chapter 8

*Grace*

I lose track of how many times Rob and I wake each other during the night and make love. I’m not complaining—he’s an exceptional lover, as attentive and generous in bed as he is outside it.

Which is actually the problem. When I wake up, he’s not in bed with me anymore. I linger for a few minutes, hoping he’ll turn up with coffee that’ll get cold while we’re otherwise occupied like he did yesterday. Which is when I notice the faint hint of his body wash and know that he’s up for the day.

I sit up in bed suddenly. His parents are here!

Thrashing with the covers, I scramble out and rush into the bathroom. I clean up as quickly as I can, then dress. The door to Rob’s parents’ room is open and I grimace, hurrying downstairs.

But there’s no one there. There’s no sign of anyone. The rich, dark scent of coffee is all I find. I peer over the café curtains and see both my truck and Rob’s black Miata. So they must be outside.

Unable to resist, I fix myself a cup of coffee and head for the mudroom door when it opens and Rob’s mother, June walks in, an empty coffee mug in hand.

“Good morning.” She smiles, her soft dimples and the shape of her mouth a sweet reminder of her son. “He’s not here,” she adds, catching the slight flick of my eyes towards the door behind her. “He and his father took a walk. They should be back soon.”

“Oh, thank you.” I reach for the coffee pot. “Would you like another cup?”

June comes to stand beside me at the counter, waiting as I refill her mug with the hot, dark liquid.

“Sugar? Cream?” I offer, but June declines with a slight shake of her head.

That’s when I realize she’s watching me, studying me in that intense, focused way Rob does. Of course, by now, Rob’s mostly broken me of the habit of feeling shy when he does it, but it doesn’t take long for the scrutiny to dredge up my insecurities. What if she doesn’t like me? What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her son?

June’s smile widens and she loops her arm through mine, steering me towards the great room. “I have only ever heard the name of a woman from my son once.”

When June takes the chair where I usually sit—Juliet’s chair—I take a seat on the sofa across from her. There’s something strangely comforting seeing her there, as if somehow my grandmother’s strength and fortitude have returned to lift me up and carry me through this latest crucible.

“Your name, Grace.” She takes a sip of her coffee and let’s her eyes wander over the farmhouse décor, remaining on the photos hung in the stairwell for a long minute. “Being with you, here, makes my son happy. Happier than I think he’s been in his life.”

“I can’t take credit for that.” I shake my head. “Rob’s worked incredibly hard to bring you back together. He’s happy because he’s succeeded and you’re here.”

“That’s his way of showing he loves us,” June counters. Rising, she sets her mug on the coffee table. “But I can see his labors of love here too, and I’m happy for him.”

As I watch, she heads towards the kitchen. I’m about to follow her when she stops in the junction of the great room, kitchen and parlor. As if she’s been here forever, she flips the light switch for the parlor then opens the double doors wide. I’m starting to think she knows about Rob’s Christmas present for me, when she gestures for me to come. When I draw alongside her, I see what she means.

There in the parlor, polished and glowing like the showpiece it once was is my grandmother’s old Mathushek piano. I take a trembling breath, hardly daring to believe it’s real, and step into the parlor. The lid has been propped open, and I can see there are new pins and strings. I touch a smooth key. Immediately, the hammer flips and the single note rings perfectly, filling the room.

Tucking my head in my arms against the piano, I burst into tears.

*Rob*

When my dad and I reach the beet field and start looking around, I’m even more annoyed than I was last night. There are tracks around the irrigation control box—tracks that’re too big to be Grace’s. Not that I’m surprised. Grace is clever; Paul is not.

As my dad wanders through the sea of glossy green leaves, stopping here and there to check the soil and examine a few leaves, I call Dan. When he doesn’t answer, I ring Tim and find that he and Cameron are working at the shop this morning. They conference the call, and when I explain what I think is going on, suggest as an additional safety, we install a metal cage over each box, and Cameron will wire in motion sensing lights and cameras.

By the time I’m done planning with them for this weekend, my father has made his way back to me, carrying several large, brown spotted leaves. “Well, it’s not as bad as it could be, but this will take some doing.”

When we return to the house, my mother is standing in front of the open parlor door as we enter through the mudroom, and I can tell immediately something is wrong. Rushing past my father, I freeze in the doorway.

Grace is stooped over the piano, soft sobs wracking her body. She cradles her head on one arm as she cries, and with her other hand, her fingers stroke the smooth restored finish of the rosewood.

I cast a confused glance at my mother before crossing the room to Grace’s side. “Grace?”

She draws a trembling breath at the sound of her name and raises her head. “You did this for me.”

I’m not certain I understand exactly what’s happening inside her, and while it did result in tears, they aren’t accompanied by cleaning, so I think I can fix it. I nod, opening my arms to her and Grace crashes into them. “I’d do anything for you,” I whisper, pressing kisses into her still damp hair.

In the doorway, my mother is teary-eyed, her steepled hands held against her smile. My dad comforts and cuddles her around her shoulders, his face beaming too, then leads her into the kitchen.

“Why?” Grace asks against my chest.

I lift her chin, gently wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Because it means something to you, Grace.” I quirk a brow at the piano. I kiss her mouth softly, then take her hand. “Come here. I have something to show you.”

Inside the body, I point out the serial number. “This piano wasn’t just your grandmother’s. It was her grandmother’s, and it’s exceptional.” I run my hand over the glowing wood. “It’s made of rosewood, which is endangered now. The keys are actual ivory. It’s like you. It’s rare and beautiful and without an equivalent. And worth the effort to preserve in its perfection. To protect.”

“To love?”

“It’s no effort to love you, Grace.” I shake my head, a smile pulling the corners of my mouth. “But definitely worth it.” Tugging her hand, I lead her to the kitchen. At first Grace follows reluctantly, then seeing my father holding several glossy beet leaves, becomes curious.

The brown-black bullseye splotches of leaf spot are visible even indoors. “Rob told me about your problem,” my father explains. “He asked for my help, so we took a walk around your fields.”

Grace faces me, that mesmerizing little space open between her lips with surprise. “Your father?”

A proud smile stretches across my face. “I told you I knew an expert who could help.”

“I would be so grateful for your help.” Worry-lines crease Grace’s brow as she looks back at my dad.

“I consider it my privilege for all you’ve done for our family and especially Rob.”

*Grace*

The good news is there are only a few acres that are infected with leaf spot, mostly along the accessible fence line. Rob’s dad assures me I did a fine job planting and that the crowding along the fence that created the close hot quarters leaf spot likes is most likely from the seeds washing towards the drainage on that side.

It’ll take some doing, hand removing the infected leaves, sanitizing the pruning tools between cuts, but once better air circulation is restored to those plants, the rest of the acreage can be treated with copper fungicide to prevent the fungus spreading and kill anything pruning misses. Rob’s father can adapt my overhead watering system to water at ground level so there’s no standing water again either.

The bad news is, we’ll need help with the pruning and that Rob confirmed someone has been sabotaging me, overwatering my beets using the irrigation system.

**

Rob’s family and I work on pruning out the infected interior growth on my sugar beets the rest of the day. The process is slow, since sanitizing the pruning blades involves wiping them with alcohol and allowing them to air dry before making the next cut. We burn the infected leaves in a metal drum in the evening and Rob takes the ashes someplace he knows away from the farm to dispose of them.

Since they’re still adjusting to the time change, Rob’s father and mother are awake odd hours and take walks in the beet field during the night. In the morning, they return with blurry photos of Paul’s car and Mueller’s truck, stopped on the road near my irrigation system. Both drove off when Robetu shined a flashlight at the vehicles.

Furious, Rob drags us to the hardware store as soon as it opens. Robetu and I are selecting a fungicide to treat my beets when I hear my name.

Margie Gregor ambles towards me as Rob approaches from the opposite direction, carrying the lock latches and heavy duty locks he’s selected to install on my irrigation control boxes. Though I dread knowing, I’m also curious what the town gossip wants with me. “Hello, Margie. How’s your husband?”

“Oh, you know Bill. Drives around all day or night in that squad car doin’ nothin’ and gettin’ fat,” Margie cackles. “You’ve been a busy girl since your grandmother passed, Gracie. Who’re these fine gentlemen you’ve got with you?”

Ahh, now she’s getting around to it, I think. “You’ve probably seen my fiancé, Rob, around town already.” As I introduce him, Rob extends his hand and politely shakes Margie’s and she peers at him speculatively. “This is Rob’s father, Robetu. He’s only just arrived with Rob’s mother this week. They’ll be staying with us a while until they get settled.”

“I do recognize Rob,” Margie drawls. “He’s the fine young man been fixing up your farm. Nice ta meetcha,” she says to Rob’s father while still focused on Rob. She gives him a toothy grin. “Fiancé, is it? Well, you’re a fine catch for the finest catch in the county, young man. I certainly approve, and I’m especially impressed with the work you’ve done on Gracie’s farm. Other folks in town here could use those skills. You come talk to me when you get a chance.”

Rob beams at me, rubbing the small of my back in the way that turns my bones to rubber and sends delightful tingles up my spine. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Gregor.”

“What’ve you got there?” Margie asks, gesturing to the locks and lock latches in Rob’s hands.

Rob glances down, then his eyes flick to mine, looking for guidance. My brain is rapidly turning possible answers when a wicked plan presents itself. “Locks and lock latches,” I answer for Rob. “For my irrigation control boxes. Someone’s messing with my timer’s and overwatering my fields. Rob and his dad found a couple different tracks that aren’t mine out there in the mud,” I explain, extending a small foot to reinforce my point.

“You don’t say?”

I have all of Margie’s attention now and intend to use it to my advantage. “Unfortunately, yes. We’re having to install locking cages over them too, with security lighting and cameras.”

Catching on, Rob chimes in, “My dad got a couple photos of two vehicles stopping at one of the boxes last night. Whoever it is drove off as soon as they saw the flashlights.”

Though Robetu isn’t following what’s going on, he does recognize the reference to the photos. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opens the gallery and shows Margie the fuzzy pictures. Her eyes squint as she peers at them, but I know that just like us, she recognizes the vehicles. This town is just too small not to.

“Now that’s just bad behavior,” Margie bites out. “Gracie, you send those photos to me. I’ll post them on the town website and ask for help identifying them. I’ll also have Bill patrol by your place at night ‘til your young man here can get those cages installed. And if you get pictures of their faces, I’ll post those too.”

I can’t help but smile. “Would you? Thank you so much!”

“Of course. Obviously, boys around here need something better to do or they start getting into trouble.” Proud of herself, Margie loops her arm with Rob’s on one side and mine on the other. “You just make sure I get the first pictures of that engagement ring and an invitation to the wedding.”

She strolls along between us as we make our way to the registers, still talking to me. “I hear that man of Ella’s has done her wrong, Gracie. You tell ol’ Margie about that and we’ll see what I can do to make him regret messing with one of this town’s own.”

*Rob*

On the weekend, Ella brings the kids out to the farm, and while my mom entertains them, Ella works with my dad and Grace, pruning out the worst of the infected leaves. She seems happier, and especially happy to spend time with her sister, which I’m glad to see.

Later in the morning, my friends descend on the farmhouse like locusts again. After they wipe out the remains of breakfast, Tim and Cameron bring the welded metal cages, and the four of us mount these to the foundations over the irrigation control boxes after Cameron wires motion sensing lights and cameras to the electric already present for the control panels.

And just because we’re snarky, we wire signs to the cages that Dan picked up in town that say: ‘Smile! You’re on camera!’.

Cameron’s girlfriend arrives around noon, and generously brings lunch for the lot of us. She’s nice. She’s also getting a degree in elementary education and clicks immediately with Grace. When we all go out to the fields in the afternoon, the two chatter amiably not far from me.

A short time later, Tim passes me, carrying his basket of cut leaves to the trailer and mutters, “On your nine, check it out.”

Faking a stretch, I glance that way and see Dan and Ella smiling and talking softly as they work.

*Grace*

That evening, during the Bonfire of the Beet Leaves, Tim’s blue-haired waitress arrives with food and growlers of beer from Three Fools. Enough to feed an army. Which may be a fair estimate. She’s feisty and dominates the festivities, and Tim follows her like a puppy everywhere she goes.

As we eat on the veranda, I lean into Rob, “Is she that kind of spitfire at Three Fools too?”

Chuckling, he kisses my cheek. “More so. She’s settled down now that she has Tim to walk all over.”

As if to reinforce his assessment, right then Tim’s girlfriend pipes up, “Oh, I gave up my best tip shift to bring this fine feast out here to the Styx.” She casts a glance at Tim with a wicked smile, handing him her glass to refill. “That comes at a price.”

When Tim makes his way around us, Rob asks, “You sure you’re equal to that?”

“Man, she’s killing me.” Tim squeezes his eyes shut then grins as his blue-haired girlfriend pounces on him, bites his chest and squeezes his butt. “And I’ll go happily to the grave.”

*Rob*

Though I’ve heard Grace plinking around on the piano a few times, it doesn’t prepare me for the magic she makes when she actually sits down and plays. In the yard beyond the deck, Ella’s kids chase fireflies that dance as if in choreography to the notes from the piano.

Extracting himself from the porch swing, Dan makes his way past me with he and Ella’s glasses.

“Getting cozy,” I comment.

“Don’t get started with me, buddy.” Dan casts a meaningful glance at Grace at the piano. “What’re you waiting for?”

“Nothing.” I grin, crossing my arms over my chest. “Only thing to do is make it public.”

Dan’s face lights, both brows lifting. He gives me a fist bump. “Say no more.” Swiping a growler off the kitchen bar, he makes rounds, refilling glasses.

When everyone’s glass is full, Dan raises his, talking over the conversations around him. “Esteemed family and friends, I’ve spent many years doing a pathetic job as Rob’s wingman. No matter how hard I tried, he kept telling me he was waiting for the right girl. It’s my privilege to tell you, he’s found her.”

Cheers go up all around, and I make my way to Grace’s side.

“And,” Dan prompts, giving me the spotlight, “she said yes.”

Beside me, Grace is smiling that beautiful smile of hers, and my world couldn’t get any more perfect. Smirking, I open my palm flat, extending her engagement ring.