Grace was silent as she sipped Granny’s coffee and thought of her own childhood. Marjorie Phillips hadn’t been blessed with the sanity it took to raise children. The girls’ father had disappeared when it was clear that his offspring would need care. Was it better to be an abandoned child left to caring grandparents? She had never really thought of what would or could have happened to she and Ellie, Katy, and Babe if not for their grandparents, who never seemed to resent them or the attention they required.
Granny Stillwell set her teacup down firmly and took Grace’s hand, watching the emotions move across her face.
“Grandchildren are a gift from God, Gracie. I never regretted the day your mother brought you to me. You girls were a blessin’.” She patted Grace’s hand again.
“No, Granny,” Grace remembered, eyes tearing suddenly over how shrunken, helpless and old Elwyn Turner had looked. She leaned over and kissed Granny Stillwell’s cheek. “You were the blessing.”
Chapter Eighteen
“So you met the Lancelot the Lecher?” Ellie snickered as she sat with Grace, wrapping Christmas gifts for her children. The dining room table was covered with wrapping paper, a different design assigned to each child to keep presents from being confused. Ellie rolled out a colorful sheet of ice-skating polar bears for her youngest child and reached for the cellophane tape, a DVD held between her teeth.
“Lecher is right.” Grace wiped the back of her hand reflexively, remembering the sloppy kiss, while Ellie laughed outright, the DVD landing in the floor.
“Nola Brayton seems to like him.”
“Nola Brayton’s husband is about worn out from dealing with Nola, I suspect.” They both shook their heads.
“Have you heard from little Babe?” Grace asked.
“She called this morning. You’ll probably be talking to her next.”
“So? When?” Abbreviated speech, resulting from years of sisterly mind-reading, Ellie knew Grace was asking for the wedding date.
“Christmas Eve, in the Woods Chapel. But you’d better let her tell you or I’ll be in trouble.”
“Granny will love that.” Though the girls were raised as Catholics, something their mother had agreed to when she converted to Catholicism in order to marry their father, Granny Stillwell was a Methodist and the Chapel in the Woods, while small, was her own church.
“That’s nothing. They’re bringing their own minister. And she’s a woman.” Ellie relayed.
“How big a wedding? Not too many people available Christmas Eve, but we’ll be there.” Grace wasn’t terribly concerned, as Babe certainly cut her own path through life and didn’t base many decisions on ceremony, even a marriage ceremony.
“Put on your cowboy boots, girl. We’re all standing up with her.”
“ALL of us?” Grace squawked.
“That’s what she said. All three of us. Maybe...” Ellie’s eyes twinkled, “...she’ll let us wear jeans.”
But in a matter of days, simply cut, elegant silk dresses were hanging in dressmaker’s bags with matching dyed pumps and small clutch purses. They would carry only a few roses each, to match the pewter dresses, which made for a straightforward floral order and less fuss for the practical bride. The reception would be postponed until January, after the couple returned from their honeymoon trip, a plan that surprised Babe as much as it did her sisters.
“I don’t need to go anywhere but home. But Mercer insists we take a trip of some kind. The man has lost his mind. We have a ranch to see to.” Grace, and Ellie on the kitchen extension, could hear the wonder in Babe’s voice.
“Ride that train as far as it will go!” advised Katy, when she heard of Mercer’s plans. “You’ll be stuck out there in the wilds of Montana for as long as the horse feed lasts, that’s for sure.”
“One can only hope.”
So the sisters would stand witness for Babe. Timothy and Christopher would stand with Mercer. Mercer had drafted his long-time ranch hand Gregory Ten Horse to fill the other spot. The visiting minister would come from near Kansas City, a woman who had known Babe since college days, before her departure to Montana. Granny Stillwell recruited ushers from among the regular church members. It would be a tight fit, but they would crowd into the small chapel.
“Where will we put everyone up, Ellie?” Grace knew she could sleep three people at her little house but unless they used creative thinking, there would be relatives bunked in the bathtubs and coming out the doors. Franklin Hill had only two hotels, and the holidays often found those beds occupied by weary travelers who had pulled off the interstate.
“Babe says they’ll do a separate reception at the ranch, so it’s not likely anyone from out West will come to the service.” Mercer’s parents were long dead and his brother lived in a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness. He would not trek out this time of year for fear of not being able to return to his team of sled dogs.
Later that day, they were on the phone with Katy, making plans.
“So, she’s not letting us wear blue jeans after all,” Ellie laughed.
“We should offer to do something else.” Katy had always been the one to fret over Babe. “All this planning long distance, and the ranch to run . . . ”
“Planning? Oh, no. Babe doesn’t need our help, Katy. Ellie’s organizing the wedding. Babe is just the one walkin’ down the aisle.” Grace interjected.
“And if you want to get in on this party, you come on back home and I’ll give you a list!” Ellie’s invitation was met with genuine laughter this time.
“No thank you very much. I know how Babe is, so carry on. I’m sure you’re doing fine.”
You will discover that you have two hands.
One is for helping yourself and the other is for helping others.
— Audrey Hepburn
Chapter Nineteen
The people of Franklin Hill showed their generosity at the Clothes Swap. It rivaled any church-wide rummage sale Grace had ever seen. Three weeks before Christmas was apparently a good time to ask for clothing. Folks were clearing out closets to make room for gifts and company, and donations arrived by the basket and boxful. The evening before the swap, children’s coats lined the portable racks in the gymnasium and out into the hallways at the school annex. Sandwich bags held mittens and gloves from the lost and found, unclaimed from the prior year, now matched and awaiting small hands.
The local dry cleaner had donated cleaning services for wool coats hanging in bags, the nearest some of the Franklin Hill and Grave’s Knot children would ever come to owning warm and attractive outerwear.
Someone had thought to start a table with nothing but blankets, crocheted afghans and throws. Next to that were piled baby quilts and hooded towels. Grace, Ellie and Bernadine had worked with an army of teenage volunteers the week before the sale, folding and sorting. Grace had given a brief speech to the helpers, explaining that if an item was in such a condition that they themselves would not wear it, it was unlikely that someone else would want to either. And so they had sorted into the late hours, Grace giving a silent prayer that the musty garage sale smell could be eliminated from the offerings. Laundry was ferried to Granny Stillwell’s house, closest to the school, and returned fresh and stain-free. Church ladies mended a few pieces that were worth passing on, replaced shoe strings and polished scuffed boots. Four ironing boards were at the ready to touch up collars and cuffs and neaten a pleat here and there. One of Ellie’s daughters walked the tables in circles, a package of dryer sheets in hand to place inside tennis shoes that still had a few good jumps and playground miles left in them.
Particular care had been paid to the younger children’s clothing. Grace noticed that Bernadine had brought in at least three baskets of donations from various Turner relatives, much of it for children the age of Derry and Gina Rodwell. A good deal of it looked astonishingly new.
The only damper on the evening had been the constant presence of Nola Brayton and the peskiness of Lancelot Curtis. Both seemed fixed on preventing the succ
ess of the event at every turn.
“That’s not necessary.” Nola snapped, as Alexandra Turner unfolded ironing boards and placed them near electric outlets. Meanwhile, Lance was across the gymnasium arguing with a janitor about posting a sign on the English Department’s bulletin board directing people to the sale.
“The school is going to enough trouble already.” Nola hissed. Alexa had faltered, looking to her great aunt for guidance. Bernadine grabbed a board and began to unfold it. “I find ironing almost therapeutic. It’ll keep me from focusing on those boots I saw. I’d love to have those. Couch or something like that? Started with a ‘C’. They were a size seven and a half. Looked like they’d never been worn. I think they’re from one of those big city department stores you shop at, Nola.” She smiled brightly and inclined her head toward the pile of boots and tennis shoes that were yet unsorted. The gaunt woman took the bait, swiveling sharply toward the other end of the gym, muttering under her breath.
“Good Lord, what will they give away next” Nola stood talking to another volunteer, examining the boots in question. “Well you know, many of these people don’t have a thing to call their own because they simply won’t work for a living. And no education to speak of. It’s a shame. No child of mine would ever have a thing from this swap, I can tell you that.”
“Nice boots, Nola. There’s a donation box at the door if you’d like to take them for yourself.” Grace smiled as she walked by, passing the comment over her shoulder. She spotted Lance Curtis headed her way and ducked between two clothes racks. The woman standing next to Nola flushed, and went back to folding blankets.
Stanford Brayton approached his mother, a Green Bay Packers football jersey in hand. Stanford was a strapping boy, a junior who already stood six-foot two-inches tall. Nola looked at him fondly until she saw the offending garment.
“Relax, Ma, I’ll pay for it.” The red cheeked teenager walked to the donation box and shoved a twenty dollar bill in, replaced his wallet and then approached Grace, blocking Lance’s amorous pursuit.
“Hey, Miz Phillips, what are we gonna do with the donation money?” How Nola Brayton had ever brought such a fresh-faced, clear-eyed light into this world was beyond Grace’s imagining.
“More coats, Stanford! That’s where the big need is. It’s going to be a cold winter.” Stanford grinned and leaned over toward Grace as his mother alternatively glowered at Lance’s obvious pursuit of Grace and then glared at her son.
“I’ve got four in my car. Gotta smuggle them in.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Grace and put his arm around her shoulder, urging her away from his mother.
Alexa Turner watched the boy under veiled lashes, Grace noted. “How about some help with those?” Grace murmured to Nola’s son. Inclining her head toward the exit, she winked at Alexa who understood Grace’s invitation and moved to meet Stanford at the door. Much to Grace’s satisfaction, she saw Stanford an hour later in the corridor, buying soft drinks from the vending machine, alongside a now chattering and laughing Alexa Turner.
When the children and parents descended on the gym that Saturday evening, it smelled of fresh ironing and clean laundry. Handled shopping bags emblazoned with the curlique “BC” from the Bread House Cafe, courtesy of Darla Jinks, were given to each patron, along with a numbered plastic bracelet and a raffle ticket for a weekend at Big Cedar Lodge in Branson, thrown in by Turner Travel. Yet another of Gus Turner’s nephews with a thriving business on Main Street.
For two hours Homer Emerson called out the numbers on the bracelets and offered up a selection of the new children’s coats to thankful parents. Grace watched a toddler with flaming red hair hug a green snow suit to his chest, smiling uncertainly at his mother who jostled a newborn in her arms. Melba Emerson knelt down to help the youngster try the suit on while his mother watched. Melba was rewarded with a sticky kiss and a hug from the child and thanks from his parent.
Grace walked among the parents, dodging strollers and small wanderers tottering after their mothers.
A stocky man with the features of a prize fighter held the hand of a four-year-old, following a girl of thirteen or so through the racks of clothes. “Jenny, I don’t know a thing about girls’ clothes, you’re going to have to get some help.” Irritation borne from helplessness colored his tone.
“Hi, Jenny,” Grace said, remembering the girl from a powder puff football game she’d sat through in the cold two nights before. “Do you know what size you’d like to look at? There are some great blue jeans over in this corner.” She smiled at the father’s anxious gaze.
Jenny’s face had the combative expression only a belligerent teenager could exercise. “I don’t want stuff from somebody else’s closet.” She was now in a full-blown, roaring pout. Two popular senior girls walked by at that moment, laughing and crowing as they compared the jeans they carried. Jenny’s green eyes followed the older girls for a moment, then she turned and stalked toward the proffered garments, still frowning, but with pride intact. Her weary father shook his head and followed.
Grace stopped for a cold soft drink then stood against one of the walls watching the parents shop the racks and overflowing tables. Lancelot Curtis had approached her no less than three times. Each time she found herself whisked away by someone needing an answer to a question or a serious issue only Grace could address. First, Norm had appeared, excusing himself politely, but stepping deftly in, cutting off Lance’s babbled invitation to dinner. Grace pretended ignorance, but relieved by the interruption, went off to help Norm with the unlocking of a janitor’s closet.
The second time Curtis had made his attempt, Bernadine had sent a Turner niece to ask Grace to come over and speak with a parent who wanted to return to shop again after already filling one shopping bag. Grace had been grateful to be spared Lance’s attentions once again and had smiled and given the mother of five another shopping bag and her blessing to return for more clothing.
And then Stanford, Nola’s son, had saved her one last time. Lance Curtis was becoming a persistent annoyance. She would have to deal with him gently but firmly.
Chapter Twenty
Grace sat exhausted in front of the fire that night. Temperatures had warmed enough for a cold rain during the day, but now the sound of sleet ticked against the windows and roof. She found herself dozing in her chair, every bone aching. It had been a rousing success, but she was completely and totally exhausted.
She and a handful of stragglers had stayed to clear the mess after the crowd was gone. Scraps of paper littered the gym floor and a few sad garments that hadn’t made the cut of even the least selective shoppers were tossed aside. Hangers lay under the rolling clothing racks, crumpled cups overflowed trashcans. The air smelled of stale pretzels, popcorn and cooking oil from the funnel cake machine that stood outside on the parking lot. A truck from Duster King’s salvage yard was backed up to the door and the few remaining items were loaded. Duster himself would tote the leftovers to the Salvation Army. The janitors had volunteered to come in early on Monday morning to clean the gym floor, now sticky from so many spilled drinks and dirty shoes.
The event had raised another two thousand dollars for the coat fund and she was certain they had distributed at least 150 coats of all colors and sizes, not to mention the street clothes that had been exchanged. She had personally seen to Gina Rodwell’s selections, helping her pick things from a list for her little brother. Derry had been successful as well and would have a winter jacket this year for the first time in his ten years, along with gloves, blue jeans for school and several sweaters outgrown by Ellie’s youngest son. They also managed a pair of immaculate hiking boots which had been retrieved from the bottom of a Turner child’s closet.
Gina accepted three pairs of barely worn jeans, as many sweaters as she could carry and one lone pink dress. The two children assigned themselves as Grace’s shadows during the sale. Handing her shopping bags and helping her retrieve hangers, they followed her silently through the crowd, eager to help, while sh
e urged them to look for clothing for themselves.
Finally, they walked out with Grace late in the day, three shopping bags between them, one for each Rodwell child. She had arranged to drop them off at the nursing home, where they would wait briefly for their ever-working mother, who had left the smallest Rodwell, Willie, with a neighbor.
Grace stopped at the local drive-in to fill them with hamburgers, fries and shakes before taking them to the dimly lit, low-slung building across town. Derry and Gina, thrilled at being able to eat out at a restaurant, had ordered, wide-eyed from the menu. Derry consumed three burgers at lightning speed, an astonishing amount for a boy his size. Gina managed one and half, trying to keep up with her brother, then stopped, groaning at the amount she had eaten.
Half-asleep in the backseat of the Toyota, Gina leaned against her older brother. Tousled black head drooping, she still clutched the cup containing the remnant of her strawberry milkshake. Grace watched in her rear-view mirror as Derry adjusted his sister’s seatbelt and settled back, tired, but with a patient look, more adult than child. For at least one night, Derry Rodwell would not have to worry about dinner.
Grace listened to the sleet, thankful for a warm fire and the possibility of an excuse to stay home. She called briefly to check on Granny Stillwell, who assured her she was “all tucked in for the night, child” and had no needs. Norm and Ed’s quiet voices sounded outside for a moment. They would be filling her wood box just off the back door, then crunching on the ice back across the yard, where smoke poured from the chimneys of both houses, snug and dry against the sharp, wet, cold.
Grace thought of Gina and her family in the tired-looking trailer near the the railroad tracks. She hoped it would be warm there tonight for them. She pondered whether she should go get the children in her all-wheel-drive wagon, visions of broken power lines and Derry trying to warm the trailer with the gas stove sending a chill down her spine. Grace could offer to bring them to her small house, but where would she put them all? She would make a call just to be certain the nursing home still had power. If the lines were not down there, then the Rodwells would be fine. Maybe Norm and Ed’s angel territory extended as far as those railroad tracks.
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