Finding Grace: A Novel (45 page)

He wanted to stay by her side until she
woke, even if it wasn't for hours. He wanted to talk to her,
convince her to confide in him. But she'd asked him to go, to see
to things that were important to her...and so he did, reluctantly,
leaving her with a gentle kiss and a promise to come back as soon
as he could.

That night, he contacted the preacher, Mr.
Clay. According to what Grace had said, Jack had not been in
contact with his parents, and didn't intend to tell them what had
happened. But she wanted them to know. And yet, Henry himself was
reluctant to inform them right away. He explained himself to the
preacher as they spoke on the phone.

“
It won’t be right to have
them worrying for days before I can get there. I’ll explain
everything when I arrive.” Even as he said it, he wondered if it
would even matter to them. But he did not know for sure, and so he
would spare them the details until he got there.

He boarded the train just before dawn, and
set out on his way.

It was a quiet and lonely journey. His first
class ticket had given him access to the dining car and sleeping
car, so he did not lack for comfort. But he ate little, and slept
fitfully. His mind was too full, too troubled to rest. Grace was
lying back home in the hospital, and he would rather have been
there with her, at her side. Again and again he had to remind
himself…this journey he was making was on her request and behalf.
But rather than being a consolation, it only served to bring him
more concern.

He kept thinking of her parents, and below
his calm outer surface, his anger simmered. Over and over he
thought to himself…

If I were a father, neither hell nor high
water could keep me from my child.

It made him furious to think that any parent
would need convincing to come and see their ailing daughter. When
she’d first asked him to fetch them, his immediate impulse was to
say no. Something inside him had said there would be no storybook
coming together for her and her family…that she would have her
heart broken all over again, and he prayed that he would be wrong.
But if he was right…and dear God, he didn't want to be…he hated to
think what it would do to her. But in the next moment he realized,
she was made of much tougher stuff than that. When all was said and
done, she would still be standing. His strong, stubborn girl.

His
girl. Thinking of her, he reached into his pocket and took out
the little velvet box that held her ring. He’d been robbed of that
first chance to give it to her. And now, he was almost afraid to
ask for her hand. He wanted to make her his own, in every way. But
he’d let her down once. What if he failed her again in some way?
And what if she didn’t want to marry him? The thought of her
rejection was terrifying. She was so independent, so unwilling to
let anyone else care for her. She wanted to do everything on her
own. Truthfully, she didn’t think she needed anyone. But he needed
her, and he was willing to do whatever it took to convince her that
they belonged together.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon when the train reached
its destination. For what had seemed like an eternity, Henry had
been looking out his window and seeing nothing but dark, thick
clusters of trees, and that view was only broken on occasion when
the land dipped down into some great green valley or river, and
then the trees closed in again.

He stepped down from the train to a small
rail platform. No grand station here. In fact, there was no station
at all. There was just a little depot with a ticket window. He
looked about, expecting to see the preacher and an elderly couple,
who had arranged to meet him there. He did not have long to
wait.

"Mr. Shaw?" said a small man with thinning
brown hair and glasses. He was wearing the collar of a cleric, and
so Henry knew he'd found the right person. Following behind the
preacher was the couple, looking stunned and shaken.

"I am Henry Shaw," he said, kindly extending
his hand to each of them. He turned to the preacher. “You’re Mr.
Clay?”

"Brother Clay," the man corrected him. “And
these are the Browns. They’ll be taking care of Charlie.”

Henry nodded, and they all walked towards
the baggage car, where a small group of men were waiting. The doors
opened, and the men helped lift the casket out and carry it to a
nearby wagon. Despite his best intentions against it, Henry felt a
bit of a lump rise in his throat at the sight. It was something he
had never gotten used to, and perhaps would never get used to,
seeing a young man brought home to his final resting place. He had
to turn his eyes away, and focus on his other task at hand. He
turned to the preacher.

"I'd like to see Mr. and Mrs. Langdon right
away. I don't intend a long stay, seeing as I have business to
attend to at home."

"You wouldn't like to stay over at the
boarding house? A small meal, maybe?"

"No," said Henry. "Just a ride to the
Langdon place will be enough."

They walked to a waiting horse and buggy. He
hadn’t been in anything but a car for years, and it was an odd
experience traveling so primitively. It was like taking a step back
in time. But as he looked around, he realized that everything
around him seemed frozen in a past era.

Most of the journey was spent in silence.
His eye roved over the green and brown wilderness that surrounded
them. The road was rough, unpaved. It didn’t even have the luxury
of being graveled. It was just a narrow path of soft brown earth.
Along the way, there were very few signs of human existence…Only
the occasional white-washed farmhouse and barn, and mile upon mile
of barbed wire fence behind which herds of cattle and horses
roamed. How strange it was to see not a single living soul, and a
memory of Grace came to his mind, of what she’d said about being
lost here. One truly could be lost in this place, and feel as if
they were the only being in the entire world. This was her world,
the place where she had come into being, and something moved in his
soul at the wonder of it.

They turned off the main road, and the path
became two thin dirt tracks, rougher than the main way had been, if
that were possible. The trees closed in overhead, forming a dark
green arch that blocked a good deal of the sun, and along the sides
of the trail the ground dipped down in deep slopes of rock and
earth, littered with fallen logs and limbs. As they moved along,
Henry caught a glimpse of motion among the trees to his left. Two
shadows seemed to move, and then disappear in a flash. He tried to
tell himself it was just his imagination, and for a moment, he
thought it might have been. But then he saw the same ghostly
movement again, this time to his right. His senses went on alert.
His head lifted, his eyes dancing as he tried to determine who or
what it was he’d seen. His wary stance caught the attention of the
preacher, who looked at him with a strange expression.

“
There’s something out
there,” Henry said in a low voice, looking around
suspiciously.

Mr. Clay glanced about, not seeming to be
concerned, but in a moment he pulled the reins and brought the
horse to a stop. Slowly, he rose to his feet, cautioning Henry to
be still. Mr. Clay stood, cupped his hands together, and blew into
them gently, and as he moved his fingers he imitated the sound of a
dove.

Then a voice…the soft, slow drawl of a young
man…called out.

"Is that you preacher?"

Mr. Clay slowly sat down again. And he
called to the young man.

“
Come on out here,
boy.”

The young man emerged slowly. As he came
from the shadows, Henry could see that the boy might have been
twelve or so, if he was that. And a moment later another young man
appeared behind that one. This boy was a little older, but not by
much. Both boys were armed with .22 caliber rifles. The preacher
shook his head.

"You Langdon boys sure are gun happy, ain't
you?"

"I'm sorry sir," said the younger boy. "I
didn't know if it was you or not, with that stranger there beside
you."

Henry heard the snap of twigs, and his head
whipped to the right. Almost from nowhere came another pair of
young men, these two older than the others. They might have been in
their late teens or early twenties, and like their brothers, they
carried rifles in their hands. Henry felt as if he might be under
an ambush, as quickly and quietly as this quartet had come upon
them, and armed to the teeth at that. But the preacher seemed quite
comfortable with it all.

"Boys, this is Mr. Shaw," he said. "Mr.
Shaw, these are four of the Langdon men." He named them from oldest
to youngest. "This is Raymond, James, Thomas and Matthew. The
youngest boy is at home, I take it?"

"Yes sir," said James. "He's out playin'
somewheres. He ain't old enough to go rabbit huntin' yet. Maybe
next year."

"So what brings you out this way?" asked
Raymond. "And what's your friend's business here?" He eyed Henry
suspiciously.

"Mr. Shaw is a neighbor of your older
brother," said Mr. Clay. "He's come to see your folks about
Gracie."

Almost in unison they stepped closer, and
Henry felt his muscles tense. At the mention of their sister's
name, he saw a quick flash of change in their faces, as if hearing
her name so suddenly was a way of telling them something was wrong.
They were now like a wary pack of wolves, these four, seemingly
ready to tear him apart, should the need arise. He wasn't afraid to
admit, at least to himself, that he was a little worried.

"What's wrong?" asked Matthew.

"She ain't hurt or anything is she?" asked
Thomas.

There was a pause, as Henry debated with
himself whether or not to speak. How did he know one of them
wouldn't point a rifle at him and fire? But he knew they would have
to hear it sooner or later, and he decided just to let it out of
the bag quickly.

"She's in the hospital," he said.

All at once they began talking furiously,
but the preacher intervened before things could get out of hand,
and with his calm and soothing voice he quieted them.

"Boys, take it easy now. Your sister's gonna
be all right."

James stepped closer. "Well what in the hell
happened, then? Why is she in the hospital?"

"She was shot," replied Mr. Clay. "By
Charlie."

They erupted into something like an angry
mob, and Henry shrank back a little as Raymond came up close to the
wagon, which he slammed with his fist in a fit of rage.

"I'll kill that son of a bitch."

"He's already dead.”

They all fell silent as they heard Henry’s
reply. They looked silently to him, eyes wide with anticipation and
hungry for more information, and Henry gave it willingly.

"He's dead, gentleman. He killed himself in
his jail cell, so there will be no torches and pitchforks
necessary."

Mr. Clay nodded. "Your brother Jack has been
seeing after her health. And so has your Aunt Alice. But your
sister needs family around her, so Mr. Shaw is here to take your
Mama and Daddy to see her."

"Oh they won't go with you mister," said
Raymond. "Daddy was so mad when Gracie left. Mama cried all the
time, but he said he didn't want to hear no more about her. He said
she was with Jack, and they could stay with each other as long as
they wanted, and he didn't care if either one of them ever come
back."

So there it
is
, thought Henry. As he had suspected, at
least where Mr. Langdon was concerned, they had washed their hands
of her. He wanted to turn around and leave right then. But no. He
had promised Grace, and he was determined to at least give it his
best try. As if thinking along the same lines, Mr. Clay spoke
up.

"Well," he said, "Me, Mr. Shaw, and the good
Lord are going to do our best to change their minds."

There was a long moment of silence as they
all looked at each other. Then the preacher took up the reins and
slapped them, setting the horse in motion, and the boys followed
along behind the wagon as it made its way down the path.

They pulled out of the dark woods and into a
clearing, where Henry saw the house for the first time…a one and a
half story structure, white-washed but in terrible need of a new
coat of paint. There were even places where the paint was so faded
that the wood itself could be seen. It had a sad-looking front
porch that looked like it might fall down at any moment. He
wondered how such a structure could be holding up the swing that
hung there. Personally, he would have feared sitting in the
thing.

Several geese roamed the yard freely, when
they weren't scattering away from the small pack of dogs that had
come running, surrounding the wagon before it had even stopped.
They leaped and barked until Henry thought he might go deaf, but
the two older boys jumped down and began commanding them to
silence. In a moment they were under some kind of control, though
they still milled about with curiosity for the stranger in their
midst. Most of them kept a short distance, buffing, but one of them
came right up and began sniffing his pants and shoes, and the dog's
stubby tail wagged fast and furious.

"That's Pilot, Gracie's dog," said Thomas.
"He's been so lonesome since she left. He misses her something
terrible."

Henry reached down to pat the dog on the
head, and the sudden attention spurred something in Pilot, who
whined excitedly and leaned against Henry's legs, rubbing like a
cat. Smiling, Henry reached down to scratch the dog's ribs, and
Pilot pressed himself further until he had slid down and rolled
over on his back, his tail still wagging madly.

"I can see why Grace is so fond of him," he
said. "Maybe I should take this old fellow back with me to visit
her."