Circle of grace, p.34
Circle of Grace, page 34
Just as Tess moved to shut the kitchen cabinet, Grace caught a glimpse of food supplies—coffee and filters, a glass jar filled with tea bags, a loaf of bread, some cans of soup. Real soup with red labels, not the generic store-brand variety she had come to despise. “This is fabulous,” Grace breathed.
It was, by far, the nicest place she had called home since childhood. The walls were painted a soft blue-gray, and the floor was hardwood with a blue and rust-colored Oriental rug in the center. Flanking the side windows were two tall wooden bookcases, and between them, a walnut desk with a high-backed leather office chair. There was a nearly new sofa in matching tones, two coordinating armchairs, and a big squashy ottoman, as well as a walnut coffee table and end tables topped by slate-blue ceramic lamps. The bed in the corner was hammered copper, covered by a handmade star quilt in various hues of blue, cream, and brown.
“Well, as I told you, we can redecorate if you want,” Tess said. “Not everybody likes blue.”
“I love it. It’s peaceful.”
Snookums seemed to agree. She had curled up on the ottoman and was snoring softly.
Tess smiled at the cat. “That door on the left goes into my office. And here”—she went to open a door on the far side of the room, next to the kitchenette—“there’s a small deck across the back, overlooking the yard. We’ve got an umbrella table and a couple of chairs, but Hal hasn’t gotten them up here yet.”
She fished in her pocket and handed Grace a small ring bearing two brass keys. “Here you go. The square key fits our front door, and the round one fits your private entrance. Claire’s still got the extra garage-door opener, but it’ll be yours once we get it back.”
Tess turned to go. “Hal will be home in half an hour or so. He’s got a friend coming later to help unload your van.” She smiled. “I’m going to go check on dinner. Come down whenever you’re ready.” She put a hand on the doorknob leading to her study. “And, Grace—”
“Yes?”
“Welcome home.”
For a long time after Tess left, Grace sat in the comfortable blue chair—her chair—with her feet propped on the ottoman next to the snoozing cat. She jingled the keys absently in one hand and stared in amazement around the apartment—her apartment.
Home, Tess had said. And her mind echoed, home.
Home is where the heart is, where you belong, where people love you. Home is where you have a tile shower and a sofa that doesn’t sag and brass keys and brand-name soup and new bowls for the soup, blue bowls that match the rest of the decor.
Maybe, when she wasn’t looking, she had already died. Because this certainly wasn’t Iowa.
It was heaven.
It had taken Grace a week to sell her belongings and pack up what she had chosen to keep, and several hours of arranging and rearranging to fit it all into the van. It took Hal and his friend Greg—another professor at the Writers’ Workshop, apparently—exactly twenty-eight minutes to unload everything into the garage apartment.
Hal had arrived home a little before five. By quarter to six the three of them had sat down to a meal of crock-pot roast beef with potatoes and carrots, and the most delicious homemade bread, still warm from the oven. Hal, Tess informed her, was the bread baker of the household—one of his many gifts.
Grace liked Hal from the moment she met him. He had kind eyes, and a gentle way of drawing her out that made her feel as if she’d known him for years. She had no doubt Tess had told him everything—clearly, that was the kind of relationship they shared—but he mentioned neither her cancer nor the sordid circumstances of her past. He treated her as a person, not a charity case, and there was no question about his welcome of her into their home, not the least glimmer of reluctance at having a stranger invade the sanctity of their private space.
Still, Grace determined not to make a pest of herself. After dinner, and a dessert of luscious apple crisp, she cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and tidied up Tess’s kitchen. By seven-thirty she had excused herself and went upstairs to unpack.
For a couple of weeks now she had felt her energy levels declining. The two-day drive had exhausted her, and despite her best intentions to get the apartment in order, she couldn’t seem to make herself get up and work.
She sat on the rug in the middle of the room, surrounded by cardboard boxes and crumpled butcher paper. The box marked KITCHEN would be easiest to unload—a few spoons and spatulas, some old stained Tupperware, a ceramic teapot, a popcorn popper. The ancient percolator with its frayed cord went back into the box, along with a mismatched set of battered tableware. Those could be thrown out in favor of the new coffeemaker and bright silverware Tess had provided.
At last she got the kitchen stuff stowed in the cabinets and turned to the boxes of books—old, much-loved friends that would fill the bookcases on either side of the desk. She didn’t have the strength to lift the boxes, but at least she could do a little organizing.
Grace had just begun to arrange the contents of the first box—alphabetically, by author—when a light knock sounded on the outside door. She struggled to her feet and went to answer it, and through the nine-light window with its sheer curtain, saw the form of a young woman waving through the glass.
Grace pulled the door open. The porch light on the landing cast a soft golden glow over blonde curls, and bright blue eyes smiled at her. The young woman wore jeans, a light brown leather jacket, and a navy T-shirt that read VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS.
“I figured I’d come up and introduce myself,” the girl said. “I’m—”
Grace’s exhaustion dissipated like smoke on the mountains. She stared at the girl, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps. “You’re—you’re Claire.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Could I come in before all the moths in the Midwest invade your space?”
Grace found her manners and took a step back. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Claire eased into the room and waited while Grace shut the door behind her. “Sorry I missed dinner,” she said, extending a hand in Grace’s direction. “I’m glad to meet you. Mom’s told me all about you.”
Grace had the sudden irrational longing to throw her arms around Claire, but she resisted the impulse.
“Dad and I have been telling Mom for ages that she ought to have an assistant,” Claire went on. “I think it’s great you were willing to come. With your background and all, the two of you will make a great team.”
Grace motioned toward the sofa, and Claire sat down. Immediately Snookums jumped up from the ottoman she had claimed as her own, leaped into Claire’s lap, and began to purr. “She’s gorgeous,” Claire murmured, stroking the cat under the chin. “She’s Himalayan, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Partly, anyway. Her grandmother was full-blood. She’s Snookums the third.”
“Well, Snookums, you’re a beauty. And a lover.” The cat butted her head against Claire’s hand.
“Would you like some coffee?” Grace asked, moving toward the kitchenette. “It’s decaf, I think.”
“I’d love some. But I see you’re busy unpacking, and I don’t want to disturb you.”
“Sorry the place is such a mess,” Grace apologized as she retrieved the bag of coffee and a filter from the overhead cabinet. She filled the pot and started the coffee brewing, then turned back toward her visitor.
Claire had removed her jacket and was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the half-empty box of books. “I could help if you like. We could talk while we work.” Snookums followed the girl like a lovesick puppy, pawing at the packing paper that lay scattered over the rug and rolling belly-up for her stomach to be rubbed.
“Ah.” Claire fingered one of the volumes that lay on the floor beside the bookcase. “My favorite book—and from the looks of it, one of your favorites, too.” She held up a worn, dog-eared copy of The Secret Garden.
Grace lowered herself awkwardly to the floor next to Claire. “I would have thought The Chosen Child would be your favorite.” She picked Tess’s book out of the pile and surveyed it. “Guess I should get my copy autographed.”
“Mom would be honored.” Claire emptied the open box and began to alphabetize its contents. “Tell you what. Why don’t you sit on the couch and give me directions, and I’ll organize and shelve them. That way you don’t have to keep getting up and down.”
Grace fixed her eyes on the girl’s back as she began arranging books on the top shelf. “You know about my cancer,” she said.
“Yes,” Claire said matter-of-factly without turning around. “Mom told me.”
“And what else did she tell you?”
“Pretty much everything, I think.” Claire finished the top shelf and came over to kneel next to Grace. “We don’t have many secrets.”
“So you know about—”
“About the child you gave up for adoption?” Claire nodded, her expression revealing no trace of pity or discomfort. “It was a good thing to do, Grace. I can vouch for that.”
“Yeah,” Grace said. “You lucked out, getting Tess and Hal for parents.”
“I wouldn’t call it luck. I was blessed.”
They talked as they worked—or, rather, Claire talked and Grace listened. She spoke easily, comfortably, of what it was like growing up as an adopted child, her futile search for her birth mother, her conviction that her parents’ love for her had made all the difference in her life. She spoke freely about God and faith and the unexpected directions her life had taken. And the more Grace listened, the stronger she felt a sense of connection between the two of them. There was something special about this remarkable young woman, and although she thought she knew what it might be, she didn’t dare verbalize that hope.
Claire finished unpacking and arranging the books and flattened the cardboard boxes for recycling. When the apartment had taken on some semblance of order, Grace poured coffee and discovered, much to her delight, a package of Oreos in the cupboard. The two of them sat on opposite ends of the sofa with the cookies between them.
“So, what’s an Iowa girl like you doing with a Virginia T-shirt?” Grace said, trying to keep the conversation light.
“I’ve just moved back from Virginia, actually,” Claire said. “Three years of grad school in Alexandria. Seminary was great. I loved every minute of it—but being that close to D.C. was awful. I’m glad to be coming home.”
Grace inhaled a piece of cookie and choked violently. “Seminary?”
“Yeah. VTS—Virginia Theological Seminary. I just finished my M.Div. Didn’t Mom tell you?”
“No, we—we really haven’t had much of a chance to talk since I got here.”
“I’ve received a call to a small parish in Cedar Rapids, about thirty miles north of here. My ordination service is next Sunday, in the afternoon. I’d love it if you’d come.” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mom ever expected to have a priest for a daughter.”
Grace gaped at her. “A priest? You mean an Episcopal priest, like Tess’s dad, with a collar and everything?”
“A collar and everything.” Claire laughed. “But not quite like Granddad. He’s a bishop. More like Gran, although she always did counseling and never served as a parish priest.”
“Wait a minute.” Grace held up a hand. “Your grandmother is ordained?”
“Sure. The church began ordaining women back in the seventies. The presiding bishop didn’t agree with it, but he didn’t stand in the way when the convention voted, and he supported the decision despite his personal opinions. Granddad always respected him for that.”
Grace’s mind drifted back to a late-night conversation in the house on Barnard Street, during the snowstorm that had taken her father’s life. “That helps explain Tess’s return to faith. When I first met her, your mother was, I think she put it, ‘on sabbatical’ from the church. She said she couldn’t support a church that refused to ordain women. I’d been surrounded by Southern Baptists all my life, so I couldn’t even conceive of such a thing.”
“Really? It’s pretty common now. The president of my seminary was a woman, and nearly a third of the professors. I had some good role models—including Gran.” A wistful expression came over Claire’s face. “And Mom. She taught me a lot. She’s a deeply spiritual person, you know. Even if she was ‘on sabbatical’ from the church, I can’t imagine her ever abandoning her faith. It’s not all about religion or ritual with her. It’s about love and compassion.”
Claire got to her feet and retrieved her jacket from the chair, where Snookums had pawed it into a nest and was sleeping on it. “I’d better go. Most of my seminary stuff is still crated up in the garage, but I do have a few things yet to pack. I’m moving into the rectory on Friday.” She pointed to the pile of cardboard. “You have any use for those?”
“Help yourself,” Grace said. “Thanks for coming by, and for giving me a hand with the books. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you a bit.”
“Same here.” Claire tucked the boxes under one arm and went to the door. “We’ll do it again. Cedar Rapids isn’t far. I’ll be around a lot, if Mom has any say in the matter.”
After Claire left, Grace took a long, hot shower and sank into bed with a sigh. Snookums curled up next to her with a paw on her pillow.
“Well, baby, this has been quite a day,” Grace said to the cat. “And Claire Riley-Hopkins is something else, wouldn’t you agree?”
Snookums emitted a loud, rumbling purr of agreement.
Yes, Grace thought. Claire was something else. Lovely, intelligent, tenderhearted, full of compassion. Honest. Witty. And spiritual. A woman of faith. A woman who was devoting her life to helping others.
She felt a surge of pride welling up in her. She couldn’t say it to anyone—not even to Snookums, not even to herself. But as she drifted off to sleep, the thought crept into her mind and nestled there.
My daughter…a priest.
-39-
PILATE’S ANSWER
Lovey was just heading downstairs for breakfast when the telephone rang. She glanced at her watch. Who could be calling at eight o’clock in the morning?
She heard Neva Wilson pick up. “Tennyson residence.” A pause. “Yes ma’am, she’s here. Just a minute, and I’ll get her.”
Lovey came around the corner into the den. “I’ll take it in here, Neva. Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee? Bo will be down in a minute. Tell him I’ll be in to breakfast shortly.”
Neva handed over the receiver. “It’s Miss Liz, your friend from Washington.”
“You don’t have to call her ‘Miss,’ Neva. I’m sure she told you that.” She put the receiver to her chest. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Miz Manda’ either. Amanda will do just fine, or Lovey.”
“Old habits die hard,” Neva murmured as she went toward the kitchen. “Though it seems like you and Mr. Bo have been killing them off right and left.”
Lovey smiled and put the telephone to her ear. “Liz?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Liz said. “Sorry to be calling so early.”
“That’s OK. I’m up. I’m off to the adult day care center at ten, but I’ve got time.”
“Lovey, don’t you think adult day care is a little premature?” Liz joked. “I know you’ve been having your senior moments, but—”
“Cut it out.” Lovey laughed. “You know perfectly well I go there to help. Lots of them don’t really need supervised care, they just want company. Somebody to listen.” She shifted the phone to the other side. “How are you? How’s Serena?”
“We’re both just fine. Busy. The bigger question is, how are you and Bo?”
“We’re good, I think. In counseling, working on our issues. Some days Bo really seems like a changed man. Time will tell, but I’m hopeful.”
“That’s great.”
“Hang on a second, will you? Bo’s flagging me down.”
Lovey held a hand over the mouthpiece and turned to her husband, who was standing in the doorway, giving her a time-out signal. “It’s Liz,” she said. “I may be a few minutes here.”
“That’s OK.” He came into the room and stood next to her. “You sure it’s all right with you if I go play golf?”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful day for it. I’ve got the senior center this morning anyway.”
“I’ll go on, then. We tee off at nine. I’ll grab some breakfast on the way.”
“Tell Isabel before you leave, so the Wicked Witch of the West doesn’t get her bloomers in a wad about cooking too many eggs.”
“Will do. I should be home by one or so. Remember, we’ve got counseling at four this afternoon. I thought maybe we’d go out for dinner afterward—give us a chance to process.”
“Sounds great. Why don’t you give Isabel the day off, then? I’ll see you later.”
He ran a hand over her hair and bent down to kiss her. “Love you.”
“You too, hon. Bye.”
When he was gone, she turned her attention back to Liz. “Sorry for the delay. Bo—”
“I heard. Sounds like things are looking up. He actually told you he loved you.”
“Every day,” Lovey said. “More than once.” She chuckled. “At first it seemed contrived, you know, as if he had an index card in his pocket reminding him to say it. But it’s become more natural now. He’s finally quit bringing me flowers all the time. I swear, for a while the place looked like a funeral parlor.”
“That’s better than the alternative.”
“Very true. He lapses now and then, but for the most part we’re making progress. He’s in AA. Counseling’s going well. I have to admit, though, I’m glad he’s lost that hangdog expression. Contrition wears thin after a month or two. We’re actually having fun now that he’s relaxed a little. Oh, by the way, I finally found the note.”
“The note you wrote when you came to Asheville for the reunion? The one he claimed he never got?”
“Right. It had slipped down between the dresser and the wall. I suspect Neva might have had something to do with it getting lost, but I can’t prove it. She’s pretty sharp. Maybe she thought it would do him good to think I had left him.”
