When Grace Sings (18 page)

“Well, then …” Dad rocked on his heels, looking everywhere except at Steven.

Before he’d carried out this last load, Mom caught him in a nearly strangling hug and stained his shoulder with a few rare tears. Now it seemed as though Dad was fighting against sorrow. Fury and compassion warred in Steven’s chest. It pained him to see his parents in such agony about him leaving, but this move was all their idea. Why did they have to turn morose and make him feel even worse about the situation?

He cleared his throat. “I want to stop by the Brauns’, say good-bye to Anna—Grace before I leave, so …”

“Sure. Sure.” Dad nodded, the movement jerky. “You need to get going.”

Steven hesitated another moment, waiting to see if Dad would say anything else. Maybe something like, “Your mother and I changed our minds about the farm in Arborville. You take the money and do what you want to with it.” But of course he didn’t. With a sigh Steven climbed behind the steering wheel.

Dad lurched forward, stepping into the triangle formed by the open door. He gave Steven’s shoulder several firm pats, then left his hand resting there, as if he was too weary to pull it away. “You drive careful now. This truck won’t rattle you so much as the other one did, and it’ll be easy to speed. Watch the speedometer.”

“I will, Dad.”

“And soon as you get a chance, pull that radio. I should’ve had them do it at the dealership before we brought it home. The fellowship in Arborville doesn’t allow car radios, either. You don’t want to get in bad with the leaders there.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take it out. And I won’t listen to it in the meantime.”

“I know you won’t. You’re a good boy, Steven. You always have been. But then …” Dad’s voice became gruff. His hand on Steven’s shoulder tightened. “You aren’t a boy anymore. You’re a man. A good man. I’m proud of you.”

Dad’s words should warm him. Instead, tentacles of panic wrapped around him and squeezed until he could hardly draw a breath.

Dad stepped back. “You go now. There’s no telephone at the farm, but you can use the one at the gas station and call when you get to Arborville so we know you made it safe and sound.”

“Will do.”

Dad closed the door with a solid slam. Steven started the engine, nodding at the steady rev at the first twist of the key. Yes, this was a good truck. Dad had chosen well. He reversed in a U that put the nose of the vehicle toward the road, popped the gear to Drive, and prepared to pull forward. But he glanced out of the corner of his eye and caught sight of Dad standing at the base of the porch, hands once again in his pockets, gazing after him. Mom stood framed behind the screen door. She held a wad of cloth—a handkerchief—to her mouth. Even though he couldn’t see her clearly enough to prove it, he knew she was crying. For several seconds he froze, battling the urge to put the truck in Park, leap out, go tell them he didn’t want to go to Arborville and farm his grandfather’s land.

“You’re a good boy, Steven. You always have been.”

Telling them what he really wanted wouldn’t help anything. They expected him to be a farmer, like his father and grandfathers and great-grandfathers before him. A good boy wouldn’t go against his parents’ wishes. He had to go to Arborville. Anything less would break their hearts.

Arborville

By limiting himself to half an hour with Anna—Grace—much shorter than either of them would have preferred—and driving straight through, Steven reached Arborville by noon. He pulled into the convenience store on the highway just outside of town, refueled his truck, and called home. Mom sounded much more cheerful than she’d been earlier, apparently having spent the morning adjusting to her son’s absence. He hung up the phone feeling frustrated rather than relieved, and he gave himself a mental kick. Did he want his mother to be miserable? Of course not. Or he wouldn’t be here.

To his surprise, when he pulled into the driveway of his grandfather’s
farm, he spotted two trucks parked near the barn. The door panel on one showed Southwest Kansas Electrical, and the second one had a magnetic sign that advertised Aldrich Construction and Remodeling. Who’d brought them out already? Not that he would complain about having electricity.

He shut off his truck and hopped out just as a pair of men—one in gray coveralls and the other in work dungarees and a flannel shirt—rounded the corner of the house. Obviously the one in coveralls worked for the electric company, so the man in the flannel must be the carpenter. Steven waved a greeting.

Both men lifted their hands in reply, and the electric company worker moved directly to his truck and rummaged around in a compartment in the back. The carpenter crossed the dry grass to Steven and stuck out his hand. “Steven Brungardt?”

“That’s right.” Steven gave the man a firm handshake.

“I’m Paul Aldrich.”

“I figured as much. It’s good to meet you.” Steven glanced toward the electric company truck. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

Mr. Aldrich smiled. “We’d hoped to be done before you got here. Your father wanted to surprise you.”

Steven watched the worker in coveralls head behind the house again with a coil of wire and a pair of pliers in his hands. Dad had been tossing lots of surprises at Steven lately. He offered a tight smile. “Electricity is welcome.”

“Well, he hasn’t got you connected yet.” Mr. Aldrich made a face. “The old knob-and-tube wiring is giving him some trouble.”

If he had to, he’d have the house rewired. If not for Anna—Grace, for the new owners. The house would be more desirable to potential buyers if it had electricity. How much time would that take? Steven pushed back his worry and formed a glib reply. “I came prepared with oil lamps just in case, so if it doesn’t work, I’ll survive.”

“Good attitude.” Mr. Aldrich aimed a firm clap on Steven’s back. “You’ll
be warm, at least, if that cold front they’re predicting comes through. There’s a cord of seasoned wood on the back porch, and I made sure the wood-burning stove is in working condition.”

“Thanks.” Steven strode to the back of his truck and lowered the tailgate.

The carpenter followed him. “Are you unloading now?”

Steven grabbed the closest box. “Yep.”

“How about waiting a bit?”

He paused with a box in his arms. “Why?”

“We can stay out of the electrician’s way—”

We?

“And besides, it’s lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

Steven’s stomach growled.

Mr. Aldrich laughed. He took the box from Steven and placed it on the tailgate. “I’ll give you a hand with this when the electrician has finished. Come with me. Your folks arranged another surprise.”

Curious, Steven followed the man toward his vehicle.

“I think this is probably more your mother’s doing than your father’s.” Mr. Aldrich spoke amiably as they walked, their feet crunching on the hard ground. There must not have been rain here in quite a while. Would the cold front the man mentioned bring moisture? They reached the back of the truck, and Mr. Aldrich pulled a large cooler from the bed onto the tailgate, then opened the lid. “Here you go. There’s enough food in here to last several days, but you’ll need to keep replacing the ice packs to keep it all cold if we can’t get a refrigerator up and running for you.”

Steven peeked inside and then drew back in surprise. Dozens of square packages, each wrapped in aluminum foil, formed neat stacks on each side of the cooler. Baggies of raw vegetables and muffins, assorted fruit, and candy bars filled the center section. He shook his head in wonder. “Who made all this?” He looked at Mr. Aldrich, who grinned from ear to ear. “You?”

The man laughed. “You wouldn’t want my cooking. Just ask my son! No,
Alexa Zimmerman—from Grace Notes Bed-and-Breakfast Inn—put this together for you. Those sandwiches are on her homemade bread, and she also baked the muffins. You can eat without fear of being poisoned. Alexa is a very good cook.”

Steven already knew this. His mother had made Alexa’s breakfast-casserole recipe two times already at Dad’s request. His mouth watered as he stared into the cooler. Each of the aluminum squares had writing on them, and he chose one marked
Chicken Salad with Swiss
. He held his hand toward the cooler. “Help yourself. As you said, there’s plenty.”

The man reached in eagerly. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He selected a roast beef and cheddar. They perched on the tailgate, each prayed silently, and then peeled back the foil and took big bites.

“Mmm,” Mr. Aldrich murmured.

Steven nodded in agreement. He finished the sandwich in half a dozen bites, then helped himself to an apple-cinnamon muffin. The muffin was moist and flavorful, but even so he was thirsty when he finished. “The electricity isn’t working. What about water?”

“Everything out here is connected to a well, but I wouldn’t drink from it until you replace the old copper plumbing with PVC pipe and get the water tested for parasites.”

Steven grimaced.

“I put a case of bottled water in the kitchen so you’ll have drinking water. And you can, er, use the outhouse until the plumbing is all functional again.”

He had his work cut out for him. But he’d do it. He wouldn’t give his parents any reason to think he wasn’t completely on board with making this farm the best it could be. He’d be the good, responsible, obedient son. And the whole time he was fixing this place up, he’d be hoping Anna—Grace would decide she wanted to live somewhere other than Arborville. Then he could still be the good son, and also be the good husband. And maybe, someday, even a very good teacher.
Open the doors, God, please?

“Aldrich?” The electrical worker called from the corner of the house.

Mr. Aldrich hopped down from the tailgate. “Let’s go see if you’re connected.”

Steven followed the carpenter to the splash of shade where the worker waited.

“This is Steven Brungardt,” Mr. Aldrich said. “He’s the owner.”

The worker swiped his dirty hand along his coverall leg, then extended it to Steven. “I have to tell you, this wasn’t the easiest job I’ve ever had. But you’re hooked up to the transformer. It’ll probably be tomorrow afternoon or so before the company gets the power turned on out here, though.”

Steven shrugged. “Tomorrow is soon enough to satisfy me.”

“They’ll probably want me to change out the meter. Since there hasn’t been power out here for a good twenty years, that thing is way out of date.” The man scratched his head, making his sweaty hair stick up. “And speaking of out-of-date … Some of the wiring in the house needs replacing—I wouldn’t put that off. The last thing you want is a fire.”

Steven started to reply, but Mr. Aldrich jumped in. “I’ll be doing the carpentry work out here. I’ll make sure a certified electrician comes in and looks everything over.”

“Good idea.” The worker hitched his tool belt a little higher on his waist and took a backward step. “I tacked a business card to the back doorjamb in case you have questions—the phone number’s on there, and my name is Ronnie. You can ask to have me come back out.”

“All right. Thanks, Ronnie.” Mr. Aldrich spoke over Steven again.

Steven aimed a short, disgruntled look at the man. This was
his
house. He blared, “Yes, thank you, Ronnie. I appreciate your work.”

Ronnie grinned, saluted, then turned and trotted off, his tools clanking.

Mr. Aldrich turned to Steven. “Now that he’s done, let’s get you unloaded, huh?”

Steven stepped into the other man’s pathway. “I can do it.”

A puzzled frown formed on Mr. Aldrich’s face. “I don’t mind helping. In fact, if you could wait a few minutes, I can round up another pair of hands. It’ll go a lot faster with three of us.”

His parents would say he should be grateful, and they’d be right, but instead only resentment welled in his chest. The offers of help felt too much like intrusion. “Really, I can—”

“The man I’m talking about is Briley Forrester. He’s a reporter staying at the B and B, so he’s close by. And he asked about taking some ‘before’ pictures of your barn.”

Steven frowned. “ ‘Before’ what?”

“Before the barn raising.” Mr. Aldrich chuckled. “Well, it’s more of a barn repairing, I suppose. It’s arranged for this Saturday.”

He gawked at the man. “Already? But … but I haven’t even attended a service with the local fellowship yet. Why would they do that?”

Mr. Aldrich drew back slightly, his expression turning from cheerful to puzzled. “Why wouldn’t we? Your grandfather was an active member of the local fellowship. He even served as a deacon for many years. The people here are all happy to know that one of Ben Meiers’s grandsons will be living on the place.” He put his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “We want you and your new wife to feel at home here.”

The man smiled and stepped aside. “Hold up for a few minutes and let me drive to the B and B and get Briley Forrester. Then I intend to spend the afternoon making a big mess in your kitchen.” A wobbly grin lifted his lips. “Surprise number three—I cleared my calendar so I can focus on getting your house ready to welcome your bride.” He backpedaled in the direction of his truck. “I’ll be right back.”