When Grace Sings (28 page)

Alexa inched toward the door. “I should go stir my stew and get the biscuits in the oven. Take as much time as you need to settle in, then come to the dining room. I’ll have lunch hot and ready for you.” She eased past Steven and clattered down the stairs.

Alexa

Alexa careened around the corner and nearly plowed into Grandmother, who hadn’t vacated her spot near the base of the stairs. She reared back, scrambling to catch her balance. “Grandmother! What are you doing there?”

“Eavesdropping.” Grandmother’s tart reply didn’t surprise Alexa in the least. “And praying.” Her second statement emerged with compassion. She tipped her head, furrows of concern marching across her forehead. “Are you all right?”

No, she wasn’t all right. When Anna—Grace had started talking about familial relationships, she’d felt as though her chest would burst. She scurried behind her grandmother’s chair, grabbed the handles, and wheeled Grandmother to the kitchen. She talked while she kneaded the dough and then patted it flat on the worktable’s floured top.

“I can’t decide if it would be better or worse for her to know what we know. I feel like I have to think so hard before I say anything that might give something away. It’s making me not want to talk at all. And that’ll make her feel like I don’t like her.” Did she like Anna—Grace? Initially she had. This new knowledge hadn’t changed who Anna—Grace was, so she should still like her. Alexa pushed her reflections aside and continued. “But if she already knew, I’d feel funny around her, too, because then she’d know my mother is really
her
mother.”

Grandmother wheeled close and took over the task of pressing the biscuit cutter through the soft dough. “I understand. It was all I could do not to start bawling when I hugged her today. My first hug as grandmother to granddaughter rather than great-aunt to great-niece.” Tears winked in Grandmother’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “I keep telling myself what happened twenty years ago is done. Anna—Grace, legally, is my great-niece, not my granddaughter, and I must think of her the same way I have since the beginning.”

Alexa paused in transferring the circles of dough to a cookie sheet. “But you’ve always known Anna—Grace was your granddaughter. Even though Andrew and Olivia never knew who gave them a baby, you did. How did you keep it secret all those years?”

“Guilt kept me silent. Guilt for forcing my young, frightened daughter to do what she didn’t want to do, all so I could save face.” The tears returned. One spilled down Grandmother’s cheek. She smacked the wetness away and set her chin at a determined angle. “But it isn’t guilt keeping me silent now. God forgave me and I’ve released the guilt. As much as I’d love to be able to claim her as my grandchild, I’ll continue to call Anna—Grace my great-niece because it’s what is best for her. I won’t be selfish the way I was selfish with your mother. I learned what selfishness can cost.”

Alexa caught her grandmother’s hand. “Grandmother …” She almost felt like a fraud using the term, but what else could she call the mother of the woman who had raised her? “Is it selfish of me to wish I didn’t know that I’m not really part of your family?”

A fierce scowl formed on Grandmother’s face. She yanked on Alexa’s hand—a hard, attention-demanding yank. “Don’t you ever say something like that again. Do Andrew and Olivia call Anna—Grace and Sunny their non-daughters or their daughters? Blood doesn’t matter one bit. What matters is the heart, and you are my Suzy’s child in every way that matters.”

“But …” Alexa crouched so she could be at eye level with the woman in the wheelchair. “Mom and I aren’t the same as Andrew and Olivia with their adopted daughters. Anna—Grace and Sunny legally belong. A court changed
their names to Braun and made them an official part of the family. But I—” The ache that had tormented her over the past weeks intensified. “I don’t belong to Mom. Not by birth, and not by any legal means. I’m not a Zimmerman. I don’t know who I am.”

Grandmother cupped Alexa’s cheeks. Her hands, warm and dry and dusted with flour, offered comfort and strength. “You are our dearly loved Alexa Joy.”

Alexa forced her trembling lips into a smile. “All right, Grandmother.” She rose, put the biscuits in the oven, and went on with the lunch preparations as though she’d cast off her concerns so Grandmother wouldn’t worry. But underneath the torment remained. Who was she? And where did she belong?

Briley

Briley, car keys in one hand and his trusty electronic notebook in the other, headed across the grass and the last of the fallen leaves. For years he’d tromped along concrete sidewalks in Chicago, listening to the pound of his soles and the noise of traffic. The soft whisper of wind and the crunch of dried grass still took him by surprise. But not a bad surprise. As a matter of fact, he’d grown a little attached to the music of the prairie. But he hadn’t mentioned it when he spoke to Len that morning. He’d set himself up for merciless teasing—much less good-natured than any of the banter he and Alexa had exchanged of late.

He came up even with the front of the house and spotted Steven’s truck parked in front of the porch, almost on the walkway. His steps slowed. So Steven was back. Had he brought his fiancée, as he’d intended? Briley made a mental note to take his camera to the house from now on so he could capture interactions between the pair, who were—of all the strange ways to put it—published to be married. Would a published couple in a Mennonite community behave like engaged couples on the outside?

He’d already determined they weren’t cohabitating, which was different from many of the couples he knew. Steven would stay at his house, and his fiancée—what was her name again?—would stay here with Mrs. Zimmerman. He chuckled. That wily lady wouldn’t allow any hanky-panky under her roof.
She tolerated his sparring with her granddaughter. She even forgot herself and chuckled sometimes. But her hawk eyes watched him, and he knew if he stepped out of bounds, she’d come down on him worse than Aunt Myrt ever had.

Even so, he’d had great fun teasing with Alexa over the past week. She proved she could give as good as she got. She had a quick wit—never cruel, just snappish and fun. And her sense of humor! One day she left the wrapper on the cheese in his sandwich, and another time she put in a raw egg in place of a hard-boiled one. What a mess that had created when he cracked it on his knee. But all he could do was laugh while he plotted the next place to post a pic of her wide-eyed look of horror. The cost to print an even twenty copies of that photo was the best three dollars he’d ever spent. Maybe he’d ask Mrs. Zimmerman to help him out. She’d probably think of some really good spots.

He reached his car, and the slam of the front screen door pulled his attention to the porch. Steven trotted down the steps. Instead of climbing into his car, Briley turned around and jogged toward the younger man. “Hey, when did you get back?”

“About twenty minutes ago.”

“Are you heading to the house now?” Briley had begun calling Steven’s farmhouse by the same term Steven used. Strange that he never referred to it as “my” house. Maybe it was an Old Order thing—not wanting to sound possessive. He’d heard dozens of seriously uttered comments about how God received the credit for the blessings in their lives, the people seeming to forget they had to work plenty hard to hold on to those “blessings.”

“After I eat some lunch.” Steven opened the passenger-side door on the truck and reached inside. “Mrs. Zimmerman asked Anna—Grace and me to join her and Alexa.”

Anna—Grace … that was her name. Briley jangled his keys. “I took Paul’s box lunch to him this morning but didn’t have Alexa make one for me.” Robbing her of the opportunity to sneak something in on him. “Since you weren’t here, I decided to do some other exploring today. So I’ll probably join you at the house tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“Sure. That’s fine, if you don’t have anything else to do.” Steven emerged from the truck cab with a plain brown purse in his hand.

Briley couldn’t resist teasing. “Get yourself a new fashion accessory, did you?”

Steven’s lips quirked into a half smile, half grimace. “Um, no. This belongs to Anna—Grace.”

Briley laughed and slapped Steven’s shoulder. “I already surmised that, my man. Just ribbing you.”

Steven nodded. He gave the door a slam and turned toward the house. Then he angled his gaze at Briley. “What are you doing today?”

“Gonna hang out at the hardware store, do some people watching.” And some listening. Not only to the words, but to the tones, reading between the words for deeper meanings. Hopefully he’d hear something that would smack of discontent. Len wasn’t too happy about the lack of fodder he’d discovered thus far. In fact, his boss had muttered about wasted funds and time. If Briley didn’t hurry up and uncover something, he might be pulled back early with no chance for that byline he wanted.

“Before you go, want to come in and meet Anna—Grace?”

Only an idiot would miss the pride in Steven’s voice. And Briley might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He aimed his feet for the house. “Sure.”

When they entered the house, the sound of laughter—light, trickling, relaxed—carried from the dining room followed by Mrs. Zimmerman’s low-toned voice. Apparently Anna—Grace held the older woman’s affection. Steven deposited Anna—Grace’s purse on the first riser of the staircase, then accompanied Briley to the room where he’d taken nearly two dozen breakfasts as well as a couple Sunday dinners. The table was set for four, his regular place empty of a bowl and silverware.

Mrs. Zimmerman sat in her wheelchair beside the table, and Anna—Grace stood near the chair with her back to the doorway. At a glance Briley noted Steven’s intended was slender, blond haired, and full-fledged Mennonite from
her little white mesh cap to her brown hose and oxfords. He prepared himself for her to be homely.

“Anna—Grace?” Steven touched her shoulder as he spoke, and she turned to him with a smile that could light up the darkest night.

Briley gave a start. Anna—Grace homely? Not even close. No wonder Steven spoke of her with such pride. With a little makeup and her hair hanging loose around her face, she’d be what Len called drop-dead gorgeous.

“I want you to meet Briley Forrester. He’s the one who’s been helping at the house.”

Anna—Grace shifted her smile from Steven to Briley, but when their gazes collided, her lips quivered, her eyes widened, and she drew back slightly. “M-Mr. Forrester.” She rubbed her palms along the skirt of her dark-blue dress and then hesitantly extended her hand to him. “It’s good to meet you.”

He shook her hand, trying not to stare. Partly because she was so chinadoll pretty, but partly because something about her seemed vaguely familiar. “Likewise.”

She withdrew her hand from his light grip and reached for Steven who linked fingers with her. Briley took note of the affectionate gesture while keeping his attention pinned on Anna—Grace. A weak smile continued to quiver on her rosy lips. “Steven t-told me you’ve been a big help at his house. Thank you.”

“No problem. I enjoyed it.”

Alexa entered the room, carrying a covered crockery bowl.

Briley slipped his notebook into the crook of his arm and added for Alexa’s benefit, “It’s kept me out of trouble.” He watched her face for signs of amusement, but she didn’t even glance at him before heading back through the short hallway to the kitchen. He frowned. He’d given her a perfect lead-in. Why hadn’t she taken it?

Mrs. Zimmerman said, “We’re going to sit down and have a bowl of stew and some home-baked biscuits. Would you like to join us, Briley? Alexa made plenty.”

Her invitation tempted him. The kitchen at the Grace Notes B and B had
to be one of the best-smelling places on earth. “Thank you, but I made plans for the afternoon, and I need to get going. I’ll just grab a slice of pizza at the convenience store since
somebody
”—he raised his voice, determined for her to hear him—“didn’t pack me a lunch today.”

She whirled around the corner again, this time carrying a basket of beautifully browned biscuits and a fat jar of some sort of preserves—probably strawberry, judging by the color. She stuck her nose in the air. “That’s because
somebody
didn’t request a lunch for today. You must ask in order to receive.” She turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen.

That was more like it! Briley laughed at her retreating back, then looked at Anna—Grace again. She was watching him, the corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. He smiled, and a blush stole across her face. “It was nice to meet you, Miss—”

“Braun,” all three of the other people in the room chorused.

“Miss Braun,” Briley said, “enjoy your lunch. I’d better get going.” With their farewells ringing in his ears, he headed for the door.

Anna—Grace

Anna—Grace held her breath until the front door closed behind Briley Forrester. Then she let out the air in one whoosh. She looked at Mrs. Zimmerman. “He’s the reporter from Chicago Sandra told me about?”

“That’s right.”

She shook her head, the image of the man’s dark, good looks strong in her mind. “He’s so”—she glanced at Steven and chose her words carefully—“young. For some reason I expected someone … older.”