When Grace Sings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Today they gathered at Shelley’s house, and for the first time since giving birth two months ago, the youngest Zimmerman sibling, Sandra, joined them rather than going home to rest. Although Alexa tried hard not to play favorites, she couldn’t help feeling drawn to Sandra. Only six years older than Alexa, Sandra seemed more like a sister than an aunt. From their very first encounter, Sandra had openly accepted Alexa into the circle of family, unlike Clete and Shelley who’d struggled with the idea of their older sister having a child without the benefit of a husband. Not until the truth was revealed about Alexa’s parentage had Clete and Shelley relaxed around her. But they hadn’t completely accepted her yet.

  To Alexa’s delight, Shelley seated her next to Sandra, and she anticipated the chance to chat with her young aunt. However, the children were especially boisterous. Grandmother blamed their unusual rambunctiousness on the storm that had blown through yesterday afternoon, declaring them “little barometers.” Whatever the reason, their loud voices hindered conversation between Alexa and Sandra, but from experience Alexa knew that Shelley would send the children to the kitchen for dessert. She’d be able to visit with Sandra then.

  Just as they finished their meal—savory homemade chicken pot pie so good Alexa battled a groan of delight with every mouthful—Shelley rose to cut the pies Alexa had brought along to share. Sandra and Derek’s little Isabella wakened from her nap on a blanket on the living room floor and let out a quavering wail. With a sigh, Sandra pushed to her feet. “I suppose it’s only fair she’s hungry when the rest of us are. Shelley, may I take her to your bedroom and nurse her?”

  Shelley began herding the children into the kitchen. “There’s not a chair in there, but if you don’t mind sitting on the bed, go ahead.”

  Sandra scooped up the baby and headed for the hallway. “Alexa, I’m trusting you to save me a piece of the peach-pecan.”

  “Will do,” Alexa laughingly promised. She helped Shelley serve half portions to each of the children, from Clete and Tanya’s eight-year-old Jay down to Sandra and Derek’s three-year-old Ian, then carried plates to the dining room table for the adults. Shelley followed with a pot of coffee. As Alexa started to sit down to enjoy her dessert, an idea struck and she picked up both her and Sandra’s pie plates. “Aunt Shelley, would you mind if I took this in to Sandra?”

  Shelley hesitated for a moment, pursing her lips, but then she nodded. “Just tell her not to drip pie filling on my quilt.”

  Alexa flopped a pair of napkins over her arm and then headed to the bedroom hallway. She passed the open doorway where twin-sized beds draped with pink-and-white-checked quilts, nearly buried beneath a pile of stuffed animals, identified the room as Ruby and Pearl’s. The door at the end of hall was closed, but Alexa could hear Sandra’s soft voice coming from behind it. She tapped on it with her elbow.

  “Who is it?”

  “Alexa. I have your pie.”

  “Get in here!”

  Giggling, Alexa balanced everything on one arm and opened the door. Sandra had propped a pillow in her lap and draped a blanket over her shoulder. Isabella’s little body formed a misshapen lump under the blanket.

  Sandra kept one arm wrapped around the baby but held her other hand toward the pie and wiggled her fingers. “Gimme.”

  Alexa laid a napkin out on the bed next to Sandra’s hip and put the plate on top of it. “Shelley said not to make a mess on her quilt.”

  Sandra grinned. “Of course she did.” She took her fork and eagerly stabbed up a bite. “Mmm … I love peaches and pecans together.” She ate another bite, even closing her eyes in exaggerated enjoyment. Then she pointed her fork at Alexa. “You know, you should experiment with this pie recipe and make a breakfast cake with peaches and pecans. I bet your guests would love it.” An impish grin twitched her lips. “I’d be willing to be your official taste tester until you got it right.”

  Alexa laughed again. Sandra always managed to make her laugh. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed and held her plate under her chin to catch any crumbs. “I might take you up on that. Especially now with a long-term guest in place, I’ll probably need a few more recipes so he doesn’t get tired of the same things morning after morning.”

  “Mother said you put him in your apartment.”

  Alexa already missed the privacy the little summer-kitchen-turned-cottage had given her, but it seemed awkward to have him in the house with Grandmother, even if they did have a nurse come in at night. “Yes. I moved into one of the guest rooms.”

  “What happens if you get enough reservations to fill all three guest rooms?”

  All three rooms filled would be a blessing, but she didn’t expect to be that busy until spring. She shrugged. “I’ll just camp in with Grandmother for a night or two. We’ll make do.”

  “It’s nice you had a place to house a long-term guest,” Sandra said. “Of course, eating your good cooking every day for three months, he just might decide to propose by the time he’s supposed to leave.”

  Alexa cringed. “Oh, I hope not.”

  Sandra burst out laughing. The lump in her lap jerked, and one little arm flung itself from beneath the blanket. Complaining whimpers followed. Alexa averted her eyes as Sandra whisked away the blanket and situated Isabella again. When she draped the blanket back in place, she said, her tone teasing, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like the hunka-hunka gorgeous type?”

  Alexa gawked at her aunt. “Sandra!”

  Sandra’s entire body vibrated with suppressed laughter for several seconds, making the mattress bounce. She patted what Alexa presumed was Isabella’s bottom based on the location of the lump and shook her head. Her twinkling eyes and teasing grin didn’t match the mesh cap with its trailing ribbons. “What? I might be a wife and mother, but I still have eyes in my head. A crosseyed person couldn’t help but notice how good-looking the reporter from Chicago is. Even Mother said so.”

  The heat that often plagued her when Briley Forrester aimed his amazingly handsome, rich molasses gaze in her direction filled Alexa’s face again. She whacked at the pie with her fork, her head low. “You’re right. He is good looking.”

  Sandra snickered. “Thought so.”

  Alexa set her desecrated pie aside and turned a serious look on Sandra. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Sandra went back to eating her pie, her expression devoid of teasing.

  “How old were you when you got married?”

  “Nineteen. Same as Shelley. Same as Tanya when she married Clete.”

  An image of Steven Brungardt’s sober, uncertain face flashed in Alexa’s memory. “Did you marry because you wanted to, or because it was expected?”

  “Because I wanted to, of course.” Sandra tipped her head, the ribbon from her cap puddling on the bump created by Isabella’s little head. A hint of worry glimmered in her eyes. “Are you wondering if you’re old enough for courtship?”

  Alexa shook her head firmly. “No. I’m wondering why I’m not interested.”

  Sandra turned her back for a moment, bringing Isabella from beneath the blanket. She adjusted her clothing, then tipped the baby over her shoulder. Facing Alexa again, she gently patted Isabella’s back, the last few bites of her pie apparently forgotten. “Maybe you just haven’t met anyone yet who makes you want to consider marriage.” Sandra spoke, her voice low. “I was only sixteen when I met Derek, but I knew from the first time he and I spent an hour together that I wanted to be his wife. I felt … safe with him.”

  “Sixteen …” Alexa propped her hands on her knees and chewed the inside of her cheek. “Wow. That was awfully young.”

  Sandra smiled. “I suppose so. But you have to remember, Alexa, around here sixteen is different than sixteen in most places. In the Old Order community, by sixteen you’ve been out of school for two years already, you’ve learned all you need to know about maintaining a household, and you’ve spent some time at a job either in your parents’ home or workplace or somewhere else. Sixteen i
s probably elsewhere’s twenty.”

  “I’ll be twenty in December.” Alexa sighed. “Do you think if I’d been raised in Arborville instead of Indiana, I’d be ready for marriage?”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way to know that for sure, but I also don’t think there’s any expiration date, so to speak, for finding the one you want to spend your life with. Don’t feel as though you need to rush it just because Shelley and I were settled by the time we were your age.”

  An uncomfortable feeling wrapped itself around Alexa. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to be part of an extended family, to belong with them. She’d finally met her mother’s family and had been accepted in their ranks, but her upbringing outside of the Old Order sect set her apart. Or maybe it was deeper than that. Maybe her birthright set her apart. Mom was born and raised Old Order. Alexa was neither. What was her birthright?

  Sandra stood and turned to lay Isabella on the bed. She tucked a soft cloth beneath the baby’s cheek and covered her with a little blanket. Her movements were tender, the expression on her face sweetly affectionate. Alexa could imagine Mom tucking her in the same way when she was tiny. Yet, watching, not even one tiny ember of desire for a child of her own stirred in Alexa’s heart. She lacked so many of the motherly traits Mom and Sandra seemed to possess. Was she like her biological mother, who had abandoned her in a box behind a garage?

  Sandra picked up her plate and fork and gestured for Alexa to follow her. In the hallway, she offered a repentant grimace. “Alexa, I’m sorry if my comment about the guest from Chicago made you uncomfortable. I was teasing you, and I shouldn’t have. Mother says he is a real flirt and she’s worried about you. She doesn’t want to see you … well …”—pink stained her cheeks—“be pulled in by a flatterer. She’s not sure having him there for weeks on end is a good idea. But she doesn’t want to tell you how to run your business.”

  “I can handle Briley Forrester.”

  Sandra gave Alexa’s elbow a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure you can. You’re a sensible, mature girl, and your head is on straight. But if he makes himself too much at home and gives you trouble, then you tell Clete, and he’ll step in. Okay?”

  Her young aunt’s concern warmed Alexa. She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

  Still holding her arm, she ushered Alexa up the hallway. “Don’t worry. You just keep praying for God to bring the right man into your life, and when He does, you’ll know it. And you’ll be ready.”

  Alexa hoped so.

  Briley

  Briley had thought Saturday dragged long, but it passed in a flash compared to Sunday. Next week he’d definitely go to service to use up an hour or two of the day. Even after he’d driven to Wichita and killed an hour at a discount store, where he bought the cheapest flat-screen television and DVD player on the shelves as well as a handful of action flicks, and grabbed lunch at a steak house, the late afternoon and evening still stretched in front of him.

  To fill some time he drove slowly up and down the streets of Arborville—all fourteen of them—and shot photographs out his open car window. Of businesses, houses, two cats curled together under a bush, kids playing stickball, an elderly couple sitting on a porch swing with a colorful knitted blanket draped over their laps … Nothing spectacular, but images that would help him paint a picture of the community as a whole. Arborville didn’t look anything like Chicago.

  He’d already driven the county roads outside of town yesterday, taking pictures of farmsteads, cows, windmills, more cows, old-fashioned farm implements waiting at the edges of pastures, and—by compliments of his telephoto lens—even a half-dozen pretty good images of Alexa standing on the porch of a sorry-looking house with the younger Brungardt. Chilled by the cold air, he’d rolled up his window between photographs. But today was pleasant, warm enough to leave his window down. Kansas sure had changeable weather.

  Even though he felt as if he’d already seen it all, he aimed his vehicle for the highway. Anything to use up the remaining couple of hours before sunset. A half mile out of town he came upon a man and boy walking along the road. Fishing poles bounced on their shoulders. Judging by their empty hands, he assumed the pair’s expedition had failed, but they didn’t look unhappy. The boy appeared to be jabbering as the man listened with his head slightly tipped, an indulgent grin curving his mouth.

  Something about the way they sauntered side by side, their clothes rumpled and mud-stained but their bearing relaxed and content, appealed to him, and he snatched up his camera to catch a photo. He slowed to a snail’s crawl as he eased alongside them, unobtrusively lifting his camera. They both turned in his direction, and the boy raised his hand in an exuberant wave. Briley pressed the shutter button and captured the bright smiles and friendly wave perfectly.

  He dropped the camera on the passenger seat and waved in return. Before he could drive past them, the man held out his arm in a silent bid for Briley to stop. According to his research, the Amish were squeamish about having their faces photographed, and he’d honored their preference, but this man and boy weren’t wearing Amish clothes. Hopefully they wouldn’t ask him to delete the photo. He happened to like it even if it didn’t prove the dirt Len had sent him to uncover.

  Briley braked and put the car in Park. “Yeah? What can I do for you?”

  The boy scampered over, his tennis shoes stirring dust, and the man ambled more slowly. In unison they slipped the poles from their shoulders and held them upright with the handles braced on the ground, the way a farmer might hold a pitchfork. With their matching short-cropped brown hair and brown eyes, they looked like a set of bookends. Except for one being much taller.

  The man stuck out his hand. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Paul Aldrich. This is my son, Danny.”

  Briley shook the man’s hand, and then the boy pushed forward to shake hands, too. A fishy smell clung to them. Maybe they’d managed to snag a fish or two after all. Or at least had sat on a dead one. “Nice to meet you. I’m Briley Forrester.”

  “Are you the reporter who’s staying out at the Zimmermans’? In Alexa’s cottage?” Danny nearly danced in place, energy pulsating from his wiry body.

  Briley grinned. Two days in town and already well known. He’d make a note of this exchange. “That’s right.”

  Danny jabbed his thumb at his father. “Me an’ Dad are the ones who built it. We built the kitchen and the bathrooms and the ramps for Mrs. Zimmerman’s house, too. That’s what we do—we build things.”

  A chuckle threatened, but Briley managed to contain it. He doubted this kid did much to help, but it was cute the way he took credit. Pretty decent of the dad to let him think he’d helped instead of setting him straight. “Well, I’d say you and your dad did a good job.”

  “Yeah. Alexa let me and my friend Jeremy come over and put the bed in the cottage up and down. Dad says it’s called a Murphy bed, whatever that means. It’s the best bed ever.” The boy’s gaze swept from one bumper of Briley’s car to the other. “And this is the best car ever. I’d sure like to take a ride in it sometime.”

  “Danny …” Aldrich shook his head, frowning slightly. “Don’t be pushy. It’s rude.”

  Danny shrugged sheepishly. “Was I being pushy?”

  Briley let his laugh roll. The boy might be pushy, but he wasn’t obnoxious about it. Not the way Briley had been as a kid, trying to steal attention wherever and however he could. He kind of liked Danny. Even though he smelled like dead fish. “Don’t worry about it. Since I’ll be in Arborville for a while, we ought to be able to find time for you to take a ride in the Camaro.”

  Actually, making friends with the boy could help with his article. He could press Danny for authentic feedback about living the simplistic lifestyle. Kids were less likely to mask their thoughts and feelings. Briley pinched his chin, pretending to think deeply. “In fact, if your dad could hold those poles out the window, since they’re too long for my trunk, I could give you fellows a ride to your house right now. Whadda
ya think about that?”

  Danny turned his eager face to his dad. “Can we, Dad? Huh? Huh?”

  Aldrich looked at Briley, his expression doubtful. “You’d have to take us to town, and you seem to be leaving it. Weren’t you heading somewhere?”

  “Just nosing around. Getting familiar with the area.”

  The man nodded as if the explanation made sense.

  “I did some exploring yesterday, but I didn’t see a lake.” Briley nodded toward the poles. “Maybe you could show me where it is. In case I’d like to do some fishing.”

  “It’s not a lake. Just a pond,” Danny said.

  Aldrich added, “And it’s on private property, but the Heidebrechts have always let people from town come out and drop a line. They won’t mind us taking you out there if you’re really interested.”

  Briley had never experienced a desire to drop a line. Not even from one of the boats that left the piers in Chicago on daylong fishing expeditions. Fishing was an activity shared by fathers and sons. He’d never known a real father, and he had no desire to raise a son. But if the townsfolk frequented the pond, he ought to take a few pictures of it. “I’d like to see it.”

  “It’s not far, but you’ll have to drive a pretty rough road.”

  “I’ll go slow.”

  “And we’re a little, er, ripe from our afternoon of catching and releasing.”

  Ripe was an understatement. “I’ll leave the windows down. The wind ought to chase the smell right back out again.” It’d also bring in a lot of dust, but he’d deal with it.

  Danny apparently lost patience with the delays. He shoved his pole at his father. “C’mon, Dad. Let’s go!” He darted to the passenger side and opened the door.