When Grace Sings (23 page)

Alexa

Over the course of the week prior to Anna—Grace’s arrival, Alexa developed a new routine. She served breakfast to both Briley and Steven and then packed lunches for three men. For reasons he didn’t explain—and she wasn’t going to ask!—Briley had begun spending his days at the Meiers farmstead with Steven and Mr. Aldrich. He’d been the one to ask her for box lunches, even offering to pay for all three, but Steven insisted on paying for his own, and after the first day of delivering the lunch to Mr. Aldrich he, too, called and told her to keep a running tab so he could settle up with her at the end of the week.

She had fun making the lunches for the men, always tucking in some of her home-baked cookies or brownies, wedges of pie, or man-sized slices of cake. Mr. Aldrich especially liked tea flavored with peach slices, so she bought some refillable bottles and kept several handy to add to his lunch box. Grandmother thought she was nuts for doing it. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, not a café,” she’d scolded, but Alexa assured her she didn’t mind. Besides, it meant a little more money coming into her account. She couldn’t turn it down no matter how small the profit.

Each evening, Briley put the three empty lunch boxes on the back porch so Alexa could wash the containers and ready the boxes for the next day. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he began an odd routine of leaving little
somethings in his box. On Monday evening she found a piece of very old wallpaper, musty-smelling and brittle and bearing the faded image of a bluebird. Tuesday there were a half-dozen rusty, square-head nails, each bent into odd shapes. Both day’s findings earned a chuckle—they reminded her of treasures a small boy might gather—and then went into the trash bin.

A rumpled, food-stained napkin waited in the bottom of the box on Wednesday, which brought an odd sense of disappointment. Had she offended him by throwing the things away? But when she plucked the napkin out, she discovered he’d used it to wrap a walnut-sized chunk of coal that had nearly fossilized. The black lump was as hard and glossy as polished glass. She set it on the kitchen windowsill so she could enjoy the play of sunlight on the smooth surface.

Thursday she opened his box and found a single page from an old book. A line drawing of a bare tree climbed one side of the page and spread its branches along the top edge. A saucy crow perched on an uppermost branch. The bottom of the page bore a spattering of dots, some more time faded than others, and Robert Frost’s poem “Dust of Snow” filled the center in an old-fashioned script. Reading it brought a smile. Even though the sheet was yellowed, the bottom-left corner permanently smudged with dirt, and the edges frayed, she couldn’t resist keeping it. She showed the page to her grandmother, who also commented on its charm, and then she put it safely in her desk drawer. She’d seek a vintage-looking frame and hang the poem on the wall in the cottage when she was able to move back in.

All Friday afternoon while she baked and decorated a batch of sugar cookies to share with her passel of young cousins, she looked forward to the hour when Briley would deposit the lunch boxes on the back porch. The hands on the clock seemed to move at half their usual rate, but suppertime finally came and went, and shortly after, she heard the clump of Briley’s boots on the porch.

She waited until the screen door snapped into its frame, then dashed out and retrieved the boxes. She pushed Mr. Aldrich’s and Steven’s plain black, arch-topped boxes to the back of the counter and unzipped the lid on Briley’s
newer, insulated box. Holding her breath in anticipation, she peeled the cover back and peered inside. At the bottom an envelope waited. The other items had all been old, but this envelope was crisp and white, obviously not something he’d found in Steven’s house. What might it hold?

Biting her lower lip to hold back an eager giggle, she pulled it out and unstuck the flap. A partial image showed in the V-shaped cutout. She frowned at it for a moment, confused, and then her eyes widened and heat rushed to her face. “Oh! Oh, that—that obnoxious stinker!” She dropped the envelope back in the lunch box and smacked the lid closed. Muffled laughter reached her ears, and she turned toward the sound. Briley, his hands cupped beside his amused face, peered through the square window on the upper half of the kitchen door.

With a little growl she marched to the door and gave the curtains a brisk yank that hid his face from view. His laughter boomed louder. She jerked the door open and glared at him, one hand on her hip. “I suppose you think you’re funny, don’t you? As if I’d want that awful picture!”

“You don’t like it? But I had it printed just for you.”

His hurt tone and wide-eyed expression didn’t fool her. “You had it printed just to torment me, you mean.”

He held his hands out in a pose of surrender. “Why, Miss Zimmerman, the things you say. Me? Torment you? Never …”

She folded her arms over her chest and gave him an I’m-not-buying-it look.

He waggled his eyebrows at her—an annoying gesture made even worse because he was so cute when he did it. “Don’t forget, you started it with the apple cider. And then you ended it, because you only gave it to me on Sunday. Didn’t I tell you it’s the only cure for my obnoxiousness? Be happy it didn’t wear off sooner or who knows what you might have found before now.”

“Don’t worry.” She pushed her words past gritted teeth. If the laugh building in her chest erupted, she’d never forgive herself. “You won’t go one day without apple cider from now on.” She yanked the envelope from his lunch box and pulled out the photograph. Holding it where he could easily see, she tore it in two. She stomped to the waste can and, with a dramatic flourish, tossed in
both halves, swished her palms together, and smiled at him in triumph. “There!”

His lips twitched into a mischievous grin. “One down and …” He aimed his gaze upward, pinching his chin as if in deep contemplation. “How many to go?”

Alexa rushed at him. “Do you mean to tell me there are more of those things?” The image—tufts of pink fuzz from her unflattering earmuffs poking out between her clamped fingers and her shocked face above a stack of mugs—was etched in her memory. She didn’t want anyone else seeing that picture.

He stood with his feet widespread and his fists on his hips like Paul Bunyan and laughed at her.

“Briley!”

“Alexa!” He imitated her tone exactly. Leaning forward until his nose was only inches from hers, he whispered, “There’s only one way to find out how many of those prints exist.”

She wrung her hands, half-afraid of what he would say next.

“Withhold the apple cider.” Then he turned on his heel and strode out the door.

Alexa gawked after him for several stunned seconds, then she growled in aggravation and gave the door a firm whack that slammed it into its frame. She spun from the door, then jumped in surprise. Grandmother’s chair filled the opposite doorway. Alexa’s face flamed. What had her grandmother seen? She cleared her throat. “Um … hello. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.”

Alexa put one hand on her chest and held the other toward the door where Briley had just departed. “None of that was my fault. He played a trick on me!”

An odd smile quivered on the corners of Grandmother’s lips. “I know.”

“And I wasn’t flirting.” She spoke firmly, convincing herself as much as her grandmother. Flirting with Briley would be foolhardy, and she made it a point to never be foolhardy. She frowned, suddenly uncertain. “But …” She hurried
across the floor to Grandmother and knelt in front of her. “Was he flirting with me?”

Grandmother smoothed a few stray wisps of hair from Alexa’s face. “Couldn’t you tell?”

Alexa sighed. “No. Not really. Sometimes I think he is because that’s just
who
he is. He’s good looking and he knows it, so he can’t help himself. Other times I think he’s doing it just to tease.”

“Teasing and flirting … aren’t they the same?”

“No.” She’d been at the receiving end of both in junior high and had learned the difference. “Flirting can seem like teasing, but it’s done to capture the other person’s attention. Teasing is purely to rattle someone.”

“And are you rattled?”

She was. But she didn’t know whether it was his behavior or her reaction to his attention that had rattled her more. She rose and crossed to the waiting lunch boxes to begin cleaning them. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. Flirting or teasing, whatever he’s doing, he’ll probably keep it up until he leaves so I just have to learn to ignore it.”

Grandmother chuckled.

Alexa angled a look over her shoulder. “What’s funny?”

“I was just remembering …” Grandmother chuckled again, her face crinkling with merriment.

Alexa turned around and leaned against the counter, smiling even though she had no idea what had tickled her grandmother. “What?”

“The way you two were going at it in here—both acting hopping mad but trying so hard not to laugh.”

Alexa’s embarrassment returned with full force. She battled hiding her face behind her hands.

“You reminded me of Clete and your mother when they were young, always cooking up schemes to outdo the other one. Except in reverse, of course, because Clete was the littler of the two. But my, how they sparred, and always in good fun.” She sighed. “I miss those days. You and Mr. Forrester—or should
we start calling him Briley?—just carried me backward in time.” She sat for several seconds, staring into nothing, then shifted her gaze and winked at Alexa. “You know, I’m going to stop worrying about that young man’s effect on you. You just proved to me you can hold your own.” She caught the wheels of her chair and pulled, rolling the chair backward and out of sight.

Alexa chewed her lip, thinking about what Grandmother had said.
“Always in good fun …”
Her teeth lost their grip as a smile took control. She grabbed the lump of coal from the windowsill and held it in front of her, envisioning Briley’s smirking grin in its place. “Okay, Mr. Obnoxious, you started it, but I intend to finish it. Consider the game ‘on.’ ”

Briley

While Briley fixed his supper—cheap, off-brand canned chili heated in the microwave—he replayed Alexa’s reaction to finding that photograph, and he chuckled. She’d played right into his hands, as he’d known she would. She reminded him of an eager puppy digging up a fresh bone when she opened that lunch box tonight. He chuckled some more. Maybe it was wrong to tease her. Aunt Myrt would probably call it a childish thing to do. But he couldn’t help it. The girl was too serious, and somebody needed to get her to lighten up. Otherwise she’d be as sour and sullen as Brungardt by the time she reached her midtwenties. “And that would be a travesty.”

He carried the chili to the table, sat, and dipped his spoon. But instead of raising it to his mouth, he stared into the bowl and lost himself in thought. An entire week … He’d spent an entire week side by side with Steven Brungardt, and not once had he witnessed the man smile. Aldrich smiled. A lot. The carpenter was like those dwarfs in the old Disney film, whistling while he worked. But Steven? Oh, he worked. With unwavering efficiency. But not with any joy. And even though his unsmiling face told Briley the man wasn’t happy, he
wouldn’t say anything to confirm it. Until Steven lost his reserve and talked, Briley had nothing to add to his article. So he’d stick around until he finally gained Steven’s trust enough to find out why he didn’t reflect the peace people expected the Plain folk to exude.

The spicy scent of the chili broke through his reverie, and he took a bite. He made a face. The beans were soggy, the sauce flat, and he’d never encountered beef with such a grainy texture. But he had to eat something. Would Alexa give him some leftovers if he asked? The kitchen had smelled like fresh bread and something Italian. He huffed out a brief laugh. What was he thinking? After he’d made fun of her, she wouldn’t share anything good with him. He muttered, “Just eat the chili.”

He took a second bite of the bland chili as his thoughts rolled onward. He’d enjoyed watching the transformation of the kitchen at the old house. His first day in there as he stared at the crumbling plaster walls, the rusty plumbing pipes sticking up from holes in the floor, and the single light bulb hanging from some weird, twisted wire in the middle of the ceiling, he couldn’t envision the room being anything except a disaster. But that Aldrich knew what he was doing.