Grace (War Brides Book 4)

by Linda Ford

  Grace turned back to supper preparations, her own worries buried deep in her mind.

  The next morning, having made arrangements to meet Mr. Boushee in Edmonton, Billy prepared for an early start. “I’ll phone the store every day and leave a message for you.” He threw his satchel of clothing in the plane. “Of course, when I really get north, I probably won’t have access to a phone.” In went heavy mittens and coat.

  “You won’t run into snow, will you?”

  “Red says the north is unpredictable this time of year. His advice was to come prepared for anything.”

  “That’s comforting,” she muttered.

  “We’ll be fine. Red’s been there before.”

  “Yes, that’s reassuring, I suppose.”

  “Yup.” He totally missed her sarcasm. “That’s the works, I think.” He nodded. “I guess I’m ready.”

  Suddenly, the enormity of what lay ahead hit her. “I’ll be all alone.” Panic laced her voice.

  He took her in his arms. “Yes, Grace, you’ll manage just fine. You have the car. You can do as you like.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from saying what she’d like was for him to stay home where they’d both be safe. “I can’t bear to think of you being gone so long.” She shivered. “And all the things that could go wrong.”

  “Then don’t think about it. You can’t make things any better or worse by dreading them.”

  She wanted to say it worked both ways: he couldn’t make things better by assuming nothing but the best. Instead, she held him tight. It would be the last time she hugged him for a week—maybe more—and she wanted to store up the feel of him.

  He kissed her. Nothing mattered but having her arms around him. With a muffled groan, he pulled away. “I have to go. Red is waiting.” He bent for one last, quick kiss. “I’ll miss you, Gracie One.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, she stepped back, waving as he took off. She stared into the sky until he vanished from sight.

  9

  He hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes when the house felt as hollow as an empty tin can. Even the cat and her kittens had wandered away and didn’t come when she called.

  “I will not be a baby,” she vowed aloud, shrinking back as her words echoed in the stillness. “What would Nellie do?”

  That was easy. Nellie had a new baby to care for.

  “Well, what about Willow?”

  Again, the answer was simple. Willow had her brood of youngsters, a huge garden, her chickens, and her herbs. Willow probably never had time to sit, let alone to wonder how to pass the time.

  “What about Irene?”

  She didn’t know. It was weeks since she’d heard from Irene, though she knew her sister had her plate full with a veteran and his motherless children to care for. “A tough row to hoe,” Father would have said. For a moment, she contemplated visiting Irene as Billy had suggested. Then she shook her head. Seeing Irene, observing how competent she was, remembering the words she’d said to Grace so long ago—it was long ago. She’d only been a child. Time enough to forget it.

  She sighed. If only one could forget things that easily.

  The whole day stretched ahead of her empty and hollow. She’d avoided visiting Nellie since the baby’s birth, but now loneliness made her feelings of guilt and inadequacy fade in comparison.

  “I’ll go before I change my mind,” she muttered, hurrying to the car and driving away.

  No one came to the door when she drove into the Deans’ yard. She saw Tom stacking hay in a field away from the house. Knocking but not waiting for an answer, she opened the door.

  Loud wails filled the room.

  “Nellie,” she called softly, thinking Nellie might be putting the baby to sleep.

  When there was no answer, she called louder, “Nellie!” Then she followed the sound to the front room.

  Nellie, her head tipped back, a squalling, red-faced infant in her arms, sat limply in the rocker.

  Grace smiled. She’d been expecting to see the picture of serene motherhood, not this look of utter exhaustion.

  “Nellie,” she spoke softly.

  Nellie cracked open her eyes. “Hello, stranger.”

  Grace smiled crookedly. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again so soon.”

  Nellie’s eyes widened. “I’ve been dying to see you and thank you for saving my life. Mine and little Rebecca’s. Tom said he didn’t know what to do. He said it was your idea to send for Willow.” She held out a hand to Grace. “I owe you so much.”

  Grace sank to a chair. “I thought you would be angry.”

  “Angry? Why would I be angry?”

  Grace shrugged and looked down. “I felt like I failed you. I didn’t know how to help.”

  Nellie smiled. “Oh, Grace, you knew exactly what to do—get help.” She waited until Grace met her eyes. “It was your resourcefulness that saved our lives.”

  The infant in Nellie’s arms, quiet a moment while they talked, squalled angrily.

  “Come and meet your namesake.” Nellie turned the baby toward Grace. “This unhappy young lady is Rebecca Grace.”

  Grace touched her tentatively with her fingertip. “She’s so soft. Does she cry like this all the time?”

  Nellie sighed. “Occasionally she sleeps.” She turned tired, desperate eyes to Grace. “Mostly she cries.” She gulped. “I wish my mother was here.” To Grace’s consternation, Nellie broke into tears.

  “Nellie, what can I do to help?”

  Around her sobs, Nellie managed to get out, “Hold the baby for awhile so I can get the kitchen clean, the diapers washed.” She dashed away her tears. “Would you mind?”

  It was Grace’s turn to gulp. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Sit here.” Nellie pushed herself to her feet and waited for Grace to position herself before she placed the still-crying infant in her arms.

  Grace stiffened as the baby cried harder. “What’s the matter?”

  Nellie laughed. “She doesn’t like to be moved, the little monkey.”

  Grace hardly dared breath.

  Nellie patted her shoulder. “Relax. She won’t break.”

  Grace tried to do as she was told.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get a few things done.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll see if she’ll settle.”

  “Do your best, but don’t be surprised if she keeps up her racket.”

  Grace studied the wrinkled, wide-mouthed infant. “So you’re Rebecca Grace?” She ran the back of her finger along the infant’s cheek. “You don’t seem very happy about it.” The baby hiccoughed and stopped crying. “There, see it’s not all that bad, is it?”

  As if to prove her wrong, the little one took a deep breath and let it out in a long angry wail.

  Grace sighed. “I don’t think she likes me,” she called to Nellie.

  “Then she doesn’t like me or Tom either. She slept the first two days after she was born, but she’s done nothing but cry since then.” Nellie sat down, sighing wearily. “I’m lucky if she let’s me get an hour’s sleep at a time. I am so tired.”

  “I could hold her while you have a nap.” Grace half hoped Nellie would refuse, but Nellie jumped up.

  “Oh, thank you, Grace. It’s just what I need.” She hurried from the room, pausing only long enough to say, “It’s not long since she’s eaten. She should be alright for an hour or so.”

  Grace stared after her, then down at the crying infant. She tried rocking, but the baby only stopped crying for a moment. Gingerly, lest she do something wrong, Grace shifted the baby to her shoulder. Again, a brief pause while she caught her breath, then more crying.

  “You certainly know how to make me feel inadequate,” she muttered. Unable to bear the distressed sounds any longer, she pushed to her feet, bouncing the infant in her arms.

  The baby’s cries settled to intermittent sobs. A minute later Grace saw the infant had fallen asleep. But when Grace tried to sit, the baby fussed so she kept moving, af
raid if she stopped, the baby’s cries would disturb Nellie.

  Nellie woke up some time later. “She’s sleeping?”

  “As long as I keep walking. If I stop, she starts to fuss again.”

  As if on cue, little Rebecca opened her eyes and wailed.

  Nellie took her. “She’ll be hungry now.” She put the baby to her breast and turned back to Grace. “I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how tiring it is to look after her.”

  Grace flexed her sore arms. “Just an hour of it, and my arms ache.”

  Nellie nodded. “It makes me feel so helpless. Why doesn’t she settle? Am I doing something wrong?”

  Her questions burned into Grace’s heart. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you should. Maybe she’s simply a fussy baby.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nellie seemed unaffected by her words. Grace understood. How often had she blamed herself for things when others assured her she was doing her best?

  She stayed awhile longer, helping Nellie prepare supper for Tom before she headed home. As she passed the crossroads, she stopped the car. Willow would know if there was anything more Nellie could do. She turned the car down the road toward the Weltys’.

  “Nellie looks plumb wore out,” she explained to Willow. “I was wondering if you could tell her if there is anything more she should do.”

  “Mary, ya finish frying this chicken. Dan’el, ya run and get my bag. Mister,” she called to her husband, “I’m off to see about the new baby.”

  “You do that, woman. I’ll look after the youn’uns.”

  Grace glanced around. They all seemed to understand Willow’s job took her away from them.

  “If ya will give me a ride over, it would save a mite of time.”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  Clutching her bag close to her chest, her eyes wide with apprehension, Willow climbed up beside Grace on the leather seat.

  “This will be far enough,” she said at the crossroads. She patted Grace’s hands before she stepped down. “Ya did good.” With a wave, she strode away.

  Grace stared after her, repeating her words. Yes. She nodded. I guess I did do good.

  Next morning she arrived at the store as Mr. Tunney raised the blinds.

  “Mrs. Marshall, good morning.”

  “Morning. Did my husband phone?”

  “Matter of fact he did. He said he arrived at Peace River Crossing last night. Said he’d be there a day or two getting pontoons on the plane. Wait a minute. I wrote it all down for you.” He disappeared inside, returning with a scrap of paper. “Said everything was going well and for you not to worry.” He handed her the paper reluctantly. “Said he’d call again tonight.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Tunney.” About to drive away, she thought of something. “What time did he call?”

  The storekeeper rubbed his chin. “Believe it was about nine o’clock. The missus and me was about to turn the lights out.”

  “Thanks again.” Too late at night to ask if she could wait for Billy’s phone call.

  She drove a block before she pulled over and read his note. Nothing more than Mr. Tunney had said, but she reread it several times before tucking it into her handbag.

  At home she immersed herself in a novel, determined to survive the day on her own.

  Next morning she again arrived at the store as Mr. Tunney opened the door.

  “Morning, Mrs. Marshall. Got another note for you. Your husband says he probably won’t be able to call for the next few days though. He’s way up north, isn’t he? Such a long way.” He handed Grace the piece of paper. “You must be real proud of that man of yours.”

  “Yes, I’m very proud of him.” Thanking him, Grace took the note and drove away without explaining her pride came not from Billy venturing up north but from Billy’s character—his optimism, his unfailing good spirits, his kindness.

  “I wish he were here to give me a shot of his optimism right now,” she muttered. This being alone with nothing but one’s thoughts gave her entirely too much time to dwell on her doubts and fears. Yesterday had been haunted by the loss of her baby. When she forced herself to think of something else, she’d been equally distressed by thoughts of her own mother’s death.

  The idea of spending another day alone was unbearable. She turned toward the Deans’. Perhaps Nellie would welcome her offer of help.

  Nellie shepherded her into the house, her fingers to her lips. “She’s sleeping. Willow gave me something for her and showed me comfort measures. She told me not to worry about Rebecca crying so much. Some babies simply need to cry more than others.”

  Two pairs of eyes turned toward the sudden wail from the other room.

  Nellie sighed. “At least she sleeps some of the time. By the way, thanks for sending Willow.”

  Grace followed Nellie to the baby’s cradle.

  Nellie nursed the baby, then cradled her in one arm as she did her work.

  “Have you heard from Billy?”

  Grace nodded. “I won’t hear for a few days now.”

  “Do I detect a tremor in your voice?”

  “Probably. I don’t like staying alone.”

  “Worried?”

  Grace shook her head. “My thoughts won’t give me any peace.”

  Nellie’s hands stilled. “Grace, I wish there was some way I could make you see that God’s peace is a gift ‘that passes all understanding.’ That’s from the Bible.”

  “I do too, but I guess I have to figure it out myself.” Nellie made it sound so simple—as if all she had to do was say yes, please, and peace would suddenly envelop her heart.

  “I suppose you do. Just don’t waste too much time doing it.”

  “I won’t.” The promise was easily spoken, but she had no notion of how she’d fulfil it. Perhaps Nellie was wrong. Perhaps some people were destined for peace, others for inner turmoil.

  Every day Grace checked for messages from Billy. Four days she turned away in disappointment, returning to a silent, empty house. On the fifth day, Mr. Tunney handed her a slip of paper. She didn’t wait for him to tell her what it said but hurriedly drove away. She braked the car and unfolded the paper.

  “Everything is well. I’ve had a lot of fun and excitement. Will tell you when I get home. Expect to arrive Monday.”

  She folded the note carefully and put it with the others in her bag. Two more days and her agony of loneliness would end.

  She drove to church the next day, her heart longing for words of comfort and encouragement, and she found them there, but the lonely house soon enough drove them away.

  She woke early Monday, jumped from bed, and hurried to the kitchen to mix up cookie dough. She hurried from the table to the stove to the washbasin. If she kept busy, the time would pass faster. All the while she listened for the distant drone of the airplane.

  Twice she ran from the house, looking to the sky, and returned disappointed. The third time she thought she heard him she waited, straining until she was certain the noise was real, then hurried outside and spotted the dark spot in the sky that rapidly drew closer. Billy barely had time to taxi to a stop before she raced toward him. He jumped down and caught her in his arms, kissing her.

  “I missed you, Gracie.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ve lots to tell you. It was a wonderful experience. Only one thing wrong with it, and that was being away from you.” He kissed her again, longer, more gently.

  She held him tightly.

  After a moment, he extracted himself from her arms. “I brought you something.” He reached into the cargo area and pulled out a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

  But her eyes devoured him. His dark brown eyes shone with excitement and satisfaction, his lips parted in a wide smile. He flipped off his helmet; his dark hair glistened in the sun. She wet her lips. “What is it?”

  He laughed. “Unwrap it and see.”

  She struggled with the strings until he flicked open his pocket knife and cut thr
ough them. The paper fell open and she lifted the article. “It’s a coat.”

  “A parka,” he corrected. “Made by one of the Indian women near Norman Wells.”

  She shook it. It was fine, doe-colored leather trimmed with fancy beadwork and lined with soft fur. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” She leaned over to kiss his mouth.

  “Umm. You taste good.” He draped an arm over her shoulders and turned her toward the house. “What have you been doing with yourself while I was gone?”

  She told him about visiting Nellie. “She named the baby Rebecca Grace.”

  He chuckled. “Gracie Three.”

  “Your trip went well?”

  “We had to put down unexpectedly on the lake when the motor stalled, but it was nothing. We landed smooth as could be, and I soon had the line cleaned out.”

  She shivered. “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound.” While he was gone, she had not allowed herself to think about the consequences if something happened to him up in the wilds, but now it was safe to acknowledge she’d been concerned. “I missed you.”

  He hugged her tighter. “You better.”

  They settled into a routine. Billy had several day jobs, flying men and supplies to Turner Valley and Banff.

  Fall slowly descended with cool, crisp mornings, longer nights, a full harvest moon, and the sound of geese overhead, flying south in formation.

  A contentment settled into Grace’s heart. Billy was home, life was good.

  She visited Nellie often, growing more confident helping with Rebecca.

  “I’ll take these,” she told Mrs. Paige, plunking four books on the desk.

  “I’ll be right there.” Mrs. Paige looked out the window, her attention caught by something.

  Grace joined her. The window looked out on a side street—quiet yards to the left. A wagon trundled down Main Street. A block away ran the back alley of a row of shops tucked in behind the more prestigious Main Street businesses. One was a gambling place. There were other low-class establishments. She’d taken one look at the signs and avoided the street.