Trusting Grace

by Maggie Brendan

A week later, dressed in her pop’s overalls, Grace stirred the buttercup-colored paint in the pail until it was smooth. “Ginny, this room will be transformed in a few hours between me and Becky.” Ginny sat knitting nearby with her feet propped up, while Sarah held a ball of yarn.

  Becky giggled. “I hope I can paint. I’ve never tried it before,” she said. Becky’s hair was tied up in a kerchief, with a strand or two peeking out from beneath. She wore a pair of Tom’s pants and his old shirt. Grace smiled, wondering how despite all she’d been through, Becky had turned into such a sweet, eager, young girl, always willing to help when asked, no matter what the task.

  “You’ll do just fine, just watch how I do it.” Grace carried the pail over to the ladder with her paintbrush to start. “I’ll start at the top, so you aren’t on the ladder. You can start lower nearest the door.”

  “I wish I could help,” Sarah grumbled.

  “But you are helping, Sarah. Sitting here with me when I’m not allowed to help is a help. Besides, you’ve helped by carrying in all the paint supplies.” Ginny unwound the ball of yarn that Sarah held. “Soon, this will become my baby’s blanket.”

  Sarah uttered, “Oh, can I please hold her?”

  Ginny giggled. “Well, I’m not sure if it’s a girl or boy, but yes, you may if you’re very careful.”

  Sarah’s head bobbed. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ll be extra careful.”

  Grace glanced down from the top of the ladder, glad that Sarah was there too. The children needed a sense of family, and Grace considered Ginny like a sister.

  A half hour later, the two women stood back on the other side of the room, surveying the wall. Ginny put her hands together. “It’s perfect. I wanted it to look like warm sunshine, and I think Eli helped me find just the right shade.”

  “He did. I wish I could paint faster, but thankfully, this isn’t a large room. I have supper to cook, but I can come back for a few hours tomorrow, if you can, Becky.”

  “I’ll ask Papa, but I think he’ll say yes.”

  “Girls, I really appreciated your help today. We’ll put things away while you go to the kitchen. Nell has some cookies and milk waiting.”

  The girls whooped, darting from the room to see who could get there first.

  Grace cleaned the paintbrushes and set them aside for the next day, while Ginny waddled over and put a lid on the paint pail. “Thank you for taking over for me today. Frank is so busy with work, he couldn’t find time to paint.”

  Grace shot a glance at her friend. “Do I detect loneliness in your voice?”

  Ginny sighed, then looked at her. “Not really. It’s more than that. Frank is worried about something at work but doesn’t want to bother me.”

  “That makes sense. He wants you to concentrate on taking care of yourself, and I agree.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “I guess. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

  “One cup, but then I really do need to leave,” she replied.

  Over tea, Ginny talked about her excitement about the baby. Then she asked, “Are you feeling more settled about your father and Stella? Last time we talked about it you had your doubts.”

  Setting her cup in the saucer, Grace was thoughtful for a moment before answering. “You know, I was wrong about her. She’s the genuine thing, and I believe she really cares for my father. If it hadn’t been for her, we’d still be wondering what is wrong with him.”

  “I’m happy to hear that for him, and for you as well. Which leads me to ask, now that Warren is out of the picture, do you think there’s a chance for Robert?” Ginny arched a brow when she looked at her.

  “You do like the details, don’t you?” Grace giggled.

  Ginny laughed. “I do. Let’s just say that I believe in romance, and I believe there is something there.”

  She shook her head. “Ginny, you are a hopeless romantic.”

  “Maybe so, but one thing I learned from the War between the States was that you mustn’t take anything for granted, or ignore what’s right under your nose. And I’ve been praying for you.”

  “Okay. If you must know, Robert and I have cleared the air, and we’re going to see where it leads.”

  Ginny clapped her hands together. “I knew it! Tell me all about it.”

  The afternoon was slowly winding down without a customer, so Eli and Robert spent time going over the status on back orders and current ones. “I have no idea where those two orders went, Robert, but I can tell you this—they didn’t make it to Bozeman.” He pulled out a bill of lading from the supplier that had come in the mail as requested. Sure enough, there was Eli’s signature. Eli fumed. “Someone forged my signature. I don’t have a leg to stand on, and now I owe for the items. I simply don’t have extra cash floating around to pay for those loads.”

  Robert tapped the pencil against the paper. “Is it possible the clerk that left signed one day while you were gone?”

  “No, I never leave the store when I know shipments will be arriving and I never gave him that privilege. Besides, I can’t recall any time I’ve left the store, except the time you told me to send a wire to my supplier.”

  “You’re too trusting, Eli. Towns are sprouting up everywhere. You have miners in Alder Gulch, and Gold Creek. I’ve been thinking—if your goods have to arrive by steamboat coming up the Missouri River to Ft. Benton, along the Overland Trail, it’s an open opportunity for road agents or any dishonest person to hijack a wagonload of goods.”

  Eli rubbed his chin back and forth. “I reckon you’re right.”

  “I’d let Sheriff Mendenhall know about your next shipments just in case they arrive.”

  “Yep. I’ll stop in and have a talk with John after I close up here.”

  “Good idea. I better go see how Tom’s coming along restocking those canned goods.”

  “Why don’t you two go on home and I’ll close up here?” Eli suggested.

  Robert looked up at the large clock. “I hadn’t noticed it’s quitting time. See you tomorrow then.”

  Striding out the door, Robert and Tom nearly walked straight into Grace and the girls, who were making their way through the folks on the sidewalk.

  “Whoa! What’s the big hurry?” Robert steadied Grace by her arms.

  “I’m so sorry. I wanted to walk Becky and Sarah back to the boardinghouse before I left for home.” Grace straightened her sleeves as Robert let go of her arms.

  “We’ll walk with you. Did you get the painting done?” Robert fell into step with her, and the kids raced on ahead, betting who’d get there first.

  She laughed. “Hardly. I’m not a fast painter, nor very good, but I promised to come back in the morning for a while. For now I must get home. How was your day?”

  Robert stared down at her. Her laughter, rich and velvety, eased his mind. “Same as always, busy.”

  “Busy is good. It makes the day go faster.”

  Robert cleared his throat for what he was about to ask. “So do you think I could come by and see you tomorrow afternoon? We could take that ride and see all the wildflowers blooming on the mountainside.” He held his breath while he waited for her answer.

  She paused on the sidewalk to look up at him. He hadn’t noticed before how many freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. It made her look cute and fresh like the buttercups he’d spotted in Stella’s backyard.

  “I look forward to it, Robert.”

  “That’s great. Say, where is your wagon? At Stella’s?”

  “I rode Cinnamon today and left her at Stella’s. Since Ginny had all the supplies we needed, there was no need for the rig.”

  Near the boardinghouse, Robert watched the children slip through the door. “I’ll go get Cinnamon for you, unless you want to stay for a while.” He stopped in front of the porch.

  “No, truly, I’ve got supper to prepare and I need to check on Pop. Oh, did you know that Tom made a beautiful cane for him?”

  “Yes, I knew he was carving one. It’s taken him some time,
and I’m proud that he would think of someone else.”

  Grace smiled sweetly. “I’d say your parenting skills are improving.”

  Robert stuffed his thumbs into his pockets. “Thank you. I surely hope so. I still have a lot to learn when it comes to children. I’ll go get your horse and be back in a flash.”

  Grace rested on the front porch to wait and plan the evening meal in her head. Leftovers from the potpie she made yesterday would be just fine with her, and her father never complained. Hearing the front door open, she turned around. Stella started down the steps.

  “I saw you from the window after the children came barreling in. I wanted to ask you about something.” Stella sat down next to her.

  “Hello, Stella. What did you need?”

  “I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, so I felt I should ask you first. Would it be okay if I took your father for weekly baths at the hot springs? I know how busy you are taking care of the farm and your father and wanted to offer my help.” The older lady smoothed the front of her apron, splattered with spots of berry stains and flour, as she talked.

  “Why, I don’t mind at all, if it’s okay with him.”

  Stella grinned. “I’ve already asked him and he said yes, but I still wanted to get your approval.”

  Grace chuckled. “My father doesn’t need my approval, nor do you, and truly it would be a big help for me. But won’t that be a burden for you?”

  Stella’s face colored a dusty pink. “I . . . I’d want to do anything I can to help Owen.”

  “Then I’m very grateful. Stella, I know I wasn’t so friendly the first time I met you, and I’m sorry. That was very unkind of me. I guess I thought I was protecting my father.”

  Stella patted her on the hand. “No need to apologize. I understand. But I must tell you I feel a connection to your father that I’ve not felt before . . . not entirely romantic—comfortable too.” She blushed again. “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much.”

  Grace was surprised that Stella had said as much as she did. Somehow Grace never thought about romance and her father at his age. It might take some getting used to. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me. I promise not to get in the way.”

  She was relieved when Robert showed up with Cinnamon.

  “Want me to ride with you back home since it’s getting late?” Robert asked, handing her the reins.

  “That’s very sweet of you, but I think I’ll take a shortcut so I’ll get there sooner.”

  Grace waved goodbye, comforted by knowing that someone cared about her.

  34

  As Grace traveled her shorter route home, she realized that she’d taken a wrong turn at some point. She hadn’t gone far—how had this happened? Her mind had been on something else, and to make matters worse, dark clouds were closing in over the mountaintops. She should’ve left Ginny’s sooner and foregone the tea. It was dusk now, and there would be no moon to light her way.

  She came to a crossroads and pulled hard on Cinnamon’s reins until she stopped, giving her time to contemplate which way to go. This is what I get for thinking I could find a shortcut. I thought I knew these parts like the back of my hand.

  A loud snapping branch behind her caused her to turn around in her saddle. She squinted to see in the waning daylight. Something didn’t feel quite right. A strong gust of wind rustled the pine and cottonwood trees, and alarm ran down the back of her neck. Through the shadows, a rider and another man were talking about something and she strained to hear.

  She whispered to Cinnamon, “Easy girl. Quiet and slow.” Edging closer, she saw a man in a wagon, which appeared to be loaded down with goods, hand the other man a big envelope. Large drops of rain pelted the dirt road between them.

  “Until next time,” the man perched on the wagon said.

  “This is our last exchange, I’m afraid. Too many in one location and someone will be on to us,” the man on horseback responded.

  “Keep in touch, then, and we’ll see what we can work out.” He clicked the horses’ reins and took off, disappearing with the wagon into the rain.

  Grace didn’t move a muscle for fear of being noticed. When the other man turned his horse around, her heart caught in her throat. Warren!

  Warren spied her and trotted his horse toward her. “Well, now look who we have here.”

  Heart pounding, Grace moved to pass him. “I was just on my way home—”

  “I think you’d better come with me. It’s dark and you shouldn’t be out alone. Are you lost?” Warren’s voice was menacingly tense. He reached over, grabbing Cinnamon’s reins from her tight clutch.

  Grace was so surprised her jaw dropped and fear clinched her insides. “I’d rather get on home,” she rasped with a dry mouth, while trying to retrieve the reins from his grip.

  “Yes, you must get back to your father. Well, too bad. He’ll have to fend for himself tonight.” His tone held a warning.

  The rain was beginning to come down harder. Shouting above the noise, Grace tried again. “Let go of my reins, Warren, or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what? Do you really think I’m afraid of a thin gal like you?” he scoffed. He dismounted, dragged her down from the horse, who cantered away, then pulled her close. Rain dripped from his hat brim and trickled down her blouse. His finger followed the dripping rain to the top of her blouse, then back up her throat with his thumb, pressing it firmly against the pulse that beat there. “I know you saw me with Jack a moment ago, so I think you might need someone to teach you a lesson about eavesdropping.”

  A slow thud of dread sent a chill down her spine. She’d have to think of something fast. “What you do in your free time is your business, Warren. Now let me go. I promise I won’t say anything.” Adrenaline raced and she tried backing away, but he struck a quick blow to the side of her head, stunning her and making her sway on her feet. She felt a trickle of blood slide down the side of her face. I don’t believe I’ve ever been hit. Did she hear herself say that or was she thinking it? Too hard to think clearly.

  Twisting her arm hard, he yanked her against him and she grimaced in pain. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure of that. Grace, with all her sweetness . . . Grace, loyal and helpful to everyone—except for me.” He swore.

  It was hard to see his eyes through the dimness and the rain, but she felt more than saw his unleashed anger through the grip in his hands. I have to get away from this man. He’s gone crazy! Her mind screamed, Think, Grace! And pray.

  Robert had stood for a moment when Grace cantered off. Could it be that one day she’d be riding toward him, not away? Is that what I really want and have wanted for so long? Someone who I could join at the hip—soul to soul—with the truth and openness that I’m beginning to have with Grace? He scratched his head, thinking about the two of them and for some reason not really wanting to go inside. Maybe he’d take a ride. But no sooner had he thought about it than the rain began, so he changed his mind.

  He turned to go inside for supper, but stopped short when he saw Cinnamon loping down the street, stopping in front of the boardinghouse. Robert walked up to the horse, patting her flanks. “Cinnamon, where’s Grace?” Cinnamon snorted, shaking her mane. Something wasn’t right. Robert felt it in his gut.

  He picked up Cinnamon’s reins and threw his leg over the horse’s back just as Tom came out to call him in to supper. “I think Grace is in trouble. Run to get the sheriff and then let Stella know where I am,” he shouted at Tom, who took off running to the sheriff’s office.

  Robert had been concerned about Grace leaving so late with rain threatening, especially when she mentioned a shortcut. He didn’t know of one, and he knew the foothills could harbor road agents and occasionally Indians, though the Blackfeet had been relatively quiet lately. Still he prayed for her safety.

  He spurred Cinnamon into a gallop in the direction she’d just emerged from with urgency. A gnawing feeling rumbled within him. Whatever it was, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

  With Cinnamon go
ne, Warren held Grace’s wrist so hard that it burned as he pulled her behind him, mounting his horse, and then in one swift movement, pulling her up in front of him. “I know a nice place where we can have some time alone . . . no one to interrupt,” he whispered in her ear above a clap of thunder.

  Grace couldn’t think straight with her head throbbing. They hadn’t gone far when a small, run-down log cabin appeared through the darkness ahead. Warren stopped the horse and pulled Grace off, then kicked the cabin door open. An old, musty smell was strong and overpowering. Someone had left a coffeepot and mug on the table, and the smell of smoke from a recent fire in the grate filled the one room.

  How was she going to get away from this monster of a man she used to think was a gentleman? Oh, God, please help me!

  Flinging her onto a lumpy bed in the corner, Warren gave an eerie smile. “Don’t move,” he ordered. He reached behind her, retrieving the pillow, then took the pillowcase and tore it in half. Dread filled her soul. Her mouth was so dry with fear that she couldn’t move a muscle, much less utter a cry. She watched, horrified, as he wound two long strips around one of her wrists, tying it tightly to the iron bedpost before doing the same to the other.

  Finally finding her voice, Grace begged, “Warren, please don’t do this. Let’s talk about why you’re so angry with me—”

  A sharp slap on her cheek silenced her with pain and filled her with rage. In that moment, Grace knew talking wouldn’t matter. She’d have to fight against him. She twisted and struggled against the ties, and kicked her legs, sending a hard blow to his stomach. Unflinching, he clamped his hand hard over her mouth, causing her teeth to cut her lips as he eased himself on top, his full body weight nearly crushing her.

  Despite his hand over her mouth, Grace tried to scream—knowing she wouldn’t be heard anyway out here in this desolate area. His other hand fumbled with her skirt and petticoats. Having his eyes piercing into hers was too horrible, so she closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed.

  The cabin door crashed open as someone yelled, “Stop! I have a bullet aimed at the back of your head!”