When Grace Sings (12 page)

Briley scrambled from the bed and darted for the door. At first he’d thought the scream came from the movie he’d popped into the DVD player, but when he heard the second one—shriller, louder, more panicked—he realized it was real. He slapped the push button for the porch lamp and threw open the door. In the yellow shaft of light, he spotted the black-and-white border collie wrestling someone to the ground. Obviously the dog was playing—tongue lolling, tail waving so fast it became a blur—but the person on the ground didn’t seem
to realize it. She’d rolled into a ball with her hands over her head, and little grunts of terror emerged from behind her crossed arms.

Briley put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Served her right, whoever she was, for sneaking around out here where she didn’t belong. “You get’er, Muttski.”

The dog barked and then gave a nimble leap to the opposite side of the woman’s body where it began poking its muzzle beneath her balled fists, and Briley got a glimpse of a long, mink-brown ponytail spread across the grass. Alexa!

He bounded over with one wide stride and caught the dog by its thick ruff. “Here, now, that’s enough! Get off of her!”

With a whine the dog plopped onto its behind and stared up at Briley with bright eyes. Now that he had the dog under control, he reached for Alexa. When he gripped her upper arms to pull her to her feet, she let out another bloodcurdling scream.

“Will you knock it off?” He yanked her upright and shot a glance toward the house. “Somebody’s going to think I’m murdering you.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into his face. “B-Briley?”

He hid a grin. She must be scared to forget her manners. “That’s right.”

She looked frantically right and left. “Where’s Pepper?”

“Pepper?” Had she hit her head? She wasn’t making much sense.

“That stupid dog!”

The dog, which was named Pepper, rose up and whined as if to protest Alexa’s exclamation. Automatically Briley commanded, “Sit.” To his relief the furry beast obeyed him. All in all, Pepper was a pretty good dog. He looked at Alexa. “What did you do to aggravate the poor mutt?”

She wriggled free of his grasp and stepped a few inches away from him. She sent a smoldering glare from the dog to him. “I didn’t do anything to her. I
never
do anything to her. But she hates me! She must, because she always attacks me. And I don’t like her all that much, either.” In the space of three seconds, the angry glint in her eyes changed. Her gaze seemed to travel his length,
and bold red stained her cheeks. She folded her arms across her middle, hunched her shoulders, and turned sharply away.

Briley scowled, puzzled by her odd behavior, and finally the chill air brought realization. With his adrenaline pumping he’d forgotten he’d pulled on a pair of pajama pants in place of his jeans and had shed his shirt to watch TV. So he stood under the moonlight—under Alexa’s embarrassed gaze—only half dressed. In the past he’d taken advantage of opportunities to strike a pose and showcase his muscular form, but to his shock he only experienced a real rush of mortification. For her and for him.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he inched toward the cottage door. “Well, since you’re all right, I’m—”

“Alexa!” A middle-aged woman—the nurse who showed up every evening—trotted across the yard toward the cottage. She’d had the sense to wear shoes and even put on a coat. And she carried a frying pan. He swallowed a snicker. The woman was armed for bear. Her gaze landed on Briley, and her eyes narrowed into slits. “We heard you scream. Are you all right? Did he—” She waved the frying pan.

Alexa darted to the nurse. “Pepper jumped on me and scared me. Of course Bri—Mr. Forrester—didn’t do anything to me. Except come to my rescue. I’m sorry I frightened you and Grandmother.” She looped her hand through the nurse’s elbow and steered her toward the house. “But it’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”

Pepper sidled close and leaned against Briley’s leg as the pair of women scurried off. Briley absently stroked the dog’s head. Had Alexa just defended him? He replayed her words
—“Of course Mr. Forrester didn’t do anything to me.”
Spoken staunchly. With a touch of you-should-know-better in her tone. She trusted him. The realization should please him, but instead an uneasy knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

Sommerfeld

Anna—Grace

If only this knot in her stomach would go away. Anna—Grace sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the sealed envelope leaning against the scrolled base of the accent lamp on her dresser. The bulb was on, sending down a triangular glow that seemed to spotlight the envelope and its neatly penned, simple line on the front:
For Anna—Grace
. Except she didn’t know if she wanted it.

During the night, each time she awoke—and she’d awakened every hour—the envelope seemed to mock her with its presence. With each awakening her thoughts bounced back and forth like a monkey she’d once seen in a zoo cage frenetically leaping from one corner to another in its attempt to find an escape hatch.

Just open it. Get it over with
.

Don’t open it. Throw it away
.

The same back-and-forth exchange roared through her mind again, nearly dizzying in its insistence. But which command to follow? Mom and Dad had told her to open it when she was ready. Would she ever be ready to discover the names of the people who’d cast her aside?

Strange how she’d never really thought about her birth parents when she was growing up. Little Sunny often talked about her Chinese mom and dad,
asked questions, seemed to require assurance. But Anna—Grace had always been so secure, so loved. She’d simply accepted that the ones who raised her were her parents. Period. Maybe if she’d experienced curiosity before, the envelope would serve to satisfy her rather than confuse her.

A tap at the door interrupted her thoughts. She called wearily, “Come in.” The door opened and Mom peeked her head in. Furrows marched across her forehead and formed a V between her eyebrows. Anna—Grace hated that she’d put the look of worry on her mother’s normally relaxed face.

A slight smile trembled on Mom’s lips. “Are you okay? You hardly touched your breakfast, and you didn’t see Sunny off to school.”

“Was Sunny upset?” Her little sister loved her morning routine. So far she’d managed to concern Mom and disappoint Sunny. The day wasn’t off to a good start. Stupid envelope, anyway …

“She’ll survive.” Mom stepped fully into the room and crossed to the bed. She rested her fingertips on the rumpled quilt wadded at the foot of the mattress. She didn’t say anything about the unmade bed—something that should have been done before breakfast. “She needs to get used to going off without you standing on the porch and blowing kisses at her. It won’t be long now, and—”

Anna—Grace stood and turned to face her mother. “Should I break my arrangement to marry Steven?”

Mom drew back, her eyes widening. “Why, Anna—Grace Braun, what kind of question is that?”

“An important one.” Her rolling stomach threatened to return what little breakfast she’d consumed. She pressed her palms to her belly. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept … thinking. Steven’s family is from Arborville. My birth parents are from Arborville. Arborville isn’t a very large town. What if my birth family and his are related? He could be my cousin and I wouldn’t even know it. I can’t marry my cousin!” Panic turned her voice shrill.

“Anna—Grace …” Mom stepped forward and wrapped her in a loose hug.

The embrace was warm, familiar, raising countless memories of being
comforted, cherished, unconditionally accepted. How could she even consider betraying her parents by acknowledging another man and woman had conceived her?

Mom pressed a kiss on her temple and then cupped her face. Her hands smelled like lemon-scented soap and the onions she’d chopped for Dad’s morning hash browns—a homey scent. “Honey, don’t concoct reasons to worry. Yes, Arborville is a small town, but there are several different families represented there. Your dad and I have already confirmed that you and Steven aren’t related.”

“You did?”

“Of course we did. We would tell you if you two were related by blood.”

Anna—Grace’s chest heaved with little puffs of breath. “So … you
know
my birth parents?”

Mom nodded slowly, compassion glowing in her eyes.

Anna—Grace stepped away from her mother’s gentle touch and glowered at the offending envelope. “Mom …” She pushed the words past a throat so tight, her tonsils were surely tied into a double knot. “I think I hate them.”

“Oh, honey. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Mom caught Anna—Grace’s hand and drew her onto the edge of the mattress. “Why do you hate them?”

Anna—Grace sat stiffly, her heart pounding. According to the Bible, hating someone was the same as murdering them. Did she really want her birth parents dead? Of course not. She just wanted them to go away. But no matter whether she opened that envelope or not, they would always be in the back of her mind now—forever taunting her with their presence. “They didn’t want me twenty years ago, and I don’t want them now.”

“That isn’t a reason to
hate
, Anna—Grace.”

Anna—Grace hung her head.

“Hatred is an ugly emotion, and it leads to bitterness and vengeful thoughts. You don’t want all that inside of you, eating you up, do you?”

No, she didn’t. Her parents had raised her to forgive rather than harbor a grudge. Tears clouded her vision. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just wish …” Did she wish Steven’s parents hadn’t given him the land? Did she wish she hadn’t been given up for adoption? She sighed. “I wish Steven’s land wasn’t in Arborville so I didn’t have to deal with this.”

Mom slipped her arm around Anna—Grace’s waist and tipped her forehead against her temple. “Have you considered, my dear daughter, that perhaps God prompted Steven’s parents to gift him with the land in Arborville so you would have the chance to get to know your birth parents?”

She blinked away a rush of angry tears. “God wouldn’t want me to know the people who gave me away.”

Mom’s soft sigh stirred the ribbon trailing from Anna—Grace’s head covering. “There are many reasons why people give up a child for adoption, and not all of those reasons are selfish. We shouldn’t judge, Anna—Grace. I don’t know why they chose to relinquish their parental rights, but I’m grateful, because I have the gift of calling you my daughter.”

The tears spilled down Anna—Grace’s cheeks. She gave her mother a quavering smile of thanks.

Mom rose. She picked up the envelope and fingered it, her lips pursing into a thoughtful moue. “I’m glad you don’t have to go to work today. You can take a nap, catch up on the sleep you missed last night. And you can spend time in prayer.”

She put the envelope back where she’d found it and faced Anna—Grace. “Your dad and I both think it would be best for you to discover the names of your birth family before you move to Arborville, but we’ll respect your decision if you choose to leave it a secret. But please seek God’s will rather than allowing your own stubbornness or fear to guide you. Will you do that?”

Anna—Grace didn’t want to pray. She feared what God might instruct her to do. But she nodded.

“All right. I’ll leave you to rest … and pray.” Mom delivered another kiss on Anna—Grace’s cheek and then left the room.

For several long seconds the envelope held her captive. She stared at it, unblinking, until her eyes burned. She closed her eyes, but the image seemed imprinted on her retinas, visible even behind her closed lids.
God
 … The prayer refused to form. She flopped onto the bed, pulled up her knees, and buried her face in the pillow. She’d pray later. For now she only wanted to sleep. Maybe when she woke up, the letter would be gone.

But when Anna—Grace awakened hours later, the envelope was still in its spot, teasing her with its presence. She ignored it the rest of the day and went to bed without opening it. Tuesday morning she turned it facedown on the edge of the dresser and pretended it wasn’t there. Steven visited Tuesday evening and asked if she’d decided whether she wanted him to sell the farmstead. She pressed her face against his chest and battled tears. How could she ask him to part with something that had been in his family for four generations so she could avoid facing her past? The request would be so selfish. But could she live in Arborville? She didn’t know what to say, so she mumbled she needed more time—perhaps Friday? He gave her a sweet kiss on the forehead and told her to take all the time she needed, but she saw the tense lines around his mouth and recognized his desire to have the decision made.

Wednesday, after her shift at Lisbeth’s Café, she spent the afternoon at the local school, creating harvest-related decorations for the big bulletin board inside the front door. The teacher asked why she was in such a hurry to redo the board. Anna—Grace usually left the welcome-back decorations up until the first of November, but she needed the distraction now. She offered a weak shrug and hedged. “I suppose this cooler weather and the changing leaves have made me eager for Thanksgiving.” Miss Kroeker accepted the reply.