The night was long, for Grace refused to leave the bedchamber where Ethel slept. She dragged in a chair from her own room and sat on it throughout the midnight hours. At four in the morning, when the sky had begun to turn an unearthly shade of gray, Simon put his foot down.
“You’re going to bed, Grace. If I have to put you there, I will, but it isn’t doing you a bit of good to sit here all night, when Ethel is sleeping like a rock. She’s not due for another pill till 6:00 a.m. and I can sit here until then and give it to her. But you are going to bed. Right now.”
And so stern was his voice, so dark the eyes that bade her obey, Grace went to her bed. She’d but dozed through the night hours, and almost fallen from the chair she sat in more than once. Her bed looked mighty welcoming, she decided, donning her nightgown and crawling beneath the covers. She slept immediately, and it was almost ten o’clock, midmorning, before she awoke to find Simon standing beside her bed.
“My word, I’ve slept too long. I wanted to make breakfast for Ethel and here it’s long past time for her bowl of oatmeal.”
Simon smiled smugly. “I took care of breakfast. She turned thumbs-down on oatmeal, by the way. Said that tea and toast sounded good. So I made them both and carried up a tray. And did it quietly so you’d sleep a bit longer.”
“Well, I’m getting up now. I’ll put some chicken on to cook in the big kettle and make her some soup for dinner. She seemed to enjoy the vegetable soup I made yesterday. Shouldn’t take too long if you’ll get out of here and let me wash up and get dressed.”
Simon laughed as he offered a parody of a bow in her direction. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am. I’ve been thinking I should do my studying and so on right here instead of leaving you here alone. I’m going to get my books and bring them back and make myself a place to work in the parlor. Will you mind having me around?”
“Of course not,” Grace said. “In fact, I think I’ll enjoy having you in the house.”
“I’d say that settles that, then,” Simon told her, and with a final grin in her direction, he walked from her bedroom and closed the door behind himself.
In less than fifteen minutes he appeared at the back door, his arms loaded with papers and books. Grace unlocked the door and let him in, following him to the parlor where he cleared off the library table and set up a temporary office, his pens and inkwell sitting on a fresh desk blotter, his books and writing materials stacked neatly.
She left him to his work and returned to the kitchen where she set about the soup-making process. By the time steam had begun to rise from the big kettle, Simon was back, rubbing his hands together, a wide smile on his face.
“Isn’t that soup done yet?” he asked, inviting a laugh from Grace.
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m a decent enough cook, but I don’t work magic.”
He laughed and stole a quick kiss and a longer embrace. “I sure do like you, Miss Grace,” he said with a lifted eyebrow. “You smell just like a woman should.”
“And how is that?” she asked, turning back to the stove where she’d been adding cut-up potatoes and carrots to the soup.
“Oh, sort of like chicken and some onion cooking in a kettle on the stove, with a bit of lilac soap smelling like spring, right there on your pretty throat, and an added smitch of just pure woman.”
Grace blushed prettily, her eyes warming with laughter as she tossed him a teasing look over her shoulder. “And how does pure woman smell, Reverend?”
He frowned. “Reverend, huh? You didn’t have to remind me that I’m supposed to be stern and upright and all solemn-faced, ma’am. Now I’m bound to act like a dignified gentleman when I tell you that there’s nothing in the world that has the sweet aroma of a woman. And having you in my kitchen makes me think I’m halfway to heaven.”
“Just behave yourself, Simon. You’re making me blush and simper like a ninny. And I don’t like that.”
He stepped closer to peek over her shoulder, his whisper soft in her ear. “I like it when you blush, sweetheart, and you are the furthest from a simpering ninny of any female I’ve ever seen. You’re a lady, through and through, and a lovely addition to my home.
“Now,” he asked in a tone that struggled to be proper and solemn, “when do you suppose that soup will be fit to eat?”
She poked a bit of carrot experimentally. “Not long. About enough time for you to find some bowls to put it in and a knife to spread butter and jam on the bread with. Shortly after that, we’ll have soup. I’ve got coffee made up fresh or there’s milk to drink if you’d rather.”
She turned to the kitchen dresser and quickly sliced off half a dozen thick pieces of a fresh loaf of bread, transferred them to a small plate and covered it with a napkin to keep it fresh. “Once you escort Ethel from her room we can gather around and dish up,” she told him, stepping back to check out the soup a last time.
“I fear that once she comes out here and eats some solid food she’ll be hunting up her apron again.”
Simon watched her, his gaze warm as he noted every movement of her hands, each bend of her body, the swish of her skirts as she readied her meal, and his heart leaped within his chest as he cherished the look of her, the purely feminine being that was Grace.
Then, within moments, sniffing with appreciation at the scent of food, Ethel appeared at the kitchen door without prompting. “I’ll just wash up a bit and then sit down with you at the table,” she said, heading for the sink where soap and water awaited her. “Looks almost ready to me,” she said with a smile.
Simon came in and took his seat, waiting for the two women to join him. “You can both go right ahead and eat. The food is all blessed. I included yours when I prayed over mine.”
Grace looked up at him and laughed aloud. “Impatient, are you?”
“Just a little, ma’am. Wait till you taste this soup, Ethel. My new cook is a talented lady.”
Later in the afternoon, Charlie came back to the parsonage. Simon met him at the door, opening it wide to allow his entry. “What’s going on?” he asked, noting the rifle Charlie carried.
Charlie shook his head. “Still no news. I’m feeling like the man has pulled the wool over our eyes, me and Grace’s uncle both. I honestly don’t think he knows where Kenny got to, for he sure seemed on the up-and-up when I went out to talk to him today. He said he’s got all of his men on the lookout for him, but they’d come up dry.”
“Well, I think he was in my backyard yesterday,” Simon said harshly.
“I know. And I want to take another look around out there. That’s why I’m here, Simon.” He looked around himself then and spoke more quietly. “Where is Grace? I sure hope she’s here in the house with you.”
“She is, Charlie. Out in the kitchen, as a matter of fact.” Simon led the way through the house to where Grace stood at the kitchen table, rolling out a piecrust.
“Hello there, Sheriff. You should have put your visit off for an hour or so and I’d have had this pie baked.”
“Oh, I could manage that, ma’am. I’ll just take my little walk by the riverbank and then come back to see how it’s coming along.”
His grin seemed to put her at ease. “Will you stay for supper, Charlie?” she asked, following him to the back door.
“You bet,” he said quickly, tipping his hat brim a bit as he turned, heading for the back of the lot, making his way toward the riverbank. He’d gone perhaps two hundred feet when he looked down at the ground, bending to one knee to brush at something. He picked up the object and looked toward the house.
“I’m going out there,” Simon said, obviously interested in whatever it was that had drawn the law man’s interest there along the path by the stream. Perhaps he’d caught sight of hoofprints or even those of a man, he decided.
Charlie turned back then, retracing his steps through the garden, waiting for Simon. “Look here what I found,” he said, his hand holding a bullet casing.
“I don’t know why I didn’t find this yest
erday, but it doesn’t matter now. I caught sight of a set of boot prints leading to where he tied his horse. Probably took his shot and then vamoosed quick as he could.”
“I wonder how long he’d been watching the house,” Simon mused.
“We’ll probably never know. For that matter he could be out beyond the stream even now. The trees are pretty thick out there. I’d suggest you keep your womenfolk away from the window and the back door, son.”
“I’ll do that. You know, I’m dead certain we’re looking for the Summers fella, Charlie.”
“I’m afraid I agree with you, Preacher. Remember that funny track we saw when we went past where you had the tussle with Kenny that first day?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, one of his horse’s hooves had a bent piece on the back, looked like the shoe was hit too hard with the mallet and bent it a bit. Not enough to hurt the horse’s hoof, but it leaves an odd mark on the ground.”
“Well, I found that same odd mark here. I’d have thought Kenny was smarter than that. You’d think he’d have seen it before now and realized that it was a signature of sorts. There’s no doubt who we’re looking for, far as I’m concerned. I’m thinking he’s got him a place somewhere in the woods to hide out.”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Simon said. “Come on up to the house when you’ve finished looking around, Sheriff. I’m going to let Grace know we’ll be ready to eat in a short bit.” Knowing she was doing her best to be patient, he headed back to the kitchen and the woman who was keeping a weather eye out on the backyard.
Her hands full, she watched him as he neared. A sack of cornmeal in one hand, a crock cradled against her waist containing eggs and a good measure of flour in the other, gave notice of her plans for supper. “You making corn bread, sweetheart?” he asked hopefully.
She cut a look his way that held a measure of patience. “I suspect that’s what all this looks like, Mr. Grafton. About twenty minutes ought to do it.”
“We eating leftovers with it?” he asked
“Looks that way to me. Soup and corn bread, with pie for dessert.”
“No complaints from me. And I’ll guarantee Charlie will be happy as a clam. His housekeeper is neat and tidy, according to the sheriff, but can’t cook worth a good gol durn.”
He draped a long arm across her shoulders. “And I’ll warrant there’s not a man in town with a woman as pretty as you in his kitchen. But handy with a cookstove or not, so long as you meet me at the altar next week, I’ll be a happy man.”
Chapter Seven
It was past time to settle herself in bed, but Grace had headed for the parlor, unable to seek out the quiet comfort of her room. Ethel was long gone up the stairs and Simon had been bent over the library table, reading and scribbling ideas as fast as they entered his head.
“Are you about done for tonight?” she asked him quietly, aware that she disturbed his concentration, but unwilling to say her good-nights to him just yet.
“This can wait, Grace,” he said, twisting his neck to relieve the tension of the past hour. “I’ve got it pretty well in hand, anyway. Come on in and join me, will you?”
“I just wanted to talk to you a bit, Simon.” She stood behind him for a moment, her hands massaging the stiff muscles of his neck and shoulders.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured as she ceased the movements of her hands and turned to sit on the sofa. In moments, he’d risen from his chair to join her.
“What are you fretting over, sweetheart?” he asked, twining an arm around her waist and drawing her back against himself.
“Not really fretting. Just wondering about the wedding.” She was silent a moment and then shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. I’ve been wondering what your expectations of me are, Simon. What do you need in a wife?”
It seemed her thoughts were much like his own, he decided. And he knew that matters needed to be spoken of before the wedding drew any closer. “I need to ask you something quite personal and private, Grace. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I need to know something. Did your mother speak with you about marriage—about sharing your life with a man?”
Grace shook her head slowly, looking rather dubious of his way of thinking. “We spoke of cooking and sewing. That sort of thing. Mama taught me how to put up vegetables from the garden, how to make my own clothing and drummed into me the general rules of good behavior.
“But when it came to marriage as it affects two people, she seemed to feel embarrassed to speak of it. I remember asking her questions, but she was most reluctant to give me any answers. And then I came to live with Uncle Joe after Mama and Daddy died and there was no one there to talk to about such things.”
“I feared as much,” Simon said quietly. He held her hands in his and bent his head for a moment.
“Simon, are you praying?” she asked, stunned by the thought.
He grinned. “I probably should be, for I fear I have much to teach you, Grace, and I think I’m going to need divine help before I get through the maze I seem to be groping through.”
“You’ve never been married, either, Simon. How did you ever find any answers?”
His voice was low, barely discernible as he spoke his thoughts. “There are some things that a man finds out in different ways than a woman does, Grace. I’ve probably had a few experiences in my life that you haven’t been exposed to. I’ve gone out with young ladies for a number of years, both before I began college and then when I spent two years in seminary—and during that time I wasn’t always an upright young fellow. Probably some would think that I made mistakes in my personal life, but I don’t think I made any more than most young men. Given my years away from home and the influence of my family, I probably behaved pretty well. But I won’t try to pull the wool over your eyes, dear one.”
His pause was so long, Grace squeezed his hand and urged him to go on. “I’m not sure what you mean, Simon, but I think you’d better tell me just what it was you did in those years. I’m sure your education gained outside the walls of the schools you attended was more of a carnal nature than the teachings you learned from your educators.”
“You’ve just about nailed the whole thing, Grace. There are temptations out in the world as we know it, that young men, especially, are prone to fall into. I was no different than many of my age, for I tried some of the pleasures offered to young folks everywhere.”
“You went to saloons?” she asked, as if fearful of where this conversation was headed.
“A time or two. The taste of alcohol is not un known to me, although I’m not a user of it nowadays. I remember smoking a cigar on two different occasions and got sicker than a skunk both times. So smoking was never a temptation after that.”
“Did you try your hand at gambling?” she asked, her eyes wide as she attempted to peer into his, perhaps thinking she might see some sign of debauchery that lingered, even though he knew she had thought him to be honest and upright in his dealings.
Simon laughed softly. “I fear I tried the poker tables and lost my proverbial shirt at the game. It hasn’t tempted me since.”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else you could have explored that might be considered beyond the pale for a young minister, Simon. Surely you didn’t visit saloon girls, did you?”
He hesitated, his hands holding hers in a firm grip. “No, the women in the saloons never held any appeal, Grace, but there were a few young women who were available for the attentions of the young students where I went to school. I fear I took advantage of their charms, more than once. And then found that I was not satisfied with the idea of using a woman in such a way, that the truths in the Bible teach otherwise. And so I resolved to keep myself from temptation until I found a girl who might be a helpmate to me, who would want to share my life in the ministry. I wanted a woman I could love, a woman of depth and beauty, someone with high standards and the ability to work with me in my chosen profession.”
“And do you think you’
ve found such a woman in me?” she asked, feeling a bit inadequate to fill his needs.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Grace. You’re not only lovely in your physical appearance, but your beauty goes deeper than that. You have a goodness of character I did not think to find in a girl of your young age. I’ve watched you within the walls of my home, seen how you work with Ethel and above and beyond that, I’ve not been able to ignore your beauty and the womanly ways you possess. Then, too, I’ve had a small taste of your loving spirit where I’m concerned. I won’t ask for anything more from you for now, Grace. I want to keep you as innocent as you are right now, until our wedding night.”
He bent to her then, his mouth seeking hers, his hands firm against her waist as he rose, holding her before him. He led her from the parlor then, carrying the lamp with him as they moved up the stairs and came to a halt outside Grace’s bedroom door.
“I want badly to touch you again, Grace. To hold you close, to feel your body form to mine. I can’t lie to you. It’s difficult for me to want you so badly and not take some small bit for myself.”
Grace lifted her face and kissed him, her mouth open against his lips, his cheeks. Then she whispered into the warmth of his throat. “You’ll have the right whenever you want it, Simon, for I’m yours already. I’m anxious for the day to come when I’ll become Mrs. Simon Grafton.”
He chuckled softly and nipped at her ear. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t say those words to me in broad daylight, my little innocent. In fact, I’ll warrant that your face is flaming even now.”
“I know it is. I know I’m being forward, Simon. I truly didn’t think I could speak in such a fashion to a man.”
“Ah, but I’m not just any man, love. I’m the man you’re going to marry.”
Saving Grace Page 8