Sufficient
Grace
~~~~~
Jessica Greyson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All scripture is taken from the King James Bible.
Sufficient Grace
First Edition
Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Greyson
Published by: Ready Writer Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission, exception in the case of brief quotations and reviews.
Cover Design by Louie Roybal III
www.louieroybal.com
^ best artist ever
ISBN-9780988461413
ISBN-0988461413
This book is lovingly dedicated to:
The person who is always there for me. I look forward to seeing You face to face someday.
To my amazing family—the wonderful people who have helped mold and make me the person I am today.
The best friend I could ever ask for.
Thank you, Girl of Destiny.
My sister and twin at heart
Thank you for being there and for all the words you’ve said.
You’re a life saver.
cONTENTS
FORWARD
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
FORWARD
Dear Reader,
This book, just like the author is flawed. However, in the pages of this book, you will find the heart of the artist. Indeed, this is a book that when I completed it, I felt it was the magnum opus of my career as a writer. When in reality, it was just the beginning, for it was the accumulation of a struggling heart that had found victory, a person who had wandered in the dark and found the light. Of an individual who found, at last, they were not alone—even though they were never alone to start with, but they could not see that until they came to the end of the tunnel and discovered the light.
These pages hold a reflection of life, none of this story is true. However, you might find in these pages; people you may come across in this imperfect world, indeed this book magnifies imperfections, not only of Grace but those in the world around her. However, everything here is fictitious. Save perhaps the heart of Grace; that was a mirror of mine. As I continue to write Grace’s story, I also continue to grow in my faith and seeking the face of God. One does not stand still in their faith, and though I am no longer here, this story still stands as a testament to what God has done in my life. He is a pillar and a rock, a refuge in time of the storm.
This book is not for everyone. It is for the soul that is weary, for those who stand alone in the dark world, for those who are searching for someone to understand them and their dear heavy heart. It is for the person in the black fighting for the light. This is for you: to give you courage when all looks bleak, to give you hope when everything has fallen apart, it is here to tell you the fight is worth it. The fight…is worth every bloody heartbreaking step you take along your journey. It is here to tell you, that I have come through a dark place and now I find myself continuing to grow, and that even in the dark places, there are flowers that bloom in the darkest moment of life.
Take courage dear heart. You are not alone.
With Blessings and Love,
Jessica Greyson
.
Chapter 1
Grace’s head ached. Her temples throbbing with every beat of her fluttering heart. The fog around her mind was slowly lifting, and her memories of the past few days flitted back softly.
Grace's fists clenched.
Outlaws. I despise outlaws.
Grace's jaw tightened as her memory stretched back, filling in the details of the past.
Days that were filled with fear, suspense, and horror.
She and three companions from finishing school had been halted by a half a dozen outlaws, who then murdered the driver and gunman in cold blood and took the girls’ as prisoners for ransom.
She fought them every step of the way leaving signs of their route; in case they should be followed or searched for. That was her only hope for rescue. The bottom of her dress was torn to shreds, in testament to the trail she was trying to leave. The other girls were too scared to fight and thought her very foolish for trying, making no attempt to hide their disdain. Grace was surprised that she wasn't dead yet. Though I soon will be. But I have to fight. There is no one to ransom me. I have to escape—somehow, I have to escape or die trying.
Grace had been caught leaving signs of their trail again, and the punishment had been swift. Nickel Joe had hit her over the head, with the butt of his stolen pearl-handled pistol. She had gone unconscious, and that gun was the cause of her pounding headache.
Grace wondered how long she had been out, a few, minutes, an hour, maybe more...they had dissolved camp and continued on their way, running from the law.
Without opening her eyes Grace began taking in the world around her. To her unexpected glee, she felt her wrists were untied! One arm wrapped around of the outlaw's neck.
How dare he take such liberties! Anger boiled silently within her while her thoughts scattered for a plan. Her other arm was free by her side, ready to do her bidding, moving lightly with the rhythm of the horse. Excitement leaped within Grace.
There were possibilities.
Her face rubbed against his scratchy shirt; a metal object was imprinting painfully against her bruised cheek.
Nickel Joe was of medium build with wide shoulders, his arms wrapped like chains about her. One arm pressed against her waist holding the saddle horn to keep her firmly in the cradle of the saddle while the other crossed her front holding the reins.
Grace smiled slightly; getting him off of his horse would be easy. He was an answer to her desperate prayers; if she could catch him off guard, maybe it would give her enough time to escape.
Just maybe.
For a moment, Grace hesitated.
Could she find help or would she wander lost in the wild prairie for days without food or water? Will they shoot me in the back once I am away? But if I don't escape now—I'll never escape them.
Grace swallowed the lump in her throat; butterflies swirled in her stomach, and she tried not to become tense.
God, help me, please.
She had to try.
Withdrawing her arm from around his neck, she pushed him as forcefully as she could. He was tilting off. Her right elbow plunged at his ribs, missing them, it found his kidney, and she swung her left fist around to make face contact, then jerked the reins from his gloved hands. He fell off the horse. Victory was
sweet, and hers’! Grace swung herself properly into the saddle, kicking her heels viciously into the horse’s sides, plunging into a startled gallop.
There were shouts from behind her.
“Whoa!”
“Stop.”
“Hey, you can’t do that!”
Grace turned a deaf ear and bent next to the horse’s outstretched neck. God, please help me. Any moment now there would be bullets seeking her back.
The horse changed course. He was turning back towards the outlaws.
“No! No! No!” Grace screamed, jerking the reins hard against his mouth in the other direction. For several moments they struggled over who would be master. She was turning him in tight circles and kicking his sides so he would listen to her desperate need to escape. The horse reared, surprising Grace. She tumbled from the saddle onto the hard prairie ground, as the horse bolted back towards the outlaws.
Pulling herself together she sprang up, forcing her aching body to its feet. It would be useless, but she had to try. She must. Turning on her heels, Grace gathered what was left of her skirts and ran.
Grace knew it was useless but in some way she couldn’t help hoping. Hoping they’d give up on her, hoping they would decide it was useless to keep her with them, hoping against all hope that the law would appear on the horizon and save her. As much as she almost hated those badges, what she wouldn’t do to see one now. They were her only hope.
In minutes they surrounded her. Grace let out her last cry of vexed desperation and frustration. In utter exhaustion she dropped to her knees, waiting for her punishment.
Will they shoot me on the spot? Will I ever see mother, father, and Ryan again, or is my life all for naught? Oh, Hannah...what have I done?
As no blows fell, she glanced up at the faces surrounding her. They were unfamiliar, and all of them wore six-sided stars that glimmered in the sun like a new vein of silver.
What new trick is this?
Chapter 2
Crystal choked on a half disguised laugh. “We told them they should leave you tied up, but they didn’t believe us. Not a word of it, you gentle lamb.”
The sarcasm was barely hidden by her sweet tone, as the words gouged into Grace’s heart. Realization of what happened overcame her. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as a hot, uncomfortable crimson color crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.
One of the men slid from behind another, and the horse that had thrown her pressed his nose against his shoulder with a sharp snort. Taking the reins in his hands instinctively, he calmly stroked his horse's soft muzzle.
“I am sorry we frightened you, miss,” he apologized.
Why on earth do you have to be nice? Why can’t you just scold me and be done with it?
“It is I who should apologize for attacking you.” Grace managed, barely able to look him in the eye, as a hot color now flushed to her ears.
“It’s all right; we ambushed you with a rescue. We are headed for Esperanza Springs, from there you will be able to catch a stagecoach to anywhere.”
Why does everyone have to stand about and stare? Am I really such an oddity? If mother should hear of this story it will not go well, and father? Worse.
“Thank you very much…” Grace paused unsure how to address him.
“Mitch,” he said with a smile. Just then she caught sight of his badge and winced. The word SHERIFF couldn’t have been bolder.
“We should get moving,” he said with such a kind smile that Grace felt like crawling into a hole and disappearing until the end of the century. Mitch nodded for the men to start moving. He swung easily up into the saddle that she had so readily displaced him. Taking his boot from the stirrup he nodded for her to mount behind him.
Why on earth must I ride behind him! And why on earth must he be such a gentleman? Tears of vexation were on the verge of breaking forth, but she held them back. As she slid her foot into the stirrup, he offered her his hand. Grace took it with a writhing heart. Silently she sat behind him waiting for him to go, as the group slowly made their way out of sight over a small hill.
“Are you ready to go?” asked Mitch.
“Yes,” replied Grace feeling like an idiote for not telling him that she was.
“Then hold on tight, we are going to be moving at a pretty smart pace.”
Grace gingerly gripped his gun belt not wanting to get closer to him than she had to; she thought she saw him shake his head, but couldn't be sure.
Gently he struck his spurs into the sides of his horse. “Hiya!” the animal bolted to a gallop. In a few minutes they were in the midst of the group, and he took the lead.
Grace felt as if she was dying on the inside. She could sense every set of curious eyes boring holes into her, and now they could blatantly stare at her as much as they liked. Her back was to them.
Emotions tumbled about in her heart, each seeking for complete mastery. They were rescued—such sweet liberation that made her want to sigh with relief. She had made a complete fool of herself, and the hot flush crept back into her cheeks, tears of shame burning in her eyes. Grace had cheated death, or had death cheated her again? There were no answers; God seemed to have closed His doors in heaven once again. She wanted to bury her face in Mitch’s back and hide all of her emotions, but that in and of itself would betray her feelings, and she would be far too close to him for comfort. Instead, she satisfied herself with staring blankly over his shoulder at the passing scenery, trying to numb the feeling of anything in her heart. Grace tuned into the hum of conversation going on behind her for distraction.
“She is so brash it is a disgrace. You would never know she had just completed finishing school,” sniffed Crystal.
“Oh, I know. I do believe she can shoot a gun. Imagine a girl holding a gun! Why it’s shameful!” piped Harriet
One of the men laughed in her defense. “Knowing how to use a gun is an important thing, miss.”
“Really? Would you teach me?” Harriet asked excitedly forgetting that a moment before she had thought it a shameful practice.
“Of course, if you want to miss.”
“Oh, I do!”.
Grace rolled her eyes. Husband Hunters! So it is all right for her to fire a gun and know how to look down the sight of the barrel but not me! It’s hard to believe I went to school with them. I obeyed my parents. It's not like any of us had a choice after what happened. They must have thought it would be good for me. Somehow it must have been. I can speak French and dance, a lot of good that will do me. I know how to flirt with my fan not that I’ll ever use it, or want to. I know how to curtsey, and eat at any dinner table. I can embroider and do fancy work just as elegantly as anyone else. But to them none of it matters, I will always be the backward country bumpkin, just because I don’t hunt men or act like one of them.
Chapter 3
When the men stopped for the night to cook dinner and set up camp; Grace sought shelter a few trees away. With her back to the group, she leaned against the broad oak and slid to the ground. Gathering her knees together she drew them against her chest. Tears began trickling down, and she hid her face in the folds of her torn dress. Grace cried silently. She mustn’t betray her secret tears. Her heart was wincing from the needless embarrassment she had caused herself. If she could hide under a rock for the next seventy years, she might be happy. How long she sat there, Grace couldn’t be sure, but the next thing she knew the Sheriff was standing beside her.
Grace glared secretly at his dusty boots and softly jangling spurs.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?”
What does he know about anything? Grace felt infuriated. Of course, I am. What else is there to feel?
“Come and get something to eat,” he offered congenially.
“I am not hungry, thank you.”
“That is what I thought,” he said putting a plate down beside her.
Putting his back to the tree, he also sat down.
Of all the arrogant…Grace didn’t move. She had to think. There
was a small part of her that wished she was once again with the outlaws. When she was with them she had felt so close to God, escape had seemed so possible, but now she was trapped here. God had been with her. Now that she was safe that feeling was gone, and all of her frustrations had returned. Grace glanced over at Mitch. He sat there a contemplative look on his face as he ate. Still looking at their surroundings he spoke.
“You know self-pity is one of the worst friends you can have?”
Great! Now I am going to get a sermon. Grace flung her head against the back of the tree, sending a throbbing sensation tingling where Nickel Joe has struck her. Ouch! That was a bad idea. Mitch didn’t seem to notice.
“You know self and pity are two of the worst feelings in the world? No one likes it when people are selfish, and no one likes to be pitied. Yet, when it comes to ourselves, we allow them to enter without a second thought. It gets lonely being the only one who can understand what is going on. No one else seems to care, and no one appears to know how bad your life is.”
Grace found herself nodding in agreement. How would he know?
“You better eat up. Jip’s breakfasts are horrible, but his dinners are good,” he said, looking at her with a winning smile. Grace found herself smiling back at him despite the fact that she was on the verge of hating him. A look of compassion crossed his face.
Grace felt anger swell up inside of her; she didn’t need his pity.
Mitch rose to leave, taking his empty plate with him.
Grace watched him leave, then glanced down at the dinner plate. If this was good, what was breakfast going to be like with the girls? Grace could hardly wait. The beans, cornbread, and bacon were decent, but Grace could only guess what Jip’s breakfast would be like. Why do they allow him to cook anyway? When she had finished her dinner, she walked back to the rest of the group hoping that the signs of her tears didn’t show too much. I should have thought of that before I shed a tear. How could I be such an idiote?
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