When Grace Sings Read online

  Aldrich stood for a moment with both poles in his hands, looking uncertain. But then he shrugged, offered a grin, and followed his son. Danny clambered into the backseat, which was little more than a narrow bench. But he didn’t seem to mind. He plopped in the middle, rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned over the console, his smile broad. It tickled Briley to please the kid so much.

  Aldrich had some trouble juggling the poles and the door, but he managed to settle himself in the seat and extend his arm out the window with the poles held away from the car. Briley would be sure to drive slowly so those poles wouldn’t bounce against the sides of his Camaro. He doubted there was anyone in Arborville who’d know how to buff out scratches.

  Briley flicked a grin at Danny as he shifted into first gear. “All right, navigator, tell me where to go.”

  Sommerfeld

  Anna—Grace

  Anna—Grace loved the time of fellowship after worship on Sunday, but she also liked the time when the dishes were done, the guests had departed, and she could savor a few precious hours with Steven. The rest of the week their time together was either with a group of friends or taken in such short snatches it left her dissatisfied. Her parents still sat across the room, actively participating in the conversation, but she wouldn’t complain. Sitting beside Steven, holding his hand, not having to share him with a dozen others was enough to make her happy.

  After their company left, Mom had sent Sunny to look at picture books in her bed. In the quiet that followed, it seemed the house relaxed beneath a blanket of calm. Then Dad, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity, opened a floodgate of questions concerning Steven’s plans for the future.

  Steven answered all of them, his tone respectful. When Mom requested a description of the property in Arborville, Steven provided an overview of the acreage and all it contained. “The buildings, including the house, are pretty run-down and will take some work. But it’s a good piece of land.” He offered a slight shrug as he finished his explanation and shifted his gaze from Mom and Dad to Anna—Grace. “I should be able to make a decent living, and we should be … happy there.”

  Anna—Grace had a hard time remaining on the sofa. Listening to Steven tell about what would be their land, house, and outbuildings—even though, in his typical understated manner, his descriptions were short on details—built a nearly uncontrollable eagerness to see it for herself. She gave his hand a squeeze in lieu of jumping up and whirling in excitement.

  Dad leaned forward slightly, his brow puckered into a mild scowl. “So it’s settled then? You’re going to take over the farm and make your home in Arborville?”

  Steven’s fingers twitched. “That’s right.” He drew in a breath and squared his shoulders. “I’ll probably move by the end of the month.”

  Anna—Grace dropped her jaw. “So soon?”

  He grimaced. “As I said, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

  The thought of Steven moving away, of not seeing him every week, was a knife in her heart. She missed him already and he hadn’t even left. “Why can’t we work on it together?”

  “My dad says I need to have it finished before I take you to live there. Dad talked to the carpenter who did the work on your great-aunt’s house, and—”

  “Paul Aldrich?” Mother’s query blasted out on a shrill note of panic.

  Anna—Grace looked up in surprise.

  Steven nodded. “That’s right.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a grim look, and Mom’s face paled.

  Apprehension teased Anna—Grace, raising the fine hairs on her neck. “What’s wrong with Paul Aldrich?”

  “Nothing.” Dad sat back in his chair, as if forcing himself to relax. “He and my cousin Suzy were good friends when they were growing up. We even thought they might choose to marry. But they didn’t.”

  Steven went on, speaking to Anna—Grace but sending occasional sidelong glances across the room to Mom and Dad. “Mr. Aldrich said he could spend early November at the house, updating the kitchen and bathroom, and he would ask the fellowship about arranging a working at the property. The men would help paint the house, reshingle the roof, and repair the barn. The other things that need doing inside—painting, wallpapering, lots of cleanup—I can handle on my own. Then the house will be ready for us when we get married.”

  Married … What wonderful notions the word inspired. The books her friends checked out from the library in McPherson often featured women with careers. Even a few women in Sommerfeld had businesses. But all Anna—Grace wanted was to manage her own household, the same way Mom had. Anna—Grace released an airy sigh. “I wish I could go with you and help, too.”

  Mom shook her head firmly. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t stay at the house.” Mom should know that she wouldn’t behave inappropriately. She’d been taught right from wrong. “But I could stay with Great-Aunt Abigail. Or maybe with one of your cousins, Dad. When we were there for Great-Aunt Abigail’s birthday, they said we were welcome anytime.” The idea grew, gaining merit. “Since Sandra has the new baby, I could be a help to her if I stayed with her and Derek.”

  Dad frowned. “Well …”

  Mom turned to Dad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Anna—Grace observed her parents, apprehension building. Both Dad and Mom had assured her they were pleased about her commitment to Steven. Why did they now seem so forbidding? She supposed they hadn’t realized he would take their daughter several hours away from them. She hadn’t realized it, either, when she accepted his proposal, and going would be hard because she loved her parents. But she also loved Steven. Why did growing up have to hurt?

  Tears stung and she sniffed. “Mom and Dad?” They looked at her, and she forced a wobbly smile. “Steven isn’t taking me to the moon. Arborville isn’t that far away. We’ll still see each other. Please don’t worry.”

  Dad stretched out his hand, and Mom reached across the little table between their chairs and took hold of it two-handed, the way someone would grab a lifeline. Dad spoke in a hoarse whisper. “It isn’t the distance, Anna—Grace. It’s …”

  Several seconds passed while Anna—Grace clung to Steven’s hand and held her breath, uncertainty making her mouth dry.

  Mom finally finished the sentence. “It’s the town itself. And who else lives there.”

  Steven gently pulled his hand from Anna—Grace’s grasp and stood. “Maybe I should go home.”

  Anna—Grace leaped up and curled her hands around his forearm. “No.”

  Her parents stood, too, and Mom took two steps toward them. Her face held a pleading unlike anything Anna—Grace had ever seen from her normally stalwart, strong mother. Whatever troubled her parents, she believed they dreaded saying it even more than she dreaded hearing it.

  “Yes, Steven, please stay.” Dad’s serious tone and the deep furrows in his forehead increased her level of tension. “You’re to be Anna—Grace’s husband, so you need to hear this, too.”

  Dad sank back into his chair, almost as if his legs couldn’t support the burden he carried. Mom crossed the floor and slipped her arm around Anna—Grace’s waist, pulling her away from Steven and gently easing her onto the sofa. She reached for Steven’s hand. He linked fingers with her and then sat down again.

  With Mom’s arm at her waist and Steven holding tightly to her hand, she sent up a prayer for God to bolster her as well. “Okay. I’m ready. What is it?”

  Steven

  Raised alongside a brother who possessed not even a fingernail’s worth of sentiment, by a kind but undemonstrative father and a mother he’d never seen shed tears for any reason, Steven was helpless against the tears flowing down Mrs. Braun’s face and the ones glistening in Anna—Grace’s eyes. If Anna—Grace hadn’t shackled him with her tight grip, he might slip out the door. Even before hearing whatever news the Brauns intended to share, he was already certain he wouldn’t like it.

  “We’ve never kept secret your adop
tion.” Mrs. Braun’s lips quavered with a sad smile. She cupped her hand over Anna—Grace’s knee. “We wanted you to know how much you were wanted. You were our answer to prayer.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  Steven knew, too. The Brauns’ adoptions were known by everyone in Sommerfeld. If they’d wanted to, though, they could have kept it secret from Anna—Grace. Unlike Sunny, whose Asian features screamed of her parentage, Anna—Grace’s blond hair and blue eyes were a near match to Olivia Braun, even though Anna—Grace was much more slender than her mother.

  Mrs. Braun went on, her voice so soft Steven had to strain to hear her. “When we adopted you through the private agency in Indiana, we were told only that you were born to an unwed teenage girl. Although we asked for more information, they said the girl’s family preferred anonymity. Each year on your birthday your dad and I have spent time in prayer for your biological parents, asking God to bless them. Well, recently …” Her chin quivered. Her hand on Anna—Grace’s knee began to tremble. She looked across the room to her husband, her expression pleading.

  Mr. Braun sat forward, folding his hands in a prayerful position. Then he placed them on the armrest of his chair. “Recently we were contacted by your mother and father.”

  Anna—Grace gasped. Without conscious thought Steven tightened his grip on her hand. She aimed a brief, grateful smile at him before turning to Mr. Braun. “First of all, you’re my father. And you’re my mother.” She pulled loose from Steven’s hand to embrace Mrs. Braun. The two women clung for several seconds before Anna—Grace released her hold and reached for Steven again. She sniffled. “I’ve always been grateful God gave me to you. I can’t imagine better parents than the ones I have.”

  Steven contributed nothing to the conversation, but he silently agreed with Anna—Grace’s assessment. Andrew Braun’s reputation in town was stellar—he’d never heard an unpleasant word spoken about the man. Olivia Braun’s popularity within their fellowship matched her husband’s. When someone had a problem, they came to Mrs. Braun for understanding, sage counsel, and a plateful of homemade cookies. Even though Anna—Grace’s origins were unknown, Steven’s parents hadn’t discouraged him from courting her because they trusted the upbringing she’d been given. He admired Anna—Grace’s tenderness, honesty, and strong faith. He couldn’t have chosen a better girl to be his wife.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Mr. Braun smiled, but it seemed a little strained. “We’ve done our best, with God’s help, and we’ve never regretted making you our daughter. In our hearts, you are ours, and you always will be.” He pulled in a slow breath, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white. “Yet we can’t deny someone else gave birth to you. And now that we know who the man and woman are, and that you will soon …”

  He hung his head and fell silent for several long seconds. Was he addressing God—requesting strength or wisdom or even courage? Steven found himself sending up a prayer for God to give Mr. Braun whatever it was he needed.

  Finally the man unlinked his hands, braced them on his knees, and pushed upright so slowly it appeared his joints needed oiling. He crossed the floor and stood in front of Anna—Grace. His face held such tenderness, Steven felt like an interloper looking on. He held both hands to his daughter, and Anna—Grace rose and reached back. “Anna—Grace, when you move to Arborville with Steven, you will be in the same community as your birth father.”

  Steven jolted, sending his spine against the corner of the sofa. “W-what?”

  Mr. Braun took Anna—Grace in his arms. “Shortly after our trip to Arborville for Aunt Abigail’s birthday party, your birth mother gave us letters written by her and your father to share with you when you were ready.”

  Anna—Grace spoke with her cheek pressed to her father’s chest. “Does she live in Arborville, too?”

  Mrs. Braun rose and wrapped her arms around the pair. “No. But her family does.”

  Steven shook his head, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. If Anna—Grace’s birth parents were from Arborville, they were Old Order—Amish or Mennonite. But either way an illegitimate birth would be cause for scandal in the small community.

  Mr. Braun cupped his hand on Anna—Grace’s mesh cap, as if afraid she would collapse. “We hadn’t planned to give the letters to you until you asked about your birth parents, but if you’re going to live in the same town with your mother’s family and your father, we think you need to know who they are.”

  An idea crashed over Steven with as much force as a brick wall. He bowed beneath its pressure and then forced himself to stand. He extended his hand toward Mr. Braun. “Wait. Before you go any further, let me ask Anna—Grace an important question.”

  Mr. Braun set his daughter aside, and she turned toward Steven. Tears formed two moist tracks down her pale face. She seemed so lost, so confused. Compassion swelled in Steven’s chest. Maybe this was God’s way of saving Anna—Grace from facing a situation she wasn’t ready to face. Maybe this was God’s way of saving him from making a mistake with his future. God, am I being selfish or selfless here? He didn’t know for sure, but he had to at least say what he was thinking.

  “Just because Dad gave me the farm doesn’t mean we have to live there. If being in the same town as your birth relatives is too hard for you, then I can sell the land. I can use the money to go—” He almost said go to school. But that would be selfish. Entirely selfish. He amended, “—to make a start somewhere other than in Arborville.” He slipped his hands around Anna—Grace’s upper arms and looked directly into her light-blue eyes. “If I do that, then you don’t have to be told the names of your birth parents right now. It’s up to you, Anna—Grace. You decide.”

  Arborville

  Briley

  “It’s up to you, of course, but you’re more than welcome to join us next time. I think you’ll discover it’s peaceful to sit on the bank and cast, catch, and release.”

  Briley had put his car in Park and left it idling when he pulled onto the Aldrich’s gravel drive, expecting the father and son to hop out and go inside right away, but instead they’d sat and chatted for at least fifteen minutes. Oddly enough, despite the fish odor that now filled the interior of the car and his basically stranger-to-stranger relationship with the pair, he enjoyed their company enough not to want to rush them out. His teasing comment about them coming home empty-handed from their fishing trip had brought an invitation from Paul Aldrich for Briley to join them the next time they went to the pond.

  With a good-natured chuckle Briley rubbed the side of his nose. “Dunno. It might be peaceful, but fishing seems to make a fellow a little stinky, if you catch my drift.”

  Both father and son laughed. Paul said, “I’m sure you’re catching our ‘drift’ right now, but it’s nothing a bath won’t cure. So do you want to go with us next Sunday afternoon?”

  “Getting kind of late in the year to fish, isn’t it?” A hint of unexpected disappointment wiggled its way through his words. When had he developed an interest in fishing? Maybe he was just interested in watching this father and son interact. The look-alikes were so at ease with each other, the boy open but respectful, the father kind yet firm in his expectations. Could they be putting on a show to impress him? Only time would provide evidence.

  Danny poked his head between the seats. “Sometimes Dad and me go to the lake in the wintertime and ice fish.”

  Ice fishing didn’t appeal to Briley at all, but he grinned at the kid. “Oh yeah? You’re some hard-core fisherman, aren’t you?” Maybe he shouldn’t have used the word hard-core. He waited for Danny’s father to berate him.

  Instead, the man winked at his son and then turned to Briley. “Fishing is the mildest of Danny’s pastimes. He’s an active boy—not one to just sit. So fishing is a good way for him to learn patience. You can’t make the fish bite. You just have to toss out the bait and let the fish decide if it’s interested enough to take it. Some good life lessons can be found on a fishing trip.”

  L
ife lessons? From fishing? They’d piqued his interest. Still, he shouldn’t show too much enthusiasm. They might have only invited him to be polite. No sense in embarrassing himself if they really didn’t want him tagging along. “Well, I might drive by the pond next Sunday. You know, to see if you’re there, see if the fish have decided to bite.”

  Danny’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Great!”

  “Sounds fine,” his father said.

  Although the man’s reply was more reserved than his son’s, Briley still read pleasure in his tone. His plan went from “maybe” to “will do” in his mind. They said their good-byes, and the pair ambled toward the garage, the boy holding both poles over his shoulder and the father walking with his hand cupped on the crown of the boy’s head. Briley put his car in Reverse, but for some reason he remained in the drive, watching them until they closed the door behind them.

  When they were out of view, he experienced a sense of loss. Completely unexplainable and more than a little unwelcome. A strange thought flitted through his brain. Lucky kid. He shook his head hard. Was he really envious of this little Mennonite kid? He forced a laugh, but it fell short of being convincing. He let his foot off the brake and backed into the street with a slight squeal of his tires. He revved the engine good before shifting into Drive and taking off with a burst of speed that made the back end of his car fishtail a bit.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the elderly couple he’d photographed earlier, still sitting together on a porch swing. The woman’s round face, previously friendly, now pursed into a disapproving frown, the same disappointed expression he used to put on Aunt Myrt’s face. Instantly her voice rang in his memory. “Briley Ray, think before you act. Try to live without regrets. You’ll be happier.”

  His foot moved from the gas pedal to the brake and brought his car to a crawl. He bobbed a nod at the couple, noted their stiff shoulders relaxing and the woman’s frown melting, and he blew out a breath of relief. Then he followed it with a bigger huff of frustration. At himself. For the recklessness that rose without warning. For the ridiculous feelings that had prefaced the burst of recklessness. Even for caring about what these small-town people thought of him.