The Spirit of Grace

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ***

  The drawing room was empty when I went downstairs to dinner. Determined to take advantage of the tragic reenactment of the night my mother died, I came downstairs half an hour before anyone else, hoping that just being in the room where my mother and I had spent so much time together might kindle some flame of my memory.

  The ancient grandfather clock, an unreliable old thing, chimed six bells as I entered the drawing room. Given the way Bennett House was nestled among the trees, most of the other rooms were cloaked in a darkness so dense that the lamps did little to dispel it. Not this room. In here, the sun dipped in the western sky, casting its warm glow through the old leaded windows and onto the walnut-paneled walls, infusing the entire room with light. When my mother was alive, we kept very little furniture in here, opting instead for big overstuffed pillows on the floor. My mother studied ballet and dreamt of a future as a principal with a major company until an injury forced her to give up her dream. This room with its bright light and expansive floor had been our studio. The ballet barre that used to be on the far wall had been taken down, and the room that was once empty and vast and so full of light was now tastefully furnished. Jessica Bennett’s ballet studio was no more.

  Now the only reminder of my dead mother was the crystal vases of flowers that were scattered about. Two pale yellow silk sofas, along with a handful of comfortable chairs in various light and cheerful fabrics, were arranged around the westward facing window. Grace had added big silk pillows in white and yellow, which made the couches even more inviting. The new pillows spruced up the ancient sofa and hid the upholstery underneath, which had worn thin in places. There were roses from Gran’s garden in the cut crystal vase on the coffee table and more flowers in various vases on the mantelpiece. The blackout curtains hanging on all the windows were pushed aside now so as not to obstruct the last bit of sunlight.

  Someone--in all likelihood, Anca--had salvaged the old mahogany drinks trolley from the attic. It now stood in the corner with a bucket of ice, a soda siphon, glasses, and an assortment of crystal decanters filled with spirits arranged on top of it.

  The picture of my mother and me that had always held place of pride on the mantelpiece had disappeared from the silver frame. In its place was a picture of Grace and my father on the day of their wedding. Grace had on an elegant lace dress. My father wore his tuxedo, his reading glasses, and a somewhat bemused expression, as if he were in a fairy tale and expected to wake up any minute.

  I was still staring at the wedding photo when Hamish Wentworth, our family lawyer, walked into the room.

  “Sarah Jane,” he said, his arms open.

  I got up and hugged him.

  “Well, let’s have a look at you,” he said.

  He pushed me away and looked me over from head to toe. I smiled and did a little pirouette. Hamish reminded me of an elf. He was short, with snapping blue eyes, which had permanent smile lines etched at the corners. He had a ready smile, a quick wit, and seemed to know everyone of importance.

  He wore the finest suits--today’s was an elegant gray flannel with tiny white pinstripes--and belonged to all the best clubs. But to me he was just an old family friend and someone who I had always enjoyed spending time with. For as long as I could remember, Hamish had spoken to me as if I were grown up, even when other adults were put off by the only child at the parties my parents used to have.

  “I’m glad to see you back home. We’ve missed you,” he said.

  “Thank you, but I don’t believe you. I’m sure my stepmother wasn’t too happy at my return.”

  “Give her a chance, Sarah. This is all new to her.”

  “So you approve of the marriage?”

  “I wish your father happiness, and I can’t fault him for finding love again.”

  “He’s full of surprises,” I said. “I had no idea he was a writer.”

  Hamish smiled. “And a good one at that. I’ve surprised him with a visit to see his latest work in progress. I’m his agent too, you know. His publisher is clamoring for the next Jack Bennett novel, and Jack is three months behind schedule.”

  “Is it any good?” I asked with a smile.

  “Haven’t seen it yet,” Hamish admitted. “But it’s been fourteen months in the making, so I’m sure it will be as fabulous as Jack says.”

  “You know he wrote me with the news that the mysteries he had written in college were going to be published. I had no idea they would be such a success,” I said.

  “Jack was always the golden boy. Even in college, everything he put his hand to worked out in his favor. They used to call him Lucky Jack.”

  “Hamish, what’s going on with the bank? Anca mentioned an overdraft. Should I be worried?”

  “No. His book is doing well. I’ve loaned him the money for the overdraft. In fact, I just gave him the check today.”

  “What happened?”

  “He made a bad investment. Don’t worry about it, Sarah. This isn’t the first time your dad has lost a substantial amount of money, and it won’t be the last. He takes risks, and when he wins, he wins big. But sometimes those risks turn out to be warranted and he loses his investment. I’ve known him for years, and he’s always made it back. There’s nothing to worry about, really.”

  “You know we are having a dinner in honor of Jessica’s birthday tonight?”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry I am unable to stay. Are you okay with this? It’s not going to be too difficult?”

  A part of me wanted to scream that, of course, I was not okay with this, but my desperation to get to the truth trumped all my other emotions.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lied.

  We stood together before the window, looking out at the ocean, both of us conscious of the void, the gaping wound that haunted us since Jessica’s death.

  When Hamish spoke, it was as if he were reading my thoughts. “Jessica was one of the most free-spirited people I have ever known,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “She was.”

  “I would watch the two of you together and often think that you were the level-headed one, the adult, and Jessica was the whirlwind that no one could contain.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, took a deep breath before he continued. “I remember when you were just a little thing, and Jessica told you to call her by her first name.” Hamish shook his head. “She always said she would rather be your friend than your mother.”

  “The looks we used to get. The post mistress yelled at me for not addressing her properly. One day when I rode my bike to collect the mail, she took me to task for being disrespectful.”

  “Jessica’s child rearing methods were unusual,” Hamish said. “But you turned out okay.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment and say thank you,” I said.

  “I need to go.” He looked at his watch. “I have a business meeting in San Francisco. I just wanted to say a quick hello to you before I left.”

  “It’s good to see you, Hamish,” I said.

  “Come have lunch with me when you are in the City. And Sarah, make sure your father knows that I need the draft of his manuscript in three weeks. He’s horribly behind schedule.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  We both heard the sound of Grace’s high heels clicking on the floor, getting louder as she drew near.

  “That’s my cue to leave.” He kissed my cheek, and when he was close enough, he whispered, “Don’t let her push you around.”

  Grace, who had dressed in a midnight blue chiffon dress that flattered her figure and coloring, swept into the room and air-kissed Hamish. If he didn’t like Grace, he certainly didn’t let on.

  He air-kissed her in return, then stepped back to admire her ensemble. “You look gorgeous, as usual.”

  “Thank you, Hamish.” She twirled around with her arms out to the side, showing off her dress. “It’s an old favorite.” She went to the drinks trolley and poured the proper measure of gin and vermouth in the shaker. “I’m sorry you ca
n’t stay for dinner.” She shook the drink and poured the icy gin into a stemmed glass.

  “I’m sorry too,” Hamish said. “Rain check?”

  “Of course, any time. You know that you are always welcome.”

  “In that case, I’ll bid you both goodbye and see you again when Jack’s book is finished.”

  Grace and I settled on the sofa. I spoke before the silence between us became awkward.

  “So how did you come to settle in Bennett Cove?” Small talk was in order. I didn’t trust myself to do anything but ask innocuous questions.

  “You mean how did I meet Jack?” Grace kicked off the dainty slippers that she wore on her tiny feet and tucked one leg underneath her. She sipped her gin and gazed out the window. “We met at the Sand Dollar. I was working as a waitress and your dad came in for dinner. We struck up a conversation, and soon he was dining in the restaurant every night. One thing led to another--” She sighed. “And here I am.”

  “My father seems--”

  “Excuse me, miss.” Mrs. Tolliver stood in the doorway. She wore a floor-length purple dress that hung on her stout body like a sack. On her feet were what she called her good shoes, patent leather pumps that would have been fine if the toes weren’t so scuffed and there wasn’t sand along the place where the sole met the leather. She had an emerald green hat with about four too many feathers. Over her shoulder was the burlap bag that went everywhere with her. “I’m to serve at table tonight. I just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need anything. Hello, Sarah Jane.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  “How in the world did you get in?” Grace asked.

  “Through the front door like I always do.”

  “And Anca asked you to come and help her?” Grace stood up and moved to the doorjamb where Mrs. Tolliver stood.

  Mrs. Tolliver raised her chin in defiance. I prayed that she wouldn’t say something she would regret. This situation had trouble written all over it.

  “Grace, it’s okay, really.”

  Grace turned on me with reddened cheeks, but she never spoke. She didn’t get the chance. By some divine act of providence, my father saved the day by the simple act of walking into the room. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was dressed in a dinner suit I hadn’t seen in a decade. The bow tie was crooked and his glasses rested on top of his head. He had cut himself shaving, and his cheeks had the familiar glow that came when he imbibed from the bottle of scotch he kept in his study.

  “Mrs. Tolliver.” My father bowed at the waist, took Mrs. Tolliver’s hand, and kissed it.

  “Oh, you.” Mrs. Tolliver blushed and bowed her head. “I’m just off to help Anca then.” Mrs. Tolliver headed to the kitchen, leaving little piles of sand in her wake, giggling like a school girl. Score one to Mrs. Tolliver. I only hoped that there wouldn’t be retribution.

  My father kissed Grace on the cheek, and it wasn’t until Grace stood up from the couch that I realized my father hadn’t come in the room alone. Behind him, dressed in an impeccable white dinner jacket, was my handsome stranger. His eyes opened with surprise as he recognized me, then he smiled.

  “This is my assistant, Zeke,” my father said. “Zeke, please meet my daughter, Sarah.”

  My stomach flipped and my cheeks went hot. I drained my champagne flute and went to pour myself a refill. “So we meet again,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Zeke said.

  My father moved away from us as Grace pulled him into the corner and spoke to him--probably about Mrs. Tolliver’s impudence at using the front door, which in Grace’s mind was reserved for guests.

  “I’m glad that we are going to get to know each other.” Zeke took the champagne bottle from my shaking hands and poured for me. “After you left, I was wondering how I could figure out who you were, where you came from.”

  When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners. He smelled of an enticing combination of pine and musk. I lost myself for a minute, my eyes riveted on his dark blond hair as it curled around over the top of his collar. I was overcome with a strange physical longing, the likes of which I had never experienced before. It started in my stomach and burst out into every cell of my body. It seemed as though everyone in the room faded away, leaving Zeke and me in our own bubble. I wanted to kiss him, to feel those lips on mine. When I thought of the reaction that would provoke from Grace and my father, I laughed out loud, a crazy, reckless laugh, the sound of which caused Grace and my father both to stop speaking and stare at me, a puzzled look on both of their faces.

  Mrs. Tolliver came in to announce dinner. She had removed her hat and fixed her hair, and her manner was quite dignified.

  Zeke smiled at me. “May I?”

  I placed my hand on his arm and understood for the first time in my twenty-five years what the romance heroines meant when they were “walking on air.”

  The dinner was delicious and strange. Mrs. Tolliver served us with a grace and elegance that impressed. The wine was superb and, as we drank it, our tongues loosened. It was as though I was on a double date with my father and his new wife. We spoke of music and literature and books. No one mentioned the war, my mother’s death, or my time at the asylum. By the time the meal was over, I was captivated by Zeke, by the possibility of what life could be like if one weren’t bogged down by worries.

  The four of us had gone back into the drawing room for coffee. Grace had put on a Count Basie phonograph record. Mrs. Tolliver had served us coffee, and we were dealing out the cards for a hand of gin rummy when someone pounded on the door.

  “Who in the world--” I stood up to go answer the door.

  “I’ll get it,” my father said.

  “So do we play gin rummy for money?” Zeke asked.

  Grace took a cigarette out of a sterling silver case. Zeke reached for the lighter on the table and was just about to light Grace’s cigarette when Colonel Matthews, followed by three burly soldiers with angry scowls on their faces, stepped into the room.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “This is a private matter,” Colonel Matthews snapped at me. His eyes locked on Zeke. “Are you Ezekiel Caen?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zeke’s spoke in a calm and confident voice, but a sheen of perspiration broke out on his face. “I’ll need you to come with me,” the colonel said.

  “What’s this about? You can’t just come in here and--” my father protested.

  “This man is being taken into custody under suspicion of treason.” Colonel Matthews nodded at the men, and they moved toward the table where Zeke, Grace, and I sat. Zeke stood up.

  One of the men grabbed Zeke’s arm. I couldn’t see how he did it, but he moved like water and disengaged from the soldier’s grip, leaving him surprised and then angry. When the soldier moved once again to grab Zeke, Zeke spoke. “I’ll come voluntarily. Do not touch me.”

  “Shoot him if he tries to run.” Colonel Matthews and his men followed Zeke out of the room.

  After the front door shut, my father, Grace, and I stood there like a bunch of fools. None of us knew what to do next. My father broke our silence.

  “I’m calling Hamish.” My father didn’t look at either of us as he spoke. He headed to his office, pushing his way past Mrs. Tolliver and Anca, who stood in the hallway watching the entire scene with wide eyes and mouths agape.

  “Anca, bring us brandy.” Grace came and put her arm around me. “Sarah, are you okay?”

  Anca made the sign of the cross and headed back into the kitchen, Mrs. Tolliver at her heels. Grace and I moved into the library, which was now warm from the fire. I allowed myself to be led to the couch.

  “You’re in love with him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I just met him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So you’re naïve, too?”

  The tears came unbidden.

  Anca and Mrs. Tolliver brought tea and brandy and four cups. Grace didn’t say a word as Anca poured out tea for all four of us, adding a generous dollop of brandy in li
eu of cream and sugar. I don’t know how long we sat like that. I slipped off into my own world, as I often did in stressful situations. Disgusted with my own inability to help and with nothing to lose, I stood up, startling Grace, who had dozed off in her corner of the couch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find out what’s happening. If no one else will help Zeke, I will.”

  “What do you think you can possibly do for that young man that your father can’t?”

  I didn’t know what I could do for Zeke, but I couldn’t sit by and do nothing any longer.

  ***

  I barged into my father’s study without knocking. The room was dark, save for the brass banker’s lamp that rested on his desk, which cast a small circle of light on the old wood, but left the rest of the room in deep shadows. My father sat with his elbows on his desk, resting his head in his hands.

  “Sarah? What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know. What’s happened to Zeke? Did you reach Hamish? Can he help?”

  “Zeke gave Hamish specific instructions. He contacted Zeke’s friend in San Francisco, and this man assured Hamish that he would take care of everything. Don’t worry. Your friend will be back here, safe at Bennett House before lunchtime tomorrow. And now, Sarah Jane, if you don’t mind, I would like to go to bed.” My father pushed his chair back and stood up. “It’s been an exhausting day.”

  I stood on my tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Good night,” I said.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Sarah. You belong here, home, with me and Grace.”

  ***

  Once in my room, I kicked off my shoes, turned out the lights, and opened the blackout curtains, allowing the sea air and distant cadence of the crashing waves to lull me. I changed into my cotton pajamas, brushed my teeth, and got into bed, grateful at long last to be home in my own room, in my own bed. As soon as I lay down, the exhaustion hit. Soon I slept.