Noble Pursuits

by Chautona Havig

  A slow smile spread over Traci’s face. “Now that is what I wanted to see or hear. I was afraid I’d turned you into a clinical monster when I pushed you to go where the most eligible females lived.”

  “I went straight for the most beautiful girl I think I’ve ever met. And she was all wrong for me. You’ll know her immediately tomorrow.”

  “Not to change the subject or anything,” Mike began, “but I’m afraid that if I don’t ask now, I won’t remember. How did Grace get that kind of response out of London?”

  “That was amazing!”

  He shrugged, knowing that things were about to get interesting. “Grace doesn’t tolerate it.”

  “Well neither do I, but—”

  Nolan’s head shook as Traci spoke. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you, Grace doesn’t tolerate it, so it doesn’t happen. At first, I couldn’t get any kind of reasonable response out of ‘her kids,’” Nolan made air quotes as he spoke, “when they were out of line, but once I saw the difference, I got it. It was an option. I didn’t think it was, but it was. I still expected them to act up, so they did. When I quit expecting it and knew in my heart that I’d never tolerate it again, they quit.”

  “What happens if they try to see if you’re serious,” Mike demanded curiously. He’d been trying to gain control over his household since the day Michael Jr. was born.

  “Well, they didn’t try with me. I thought they would, actually, but Grace says she’s noticed that kids don’t try as much with men as they do with women. I guess they think women are pushovers.”

  Traci stood and refilled her cup. “So, what would Grace do?”

  “Depends on the situation. I asked once and she said it all boils down to making it not worth doing. Making whatever they do that is wrong more uncomfortable than just doing the right thing. The kids she babysits actually know that she’ll call their mothers to come get them if they don’t obey her, and some of them have mothers who travel out of state. They’ll come right home, walk out of a business meeting, lose their job if necessary, because Grace says, ‘come get your child.’ The kids know it, and they’re not willing to go home to a mom that just had to do that, so they obey.” He paused. “But it’s not just that. She likes them. She really likes who they are as little people, and I think the children sense that and want to please her.”

  “I can’t say I always like my kids,” Traci whispered. “I love them but—”

  “I know what you mean,” Mike agreed. “You love them to pieces, but sometimes you want to love them a from afar.”

  “Bedtime bliss?” Nolan asked, smiling. He’d heard them refer to the term often.

  “Isn’t that sad?” Traci asked, shamed. “Isn’t it sad that I actually count the minutes until bedtime some days—sometimes from before lunch!”

  “Think Grace could help?” Mike asked a little desperately.

  “Can’t hurt to ask.”

  ~*~*~*~

  After breakfast, Nolan took Traci across the street to show her where to find towels, soap, and sundries for the children’s baths. Mike sat at her table watching Grace work, wondering how to broach the subject of his children. “I am still amazed at how you stopped London’s meltdown last night. Usually that would have been a twenty-minute nightmare.”

  “It was a simple attempt at a tantrum, and she knew they aren’t allowed at my house.”

  “How?”

  Grace glanced across the kitchen. “How what?”

  “How did she know they aren’t allowed in your house?”

  “She got upset when we started to play a different game, and I told her so.”

  “You just said,” Mike began incredulously, “‘sorry, kid, no tantrums allowed,’ and she stopped?”

  “Close.” Grace’s smile disarmed him. “She wailed and I told her to hush. I said, ‘There is no whining allowed in my house. If you’re going to misbehave, I’ll have to tell Nolan to take you back to his house, but it won’t do you much good. Tantrums aren’t allowed there either.’”

  “What’d she do?”

  “She gave me a very endearing but challenging glare and told me, in no uncertain terms, that they were allowed in her house at home.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  With a slow shake of the head, Grace continued. “I think she needs someone to take the reins of control back. She doesn’t know how to keep the galloping emotions from running wild, but you as the parent do.”

  “But we don’t. We obviously don’t. The melt—”

  Grace shook her head. “These aren’t meltdowns. These are tantrums. They are fully capable of controlling themselves; they just choose not to.”

  Mike had the grace to blush. “Tantrum sounds so much worse—”

  “Which is why you need to use it. If she were truly incapable of controlling herself, it’d be a good time to say so. She’d learn to differentiate between something out of her control and something she can control. Right now, she thinks that control is about how she uses her emotions to manipulate those around her. When it didn’t work, she quit trying.”

  Shaking his head, Mike reminded her that she had tried again. “So what’s the use if it only works for a little while?”

  “But it didn’t just work for a little while. You came back and she needed to see if the rules changed. I showed her that they didn’t.”

  “How did you learn so much about children?” Mike asked amazed.

  “I didn’t. I learned about people. You have a business, right?”

  He nodded, curious as to where this was going. “Market analysis.”

  “So that means you have employees.”

  “Yes.”

  Grace grinned. “How often do they come in late?”

  “They don’t. Almost never.”

  “Why not?”

  Mike shrugged. “I don’t allow it. If you work for me, you’re on time, or you’re out. I pay my people well and expect integrity and hard work in return.”

  “It’s the same thing with a child. They know what is expected, and they give it. Consequences result when they fail.”

  “I can’t fire my kids!”

  “Well, then,” Grace challenged, “perhaps your employees need a break. Maybe you need to make them eat lunch in their office if they’re late or write a note of apology to everyone if they speak rudely.”

  “That’s not much of a deterrent.”

  “My point exactly. Working for you is a privilege. It’s an area of mutual respect, but you are clearly the boss. You write the checks, they do the work. If they don’t do the work, you fire them and hire someone who will, and they know it. Why treat children like you’re just appeasing their desire to do a hostile takeover of the company, er, family? Why not admit that you’re the CEO of the family, they’re the ‘employees’ and there are rules they must follow, or they’ll face the consequences.” She grinned. “No, I don’t mean firing them, but they are out of fellowship with their authority.”

  “I hate that word.”

  She leaned closer and held his gaze for a moment. “Why? You are their authority. God placed you there. You can abdicate all you want, but you’re still responsible for your position as their authority.”

  “I guess I get tired,” he confessed. “I hate constantly being in charge. Sometimes I just want someone to tell me what to do.”

  “Read your Bible lately?”

  He laughed. “Touché.”

  ~*~*~*~

  As Mike and Traci loaded their car, Traci pulled Nolan aside, hugged him, and whispered, “She’s a gem. She’s wonderful. Don’t hesitate, don’t over think things. Pray about it and then do it.”

  “Do you think I’m ready?”

  “Take a day, go hiking, take a million pictures, come home, and ask yourself one question.”

  Nolan furrowed his brow, wondering what that question could possibly be. “What?”

  “How many times today did you wish she was there with you?”

  The minivan turn
ed the corner and drove out of sight, but Nolan still stood in his driveway, Traci’s words ringing through his ears. He knew the answer without leaving. “Too many to count.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  December

  “Grace? Come over here now. Please!” Paige’s terrified voice burst over the telephone line.

  “What is wrong?” Grace, alarmed by Paige’s frantic and fearful tones, began looking for her purse and pulled on her jacket.

  “That man—the one they’ve been trying to catch. You know—the ra—” Paige swallowed the word as though unable to speak it. “He came in and tried to attack me.”

  “Don’t move. Call 9-1-1 and then hang up and don’t move. Don’t touch anything, don’t go anywhere, and don’t answer the door. Is it locked?”

  “No. After he ran out, I just grabbed the phone and called.”

  Grace insisted that Paige lock the door and then stand right next to it as she dialed for the police. “Don’t walk around anymore than you have to. Maybe they can get a shoe print or a hair or something like they do in those TV shows. Who knows? I’ll be right there. Does my key still work?”

  Clicking off the phone, Grace dashed out her door and ran to Verily’s house. Moments later, they sped toward Paige’s apartment. Grace mulled over the situation as her confused neighbor navigated the streets to get Grace to her desired destination. This was unusual. The attacker had previously attacked family neighborhoods. He seemed to stalk homemakers who were alone all day, not single women in apartments.

  Halfway there, it dawned on her that she didn’t know if Paige had been hurt. Steeling herself for the worst, she spent the next few blocks begging the Lord for the right words to say and the wisdom not to speak when she shouldn’t. “That’s like asking Rolex to avoid the food in front of him if he’s not really hungry.”

  “What, Gracie honey?”

  Verily’s deep southern drawl soothed Grace’s nerves. She explained that she was just concerned about Paige and promised to let Verily know why the woman had insisted that she come over later. It seemed wrong to share that information until Paige gave her permission to.

  An officer pulled into the parking lot of Paige’s apartment complex as Grace knocked on the door. “Paige, I’m coming in. Just wanted to warn you.”

  The door flung wide open and a disheveled and injured Paige threw herself into Grace’s arms and sobbed. An officer raced up the stairs two at a time with his partner close behind him. “Is she alone? Is she safe? How long since the attacker left?”

  Paige shook her head and told the officer what time the man had run off. She gave them a good description of the intruder, and Grace sagged in relief when she heard that the man hadn’t been able to do more than scratch her and bruise her shin. “I don’t know what happened, but I just kind of went nuts when he pushed in here. I kicked him and screamed, and I don’t know what all. I am so mad at that guy I could tear his eyes out! He’s such a small weasel of a man too! I can’t figure out how he overpowered anyone!”

  Later that evening, Grace recounted the story to Craig, Melanie, and Nolan. “They’re ‘processing’ her now. They wouldn’t let me stay since I’m not family, so her mother is coming in from the city. I don’t know what happened, but she kicked him in the face and a piece of his tooth was left on the coffee table with some blood, so if they find the guy, they’ve got cosmetic evidence now and something about DNA. That’s what they called it. I would have expected something more descriptive or scientific.” Grace sounded disappointed.

  “Maybe they just used that term so you’d understand what they meant.” Nolan meant to tease but Grace nodded wisely.

  “That’s probably it. Anyway, she said, ‘He looked a little familiar, but I am not sure why.’ Where do you think she saw him?”

  No one could think of where she could have met the man. Paige didn’t have much of a social life, and none of them wanted to think that the culprit could be any of her clients or anyone from church. “Does anyone know where she lives? Her clients, I mean, do they know?”

  Craig looked with concern at his sister. Grace created columns on a notepad, organizing her thoughts. It was a habit begun in grade school by an exacting teacher, but it served her well at times like this. After years of reading her assignments from across the table, Craig had perfected the art of reading upside down. There was one column for church, one for business associates, one for the women who had been attacked, and one for commonalities.

  Rolex tried to climb her leg and settle into her lap, but Grace didn’t seem to notice. Melanie took pity on the whimpering puppy and asked for Craig’s opinion of the situation as she picked up the fur ball. “Where could this guy have gotten her address? Everyone in Paige’s complex works all day. There isn’t even an older neighbor home watching the comings and goings like Grace has here with Mr. Wirth.”

  “Or me. I have to admit that I’ve held more teleconferences since hearing that the lunatic was on the loose.” Grace smiled at Nolan’s admission. She knew that Nolan had been around more lately but had attributed it to the upcoming holiday season. She had assumed that January would bring a flurry of activity from her neighbor’s house.

  They all sat, talked, and prayed as they waited for word of Paige’s release. It appeared to all that Grace was determined to discover where this guy picked his victims. Eventually, Nolan went home to do some work, and Craig and Melanie left soon afterward. As he pulled the front door shut, Craig looked into Grace’s determined eyes. “Grace. Don’t do anything stupid. You aren’t a young Miss Marple. Call us when you hear anything, and we love you.”

  Almost as if she hadn’t heard him, Grace went back to her columns. Church was a definite possibility, and Paige did say that there was something familiar about him. “I wonder if he’s some kind of repair man. That would make sense. Don’t forget to ask Paige if she’s had anything fixed lately.”

  She was still muttering ideas to herself and making notes when Paige arrived on her doorstep, duffel bag in hand and ready to spend the night. “I’m just not ready to sleep in that apartment. There is that dust stuff they used everywhere, and it’s still a wreck. My apartment manager’s wife does housecleaning for a living. She’s going to call me when it’s clean again. I’m glad I got all of those packages sent off and delivered yesterday. Nathan had the morning off, so he helped. I should have called him but—”

  Allowing her to ramble from topic to topic, Grace hustled Paige into a guest room and helped her hang her clothes. She hung a warm pair of wool slacks with a marvelous cashmere sweater. “This is beautiful. Going somewhere special?”

  “No, I just wanted something that made me feel nice, so Mom stopped and bought it for me.” Paige fingered the soft and warm outfit.

  “I don’t want you to think you’re not welcome, but is there any reason that you didn’t go home with your mom?”

  “You know Mom. She’s been a psychologist for so long that she’d have my head examined, labeled, and stuck on her trophy shelf inside forty-five minutes. I want to talk about it when I want to talk about it and only when I want to talk about it.”

  Grace howled. “And you came here? You know I’m dying to ask five thousand questions.”

  “But you won’t make me answer if I don’t want to, and you’re interested in facts, not how I feel about the facts. That’s the difference.”

  Grace noticed something in Paige that she’d never seen before. There was a confidence that her friend rarely showed. As Grace listened to Paige recount the ordeal at the police station, she shuddered. “Did you ever figure out what was different about his mustache?”

  Paige shook her head. “Nope. But they think they did. The police sketch artist said that he thinks it was fake. They drew a few faces without it, and they still look familiar, but I still couldn’t tell them where I’d seen him.”

  In a scholarly, somber tone, Grace suggested. “Perhaps it is a physical manifestation of your reluctance to deal directly with the situation. When
you properly investigate your true feelings about the situation, your resistance to remembrance will be swiftly overcome, resulting in the ability to identify your perpetrator.”

  The women giggled. Grace had an uncanny knack for imitating Paige’s overly serious mother. It always brought a smile to Paige’s face when she was upset. “Hey, let’s get you some dinner! I bet you’re famished.”

  ~*~*~*~

  With a wave goodbye and a thick notebook, Grace rushed from the house the next morning just as Paige emerged from her room. “I’ll catch you in a bit; I’m going to go check some things out.”

  At the library, Grace scrolled through page after page of newspaper articles on the recent attacks in the area. She filled in every detail that she could find on her chart and compared notes. The information wasn’t very helpful. What she wanted to learn was if five out of eight victims had recently had the gas turned on to their furnaces or four out of eight received support from their churches after the attack. How many victims were not members of a church at all? However, the papers didn’t give out that kind of helpful information.

  Grace added new columns. Where did the women shop for groceries, which department stores did they frequent, did they attend lectures or plays? Frustration mounted. “Stop being frustrated and go look around Paige’s complex. There’s probably nothing there, but it can’t hurt to look.”

  With the tenacity that only comes from the vigilant pursuit of mice, Grace combed the parking lot, shrubs, and walkways of the entire complex where Paige lived. “I don’t know what you expect to find, Gracie girl!” she sneered at herself.

  Looking around at what appeared to be a sea of concrete and asphalt, Grace began walking up and down the sidewalks in the immediate vicinity. “Grace, you’re even thinking like an officer now! Vicinity! That’s—”

  Grace got down on all fours to look closely at the object on the sidewalk. The absurdity of the situation struck her as hilarious. “How am I supposed to pick this thing up without damaging some kind of weird evidence that the police could get these days?”

  Grace struggled back to her feet and brushed off her knees, noting the runs in her tights. “Expensive hobby. Not smart.”