A Gift Of Grace. Inglath Cooper
Betsy had never once refrained from speaking her mind, even when the other party did not want her opinion.
“I don’t remember ever seeing Jeb so unhappy.”
Catherine sat for a moment, too numb to respond. “Did he say something to you?” she finally said, her voice cracking a little.
Betsy took another sip of her tea, and then said, “He didn’t have to.”
“Oh. You can just see this in him?” Catherine asked, trying to keep her voice level.
Pity clouded Betsy’s eyes. “And you can’t?”
“Whatever problems Jeb and I have,” she said, anger fanning through her, “I’m sure we’ll work through them.”
“I know things haven’t been the same for any of you since Laney—”
“No, they haven’t,” Catherine interrupted. “But that’s hardly surprising, is it?”
“Of course not,” Betsy said quickly. “These things take their toll on everyone.”
“These things?” Catherine bit out. “My son lost his wife—” She broke off there, her voice cracking in half.
Betsy reached over and covered her hand with her own. “I know, Catherine. I’m not trying to belittle the enormity of it. I’m just saying maybe a worse tragedy would be for this terrible thing to ruin more lives than it already has. From what I’ve seen, Caleb has let it get the best of him.”
Fury tunneled up through Catherine’s chest. She pulled her hand away and pressed her lips together, glancing across the yard where Betsy’s son, Harris, stood with his arm around his very pregnant wife. Third grandchild on the way. “From your point of view, it must be so easy to judge. How could you possibly understand what Caleb has lost?”
“But there, Catherine,” Betsy said softly. “You just said it. What Caleb has lost. It’s his loss. But it’s destroying your marriage.”
She got up from the chair then, and walked back across the yard, leaving Catherine sitting at the edge of the gathering, alone.
GRACE BARELY SLEPT Friday night. She came into Sophie’s room three times to ask if it was time to get up yet. The last question was asked at 4:00 a.m., and Sophie finally folded back the covers and let the child climb in beside her.
They both went back to sleep then, waking with the sunlight. Grace popped up and immediately began bouncing on the mattress. “Today’s my birthday, Mama!”
“It certainly is,” Sophie said, smiling.
“How many hours till the party?”
Sophie propped up on one elbow to look at the alarm clock. “Five.”
Grace held up a hand, five fingers splayed. “This many?”
“That many.”
They got out of bed, Grace too excited to stay still another minute. They had breakfast in their pajamas, after which Grace stood on a stool at the kitchen island and helped Sophie put icing on the sugar cookies they had baked the night before. They used green, yellow and blue, and Grace made sure each cookie had plenty. The icing was the best part, she said.
Once the cookies were done, they made punch with lime sherbet and ginger ale, then put it in the refrigerator to stay cold. After giving Grace a bath, Sophie took a quick shower and dried her hair.
The doorbell rang at ten-thirty. She looked out the window and spotted Darcy Clemen’s minivan in the driveway. The two of them had started at the university around the same time as assistant professors. They’d become fast friends, a connection between them that defied Sophie’s normal tendency to keep people at a distance.
Darcy and her two daughters, seven-year-old Marina and five-year-old Lauren, stood at the front door.
Sophie opened the upstairs window and called, “Come in. The door’s open. I’ll be right there.”
Grace bounded out of the bedroom and down the stairs to meet them.
“Take your time,” Darcy yelled back. “I’ll corral the girls in the kitchen.”
Five minutes later, she found the foursome in the kitchen admiring the birthday cake.
Darcy looked up and smiled. “Wow. It’s spectacular.”
“Thanks,” Sophie said, proud of it. Shaped like a barn, the cake even had Dutch doors and miniature horses sticking their heads out.
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I actually took a cake-decorating class the summer after my divorce. I made a lot of cakes.”
“I’m impressed.”
Sophie gave Marina and Lauren a hug, chastised them for yet another growth spurt. “You girls are going to be taller than your mama pretty soon.”
They both smiled.
On the street in front of the house, a truck slowed to a stop. Grace ran to the living-room window. “Mama, they’re here!” she called back. “The donkeys are here!”
The truck and trailer were bright red and yellow, Ben’s Barnyard Adventures painted on the sides. A weathered-looking older man got out. He wore a big cowboy hat, which he tipped in their direction. “Morning,” he said. “One of you Dr. Owens?”
Sophie stepped forward to shake his hand. “I’m Sophie Owens.”
“Ben Crawford.”
“Thank you for coming. This is my daughter, Grace, and our friends Darcy, Marina and Lauren.”
“Morning, ladies,” he said.
“Are the donkeys in there?” Grace asked, pointing at the trailer.
“Sure are,” Mr. Crawford said, smiling. “Munchin’ on hay.”
“Can they get out now?”
“I don’t see why not.” He looked at Sophie. “Where do you want us, ma’am?”
“Everything is set up in the backyard. “
He got in the truck and pulled around to the back of the house. They followed, Grace squeezing Sophie’s hand tight, her blue eyes wide with excitement.
A few minutes later, Mr. Crawford lowered the tailgate and led the two miniature donkeys out.
“This is Oscar in the red halter, Lulu in the blue,” he said.
Grace reached out and rubbed Lulu’s neck. “She’s so soft.”
The little donkey nuzzled Grace’s hand. She squealed with delight.
“Here,” Mr. Crawford said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a couple of sugar cubes. “You can give them one of these.” He showed Grace how to hold her hand out flat with the sugar in the palm so they wouldn’t accidentally nibble her fingers.
Grace was in love. Mr. Crawford hooked the donkey’s lead ropes to the shaded side of the trailer and asked if she would like to brush them. Grace nodded, and he put a soft brush in her hand, showing her how to stroke in the direction the hair grew.
“I don’t think you could have gotten her a better present,” Darcy said.
“She loves animals,” Sophie said, telling Darcy about the yellow Lab at Tucker Farm Supply.
“You lugged all that hay out here? You should have called. I could have helped.”
“Actually, the man who owns the store brought it out. Caleb Tucker.”
Darcy looked surprised. “Is he the dark-haired guy I’ve seen in there? Tall? Good-looking?”
Sophie lifted a shoulder, reaching for nonchalance. “Probably.”
Darcy