Kim Vogal Sawyer Read online

  THE GRACE THAT LEADS US HOME

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-1-60142588-1

  Copyright © 2013 by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Cover design by Kelly L. Howard; photography by Doug Landreth/Corbis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Yea, the sparrow hath found an house,

  and the swallow a nest for herself,

  where she may lay her young.

  —Psalm 84:3

  Chapter 1

  Florence, Kansas

  October 1886

  “Are they asleep?” Alice Deaton whispered the question as her husband tiptoed into their humble sitting room.

  Oscar put a finger against his lips and nodded, his eyes sparkling. Steel gray hair, crow’s-feet, and deep creases leading from his nose to the corners of his mouth proved his boyhood was long past, but his eyes—the brightest, warmest blue—belied his years. He crossed directly to the dry sink where Alice was finishing the supper dishes and wrapped his arms around her middle from behind. He nuzzled her ear, prompting a giggle.

  “Shh,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ll wake them. Laura dropped off pretty quick, but it took three stories before Francis gave in to sleep. He’s as stubborn as his pa when it comes time to settle down.”

  “If he turns out like his pa, we’ll be grateful.” Alice tipped her head slightly to better feel Oscar’s bristly cheek against hers. Did every wife experience such joy from her husband’s presence? Judging by some of the complaints uttered by other women during gossip sessions, she doubted it. Surely she was abundantly blessed.

  Laying aside the final clean silverware, she turned within the circle of his arms and looped her hands behind his neck. Just as she expected, he leaned in for a kiss. As their lips separated, she smiled at him. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Something pretty good, I’d reckon.”

  She gave his chest a light slap as she laughed. “Oh, such humility you possess, Oscar Deaton!” She’d met Oscar late in life, she already thirty and he a year shy of forty when they married. What a blessing he was—a stalwart, honest, hardworking man who loved her and loved their children unconditionally. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining them growing old together, watching Laura and Francis form families of their own, sitting on porch rockers and laughing as their grandchildren played games in the yard.

  He pressed his lips against hers once more with a noisy smack, startling her from her reverie, then released her. “Barnes next door asked if I would help him break up some hay bales and scatter the hay over his wife’s flower beds this evening. He said she’s worried the cold will come early this year and catch her unprepared. I’ll head over to do that now before we turn in.”

  Alice frowned. “But it’s late, Oscar—nearly dark already. And you were so tired when you came in from work.” His job at the rock quarry often taxed him, but he never complained. She scurried across the floor as he tugged on his jacket. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  Oscar cupped her face in his hands and shook his head, a mild smile pulling up the corners of his lips. “Now, darlin’, it’ll only take an hour. Maybe less. He’s old, and he asked for my help. What kind of neighbor would I be if I refused?”

  Alice sighed. Oscar was the best kind of neighbor. He helped everyone. But somehow he always had time for her and the children. She shouldn’t fuss at him. She pulled his jacket closed and buttoned it for him. “All right then. Go ahead. I’ll put on water for tea, and we’ll sit and sip a cup before we turn in tonight, hmm?”

  An impish spark lit his eyes. “With that leftover gingerbread?”

  “You and your sweet tooth …” She released a soft chuckle as she walked him to the door. “I’ll have it waiting for you.”

  “Perfect.”

  As she closed the door behind him, she sighed. Yes, indeed, her life was perfect. A loving, attentive husband, two beautiful children, a small but comfortable home … God, You’ve blessed me so abundantly. Thank You. She couldn’t be happier.

  Four days later

  Alice placed her hand on the dark mound of earth covering a new grave. Could Oscar really be gone? The moist, freshly turned soil beneath her palm was real, not a dream, yet the day held a dreamlike quality. She recalled this same feeling of unreality when she’d buried Ma and Pa so many years ago—confusion about how the sun could keep shining, the wind keep blowing, her heart keep beating when her world had come to an end.

  If her parents were still alive, she’d know what to do, where to go. But they were gone. She’d been her parents’ only surviving child. Oscar’s older brother had gone to his reward two years ago, stricken by the same type of sudden attack that stole Oscar’s life. So many losses … Alice pressed her fist to her mouth to hold back a wail of fury and pain. It’s unfair, dear Lord in heaven. It’s so unfair!

  A few feet away Francis romped in the still-green grass in the shade of a towering elm, and Laura scampered after him, hands outstretched to catch her little brother if he stumbled. Too young to fully comprehend that their father would never come home again, both children wore bright grins, their giggles a stark contrast to the weight of grief bowing Alice’s shoulders. Her mother heart celebrated their ability to enjoy this beautiful mid-October day even while her wife heart ached in loneliness. How would she and the children survive without Oscar?

  The other mourners had long since returned to their homes. Even Preacher Mead, a compassionate man who’d been a steadying presence for the past three days, had gone after she’d assured him she would be fine. A bitter taste flooded her mouth. One would think a man of God would be able to see past a widow’s false bravado, but he’d accepted her claim and had left her and the children alone.

  Alone … Her chest tightened until taking a breath was torment.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …” She whispered the words while tears streamed endlessly toward her chin.

  A small hand descended on her shoulder. “Mama?”

  Alice whisked away the moisture from her cheeks with her sleeve before shifting to look into Laura’s sweaty face. “What is it, darlin’?”

  “Francis is hungry. I am, too. Can we go home now?”

  Alice wasn’t hungry. Her appetite had fled the moment Mr. Barnes arrived with the news that Oscar collapsed in his yard and couldn’t be roused. And she didn’t want to leave the grave. Leaving would force her to acknowledge the finality of the burial. She couldn’t leave Oscar here alone.

  Closing her eyes, she bent forward an
d stretched her arms over the cool mound that enclosed Oscar’s shell, wishing … wishing … wishing she held her husband’s warm form instead.

  “Mama, didn’t you hear me?” Laura’s tone turned fretful.

  Unlike mercurial Francis, whose temper could flare without a moment’s notice, Laura was always a happy child. Oscar had nicknamed her “Sunshine” for her cheerful disposition. So the whining took Alice by surprise. Perhaps her daughter wasn’t as unaffected by Oscar’s death as she’d assumed.

  She straightened and brushed the dirt from her dress front, then awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She wavered slightly, the past days’ lack of sleep and her inability to eat making her weak. Laura darted forward and wrapped her arm around Alice’s waist, and more tears stung. Tears of gratitude. Oscar was gone, but she still had pieces of him in Laura and Francis. She would do her best, with God’s help, to be both mother and father to the children Oscar had called their greatest blessings.

  Slipping her arm over Laura’s narrow shoulders, she forced a smile to her trembling lips. “Come, Sunshine. Let’s go home.”

  As she turned toward the street with Laura and Francis skipping along beside her, a worry descended. Their house wasn’t their own but merely rented from Mr. Horner, the owner of the rock quarry where Oscar had toiled the past eleven years. The use of the house was considered part of his monthly pay. When Mr. Horner had come calling to pay his respects, he hadn’t mentioned the need for Alice to vacate the little house she’d called home since before her children were born, but the time would come soon, she was sure.

  The grave in the Florence cemetery held more than her husband’s body—she’d also buried her security, her joy, and her future.

  Chapter 2

  “Now, Francis, you behave yourself for Mrs. Mead. No running off today, do you hear me?” Alice held her son’s chin between her fingers and gave him the sternest look she could muster. His unruliness seemed to increase each day, and each hour she missed Oscar more. How much this headstrong boy needed his father’s firm hand.

  “I hear ya, Ma.” Although Francis’s tone held more aggravation than assurance, Alice released him and lifted her gaze to the preacher’s wife. “Thank you for letting him stay with you again. If only he were old enough to attend school …” Giving a shake of her head, she let her sentence fade away. She’d fallen into the habit of if-only thoughts over the past days, and they were a waste of time.

  Mrs. Mead smiled warmly, tugging Francis against her skirts and maintaining her grip even when Francis grunted and squirmed for freedom. “He’ll behave. Won’t you, Francis?”

  Francis angled a scrunch-nosed look at the woman. “You got more of those oatmeal cookies with raisins in ’em?”

  “The cookie crock is half full.”

  Francis grinned. “I’ll be good.”

  Alice sighed. Oscar would be appalled by how often in the past two weeks she’d resorted to bribery to curb Francis’s rebellion. She should tell him he wasn’t allowed any cookies today, given yesterday’s misbehavior, but she didn’t possess the energy to battle with her son. So she said, “I should be back well before noon. Thank you again, Mrs. Mead.”

  “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Deaton. I’ll say a prayer for you to find a job.”

  Alice sent one more warning look at Francis, to which he responded with an impish grin, and then she headed for town. She hoped Mrs. Mead’s prayers availed more than her own. Each night since Oscar’s death she’d prayed for financial provision, but thus far her search for employment had proved futile.

  Her feet beat a staccato rhythm on the boardwalk as she moved past the businesses that had already turned her away. She couldn’t fault the store owners. Many of them had attended Oscar’s burial and brought food to the house afterward. She was grateful for their thoughtfulness. But either they had no need for another worker, or they needed someone during hours she couldn’t be available. Being able to work only during school hours and needing to bring Francis with her created seemingly insurmountable barriers.

  She entered the bank and moved to the teller window. “Good morning. May I speak to Mr. Barker?”

  The man behind the barred window raised his thick eyebrows. “Aren’t you the widow Deaton?”

  She nodded, the title bringing fresh pain.

  “I’ll get him right away.” The teller hurried off, and moments later the banker wheeled around the corner, carrying with him the strong essence of bay rum. He offered his hand to Alice, which she took.

  “Mrs. Deaton. Please accept my condolences on the loss of Oscar. He was a fine man. A very fine man.”

  No matter how many times she heard these utterances of sympathy, they still prompted tears. “Thank you, sir.” She slipped her hand from the banker’s soft grip. “I wondered if I might have a moment of your time.”

  “Certainly.” He escorted her to a small, wood-paneled office and gestured to a sturdy wooden chair with leather upholstery. “Sit right down, Mrs. Deaton.” He settled himself behind the desk and fixed her with a serious look. “Are you here to inquire about the loan?”

  She wasn’t sure what Mr. Barker meant but shook her head and continued. “No, I came to ask about employment. I need a means of providing for my children. So I hoped—”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Deaton, but I have no need for any other employees here.”

  “Not even for a cleaning woman? I’m willing to do anything … any job at all.” The desperation in her tone shamed her. She’d resorted to begging—something she’d never imagined. But then she hadn’t imagined being widowed at forty years of age.

  A rueful look crossed the man’s face. “My oldest girl handles the cleaning duties. It’s my way of teaching her responsibility.”

  Alice hung her head. “I see.”

  He went on. “I’d be happy to contact you if something becomes available.”

  But she needed a job now. Her head still low, Alice nodded. “Thank you, sir.” She started to rise.

  “Mrs. Deaton, while you’re here …”

  The furrow on the banker’s brow sent a prickle of unease across her frame. She sank back into the chair. “What is it?”

  “I hesitate to be the bearer of unfortunate news, but it must be dealt with eventually, and it might be best not to postpone it any longer.” He rested his elbows on the edge of the desk. “The loan your husband secured is well past due.”

  Alice frowned. Oscar had never mentioned taking out a loan. “Loan for what?”

  “His hospital and doctor bills.”

  “But … but Oscar hadn’t visited a doctor since he was hurt at the quarry more than three years ago.” Panic took hold, making her break out in a cold sweat. “Are you saying he’s left a loan unpaid for more than three years?”

  Mr. Barker raised both palms. “Oh, now, he’s come in and put money, a little at a time, against the balance.” Sighing, he lowered his hands to the desk top. “But when he signed the note, he agreed to pay in full within thirty months. He didn’t honor that agreement.”

  Oscar—the most honorable man she’d ever known—hadn’t fulfilled a financial obligation? She knew Mr. Barker wouldn’t lie to her, but she struggled with accepting the banker’s statement.

  He continued. “I visited with him about it at the beginning of the month, and he assured me he would pay the remaining balance soon. But then …” He grimaced. “Well, I’m sure he would have kept his word if not for …”

  If not for his death. And now the responsibility lay with her. Alice gulped. “What is the balance, Mr. Barker?”

  The man opened a folder and withdrew a sheet of ledger paper. He slid it across the desk to her.

  The figure at the bottom of the column glared up at her—$18.17. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. Where would she come up with such a sum?

  Chapter 3

  Alice’s ears rang so shrilly she had a hard time hearing Mr. Barker’s voice.

  “Mr. Horner informed me he owes Oscar $14 in back wages. I’
m sure he’ll deliver the money to you soon. I would be willing to accept the $14 as a final payment and forgive the remaining $4 and odd cents if it would be helpful.”

  Alice willed herself to calm enough to think clearly. This news was so unexpected, so unnerving, she battled bursting into tears. But she couldn’t cry in the banker’s office! “I … I appreciate your generosity, Mr. Barker. But to give you all the money …” How would she buy groceries and coal and the other things required to take care of Laura and Francis? Her cupboards were nearly bare now, despite the gracious offerings from neighbors and fellow church members. She needed the last of Oscar’s wages.

  She clutched at her remaining scrap of hope. “I intend to find a job. And when I do, I can make payments on the loan. Would you allow me to make payments?”

  Mr. Barker scowled—not an angry scowl, but one of uncertainty. “Mrs. Deaton, am I correct that you have two children at home?”

  “Yes. My girl is nine years old, and my boy is almost six.” His question encouraged her. Surely the man wouldn’t knowingly take food from the mouths of small children.

  “Then how do you expect to secure a job? Will you leave your youngsters with a neighbor? Will you work while they’re in school and allow your daughter to care for your son in your absence?”

  Alice’s heart sank. The same questions had plagued her mind, but hearing them out loud gave them greater credence. “I don’t know.”

  “I see …”

  For several minutes the two of them sat in silence. Mr. Barker fingered the paper bearing Oscar’s loan information, and Alice silently prayed he would take pity on her and choose to wipe the entire debt from the ledger.

  Finally he cleared his throat and looked her in the face. “Mrs. Deaton, it pains me to deliver such unpleasant news to you, but you must understand. When I make a loan in good faith and it isn’t repaid, then my business suffers. I’m left unable to assist other customers who need financial help. I’ve already extended great patience to your husband, and I believe most bankers would demand the entire amount. However …”