Finding Grace: A Novel (13 page)

"Henry, are you all right?"

He closed his eyes, breathing though his
nose until his heartbeat slowed. Over the years, he’d gotten quite
good at recovering from these night terrors. He spoke as calmly as
he could.

"It's nothing, Victoria. Go back to
sleep."

"Are you sure?"

He hated repeating himself, but did to quiet
her. "Yes, I'm sure. Go back to sleep."

She hesitated for a moment before settling
back under the covers.

He rose from the bed, calm now, but unable
to go back to sleep. He stood and stared out the window, watching
the dawning of the day. And he started to think about the years
since he’d returned from battle…how his life had been forever
altered.

Once, as a young man, he’d lived a quiet and
obedient life, doing just what the world expected him to do as a
man. At twenty-one he’d been newly married and just out of college.
He’d been ready to officially join the family theatre business and
begin his adult life. But the war had called for him first, and
reluctantly he’d found himself serving in the U.S. Army, fighting
on the bloody fields of France.

And France had destroyed the boy in him. The
man who emerged had been an empty shell, struggling to recall what
it felt like to be a human being. For years after he’d found it
difficult to express deep emotions. The only feelings he found
himself truly capable of were rage and deep depression, and those
had been so deeply imbedded in his soul that his marriage had not
withstood it. Mary, once his teenage sweetheart, had never
understood why he hid away in his library so many nights, sometimes
sobbing endlessly. His tears made him ashamed, and they frightened
her so that she began to distance herself more and more each day.
In the end, the emotional strife had been too much for them both.
She had ended the union and joined her family who now lived in New
York.

In time, the emptiness began to dull. But
the desertion of his wife had left him wary of commitments. His
only commitment now was his business, which he had transitioned
from a drama theatre into a bustling nightclub. As for women, he
found himself a very eligible bachelor and he never lacked female
attention. Some men might have taken advantage of being free of a
wife, and some would have taken the opportunity to go from bed to
bed. But he found that notion unappealing. He knew he was hardly a
saint, but he wasn’t a whoremonger either. Since his divorce he’d
been with four women altogether, Victoria being the latest and the
longest relationship.

He turned to look at her for a moment. She’d
been around longer than any of his other lovers, nearly a year now.
The ones before had lasted only a few months at most. Those women
had come into his life knowing he wasn’t the marrying kind. And
yet, in the end they had all begged for a ring on their finger.
Victoria gave no hint of looking for such a union. Maybe it was
because she’d been married and divorced just as he had been.
Whatever the reason, she knew what they were to each other, and she
never tried to take it further. And if, someday, he grew bored with
the relationship and wanted to end it, she would accept it and move
on. He lived his life as he pleased. That was how it was, and she
could take it or leave it.

Looking out the window now, he could see
John Langdon's house. John had been his neighbor for many years,
and his friend since their time together in the service. But it
wasn't John he was thinking of at that moment.

As he looked out the window, he saw a little
figure appear on the front porch. She went to sit on the swing. It
was John's little sister, Grace. He knew it from her skinny little
frame. As he looked at her he wondered…

Why in the hell is she out there at five
o’clock in the morning?

He watched her rock back and forth on the
swing, doing nothing in particular. Then the milkman came up the
street, and Henry watched her as she hurried down the front walk
and approached the driver. She stood there, talking to him.

What in the world is she
doing?
He wondered.

For several minutes he watched them talk,
and then the two were shaking hands. Then she was taking her
delivery and heading back up the sidewalk, where she disappeared
into the house.

That girl is so
odd
, he thought. But then again, he’d
thought she was strange when he'd met her earlier that afternoon,
especially the way she’d been dressed. She couldn't be more than
sixteen or seventeen at most. She wasn't a bad looking girl. A
little on the thin side, maybe, but she had a pretty face and nice
figure. Her voice was soft and shy, he remembered. He remembered
too, the change in her eyes at his being so cold to her. A kind of
fire and energy had lit in those eyes, and he thought of how, at
the last moment he’d seen her, she had cursed him and called him a
"grouchy bastard.” It was strange, but he got the feeling she had
meant for him to hear that.

The slightest smirk came to
his lips. She was right, of course. He
was
a grouchy bastard. And he didn’t
feel the least bit guilty about it. But he had to admire her
honesty. Because of his military service, most people felt
obligated to treat him with great respect. Even Victoria, with her
frequent fits of temper, was apt to sweet-talk him, especially when
she thought it might get her what she wanted. But there was
something refreshing about someone who preferred honesty to
flattery...even if that someone was a hopelessly naive little
country mouse.

What a shame she wasn't suited to his taste.
She was too much of a rube...not nearly sophisticated enough. And
even if she hadn't been a simpleton, she was much too young, and
with an older brother to boot. That was never a good chance to
take. Yes, it was too bad indeed. With a little improvement, she
could have made an interesting conquest.

* * * * *

The smell of coffee, fried bacon and eggs
must have drifted upstairs quickly. Not long after Grace started
cooking, Jack appeared in the doorway, still in his pajamas, with
his hair sticking up all over.

"I smell food," he said. "Good food. What
are we having?" He came up next to her and took a piece of bacon
off the plate. She just smiled at him, shaking her head.

"Just like a man, always thinking with your
stomach. You can't even say good morning."

"Good morning," said Alice, who appeared in
the doorway behind them. As she came near them she looked at her
husband, eyed him up and down, and shook her head. "You look like
something the cat dragged in.” She kissed him sweetly on the lips,
then hugged him and pressed her cheek to his…and she winced.

"My Lord, Jack. Your face gives me whisker
burn. Go get a shower and a shave, will you please?"

"Yes, please," said Grace as she tried to
suppress a smile.

Jack turned around, grumbling good-naturedly
as he shuffled out. "Damn. My own house and I have to shower and
shave. Why don’t you put me in a frilly pink dress with my hair in
pigtails so I'll be pretty enough for you?"

Alice smiled as she called out to him. "You
don't have the legs, doll.”

Grace giggled, delighting in the fun of
teasing him, and she added her own little jibe.

“
You wouldn’t look right in
pink. Purple, maybe.”

From the hallway they heard him make a
goofy, mocking kind of laugh. "Everybody’s a comedian."

Grace and Alice just smiled at one another.
Alice gestured at the cooking.

"What is all this? You cleaned up everything
from last night, I see. And now here you are, cooking breakfast.
You didn't have to do all of this."

Grace only smiled, shrugging. “It's just my
way to thank you for putting up with me."

Alice smirked. "Well, you're just so much
trouble.” She started taking out plates and silverware to set the
table. Her voice became tender.

"You know sis, I don’t want to tell you what
to do…but I think maybe you should make that call to home. It's
best to get it over and done with, you know."

There was a long silence as Grace pondered
whether or not to actually make the dreaded call.

"I'm sorry," Alice said. "It's none of my
business. You make that call whenever you want. Or not at all."

Grace put down the wooden spoon she held in
her hand, turning down the fire.

"No, you're right. It's best to just get it
done."

Alice spoke softly. "The phone is in the
living room. Do you want me to go with you, just for moral
support?"

Grace shook her head. "No, that's all right.
I'll manage...I hope."

In the living room, she sat by the phone for
some time before finally picking it up and speaking to the
operator. She gave the name and location, the operator connected
her, and she waited. After what seemed like an eternity, a female
voice finally connected on the other end of the line. It was Mrs.
Smith, the doctor's wife.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mrs. Smith?" Grace asked.

"Who is this?"

She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat
before she answered. "Gracie Langdon."

There was a pause at the other end of the
line. Then Mrs. Smith replied in shock. "Is that really you Gracie?
Your folks have been looking all over creation for you. Where on
earth are you?"

Grace swallowed, nervous as she
answered.

"I'm with Jack.”

There was another pause. "How in the world
did you get there all by yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Smith, but I can't talk
about it now," she said. "Just tell Mama and Daddy not to worry,
will you? I've got to go now. Goodbye." She quickly hung up the
phone, motivated by a fear that she still might be caught and
dragged home like a criminal, where she would have to suffer for a
lifetime because of her defiance. The phone itself seemed
frightening at that moment, like a spy who might give her away. So
she moved away from it quickly and headed back toward the kitchen,
and in the hall, she met Jack. He looked at her with a serious
expression, and she knew just what was on his mind and what he
would ask her about.

"You called home just now, didn't you?"

She nodded. Neither one of them said
anything else, and both silently agreed not to discuss the subject
further. As far as both were concerned, Grace had done the right
thing in alleviating her parents concern, and now the matter was
closed. A change of subject was best.

"I've got to go out and get the paper," he
said, but Grace waved him off.

"I'll get it for you," she said. "I could
use a breath of fresh air."

She went out the front door and walked out
to the end of the curb, looking around at the pretty little lawns
that still shined with wet dew. The air was warm but pleasant, and
the sunshine helped lift the weight off of her shoulders. As she
reached down at the curb to get the paper, something made her draw
her eyes upward and across the street. She didn't want to look -
but her curiosity had often been a bully to her common sense, and
this occasion was no different. Her eyes rose, and she saw Henry
sitting on the front stoop of his house, reading the paper. For the
longest time, she stood there watching him - sort of admiring the
way his long legs were stretched out before him, and the way his
broad shoulders were sort of slouched as he relaxed. He was wearing
glasses, too. She found something oddly appealing in that.

Suddenly she shook her
head.
Why am I standing here, staring like
a fool?
She thought.
Thank the Lord he hasn't looked up and seen me.
She hurried back into the house with the newspaper
in hand, fearful that at any moment, he would look up and meet her
eyes. For some reason, the thought of that terrified
her.

She didn't see it when he glanced up from
his paper…his eyes watching her closely as she walked into the
house.

* * * * *

At the breakfast table, there were most of
the same foods and rituals that she'd had every day of her life.
Some things, she supposed, were common experiences no matter where
one was born. But there was no lack of new things to learn...new
experiences, small as they might have been.

She’d never had toasted bread before. Spread
with butter and topped with a bit of scrambled eggs, it was
delicious. But it was the milk in her glass that enthralled her
most. The taste was not as rich as the milk she’d had at home, but
it wasn’t the difference between the two that held her fascination.
It was the transformation that Jack made of it. Taking a little
canister from the cabinet, he sprinkled in a sweet-smelling brown
powder and stirred the glass with a spoon. Chocolate milk, she
found, was delightful...and Jack seemed animated by her reaction.
He grinned.

“
God bless Milton Hershey,”
he said, stirring up a glass for himself.

Alice smiled, shaking her head.

"Your brother and his sweets. You should see
him with Hydrox Cookies and milk. It's ridiculous."

Jack shrugged. "Hydrox cookies are an
American institution. I'm just being patriotic."

Now Alice rolled her eyes. "It a wonder that
you don't look like a Macy's Day float. It's a good thing we go out
all the time and stay active, or you’d be in serious trouble."

“
Speaking of activities,”
said Jack, “I think today is a good day to go down to the lake. You
should see it, sis. You
will
see it, as a matter of fact. We had lakes back
home, but nothing like this. And we sure didn't have a beach at
home."

Grace's expression fell, and she looked down
at the table for a moment. There was something on her mind that
she'd wanted to ask for the longest time, but never knew how or
when. Somehow, this moment seemed to be the right one.