Saving Grace

by Carolyn Davidson

  “The cookies are just out of the oven, and Mrs. Anderson sends her best wishes, along with the apple pie, sir.” Her smile added value to the offering she carried and Simon thought he’d never been so proud of her, for she was obviously determined to present the picture of a good hostess, no matter the circumstances.

  The pie had disappeared and the plate of cookies was a smattering of crumbs by the time the judge left. He bowed to Grace, and Simon’s farewell to the gentleman was sincere.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming to town and supporting our sheriff in this, sir. I’m grateful for your help.”

  The two men shook hands and Judge Hale re marked quietly on the faint evidence of bruising he’d noticed on Grace’s face. “Seems to me that the man was sure enough violent, when she still bears proof of her injuries at his hand.”

  “He struck her with his closed fist, as he might have hit another man,” Simon told him. “She was a sight to see for the first week or so.”

  The judge shook his head in silent commiseration, then offered his hand to Simon. “I’m pleased that her life has been made happier, and I’d say you’re the fella who made it all happen,” he said with a smile.

  “It was my pleasure,” Simon told him as the judge walked through the gate and headed down the road toward the hotel. Simon turned back to the porch and escorted Grace into the house, catching a scent of supper cooking as they entered the hallway.

  “I can’t say that I’m very hungry. I fear I overate on the cookies,” he told her, drawing her to the parlor, sitting beside her on the sofa.

  She turned to him and as if by some form of magic, her smile disappeared, her eyes filled with tears and she slumped dejectedly beside him, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. “What will we do, Simon? We can’t live in fear much longer, for it is eating me alive today. I have to wonder if there’s any way to draw Mr. Summers out and face him down.”

  “Certainly not by you, Grace. You’ll not even consider putting yourself in peril in such a way.”

  She lifted her chin and he thought she looked as though she’d taken on strength from some inner source. “If it will keep one more woman safe or another girl like myself from harm, then it will be worth any risk. If I had not been the object of Kenny Summers’s attention in the first place, none of this would have happened. I feel…responsible.”

  Simon shook his head at her words, his voice overriding her soft tones as he denied her avowal of guilt. “You were only in the wrong place, Grace. Kenny chose his own path, and you had no part in the evil things he’s done.”

  “And yet, he’s done things because of me, Simon, and you can’t deny that. Ethel wouldn’t have been shot at had I not been here in this house. I won’t claim blame for his other doings because I don’t think I could bear being the pivot upon which his evil actions have rotated. But I know that I’ll do whatever I can to bring him to justice.”

  “You’ll stay in this house behind locked doors and remain safe, is what you’ll do, Grace. I won’t have it any other way.”

  “Simon, we spoke of something similar on an other day when you said I must not feel compelled to obey you as if you were my parent. I promised to love and honor you. It was your choice to leave the word obey out of our marriage. You can’t change that now.”

  He was stunned, almost to the point of being speechless, for his wife had never stated her thoughts so bluntly before now. And for a long moment, he rued the day he’d drawn a firm line through the missing word in their vows. And yet, he would not have Grace following him blindly, for she was too intelligent for him to expect that sort of behavior from her. But in this one thing, he felt justified in taking a stand. And if it meant the difference between her living or facing unknown peril, he would take a stand.

  “I won’t have it, Grace. This is where I draw the line.” If he noticed the color leave her face, if her eyes seemed stark and lifeless, it made no difference to what he’d determined and he continued.

  “You will be in a safe place at all times. I don’t want you alone, and if it is not possible or seemly for you to accompany me in my daily doings, then I will expect to find you behind locked doors when I return to you.”

  She was silent, her head bowed now as if she could not bear to meet his gaze, and he saw two salty drops fall to stain the bodice of her dress. But Grace was nothing if not proud and determined. And so she stood, and looking over his head toward the window where the sun was setting, she spoke in a voice that was chilled and steady.

  “I will do as you say, so long as it is not to another’s disadvantage. By that I mean that should I feel compelled to leave this house to aid another, or should I decide to make a move you might not approve of, this conversation is null and void.”

  “That isn’t the way it works. You will obey me in this or I’ll take the recommendation of the law in this town and have you put into protective custody.”

  His heart ached for her as she trembled before him, for never had he thought to threaten her in such a way, and yet he could not allow her to put herself in peril.

  “And does that mean I’ll be in a jail cell? Where any person so inclined can peer at me through the bars or through the window to the out of doors?” Her gaze shifted then and he was struck by the dark chill of those blue eyes.

  “If you are put into protective custody it might mean being in a cell, but certainly no one would be allowed anywhere near it, and no one would have access but myself and the sheriff. Although I think the phrase might also mean being in the safety of your own home with a person in attendance at all times to protect you.”

  “A prisoner in my own home? What difference is that from being locked in a jail cell? And how can you endorse such a thing and still call me your beloved? Which, if I remember rightly, you used as a term of endearment just last night. Of course, it wasn’t said in anyone else’s hearing, or even aloud, now that I think about it, so perhaps it doesn’t count.”

  Pain such as he’d never felt struck him a blow midchest, as though she had stabbed him with her words. And he recalled, vividly, the moment when he’d whispered the word in her ear, when his heart had seemed to swell with the knowledge of her moment of surrender to him in their bed.

  He could almost feel the strands of her hair against his lips, could almost catch a trace of her scent, almost feel the quiver of response as he’d whispered the single word of endearment to her.

  “Beloved.”

  They went to bed as separately as two people could, without the strong bond that had hitherto held them within the boundaries of that mattress, beneath the sheet and within touching distance all throughout the night.

  Grace lay quietly at the edge of her side of the bed, almost clinging to the binding edge of the mattress, her back turned to her husband, her eyes tearless but aching. Simon yearned desperately for her, unable to rest, certainly unable to sleep and yet unwilling to back down from the stance he’d taken.

  No matter the cost, he would keep her safe. Should she be angry with him, he would strive to over come the black mood that beset her. Should she defy his edicts and attempt to leave the house without his company, he would lock her in the bedroom. And if by any chance she should escape his limits, he would have her put in a jail cell and protected in whatever way the sheriff deemed right and proper.

  He lay in silence, watching the faint movement of her body as she offered him her back, as if unwilling to even allow him a glimpse of her face. And it was too much, too harsh a punishment to bear, all because he wanted to keep her from harm.

  He reached for her, turning her with a quick movement of his hand against her shoulder and she did not fight off his touch, but rolled to her back and for just a single moment, he hoped she had softened toward him, that she had made peace with the words of admonishment he’d spoken.

  But it was for naught, for her eyes closed as if she could not bear to look upon him and she turned to her side, facing him, curled into a small, tight being with no
degree of leniency toward him. He lifted over her, his hand against her cheek, and spoke softly in the darkness.

  “Grace, look at me. Please don’t shut me out.”

  And for just a moment her head turned on the pillow, those blue eyes opened, the heavy lids lifting to expose a gaze so fixed with sorrow, he could hardly bear to focus upon it. And yet, he must try, must offer words that might bend her toward him.

  “I never thought to have you look at me so, sweet heart. I only want you safe. I want to raise a family with you and live a long life beside you. I would do you no harm, cause you no pain.”

  She spoke not a word, only closed her eyes and shut him out, her lips parting for a second as though she would respond, and then as if she possessed library paste between those soft, lush lips, they formed a seamless, single line, and he felt the helpless despair of a man who has chosen a path not to his liking, but sees no other route open to him.

  He bent to her and kissed her, for the first time feeling no response from lips that had offered pleasure to him over the past weeks. His hand touched her gown, the one he’d given her on their wedding night, and her body was as still as marble beneath the flesh of his palm.

  His fingers curled against the curve of her breast and he drew in a breath that held the faint trace of her own unique aroma, a scent he felt he could exist upon, should nothing else be available to sustain his strength. And again he kissed her, his mouth open against hers, his tongue careful and gentle as he pressed the seam of her lips.

  She only caught her breath, for he felt the slight movement as her lips parted just for a second and then closed again. But he’d had a single taste of the woman beneath him, known the flavor of her mouth and would not be denied.

  “Will you fight me, Grace? If I take what I need from you, will you push me from you or strike at me in anger?”

  Her eyes opened and she spoke then. “You may do as you please, Simon, for I am not as strong as you, and if you want my body, it is yours by law. I have no choice but to do as you ask.”

  He felt her move beneath him, knew the movement of her legs as she opened them, providing him shelter there where he would have sought his pleasure and her own. Her hands pulled at her gown, tugging it upward until it lay across her waist, leaving her lower body without cover. And he was shamed, his male needs reduced to nothing when he realized she would make a sham of their loving.

  His hands pulled her gown back into place, and then his fingers petted the soft curve of her breast, for he could not bear to simply roll over and leave her with pain that made her less than a woman. She’d become unlike his bride in those moments, a thing, a vessel for his lust, and he would not accept such painful degradation from her.

  And so he bent low again and his mouth was asking a response, seeking a softness she would not offer, as he touched the line of her cheek, tasted the sweet skin at her temple and then brushed the fine tresses of hair from her face, his hand forming against her head, his fingers tingling from the waves and curls that clung to his flesh.

  “I hadn’t thought to tell you in this way, Grace, but I need to make you understand my great need for you. Not as a body to be used, but as a woman to be cherished. I love you, sweetheart. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

  She turned her head from him and he released her, watching as she turned once more to face the window, where the curtains were open, the sash pushed upward. For outside, in the shadows of the bushes, sat a guard pledged to watch that window through out the night hours. And if he felt that his very soul was on display, Simon cared little, for even had the guard outside the house heard his words, he would not have cared.

  For tonight, he only cared about the girl he’d married, to whom he’d just now pledged his love. Not as a part of a wedding ceremony, but as a vow, freely given, yet not accepted.

  Her shoulders trembled as he watched, and he heard a faint sound, perhaps a sob, perhaps just the rustle of the sheet as she pulled it over her shoulder. He feared touching her again, lest his need outweigh his good sense. He would not use seduction as a weapon, for if she gave him her body, it must be as before. A gift, a vow unspoken, but alive nevertheless, the opening of herself to his manhood.

  And he waited in vain, should she bend, turn to him, even reach back and touch his hand. For any response from her would be an encouragement he would cherish. And then it came, the touch of a small foot against his leg, the movement of toes that settled against his calf muscles.

  “Good night, Simon.” The words were not what he longed to hear, but they broke the silence between them and he could not fault her. And so his hand lifted to her waist, his palm lay in the hollow between breast and hip, and he felt the warmth of her body begin to melt the chill of his own.

  “Good night, Grace. We won’t speak of this tomorrow, but know that I love you. Know that I only want what is right for you.”

  Her foot moved, just an inch or so, but it was answer enough for now, and he opened his hand fully against her soft flesh, knowing she had offered him a tentative olive branch, one he would take gladly.

  And so they slept.

  Simon was gone when she awoke, and Grace rued for a moment the fact that she could not turn to him and feel his strength beside her. But he’d left the bed early, for the space where he’d been was cool, his pillow still holding the scent of his hair pomade and the faint pine smell of his shaving cream. He’d used it last night before bed, perhaps in hope that she would want his face against hers.

  And at that she remembered just such a thing happening, when he’d turned her to him and his skin had touched hers, his hand had been warm on her breast through the fine fabric of her gown. For a moment she felt self-satisfied that she’d offered to accommodate him, pulling her gown up her body and letting him know she was available to him, should he desire to take her.

  And then felt shame wash over her being, that she had done such a thing, had offered herself as might a lady above the saloon. For she was a wife, not a whore. And that word burned in her mind as if she had spoken it aloud. Certainly it was suitable for such a woman as Belle, and yet, she’d said herself that Belle was to be pitied, not censured.

  And so was she, also, Grace Grafton, wife of the minister of the local church, a woman who thought no more of herself than to offer her body in such a way.

  He must think her brazen, a creature beyond the respect of a good man, and she was shamed that she had not offered him the abundance of loving he craved. But only the show of an appeasement to his need.

  She rose and washed behind the screen, noting that he had closed and locked the sash on the window upon arising. And so she felt safe as she dressed, even as she stood naked for a moment before donning clean undergarments and then a dress from the drawer. She touched the fabric with fingers that appreciated the fine seams, the pearl buttons, the deep hem and the efforts of Ethel, who had shared the sewing of it with her, taking long hours in the doing. The two women would sit together, speaking of nothing but household matters, Grace listening as Ethel spoke of her family and the deep love she held for them.

  “Thank you, Ethel,” she whispered, her fingers nimble as she slid the buttons into their proper places and brushed the skirt around her hips. And remembered as she did so that Simon had provided the material from the general store for this piece of apparel. Her heart lifted as she thought of him picking and choosing the right colors for her to wear.

  “Simon.” She whispered his name, sorrow for the pain she’d caused him uppermost in her mind, for she knew her words had stung, her tone had brought an ache to his heart, and she grieved, regretting for a moment the night hours when she might have lain in his arms and had instead chosen to lie as far from him as the bed would allow.

  Ethel had made a pot of tea and it sat on the table, still warm enough to drink, accompanied by berries from the garden, picked fresh this morning if Grace was any judge. For even now, she could see that lady bent over the raspberry bushes collecting the bounty they provid
ed.

  She’d obviously washed and sugared the first of the day’s crop, leaving them for Grace should she arise while the rest of the produce was picked. And Grace ate them with gratitude, reminding herself to thank Simon’s housekeeper later on.

  A shadow at the back of the garden caught her eye as she swallowed tea, there where the trees provided shade just beyond the berry patch, and even as she watched, Grace saw the form of a man rise and step toward the woman who worked, unaware of the intruder who stole her privacy and infringed upon her work.

  “Kenny.” It was a harsh whisper from her lips, preceded by a howl of anguish as she rose from the table, her chair falling to the floor, leaving her space to fly on swift feet toward the back door.

  “Kenny, don’t dare touch her.” It was a shriek of warning, words of alarm that brought the housekeeper erect, her body turning as she faced the peril that threatened her. She threw the panful of berries in a single, swooping movement as she used the only weapon she had at hand. The edge of the metal bowl caught Kenny in the forehead, causing him to halt for just a moment in his forward momentum.

  It was enough for Ethel to make a hasty escape, running through the rows of green beans, almost tripping over the tomato vines and reaching the back porch just as Kenny scaled the back fence and was gone from the garden.

  Ethel’s eyes, wide with alarm, met Grace’s, whose own heart was beating double-time, whose hands were trembling and whose tears were falling in anguish as she thought of what might have happened right before her eyes.

  “Grace, I didn’t see him,” Ethel said, crying the words out as she slammed the door behind herself. “It’s broad daylight out there and he came out of nowhere. Thank God you were up and saw him, for I didn’t hear a thing.”

  Grace embraced her, feeling the trembling that assailed the older woman’s body, her anger rising at the man who had dared to trespass in such a way.

  “You didn’t hurt yourself, running that way, did you? We’ll go to the church and tell Simon,” she said, leading Ethel to the sink, reaching for a dish towel and dampening it so that she might wipe that lady’s face of the tears that fell. Beneath the tears was the countenance of an angry woman, her wrath exploding at being accosted in such a supposedly safe place. It was enough to make a saint utter words that would sting the ears and stain the soul.