When Grace Sings (47 page)

A
whirr
sounded, and Alexa gasped. She bounced her awed gaze from the recorder to Briley’s face. “Did you …”

Slipping the recorder back into the pocket, he gave a slow nod. “It’s gone. I also deleted the files from my computer. I decided I didn’t need to tear you down in order to build myself up.” A tender smile grew on his lips. Peace, joy, and contentment glowed in his dark eyes. “It’s enough just to be the Father’s child.”

“Oh, Briley …” She clapped her hands to her cheeks and stared at him
through a mist of happy tears. She would have stood there, silently celebrating forever, if he hadn’t leaned sideways and aimed a grimace at something behind her.

“Um, Alexa? Whatever you put in the oven, I think it’s burning.”

She whirled around. A thin line of smoke snaked out from the oven door. “My quiche crust!” She yanked the door open and used her apron to pull out the pan holding a blackened facsimile of a pie crust. She dropped the pan on the counter, and chunks of charred pie crust bounced over the edge. She stomped her foot and turned to launch a complaint, but Briley’s impish grin stilled her words.

He held his hands outward. “Hmm, can you say, ‘well done’?”

She burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself. What did it matter that the crust was burned when she stood next to a newborn child of God? Chortling, she nodded and gave his arm a light whack. “Yes, Briley, I can say ‘well done.’ I would even say
very
well done.”

Anna—Grace

Anna—Grace put down her pen and reached to rub the back of her neck. Knots of tension met her fingers, and she held her head low and kneaded for several minutes until the tightly bound muscles relaxed. When she lifted her head again, her gaze fell on the letters she’d spent the past hours hunched over the desk writing.

One for Mom and Dad, one for Steven.

Putting her thoughts down on paper had always helped her sort things through. She didn’t know yet if she’d actually mail the letters. As Briley had advised, she intended to sleep on it. But she was sure by morning, after prayer and a night of rest, she’d know the right thing to do.

She picked up the letter for Steven, leaned back in the chair, and read what she’d penned.

She set the letter aside and closed her eyes, trying to imagine Steven’s response to it. She prayed he would take it well, would understand, and would want to work toward a reconciliation. But if he didn’t, she would trust God had something else in store for her.

Her parents’ letter was much shorter, essentially a request for them to bring her home at their earliest convenience. If she ended up mailing it, she would explain everything in person on the drive home. She’d know by morning whether she would stay or go.

Guide my heart, God. Please guide my heart
.

Steven

Steven had always believed he would feel better once he let his secret out, but he didn’t feel better. He wanted to be proud of himself for finally telling Anna—Grace the truth, but deep down he knew he’d gone about it all wrong. Her stunned look of betrayal played in his memory as he crossed the parking lot to the convenience store’s pay phone and punched in his folks’ phone number. He’d do better with his parents. But when his dad answered the telephone, and Steven blurted, “Dad, there’s something I need you to know,” then proceeded to share his long-held desire, Dad didn’t say a word in response. Instead, Mom’s voice came through the line, wary and worried.

“Son? Your dad just handed me the phone and went outside. What’s going on?”

Steven leaned against the rough brick wall and told his mother the same thing he’d told Dad. “I should’ve said something before now, but I didn’t want you to think I was like Kevin—selfish and disobedient.”

Mom was silent for several seconds, and when she spoke, her words sounded tight. “Do you really think so little of us, Steven? God Himself put a call on your heart. You think we’d hold you back from following it?”

He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, too, that you didn’t think you could trust us.” A heavy sigh laden with regret carried through the line. “Son, I need to go talk to your father.”

“He’s probably really mad, huh?”

Mom released a short huff of humorless laughter. “No, if he was mad, he’d be spouting.”

That was true. Dad was never short of words when he was angry. But when he was hurt? That’s when he clammed up. Steven swallowed a knot of agony. “Please tell him I’m sorry I disappointed him. I’ll call again tomorrow, okay?”

Back at the house he dressed for bed and flopped onto the mattress. All night he wrestled with God, alternately sleeping and praying. He awakened early Sunday and made use of his brand-new tub. But not even a steady flow of hot water over his aching muscles erased the heavy cloak of regret that had fallen over him when Anna—Grace drove off with Briley yesterday. He’d messed things up. He’d messed things up badly. But how to fix it?

He turned the squeaky spigots, dried off while steam formed a murky cloud around him, and then dressed for service even though the last thing he felt like doing was worshiping. But sometimes the thing a man least wanted to do was the best thing for him. So he plopped his hat over his freshly washed hair, climbed into his pickup, and made the drive to town.

Other vehicles, including Abigail Zimmerman’s, were already in the lot. His chest pinched at the sight of the Zimmerman sedan. Had Anna—Grace come, or had she stayed out at the farm to hide? He hoped she’d come. Even if she was still angry, even if she turned up her nose and ignored him, he still wanted to see her.

I love her, God
. He sent up the brief proclamation as he crossed the yard to the men’s door. He knew God believed him. Now if he could only convince Anna—Grace he meant it.

He sat on the back bench next to Briley, who surprised him with his presence. He sang the hymns, recited the scriptures, knelt to pray, and sat attentively during the sermon, but afterward he couldn’t recall what he’d sung, said, or heard. The entire time his thoughts were on Anna—Grace, who sat in the back with her great aunt. Would she speak to him when the service was over?

Afterward he waited in the yard close to the women’s door for her. When she stepped out, her eyes met his—almost as if his gaze had lassoed her. And even though she hesitated for a moment, she walked toward him instead of away. She looked so sweet with her cap in place, her coat buttoned to the throat, and her hands locked behind her. Love swelled up, and he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m sorry.”

A sad smile curved her lips. “Me, too.”

Hope roared through him. Fellowship members milled on the lawn, close enough to overhear if they wanted to, but he had to ask. “Then you aren’t mad at me anymore?”

A tiny sigh escaped her. “I’m not sure I was ever mad, Steven. I was hurt and confused.” She squinted against a sunbeam that broke through the clouds. “I still am.”

He ducked his head. “I understand. You have reason to be hurt and confused.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote you a letter. Before I give it to you, I need to ask what you’ve decided to do. Are you going to teach at the school here?”

“I want to.” The desire writhed within him. All night he’d begged God to drive the want from him if he wasn’t meant to pursue it, but it was still there. “I don’t know if they’ll let me, but I’m going to talk to Clete about it again tomorrow. Tell him straight out that I want to teach.”

She gazed into his face for several seconds, her expression unreadable. Then she gave a little nod and pushed the paper at him. “Read this when you get to your house. If you want to talk to me about it, I’m sure Aunt Abigail won’t mind you coming to the house this evening.”

He gripped the paper, curiosity burning.

She started to move away, and then she turned back with a winsome look on her heart-shaped face. “And, Steven? Whatever happens, even if it’s hard, I believe it will be what’s best. For both of us.”

He watched her walk beneath the slanting rays of the sun to the Zimmerman’s vehicle. She climbed in, turned her face to the glass, and she kept her sweet smile aimed at him until Alexa turned a corner that carried her from sight.

Briley

When lunch, which took place at Clete and Tanya’s, was over, Briley hugged Alexa, Anna—Grace, and Mrs. Z, shook hands with the men, and thanked Tanya, Sandra, and Shelley for their hospitality during his stay in Arborville. Then he folded himself behind the wheel of his sports car, gave a wave that was returned by more than a dozen enthusiastic hands, and took off up the road.

It was Sunday, but Len would be at his workplace. The man practically lived in his cubby at the
Real Scoop’s
suite of offices. Len really needed a life outside of the tabloid, and when Briley returned to Chicago he’d sit down and tell his boss how to find it. In the meantime he pulled out his cell phone and pushed the button for Len’s number. Within seconds Len’s gruff “hello” sounded in Briley’s Bluetooth.

“Len, it’s Briley. I’m on my way.”

“Good! Good! I’ve saved half of the front page of next Saturday’s edition for your story.”

Briley sent up a silent prayer, double-fisted the steering wheel, and took the plunge. “About the story … I wanna kill it.”