Finding Grace: A Novel

Finding Grace

Copyright@2010 By Sarah Pawley

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with other
people, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of
this author

Chapter 1

“
A Willful
Girl
”

Stones Mill, Virginia
June 1927

There were spies everywhere.

Reaching into her bucket,
Grace tossed feed to her chickens. The key to fooling a spy was to
stay busy…or at least, to keep up the
illusion
of being busy. Anyone, at any
time, could be watching, hoping to catch her in a quiet moment. It
could be one parent, or two...an older brother, or a younger
one.

A woman’s voice broke the quiet of the
afternoon.

“
Hello in the
house!”

She raised her eyes for a moment, looking
towards the driveway. Sometimes, spies disguised themselves as
neighbors. This one was all short legs and hefty behind, with a
hideous whiskered chin. Grace shuddered in disgust at the sight of
Bessie Green, who lived just across the road. With a sigh, Grace
muttered to herself...

If only she would stay at home where she
belongs, the world would be a more peaceful place.

Her mother didn’t seem to be bothered by
unexpected company, and if she was, she never let on. Rachel
Langdon, coming from within the house, called out to their
neighbor. Slinging a cup towel over her shoulder, she gave a tired
but polite smile.

“
Hey there, Bessie. What
brings you buy?”

“
Afternoon, Rachel,” said
Bessie. “I thought I’d come by and sit a spell...and check on
everyone while I was at it.”

Grace pursed her lips in
disgust.
My eye
,
she thought.

Bessie seemed like a name that fit. Like any
old cow, she had a tendency to wander where she didn’t belong,
usually making a lot of noise in the process. She had her favorite
choices of subject...usually, who wasn’t married yet and why, or
who was guilty of breaking a commandment. Grace knew herself to be
of particular interest. “Willful” was a word she’d often been
called. To be truthful, she didn’t mind being called that. As her
favorite teacher had once told her...

Never bend your head. Hold it high, and look
the world straight in the face.

She knew she wasn’t the bravest woman in the
world. Her father’s wrath could still shake her to the core, even
at her womanly age of seventeen. She fought for herself as best she
could…keeping her head held high, just as her teacher had told her
to. It wasn’t always easy. While she considered herself proud and
strong, it was sometimes a hard cross to bear. Still, she did the
best she could, often turning to those words in times of sadness or
trouble.

The quote infused her with a sudden rush of
bravery…a flash of courage to steal a few moments for herself. She
knew it was a crime to delight in a bit of idleness. But she’d been
praying for such an unguarded moment as this, and she could not
wait any longer. Glancing to see if anyone was watching, she crept
around to the back of the chicken coop. Carrying her empty bucket
with her, she turned it over and put it down on the ground, using
it as a seat. She looked around one more time, and reaching deep
into her apron pocket, she took out a paper wrapped parcel. And
eagerly she ripped into it.

Under the paper was a
beautiful leather-bound edition of
Jane
Eyre.
Underneath that, there was an
envelope. For a moment she admired the soft brown leather of the
book. Then she quickly put it aside and tore open the letter. She
smiled with anticipation as she began to read...

Dear Sis,

Here’s a brand new copy of your favorite
book. I hope Uncle Nathan and Aunt Em got it into your hands
without much trouble. I know they’re pretty good about getting my
mail to you, but you never can tell.

By the way, Alice says to
tell you not to wear this copy out so fast, and she’s smiling
as
she says it. Speaking of my dearest, I’m
sorry to say there’s nothing to report in the way of baby news. We
keep hoping and praying, but it doesn’t seem to do much good. Maybe
if we stop thinking about it so much, it’ll happen. That’s the way
it usually works, right? But you can’t keep a woman from thinking
about such things. And I’ll be honest. I think about it every day
myself. I suppose we’ll just have to keep trying.

I really wish you could be here. Alice would
be tickled pink to see you. But I know how the old man still feels
about me, and you know how I feel about him. Maybe one of these
days you’ll find a good man and have a home of your own, and then
we can figure out a way to visit. Until then, I guess these letters
will have to do.

Take care of yourself and write back
soon.

Your Loving Brother,

Jack

Just as she finished reading, she heard the
irate voice of her mother.

“
Gracie Ellen! What'd you
do, fall asleep out there? Daylight is burning, girl!”

She jumped at the sudden interruption. With
a grumble, she quickly folded the letter, securing it in her
pocket. Looking at the book, she found she couldn’t bear to part
with her new treasure. But she didn’t want to leave it behind,
sitting in the filth of a barnyard hiding place. So she tucked it
in the band of her skirt, making sure the hem of her blouse kept it
hidden. Hurrying to the house, she found her mother waiting at the
back step…and scowling.

“
Were you out there lazing
around with another book?”

Grace could manage no answer. She could only
blink, for to answer at all was either to lie or confess, and
neither seemed a viable option. Silence was no great defense
either, for there wasn’t much that her mother didn’t know or
see.

“
You were, weren’t you?” She
shook her head in dismay, her sigh a deep, frustrated sound. “You
know, if you spent near as much time with your chores as you did
with those old books, maybe we could make something useful out of
you. Now get on in here and do what you should.”

Grace nodded obediently as she hurried into
the house. Looking up as she came in, she saw Mrs. Green sitting at
the table, slicing apples. Knowing what was expected of
her…visitors were to always be welcomed, and work was always to be
found…she went over to sit in the opposite chair, politely greeting
her neighbor.

“
Hello Mrs. Green.” Reaching
for one of the apples, taking up a knife, she started to help with
the cutting.

Mrs. Green didn’t look up, but gave a cool
and polite reply. “Hello Miss Gracie.”

As she cut into the fruit, Grace stole a
glance at her neighbor, catching the tiny smirk on the old woman’s
face. She seemed quite entertained, as though she’d caught a child
stealing cookies from the jar.

Old Cow
, she viciously thought.
I wonder how
far her head would go back if I threw an apple at her
noggin’?

The idea was tempting. But she kept herself
from it, knowing the consequences would not be kind.

The room was quiet for a moment…until the
silence was broken by a metal pan falling heavy on the stove. That
sound was followed by bowls dropping on the counter…and then the
sound of Rachel’s voice, usually calm, but now bitter and
furious.

"That Miller woman. It’s all her fault.
She’s the one who filled your head with foolishness.” She leaned
forward slightly, both hands resting on the edge of the counter.
Then her tone suddenly softened, a quiver coming to her voice when
she spoke. “Your brother would still be at home if it weren’t for
her.”

Grace watched as her mother’s lip
trembled…and then, Rachel turned away, rushing out to the little
storage room just off the kitchen. Mrs. Green was close on her
heels. And Grace, now alone at the table, put down her cutting
knife. She let out a troubled sigh.

The store room was a dusky little space,
filled with mason jars, sacks of flour and corn meal, tins of
sugar, and other such things. The room was quiet and dim…and Grace
knew that in that room, her mother often wept in silence.

While Mrs. Green tried to be of consolation
out there, Grace stood up and went to the cupboard. Behind the
glass was a small faded picture, tucked into a corner of the wooden
pane. She took the picture out, looking down at it…and she smiled,
as she always did when she saw her brother’s face. They might have
been twins, if not for the difference in their age and eye color.
Hers were blue-grey, his were dark brown. But in every other way,
they looked alike, right down to their dishwater blonde hair. But
Jack was much more impressive, at least in her way of thinking. He
certainly cut a handsome figure, especially in his Army
uniform.

As she put the picture back in its place she
sighed, missing him dreadfully. Six years had hardly dulled the
sting of his loss. And she knew their mother suffered just as much,
if not more.

Thinking of why he had gone…and the reasons
were many…she knew that one of the causes, and probably the main
one, was standing right out there in the storage room, crying. But
Grace often wondered...

But wasn’t her suffering her own doing?

She felt a strange sense of both pity and
indifference for her mother, who suffered from Jack’s loss, but had
been one of its catalysts. Her utter lack of conviction, of
courage…her inability to defend him, on all fronts, had driven him
away. And she knew it to be true, whether or not she said so out
loud.

Losing her oldest son had changed Rachel
Langdon in many ways. She had once been so soft spoken, so meek. At
times, she still had that way about her. But now, there was a hint
of bitterness in her tone. In times past, she had rarely raised her
voice. But now, at least with her younger children, she was often
harsh.

Grace sighed deeply at the thought of it,
thinking...

Mama
,
you’ve only got yourself to
blame.

* * * * *

Later that evening, after all was done in
the kitchen and everyone was spread out to talk and rest, she
slipped away from the house. Following behind her was Pilot, her
spotted bird dog. His was the only company she really needed. Bad a
thought as it might have been…and her mother would have scolded her
for it…she preferred his quiet company to that of any person. He
was certainly a better soul than most.

In an alcove of trees was a resting spot. It
was her own little private nook, with a hammock hanging between two
trees. She knew that way out here, there was little chance she
would be disturbed, and falling into the hammock, she let out a
sigh of ease. Taking up her book, she read to her heart’s content
until the last of the daylight began to fade.

When the sky grew dark, she
clutched her book to her chest, drumming her fingers absently as
she looked up at the stars. The heavens were wide above…millions of
little diamonds twinkling in a sea of dark blue. Those stars made
her wonder at the enormity of the world…of life, and how very
little of either she’d known. Her imagination was sparked. She
thought of a certain passage from
Jane
Eyre
. From a thousand readings of her most
beloved book, the words were seemingly burned in her
brain…

…
Women are supposed to be
very calm generally. But women feel just as men feel. They need
exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, just
as their brothers do. They suffer from too rigid a restraint, too
absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer. It is
narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow creatures to say that
they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting
stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is
thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do
more or learn more than custom had pronounced necessary for their
sex…

She did not believe truer words had ever
been written. In her heart, at least, they rang very true. And they
gave her strength in moments like this, when she felt so isolated
from her fellow human beings. She was certain that someday soon she
would hear her calling and seek it out.