Where Grace Appears

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  Mom and I had studied her historical room with great care and had even taken a trip to Concord to view the home last month. We strived to bring as many touches from Louisa’s old bedroom into the Alcott room as possible, while making it a bit more elegant for a modern-day guest seeking escape.

  We’d done the same with the other rooms, duplicating the sleigh bed, white sheer curtains, and rich scarlet color of Emily Dickinson’s bedroom and choosing some bolder, deeper colors for the Frost and Emerson rooms. I loved the Hawthorne room, situated in a corner turret and done in pale yellows with a grand four-poster bed. The Thoreau room would hold more of a rustic, log cabin feel, but with two comfy chairs by the fire and a claw foot tub.

  And the bookshop…well, I hadn’t seen the bookshop yet because Tripp demanded that I not set foot in it. He said I always managed to ruin any surprises, and I sure better not ruin this one. Which, of course, made me all the more curious.

  Tripp. He’d been an absolute dear this summer, working hard on Orchard House, speeding things along even as his hand healed. Once the splint came off, he labored like a madman, toiling late into the night, many times alongside Josh and August. We hung out now and then, but I’d kept my distance, too frightened of his words at the celebration picnic, too scared to trust my own emotions any longer.

  “Have you decided anything about it, girl?” Aunt Pris’s voice cut into my thoughts. I blinked to see her pointing at my stomach as if it were an alien. “Hannah says it’s in the budget to do a small bedroom and bathroom—no kitchen facilities—above the bookshop, but Ed will need to know sooner rather than later.”

  I blew out a long, unladylike breath while folding my napkin into accordion-like creases.

  Mom cut in. “We really don’t want to rush her, Aunt Pris.”

  “Seems Mother Nature is doing that already.” Aunt Pris smirked, and Cragen started licking my ankles.

  I pushed him aside with my tennis shoes. “I hope you’re not planning on letting your precious pup around our guests. If so, he’ll need to learn some manners.”

  “Josie.” Ever the peacekeeper, Mom gave me a look.

  Aunt Pris only hooted. “Oh, don’t discourage her, Hannah. I get all my fun from this girl, believe it or not. The rest are too proper to speak their minds around me.”

  I hid a grin, as Aunt Pris and I grew quite comfortable the last couple of months with one another’s presence—and with speaking our minds.

  “Aunt Pris, you’ll be the death of me.” Mom turned in my direction. “We’re going to get an early start. You want to ride with us or meet up over there?”

  “As much as I love sharing the backseat with Cragen, I’ll meet you there.”

  Aunt Pris cackled again. I cleared my plate and met Amie on the stairs. My plan to get closer to my younger sister hadn’t exactly materialized these last few months—in fact, more often than not, a simmering anger seemed to stew below Amie’s skin. The only one in the family who’d voiced disapproval of me keeping the baby. Once, she’d outright stated my child would be better off given a stable start, insinuating the obvious—that I wasn’t it.

  Couldn’t really argue with her there, but still, it hurt.

  “How’s your night class going?” I asked.

  “Fine.” She continued down the stairs, the brushoff apparent. Maybe she was still sour over this entire bed and breakfast thing. She’d been last to get on board with the idea of selling the house, and her mood diminished rapidly when she’d had to share a bedroom with Lizzie in order to make room for Aunt Pris. She complained about college, how she’d wanted to go to Boston or New York, but like all of us Martin children, was short on funds.

  “You have a good day, too,” I muttered to my sister, unable to keep the sarcasm from my tone.

  Amie had so many opportunities before her. Just as I had before I squandered them.

  I pushed the thought aside. I didn’t need bitterness. I could still sign up for online classes next semester, could still give up this baby and never think of him or her again.

  If such a thought didn’t threaten to shatter my heart to pieces, I just might consider it. But lately, the thought of not thinking of my baby ever again felt as easy as cutting off a finger and forgetting about it.

  Maybe once we moved into Orchard House, maybe once things settled, maybe once the baby came, Amie and I would find some common ground. Until then, I tried like mad to practice something I wasn’t naturally good at—something Tripp showed me during that celebration picnic months earlier.

  Giving grace.

  There was no use denying it: I was in love. Legit, in love.

  “So, what do you think?” Tripp stood beside me, thumbs slung in his pockets, an unsteady grin on his face.

  I grasped for words.

  He laughed. “Wow, now this is something I’ve never seen—a speechless Josie Martin.”

  I shook my head, drinking in the bookshop. My bookshop.

  Tall, wide windows ran along one wall, splashing the entire room, including the beautiful rustic beams overhead, with amazing sunlight. Gorgeous, soaring bookshelves and a large front-end counter. A walnut ladder that moved on wheels to reach higher shelves. A small nook for coffee and tea, a cozy sitting area with a rustic gas fireplace, and a door leading to an outside patio area overlooking the orchard. My gaze settled on the spiral staircase running up to a small second-story loft with additional shelving. Wow. Just, wow.

  “It’s not what we planned.” I ran my hands over the smooth rungs of the walnut ladder.

  “I thought I’d take a chance and get a bit more creative.”

  “Tripp, this is definitely out of our budget.”

  He shook his head. “I pulled a lot of the shelving off another job. It was all destined for the dumpster but nothing a good sanding and a few coats of stain couldn’t fix. Even had the staircase from the Hillside Mansion renovation a couple years ago.”

  I shook my head, tears welling. I blamed them on the baby. I never cried until these blasted hormones made an appearance. “I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.”

  “Good. I wanted to do it for you, to make this a place you’d want to be every day.”

  He’d succeeded. I could just imagine myself behind the desk, planning inventory. Stocking the shelves with my literary friends. In a way, bringing them to life. And maybe, after closing time, I’d sit with my journal beside the fire, daring to coax my own story to life with pen and ink.

  For some reason, this bookshop, this B&B, gave me space to dream again. To live without heavy expectations, to explore new beginnings and hope.

  Without thinking, I placed my hands on Tripp’s shoulder, stood on my tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his stubbled cheek. His hand came lightly at my waist, and he grinned down at me. “I guess you like it, then?”

  “I love it. Thank you.”

  A moment passed where neither of us moved. Ever so slowly, he dipped his head, as if testing if I would pull away.

  I didn’t.

  That magnetic pull I’d felt that day last summer had only intensified the last few months. While aware I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life, that Tripp’s steadiness and offer of love quite likely caused my increased attraction, I didn’t wish to resist it any longer. He’d kept his distance as far as any possibility of romance, but like the steady waves of the ocean, his continued offer and patient persistence drew me. In small words and deeds, in bigger ones like the attention to detail of the bookshop. It seemed he’d never give up on loving me. On pursuing me.

  And I was falling.

  So unlike my experience with Finn. Not quick and filled with lust—a needy kind of searching to cement that hole of grief inside me—what I felt for Tripp was steady, real, tender, and more powerful for its authenticity and the history of friendship we shared. Maybe it would never be fairytales and love at first sight for me and Tripp, but it was genuine, if not ideal. Bound to be filled with hiccups and bumps, I couldn’t think of someone more worthy to love.


  I wanted to give in. More than anything, I wanted to surrender to the press of feelings I’d pushed back all these months.

  “Josie,” Tripp breathed, as if asking permission.

  I looked into those eyes, dark with want, and answered him by leaning in just a bit, my heart beating against my ribcage, as if asking for release.

  His warm lips met mine in gentle restraint, tender, as if testing, tasting. I sank into them, my willingness all the encouragement he needed to sink deeper. His mouth covered mine, searching hidden places within me, and I lifted my fingers to the taunt muscles of his broad arms and shoulders, pressing in closer.

  His arms came around me, firm fingers pulling me tight, creating heat in every inch of my body, causing me to forget time and space and reality.

  He broke away all too soon, ran a thumb over the curve of my cheek. “Did that really just happen?”

  I smiled. “I think so.”

  “And you’re not pulling away from me yet. Josie, what does this mean? I sure hope it’s more than just a thank you for the bookshop.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “I want it to be more, Tripp. And yet I feel selfish that I do.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t. Please, don’t. Don’t pull away or think you’re not the very best thing for me. Ever. Real love…it takes work and sacrifice. It needs tending, like a seedling.”

  “Now you’re a gardener?”

  “I am when it comes to this. No one stands by a new plant and watches it scorch in the sun without watering it, right? Love takes water, Josie. I have bucket loads for us. All I’m asking is for you to contribute a couple cupfuls to help us along. It’s work, but when has work ever scared you?”

  I inhaled a breath that echoed on a tremor. “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m keeping the baby. I don’t know if you were hoping for something different.”

  He traced my bottom lip with his thumb, stirring a fierce desire within me. “I was hoping for nothing but you and all that comes with you. I meant what I said back in May. I will love this baby as my own, I swear it. Part of me already does. He or she is a part of you. I’m ready to move forward if you are. No more dwelling in the past.”

  I pulled away, my head swimming. “I don’t want to rush anything, okay? No proposals or plans of a future forever together just yet. Let’s just explore this, see where it takes us. See how you feel when the baby comes. See how I feel when the baby comes.”

  He cupped my face in his hands, stooped down just a bit. “It’s not going to change a thing, at least when it comes to my feelings for you. But I think we could have a lot of fun with this…exploring.” He lowered his lips to mine again, and I welcomed his soft mouth, the feel of his lean body alongside my own. While the prominence of my stomach should have made me less desirable, Tripp’s insistence in pulling me closer assured me he would indeed welcome this baby.

  When we parted, I caught my breath. “That was new for us.”

  He laughed. “I hope it’s just the beginning.”

  From within my womb, Little Mouse gave a hard kick. I gasped, pressed my hand to my side.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, either he really likes you or he’s telling you to back off.”

  “He, huh?”

  I shook my head. “Aunt Pris is insisting it’s a boy. I think she’s gotten into my head is all.”

  Tripp held out his hand. “Can I?”

  I took his hand and guided his fingers to the spot in my side where Little Mouse pushed. I studied Tripp, waited until I felt a shift within my womb.

  Tripp adjusted his hand. “Whoa, that’s amazing.”

  “Right?”

  He kept his hand on my stomach, waiting for more, but the babe went still. He turned his hand so our palms met. “So I’m really the first one you told?”

  “I’m going to tell my family tonight, whoever’s around on a Saturday night, that is.”

  “So, since you’re not ready to get hitched, you think Aunt Pris is going to insist on us starting the apartment upstairs?”

  “Like you all need one more thing to do around here.”

  “We’ll make it work. I’m going to miss Josh’s help though. That guy isn’t just talented at teaching. He caught on quick and has the work ethic to match his brains.”

  “I’m not sure Maggie will miss him working so much. She had quite a summer with the boys.”

  “They okay?”

  “Oh yeah, I just think she thought they’d get a lot of family time this summer. Didn’t really happen.”

  “Josh could have taken vacation whenever. We both know this is temporary. I appreciate his help.”

  I squeezed his hand. “We all do. And what you’ve done for us….”

  He chucked my chin. “Whether or not you ever agree to marry me, Josie Martin, your family will always be my family, too. I mean that. Grandpop gave us a physical home, but you, your parents, and your siblings, gave me and August a family. Not to mention the fact that we would have starved our teenage years if it wasn’t for your mom’s meals.”

  I smiled. “That was Dad. Give your neighbor the shirt off your back even if you don’t have a spare. Even if they do live in a mansion next door.”

  “You miss him, huh?”

  I looked around the bookshop, the empty shelves waiting to be filled with adventures. “It’s not as poignant as it used to be, you know? I miss him, but in a weird way I feel he’s such a real part of all this. Did I tell you what Mom’s planned for the opening?”

  “What?”

  “She wants to have a big ol’ open house, invite the entire town, with a special invitation to those staying at Dad’s mission. She hasn’t been very involved with it since Dad passed, but she thought it would honor his memory to have some of our first visitors be those that will probably never be able to afford to stay here. She’s going to serve up a buffet style meal with plenty of desserts, maybe make it a regular thing if it goes well.”

  Tripp took my hand. “Your father would have loved to see it.”

  I placed my other hand on my stomach, wondered at the miracle that had gotten me to this moment. Somehow having this baby grow within me, knowing Tripp’s offer of love, and anticipating not only Mom’s dream of a B&B, but my own…somehow it seemed the spiritual side of things wasn’t so very out of reach anymore. Maybe, if God allowed, Dad would be able to see the opening of this place.

  “I better get back before Mom and Aunt Pris wonder where I went. Mom and I are going shopping downtown for some deals, trying to get a few last-minute touches for the rooms.”

  “Can I kiss you one more time?”

  “I think so.”

  Though not as long, it lingered just as sweet, and when I said goodbye and walked out of the bookshop, a pleasant heat rippled through my body. I stopped myself from skipping up the side stairs of the main house and told Mom I’d meet her at home.

  “Aunt Pris wants to stick around.” Mom gave me a wink. “I think she’s secretly in love with the new kitchen.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Bright and airy, white cabinets against sea-green granite countertop, Mom hadn’t made her gushing as quiet as Aunt Pris.

  “Shall we drive down together from here, then?”

  “Sure. I just need to grab my purse from the car.” I walked outside, a lightness to my spirit I hadn’t felt since childhood. I inhaled the lingering scents of summer—the brine of the sea combined with the fading Roses of Sharon.

  I opened the door of my car and sat in the driver’s seat to grab my purse. From within, my cell phone dinged and I slipped it out. Probably Lizzie. She wanted to come shopping with us if she finished teaching her music classes at the middle school in time.

  I pressed the button on my phone. My blood ran cold at the sight of the name. Not Lizzie at all.

  Why, just when I felt ready to put him behind me for good and embrace a new future, would Finn Becker pop into my life again?

  20

  I stared at Finn’s name, de
nial washing over me along with a thousand other emotions.

  Among them anger, that he would reach out after months of silence and after how we’d left things that last day. Curiosity, over why he contacted me now. Fear, for how he held the potential to disrupt my new life. And something else. Something fierce welling up within me that I couldn’t name—a vicious motherly instinct to protect my baby from him at all costs.

  For a split second, I considered swiping my thumb over his message, deleting it—and him—from entering my life and the life of my child. My heart ached as I thought of Tripp, of what he offered us and how Finn threatened it all—not because I was tempted by him, but because for all intents and purposes, he was the father of my child.

  With one leg hung out the driver’s side door, I tapped my phone to open the message without debating the issue further. My hands trembled, pulse throbbing at my temples.

  Thinking about you today. Nancy Rutherford mentioned a position at her office she had in mind for you, but saw you weren’t enrolled for the semester. Hope you are okay. Would like to talk when you are able.

  I read it again, and again. Thinking about me? Hoping I was okay? He was about eight months too late to be all sorts of concern now.

  I mumbled a few choice names for him beneath my breath as I swiped his message away. I hoped he saw that I had read it. I hoped he felt guilty for casting me aside, though quite honestly the word guilt and Finn didn’t even belong in the same sentence together. Finn believed guilt to be almost useless, a flaw imbued in us by our superego and rigid moral upbringings. Though in some circumstances he thought the emotion could be used to better ourselves, on the whole he believed more in claiming comfort in his own skin than in berating himself for past failures.

  That was the draw of speculative philosophy, I supposed. And I couldn’t pretend I’d been immune to its convenience and seeming freedom as it unraveled the world as it deemed fit, putting it back together without the help of faith or scripture, dependent on the god of intellect alone.