Healing Grace (4 page)

“Her doctor said if she has any chance at all of safely having this baby—”

“She has to stay off her feet and get plenty of rest with little excitement,” Grace finished for him, knowing well the drill. Ted’s eyebrows shot up, but he kept his mouth closed.

She continued. “No boisterous four-year-olds or armfuls of other people’s babies to practice her mothering skills on.”

“So, then,” Ted pleaded, “I don’t really know you, but for some reason, you’re good with Eddy and he likes you, too. I don’t know what your future plans are, but could you help us out, at least for a little while?” He twisted his head to watch his young son poke at the bushes with a long, narrow twig.

It appeared that her dilemma of finding company was resolved. Short of outright lying that she was independently wealthy, she’d not been able to talk Ted out of paying her.

“I’ll be back tomorrow—is after lunch okay? —with some details. Is there any time or something, that won’t work out for you? No? Okay, then. And, Mrs. Runyon, we can’t thank you enough.”

The gritty, uncomfortable discussion regarding salary took place on Grace’s front porch the next day. She decided allowing him dignity was as important as refusing to work for hire; she could always put the money in an account in the child’s name. She sighed and tried to pay attention. It was her choice to help or not. If she helped, it was to be on her terms. Maybe this was the job she needed, and it kept her out of the medical field. The exchange of money kept it a business deal. Business was good; it was not personal, and she could take care of the child without getting too emotionally involved.

“Eddy needs care this spring and summer. My brother helps out, but he travels a lot on business and there are days I can’t manage him by myself. He is a good kid and I love him with all my heart. I want to do what’s best for him. And for him to be around me when I’m not doing so well isn’t the best thing for either of us.” He pressed his eyes with long, fingers.

“Some of the medication and testing wears me out. I still take some work, farm and orchard business consulting, from home, but it’s difficult for me to concentrate with Eddy around. So, if you could keep him four days a week?”

“Sure. He can have his meals here. You, too, when you’re able,” she said, watching him squirm as a spasm worked down his leg. “Do you need—”

“No!” Ted closed his eyes with a grimace and then checked around for Eddy. “I’m sorry.” He faced the shiny, painted floorboards of the porch. “I just need help with my son.” He sighed and sank to sit on the top step. Grace followed suit.

“Eddy obviously could use some stability, which”— he pointed with the crutch at his leg—“I cannot provide at this time. It’s a lot to ask, but you two seemed to hit it off and this is such a bad time for me right now. If you’re on the run from the law, could you let me know now and I’ll find some other way?”

He smiled at her. She wouldn’t say no to Eddy no matter how desperate she got. On the run, maybe; but not from the law. Not from man’s law. His little boy scent squeezed her heart whenever she breathed in. She let out the breath she forgot she had taken at Ted’s initial outburst. Reaching out her hand to touch him, she remembered and stopped just short of skin to settle on the crutch instead.

“I have limited experience with children Eddy’s age.” Well, that wasn’t a total lie. “You’re right, we seem to have some rapport.” She grinned as Eddy came whooping around the corner in hot pursuit of Trigger who had come begging at the back door of the house the other day, now that it was occupied again. Eddy had taken the cat’s reappearance in his stride, setting out her bowl of food and keeping the water filled to the brim as if it was his fault she’d run away.

“I’ve taken over your son’s home,” Grace told Ted. “Maybe I don’t owe you for that as it was for sale, but I feel a little responsible. Someday I’ll have to do something more financially reasonable for work. For now,”— she met his stare with what she hoped was a trustworthy expression—“I’d be willing to help you with your son.” And if she failed them in any way, or if they hurt her, she’d fall to pieces so microscopic there’d be nothing left.

The discussion concluded with a cell phone which Grace more or less tried to ignore, much to Ted’s amusement. They stood as he got ready to leave.

“Didn’t this Woodside of yours have electricity and outside communication? I had heard the hills of Tennessee can be backwards sometimes, but honestly, Mrs. Runyon. Not even a cell phone?”

“Call me Grace,” she finally invited. “Of course we had power lines.” She drew herself up to her five feet, six and one-half inch height which still only put her in view of his Adam’s apple as he leaned on the crutch. She slumped again. “It’s simply that I wanted to take my time about, well, about how to make contact with the outside world. The newspaper here is very good.” She dared him to laugh again.

Which he did, of course. “Yeah, the Trib’s all right,” he said. “But it’s not like phoning home.”

She tried to halt the natural instinct to wall off the sound of “home,” but the defensive shutter slammed anyway. “This is home now,” she said, more for herself than for his benefit. Eddy was the only one she’d let in at this point. The little piece of her heart she’d thawed was for him only.

Ted’s arm began to spasm again. He gritted his teeth, successfully ending the draining conversation. Grace would not allow herself to confront his pain. She refused to listen to her soul, although this time she could not halt the gut scream that he needed her touch.

Choose! You can choose, remember?

She grabbed his shirtsleeve and helped him steer along the sidewalk back through the blooming lilac hedge to Randy’s house and his cache of medication.

* * * *

During one drowsy afternoon, Eddy asked Grace to take him to visit Shelby, the only mother he had known since his own left him. Eddy did not remember much about her and never spoke of her. What did mothers do with four-year-old sons? Errands? Shopping? Cooking? Playing…putting the pieces of a shattered life together in a new mosaic. She didn’t know. She’d never had a chance to bond with Sean.

She did not intend to be a hermit in East Bay, but she was cautious. She’d never had to worry about making new friends while growing up in Woodside. But how did one go about it when one was all grown up? Reinventing herself in Michigan was both a relief and a challenge.

Shelby turned out to be a practical and forthright woman who didn’t hesitate to ask Grace’s life history as soon as they made themselves comfortable on the wide veranda, a feature that seemed a prerequisite of most homes here. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity behind her glasses and as a formerly busy daycare provider she was obviously frustrated at enforced inactivity while she waited for her baby. Grace was amused at her frankness. Shelby reminded her instantly of Lena, her best friend from Tennessee, and another little piece of her heart thawed, completely without her permission.

“So, Grace Runyon.” Shelby caressed Eddy’s cheek absent-mindedly before urging him off to play on the other side of the wrap-around porch. “Eds, here, can’t stop talking about you. It’s nice to finally meet. C’mon and sit down. Where are you from, again?”

“I came from central Tennessee, just a small out of the way town. I lived there my whole life. But my parents had the—they were schoolteachers. We used to travel every other summer around the country.” Honesty was always best. She didn’t need to sweat the small stuff of remembering what misinformation she might have planted where. She’d never needed to lie, if not telling the whole truth. She’d never betray her people, even if they blamed her for what she’d let happen to Jonathan. This was her new life, and she could make new friends, if she chose to. She could decide how much to let them in.

“I’ve never been outside of Michigan, except to Canada once for a day trip,” Shelby replied. “You don’t have much of an accent. I’ve heard people from the hills, summer visitors you can hardly understand.” She shifted a little under a lime green and purple granny-square afghan. Eddy returned, and Grace helped him pour more lemonade. She wondered how her in-laws would have reacted to Michigan ways.

She wondered, too, if Shelby was disappointed in her lack of accent or subtly rooting about for a hole in her story. “Always reading between the lines,” Grace’s father had teased her. How could she possibly explain her home to these people anyway? The parts she was allowed to tell, that was.

Woodside had been founded seven generations ago. Prominent use of spiritual gifts mentioned in Scripture, like wisdom, hospitality, and kindness, were not considered extraordinary. But the mysteries of faith: miracles and speaking in the tongues of angels were easily misunderstood by outsiders who happened to stumble on the community and mistake its beauty and peace for a quaint tourist spot, like some sort of Amish village, which it was not. They did not have to dress a certain way or refrain from modern day living.

Grace smiled at Shelby and answered her personal observation in a light-hearted way. “Weel, once the tallyvision masheen cum tae town, menny younguns got ta new speak,” she intoned in rhythmic deep hill county talk.

Shelby giggled. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” She moved her hand over her stomach. “The baby’s moving. I was never pregnant long enough before to feel that.”

Grace went still with the sudden rush of longing and jealousy. She inhaled deep and long and exhaled the hurt. Inhaled again, summoned joy and thankfulness. She’d had her turn. She’d refrained from making any reference to the pregnancy until the other woman brought it up, and now was the time to acknowledge it. “Congratulations. I wish you the best. Ted mentioned about your, well, past troubles.”

Shelby nodded, but didn’t share any more. “Yes, thanks. So go on with your story.”

“I went to college in a large town, traveled some. That sort of cures you of anything remotely hilly.” She took a sip of the lemonade. “Mmm, this is so good.”

“I’ve known Ted Marshall all my life and count him as one of my dearest friends,” Shelby said. “He doesn’t need any more complications in his life right now. Selling his house was the latest blow. You can’t blame folks for wanting to know more about you. There are others in town who would love to take care of both Ted and Eddy, so we wondered why Ted would choose a stranger to help him now. I guess familiarity breeds contempt, eh?”

Grace searched her hostess’s expression for guile, envious for a moment of her pixie-cut hair.

“It’s muggy,” she noted, while contemplating a reply. How to respond? A little strand of silvered hair waved up from her shoulder and glittered in the afternoon light. She pulled it out with a little laugh. Honesty works best. To a point.

“I’m not sure what to say, exactly. I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve never lived anywhere else besides when I went to school. I grew up in an old, old community, and we’re not exactly progressive. Everyone there knows what to do and does it. There are few strangers. I guess I understand how you feel. I wouldn’t know how to trust someone who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, either, and agreed to help me.” Grace watched Shelby work out new questions in her mind while she tried to conjure up innocuous details about her former life to share, should she be asked. She didn’t have long to wait.

Shelby leaned forward on the settee and set her magnified deep gaze on Grace. “So, what did you do there?”

Randy’s presence sent vibes of distrust and dislike emanating before his shadow turned the corner. Grace appreciated that Randy Marshall might not want to startle her but did he have to just stand there? She continued to apply quick-dry foam to seal cracks in the foundation, probably something he should have done himself before selling the place.

Shelby told her that Ted’s ex-wife, Jilly, demanded a cash settlement and refused to wait until they worked out a plan to come up with the money. “Tough luck that you turned up—at the most inopportune time,” her new friend told her last week at her third visit, “cash in hand. Well—not really, of course.”

She wasn’t entirely reassured.

“I, of course,”— Shelby indicated herself with a hand to her chest—“am awfully glad you’re here. Especially now,”—the hand went down toward her stomach—“to help with Eddy. He really needs you.”

Grace was amazed at the amount of trust she seemed to instill in strangers. Either that, or the people in East Bay were incredibly naïve.

Not Randy though. He had not been happy about a stranger on his property and made no effort to disguise the fact since the first time they “met” when he came to retrieve Eddy. He gave her the shivers whenever she caught him driving around town in his dark Cougar or staring at her when he picked up his nephew in the afternoons when Ted couldn’t come.

“Mrs. Runyon.” Randy finally rounded the corner and greeted her.

She met the coolness of his tone with a rudeness she would never have guessed she possessed. This was a man she could too easily not care for. He’d never get to her, make her care. Easy. “Yes?” she replied, giving him a glance while she continued with her task. He had yet to introduce himself. A silly, pointless game, though, since she was perfectly aware of his identity, as he was of hers. She knew he traveled frequently for the fruit market co-op. She had not seen him around when Eddy had taken her on a tour of the big house where he lived and the barren fields with their neatly kept but empty outbuildings on the other side of the hedge.

She sprayed another hit of foam and smoothed it with a well-used Popsicle stick before capping the can and wiping her hand on the poor threadbare T-shirt she continued using as a rag before standing to face him.

“You don’t hold with church, Mrs. Runyon?” It was Sunday afternoon, a day which had not escaped Grace’s notice. The question was so obviously nosy, personal, and none of his business that she bit her lip and took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Marshall,” she tried, to see if her voice was still working properly through her anger.
Good
. “Mr. Marshall, I can’t see that my religious beliefs are any of your concern.”