Finding Grace: A Novel Read online

  Finding Grace

  Copyright@2010 By Sarah Pawley

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  Chapter 1

  “A Willful Girl”

  Stones Mill, Virginia

  June 1927

  There were spies everywhere.

  Reaching into her bucket, Grace tossed feed to her chickens. The key to fooling a spy was to stay busy…or at least, to keep up the illusion of being busy. Anyone, at any time, could be watching, hoping to catch her in a quiet moment. It could be one parent, or two...an older brother, or a younger one.

  A woman’s voice broke the quiet of the afternoon.

  “Hello in the house!”

  She raised her eyes for a moment, looking towards the driveway. Sometimes, spies disguised themselves as neighbors. This one was all short legs and hefty behind, with a hideous whiskered chin. Grace shuddered in disgust at the sight of Bessie Green, who lived just across the road. With a sigh, Grace muttered to herself...

  If only she would stay at home where she belongs, the world would be a more peaceful place.

  Her mother didn’t seem to be bothered by unexpected company, and if she was, she never let on. Rachel Langdon, coming from within the house, called out to their neighbor. Slinging a cup towel over her shoulder, she gave a tired but polite smile.

  “Hey there, Bessie. What brings you buy?”

  “Afternoon, Rachel,” said Bessie. “I thought I’d come by and sit a spell...and check on everyone while I was at it.”

  Grace pursed her lips in disgust. My eye, she thought.

  Bessie seemed like a name that fit. Like any old cow, she had a tendency to wander where she didn’t belong, usually making a lot of noise in the process. She had her favorite choices of subject...usually, who wasn’t married yet and why, or who was guilty of breaking a commandment. Grace knew herself to be of particular interest. “Willful” was a word she’d often been called. To be truthful, she didn’t mind being called that. As her favorite teacher had once told her...

  Never bend your head. Hold it high, and look the world straight in the face.

  She knew she wasn’t the bravest woman in the world. Her father’s wrath could still shake her to the core, even at her womanly age of seventeen. She fought for herself as best she could…keeping her head held high, just as her teacher had told her to. It wasn’t always easy. While she considered herself proud and strong, it was sometimes a hard cross to bear. Still, she did the best she could, often turning to those words in times of sadness or trouble.

  The quote infused her with a sudden rush of bravery…a flash of courage to steal a few moments for herself. She knew it was a crime to delight in a bit of idleness. But she’d been praying for such an unguarded moment as this, and she could not wait any longer. Glancing to see if anyone was watching, she crept around to the back of the chicken coop. Carrying her empty bucket with her, she turned it over and put it down on the ground, using it as a seat. She looked around one more time, and reaching deep into her apron pocket, she took out a paper wrapped parcel. And eagerly she ripped into it.

  Under the paper was a beautiful leather-bound edition of Jane Eyre. Underneath that, there was an envelope. For a moment she admired the soft brown leather of the book. Then she quickly put it aside and tore open the letter. She smiled with anticipation as she began to read...

  Dear Sis,

  Here’s a brand new copy of your favorite book. I hope Uncle Nathan and Aunt Em got it into your hands without much trouble. I know they’re pretty good about getting my mail to you, but you never can tell.

  By the way, Alice says to tell you not to wear this copy out so fast, and she’s smiling as she says it. Speaking of my dearest, I’m sorry to say there’s nothing to report in the way of baby news. We keep hoping and praying, but it doesn’t seem to do much good. Maybe if we stop thinking about it so much, it’ll happen. That’s the way it usually works, right? But you can’t keep a woman from thinking about such things. And I’ll be honest. I think about it every day myself. I suppose we’ll just have to keep trying.

  I really wish you could be here. Alice would be tickled pink to see you. But I know how the old man still feels about me, and you know how I feel about him. Maybe one of these days you’ll find a good man and have a home of your own, and then we can figure out a way to visit. Until then, I guess these letters will have to do.

  Take care of yourself and write back soon.

  Your Loving Brother,

  Jack

  Just as she finished reading, she heard the irate voice of her mother.

  “Gracie Ellen! What'd you do, fall asleep out there? Daylight is burning, girl!”

  She jumped at the sudden interruption. With a grumble, she quickly folded the letter, securing it in her pocket. Looking at the book, she found she couldn’t bear to part with her new treasure. But she didn’t want to leave it behind, sitting in the filth of a barnyard hiding place. So she tucked it in the band of her skirt, making sure the hem of her blouse kept it hidden. Hurrying to the house, she found her mother waiting at the back step…and scowling.

  “Were you out there lazing around with another book?”

  Grace could manage no answer. She could only blink, for to answer at all was either to lie or confess, and neither seemed a viable option. Silence was no great defense either, for there wasn’t much that her mother didn’t know or see.

  “You were, weren’t you?” She shook her head in dismay, her sigh a deep, frustrated sound. “You know, if you spent near as much time with your chores as you did with those old books, maybe we could make something useful out of you. Now get on in here and do what you should.”

  Grace nodded obediently as she hurried into the house. Looking up as she came in, she saw Mrs. Green sitting at the table, slicing apples. Knowing what was expected of her…visitors were to always be welcomed, and work was always to be found…she went over to sit in the opposite chair, politely greeting her neighbor.

  “Hello Mrs. Green.” Reaching for one of the apples, taking up a knife, she started to help with the cutting.

  Mrs. Green didn’t look up, but gave a cool and polite reply. “Hello Miss Gracie.”

  As she cut into the fruit, Grace stole a glance at her neighbor, catching the tiny smirk on the old woman’s face. She seemed quite entertained, as though she’d caught a child stealing cookies from the jar.

  Old Cow, she viciously thought. I wonder how far her head would go back if I threw an apple at her noggin’?

  The idea was tempting. But she kept herself from it, knowing the consequences would not be kind.

  The room was quiet for a moment…until the silence was broken by a metal pan falling heavy on the stove. That sound was followed by bowls dropping on the counter…and then the sound of Rachel’s voice, usually calm, but now bitter and furious.

  "That Miller woman. It’s all her fault. She’s the one who filled your head with foolishness.” She leaned forward slightly, both hands resting on the edge of the counter. Then her tone suddenly softened, a quiver coming to her voice when she spoke. “Your brother would still be at home if it weren’t for her.”

  Grace watched as her mother’s lip trembled…and then, Rachel turned away, rushing out to the little storage room just off the kitchen. Mrs. Green was close on her heels. And Grace, now alone at the table
, put down her cutting knife. She let out a troubled sigh.

  The store room was a dusky little space, filled with mason jars, sacks of flour and corn meal, tins of sugar, and other such things. The room was quiet and dim…and Grace knew that in that room, her mother often wept in silence.

  While Mrs. Green tried to be of consolation out there, Grace stood up and went to the cupboard. Behind the glass was a small faded picture, tucked into a corner of the wooden pane. She took the picture out, looking down at it…and she smiled, as she always did when she saw her brother’s face. They might have been twins, if not for the difference in their age and eye color. Hers were blue-grey, his were dark brown. But in every other way, they looked alike, right down to their dishwater blonde hair. But Jack was much more impressive, at least in her way of thinking. He certainly cut a handsome figure, especially in his Army uniform.

  As she put the picture back in its place she sighed, missing him dreadfully. Six years had hardly dulled the sting of his loss. And she knew their mother suffered just as much, if not more.

  Thinking of why he had gone…and the reasons were many…she knew that one of the causes, and probably the main one, was standing right out there in the storage room, crying. But Grace often wondered...

  But wasn’t her suffering her own doing?

  She felt a strange sense of both pity and indifference for her mother, who suffered from Jack’s loss, but had been one of its catalysts. Her utter lack of conviction, of courage…her inability to defend him, on all fronts, had driven him away. And she knew it to be true, whether or not she said so out loud.

  Losing her oldest son had changed Rachel Langdon in many ways. She had once been so soft spoken, so meek. At times, she still had that way about her. But now, there was a hint of bitterness in her tone. In times past, she had rarely raised her voice. But now, at least with her younger children, she was often harsh.

  Grace sighed deeply at the thought of it, thinking...

  Mama, you’ve only got yourself to blame.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, after all was done in the kitchen and everyone was spread out to talk and rest, she slipped away from the house. Following behind her was Pilot, her spotted bird dog. His was the only company she really needed. Bad a thought as it might have been…and her mother would have scolded her for it…she preferred his quiet company to that of any person. He was certainly a better soul than most.

  In an alcove of trees was a resting spot. It was her own little private nook, with a hammock hanging between two trees. She knew that way out here, there was little chance she would be disturbed, and falling into the hammock, she let out a sigh of ease. Taking up her book, she read to her heart’s content until the last of the daylight began to fade.

  When the sky grew dark, she clutched her book to her chest, drumming her fingers absently as she looked up at the stars. The heavens were wide above…millions of little diamonds twinkling in a sea of dark blue. Those stars made her wonder at the enormity of the world…of life, and how very little of either she’d known. Her imagination was sparked. She thought of a certain passage from Jane Eyre. From a thousand readings of her most beloved book, the words were seemingly burned in her brain…

  …Women are supposed to be very calm generally. But women feel just as men feel. They need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, just as their brothers do. They suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer. It is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom had pronounced necessary for their sex…

  She did not believe truer words had ever been written. In her heart, at least, they rang very true. And they gave her strength in moments like this, when she felt so isolated from her fellow human beings. She was certain that someday soon she would hear her calling and seek it out.

  And she would find love…on her own terms.

  Chapter 2

  “An Old Friend”

  Someone was staring at her.

  As she stood in the back of the company store, Grace tried to ignore the feeling of someone’s eyes upon her. She was used to being observed at home, but this felt different. She tried to look interested in the everyday objects around her, thinking it might distract her from the feeling of being watched.

  There was lots of bric-a-brac in that part of the store…ceramic washbasins and pitchers, barrels of grooming brushes and small sets of furniture. Various pots and pans hung from hooks, along with several styles of mirrors. She came to stand in front of one, and very slowly, she raised her eyes. But it wasn’t her reflection she looked at. In the mirror, she saw a man...of middling height and lean build...standing a short distance behind her. At that moment, he wasn’t looking directly at her. But when she caught an upward flick of his eyes, she knew he was the one. A knot of uneasiness started to form in her stomach. She knew all of the people in this town, and he was not one of them. That was easy enough to see simply by the way he looked. The clothes he wore, while not exactly elegant, were certainly of better quality than what her neighbors had. He wore a buttoned shirt of soft blue color. His pants and shoes, both dark brown, looked new and tidy, and the rest of him seemed to match. He was clean shaven, with neatly clipped blond hair. The men she knew, with their unkempt ways and ragged clothes, looked nothing like him, and she couldn’t help staring...until his eyes suddenly locked with hers.

  She felt a burning of embarrassment in her cheeks, and she looked away. With her head down, she moved towards the front of the store, where her father and her brothers offered security and protection. But she wasn’t quick enough. The man stepped in front of her, and she tried to make a quick retreat...until he said her name.

  “Hi, Gracie.”

  She turned around, staring at him. She felt a strange shock at the bright green eyes that looked back at her. But what shocked her more was that he knew her by name. Her look was one of curiosity…and suspicion.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  A little grin rose up in the corner of his mouth. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"

  Odd, how he spoke with a slight accent that was similar to hers, although it wasn’t as thick. There was something stunning in his smile, and for a moment, it robbed her of speech. She managed to shake her head in response as he reached out to offer her his hand.

  "Charlie," he said. When all she could manage was an odd look, he added, "Charlie Hillard?"

  Her face blossomed with recognition at the name. She smiled slightly, stunned, putting her hand in his to accept his gentle shake of greeting. "Well my goodness,” she said. “I’d have never guessed it was you.”

  He shrugged. “Time changes everything, I suppose.”

  She nodded, marveling at the sight of an old childhood friend. "How did you know who I was?"

  He turned his eyes up a little, as if he were thinking for a moment. That crooked smile still shined on his face. "Well," he said, "Some faces you forget…some you always remember. And yours hasn't changed much."

  She smiled. Her eyes were playful. "Is that good or bad?"

  He chuckled. "It's good. Your face was one I always took a fancy to."

  She blushed at the compliment, beaming, even as she felt a sense of foolishness coming over her. For a moment she cast her glance away, wondering where her good sense had gone. They had known each other as children, after all. He was just a few years older than she was. So why, then, did she feel so unsure of herself? She tried to speak, to break the awkward silence, though her voice was low and shy.

  “You look so different, Charlie.”

  His reply was a proud smirk. “I know. People can’t call me pudgy anymore. The Army took care of that.”

  Her eyes shined with interest. “You’re a soldier?”

&nbs
p; “I was,” he replied, nodding his head. “But I served my two years, so now I can move on to other things.”

  “So what brings you back here? How come you ain’t in Richmond?”

  Charlie's face lost its cheerfulness…his mouth forming a grim line. “My father is sick. He won't live very long. Maybe a month, if that.”

  She felt a little pain in her heart. “Oh, Charlie, I'm sorry.” She had a sudden urge to lay a hand on his arm to comfort him, but she dared not. He was an old friend, but he was also a man, and she wasn’t sure how he would react to a gesture of comfort. So she refrained.

  They had not seen each other since Charlie's mother had died, and his father had sent him away to live with his aunt and uncle. She only knew part of the story, and it had been a long time since she’d heard about it. But from what she could remember of Charlie’s father, Walter Hillard was not the kindest of men. It was hard to be sure, because no one ever saw much of him. When he did make an appearance in town, his expression was often dark…his person usually smelling of whiskey. She had to wonder why Charlie would choose to return after all this time, especially for the sake of someone who had abandoned him. But she dared not ask him about it. It was not her place to inquire.

  There was a moment of silence between them, as each tried to think of something to say to the other. It was he who spoke first.

  "I should go. I have to get this medicine to my father right away." The smile returned to his face as he looked at her. "I hope I'll see you around now and then."

  She nodded and smiled back, unable to get words out without making a fool of herself. What was it about that smile of his that stole her senses, making her feel so funny inside? She could only nod her head as he tipped his hat to her. Turning with a smooth stride, he walked away…and she felt a sudden sadness at seeing him go.