When Grace Sings (30 page)

Alexa

How frustrating to have Anna—Grace traipsing around in the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and putting things away as if she owned the place. The prickle of resentment took Alexa by surprise. She’d anticipated feeling awkward around the girl who’d grown in her mother’s womb, but she hadn’t expected to battle anger. But that’s exactly what burned in her chest—anger. She bit down on the end of her tongue to prevent telling Anna—Grace to get out of her kitchen, out of her house, out of her family’s affection.

Dear Lord, help me …

Anna—Grace clicked the silverware drawer closed and turned a smile on Alexa. “All done.” She glanced around. “With all the people in here for Aunt Abigail’s party, I didn’t get a chance to really see the kitchen. It’s so different
from the way I remember it as a little girl when my family visited. Did the carpenter working on Steven’s house do this kitchen, too?”

Alexa swallowed against the knot in her throat. She feigned great interest in hanging the tea towel just so over its bar. “Mm-hm. It was a big mess for a long time. He pulled everything out, lowered the height of the counters so Grandmother could reach them from her wheelchair, and reconfigured the design. Even though it was all planned with Grandmother’s needs in mind, it works well for me, too, in cooking for guests. I’m very happy with it.”

“I can see why.” Anna—Grace wandered to the baking center and slid her fingers along the butcher-block top. “I really like this area. I wonder if the kitchen in Steven’s house will have something like this.”

She knew it was spiteful, and guilt descended with the thought, but Alexa hoped the kitchen at the Meiers farm was nothing like the one Paul Aldrich had constructed here. She turned and leaned against the counter. “I usually take Grandmother in to do our grocery shopping on Monday afternoon.” Saturdays were hectic in Arborville with out-of-towners, local farmers, and townsfolk descending on the shops. Grandmother’s wheelchair and the busy aisles weren’t a good combination, so they preferred the quieter weekday. “Would you like to stay here and rest after your drive?” She knew she should offer the option of coming to town, too, but she needed a little distance. Some time alone with Grandmother. A touch of normalcy to face the uncomfortable changes to which she’d opened the door but now found difficult to accept.

Anna—Grace smiled brightly. “Actually, I’d like to see the town. Steven drove straight out here, so I didn’t get more than a passing glance.”

Alexa’s lips twitched with the effort not to laugh. “I think you’ll discover you don’t need much more than a passing glance when it comes to Arborville. There’s not a lot to the town.”

“Oh, I know it’s very small. Before my great-grandparents died, we came to Arborville every year for Christmas and again each summer for a short visit. I was pretty young when we stopped making the yearly trips, though, so my memories are fuzzy.”

“Probably because there isn’t much to remember.” Alexa hadn’t intended to be snide, but her tone emerged on a sarcastic note. Anna—Grace’s smile faded. Her hurt reaction stung Alexa. She found herself adding, much more kindly, “We’re just going to the grocery store, but you’re welcome to come along, if you’d like.”

Her smile returned. “I would. I’ll go get a sweater.” She darted off.

Alexa rolled her eyes and clunked her forehead with the heel of her hand. Why had she agreed? Hadn’t she decided she needed a little separation? But she couldn’t deny some of her guilt had dissolved when she’d asked Anna—Grace to join her and Grandmother.

Grandmother set her handwork aside when Alexa came into the front room. “Have you finished in the kitchen?”

“It’s all spick-and-span.” Alexa forced a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Are you ready for your Monday afternoon excursion?”

“I sure am. Anna—Grace went upstairs to wash her face and recomb her hair. She said she felt mussed.” Grandmother chuckled. “I think she wants to present herself well to whoever we encounter today.”

Alexa glanced down the length of her sweater and skirt. She’d worn an apron in the kitchen, but a tiny dot of gravy decorated her skirt, and her sweater showed a slight smudge of flour from the biscuits. She brushed at the flour. “Maybe I should change.”

Grandmother waved her hand. “Oh, you’re fine, Alexa.” She wheeled her chair to the piano, where her purse waited on the keyboard cover. “It’ll be a treat for me, having two girls along today. After today Anna—Grace will probably spend her days at the Meiers farm, or I guess I need to start calling it the Braun farm. So I intend to make the most of this outing.”

She peeked inside her purse. “I’ve got enough cash for us to have a treat at the quilt shop’s soda counter. I’d also like to take Anna—Grace on a little tour of the town, point out the house where my sister and I lived when we were girls and the school where her pare—” She stopped, shook her head hard, and
started again. “Where the local children attend class. Just to help her become familiar with everything.”

No one had offered Alexa such a tour when she came to town. Jealousy poked her, and she shrugged its persistent prickle away. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“She has a history here. Even though she isn’t aware of her full connection, I want her to
see
the town.” Tears winked in Grandmother’s pale-blue eyes. “I want to be the one to show it to her.”

The patter of footsteps on the staircase alerted them to Anna—Grace’s return. Grandmother brushed her fingertips across her eyes and put on a smile.

Anna—Grace breezed around the corner, her hair neatly swept under her cap and a light-blue sweater over her dress. “I’m ready!”

“Give me a push to the car, Anna—Grace.”

Alexa held back a disgruntled huff. She always pushed Grandmother’s chair to the car.

With a little giggle Anna—Grace darted behind the chair and took hold of the handles. “Here we go.” She rolled Grandmother through the little vestibule and, after a little juggling to prop the door open, onto the porch.

Alexa followed the pair. She yanked her jacket from its hook and jammed her arms into the sleeves, punching her fist through the openings. Then she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and tromped down the steps while Anna—Grace and Grandmother made use of the ramp. She hurried across the yard to the car with Grandmother’s comment
—“She has a history here”
—tormenting her.

She might be the one to call Abigail Zimmerman “Grandmother,” but Anna—Grace was already being claimed as the grandchild. More than ever Alexa recognized that her history was rooted somewhere else.

Briley

From his perch on the hardware store’s windowsill, Briley observed Anna—Grace Braun pushing Mrs. Zimmerman up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Alexa trailed behind. The older woman and her great-niece appeared to laugh and talk, but Alexa’s lips remained in a sullen line—unusual for the girl. He’d seen her be serious but rarely sullen. His reporter instincts kicked up a notch.

The gray-haired Old Order man and the store’s clerk, who’d been leaning against the tall counter and chatting about casual topics for the past half hour, suddenly fell silent. Briley flicked a look in their direction. Their gazes seemed to follow the three women, and not until the trio entered the quilt shop did they start talking again.

“Do you suppose that’s the girl who’s published to the Brungardt boy?” the customer asked.

“
Ja
. I imagine it is.”

The man clicked his tongue on his teeth. “I wonder at her parents, sending her over here already when the two of them aren’t married yet. It’s a sure way to open the door to temptation.”

Briley laid the notebook on his knee and began transcribing their conversation while pretending to pay no attention to them.

The clerk released a throaty chuckle. “Oh, now, she’s staying with Abigail
Zimmerman at the bed-and-breakfast her granddaughter started. Aldrich says the boy lives at the farm even without a stick of furniture out there. I figure Mrs. Zimmerman will make sure that mile between the two farmsteads is an adequate barrier to them getting into trouble.”

“She didn’t do so well with her own daughter, now did she?” A hint of recrimination entered the older man’s tone. “That granddaughter who showed up last spring is proof of it.”

The clerk cleared his throat. “I don’t think we should talk about that, Irwin. It was a long time ago, and it’s God’s place to judge, not ours.”

“I’m not judging,” Irwin said, “just stating facts. There’s no husband, and she’s got a daughter, so she fell from grace. And right under her mother’s nose.”

The clerk muttered something else, but he lowered his voice and Briley couldn’t hear. But he didn’t need to hear anything else. They’d said enough to stir his interest. He could pursue the topic elsewhere on his own.

Tucking his notebook under his arm, he rose, faced the men, and touched his forehead in a mock tip-of-a-hat. The two nodded in reply, and he left the store, cringing at the loud clatter of the cowbell hanging above the door. There were no cars coming, so he darted directly across the street and entered the quilt shop.

He ignored the curious look from the woman behind the counter and marched through the shop, turning his gaze right and left in search of Mrs. Zimmerman, Alexa, and Anna—Grace. He found them in the far corner where three round metal tables and chairs with bent wire frames created a little sitting area. The women sat around one of the tables, sharing a banana split.

He grinned and ambled over. “Well, look at that. Who would have guessed you could buy ice cream in a fabric store.”

“It’s one of the best-kept secrets in town.” Mrs. Zimmerman spooned up the blob of whipped topping holding a bright-red maraschino cherry. “I’m surprised, though, that you didn’t discover it, given your examination of every store in town over the past weeks.”

Her statement let him know the townspeople had been talking about his
prowling and picture taking. Briley laughed, not insulted in the least. “I admit, I should’ve found it by now. But this is the one store I never entered. I just peeked in the window. All I could see were bolts of cloth, and, no offense, that didn’t interest me much.”

“Sometimes you have to look deeper to see what’s really there.”

Briley processed the woman’s statement. Had she intended to present a double meaning or was she only making small talk? He decided on the latter. “Now that I’ve seen what’s really here, I think I’ll order a banana split for myself. It looks great.”

“Order over there.” Mrs. Zimmerman pointed to a bar straight from the old cowboy movies, complete with tall stools and a low brass rail where a person could rest his feet. He whipped out his notebook, clicked the camera app, and took two snapshots before swaggering over to the bar. He propped one boot on the rail and bounced the peg in an old dome-shaped brass bell. Several hollow jangles rang. The same woman who’d watched him from behind the counter on the fabric side of the store bustled over and asked what he’d like.

He jammed his thumb over his shoulder and drawled, “I’ll have what they’re having.” A snort and a giggle erupted behind him, and he didn’t even have to look to know Alexa released the snort and Anna—Grace the giggle. He acted as though he hadn’t heard a thing and slid onto one of the stools. The padded seat rotated, so he turned to face the little table and rested his elbow on the scarred wooden counter. “Are you ladies painting the town?”

Mrs. Zimmerman pursed her lips. “That’s hardly an appropriate question, Mr. Forrester.”

He grinned. “Sorry, Mrs. Z.” He’d never abbreviated her name before, but this setting—the century-old counter, the little tables, the informality of the three of them dripping chocolate, strawberry, and butterscotch sauces across the table’s top—inspired a casual approach. “I’ll rephrase. Are you two giving Miss Braun here the full nickel tour of Arborville?”

Anna—Grace answered. “Aunt Abigail had Alexa drive me by the house
where my grandmother lived as a little girl. We also went by the school, the church, and the cemetery. Now we’re going into each store so I can become familiar with what’s available in case I end up living here.”