Finding Grace: A Novel (4 page)

She shook her head, unable to speak for the
lump in her throat.

“
I hope he burns in hell,”
he said.

She saw a tear roll down his cheek. Then,
before she had time to react, he put his arms around her and buried
his head in her shoulder. He began to cry like a little boy lost,
and she didn’t know what to do. All she could do was sit there,
holding him gently in her arms.

* * * * *

His tears had ceased. But now, his head was
a heavy weight on her shoulder. She tried to stir him, but he only
mumbled incoherently. He was still conscious…but she was sure that
wouldn't last for much longer. She took his arm, draping it around
her shoulders, and after much coaxing on her part, she managed to
get them both to their feet.

It's like dragging the dead
weight of a carcass
, she thought, as she
moved with him to the little bed in the other room. Once she had
him on the bed and let go, he fell into a heavy heap, out cold. She
tended to him as she would tend a child, adjusting his head on the
pillow, pulling the blanket over him. And then, for quite some
time, she just sat on the edge of the bed, looking at
him.

Her mind was a jumble of confusion. He had
spoken of his father with such bitterness - almost with pure
hatred. Why, then, had he come back to take care of him? More
confusing still were her feelings for him. It wasn’t the same as
when they were kids, when he’d almost seemed like one of her
brothers. It would be silly to think of him that way now. Just
being near him, even when he was in this state of mind, she felt
something more. Was it love? She shook her head in denial at that
notion. Love seemed too strong a description, for they hardly knew
each other anymore. And yet, she cared for him deeply. Something
within her wanted to care for him, to give him the affection he
needed so much.

But who was she to be his savior? She looked
down at his handsome face, soft and peaceful in repose. There were
probably other girls, other women, who cared for him too. She would
be a fool to think he didn't have someone out there waiting for
him. If there was a woman in his life, she’d likely had many years
to know him and grow close to him. She had known this man less than
two days. She sighed, feeling a pit of sadness opening in her
stomach.

A knock came at the door, startling her out
of her daydream, and she hurried to the door to answer it. At the
threshold were a man and a woman, both of middle age. She didn't
recognize them, and they didn't recognize her, from the stunned
looks on their faces.

"I'm Robert Brown," the gentleman said.
"This here’s my wife Mary. We're looking for our nephew, Charles.
We left him here a little while ago so we could see to his
Daddy.”

Grace's expression brightened and she smiled
slightly. "Oh, the Aunt Mary and Uncle Robert that Charlie was
talking about. I’m mighty glad you’ve come. Come in, will you?" She
stepped back and let them pass into the dimly lit house. "I'm an
old friend of his. I’m Grace Langdon. I just came up here to give
condolences." She led them into the little room where Charlie
slept. "I found him in a real sorry state. He's sleeping it off
now, thank goodness."

Mary sat on the bed beside him, reaching
over to feel his forehead.

"Poor boy," she said. "I just hope he's in
decent shape for the service tomorrow morning.”

Robert scoffed, and as Grace looked at him,
she saw him shaking his head.

“
After all the trouble we’ve
gone through for that boy…all the Sunday learnin’ we’ve tried to
put in him, and he’s just like his Daddy. A worthless
drunk.”

Unsure of what to say, Grace simply asked
the first question that came to mind.

"Are you going to stay here with him?"

Robert shook his head, his tone
vehement.

"No, no. We're taking him out of this den of
evil. We're staying over at the boarding house until after the
service. And it's better for him if we just get him on out of this
place."

She didn't have to ask why. One could almost
feel the haunting in the house. It had spooked her from the first,
and now that the sun was sinking quickly, the spookiness was even
stronger. She looked out the window at the fading of the day, and
suddenly it occurred to her that she ought to be getting on her way
quickly. She could do that now, and feel secure, knowing that
Charlie would be taken care of.

"I’d best be on my way home," she said.
"Thanks for tending to him. God knows, he'll need it. We'll all be
praying for him."

Robert just nodded his head. Mary was
pulling Charlie to a sitting position, and as Robert went to assist
her, Grace quietly made her way out the door. She crossed the yard
to her horse…and hoped that with his aunt and uncle caring for him,
Charlie would be just fine.

Now she just had to worry about herself.

It would be dark by the time she got home.
Chances were pretty good that her Mama and Daddy would be waiting
up for her, probably with a switch in hand. They wouldn’t have
taken kindly to one of their youngsters running off and not saying
where they went, especially when they came home so late.

But what of it?
she thought.

She'd been in trouble before. Not often, but
enough to know what came with being in trouble. And right then, she
didn't care what they did to her. She would take it as it came, no
matter what, for it would be a small price to pay for what she'd
done. Charlie had needed her, and that was more important than
anything.

As she rode up to the house, she noticed
quickly that only one light was burning. The lamp on the porch was
the only one lit, and that seemed strange to her. If they were
waiting to punish her, there would be lights burning bright in the
living room, for that was where they would be sitting up. Had they
actually gone to bed, and left the light burning for her? No, that
seemed too far-fetched. It would be too kind, at least where she
was concerned. Then she heard a familiar sound far off in the
distance...the sound of coon hounds bawling, and she realized with
relief that the men and boys were off on a hunt. She breathed a
sigh of relief at her good luck, and quickly she put her horse in
the stall and made her way to the house.

As she got near the porch, she saw in the
dim light that her mother was sitting in the rocking chair. Rachel
looked at her as she came near.

"You went up to see Charlie, didn't
you?"

Grace lowered her head, her voice low.
"Yes."

"He was in a bad way, wasn't he?" said
Rachel.

Grace nodded. "His aunt and uncle came to
look after him. But I don't know if that'll be enough."

Rachel sighed. "With the Lord's guidance,
he'll be just fine.”

Grace wanted to believe that was true. But
after what she'd seen and heard, she wasn't so sure. Still,
miracles happened every day, didn't they? Someone above had
certainly been watching out for her this night, and before she went
to sleep, she remembered to send up a prayer of thanks…and a prayer
of peace for Charlie's broken soul.

* * * * *

There was something especially morbid about
Walter Hillard's funeral, or so it seemed to Grace. All of these
people, who had hardly seen or spoken to the man in ten years, were
suddenly mourning his death as if he were one of their own. It made
her angry just thinking about it, and she had to bite her tongue
hard to keep from cursing at every person around her. Only one
person had the right to mourn here… and that person was
Charlie.

How different he seemed this morning. Gone
was the raging and disheveled thing of yesterday. And gone, too,
was the broken little boy who had cried on her shoulder. What a
puzzlement he was. She looked at him, standing silent and stoic by
the grave. Even from the distance where she stood, she could see no
tears in his eyes, no pained expression, no gestures of any
kind.

How he must be holding it
all inside,
she thought sadly.

His lips did not move to “In the Sweet By
and By,” as the crowd was singing all around them. His mouth was
set in a grim line, and she wanted so badly to go and stand at his
side. For a sudden impulsive moment, she started to do just that.
But then she held back. She would not make fools of the both of
them. There was a time and a place for boldness, and this was not
it.

Finally the service ended, and the crowd
began to thin out. One by one they turned and walked away - her
family included, and Charlie was left to stand alone. She knew,
because she turned around to look at him. It was then that she
broke from the pack, not caring what anyone thought, and she walked
over to stand near him. She wanted to say something profound…
something healing and comforting. But her tongue seemed tied in
knots, and all she could do was stand there. It made her feel like
a useless fool, and she turned to make a retreat.

At the same moment, he turned to her.

"Thank you for being there last night."
There was a small pause, as if he didn't know what to say next, and
he seemed flushed with shame. "I must have looked like such a
fool."

She was tense…her nerves quite on edge. It
caused a reply to bubble forth that she had not wanted to say out
loud… but it escaped her lips before she could quite catch it.

"You did," she said. As soon as she said it,
she cursed herself for her stupidity. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I didn't
mean that."

But he just chuckled slightly. "It's all
right," he said. "After all the two-faced talk I've heard today, I
could use a bit of honesty." As the smile faded from his face, he
sighed deeply, still looking at the grave in front of him. "I don't
know why I ever came back here," he said. "I should have known
things between me and him would never change."

"You had a right to hope," she declared.
"It's only natural."

He gave a snort and smiled again, but
bitterly this time, and he looked up at the sky, his eyes dancing
coldly. "Maybe you're right," he said. "Or maybe I really am a
fool." He turned sharply and walked away. His Aunt and Uncle stood
by their car, waiting for him, and he went to them without a
backward glance.

* * * * *

She felt miserable. The sway of the buggy,
jostling everyone back and forth, only made her more so. The
progress home was always slow. Her father never rushed the horse,
for anyone or anything. Under normal circumstances, the trip
wouldn't have bothered her. But today, she just wanted to jump out
of the buggy and run home. She didn't feel like crying, which never
did any good. She just wanted to be alone, to think and breathe.
She would have done anything to find solitude, especially at that
moment, when her little brother was trying to hang over the back of
the buggy. Their mother gripped Robert by the shirt collar and
forced him into his seat, scolding him.

"We just come from a funeral, boy. Sit down
there and have a lick of respect." To emphasize her point she
whacked him on the back of the head, and he started to cry.

The sound grated on Grace's nerves like
nails on a chalk board. If she had been a little more daring, she
might have reached over and slapped him herself.

Up in the driver's seat, John turned his
head and glared, his voice calm but deadly serious.

“
Boy, you better quit that
sissy crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Suddenly, Grace's loathing shifted from her
brother to her father. John Langdon didn't give second warnings,
and when he said quit crying he meant it. The next thing to come
from him would be a vicious switching, sure to silence anyone into
submission. And the thought of it made her furious.

Robert may have been a terror at times, but
he was just being a boy. Why did the man have to always be a
tyrant?

When they got home, Rachel had barely
stepped down from the buggy when she started barking out
orders.

“
I’ve got to get supper
started," she declared. Her eye caught sight of fourteen-year old
Thomas. "Get on down to the barn and do the milking.” Then she
turned to her daughter, who had barely made it half way across the
yard. “Gracie, don’t forget to feed the chickens.”

Grace felt a fire of rage shoot up her back.
It radiated through her arms, traveling down to her fingers, which
she clenched into tight fists. It burned its way into the muscles
of her face as well, and she clenched her jaw tightly, fighting
back the urge to scream. How long had she been doing that same
stupid chore, along with all the others? Since the age of six, if
she remembered right. Had she ever not fed those devilish birds?
Why did she have to be reminded, every day, of every month, of
every year? It was enough to drive her out of her mind.

Good God, why can’t they all just disappear?
For just a few blessed hours, at least.

Inside the coop, she grumbled to herself as
she reached for the bucket. She filled it with seed and lugged it
outside, and the chickens came flocking around her feet in
anticipation. When she had scattered it all, she did what she had
done so many times before. Turning her bucket upside down, she sat
on it and watched the birds as they clucked and pecked around her.
Sitting there, it was quiet for the moment. And because she was
alone, if only briefly, she dropped her head in her hands and
rested.

She thought of Jack at that
moment.
Lucky devil.
He was the manager of a railroad station, where he worked five
days a week. He was home by six each night, and he even got to go
out and have fun sometimes on the weekend. In his letters, he told
her how he and Alice liked to take in baseball games and go to
movies. On Sunday afternoons, they liked to play golf or tennis.
She knew nothing of tennis or golf, but she did know one thing. The
two of them enjoyed their lives, and they always took time out for
fun. Much as she loved her brother, she couldn't help but be
jealous of him when she thought of his life. How she envied his
freedom...the freedom to love and live, just the way he
pleased.