When Grace Sings (29 page)

Alexa carried in a tray with a pitcher of tea and four ice-filled glasses. “Okay. Everything’s here now. We can eat.”

Steven held a chair for Anna—Grace, and she slid onto the seat. She looked up to thank him, and he surprised her by leaning down and placing a kiss on her temple. The thank-you got caught by a lump in her throat. She wished she
could respond in kind, offering her lips, but not with an audience. And not until they’d exchanged vows.

While they ate, Aunt Abigail asked Steven several questions about the progress of the house. Even though Anna—Grace had pried similar information from him on the drive over, she still listened closely. As Steven spoke, she formed a picture in her head of the house and tried to imagine herself living there. The images were too fuzzy to take shape, her arrival in Arborville still too new. Maybe when she saw it in person it would be easier to envision herself making the old farmhouse and this little town her home.

Steven pushed his bowl aside and rose. “That was very good, Alexa. Thank you.”

Alexa hadn’t said two words the entire lunchtime, and she didn’t answer Steven now, but she did offer a weak smile.

He gave one of Anna—Grace’s white ribbons a light tug. “I’m heading to the house to work for the afternoon. Do you want to come with me, or would you rather stay here?”

Eagerness to see the house rolled through her, and she started to state her preference.

Aunt Abigail said, “Let her stay today. She can go over with you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

Anna—Grace swallowed her desire and sank back onto the seat.

Aunt Abigail went on, seemingly oblivious to Anna—Grace’s disappointment. “I assume you’ll join us for breakfast in the morning, Steven?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. For as long as you’re willing to put up with my presence, I’ll keep coming back. And, Alexa, if you’d plan on putting together a sack lunch every day, I’ll pay you at the end of the week for both meals.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

Aunt Abigail frowned. “We won’t charge you for
breakfast
. We invited you to join us.”

Anna—Grace thought Alexa made a sour face at Aunt Abigail’s proclamation, but it disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be sure. Alexa said,
“Grandmother’s right. Don’t worry about breakfast. You’re welcome to eat here with us and … Anna—Grace … until your kitchen is operable.”

Steven grinned. “I won’t argue. I might even ask Mr. Aldrich to delay finishing the kitchen just so I can keep coming over here. You always fix something good, Alexa.”

A pang of jealousy stabbed through Anna—Grace. She caught Steven’s hand. “As soon as your kitchen is done, I’ll come over and cook for you. No sense in troubling Alexa.”

Alexa bounced up and began collecting their empty bowls. “It’s really no trouble. I have to cook for Bri—for Mr. Forrester, Grandmother, and me anyway. What’s another two people around the table? But I understand if you’d like to cook for Steven, Anna—Grace, so the house will begin to feel like your home.”

Steven stepped away from the table. “You decide what you want to do. For now, I’m leaving you here to visit with your aunt and get better acquainted with your cousin.” He waved, his gaze bouncing across Alexa and Aunt Abigail before returning to Anna—Grace. A soft smile that seemed to hold a hint of sadness curved his lips. “I’ll come see you this evening?”

Anna—Grace turned to her great-aunt. “Is that all right with you, Aunt Abigail?”

“Fine as spiderwebbing.”

Steven laughed. “All right then. After supper, Anna—Grace …”

She waited until the front door closed behind him before rising and reaching for the scattered silverware. “Let me help you, Alexa.”

“No need. It’s my job.”

“But I don’t mind helping.”

“You’re a
guest
, Anna—Grace.”

Anna—Grace scooped up the spoons and held them tight in her fist. “Please? I’d rather be treated like a member of the family than like a guest.” Her heart caught at her statement. She wanted to be a family member both in name and blood. Maybe if she focused on her adoptive family, she’d think less about the
unknown blood relations who lived somewhere outside of these farmhouse walls.

Aunt Abigail chuckled. “Well, it appears both of you are in possession of the Zimmerman stubbornness. I’ll let you two battle it out.” She wheeled her chair into the living room.

Anna—Grace looked at Alexa.

Alexa looked back. Finally she heaved a sigh. “All right. If you want to help, I won’t argue.”

Anna—Grace smiled. “Good.” She placed the spoons in one of the glasses and followed Alexa into the kitchen. “While we’re cleaning up, we can do what Steven said—get better acquainted.”

Alexa’s long denim skirt and royal-blue sweater told Anna—Grace the girl hadn’t joined the Old Order church. Which meant she was free to pursue relationships with men outside of the Mennonite faith. The way she and Briley Forrester had joked with each other made Anna—Grace wonder if a romance might be blooming between the two. As soon as she felt comfortable with this cousin, she would ask.

Steven

Steven entered the house through the back door, and an intense chemical smell nearly sent him running for cover. Ick! Pinching his nose, he made himself move through the small mudroom and into the kitchen. Sawhorses filled the middle of the floor, with cabinet doors laid flat on the wooden frames. Paul Aldrich stood amid the sea of doors, a can balanced on one hand and a small brush in the other.

He looked over when Steven entered and broke into a wide smile. “Hey. You’re back.”

How could he look so happy when the odor was strong enough to send an elephant to its knees? “Uh-huh.” His voice came out nasally. He released his nose, then grimaced. “Is it okay if I open the window?” If he didn’t clear some of the smell, he wouldn’t be able to work in here today. Already a headache began to form in the center of his forehead.

“I opened one in the front room.”

A cross breeze would take more of the smell out. “What about this one?” Steven pointed to the square window above the sink.

“That window looks north.” Mr. Aldrich slid the brush along a cabinet door from top to bottom in one smooth sweep. “The way the wind’s blowing, it’ll bring dust into the house. Don’t want anything to mar the surface of these doors.”

Steven put his hand over his mouth and nose and moved closer. He didn’t like the smell in the room, but he had to admit the doors looked great. Mr. Aldrich had suggested a honey-oak stain, not too dark but not too light. Steven had little experience in choosing stains, so he’d told the carpenter to use his own discretion. The cabinets were only inexpensive pine, unfinished, ready-mades, but thanks to the carpenter’s careful sanding and added embellishments, they looked better than Steven would have imagined.

He watched the older man draw another line of varnish, the path as smooth and shiny as ice on a pond. “You were right. That stain is perfect.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Aldrich went on working as he spoke. “I mix it myself. When you’re working with pine, it can be a little tricky not to go too dark. It’s a softer wood, so it absorbs faster than oak. But if you get the color right, it can look just as pretty as oak or cherry for a lot less expense.” He paused and shot a scowl in Steven’s direction. “What are you planning to do today?”

Steven backed away several feet. The stink followed. “Finish sanding the walls in the second bedroom. The Spackle ought to be dry enough since it sat all weekend. Now that Anna—Grace is here, she can pick out paint colors. I hope to start painting tomorrow.”

Mr. Aldrich’s hand paused for a moment, and his forehead pinched into sharp lines. Not lines of thought, but the way a person grimaced from pain. “She’s staying at the B and B, is that right?”

Steven nodded. “Yes.”

The man lifted his face toward the east—the direction of the Zimmerman farmhouse—as if searching for something. Then he turned with a jerk of his neck to the cabinet door and dipped his brush. “Could I talk you into holding off?” His hand trembled slightly, and the line of wet varnish formed a squiggle.

“Why?”

“No matter how hard you try to block it, the fine dust from the Spackle finds its way out of the room. These cabinet doors need to be completely dry before you do any sanding.”

Steven stifled a huff of displeasure. The sooner he got the place finished, the sooner it could go on the market. If Anna—Grace agreed.
Let her agree
 … “How long?”

“I’d give it a good twenty-four hours at least.”

So tomorrow afternoon … “Is there anything I can work on in here today then?”

Mr. Aldrich paused, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “You really need to finish the sanding and get all the dust cleaned out of the house before you start painting or putting the tile in the bathroom or just about anything else. That dust wreaks havoc on nearly every project.”

“I guess I’ll work outside today then.” With Briley’s help, he’d cleared the overgrown brush from around the foundations of the house and barn and cut down several sapling trees that had sprung up in odd places around the yard, but the garden area still needed clearing. Weeds had overgrown the spot. Working outside would take him away from the pungent stink that was making his head throb. He inched toward the mudroom, careful not to bump any of the wet cabinet doors.

When he reached the mudroom doorway, Mr. Aldrich spoke. “Will Anna—Grace only choose the colors, or will she help you paint the rooms?”

They hadn’t discussed her involvement beyond selecting shades for the walls, but if he knew Anna—Grace—and he knew her pretty well—she’d want to wield a brush. “She’ll be helping.”

The man nodded slowly. “Okay. Remember, don’t plan on painting until you’ve got all the dust cleared out. That’ll take a couple of days for sure—it tends to settle over time, so you’ll need to clean, leave, then clean again.” He paused, swallowed, then went on almost as if he’d forgotten Steven was listening. “So Thursday. She’ll be here working on Thursday.” His hand visibly quivered as he dipped the brush into the can.

Had inhaling the varnish fumes made him wobbly? “Are you all right?”

“What? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” Mr. Aldrich coughed out a short laugh. “Just thinking about what I’ll be doing in here on Thursday. Probably putting in the
tile backsplash.” He frowned. “Are you planning to stay in Arborville on the weekends, or will you go back to Sommerfeld?”

“I only went back this past weekend to get Anna—Grace. We both plan to stay here now until the house is finished.”

“So you’ll work … on Saturday?”

He wanted this project done. “Probably.”

“And Anna—Grace, too?”

“I’d say yes.”

Another frown. “Do you mind if I bring my son along with me on Saturday? Would he be … underfoot?”

The boy had joined his dad on previous Saturdays. Steven liked Danny—a polite boy who asked lots of questions and then listened intently to the answers. He’d enjoyed chatting with the youngster. “It’s fine with me.”

“And it wouldn’t bother Anna—Grace to have him here?” He drew the question out, as if it were difficult to form the words.

Steven shrugged, puzzled by the man’s odd behavior. “Why would it?”

“Just making sure.” Now Mr. Aldrich spoke briskly. He turned his attention to the cabinet door and scraped the brush on the edge of the can. “I’d better get busy on these things. I want to varnish the cabinets for the bathroom, too, before I leave today, even though it’ll be a while before we can put them into place in there.”

Steven took that as a hint to get out of the way. He left the house and headed for the barn, where he stored his tools. He lifted the rake from its hook and propped it on his shoulder, but then he stood still and replayed Paul Aldrich’s reaction to the news that Anna—Grace would work at the house. He hadn’t seemed pleased. And he acted hesitant to have his son around her.

Steven frowned, remembering Alexa Zimmerman’s less-than-enthusiastic welcome that morning even though Mrs. Zimmerman appeared happy to have Anna—Grace with them. How would others in the community respond to her presence? Would they accept her as readily as they’d accepted him, or would they hold themselves aloof?

He set off for the garden, his thoughts seesawing with each clomp of his foot against the hard ground.
Accept
her,
reject
her,
accept
her,
reject
her … As his left boot reached the edge of the garden plot, his mind reverberated with
reject
her. An unexpected twinge of protectiveness pinched his chest. Rejection would hurt her, and he didn’t want her hurt. Yet if people shied away from her, she’d be more likely to want to live elsewhere, more likely to approve his desire to do something other than farm for a living.

He hung his head.
I know I’m cowardly, Lord, not telling my parents I don’t want to be a farmer, but how can I tell them without disappointing them? It’s got to be Anna—Grace who decides she can’t live here. Dad and Mom will understand if it’s too hard for her
. He lifted the rake high and then drove the forked tines into the tangle of weeds. He gave a mighty yank, tearing the weeds from the soil. He shook the dried stems loose, then aimed another blow. His jaw clamped tight, his muscles straining, he finished his prayer.
But don’t let her be hurt too badly, please? It isn’t fair that no matter what I do, somebody I love has to suffer
.