Gift of Grace

by Shanna Hatfield

  Nora flopped back against her pillow and stared at the ceiling. The doctor had come to visit a few times, at least she thought he had. The pastor had been there, too. He’d done his best to console her, but how could a man so young and untried help her through her grief.

  J.B. was the one whose comfort she wanted, needed, but right now she couldn’t bear to set eyes on him. Although the reasonable part of her mind said nothing he’d done had brought about Grace’s death, she blamed him. Blamed him every bit as much as if he’d done bodily harm to her baby. Nora knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself.

  It mattered not at all that J.B. had been a doting, loving father from the moment Grace entered the world until she left it. He’d changed diapers, rocked the baby, spent hours talking to her. He’d been the one to draw out Grace’s first smile and had so many plans of things to do with Grace when she was older. Unlike some men who only doted on boys, J.B. had been thoroughly enchanted with their daughter and didn’t care who knew it.

  Not a single possibility existed that J.B. would have intentionally done anything to harm their child. Even with that knowledge, Nora couldn’t forgive him for what she viewed as his failure to protect Grace. If he had, their beloved daughter would still be alive.

  A floorboard creaked in the kitchen. Nora whipped over in the bed so her back was to the door then drew the covers up almost over her head.

  The bedroom door opened and she heard footsteps across the floor. Her husband’s scent preceded his presence next to the bed. Rather than finding the aroma pleasant, it made her wrinkle her nose in annoyance. Everything about the man provoked her wrath. Nora had never in her life been as angry as she’d felt the last few days. It was as though poison had been poured into her soul and it spread until she was consumed with loathing—all directed toward J.B.

  “Nora? You need to eat something,” he said in a quiet voice. “Can you sit up? I brought you some toast and tea.”

  She heard J.B. slide a tray onto the table beside the bed, but she didn’t move. If she feigned sleep, perhaps he’d leave.

  His weight settled on the bed behind her and his hand brushed through her tangled hair. “Nora, please?”

  Before she could stop herself, she jerked away from him, scooting to the far side of the bed. “Leave me alone.”

  “I’ve done that for weeks, Nora. If you don’t start eating, you’ll…” J.B.’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “You have to eat. You have to get out of this bed and rejoin the land of the living. You aren’t the only one who suffered a loss, you know. We can’t all stay in bed, wallowing in our grief.”

  “Don’t you dare pretend that Grace… that her… that she means anything to you.” Nora sat up and glared at J.B.

  He couldn’t have looked more hurt if she’d reached across the bed and struck him. She wanted to apologize, to reel the words back, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not when he’d somehow managed to go on living and managing the ranch while she couldn’t even force herself to look outside the window.

  “I loved our daughter every bit as much as you, Nora. I’ll love her until I die. You can spend the rest of eternity blaming me or the doctor or whoever it is that you’ve pointed your venomous fury at today, but it doesn’t change the fact our daughter is dead.” J.B. rose to his feet and glared at her. “I’ve tried being understanding. I’ve tried giving you time to get through whatever this is, Nora. Doctor Reed said there is no reason you can’t get up and function like a normal person. I agree.”

  “I don’t want to function like a normal person,” she spat at J.B. “Nothing in my life will ever be normal again. My daughter is...”

  “Dead, Nora. Gracie is dead.” J.B. walked around the bed, towering above her as she glowered at him. A gleam in his eye, one she hadn’t seen before, unsettled her. A frisson of fear shot through her and she scrambled to get to the other side of the bed, beyond his reach.

  Much to her dismay and surprise, J.B. stepped onto the bed with his damp boots and picked her up, holding her tight against his chest. Without missing a step, he walked off the other side and toward the bedroom door.

  Nora clenched her hands into fists and pounded on his shoulders as he carried her into the kitchen.

  The big galvanized tub they used for taking baths sat near the stove and she could see steam rising from the water. She had no idea what J.B. intended to do, but whatever it was she would fight him until her last breath.

  “Put me down, you brute!” she demanded, shoving against his solid chest.

  “Whatever you say, Nora,” J.B. said, dropping her into the tub.

  Water splashed over the sides onto the floor and stung Nora’s eyes. She spluttered, pushing hair out of her face then rubbed her eyes.

  Before she could stand and step out of the tub, J.B. reached down and ripped off her nightgown, sending buttons flying into the air. Appalled, she watched in horror as he wadded the ruined cloth into a ball and tossed it into a basket with dirty clothing sitting on the floor near the stove.

  He glowered at her, pinning her in place with an unrelenting gaze. “You stink and your hair looks like you rubbed bear grease over your head. Take a bath and wash your hair. Maybe by the time you finish, you’ll feel better. At the very least, you’ll smell better than something left to rot on the side of the road.”

  Shocked speechless by his actions, she remained as still as stone as he went into the bedroom and returned with the tray of tea and toast he’d prepared.

  “When you get out of there, you eat that toast and drink the tea,” he ordered. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll force-feed you.”

  Defiantly, Nora lifted her chin. “I’ll eat when I feel like it.”

  J.B. picked up a bar of perfumed soap and a wash cloth then bent down until his nose nearly touched hers. “Either you start scrubbing or I’ll do it for you.”

  Nora grabbed the soap and cloth from him. If looks could have killed, James Benjamin Nash would have inhaled his very last breath in that moment.

  “Get out! Get out of my kitchen and leave me alone!” She looked around for something to throw at her husband.

  “You might want to brush your teeth, too. Your breath could flatten a full-grown mule.” He smirked at her and backed away from the tub. “Make sure you scrub behind your ears and in between your smelly little toes.”

  “I hate you!” she screeched, throwing the wet cloth at him. He ducked and opened the door, letting in a draft of frigid air that carried his chuckles to her. He tossed the cloth back into the tub, splashing her again before he stepped outside and closed the door.

  Livid beyond anything she’d ever experienced, Nora also felt oddly invigorated for the first time since Grace passed away. Regardless, she would have gotten out of the tub and gone back to bed, but the hot water felt so good and the soap held a divine fragrance, one that smelled of spring flowers.

  Nora plucked buttons out of the water. How dare J.B. rip off her gown? How dare he!

  She wasn’t sure she could repair the damage done to the cloth, but she would wash it and use the fabric for something else. Arm stretched out, she set the buttons on a chair pulled back from the table then began washing her skin. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d had a good soak in the bathtub. Days, certainly, or had it been weeks?

  Time had marched onward while Nora was lost in her grief. She turned her head to look at a calendar the insurance company in town had given them not long after they moved to Pendleton. She’d tacked it on the wall near the pegs where she and J.B. hung their coats by the door. It had been turned from November to December.

  Surely it couldn’t already be the month of Christmas. Had it really been a month since they lost Grace?

  Maybe J.B. had turned the calendar over to look at something, like Christmas Day. Ever since she’d known him, he loved the holiday season, proclaiming it the best time of the year. She thought part of his joy stemmed from all the extra treats she liked to make. He’d never once turne
d down any sweet bread, cookies, or the special cakes she baked that were brimming with nuts and fruit.

  Thoughts of holiday baking drew her gaze around the kitchen. It was clean, as though it hadn’t been used in a while. She wondered what her husband had been eating. Perhaps he’d been going to the bunkhouse to eat. Henry was a fair cook and took care of preparing meals for the men. Or maybe some of the neighbors had taken pity on him and brought food.

  Nora decided she’d make dinner tonight. She loved to cook and itched to get a frying pan in her hands.

  A grin curved her lips upward. If J.B. got smart with her while she held it, he’d have to duck more than a wet cloth.

  Nora washed her hair then gave her skin a second scrubbing, begrudgingly admitting she had been in need of a bath. When she finished, she felt refreshed and much more like herself.

  A fluffy towel draped over the back of a chair had been left for her by J.B. By stretching her arm as far as she could reach, she caught the edge of it and pulled it toward her. She stood and wrapped it around her, then stepped out of the tub. The room was pleasantly warm from the stove. She leaned forward and looked into her parlor, seeing a cheery fire crackling in the fireplace, too. J.B. knew how much she liked to sit in front of the fire to comb out her wet hair.

  She took a second folded towel from on top of the table and wrapped it around her head then made her way into the bedroom.

  The air smelled stale and hinted at something unwashed. Unable to stop it, Nora’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Quickly, she donned a dark blue work dress then opened the window a crack to air out the room. She took her comb to the parlor and sat in front of the fire until her hair dried. As soon as it did, she returned to the bedroom and pinned it up in a bun high on the back of her head.

  She turned up the sleeves of her dress, tied on a crisp apron, then stripped the bed. After washing the sheets and hanging them on a makeshift clothesline behind the stove to dry, she hauled out the bathwater, dumping buckets of water on the side of the house where no one would slip on the ice if the water froze.

  When she finished, she dragged the heavy tub out on the porch, surprised to find a new icebox near the door. She opened it and found it full of food. It appeared her husband hadn’t been starving. She rolled her eyes upward and noticed J.B. had finished putting a roof over the porch. The project had been only partly complete before Grace…

  Nora jerked her thoughts away from her daughter and marched back inside the house. She dumped out the cold tea and made a fresh cup then retrieved cheese from the icebox and cut a few slices. She layered them on the cold toast and slid it into the oven to warm. When the cheese had melted onto the bread, she sat down at the table and ate, enjoying the bracing cup of tea.

  With the oven warm, she baked a batch of cookies and then mixed up a cobbler from a jar of cherries someone had left on the counter. Most likely, they came from Mrs. Erickson. The woman had proven to be a dear friend.

  By the time Nora ironed the last of the moisture from the sheets, the bedroom had aired, although it was frigid inside the room. She closed the window then hurriedly made the bed and plumped the pillows.

  Suddenly weary, she went to the parlor, added wood to the fire, and curled up on the long, cushioned sofa with the latest copy of Peterson’s Magazine. It took only moments for her to drop the magazine on the floor and her eyes to drift shut as exhaustion overtook her.

  A cold draft blew over her, drawing Nora from a deep sleep. She started to open her eyes, but a warm blanket settled over the top of her. Convinced it was a dream, she felt J.B.’s hand brush over her face then he kissed her softly on the lips, whispering endearments of love. Content, she sighed and snuggled deeper beneath the blanket.

  When she finally awakened, it was dark outside, although a fire continued to burn in the fireplace casting both welcome warmth and light around the room. A lamp had been lit on the table across from the sofa.

  Nora stretched then sat up, looking around the room. Light blazed from the kitchen doorway, so she folded the blanket and tossed it over the end of the sofa then rose and made her way there.

  J.B. had a cookie in one hand and a dishtowel in the other as he opened the oven door and pulled out a pan.

  “Do you need help?” Nora asked, as she walked across the room.

  J.B. spun around and nearly dropped the pan as he stared at her. He shoved the remainder of the cookie in his mouth then shook his head at her. After he’d swallowed, he gave her one of the teasing grins that used to make her stomach feel like it was weightless. “I was just warming up something for us to eat. Several of the women from church have kept us well supplied.”

  “That’s nice of them,” Nora said primly, still angry at J.B.

  His smile faded and he cleared his throat, then hurried to pull out a chair for her at the table. “I would have hauled out the bath water. You didn’t need to do it.”

  “Was I supposed to trip around the tub all day?” she asked in a curt tone.

  “I reckon not.” He took a seat next to her then grabbed her hand and bent his head. Before she could pull her fingers from his, he offered a word of thanks for the meal and ended his prayer by thanking God for Nora.

  The emotion in his voice made it hard for her to swallow let alone hang onto her anger, but as soon as he said “amen,” she jerked her hand from his. His callused palm had felt so warm, so wonderful against her own, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him, to forget what had transpired.

  J.B. filled a plate and placed it in front of her before he filled his own. He set a glass of milk next to her plate then dug into his food.

  As he ate, he talked about things that had happened on the ranch in the last few weeks and his plans to head into town the following day.

  “Would you like to go along?” he asked as he buttered a roll then added a heaping dollop of jam Mrs. Tooley had brought over.

  “Yes, I think I would,” Nora said, eager for a distraction from her grief. “What day is it?”

  “The second of December.”

  Nora’s head whipped up and she stared at her husband in surprise. “I’m not in the mood for your tomfoolery. What day is it really?”

  “The second day of December. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Jim or one of the others. You’ve been locked away in your thoughts for a month, Nora.” J.B. sighed and pushed a forkful of beans around on his plate. “I’m glad to see you up.” He leaned toward her and offered one of his charming smiles. “You sure do smell good.”

  Nora narrowed her gaze and ignored his smile. She considered commenting on his primitive, cavedweller-like behavior that morning, but refrained. In truth, she was glad to be up and thinking more clearly.

  Several times throughout the day, she found herself crying at thoughts of Grace, but she’d managed to keep from retreating back to bed. She knew she’d just have to take one day at a time to work through her grief. No matter how long that took her, J.B. was going to have to be patient and let her deal with it in her own way.

  Had she not been so upset with him, she might have considered how he was handling the grief of losing Grace. In her current state, though, she still couldn’t quite believe he suffered at all. He’d not been so stricken he couldn’t get out of bed. No, he’d gone on with life each day as though nothing had changed.

  Or so she convinced herself. Growing more agitated with him, she stabbed a hunk of meat and shoved it in her mouth, furiously chewing as she envisioned taking a piece out of J.B.’s hide. She looked over at him, at his handsome face and tender blue eyes, and felt her heart trip in her chest. Hardening it, she took another bite of her meal.

  Her husband remained silent as they continued eating. When she realized he watched her, as though he waited for her to answer a question, she dropped her gaze to her now empty plate.

  “Would you like more?” he asked, half-rising from his chair.

  “No, I’m full.” She stood and walked over to where she’d left the cobbler beneath a clean dishtowel.
After spooning a hefty scoop in a bowl, she set it in front of him then helped herself to a small serving.

  “Nobody can bake like you, Nora. Thank you for this.” J.B. took a big bite and closed his eyes, as though he was enjoying a rare treat.

  In spite of her anger, Nora smiled, then quickly dipped her head before he could see her reaction. “The jar of cherries was sitting on the counter. I figured I might as well put it to good use.”

  She motioned toward the heaped basket of clothes waiting to be washed. “I’ll try to get to the washing soon.”

  J.B. shrugged. “I can haul it into town. There’s a woman in Pendleton who’s been taking in washing. I’ve had her do it the past few weeks.”

  Nora stiffened at the idea of another woman handling their clothes, particularly J.B.’s. “I’ll see to it, if not tomorrow then the following day.”

  J.B. wisely refrained from offering additional comments on the laundry. When he finished his cobbler, he carried his dirty dishes to the sink and pumped a pan half-full of water. He added soap then poured in steaming water from the kettle on the stove.

  Nora sat at the table, fascinated. She had no notion that J.B. possessed the ability to wash dishes. Apparently, he was capable of handling any number of things when she wasn’t around to help.

  She rose and carried over her dishes, setting them in the pan of soapy water.

  “Since my hands are already wet, why don’t you dry?” J.B. asked as he continued washing the dishes.

  Dumbfounded by his suggestion and the notion he intended to wash the dishes, Nora meekly picked up a towel, dried the dishes, and put them away. J.B. dipped a rag in the soapy water then wiped the crumbs from the table. He draped the rag over the edge of the sink before he dried his hands and glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “I think I’ll do a little reading before it’s time to turn in,” he said, heading into the parlor. Nora moved to the doorway of the kitchen where she could watch him add wood to the fire. He bent over and she admired the way he filled out his britches. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt and she longed to go to him, to ask him to hold her.