The Masterpiece

by Francine Rivers

  Grace’s eyes filled with tears. Roman sounded like he wanted life to be fast and short.

  GRACE, AGE 7

  Grasped by the arm and hauled out of sleep, Gracie awakened screaming. “Hush!” Aunt Elizabeth pulled her up roughly. “Stop that noise right this minute!” She stood Gracie in front of her. Leaning down, she stared into her face. “You have a perfectly good bed, and I find you in the closet.” She looked exasperated, her hair disheveled, her face clean of makeup.

  “I’m sorry.” Gracie hung her head and stared at Aunt Elizabeth’s red toenail polish and pink satin pajama legs.

  “You’re not sorry or you wouldn’t have done it again.” Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “Look at me!” She crossed her arms as though warding off the chill of night. “Why on earth were you in there?” Her arms loosened, and her voice quieted. “Stop crying, Grace. I’m not going to hurt you. Just get back into bed.” She tucked the sheets and blankets beneath the mattress so tightly Gracie could hardly move. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.” She flicked off the light as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Gracie lay wide-awake until she heard Aunt Elizabeth’s door close, then wiggled out of bed, grabbed her pillow, and went back into the closet, quietly closing the door behind her. She could breathe again. She felt safe tucked in the back corner, hidden in the darkness. She wished she had the bear Mrs. Arnold had given her.

  Aunt Elizabeth took Gracie to Sunday school. Mrs. Spenser used a felt board and talked about Jesus loving children. She put a little girl next to Jesus. Gracie kept looking at that felt figure. Daddy used to hold her on his lap sometimes and ask her questions. “What did you and Mommy do today? Did Mommy talk to anyone? Tell me the truth, honey.” When Daddy finished asking questions, he’d say, “Good girl,” kiss her cheek, and tell her to go play.

  Would Jesus hold her on his lap and ask questions, too? Would he want to know everything Aunt Elizabeth did? Gracie had no idea what her aunt did all day.

  “Grace?”

  Startled, Gracie focused on Mrs. Spenser. “Yes, ma’am?” Her heart pounded. She was supposed to pay attention to her Sunday school teacher. Aunt Elizabeth would ask Mrs. Spenser if she had. And now she didn’t even know what Mrs. Spenser had said.

  Mrs. Spenser’s expression softened with a smile. “Do you know Jesus loves you, Grace? Just like that little girl standing beside him on the felt board.” She put up another figure. “He loves little boys, too.” She winked. “Even rascals like Tyler.”

  Gracie’s heartbeat slowed. She listened intently to every word Mrs. Spenser said after that. When people started singing upstairs, Mrs. Spenser put away the felt figures and told the children to gather their sweaters and coats. Big church was over, and their parents would come soon.

  The other children had all gone by the time Aunt Elizabeth came. She apologized to Mrs. Spenser, calling her Miranda. “Everyone wanted to know what happened back in Tennessee, as if it’s any of their business.” Aunt Elizabeth glanced at Gracie sitting alone at the table. “How did she do this morning?”

  “She was a perfect angel.”

  Aunt Elizabeth’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “Maybe there’s more of my sister in her than that—” Mrs. Spenser put a hand on her arm, and she stopped. Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Come along, Grace. Time to go.”

  On the drive home, Aunt Elizabeth asked what Grace had learned.

  Gracie thought about the figures on the felt board. “Jesus loves boys and girls.”

  “I’m sure you already learned that much in the church your mother attended. What story did Mrs. Spenser tell you this morning?” She looked in the rearview mirror and scowled. “You didn’t listen, did you? Mrs. Spenser works very hard to put together lessons. You’re not there to play. You’re there to learn about God. Next time, pay attention. I’ll be asking Mrs. Spenser how you’re doing, and I want to hear good reports. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. Call me Aunt Elizabeth.” When Gracie didn’t respond, Aunt Elizabeth glared at her in the mirror. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, m—Aunt Elizabeth.”

  “All right. We understand each other.” She came to a stoplight. Her hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “I’m not trying to be mean, Grace.” She turned a corner. “I know you’re not happy.” She flicked a glance in the mirror before refocusing on the road. “Well, neither am I.” She fell silent as she drove on. “I’m going to do my best, and I expect you to cooperate.”

  Gracie didn’t know what cooperate meant.

  Aunt Elizabeth seemed able to read her mind. “Cooperate means you do what I tell you when I tell you. No dawdling. No daydreaming. No arguments. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  Gracie learned to make her bed with hospital corners. She learned to use the vacuum. She folded the bathroom towels exactly the way her aunt taught her. She cleared dishes, but wasn’t allowed to wash them because Aunt Elizabeth didn’t want any of her Villeroy & Boch broken. The only thing Gracie could not get right was her hair. She brushed it, but couldn’t get it into a proper ponytail. Every morning, Aunt Elizabeth had to take it down, rebrush it, and put it back up again.

  One morning, Aunt Elizabeth lost her temper. “That’s it.” She took scissors out of a drawer, yanked the ponytail up, and cut it off right under the tangled rubber band.

  Gracie uttered a gasp of pain and burst into tears, knowing Mommy would be very upset. She always said she loved Gracie’s curly dark hair. It’s wavy, just like Daddy’s.

  Aunt Elizabeth stood with the severed ponytail in her hand and stared at Gracie. Sinking onto a kitchen chair, she dropped the scissors and ponytail, covered her face, and wept. “I can’t do this!” She sobbed harder than Gracie. “I can’t! God, why did You do this to me?”

  After a few minutes, Aunt Elizabeth stopped crying, wiped her face, gathered up the ponytail, and pitched it into the trash can under the sink. She tossed the scissors back in the drawer. “No use crying about it. It’s done. We can’t undo it. Let’s have breakfast, shall we?”

  Aunt Elizabeth didn’t say another word until she stopped the car in front of the school. She didn’t look in the rearview mirror either. “Remember who you belong to, Grace. Go on, now, or you’ll be late.”

  Gracie fingered her hair as everyone stared at her. Miss Taylor grimaced. At recess, the girls laughed. “What did you do to your hair? You look awful!” A couple of boys came over and said she looked like a short-haired mutt. Miss Taylor blew her whistle, and the boys scattered.

  When school ended, Aunt Elizabeth stood outside the door. They went to a beauty parlor, where Aunt Elizabeth introduced Gracie to Christina Alvarez, who was going to fix her hair.

  “I can make this good.” Christina sat Gracie in a big black leather chair and pumped a pedal to raise it. “Do you want it shorter, or shall I work with it at this length?” She was looking at Gracie, but Aunt Elizabeth answered.

  “Short and easy.”

  Christina met Gracie’s eyes in the mirror and leaned down, whispering, “What about you, Grace? Do you want it shorter?” Gracie shook her head slowly. Christina’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled. “All right, then. We’ll work with what we’ve got.” She turned the chair and lowered it, washing Gracie’s hair in a sink hung on the wall. Towel-drying it, Christina fluffed Gracie’s hair again. “People pay a lot of money to have curls like you do.” She talked as she combed, snipped, styled, and snipped some more.

  “There!” She put her hands on Gracie’s shoulders and they both faced the mirror. “What do you think?”

  Aunt Elizabeth tossed the magazine back on the stack and stood beside them. She looked more relieved than pleased. “Much better.”

  “Wash-and-wear hair.” Christina winked at Gracie. “Just shampoo, rinse, and towel-dry. Use a pick to get rid of any snarls—” she handed Gracie a white plastic comb with wide teeth—“and then fluff it up with your f
ingers. Easy breezy. A couple of minutes, and you’re ready to roll.”

  Life settled into a routine. Sunday, church. Monday through Friday, school, after-school care, homework. Chores every day of the week. On Saturday, Aunt Elizabeth put on jeans, a T-shirt, and plastic clogs and went outside to work in her garden. She expected Gracie to help. Sunshine was good for the soul, she said, and the vegetables and fruit good for the body. Aunt Elizabeth grew squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and bell peppers. She also had fruit trees: apricot, nectarine, cherry, and apple. Gracie liked being in the yard. Sometimes her aunt would sit back on her heels, dab perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, and look happy. Aunt Elizabeth was pretty when she smiled, her face smooth and peaceful.

  Mrs. Spenser came to visit. Gracie could tell the two women liked each other. They hugged at the door and kissed each other’s cheeks. Aunt Elizabeth offered Mrs. Spenser tea and cookies, and Mrs. Spenser said yes. “Is Grace any trouble?”

  Mrs. Spenser laughed. “Never. She’s good as gold. You shouldn’t worry so much.” She saw Gracie standing in the entryway and beckoned her. She ran a gentle hand over Gracie’s hair. “I just wanted to stop by to see how you two are doing.”

  Aunt Elizabeth told Gracie to go play in her room, then invited Mrs. Spenser into the kitchen.

  Had Aunt Elizabeth forgotten all of Gracie’s toys and dolls had been left in Tennessee? Everything had been put in boxes and put on the same truck that took Mommy and Daddy’s furniture. She could find things to do outside. As she came down the hallway again, Gracie could hear the two women talking. Aunt Elizabeth sounded angry again. Gracie ducked around the corner into the living room. If she opened the glass door, her aunt would hear her. So she sat on the sofa.

  “Leanne wouldn’t listen. I knew the first time I met Brad he was trouble. You know how you can sense that sometimes.” Mrs. Spenser said yes, she did. “Well, she went out with him anyway, and it wasn’t long before he got her pregnant. I told her not to add another mistake to the one she’d already made. He’d already cut her off from friends, and he didn’t like me. Of course, he said it was because I didn’t like him, which was true. Why wouldn’t she listen to me?”

  “People in love seldom do.”

  “If you can call that love.” Aunt Elizabeth spoke in a sneering tone. “She said he needed her. He’d been waiting for her all his life. He knew just what she wanted to hear. He was like our father, handsome and charming. A devil! He made my mother’s life a living hell and ours right along with her. I reminded Leanne how we grew up, but she couldn’t see the similarities. She said Brad wasn’t anything like our father.”

  “Do you think he killed her? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “The coroner ruled her death an accident. But how do you fall that hard unless someone shoves you? At least he felt guilty enough to blow his brains out.”

  “Beth!”

  Gracie heard a teacup set heavily in a saucer. “I know. I know!” Aunt Elizabeth gave a sob. “God says to forgive, but I hope Brad is burning in hell. Forgive? I just . . . can’t.”

  “Not in our own strength.”

  “I left Tennessee when they got married. Did I tell you that? I didn’t want to stay around and watch what I knew would happen.” Aunt Elizabeth sounded as though she was crying. “But I should have stayed! Maybe she would have left him if she’d had some place to go. Now, it’s too late. Leanne is dead, and I have the child that made my sister give in to that son of a—”

  “You can’t blame the child.”

  “I know that in my head, but every time I look at her, I see him.”

  “Isn’t there any of your sister in her?”

  “She cries a lot.” Aunt Elizabeth’s voice was despairing. “And she hides.”

  “Hides?”

  “In her closet. Every night.”

  Gracie bowed her head.

  Before Mrs. Spenser left, she went down the hall to Gracie’s bedroom, then came out again and into the living room. “There you are.” She studied Gracie with a troubled expression. She gave Gracie a firm hug. Her eyes were moist when she straightened. She and Aunt Elizabeth spoke softly at the front door, and Mrs. Spenser hugged and kissed her, too. As soon as the front door closed, Aunt Elizabeth came into the living room. “Were you listening the whole time?” Gracie didn’t answer. Aunt Elizabeth’s shoulders drooped slightly. “So now you know everything, don’t you?”

  Yes. Gracie knew. Aunt Elizabeth was glad Daddy was dead, and she didn’t like Gracie because she looked like her father.

  When Aunt Elizabeth tucked her into bed that night, she ran her hand gently over Gracie’s head. She searched Gracie’s face, her eyes shiny with moisture. “Try to stay in bed tonight.” Gracie turned away before the door closed. She stared through the curtains at the streetlight. She waited for a long time, then took her pillow and went into the closet. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat with her knees pulled up against her chest. She put her head down, wanting to wail and scream for Mommy, but didn’t dare make a sound. Her breath came in little hitches of pain.

  Light shone under the closet door. She hadn’t heard Aunt Elizabeth come into the bedroom or click on the light. She waited, holding her breath in fear, but Aunt Elizabeth didn’t open the doors and tell her to get back in bed right this minute. Nothing happened. The light stayed on—a soft, warm glow, not the bright white of the one on the ceiling or the lamp on the nightstand.

  Tentative, curious, Gracie carefully opened the sliding door a crack and peered out. Someone sat on the side of her bed. He smiled at her, but didn’t say anything. She felt him telling her she could come out. He wouldn’t hurt her. The fear went away, and she came out. The man didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before. He glowed. She stared at him, wide-eyed. He rose, towering over her like a giant, but she wasn’t afraid of him at all. Instead, she felt loved. He sat in the chair by the window, and she climbed back onto her bed, sitting in the middle. He talked to her gently, words of comfort in a language she’d never heard before, but somehow understood. She didn’t know who or what he was, other than he was her friend and she didn’t have to fear him. He told her she could go to sleep now without worrying about tomorrow. Tomorrow would take care of itself, and he would be watching over her. When she lay down and pulled the covers up, he sang over her.

  Aunt Elizabeth awakened her in the morning. “You slept in your bed. Good. Time to get up for school.”

  Gracie’s friend came back again that night. This time she came right out of the closet and climbed up on the bed. He didn’t say as much, but she felt he didn’t mind when she whispered to him about school and missing Mommy and Daddy and what Aunt Elizabeth had said to Mrs. Spenser. He didn’t hush her or tell her to go to sleep. He listened, his soft, cozy glow making her warm inside.

  The next night, Gracie didn’t go into the closet, and he just appeared, as though he’d been in the room all the time and she hadn’t been able to see him until that moment.

  When Aunt Elizabeth found out about Gracie’s angel, she was angry. “Don’t start making up stories to get attention.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t argue with me. And don’t you dare lie. Miranda—I mean, Mrs. Spenser—said you announced to the whole class that an angel comes to your room every night.”

  “He does.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, am I going to have to take you to a psychologist?”

  That evening, Aunt Elizabeth tucked Gracie into bed. An hour later, she threw open the door and came in. She stood at the end of Gracie’s bed, hands on her hips, and looked pointedly around the room. “So? Seeing is believing. Where is he? This angel friend of yours.”

  Gracie didn’t know what to say.

  “No more talk of angels ever again.” Aunt Elizabeth spoke in a hard voice. “It makes you sound crazy.” She went out, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Gracie looked at her friend. “Why couldn’t she see you?”

/>   “Believing is seeing.”

  ROMAN REGRETTED venting his frustration. Grace sat silent, making no effort to argue with him. She didn’t seem angry, but then what did he know? Had he been hoping she’d debate, prove him wrong? He doubted anything he said would kill her faith. Was that what he’d been trying to do? Or was he testing her to see how deep it ran?

  An angel. No wings. A man. Grace based her faith on what she thought she saw as a scared kid who’d just lost both parents and then been moved across the country by an embittered aunt who didn’t want to look at her, let alone take care of her. And she thought God loved her? She was convinced He did? How does that happen? Roman had been afraid, many times, but never so deeply he’d imagined some celestial being coming to the rescue or offering words of comfort. He’d waded through his fear, crushing it with anger.

  All his assumptions about Grace Moore had been wrong. He hadn’t expected to share common roots: devastating loss, fear, pain, no love. He’d run away and put up walls. Grace had hidden and then come out, been repeatedly wounded, and still poured all her hope into an unseen God.

  Even with similar backgrounds, he felt the difference. He had a house, fancy cars, money in the bank. She struggled to stand on her own. He didn’t have anyone depending on him. She had a child, a son who needed her. He had a few friends and kept them at a distance. She carved out time with hers. He no longer had goals. She still pursued hers. He lived from one day to the next, doing whatever seemed right in his own eyes, and felt rootless and adrift. She lived to please an imaginary friend and seemed grounded—secure in her faith, if nothing else.