When Grace Sings (27 page)

She paused and touched the carved acorn drawer pulls, shiny from
yesterday’s polishing, then slid her finger along the dresser top. Not a speck of dust anywhere. Not even under the edges of the doily providing an anchor for an antique pitcher and bowl filled with artificial flowers. The other items on the dresser were practical rather than pretty—a box of tissues, a small bowl holding a few individually wrapped peppermints, and a pad of notepaper and a pen imprinted with the name of the B and B. She set the pad so its top edge was parallel with the dresser’s edge, then angled the pen on it, just so, with
Grace Notes B-&-B
showing.

After one more trek around the room, during which she examined the floral area rug and exposed strips of stained yellow pine for an errant dust bunny, she sat in the reproduction French Provincial chair in the corner and stared at the framed sampler hanging on the mint-and-white-striped opposite wall. Linking her hands together, she rested them in her lap and tried to imagine how it would feel when Anna—Grace stepped through the front door tomorrow.

She’d met the girl several months ago when the family gathered for Grandmother’s sixtieth birthday. They’d had little time to talk, but during those brief exchanges she found her pleasant and unpretentious—the kind of person who could be friends with anyone. But at that first meeting she’d thought Anna—Grace was only her grandmother’s great-niece. Now that she knew the truth—that Anna—Grace was really Mom’s biological daughter adopted by Grandmother’s nephew and his barren wife—everything was different.

Whispering in case her voice might carry out the door, down the stairs, and through the house to Grandmother’s ears, she read the words stitched in a flowing calligraphy on the sampler. “ ‘Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldest take knowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?’ ” A knot formed in her throat, and she blinked against the threat of tears.

When she’d searched for verses including the word
grace
to feature in each of the rooms, she’d chosen this one in the hopes she could emulate Boaz’s kindness to Ruth, providing guests with whatever was needed to meet their needs for the time of their stay, and in so doing give them a glimpse of God’s care for
His children. But now the words from the Bible seemed to mock her. Anna—Grace wasn’t the baby abandoned and taken in by one of the Zimmerman offspring. Anna—Grace wasn’t the imposter in the family. She truly belonged here, unlike Alexa, whose birthright set her apart.

She groaned, bending forward in the chair and burying her face in her hands. She had to be gracious. She’d promised Grandmother and Sandra that hosting Anna—Grace wouldn’t be a problem. Anna—Grace was coming tomorrow—she couldn’t change the plans now. She
had
to be gracious to this girl whose blood tied her to the family Alexa wanted to claim for her very own. The only way she could separate herself from Anna—Grace now was if she received calls to fill all three rooms. Then she’d have a reason to ask Sandra to host the girl instead.

Straightening, she looked toward the ceiling—toward heaven, where the only Father she knew resided. “I don’t think I can do this, God. Begrudgingly maybe, but not graciously. So make the telephone ring. Send some guests to Arborville. Fill these rooms. Please?”

But the telephone didn’t ring. Not that afternoon. Not that evening. And not the next morning, no matter how many times Alexa repeated the prayer. So at eleven thirty, when Steven Brungardt’s pickup pulled into the lane, Alexa gritted her teeth, pasted on a smile she hoped would fool both Grandmother and the arriving guests, and stepped out on the porch to welcome the girl who rightfully belonged in this place.

Anna—Grace

The tummy-trembles that started when she and Steven pulled out of her parents’ driveway became a full-fledged uproar when Steven drew the truck up to the patch of gravel next to the Zimmerman farmhouse porch. Great-Aunt Abigail’s granddaughter stood at the top of the steps with her arms crossed over her chest. She was probably just chilled, but her pose looked forbidding. Without conscious thought Anna—Grace reached across the seat and took a gentle hold on Steven’s elbow.

He shifted into Park, then turned a puzzled look on her. “What’s wrong?”

She pulled in a ragged breath. “I’m … scared.”

Steven placed his hand over hers. “If you don’t want to go in there, we can always turn around right now and go back to Sommerfeld. You don’t have to stay.”

His words stirred unexpected anger. Couldn’t he encourage her rather than tell her it was all right to give up? “Yes, I do, Steven.”

His brows pulled down. “No, Anna—Grace, you don’t. I meant it when I said if it’s too hard for you to be here, I can sell the farm and—”

“Don’t tell me that!” A touch of hysteria made her voice come out more shrilly than she intended. She gripped his elbow hard and prayed for God to calm her. When she’d gained control, she loosened her hold and spoke again.
“Please don’t tell me to quit before I’ve begun. I’ll always wonder if I made a mistake if I don’t at least try to be a part of this community.”

He gazed at her, his lips set in a firm line, for several seconds. Then he gave a short nod and reached for the door handle, dislodging her hand with the movement. “Then let’s go in.”

She threw open the door and slid out, adjusting her skirt as she did so. Cool air touched her legs and she gave an involuntary shiver. She met Steven at the front of the truck, and he offered his hand. She grabbed it, grateful for the anchor, and they walked together up the wide stairs to the porch.

“Hello. I’ve been watching for you. Did you have a good drive?” Alexa Zimmerman’s words chirped out on an unnaturally cheerful note.

Anna—Grace’s throat felt dry, so she let Steven do the talking.

“Yes. The roads were wet but not slick.”

“That’s good.”

Steven scuffed the toe of his boot back and forth on the porch boards. “Did you get rain this weekend? We got a lot of rain in Sommerfeld.”

“Some, but not a lot.”

Such a stilted conversation. Anna—Grace’s unease increased by the minute. Even though Alexa had been friendly at their previous meeting, she now acted skittish and uncertain. Anna—Grace had feared she would feel uncomfortable in the town, but she hadn’t anticipated others immediately being uncomfortable around her. Did Alexa sense her inner anxiety? If so, she needed to behave normally and put her hostess at ease.

Anna—Grace forced herself to speak. “Thank you for inviting me to stay here. The house is so pretty the way you painted it. I remember how nice the living and dining rooms were decorated when I was here for Aunt Abigail’s party. I’m sure you did just as good a job fixing up the guest rooms.” Once she started talking, she seemed to lose her ability to stop. “I’m not terribly creative when it comes to decorating, so I admire your ability to make everything look so warm and homey. I imagine I’ll get lots of ideas from you for
fixing up the house Steven inherited. That is, if you don’t mind sharing ideas.”

Alexa stared at Anna—Grace, her mouth slightly open. “Um, no. I’m glad to share ideas.”

“Oh, good. I’ll plan to pick your brain then.” Anna—Grace released Steven’s hand. “Would you get my suitcases?”

He was looking at her oddly, too, as if he’d forgotten who she was, but he nodded and headed down the steps.

Anna—Grace held her hand toward the front door. “Can we go in? I’m eager to get settled in my room, because once I get everything put away I can go to the Meiers farmstead. I can’t wait to see the house Steven’s grandparents lived in.” Acting cheery and unaffected helped her feel less uncertain, and when she smiled again it felt much less forced.

The smile Alexa offered in return also lost some of its stiffness. “Sure. Come on in.”

Anna—Grace followed Alexa over the threshold into the small vestibule. A scrolled iron rack hung on the wall just inside the door, and Alexa gestured toward it. “If you’d like, you can leave your coat here. There’s a closet in your room, but it’s more convenient to have your coat close to the exit.”

“Thank you.” Anna—Grace placed her coat on one of the hooks, then trailed Alexa into the living room. Aunt Abigail was waiting in the middle of the floor. The moment the girls entered the room, she held her arms open.

“Anna—Grace … welcome!”

Her enthusiastic greeting brought an immediate sting of tears to Anna—Grace’s eyes. She hurried across the carpet and leaned down for a hug. Aunt Abigail had hugged her when she came for the birthday party last summer, but this embrace was tighter, longer, somehow more emotional. Anna—Grace stayed in the bent-over position until the older woman loosened her hold even though the angle was far from comfortable. She straightened as the screen door opened and Steven came in with her suitcases, one in each hand and the smallest case tucked beneath his elbow.

He looked at Alexa. “Where do you want these?”

Alexa reached for one of the two larger cases. “I put Anna—Grace in the room you and your dad shared when you were here.” Her gaze flicked in Anna—Grace’s direction. “I’m using the shared bath, too, but I don’t have any guests scheduled”—did regret enter her voice or did Anna—Grace imagine it?—“so it’ll just be the two of us up there.”

Anna—Grace smiled. “That sounds fine.” She bustled forward. “Let me take that bag.”

“I can do it.” Alexa started up the stairs, raising the suitcase with her knees as she went. “But I won’t unpack for you.”

Even though Alexa still sounded a little stiff and formal, Anna—Grace decided to respond in a teasing manner. “Well, then, no tip for you.”

Neither Steven nor Alexa chuckled in reply, but Aunt Abigail laughed heartily enough for all of them. She rolled her wheelchair to the bottom of the staircase and called after them. “Alexa has a Crock-Pot of stew simmering in the kitchen. When you’re done up there, come join us for a bowl.”

Anna—Grace was fairly certain her nervous stomach would reject food, but she couldn’t deny her great-aunt’s request. “Thank you. Stew sounds very good.”

She topped the stairs on Alexa’s heels with Steven close behind and entered an octagon-shaped upstairs landing. Brief expanses of cheerful wallpaper in a tiny rosebud print alternated with closed, raised-panel doors painted glossy white. No windows looked onto the landing, but the single bulb in a small antique brass fixture hanging from the center of the rosebud-papered ceiling proved adequate when reflected by the many bright-white doors and the softer-white background of the wallpaper.

Alexa opened the first door on the right, then stepped aside and gestured for Anna—Grace to enter the room. This was it—her new, temporary home. With her linked hands pressed to her jumping stomach, she moved across the threshold, and when she got a look at the room Alexa had set aside for her, she couldn’t hold back a little gasp of delight.

She forgot about her nervousness as she touched her fingertips to the top rail of the white iron footboard of the closest bed and gazed around in pleasure. “Oh, Alexa, I think this is the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.”

Alexa set the suitcase next to a pale-pink velvet upholstered chair and turned to face Anna—Grace. “I’m glad you like it. It’s my favorite of the three guest rooms, to be honest.” She spoke softly, subdued, but pleasure glimmered in her eyes. “Each of the rooms are named for Scripture, and I call this one the Ruth 2:10.” She pointed to a stitched rendition of the verse hanging on the wall.

Anna—Grace couldn’t hold back a second gasp. She rushed toward Steven, who remained in the doorway with the suitcases dangling from his hands. “Did you hear that? Ruth 2:10.” He nodded, and she turned to Alexa, eager to share the significance of the verse. “I’m sure Aunt Abigail told you I’m adopted. My parents initially planned to name a baby girl Anna-Ruth. Anna is for my mother’s grandmother, and they chose Ruth in remembrance of the biblical woman who honored Naomi despite their lack of blood relationship. But when they held me for the first time, they decided to name me Anna—Grace instead because a woman they’d never met had been gracious to them, gifting them beyond description, just as Boaz was gracious in giving to Ruth.”

Alexa seemed to listen with interest, but she didn’t say anything.

Anna—Grace went on. “When I was much younger, I wished my parents had named me something more modern—like your name, Alexa. But once I learned the reason behind their choice, I began to love my old-fashioned name.”

Alexa blinked twice, her face unreadable. “I’m Alexa Joy, named for a nurse who took care of my mother and for the emotion Mom felt when she held me for the first time.”

“That’s beautiful.” Anna—Grace crunched her brow, thinking. “Your mother is Aunt Abigail’s oldest daughter, right?”

Alexa nodded, the motion slow and deliberate.

“Aunt Abigail is my grandmother’s sister, so my dad and your mom are first cousins. That makes us first cousins once removed, if I remember
correctly.” She sighed. “And we’re so close in age … It’s too bad we didn’t have a chance to get to know each other sooner. We probably would have had a lot of fun together, growing up.” She smiled. “I’m glad we’ll have some time now to get acquainted. And I don’t want you to treat me like a guest in your B and B. I’m just a visiting relative, okay?”