Falling for Grace Read online

  This Thelma’s Way was one strange place.

  18

  Forewarned

  November 29th

  Monday morning I called Grace at 7:00 only to find out that she had caught the bus to work an hour ago, and that Wendy didn’t take kindly to being woken up any hour earlier than eight.

  Then I called Brother Hyrum Barns to see about the job he had promised me two weeks ago.

  “Actually the position’s filled, Trust,” he explained.

  “But I thought that—”

  “I needed someone a week ago, and well, you were all banged up,” he rationalized. “I didn’t know if you would be able to handle the workload when you did get better.”

  “It’s only paper filing,” I laughed. “I could do that with my eyes closed.”

  “I’m just nervous about having someone who busted his head alphabetizing my files. I’ve already given the job to that tall boy from Idaho.”

  “Doran?”

  “Don’t blame me, Trust,” Brother Barns pleaded. “I had an opening and Brother Victor filled it for me.”

  I didn’t blame Brother Barns or Brother Victor—I blamed Doran. I hung up the phone and began to think about other possible jobs and how much Doran was complicating things. I could hear the doorbell ring downstairs. A few moments later my mother hollered at me to come down.

  Bishop Leen was in the living room tapping his foot and glancing about.

  “Hello, Trust,” he noticed me.

  “Bishop.”

  “I was wondering if I could visit with you a moment?” he asked.

  I nodded and we sat.

  “Normally this kind of thing would be handled by your elders quorum president, but he was scared to tell you.”

  “That bad, huh?” I asked, my blue eyes clouding.

  “Well, it all depends on how you look at it. You see, Brother Leonard Vastly needs a home teacher, and no one’s willing to do it. It seems that everyone sort of feels like Brother Vastly and Noah Taylor are enemies. And well, no one wants to give the appearance of siding with Leonard Vastly.”

  “And you think I do?” I asked.

  “Well, Sister Cravitz said you seemed a little jealous of Noah Taylor yourself. You and Leonard would have something in common . . .”

  “Why would I be jealous of Noah?” I asked.

  “Now, I’m not saying jealous exactly. I’m just saying that you’re mad because he seems to have more going for him at the moment. Big business, great personality, plus he’s been spending all that time with Grace. She really is an exceptional girl, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anyhow, by your helping Leonard Vastly you would be showing Noah that you’re not afraid to take a stand.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Bishop, I’d be glad to home teach Brother Vastly, but I’m not doing it to spite Noah. He seems like a nice enough guy.”

  “All right,” the bishop winked. “That’s what we’ll tell the others.”

  “Really, I have nothing against Noah.”

  “I read you loud and clear.”

  “Actually, I don’t think you do,” I said, frustrated. “I’m happy that Grace is working for him.”

  “Denial’s a hard pit to climb out of,” Bishop Leen counseled.

  I put my head in my hands and sighed. “Is Brother Vastly still living in his ‘Bio-Doom’?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the bishop said, standing. “And he still vows to not come out until Noah Taylor is proven wrong. Of course, Sister Morris swears she saw him at the dollar movies the other night wearing a wig and fake glasses.”

  Things just kept getting better.

  “So, will you accept the assignment?” the bishop asked.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Good,” he said, verbally slapping me on the back. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, I was—”

  “Hold on a moment,” he interrupted. “Is this going to take real long? I’m due over at the planetarium for some indoor pruning.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, Bishop, everything aside, doesn’t this Brother Taylor thing bother you just a bit? I mean, should we really be putting ourselves into his hands? Food storage time-share? How much do we even know about this guy?”

  “Listen, Trust,” he said kindly. “I understand why you’re worried. But I talked with Noah Taylor for a long time when he first came to town. I e-mailed his father who used to be a stake president. This December seventeenth thing is more of a gimmick than a genuine scare.”

  “That’s not how the ward is acting.”

  “Trust,” he tisked. “I’ve seen this before. Young men returning home from their missions to discover that everything running exactly the way it was before they left is suddenly wrong.”

  “It’s not that,” I protested. “I just don’t think we should be putting our fate in Noah’s hands.”

  “Nothing will happen on the seventeenth. Nothing except for everyone in our ward being completely prepared for what may actually come later on. Is that so bad?”

  “I guess not. But don’t you think people should have their stuff in their own homes?”

  “Noah Taylor is only going to be around until the end of December,” he lectured. “Southdale isn’t his permanent home. He’ll go on to some other town that’s in need of preparation. I suspect right now he’s just organizing our supplies in that warehouse for the time being. When he leaves, people will have to find a new place to store their stuff. This is a good thing, Trust.”

  “I hope so.”

  Bishop Leen looked at his watch. “I should be going. Good luck with Leonard Vastly. He’s really a good guy, just a little weedy between the ears.”

  Ten minutes after Bishop Leen left, Sister Barns, the Relief Society president and wife of my would-have-been employer, showed up to ask for permission for Grace to participate in their date auction coming up on December the ninth. All the proceeds would go to help those in our area who couldn’t afford to pay Noah to get themselves prepared. The auction was actually a farce, a big setup, where folks would simply bid on their wives or girlfriends in an effort to help the needy. Afterwards, all those who had successfully bid would get to participate in a big group date in the cultural hall.

  “I thought we weren’t allowed to have fund-raisers,” I questioned.

  “Well, we’ve invited all the Scouts so that we can call it a Scout activity.”

  I told Sister Barns that the decision to be bid on was Grace’s, and that I would bid high if she agreed to it.

  “I think you’ll have some competition,” Sister Barns smiled. “That boy who’s working for us sure is sweet on her. And Brother Treat seems to think that Grace would make the perfect girl for his Leon.”

  “Leon’s only seventeen,” I laughed.

  “That’s old enough to group date,” Sister Barns chirped.

  “Sister Barns, Grace is twenty-three.”

  “Love can fill tremendous gaps.”

  Something was wrong. The entire city of Southdale had gone goofy. I should never have brought Grace back unmarried. We should have gotten hitched back east and then come west. Better yet, we should have gotten married and stayed back there. Her presence here was making everyone, including me, crazy.

  “I thought this auction was just a setup?” I questioned. “Don’t we all know at the outset who will take whom home?”

  “In theory,” Sister Barns clucked. “But the potential for someone to outbid you is always there.”

  I shook my head.

  “Leon’s been working at the Shoe Stop, after school,” she added, hinting that Leon might have money to spend on Grace.

  “Sister Barns, Grace and I are loosely engaged,” I explained. “We just haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Satan looks for the cracks,
” she said. “Then he wiggles in and destroys the foundation.”

  “What?” I asked, wondering what she was talking about.

  “Long engagements are a first-class invitation to failure. Don’t R.S.V.P., Trust. Don’t R.S.V.P!”

  “We’re not actually engaged,” I tried to explain. “Just loosely engaged.”

  “Well, then I see no harm in Leon or Doran staking claim.”

  Sister Barns stood, thanked me for the nice conversation, and left.

  I spent the next hour trying to call Grace at work. No one ever answered. After twenty-four attempts, I gave up.

  I was not feeling good about things.

  19

  Applying Stucco

  Monday after work Grace came straight home and found me. She apologized for not coming over to Sunday dinner. She apologized for going to Sunday School with Doran. She apologized for not calling me earlier in the day. And she told me I was all she had thought about for the last twenty-four hours.

  It was a start.

  “Let’s take a drive,” she suggested.

  We drove up into the Dintmore Hills and parked above the Scarsdale Meadow. There were literally thousands of hills there. Some of them were tall and rolling, others were jagged and flat. Each one of them had an official name—an early settler had gone to the trouble of labeling them all. It would be impossible to remember all the names, but we were now parked on top of Georgia, one of the best-known mounds. Georgia was high and rounded at the peak, and she also provided the nicest view of the largest meadow within the hills.

  The afternoon was turning to dusk, and tiny clouds slid across the sky like ice on an iron. Grace held my hand in silence. She looked great at night. Her dark red hair and deep eyes were more mesmerizing than a single flickering flame against the blackness.

  Pale stars began to appear in the fading blue.

  “Sister Barns came by today,” I said, starting the conversation.

  “I bet I know what she wanted,” Grace replied, gazing at the sky. “Nothing like an auction to make a woman feel important.”

  “So she called you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “I guess so,” Grace replied. “After all, I know who will win me. Plus, it will help Noah out.”

  “Oh,” was all I said.

  “It still bothers you that Noah’s not some old prophet-looking guy, doesn’t it?” Grace poked.

  “Not really,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers behind my back.

  “You’re a poor liar.” Grace smiled, turning to look at me.

  I looked into her eyes and forgot all about Noah Taylor. In fact, I forgot everything I had ever known except for how to form this next sentence.

  “So, are you glad you came?” I asked her.

  “Here?” she asked, meaning the top of Georgia. “Or here?” she said, putting out her hand and indicating Southdale.

  “Here,” I replied, with my hand as well.

  “Umm hum,” she said, biting her lip. “This has been the best time of my life.”

  “Do you miss Thelma’s Way?”

  “A little,” Grace admitted. “The sky out here is too open, and your river doesn’t hold a candle to the Girth. I miss the meadow and the miles of trees. And I . . .” She laughed at herself. “I guess I miss Thelma’s Way more than I thought.”

  We both sighed.

  “Do you actually think anything will happen on the seventeenth?” I questioned.

  “Noah does,” Grace answered.

  “Do you think he’s an honest guy?”

  “I guess so, why?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I just think it’s kind of creepy, him acting like he knows something that no one else does.”

  “The important thing is that he’s getting people prepared,” Grace defended him. “Back home in Thelma’s Way, folks wouldn’t dream of not having decent food storage. Everyone’s always out of work, or struggling, but they always have food put away. Here these people . . . well, they . . . I don’t know.”

  “We’re too comfortable to care,” I said for her.

  “Exactly.”

  We sat on top of Georgia and watched some animals run across the dark meadow. The headlights of our car gave them definition for a brief moment.

  “You know, we should probably talk,” I pointed out.

  “I thought we had been,” Grace said knowingly.

  “I mean about the more important things. Sister Barns said that long engagements were a personal invitation for Satan to crack our foundation.”

  “I didn’t know we were engaged.”

  “That’s sort of what I meant by talking.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you?” Grace questioned with a little less enthusiasm than I felt the moment deserved.

  “I don’t know.” I blew it.

  “Well, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I don’t want to rush this,” I said defensively.

  “I see.”

  “I’m just thinking of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I thought maybe you needed more time.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Daylight faded completely, turning the sky from denim to dark. Grace and I sat together quietly listening to the night. I thought about Lucy, and how up until two years ago I had always imagined myself marrying her. Now I couldn’t see myself with anyone besides Grace. It didn’t matter if my mother objected. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t rich, or socially influential. The only thing that made sense was us. But we still had not set anything in stone. For some reason it was hard for us to verbalize what we both believed to already be.

  “You know,” Grace said softly after a few moments of silence, “I’ve never driven a car before.”

  “Never?”

  Grace shook her head. I don’t know why I was surprised by this. There were no roads in Thelma’s Way and no cars besides the homemade one that Leo Tip had built. I guess I just figured she would have driven in Virgil’s Find at some point in her life.

  “You want to learn?” I asked.

  I had barely gotten the question past my lips when Grace began crawling over me to switch seats. We struggled with each other as we changed places.

  “We could have used the doors,” I pointed out.

  “That was a lot more fun.”

  I had to agree.

  I showed Grace where all the pedals were and how the stick shift worked. She started the car, pushed down the clutch, and pulled the stick shift into reverse.

  “Let up slowly on the clutch,” I instructed.

  The car bucked, rocked, and then sputtered out.

  “What did I do?” she asked.

  “Nothing really. It just takes practice.”

  So we practiced for the next few hours. Eventually, Grace got the hang of it. She flew down the dirt road in utter bliss, spraying rocks and dirt behind us. The Dintmore Hills were actually an ideal place to practice driving. There were hundreds of dirt roads and very few other vehicles around. I was just about to suggest we begin making our way home when the car coughed and died. Grace coasted to a stop at the side of the road.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “Try to start it again.”

  Nothing.

  “Switch places with me,” I suggested.

  Grace climbed over me, kissing me as we passed. The car wouldn’t start. I flicked on the car light to better read the gas gauge. Empty. We had been so busy having fun that I had forgotten to pay attention to how much fuel we had left.

  “We’re out of gas,” I said plainly.

  “Sure,” she said seductively. “You’re obviously not the gentleman I thought you to be.”

  “You were driving,” I pointed out. “I’m the victim here.”

  “So what should we do?” Grace asked, smiling.

  “We could stay here for a while and wait for help,” I suggested.

 
; We both looked at each other, taking in our intimate enclosure.

  “That’s probably not a wise idea,” Grace said, blushing under the dome light.

  “We could walk.”

  We both jumped out of the car. Grace buttoned up her sweater and took my hand.

  “At least it’s not raining,” she said optimistically.

  “Doesn’t your Noah live somewhere out here?” I asked.

  “My Noah?” Grace glanced at me.

  “Well, he’s not mine,” I guffawed.

  Grace laughed to make me feel funnier than I really was. “He lives somewhere out here in an old farmhouse,” she said, “but I have no idea where.”

  “Good,” was my only reply.

  The dirt road shifted beneath our feet like dry cereal, each step crunching loudly. Grace leaned her head against me and talked—about life and love and the amazing things that had brought both of us to this point. At the risk of sounding unflattering, time with Grace reminded me of my old bike.

  My family had not always been so well-off. As a child I remember my parents struggling to make ends meet. We had lived in a little house across town right next to the Southdale Dairy. It seemed like I never had the things other kids did. I remember wanting a bike so badly for Christmas one year. I begged and begged, knowing that the best way to get Santa to cough up the goods was to strong-arm my parents. Christmas morning I woke up to my worst nightmare. I had gotten a bike, but it was a used one—a girl’s model with a long seat and a low middle bar. I could tell that there had once been pom poms on the handlebars, but in an effort to appease me, Santa had trimmed them off. It was purple, white-wheeled, and bigger than any of the bikes my friends had.

  My world crumbled.

  Mom and Dad tried to make Santa look good by saying nice things about the bike. They acted like there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Afraid of tarnishing their opinion of the fat guy, I kept my feelings to myself. My friends, however, let their opinions be known, teasing me like mad. They called me “Tricycle Trust,” because they couldn’t come up with a nickname that rhymed with “purple two-wheeled girl’s bike.”