When Grace Sings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Mr. Aldrich chuckled. A guttural, unnatural chuckle that spoke volumes. “Here, now. No crooked tiles. Straighten that up.”

  Steven did so, grinding his teeth so fiercely together his jaw ached. Questions screamed for release. Who is her mother? Why did you give her up? Do you want her to live in this town with you and your son? But he kept his teeth clamped and held them inside. He couldn’t let on he knew the truth. Not yet.

  Anna—Grace

  Anna—Grace sat in silence for the first half of the drive to Wichita. She tried to recapture her former excitement, but the uncomfortable feelings raised by Paul Aldrich’s strange behavior stole it away. Alexa was quiet, too. Had the man’s actions left her on edge as well?

  “How well do you know the carpenter?” Anna—Grace blasted the question.

  Alexa visibly jumped, then took a firm grip on the steering wheel and sent a short look in Anna—Grace’s direction. “How well? He spent a lot of time working at Grandmother’s house, I’ve attended service with him every Sunday since I came to Arborville, and he’s taken some meals with the family. So … pretty well, I guess.” She scowled, her gaze on the road ahead. “Why?”

  “The last time I met him, he wasn’t so weird.” Anna—Grace shuddered and hugged herself. “The way he stared at me today … ugh. It was creepy.”

  “There’s nothing creepy about Paul Aldrich.”

  Her tart response startled Anna—Grace and stirred defensiveness. “You don’t think it’s creepy when some man you hardly know looks at you so intensely you wonder if he can see your soul?”

  Alexa huffed out a short laugh. “Don’t be melodramatic.”

  “I’m not. You were there. You had to have seen how he …” She couldn’t find words to describe the way he’d fixated on her face and didn’t look away. Not even when his eyes began to water from staring so hard. “I’ve been stared at a lot. Anytime my family goes outside of Sommerfeld to the grocery store or discount store or mall, people stare. Because we look different to them. I’ve learned to ignore it. But I couldn’t ignore Mr. Aldrich. I was half-scared he wanted to grab hold of me.”

  “He’d never do that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know, okay? He’s a gentle man. A kind and loving father.”

  “Then why’d he act like that? Like he was seeing a … a ghost or something?”

  Alexa sent a quick sidelong look at Anna—Grace. Then she turned forward and set her lips in a firm line.

  Anna—Grace turned her face to the passenger window and spoke to the passing landscape. “I didn’t intend to make you angry, but I really don’t know why my comments about Mr. Aldrich bother you so much.”

  Despite being given the opportunity to explain, Alexa didn’t speak.

  Anna—Grace chewed her lower lip, stared out the window, and sought a means of apologizing so she might be able to salvage the rest of the day. Before she could form a request for forgiveness, something Dad had said—just a few words in the midst of another conversation—raced from her memory and thumped her with understanding.

  She jerked to face Alexa. “He’s an old family friend, isn’t he?”

  After a moment’s pause, Alexa gave a grim nod.

  “I remember when Steven told my dad that Paul Aldrich had agreed to work on the house. Dad mentioned he’d once thought Mr. Aldrich might ask to marry your mother.” She clapped her hand to her cheek. “Oh! Alexa, is Paul Aldrich your father?”

  Alexa stared straight ahead and spoke through gritted teeth. “No.”

  “Oh.” Anna—Grace frowned, confused. If Mr. Aldrich and Alexa had no relationship, why would she want to defend him? “Well, then—”

  “Look, he isn’t anything more than a friend.” Alexa released a heavy sigh. “And I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.” She whisked a contrite look at Anna—Grace. “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  Although it wasn’t exactly an apology, it was good enough. “Okay.”

  “And, Anna—Grace …”

  “Yes?”

  “If Mr. Aldrich looks at you strangely again, give him a little grace. He … he’s lost a lot.” Alexa glanced at Anna—Grace, and tears winked in her eyes. “He lost his wife when she died. Before that, he lost the girl he loved when my mom went away, and— Well, just a lot. So be nice, okay?”

  Anna—Grace didn’t plan to be unkind. She just wanted to keep her distance after the strange way he’d made her feel. But she nodded.

  A home improvement store sat off the highway just ahead. Alexa slowed and made the turn into the parking lot. “And now let’s have some fun choosing the right wall covering for every room in the house.”

  Anna—Grace wouldn’t argue about setting aside the subject of the carpenter who’d once been sweet on Alexa’s mother. She browsed the wallpaper bins first and chose rolls of sunflower border for the kitchen and mudroom, a coordinating plaid in pale yellows, greens, and cream for the dining room, and a muted gray-and-white-striped paper for the bathroom, even though it was among the patterns marked for bedrooms. “It looks more masculine than the wallpaper with seashells,” she told Alexa, “and since the kitchen and dining room will be more feminine, I think the bathroom shouldn’t be.”

  Alexa shrugged. “It’s your decision. The gray and white will be a nice background for just about any color of towels. And you can mix it with a floral-print shower curtain for a touch of femininity if you want to.”

  She’d worry about shower curtains—and every other kind of curtain—another day. Steven probably wouldn’t want to spend money on curtains if they decided to sell the place.

  “What about the front room and bedrooms?” Alexa asked. “Paper or paint?”

  Anna—Grace chewed her thumbnail. “What do you think I should do?”

  Alexa folded her arms and crunched her forehead. “Honestly, I’d paint those rooms. Something light and neutral. They aren’t terribly large, so a lighter color will make them feel bigger, and a neutral shade will blend well no matter what furniture you bring in.”

  “All right then. Neutral.”

  Alexa took control of the cart and pushed it toward the paint section. After perusing paint swatches and laying more than a dozen options across the bottom of the cart, Anna—Grace decided to go with various shades of taupe. Alexa suggested getting four or so little sample cans instead of buying gallons of paint.

  “The light in a room can distort the color, so painting a few splotches on the wall will let you see whether you really like it or not.”

  Anna—Grace assumed Alexa knew what she was talking about, so she asked the person behind the counter to mix the samples for her. As the worker completed her request, she turned to Alexa. “This is a really good idea. Even though it means I have to come back another time for paint, Steven will be able to help choose, too. It is his house, after all.”

  A slow smile played on Alexa’s mouth. “Well, it might be his house, but with all the couples I know, the wife does the decorating. So you’ll probably end up doing most of the choosing.”

  Anna—Grace slumped against the edge of the counter. “Really? I don’t think I’m up to that. Just this”—she waved her hand at the items in the cart—“taxed me to the limit of my abilities, and you were helping.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Alexa’s gaze shifted to some unknown point beyond Anna—Grace, as if a secret thought had carried her away. “It’s amazing what you can do when you really have to.”

  Although not even a smidgen of foreboding touched the other girl’s tone, Anna—Grace still experienced a chill of apprehension. “When you really have to.” She didn’t have to decorate the little house Steven had inherited. She didn’t even have to live in it with him. But would she? That question remained unanswered.

  Briley

  When the old Buick Alexa drove pulled up the lane, Briley was waiting on the porch swing. Half-frozen from the wind—did it have to blow as hard as it did in Chicago?—and more than half-grumpy, but waiti
ng anyway. Something she’d said yesterday led him to believe there was more to the story of her mother giving birth to an illegitimate child. Len had instructed him to uncover the full truth, and he had a plan. But he needed to talk to her alone, away from Mrs. Z’s sharp-eyed gaze and any other listening ears.

  She slid out of the car, extending both legs in a graceful sweep. She slammed the door, looped her purse strap over her shoulder, and moved nimbly over the steppingstones. Holding her jacket crisscrossed over her waist, she bounded up the steps and headed straight for the door. Briley cleared his throat. Loudly. And she came to a sudden stop and whirled in his direction, her brown eyes wide.

  “Briley! You startled me.” Her expression turned accusatory. “What are you doing out here?”

  He gave the swing a gentle push. The chains creaked—a grating sound. He planted his feet against the porch boards. “Sitting.” He glanced toward the empty car. “Where’s Anna—Grace?”

  “I left her at the house with Steven.”

  “Ah.” Good. Complete privacy. He patted the seat. “Join me.”

  She didn’t budge. “It’s too cold to sit out here in the wind. I bet it’s at least ten degrees colder than it was this morning.”

  “It’s not so bad.” He tempered the lie with a smile. His leather coat protected his torso, but his legs were cold. “Come on. I have something important to tell you.”

  “You can’t tell me inside?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do you always have to be so difficult? Don’t make me print up another dozen of those pictures and post them in store windows in Arborville.”

  She set her lips in a scowl, but she scuffed across the porch and wriggled into the far corner of the swing. “All right. What?”

  “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  To his gratification her face fell. “Already? But you’re on the schedule through the end of December.”

  “I know.” Another blast of wind tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and a few strands caught in her lip gloss. She never wore lipstick—just something clear and shiny. She always looked so fresh—innocent and unspoiled. For a moment regret pricked. His article would expose her lack of innocence. But there was no turning back now. Len was counting on him. “I didn’t expect to finish my research so quickly, but I think I’ve gathered enough information to write the article. My boss said to come on back to the office.”

  Her brow puckered. “Oh. Well …”

  “Before I go, though, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  Her mocha-colored eyes widened in obvious shock. “Dinner? Me?”

  He feigned confusion and glanced around. “Is there anyone else here?” He grinned, shaking his head. “Yes, you.” Laying his arm along the back of the swing, he leaned in. Just a bit. Not enough to send her running scared, just enough to capture her attention. “I know I’m not the easiest person in the world to get along with. Believe me, lots of people have made that clear. So before I go, I’d like to, you know, make amends. A nice dinner in Wichita, maybe even a show afterward if there’s a movie you’d like to see. That is, if you’re allowed to go to movies. What do you say?”

  Apparently he’d rendered her speechless, because she sat for several seconds staring at him with her brow pinched in consternation. Her reaction brought his defenses up. He frowned. “I thought you’d enjoy a relaxing evening out. But if not—” Easy, Forrester. Don’t chase her off. He pulled in a calming breath, the way Aunt Myrt had taught him. Forcing a teasing grin to his lips, he finished his sentence. “I totally understand. Give it some thought and let me know.” He started to rise.

  “When did you want to go?”

  With a nonchalant shrug that was completely opposite of the exuberant leap of his pulse, he sank back onto the swing. “Tomorrow evening, if that fits your schedule.”

  “And …” She caught her ponytail with both hands and twisted it into a rope. “It’s not a date—just a going-out-to-relax thing, right?”

  His defenses wanted to rise again. Dating him would be such a horror? “That’s right.”

  If she frowned any harder, she’d end up with her forehead as snarled as her hair. She released the ponytail, which flipped over her shoulder, and relaxed her face at the same time. “All right. I’ll check with Grandmother just to make sure she doesn’t mind, but … if she’s okay with it, I’ll go.”

  If any other girl had responded so noncommittally to his invitation to dinner, he would have snapped something like “Don’t do me any favors” and stormed off. But he needed this girl. So he smiled. “Good. Tomorrow at six thirty. That way Mrs. Z won’t be alone for long before the nurse arrives.”

  “Anna—Grace will be here.”

  She didn’t look any happier about leaving her grandmother with Anna—Grace than she had about going out with him. He might have to ask about that, too. “Ah yes, I forgot. Then we could go earlier if you want.”

  “I still need to fix supper for Grandmother, Anna—Grace, and Steven.”

  “So six thirty after all?”

  She sighed. “Yes. That’s fine.”

  He forced a cheery tone. “Great! Now you scoot inside. Your face is all pink—the cold air must be kissing you too hard.”

  The pink deepened to red. She jumped up and darted inside. He descended the steps in two wide strides and headed for the cottage with a bounce in his step. Success! If he turned on the Briley charm, proven time and again to coax what he wanted from someone of the female persuasion, he’d have the nitty-gritty for his article by tomorrow night. He envisioned Alexa’s sweet face turned up to him, pink-cheeked and uncertain even while agreeing, and his steps slowed. Guilt tried to worm its way through him. What he planned to write would cause pain to the people of this small community.

  Before he’d come to Arborville, he’d thought they were nothing more than a bunch of weird religious throwbacks to the 1800s. But now he knew them. He liked them. Some—like Alexa, and Steven, and Paul and Danny Aldrich, and maybe even Mrs. Z—had become friends. Could he expose them as no different than anyone else? Should he do it?

  He jabbed his fist in the air and sent the unwelcome emotion spiraling away. He’d come to do a job. He owed Len—the man had given him his start. And how else would he finally see his name—the name of the punk kid everybody said was doomed to end up in juvenile hall—on a front page byline? He’d finish the article. These people didn’t mean anything to him, after all. Saying it enough would eventually convince him it was true.

  Steven

  Steven tried to focus on the blotches of paint Anna—Grace had carefully lined up on the wall in the front room. Instead of seeing shades of tan—she called them “taupe”—all he saw was Paul Aldrich’s face when the man asked, “You’ll take good care of her?”

  Anna—Grace gave his elbow a little nudge. “Well, what do you think? Which do you like?”

  He made himself concentrate on the blobs of tan, darker tan, lighter tan, and tannish-gray. In all honesty, they looked pretty much the same. He shrugged. “They’re all … okay, I guess.” He looked at her. “What do you like best?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted his arm and fitted herself against his length. With her cheek pressed to his collarbone, she peered up at him and smiled. “I like you.”

  He should move her away. Having her so near raised temptations a decent man shouldn’t act on. The thought troubled him. He wouldn’t have suspected Paul Aldrich of being anything but decent. If that man fell from grace, anybody could. Despite his inner worries Steven couldn’t resist slipping his arm around her waist and smiling back at her.

  “This is nice, isn’t it? Just the two of us?” She flicked a glance left and right, then settled her cheek back in its spot. She looked so sweet with the white ribbons from her cap trailing past her jaw and her blue-eyed gaze aimed at him. She fit perfectly beneath his arm—as if they were two halves of one whole. She sighed softly. “I’m glad the carpenter left before Alexa and I returned.”

  “Why is
that?”

  “He makes me nervous. He’s a very odd man.”

  Recalling the man’s emotional reaction to spending a few minutes with the daughter he gave up for adoption nearly twenty years ago, Steven experienced a rush of sympathy. “Anna—Grace, that isn’t very nice.”

  She stepped away from him and gave him a disgruntled look. “Are you going to get onto me about disliking Mr. Aldrich, too?”

  “Who else got onto you?”

  “Alexa.” Anna—Grace folded her arms over her chest. “She called me melodramatic because I said I didn’t like the way he ogled me.”

  Steven brushed his knuckles along her smooth cheek. “I don’t think he meant to ogle you. I think he was just …” His hand froze beneath her chin.

  She reached up and cupped his hand, pressing his palm firmly against her jaw. “He was just … what?”

  What could he say? Anna—Grace hadn’t wanted to read the letters from her birth parents, which meant she didn’t want to know who they were. He wished he hadn’t figured out Paul Aldrich’s relationship to her. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss. He stroked the tender spot in front of her ear with his thumb. “Just trying to be friendly. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Hurt flickered in her eyes. “Why are you defending him? I understand why Alexa stood up for him—he’s been friends with her family for a long time. But you—”

  “He has?” Steven dropped his hand and moved a step back. “How long?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember my dad saying he’d once been sweet on my cousin Suzy, and when I asked Alexa about it, she confirmed he and Suzy were good friends a long time ago.”

  Steven’s mouth went dry. He forced a casual tone, his heart thudding. “Suzy is Alexa’s mother, right?”

  Anna—Grace nodded.

  Bits of information began connecting in his mind like pieces of an algebraic equation. Paul Aldrich and Suzy Zimmerman had been sweet on each other. Could Alexa’s mother be Anna—Grace’s mother? If so, instead of cousins, the girls were sisters. Possibly even twins. But why had Suzy kept Alexa and given Anna—Grace up? Why didn’t Mr. Aldrich openly claim Alexa? He obviously knew he’d fathered Anna—Grace, so didn’t it stand to reason he’d know about Alexa, too? There were still too many unknown variables for the equation to take shape.