Absence of Grace

by Ann Warner

  After meeting him, she seemed to see him everywhere she went. One morning as she was picking out meat at Rusty’s, she heard his voice. Looking up, she saw him reflected in the glass window behind the meat case. A woman, plump and middle-aged, was gripping his arm.

  “Gerrum. Am I glad I ran into you. Wanted to let you know we tried your suggestion and it worked a treat.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Not as glad as we are to have them Mooneys off our backs. You’ll have to come to dinner so’s we can thank you proper.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Myra. I’m just pleased the idea was a success.”

  “Now, none of that, Gerrum. You’re coming. Tomorrow? Joe’ll be happy for the excuse to break out the Glenlivet.”

  “Well, I surely don’t want to turn down either your good cooking or Joe’s whiskey.”

  “Six suit you?”

  He nodded and Myra gave his arm a pat before she released him. Then she pushed her cart on down the aisle while he turned the corner and disappeared down the adjacent one.

  When Clen got back to the lodge, she asked Marian about the interaction.

  “The Mooneys have been fussing about Myra and Joe driving on their side of the property line for at least five years. Always keeping it simmering. My personal opinion? They all enjoy it too much to settle it. But it took an ugly turn this spring when the Mooneys started digging potholes in the disputed strip.”

  “So what did Gerrum suggest?”

  “I didn’t realize Gerrum was involved, but if it was his idea, it was a good one. Joe and Myra planted shrubs in the holes and filled in with flowers. Plants don’t care who owns that strip. Heard it took the wind right out of Sharon Mooney’s sails when she saw it. Even said ‘good morning’ to Myra the other day.”

  Clen considered the story amusing. She made a point of finding out where they all lived and walked by on one of her evening strolls. The flowers and shrubs were thriving and the driveway ruts were now reestablished five feet closer to Myra and Joe’s house. She wondered at the stubbornness that had kept the four from such an obvious solution.

  Another time she’d just come out of a shop on the main street when she saw Gerrum on the opposite side, walking with and listening attentively to the young woman he’d sat with at dinner the night Clen met him. Elmer Cantrell was approaching the two, and as he got closer, he made a big show of crossing to Clen’s side of the street.

  “Asshole.” The woman turned and flung the word at Elmer.

  Gerrum bent his head and said something to her. After a moment her posture softened, and he took her arm and walked her into Maude’s Café. Clen stepped back inside the shop she’d just exited in order to avoid her own encounter with Elmer.

  Gerrum and the young woman were once again at dinner. They made a striking couple. Dark versus light, solid versus graceful. Later, Clen asked Marian about the woman.

  “That’s Hailey Connelly. She owns ZimoviArt,” Marian said. “This is her second summer here.”

  “She’s so beautiful. I don’t understand why the men aren’t falling all over themselves to sit with her.”

  “Well, maybe because she made it abundantly clear last year they were wasting their time. Except for Gerrum, of course.”

  “Yeah.” John scraped the food off the last plate and placed it in the dishwasher. “The rest need to count their fingers after they shake hands with her.”

  Marian chuckled. “Hailey’s too smart for them, that’s the real trouble, but she and Gerrum are a good match.”

  “I saw them downtown, and Elmer Cantrell made this big show of crossing to the other side of the street.”

  “Well, that’s Cantrell for you,” John said. “Our resident bigot. Doesn’t like Gerrum. I suspect because Hailey does. He’s always trying to get Gerrum’s goat.”

  “It didn’t look like it worked with Gerrum, but Hailey called him an asshole loud enough for half of Wrangell to hear.”

  John chuckled. “Good for Hailey.”

  “The impetuosity of youth,” Marian said.

  “She does look young,” Clen said. “She and Gerrum are a couple?”

  “I’m not exactly sure what they are,” Marian said, looking thoughtful. “Friends for sure, but he’s got to have nearly fifteen years on her.”

  “Hell, woman. Are you saying Gerrum’s an old coot because, if so, that means you think I am too.”

  Marian gave him a saucy look and flipped him with a dishtowel. “That’s not a trap you’re going to catch me in, John Jeffers.”

  Clen left the two of them chuckling together.

  Curious about Hailey, Clen walked downtown the next morning to check out ZimoviArt. The display window for the gallery was on the side street leading to the dock where cruise ships came in, perhaps why Clen hadn’t noticed it before.

  The window contained an attractive arrangement of children’s fur parkas, lacy knitted scarves the color of chocolate milk, and carvings of bears and eagles. All of it pretty de rigueur Alaskan stuff. What wasn’t de rigueur were the framed quilt squares suspended from hooks in the ceiling. Unlike most quilt patterns with their careful geometric arrangements and often conservative color choices, these pieces glowed like a drift of flowers. One, channeling Gauguin, was a free-form pattern with swirls of purple and green with interwoven magenta hexagons that looked like flowers.

  When Clen stepped inside ZimoviArt, she discovered many of the pictures hanging on the gallery walls were watercolors, a medium she loved and was working to master.

  Hailey was on the phone behind the small counter. She lifted a hand in a brief greeting that invited Clen to meander on her own. Clen preferred that, anyway. She stopped in front of a painting of young women with flowing, translucent dresses. Although the fashion was from an earlier time, it reminded her of nights when there was a dance at Marymead and the halls were full of giggling girls in pale dresses.

  The next pieces to catch her eye were a series of small canvases of wildflowers rendered in clear, bright colors. Finally, she stopped in front of the largest painting in the gallery. At first, she saw only the way the colors flowed, with no one color dominating; but then, all at once, the shape of a woman mounted on a unicorn emerged.

  Hailey completed her call and stepped out from behind the counter. “You’re Clen, from the lodge. I’ve been rude. I should have introduced myself. Sorry. I’m Hailey Connelly.” In spite of her youth, she looked so elegant and poised, that the rushed, awkwardly phrased greeting was a surprise.

  “That’s okay. I could have done the same. You have some wonderful paintings, and the quilt squares are amazing.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you like them. I found them lying on an old barrel in a country store in Missouri, and I just had a feeling. Tess, the girl who does them told me, ‘Momma and my aunts make big quilts, but I’d rather do a picture ‘stead of repeating the same old pattern over and over.’” Hailey’s voice fell into a soft Southern cadence as she quoted Tess. “‘I reckon Momma’s probably right, they ain’t good for much, but I think they’re some pretty.’”

  “She sounds like a sweetheart.”

  “She is,” Hailey said, smiling.

  “Are you from Missouri?”

  Hailey’s expression immediately sobered and she shook her head. “Not anymore. How about you? Is there someplace you’re not from anymore?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “And now that we know each other’s darkest secret, is there something I can help you with?”

  “I just came in to look, but that one quilt square is begging me to take it home.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Gauguin.”

  “Ah. I thought the same thing when I saw it.” Hailey walked over and unhooked the green and purple square and brought it to the counter. “How would you like to pay?”

  “Since this is a totally spontaneous purchase, I don’t have any money with me. Could you hold it for me, until I get you a check?”

  “Oh, y
ou can take it with you now if you like. Just bring me the check whenever it’s convenient.”

  Clen walked out carrying the quilt square, glad for the excuse to return.

  Chapter Twelve

  A week into the season, Gerrum stopped by Maude’s Café for an early supper and found Hailey doing the same.

  “It’s such a lovely evening,” Hailey said as they finished eating. “Maybe you’d like to go for a walk?”

  An appealing idea as he’d been bent over an engine most of the day. “How about Mount Dewey?” he said. “The view ought to be good tonight.”

  The trail started near the downtown, and was wide and smooth—a requirement as Hailey’s clothing wasn’t designed for rugged use. While most Wrangell women dressed pretty much the same as the men, in jeans, shirts, and sensible shoes, Hailey wore gauzy dresses and sandals. It made her stand out like a polished stone in a load of gravel.

  Although her apparel was more appropriate for a dance than a hike, she managed the Mount Dewey trail easily. When they reached the top, Gerrum walked over to the drop-off to take in the view. The strait below glittered with sun sparkles, and a boat out in the channel cut a glassy swath through the shimmer. He turned his head to discover Hailey, white-faced, was standing twenty feet back, one hand over her mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I...I don’t like heights.”

  “You should have said something. We could have walked somewhere else.” As he stepped toward her, she flung herself into his arms, and her mouth collided with his.

  Surprised, he stepped back, put his hands on her shoulders, and tried for a teasing tone. “Hailey. This is a shock. I thought all you wanted to do was check the view.”

  “View, shmew.”

  “Come here.” He pulled her close, speaking softly, seeking a way to back them out of this situation as gently as he could. “You are one beautiful woman, and if I were ten years younger, I’d jump at what you’re offering.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. You don’t get away with a lame excuse like that.” She stepped away from him, hands clenched at her sides, and glared. “Either you like me or you don’t.”

  “I do. I like you very much.”

  “So why don’t you want to kiss me?”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. You just surprised me.”

  “Well, I don’t think I want to kiss you.”

  “Okay. I like our being friends.” He hoped that would cement the deal, although, why he didn’t view Hailey, who was both beautiful and intelligent, in a romantic light was an interesting question. Indeed. And do you know the answer? his psyche needled.

  Hailey shook her head looking exasperated, an improvement over her being upset, as well as a major relief.

  “You gay, Gerrum Kirsey?”

  “Rarely.”

  “The inscrutable savage, huh?”

  “One of my best roles.”

  “So...you’re saying coffee without commitment.”

  “Friendship has its own requirements.”

  Seeking to find a comfortable way to remain Hailey’s friend, Gerrum stopped by ZimoviArt later that week and invited her for morning coffee at Maude’s.

  After he and Hailey picked a booth, Maude bustled over with mugs and a pot. She slapped the mugs on the table, poured, then stood, her hip cocked, the coffeepot in one hand, the other hand resting on his shoulder. He fought the urge to shrug it off.

  “Say, what I want to know,” Maude said, in a voice that could easily chop rocks, “is when’re the most eligible couple in Wrangell going to provide us with the social event of the season?” She followed the comment with a titter that shook her considerable bulk.

  Before Gerrum could come up with a response, Hailey smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes at Maude. “You know, I was just now saying that exact thing to Gerrum.” Her voice settled into a full-bore Southern drawl. “That Ike and Tina, I said, it’s plain thoughtless they ain’t letting us in on their plans.” Ike and Tina, not the Turners, but the pair of eagles that hung out at the IGA.

  Maude looked startled, and two locals having a late breakfast at the counter choked back laughs. One of them with more courage than brains offered a comment. “Girl got you good, Maudie.”

  Maude sniffed and straightened, finally removing that unwelcome hand. “My, aren’t we just the kidder, though.” The tone was jocular but her eyes were cold. She gave the man who’d spoken a taste of that malevolent look and he promptly shifted his attention back to his plate of eggs.

  Maude moved away and Hailey shuddered. “Lord, Gerrum, can you believe that woman?”

  “It’s her major talent.”

  “What? Embarrassing people?”

  “She’s a master at startling people into telling her what she wants to know, and if she gets more than she expected, all the better.” Personally, he’d found Maude’s Café to be an excellent place to brush up on the body language of discomfort, something that was useful for his writing. Today, however, he’d been the one squirming.

  “She’s a horrible old biddy.” Hailey spoke almost loud enough for Maude to hear.

  “But a Wrangell original.” He toasted Hailey with his mug, breathing a sigh of relief that she seemed more annoyed than embarrassed by the scene. Relieved too, that she’d deflected Maude so effectively.

  The first time Gerrum encountered the Jeffers’ new cook outside the lodge, he was carrying boxes down the dock and didn’t see her until he almost knocked into her. When she yelped, he stopped, peered around the stack, and found himself gazing into a pair of hazel eyes that made him feel as uneasy as the time he’d had an up-close-and-personal encounter with a black bear and her cubs the previous spring. “Sorry. Didn’t see you.”

  Clen’s irritation, or perhaps it was merely startlement, was replaced with a skeptical look. “You also missed Kody, and you’ll note he’s no Chihuahua.”

  “Too true. How about a cup of coffee? To make up for me almost knocking you two off the dock. Or tea.” He spoke quickly, hoping to stop her from walking off. Clearly, that was her intention.

  After a brief consultation with Kody, Clen said a cup of tea sounded good and followed him to his boat. He set the boxes on the dock and turned to offer her a hand. Kody flopped in a patch of sun.

  Clen stepped aboard and looked around. “I wondered whose boat this was. I like the color. It’s the only one like it.”

  “You’ve never been to Nova Scotia, then.”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “It’s a common boat color there. It was a bit of a memory of home for my dad’s partner.” But outside of the teal-colored hull with its black trim, esthetics weren’t his father’s strong point, and when Gerrum inherited it, the boat’s cabin had been rudimentary and minimally equipped. He’d spent a winter fixing it up to better support overnight sports fishing trips, but he’d still tended toward the practical rather than the beautiful in those efforts. No doubt, from a woman’s point of view, it was still uncomfortably basic.

  “And her name,” Clen said. “Ever Joyful. I like it.”

  “My father’s pet name for my mother.” The reminder made him smile as he put a kettle on to heat. “She’s Tlingit. Her clan is from this area.”

  Clen took a seat and placed the sketchbook and pencil box she was carrying on the table. “You were born here?”

  “Nope. Born and raised in the state of Washington. How about you, where are you from?” He placed mugs and the tin of tea bags on the table in front of her.

  “Colorado. Have you lived in Wrangell long?”

  “This is my fourth year.” He poured the water into cups then pointed at the sketchbook. “You’re an artist?”

  Her hand moved to rest on the book as if to prevent any inadvertent glimpses of what was inside. “Scribbles. For my own pleasure. The jet boat, is that yours too?” An easy guess as it was moored alongside the Joyful. “I saw you off the petroglyph beach one day,” she said. “It looked like fun.”

  “It
is. Would you like to try it?”

  She frowned, chose a tea bag, and dipped it into her cup. Finally, she looked up and said yes, she would. A lucky thing his party for the day had canceled. Not his first response to that news by any means.

  They finished their tea and transferred to the jet boat. As soon as they were clear of the harbor, he made the boat spin, an impossible move with any other kind of watercraft, rather like one of those twirling rides at an amusement park.