Finding Grace: A Novel (47 page)

"So you work for the railroad, then?"

"No ma'am," he replied. "My father was a
very ambitious man. The railroad didn’t satisfy him, so when he and
my mother met, he found a job working for her father as a
bookkeeper. He eventually took over their theater business. After
he passed on several years ago, the business went to me." Lifting
his drink to take a sip, he looked at her over the rim of the glass
and she was watching him, hanging on his every word. Just as he'd
intended. He smiled slightly. “I’m now a man of great means. But no
matter where the journey of life leads, there are certain things
are always important. Things we shouldn’t forget. Like where we
came from. And more importantly, our family. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded, looking rather perplexed. And he
wondered if his subtle hint about “Family” had the intended effect.
But maybe it was better to just let her sleep on it. Let the
thought sink in during the night.

When the meal was done, he walked towards
the door with the preacher, who was preparing to leave for the
night. He turned to Henry.

"Will I be taking you to the boarding house
for the night?"

Henry was about to speak when Mrs. Langdon
came in from the kitchen, in a bit of a rush it seemed.

"No, no," she said to them. "Mr. Shaw don’t
need to go way back to town. He come all the way from Chicago. It
wouldn't be fittin' if we didn't give him a place to sleep for the
night. Don't you think so, preacher?"

Henry and Mr. Clay just looked at each
other. Then a moment later, reading the answer in Henry's eyes, Mr.
Clay nodded. "I'll get your things."

"I'll walk with you and see you off," said
Henry.

The preacher bid goodnight to everyone.
Henry followed him out to the buggy, thanking him for taking care
of everything so quickly. He watched as he drove away. Then he
turned back to the house, looking forward to the promise of a good
night's sleep. The past few days had been so long.

As he stepped up on the porch, a voice came
from somewhere nearby…a deep voice, and he recognized it as Mr.
Langdon, who had come around from the back of the house.

"Who do you think you are, boy?" He came up
on the porch, leaned against a post, and folded his arms, staring
intently. "You think can come in my house and try and rule my
roost? Well you've got another thing coming, son. There's only one
rooster in this hen house."

God-awful old
man
, Henry thought. But he kept his tone
calm and cool.

"Mr. Langdon, I'm not trying anything of the
kind. In fact, coming here was the last thing I intended to do. I
thought it was a ridiculous idea, but your daughter seems to think
otherwise. She asked me to come, so here I am."

"Yes, there you are. Thinking you're going
to trick me into leaving my place to go up north. Why should I
waste my time going to see a couple of ingrates?"

Hells bells,
Henry thought.
I would
love to sock you right in the mouth.
Instead he shrugged. "Mr. Langdon, you can do just as you
please. But my end of the deal is done. In the morning, I'm going
home either way. So if you don't mind, sir, I would like to say
good night and turn in. It's been a long few days for
me."

With nothing further to say, he went back
inside. Mrs. Langdon was sitting on the sofa, with her youngest son
lying beside her, asleep. When she saw Henry, she gently removed
herself from her son's arms and came to stand beside him.

"I'll talk to him tonight," she said. "I
don't know if it'll do much of anything, but I'll try."

Again, he shrugged. "That's the most any of
us can do, isn't it?"

She did not reply. She just looked down,
even as she moved past him towards a little side door, which she
held open.

"You can sleep in here for tonight, in
Gracie's old room. And in the morning, if we have to, we'll figure
out a way for you to get back to town."

He nodded as he crossed the threshold, into
a small and plain room…one that reminded him of the Spartan
dwellings of the Army barracks he’d once slept in. There was a bed
with a trunk at the foot, a small dresser against the wall, and a
washstand. Otherwise, the room was bare. It felt to him like a
prison cell or a dormitory room, but he knew it would be rude to
speak such a thing, and so he was silent.

"I'll fetch you a light," said Mrs. Langdon,
and she left for a moment.

He stood in the little room, feeling a deep
and profound sadness as he looked around. This was the miserable
little place Grace had spent so many a night of her life. How many
times had she rested here, dreaming of something better? It made
him want to be with her…made him love her…more than ever, if that
were possible. If he had anything to say about it, she would never
be without a comfort ever again. He was bound and determined to
make sure of it, after seeing all he'd seen this day.

Mrs. Langdon returned with a small kerosene
lamp, which he took from her with a small word of thanks. She bid
him goodnight, and left him alone.

It was quite warm in the room, even with the
window open. He longed for the humming sound and light wind of a
ceiling fan. He had trouble sleeping without it. But with no
electricity, of course, there was no such comfort. And all he could
do was lay there and try to relax. His mind was full of thoughts,
but mostly he was thinking of Grace.

Secretly, he was hoping that Mr. Langdon
would refuse to go back with him. Then he could remove the element
of danger that the man brought. Grace's mother, in her meek and
quiet way, would not be much trouble as far as he was concerned.
But her father seemed so vindictive and cold, and one had to wonder
if would go along just for spite. Or just to keep control of the
situation, most notably his wife. He certainly had her pressed well
under his thumb.

He grumbled and groaned, turning on his side
and pressing his cheek against the pillow, trying not to think of
anything but Grace and how all of this trouble he was bringing on
himself was, in the end, for her. After hours of tossing and
turning, the wear of two days travel took their toll, and he fell
into a deep and heavy sleep.

* * * *
*

The smell of food and coffee brought him
awake, and he rose and dressed quickly. He washed and shaved in the
cool water of the deep basin, and went out in search of a meal.

From the kitchen doorway, he watched Mrs.
Langdon as she rushed about in her preparations. He imagined that
at one time, Grace would have been in this kitchen, helping her
mother…lifting some of the burden from this weary woman’s
shoulders. For a moment, he actually felt sorry for her and the
burdens she carried. Then he reminded himself that part of her
suffering was her own doing. And he thought…

If you'd just been good to your daughter,
maybe you wouldn’t be playing the slave. But then again, maybe I
should thank you for your blunder. Your loss of your daughter will
be my gain of a mate.

As if sensing his presence, she turned to
look at him. Wiping her hands on her apron, she bid him good
morning as she moved from one project to another.

“
Would you like some coffee
Mr. Shaw?”

“
Please,” he replied. “But
don’t trouble yourself. I’ll get it.” He saw the cups hanging on a
hook by the sink and took one, and as he went to the stove to pour
his own coffee from the pot, he noticed the strange way she looked
at him. He looked back at her, as if to ask why she examined him in
that way.

“
Is it a crime for a man to
pour his own cup?” He took his coffee and seated himself at the
table.

“
I suppose not,” she
replied. “I just never saw it done before.”

He smiled. “I’m a bachelor, Mrs. Langdon. I
do have a housekeeper, but at times I’m forced to manage for
myself. Although, I do let her take care of the cooking and
cleaning. Those are two feminine duties that remain beyond my
ability.”

She smiled, and for the first time, managed
a little laugh. He watched her as she went about, bringing biscuits
out of the oven to cool, setting glasses on the table and pouring
milk, frying sausage and eggs in a heavy cast-iron skillet. The
smell was heavenly. But even the prospect of food did not keep him
from thinking of Grace. As he sat there, watching her mother, he
wondered if she was thinking of her daughter. If so, she was most
certainly thinking of her son as well. The son she had lost long
before her daughter had gone.

“
Mr. Shaw,” she said, her
voice low and small. She turned the fire down on her skillet,
turning slowly toward him, and she came to sit in a chair beside
him. She looked at him with sad, shining eyes. “Will you tell me
about my children?”

He cleared his throat, feeling a sudden
tightening there. He wondered for a moment if she might cry, and he
prayed that she would not, for he could not bear to see such an
outpouring of emotion. He had never been entirely comfortable with
such sentiment. Although, where Grace was concerned, he was
starting to change his ways. But he knew it would be cruel to deny
this woman answers, and so he spoke, trying to remain cool and
collected as he gave them.

“
Your daughter is well, or
as well as can be expected. She’s been happy until the last few
weeks. And despite what you might think, she doesn’t speak ill of
you or your husband.”

There was a pause, and a moment of silence.
“What about my son?”

He sighed, knowing that what he was about to
say was bittersweet. But she had asked, and he would tell.

“
John has been very happy,
until this recent bad luck with his sister. I’ve been told that you
and your husband weren’t happy with his choice of a wife. But let
me tell you, Mrs. Langdon. Alice is a good woman. Maybe the best
I’ve ever known. And as a matter of fact, she will be blessing you
and your family, despite the bitter feelings you’ve had towards
her.”

Mrs. Langdon raised an eyebrow, her face
alight with curiosity.

“
She’s having a baby, Mrs.
Langdon. In January, you will be a Grandmother.”

The look on her face was indescribable. She
and her husband had wasted so much time in their bitterness, and
were probably aware of it, whether they wanted to admit it or not.
But if ever there was something to make them realize it was time to
come to their senses, the prospect of being grandparents might just
be it.

“
A grandchild,” she said,
almost in a whisper. “My sweet Lord.”

Had it put her doubts to rest? He couldn’t
say. But it had certainly gotten her attention. Perhaps fearing she
might burst into tears or otherwise lose her composure, she rose to
her feet and went back to her cooking.

The back door opened. Henry turned to look.
There stood Mr. Langdon, carrying an armful of thick firewood. He
paused for a moment as he eyed Henry, and then wordlessly he walked
to the stove to put the wood on the fire. He turned to leave, but
Mrs. Langdon stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. She looked at
him, but spoke to Henry.

“
Mr. Shaw, would you mind
leaving us alone for a minute?”

Henry did not question why. He simply
nodded, picked up his coffee cup, and stepped outside.

For several minutes he sat alone on the back
porch. It was a lovely morning out, full of sunshine and the smell
of the damp earth. He might have felt quite at peace, were it not
for the turmoil he knew was going on just inside the house. The
moment of truth was upon them all, and all he could do now was
wait.

It was several moments later when the door
opened, and he looked over to see Mrs. Langdon there. He questioned
her with his eyes.

“
Breakfast is ready,” she
said.

“
And the other matter?” he
asked.

She waited a long moment before she
answered, her voice small but firm in its tone.

“
We’ll be leaving whenever
you’re ready, Mr. Shaw.”

* * * * *

The room was dark, except for the light of
the moon stealing in from between the curtains. Unable to sleep,
Grace longed to go to that window and throw the curtains open so
she might see the moon and stars. The doctor had urged her to
remain in bed and rest, but she had been resting in that infernal
bed for too long. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Throwing back the
blanket she took a deep breath, and turning herself to put her feet
on the floor, she felt the pain of a body still healing. She
gritted her teeth, sat very still for a moment, and waited until
the pain subsided a little. It never went away completely - it was
always there, even if it was only dimmed down to a slight throbbing
sensation.

She tried to rise, and suddenly found that
her legs, weakened from lack of movement, would not support her,
and she fell back into a sitting position. But in a moment she was
up again, determined to stand, though she had to cling to the bed
stand for support. After a few moments of bearing her own weight,
at last her legs began to stabilize, and she managed several wobbly
steps before collapsing against the chair. The arm of the chair
kept her from falling down to the floor, and with a great effort
she pulled herself up and into the seat, where she sank with both
relief and pain against the cushioned back.

Such a small
thing
, she thought,
To go from a bed to a chair.
And yet,
it felt like the greatest triumph. To move again…to regain some
small degree of independence. No one, not even some highly educated
doctor, could keep her from such a personal victory. Now that she
had made the adjustment from one place to another, she found that
she was quite exhausted from the effort. But she had no wish to get
up and return to the confinement of the bed. So she leaned against
the arm of the chair and looked out the window, where the moon was
shining full and the stars were twinkling like diamonds.