Trusting Grace

by Maggie Brendan

  Once she had her father settled nicely by the window with his copy of Moby-Dick, she asked him about everyone in town. “Was Eli surprised to see you?”

  “He was, and he told me he and the missus didn’t ride out to see us because Matilda was about to have a baby. Did you know about that?”

  A sudden pang squeezed her chest, and she drew in a deep breath. “No, I did not.”

  Owen must have sensed the change in her tone. “I’m sorry that you never had children, I really am. But we truly can’t know God’s plan in all that. I wish I did know.”

  “I’m okay, Pop. I’m happy for Matilda. I’ll have to knit her a blanket or something.”

  “You know, I really like that new fella,” Owen said.

  “What fella?”

  “Like you don’t know. Robert, of course. Now, don’t go taking this the wrong way, but it’s almost like having the son I never had all these years. Nice to have someone to have ‘men talk’ with.”

  “Is that right? Well, I won’t take it personally. I need my friend time with Ginny, so I suppose it’s much the same thing.” She adjusted a light coverlet across his legs.

  “He told me he was married before. Wife died after an illness.”

  A long silence filled the room before Grace spoke. “Is that so?” It made no difference to her. Did it? Who? How long? But she didn’t dare ask. It really made no difference, she told herself again.

  “Now you sound like Robert. He wanted to know why the farm was named Bidwell instead of Miller—so I told him.”

  “I’m not sure he needed to know that. He is only our hired help, after all.”

  “Give him a chance, Grace. He seems like a good man to me. I’m usually not far off the mark when it comes to what people are really like.”

  Grace changed the subject. “I’ll go see if he needs any help holding the wire or nails. We don’t want those varmints coming back tonight. I’ll be back soon and we’ll have supper.”

  “Why don’t you ask him to stay?”

  “Maybe. I’ll see.” She slipped out the door.

  12

  “I thought I’d see if I could be of some help,” Grace said, nearing the makeshift sawhorse where Robert was bent over measuring the length of a piece of wood. He glanced up, pencil between his teeth, pausing as she approached. The blue color in his flannel shirt turned his steely eyes into a cool shade of blue.

  He removed the pencil, lifted the board to feel its smooth edges where he’d sawed the length. “You might help by lifting the edge of that chicken wire I’ve already nailed while I push this board underneath.”

  She moved quickly to assist him, while the chickens walked about picking at the ground and, occasionally, her boot tops. “I sure hope that coyote won’t come slinking around again.”

  “Guess you aren’t good with a gun or you’d have put a bullet through him,” Robert said matter-of-factly.

  Grace felt her face flush. “That’s not entirely true. I do know how to use a gun, but he was already nearing the woods by the time I ran outside.”

  He moved to stand next to her, sliding the wood beneath the wire. “Let me get a couple nails to hold it in place. Then we can place the wire back across.”

  Grace nodded, noting the outdoorsy smell of him and the very nearness of his shoulder close to hers. He’d rolled back his shirtsleeves, and she caught a glimpse of dark hair curling against tanned forearms.

  He reached inside his shirt pocket for a nail and began hammering the wood in place. Once it was secure, he reached over to grasp the wire she was holding back. His fingers brushed the knuckles of her hand, and she felt something in the pit of her stomach. Grace glanced at him, and he stiffened, moving aside. “Sorry,” he muttered, then continued nailing the wire in place.

  They worked in rhythm for a few minutes when she ventured another conversation. “Pop tells me you were married before.”

  Robert quirked an eye at her. “I was.”

  Seeing that he wasn’t about to say another word, Grace quietly said, “You didn’t tell us when you came for the job.”

  “Would it have mattered?” He didn’t look at her when he spoke, just picked up another piece of wood to cut.

  “Well, I guess not, but I thought it was curious. That’s all.”

  “I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal affairs with my employer.” His jaw set like hard steel as he lifted the saw. “Can you hold that end while I saw this piece?” He motioned to the sawhorse.

  She held the board steady as he sawed the wood. He was downright peculiar. “I know Pop told you that I’m a widow.”

  “Yes, he did, and I’m sorry.” Robert sliced through the wood with a smooth, steady back-and-forth motion.

  “I guess that makes us kindred spirits in a way. We’ve both been widowed.” She blew away a lock of hair that fell across her lip as she held on to the wood.

  “I reckon. You can let go now. I can take care of the rest.” He paused, squinting at her in the sunlight.

  “Why don’t you have supper with us? I have plenty.” Grace stood holding her breath while clasping her hands in front of her.

  “Maybe another time.” He turned back to the henhouse and started nailing the board in place.

  That was it? No excuse—just no? “And here I was hoping you’d show me how to make that special soufflé of yours,” she prodded.

  “Not today, but thanks for the invite.” He turned to face her, gazing through cool, narrowed eyes.

  Grace stood with her arms folded and said with a teasing grin, “I don’t believe you can really cook.” She saw his lips part with a half-smile at her teasing. Watch out—you may actually give me a heartwarming smile any minute. But he didn’t.

  “You might be surprised at the many talents I have—”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I don’t like to brag, but I can sew a straight line and once helped piece a quilt top—or part of it—with my grandmother. So don’t underestimate me.”

  She laughed. “Then I suppose you like to keep your talents well hidden?”

  He moved to lift another board in place, then said over his shoulder, “Maybe so. I share them only with special people.”

  “Then I must be one, since you told me you’d whip up a soufflé one day.” She dropped her arms to her side.

  He looked at her in surprise. “I did?”

  “Not exactly, but you brought it up.”

  He finally smiled enough that she could see that he had nice teeth. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Pop said I could be a nagger until I got what I wanted.”

  “I agree. I meant to tell you to keep your eye on Bluebelle or put her in the barn at night.”

  Conversation over. Just like that! He started nailing the last board as if she were already gone. Her disappointment stung and her throat tightened. “I will. Goodbye then.”

  She whirled around and stepped away, somehow feeling foolish. If Pop hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t have asked at all—and I won’t again. She was irritated at herself. She didn’t want to seem like she was flirting with him. He seemed reserved around her but was talkative with her pop. Why?

  Robert watched Grace walk back to the house, pausing to scoop up Bluebelle. There was no need for him to entertain the idea of getting to know her better. He didn’t trust women. All they seemed to want was a ring on their finger. Images of his first wife swam before him. He’d done that and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. But she sure was pleasant to look at, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was flirting with him. Well, looking didn’t cost a thing.

  He finished up, knowing the chicken coop was secure. He needed to get all his tools put away and try to get back to the children to see how school had gone. At least they weren’t aimlessly looking for something to do while he was away at work. Kids could get into a heap of trouble with time on their hands—he should know.

  13

  When Wednesday rolled around, Tom waited u
ntil the class had their first lesson in spelling at the schoolhouse, then raised his hand to use the outhouse. The teacher nodded and told him not to dawdle. Tom didn’t intend to—he had better things to do. And school wasn’t one of them.

  He made a pretense of walking in the direction of the outhouse once he was outside, but he kept walking up the lane to town. He was through with education. He had it in his mind to find a job in town, and that was right where he was headed.

  He didn’t take time to enjoy the cacophony of nature sounds or the fine spring day, as was his normal habit. Before long he’d reached town and strode up the street until he found the mercantile store. Mr. Eli seemed like a nice enough man. He’d start there since he’d at least met him.

  Tom spied Eli opening a box, and wasting no time, Tom walked straight over to him. “Mr. Eli, you got a minute?”

  Eli paused, still holding a bag of dried beans, and looked at him with surprise. “How ’do, Tom? What brings you to town? I thought you and your sisters would be in school.”

  “They are, but I’m not. Could you use some help around here? I need a job.”

  “Is your father okay with you not going to school?” Eli asked.

  “He doesn’t care, but you won’t tell him about me, will you?”

  “Now listen here, Tom. I can’t make that promise. Besides, if you don’t show up at school, he’ll eventually find out.”

  “But don’t you have some work for me to do around here? I’m a quick learner. I’ll work for anything—you decide. We could use the money.” Tom held his breath while the store owner gazed down at him with a doubtful look in his eye. Eli would either tell Robert or help him out.

  “To be honest, my clerk quit just yesterday, so I could use the help—at least until I can hire a grown man.”

  They shook hands and Tom breathed a happy sigh. “You won’t be sorry, Mr. Eli. Just tell me what you want me to start with. Oh, and let me be the one to tell Rob—I mean, my papa.”

  Eli nodded, then led him over to where he stocked supplies.

  By the end of the afternoon, Tom surprised himself at how fast he could work. He’d unpacked four boxes of shotgun shells, three of tobacco, and a large box of longhandles. Much better than being in that dumb school. He whistled while he worked and the time passed quickly by. At lunchtime, he sat on the back porch and ate the meager sandwich Becky had packed, with his stomach growling for more, but he wouldn’t complain. He felt a certain freedom away from his sisters for a change, but he sure missed his mama. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. He’d have to make sure he got home before Robert. There was no need to tell him he wasn’t at school if the girls kept quiet.

  Grace had begun spending a little more time on her appearance in the mornings than she used to. She told herself it was just that she should always look presentable in case Warren dropped by, but really she wanted Robert to quit thinking of her as just a widow. Ginny was right. She should try to get out more and be with other people. After all, she’d grieved a long time for her husband, and no matter how she cried, that wouldn’t bring him back. Maybe it was time to look to the future—if she was to have one at all. She pulled her hair into a smooth chignon and donned a homespun dress with a stiff white apron, then she headed in the direction of the kitchen to whip up a batch of bread to rise. She passed the door to her father’s bedroom—open as usual in case he needed her help. Hearing him talking to himself, she stopped just outside the door to listen.

  “—Lord, You have been so gracious to me all these years and blessed me with a sweet daughter and wonderful wife—God rest her soul—and I try not to ask too much for me but for many others who are worse off. But if You have an inclination to hear an old man’s plea, would You consider healing me of my affliction? Maybe give me energy and strength in my legs to do things as I used to on my own? I ask for healing, Lord, if it’s part of the plan You have for me. If not, then I’ll continue to make the best of what time I have left on this earth. I thought I’d take a moment to ask because I reckon I only want Grace to have another chance at life without being saddled with me. I’m grateful for the wonderful years I’ve had and hope I have a few more. Thank You for hearing my prayer.”

  Grace held her fist up to her mouth to keep from crying out to him, then slipped away from the door. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard her father pray, but never a prayer asking for healing. Hot tears flooded her face, so she turned around and went back to her room. Seeing her cry would only upset him. She’d prayed God would heal him, but she was wise enough to know that healing was not always His answer. It was a while before she could put on a bright face to go help her father with his morning ablutions.

  “How’s the new schoolin’ going?” Robert asked while he and the children were sitting around the fire. They’d eaten a meager supper consisting of potato soup and day-old bread that he quickly put together when he got back from the Bidwell farm. He waited as each one of them clammed up, then glanced over at Tom before answering.

  “It’s okay,” Becky finally offered. “Mr. Anderson is strict, but today he helped me understand my math equations.”

  Robert nodded. “That’s good, Becky.” Then turning to Sarah, he asked, “And what do you think about your new school, little lady?” She was usually the first one to offer up an answer, but he noticed Sarah wasn’t her gregarious self tonight.

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “I like it just fine. Some of the girls stared at my clothes.” She threw a look over at Tom.

  “What? Why you lookin’ at me? It’s just an ordinary school.” Tom looked at the wood in his hand that he was whittling.

  Robert glanced in Tom’s direction. “I thought you might have a little more to say.” Robert felt something was amiss in Tom’s demeanor. “We’ll have to do something about your clothes, Sarah. I’m afraid you’ve outgrown the dress you’re wearing. By the way, kids, I should have enough money saved soon to get us a place at the boardinghouse in town. Won’t that be nice?”

  They all began to speak at once. Robert held up his hand. “Hold on, I can’t hear a thing you’re all saying.”

  Sarah got up and sat next to him. “Papa, will me and Becky have a room together?”

  Robert was startled for a moment to hear her call him Papa again, but it pleased him. Being called anything but Robert might take some getting used to. “We’ll see. We can string up a curtain and divide the room if I can’t afford an adjoining one.”

  Becky clapped her hands together. “Oh, I can hardly wait. A real honest-to-goodness bed! Anything is better than sleeping outside.”

  “Humph! Soon as I’m old enough you can all have the place to yourself.” Tom scraped the wood a little too hard and nicked his finger. He sucked the droplet of blood away.

  Robert threw him a questioning look. Was he really such a bad father to him? He thought they’d come to some sort of understanding and even a bit of friendship. “Is that so? Where are you aiming to go? And just how old do you think you need to be to go off on your own?”

  “About thirteen and that’s not too far away,” he answered. “I think I’ll know all I need to know by then.”

  Sarah giggled, swinging her legs back and forth. “Mama always said you were a smart one, Tom.”

  “Yeah, he’s smart all right,” Becky retorted, and Tom glared back at her.

  “You have a lot more to learn, son, I’m afraid. It’s time we all went to bed so you won’t be late for school tomorrow.” Robert rose, trying to push thoughts of Ada out of his memory and all the trouble her death had caused. Sarah held on to his hand but got up and followed him to the wagon.

  ———

  “Thanks for keeping my secret, Becky. I was afraid for a minute that Sarah was going to give me away.”

  Becky sighed heavily and folded her arms. “I don’t know if I can continue to lie, Tom. You know mama didn’t teach us that way.”

  “Maybe not, but look who lied about having children. Just let me figure this out for my
self. I feel like we are nothing but a big burden for Robert.”

  “Papa,” she reminded him. “You wouldn’t actually leave me and Sarah, would you?”

  Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing—I don’t want to live like this.”

  14

  Grace enjoyed working in her vegetable garden, knowing it promised the bounty of a good harvest that would soon come. Bluebelle quacked and waddled around with interest at her every move, making her laugh aloud, but Grace worked around her. Time spent outdoors on such a gorgeous spring day gave her time alone to think. Uppermost in her mind was the potato crop. Her father had walked with her to the field to inspect it, which took all his strength, but he’d declared that it looked good and healthy.

  Pausing a moment, she glanced up, shielding her eyes to see Robert walking about the field and checking it out as well. In the weeks since he’d come to work for them, she’d noticed the paleness of his skin tanned to a warm brown, and his hands took on the look of a farmer—broken, ragged nails and calluses. There was something altogether pleasing about this image and his presence. She was beginning to become familiar with the way he stood, one hand resting on his hip, slightly bent shoulders that pulled tight against the suspenders he wore with his faded brown work pants. Most times his broad hat hid his eyes from view, which he seemed to prefer, but she could still guess his mood by the firm set of his jaw or his tight-lipped way of speaking. A few times she’d caught him smiling—slightly—but she didn’t remember ever hearing him laugh.

  She created a well with a mound of dirt around the tomato plants, listening to the cacophony of birds in the blueberry bushes, until she heard a rider coming up the lane. It was Warren. She straightened and shook the dirt from her skirt, then smoothed her apron. He was supposed to have come before now. She guessed he’d finally found time. She would’ve expected him to drive a buggy dressed as nicely as he was in a dashing pin-striped suit and vest. He drew his horse up near her and dismounted with a broad grin, showing a dimpled cheek and a charming glint in his deep-set eyes.