Trusting Grace

by Maggie Brendan

  “Then I’ll tell him to start there this morning,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I hope he hasn’t quit.”

  “Don’t be silly—” A sharp rap at the back door interrupted Owen.

  Grace set her cup on the table and hurried over to open the door. Robert stood there, twirling his hat in his hands.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had a personal thing to take care of this morning.”

  Grace stared into his serious face but didn’t ask questions. If it was personal, then it was up to him to share. “And here I was worried that you had quit.” She gave a gentle laugh and he quirked a brow.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, I’m enjoying it here. I thought I’d better find out what assignment you had in store for me this morning.”

  “I was just telling Grace that we have a coyote on the prowl, and we need to secure the chicken coop better,” Owen said, leaning aside to see Robert at the door.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Miller. I’ll get right on that.”

  “Want to join us for a cup of coffee? We had our breakfast an hour ago,” Owen said.

  “Uh, I guess I don’t have time,” he answered with a sheepish look at Grace.

  Was he waiting for her approval? As an answer she reached over to the stove for the pot then took a cup from the cupboard. “You do now.”

  ———

  Robert placed his hat on the table, then took a seat in a straight-back chair. “Thanks, Miss Bidwell.”

  Grace took her seat again. “Please. Why don’t you call me Grace? Miss Bidwell sounds so formal and old.”

  He was mildly surprised but replied, “Yes, ma’am. Please call me Robert. I haven’t been called Mr. Frasier since the bank foreclosed on me.”

  She nodded her pretty head at him. “All right. I meant to invite you to our church that meets in town.”

  “I’m not much of a churchgoer lately.”

  “Oh.” Grace took a sip of coffee and gazed back at him over the rim of her cup.

  Robert didn’t feel like explaining why and was glad she hadn’t pressed him further. He couldn’t imagine dragging the children to church until they were settled in a boardinghouse. They needed a real bath and clean clothes—Tom needed a haircut and so did he. “I’ll need some lumber and a roll of wire to get started on that coop.”

  “I could ride into town with you, son, to buy a few supplies you might need—that is, if you would like some company,” Owen offered.

  “That would be just fine with me. But are you feeling up to it?”

  “I am if you can assist me into the buckboard. I can always wait in the wagon while you get the supplies. I want to take a ride on this beautiful day God has given me.”

  “Of course I’ll help you. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to.” Robert glanced over at Grace, whose face held clear surprise.

  “Pop, you surprise me, but I’m glad you feel like getting out of the house today. I think it’ll be good for you to be outdoors in the fresh air.”

  Robert downed the rest of his coffee. “Thanks for the coffee.” He turned to the older man. “I’ll hitch up the buckboard. Think you’ll be ready by then?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll meet you on the front porch. I’ll just go grab my coat and hat.” Owen struggled to stand and Robert was instantly at his side with a helping hand until Grace came to his aid.

  “I’ve got him. Go on ahead and bring the wagon around,” she said, then leaned closer and whispered, “Thank you.” He could feel her breath lightly on his ear and it tickled, making him feel uncomfortable. He took a step back and nodded okay.

  Once in the barn, he hurriedly hitched the horse to the wagon and brought it around to the house before hopping down to assist Owen. “There you go,” Robert said with encouragement as Owen lifted his good leg onto the step and pulled with his arms. He landed in the seat, smiling broadly down at Robert.

  “That’s good, Pop.” Grace was beaming at both of them. Robert was surprised at how her countenance had changed. She appeared so pleased that her father had decided on a trip to town, and his heart warmed watching the two of them interact.

  ———

  Grace stood watching as they rumbled down the lane toward town, when an overwhelming feeling of loneliness swept through her, making her wish she’d invited herself along. Might as well go feed Bluebelle then start the laundry. Grace sighed. Nothing would get done standing here. Besides, it’s a good thing for the men to have some time without a woman hanging around all the time.

  It felt good to be going somewhere. Owen sat back, watching Robert guide the horses toward Bozeman. A perfect spring day, and he had nothing to complain about—other than his limitations with his legs. But at least today, he would set aside his weakness and try to enjoy the ride. He looked over at Robert, who stared intently ahead, and wanted to know more about this quiet man who had stepped into the role of running the farm.

  They rumbled along in quiet. Owen took in the bunchgrass and wildflowers blooming profusely and the birds twittering about. He’d forgotten how much he loved this valley. Finally, breaking the morning silence, Owen said, “Son, I appreciate you allowing me to come along today. It’s about the first time I’ve felt like getting out, to tell you the truth.”

  “I can understand that. Glad you came along. As I said before, I don’t mind the company. I’m glad that the drive is just a few miles. Makes it real convenient to the farm.”

  “That it does. Grace works herself to death most of the time, so I’m glad you came when you did. You were a mighty big help getting those potatoes in.”

  “Speaking of your daughter—I couldn’t help but notice the farm is called Bidwell Farms and not Miller Farms. I guess I thought it was your place, not hers.”

  “It’s her farm, but I came to live with her and her husband, Victor, after my wife died. Unfortunately, Victor died suddenly three years ago.” Owen paused, a lump in his throat from thinking about his son-in-law. He cleared his throat and continued, “Victor was a good man and a hard worker. Once he was gone, I was able to help out, but then I started having trouble with my legs, unfortunately for Grace.”

  Robert turned, looking at him with a flash of surprise. “And for you as well. I had no idea she was widowed.”

  “She doesn’t like to talk about it, and I can’t blame her. How about yourself? Young man like you should be married with a family by now.” The question seemed to unnerve Robert, and he fidgeted on the seat of the buckboard.

  After a moment of silence, Robert answered, “To tell you the truth, I don’t like to talk about it much either. I was married briefly.”

  Owen noticed his clenched jaw and the tenseness in his shoulders. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry—”

  Robert chuckled, looking at him through steely eyes. “Well, I figure you did but I may as well tell you. My wife died suddenly as well. She was very sick.”

  “Chalk it up to bad manners on my part then, but I’m truly sorry.”

  “No hard feelings. Don’t worry none.”

  “It’s so hard to lose someone you love.” He heard Robert harrumph. Maybe an arranged marriage? “Is that why you left your farm?”

  “Partly. My wheat crop failed soon after she died, so no, not exactly. But I did lose the farm to the bank and had to find something fast.”

  “I see.” Owen could tell that was about all Robert was willing to divulge. “Then I’m glad you showed up at Bidwell Farms.”

  “Me too, Owen. Me too.”

  ———

  The rest of the drive they were both lost in their own reverie. It was the second time Robert had been to town today. The first time was to take the children to school. Even though they had just a few weeks left of the school year, he knew it would give them something to do until he was established. Tom hadn’t wanted to go and only reluctantly gave in, but Becky and Sarah were eager to be with other children. He wished he’d been able to outfit them properly, but maybe by the next school year he could manage
that.

  He’d watched as Becky tried to comb through Sarah’s tight curly hair, finally giving up. He knew nothing of hairstyles, but he thought she looked rather cute with the ringlets falling about her shoulders. Too bad they didn’t have pretty bows for their hair.

  Wait . . . Was he starting to get sappy about the kids? Surely not! He mustn’t let himself get that close to anyone again. He reminded himself that he was only looking out for their welfare and that’s where it stopped. Period.

  When he’d inquired where the school was while they were leaving the café on Saturday, Robert was told to go to the log store of Squire Fitz. It was easy to locate this morning, and he soon found Samuel Anderson, the schoolteacher, who greeted them warmly. A tall, fastidious man, Samuel shook Robert’s hand with a firm grip, welcoming him to the community.

  “I apologize for the lack of our town’s school facility herein, but hopefully the citizens will see the benefit of having a better location and perhaps pay for a school for the children to meet in someday,” he said, showing them to the back room of the log store.

  “This is Tom, Becky, and Sarah,” Robert said. The children stood rigidly, feet planted to the floor, but the teacher quickly ushered them to a rough-hewn log seat with a table in the middle of the small classroom. The other children chattered when they walked by, but Mr. Anderson quickly restored order.

  Robert started for the door. “I really must be going. I’m already late for work. Thank you, Mr. Anderson.” He shifted his gaze to Tom. “Tom, you know the way home. See you all back there later.” With that, he turned back toward the front of the store—and felt the burden of responsibility leave his shoulders for the time being.

  Robert hoped they’d fit right in with the other children. It was about time they were doing something productive with their hours. He turned his thoughts back to Owen, who was talking as they drove into town and rumbled down Main Street.

  11

  Owen was happy to see his old friend Eli, who clapped him heartily on the back.

  “What a great surprise to see you in town, old man!” Eli grinned.

  Owen chuckled. “Who you calling old? We did grow up together, and if memory serves me right, you’re nearly a year older than me.”

  Eli scratched the scruff of his beard, gazing at him through bushy, overhanging eyebrows. “Yeah, but I was always better lookin’! Seriously, me and the missus have been meaning to get out to see you, but what with running the shop and our daughter Matilda about to have a baby, we never seem to have enough time in the day.”

  “I understand. I hear you’ve already met Robert.” Owen indicated Robert standing next to him.

  Eli nodded. “Yes, we have.” He looked at Robert. “A time or two.” He glanced back to Owen. “Say, you seem to be walking pretty steadily.”

  “Today, I reckon so, but other times . . . well, it’s up and down—depends on how tired I get as to how good I’m able to shuffle around. I’m slow, but I’ll take any kind of walking I can get. It beats the alternative.”

  “That’s for sure. Now what can I help you out with today?” Eli placed his hands on his hips, waiting.

  Robert handed him a slip of paper. “Need two-by-fours for the henhouse. Owen says we have a coyote.”

  “Well, if there’s one—there’s another. Owen, you have a seat over here next to the stove, while we gather the lumber and nails. Need any chicken wire too?”

  Owen let Robert guide him over to a chair. “Ask Robert. I’m only here for the ride.”

  “Then I’ll pour you up a cup of fresh coffee,” Eli said. “Be back in a jiffy.” He and Robert walked away, leaving Owen to enjoy the sights and smells of the general store. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the trips to town to get supplies or see his friends. Now that he was a little stronger, he determined the trips should become more frequent—even if he wasn’t able to go alone. He missed the bustle of the small town, vibrant with folks pursuing whatever venture had brought them this far out West.

  Eli returned within a few moments and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “Here you go. Anything else I can get for you while you wait?”

  “Thank you, friend. But I’m happy as a fat cat just enjoying the warmth of the sun through the window.”

  “Then I’m going out to the lumberyard to help Robert find what he needs. Won’t take us long.” He scooted out the back door, and Owen felt envy that his older friend was more agile that he was.

  He turned his head to see a tall woman briskly enter the store. Her silver-streaked brown hair peeped out from a drover’s hat, and she sported men’s pants stuffed into sturdy boots and a drab woolen duster. As she removed her gloves, her eyes immediately swept over the store. She momentarily glanced his way over her round spectacles, then quickly engaged the store clerk with her shopping needs in a no-nonsense manner.

  Owen quietly watched her over the rim of his cup. Now that is a woman who knows what she wants. He tried not to stare. The clerk seemed to diminish under her gaze, nervously responding, although she wasn’t being unkind—just direct. Owen didn’t remember ever seeing her before. The clerk hurried off to get whatever it was she’d asked for, but Owen hadn’t heard exactly what that was. Suddenly, he found her eyes on him while she leaned against the counter, waiting. He managed to give her a brief smile, and to his surprise, she lifted her hand in a brief wave.

  Mmm . . . a widow woman? He’d ask Eli. Eli knew all the gossip even though there were two other mercantile stores in town. The woman appeared to be about his age. Nothing wrong with looking and wondering, he surmised. Something that had never crossed his mind, not since Margaret’s passing. Sometimes he longed to have someone—a companion—that he could relate to. Not that he couldn’t talk with his daughter—but it was different.

  He watched through the window as Eli and Robert loaded timber and a roll of chicken wire into the wagon before walking back into the store.

  Robert hurried over to him. “Do you have any other business in town, Owen? If not, I’m loaded and ready to go.”

  “I reckon not, son.” Owen looked over at Eli. “Eli, who’s that lady standing over there in the duster? I don’t remember seeing her around here before.”

  Eli turned to look. “Oh, that’s Stella Whitfield. Folks call her an old maid. She’s opened a boardinghouse down the street but keeps to herself.”

  Owen scratched his chin thoughtfully. “And here I thought I knew everyone around the valley.”

  Eli shot Owen a lopsided grin. “You interested in meeting her?” he asked loud enough for only Owen to hear.

  Owen’s head shot up. “Me? ’Course not.” He chuckled. “Who’d want an old widow man with bad legs? No one.”

  “That’s not true. She’s a nice lady, but I’ve always thought she’s either lonely or odd—not sure which.” Eli scratched his head.

  “We need to get going, Owen, if you intend for me to get repairs done today.” Robert reached out to offer support, which Owen gratefully accepted. Sometimes, rising from a seated position was more difficult than walking.

  Once he was on his feet, wobbly but steady enough to walk, they started for the door. “Thanks for the coffee, my friend. Come out and see us, you hear?”

  “We sure will. Take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks for your help loading the wagon, Eli,” Robert said.

  Owen noticed Stella discreetly observing them out of the corner of her eye. A comely woman, but years of hard outdoor work and possibly worry etched her face. The clerk returned and she focused her attention on him, and Owen wondered what she thought of a man like him needing help. He wasn’t what a body would consider an advanced age. Did it matter anyway? He told himself it didn’t, but somehow his ego suffered.

  Grace was in the kitchen when she heard a loud squawking from the direction of the henhouse. She threw the dish towel down, stopping only to snatch the Henry leaning on the wall nearby, then ran out the back door and looked out. It took only a moment to spot the slinking c
oyote as he stole away from the henhouse, his prize held tightly between his jaws. She lifted the gun, took aim, and fired but missed him. Drat! She fumed. The gunshot only caused the chickens to squawk louder.

  She leaned the gun against the henhouse wall then hurried back outside to calm the chickens down. Repair of the henhouse was one day late.

  Grace was sitting on the porch, resting from hoeing the vegetable garden, when she heard the men’s voices drifting up the lane to the house. She had to smile when she saw both of them talking and her pop’s smiling face more relaxed than she’d seen it in a long time. She rose from her rocking chair, greeting them with a warm hello. Robert helped Owen out of the wagon and up onto the porch, both of them still laughing and talking.

  Grace helped to settle Owen into the rocking chair, then stood back observing him.

  “I so enjoyed getting away from the house, and Robert was most kind with his assistance.” Owen grinned up at Robert, who gave him a nod.

  “Anytime you want to take a ride anyplace at all, you let me know.” Robert started for the steps. “I better get to working on the chicken coop now.”

  Grace laughed. “You’re a little late for that. A coyote took off with one of my prized laying hens while you were gone.” Robert stared at her, disbelieving.

  “What?” Her father sat straight up in his chair.

  “You heard me right, Pop.” Grace turned to Robert, but he was bounding down the steps two at time toward the wagon. “Let me help you, Robert,” she said, following him to the wagon loaded with wire and lumber.

  He climbed back up into the wagon and picked up the reins. “No need, I can handle it. You go take care of Owen before supper. He’s probably tired after our trip to town.”

  Grace backed away as Robert turned the wagon around. She’d check on him later, but she supposed her pop came first. She was mighty glad that she could count on Robert now—she was beginning to like having him here all day. Maybe someday he’d stay for dinner . . . and she could talk him into making that soufflé he’d talked about. The thought made her smile, and Owen gave her a curious look.