always had plenty of time for her two older brothers. “I try to be nice so he will love me, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.”
Mama quickly folded her into her arms, undid her braid, and combed Graciela’s long hair with her fingers. “Oh, sweet one, you are a good girl, and he does love you. It’s just hard for him to show it.” Mama held her at arm’s length, her hands on both shoulders. “Don’t give up on him, la hija. The world has a way of changing people’s hearts. He’ll come around one day.”
Graciela picked up the hand spade and plunged it into the soft sandy soil with as much force as she could muster. Maybe Papa would come around someday, but that could be a long, long time away. And what would happen to soften his heart?
The next morning at church, Graciela nestled in the crook of Mama’s arm and hunkered down in the blue cushioned pew. She couldn’t help but notice how differently people treated them.
Some--like the woman who smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, the one everyone called Mama Beth--were very kind to her and Mama, always stopping to say hello and ask how they were doing. Others only looked their way with accompanying whispered words and accusing glances. She asked Mama why.
“Some people cannot see past a person’s skin to see that on the inside we are all the same.”
Graciela puzzled over the statement, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t understand. She peered down the row to a girl her age she’d seen at school. In a pretty dress with lots of ruffles and bows, and with golden ring
lets encircling her head, the girl reminded Graciela of a beautiful doll. Maybe they could be friends. She sent a shy smile.
The girl didn’t smile back. Instead she stuck out her tongue and jerked her head away, nose upturned.
A heavy darkness descended on Graciela’s heart. Would she ever find a friend?
The service began with singing. Her heart lightened. How she loved the music. The song lilted in her heart, and as she followed Mama’s finger in the hymnbook, she allowed her voice to soar like the birds she’d seen yesterday. Higher and higher she floated away from her problems and into blue skies. Oh, how I love Jesus, because He first loved me.
Soon the pastor stood to speak, his face aglow with joy. Graciela perched on the edge of the seat, enthralled as he spoke of a God who loved her more than she could imagine, a God who loved her as a Father. When it came time for the end of the service, she bolted down the aisle, convinced in her heart that God had personally invited her to be His child.
Later that evening, Mama peeked through the opened door to her small room. “May I come in?”
This time she remembered to use her English words. “Yes.”
Mama eased to the bed beside her. “Papa and the boys have gone fishing, and I thought you might enjoy a girl’s night out. Maybe supper at the Dairy Maid?”
Graciela folded her coloring book around the box of crayons and hopped from the bed. Eating at Dairy Maid without the boys and Papa meant a burger and fries all to herself with a chocolate milkshake on the side.
They arrived at the drive-up hamburger joint just as the sun set, trailing long pink fingers across the horizon. They moved from the car to the screened window where the enticing aroma of grilled burgers wafted onto the evening breeze. Mama placed their order then turned to face her, steering her toward a nearby picnic table. “I want to talk to you about this morning, la hija. That was a very big decision for one so young. Do you understand what it means to be saved?”
“Yes, Mama. Our teacher talked about it in Sunday school. God loves me so much He sent Jesus, His only son, to die for me. If I accept what He did and invite Him into my heart, He comes to live inside me.”
Mama nodded. “That’s right. But do you understand why Jesus died?”
Graciela wrinkled her eyebrows and skewed her lips to one side. Why did God’s son have to die for her? “Not really. I know it has to do with sin, but you told me I’m a good girl.”
A smile rounded Mama’s lips, and she reached across the table to tweak Graciela’s nose. “Yes, you are a good girl, but not all the time.”
A big lady brought their burgers wrapped in white paper, and set them on the table along with white Styrofoam cups and a red plastic basket of steaming fries.
Graciela reached for the cup and sucked hard to get the thick chocolate milkshake into her mouth, where it melted and ran down her throat.
Mama rustled the white paper wrapping. “Remember when you stole a cookie from the jar and accidentally broke the lid? I asked if you did it, and you said no.”
“I was afraid you’d be mad at me.” She spoke around the big bite of burger she’d just taken.
“Ahh, sweet daughter, you must not let the opinions of others keep you from doing the right thing, but that is a very difficult lesson to learn.” Mama leaned her head back, her eyes trained on the sky. “But you see that you are not perfect, right? That even though you are good most of the time, you are not good all the time?”
It was true. There were times she got angry with her brothers for teasing her. Times when she was so upset with Papa that she wished . . . No! She mustn’t wish such things!
“I can tell by the look on your face that you know it is true. As much as we want to be perfect, we are not.” Mama’s voice was a soft spring breeze.
Graciela’s shoulders sagged. Why couldn’t she be good all the time?
Mama’s fingers gently lifted her chin. “Don’t be sad, la hija. That is why God gave us Jesus. We are born with part of us broken on the inside.” Mama patted her chest with one hand. “By His grace, He will one day make us complete. Until then, we must do our best, but trust in His grace.”
A sudden understanding flew to her heart. “My name.” The awe and wonder she felt came out in her words.
Mama nodded, a tender look on her face. “Yes, Graciela. You are named for God’s grace. I was saved right before you were born.”
Warmth flooded her being, and gratitude to God for what He’d done swelled in her chest. When they pulled away from Dairy Maid a few minutes later, Graciela could not remember a time when she felt so completely happy.
They stopped at a red light, and Mama reached over to tickle her ribs.
She giggled. As she dodged Mama’s wiggling fingers, she glimpsed a car headed toward them so fast it looked like a gray blur.
The light turned green and her mother pulled into the intersection.
Graciela opened her mouth in warning, but the words clumped in her throat, finally bursting forth in a scream.
1
Fifteen years later
A car horn blasted through the summer evening air, followed by tires screeching against pavement and the rancid smell of burning rubber. Grace yanked her head in Mama’s direction. The noisy blast continued as a car bore down on them. Everything went pitch black as Mama’s piercing scream joined her own, followed by a deadly thud.
Heart racing, Grace jerked awake, forcing herself to a sitting position. The same old nightmare. She brought both hands to her face and gulped in air to slow her pounding pulse. Why now? She’d endured the last year of law school and the bar exam without memories of that awful night plaguing her. But now that she was back in Miller’s Creek to work for Tyler, Dent, and Snodgrass as a full-fledged attorney, the dream shattered her sleep for the fourth time in a week.
Grace pulled her hands away from her face—almost afraid to find them dripping with blood—then glanced at the alarm clock on her makeshift nightstand. 5:15 in the morning. She flopped back on the bed and stared at the dark nothingness above her head. There was no way she’d get back to sleep now. Might as well get an early start.
A sudden rush of excitement coursed through her veins. All her hard work had finally paid off. Now it was time to enjoy herself for a change and initiate her life plan, which included a stellar career, new house, Mr. Right, and of course, children.
She removed the band that confined her hair and gave her head a shake. Better to just focus on her career at this point, her best chance at proving her worth—to Papa, to the people of Miller’s Creek, and to Mr. Right, whoever he was.
The cold floor beneath her bare feet sent shivers rippling through her body as she raced down the hallway to the tiny kitchen to make a pot of coffee for Papa. Within a few minutes the coffee machine gurgled and the fresh-brewed aroma permeated every square inch of the house. She was just about to head for a shower when Papa entered.
“You’re up early.” His eyes held questions.
There was no way she’d tell him about the nightmare. No need to cause him worry or pain. “Just excited about this being my first day as an attorney.”
He wandered past her to pull a coffee cup from the cabinet. “It’s all you’ve talked about for weeks.” He droned the words, his voice flat.
Grace rolled her lips between her teeth. It would be nice to have a word of congratulations--anything to recognize her hard work and achievement--but wishing for it wouldn’t make it happen. Instead she sent a sad smile. “I’d better get ready for work.”
She hurried down the hall to the only bathroom in the house and turned on the lights and the little space heater Papa had hung from a nail protruding from the paneled walls. The power cord snaked behind the sink faucet before finding the overloaded outlet—an electrical disaster waiting to happen, but Papa’s way of making do with what he had.
The pipes groaned in protest when she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get warm. Living with Papa and his stony silence would definit
ely be the hardest part of her plan, but it would have to do for now. With her brothers and their families now in South Texas, it was her only option.
An hour later, she stepped once more into the kitchen, dressed and ready for work. Grace reached for the spiral notebook that served as her daily planner and checked off the tasks she’d already completed. Start laundry. Check. Make bed. Check. Bible study and prayer. Check.
Millie, the stray cat she’d taken in years ago, butted her head against Grace’s leg, begging for attention. She squatted to scratch the fluffy feline behind the ears. “How’s my kitty?” Grace scooped the cat into her arms and hugged her close. How would she have survived Mama’s death without the perky ears always willing to listen?
The back door swung open. Dressed in his heavy brown coveralls, Papa entered, and brought with him a gust of cold air and the smell of cows. He didn’t say a word, but ambled past her to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, his dirty work boots clomping against the old wooden floor, his face devoid of a smile.
She wrinkled her nose, dropped Millie to the floor, and brushed cat hair from her black skirt. Long gone were the hopes that her father would be proud of her for becoming an attorney. “Through with the chores?”
He continued to wash his hands without looking her way.
Grace forced her hurt feelings aside, her mouth suddenly dry. She should be used to his emotional distance by now. “Papa, I know you don’t approve of me being an attorney, but—”
He held up one hand for silence, his back still to her, water dripping down his sleeve. “Enough, Graciela. I don’t want to discuss this anymore. You made up your mind to disrespect my wishes long ago.”
His displeasure hanging like dead weight around her neck, Grace blinked back tears and picked up her old book bag. It was way too early, but she might as well go to work. She’d grab a pastry at Granny’s Kitchen on the way. No, on second thought, it wouldn’t hurt to skip breakfast. That way she’d save money and inch toward losing those last few pounds she’d gained while studying for the bar. Without another word to Papa, she slipped out of the house, climbed in the battered old farm truck, and headed to the office.
The Way of Grace (Miller's Creek Novels) Page 1
