Page 33 of Discovering Grace

Everly Refuge, though made of somber gray stone, never failed to bring Jacob peace when he set eyes upon it. Even with his thoughts muddled, the house did its duty that morning. The deep green shutters at the windows and the fine gardens surrounding the house made it a cheerful prospect. It helped that Jacob had visited the Refuge enough to practically call it his second home.

He went to the front door and gave his customary knock, removing his hat before it even swung open.

“Good morning, Garrett.” He greeted the butler with easy familiarity. “How is everything at the Refuge?” He tried to keep his tone light, as chipper as ever.

“Entirely too quiet, Mr. Barnes.” Garrett took the hat and gloves away, giving Jacob barely any time to glimpse the puzzled frown the butler wore. “Miss Everly is in the upstairs parlor, organizing the picnic.” Garrett disappeared without another word or backward glance.

“Thank you, Garrett,” Jacob called to the butler’s retreating form. With Mrs. Everly and Hope gone, and the younger children away at school, the house seemed most forlorn. Jacob quickened his steps as the silence thrummed in his ears. As unsettled as he was by his thoughts and the difficulties of his friends, the strange, empty air of the house made him irrationally uncomfortable.

He fairly vaulted up the stairway and into the hall, as though outrunning the silence was an actual possibility. The door to the parlor was shut, but he pushed it open without thought of settling his nerves first.

When he entered rather more like a hurricane than a gentleman, Grace jolted to her feet. She stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth.

“Jacob?” she asked in her customary, soft voice. A tone he had never heard from her sister. “Is something wrong?” She came three steps toward him and stopped, not quite within arm’s reach, and her clear blue eyes swept him up and down with concern.

“Yes—” He cut himself off, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean, no. Nothing is wrong. A bit of foolishness on my part is all.” He dropped his hand and tapped his fingers against his thigh. “I am not entirely sure what came over me.”

Her dark eyebrows drew together and one corner of her mouth pulled back, her confusion tempered with amusement. “After being near Isaac last night, I think it must be something catching. None of us have been ourselves lately.”

“You less than anyone,” he added, trying to tease her. But his words fell flat, and somehow sounded like an accusation to even his ears.

Drawing herself up, though her height was nothing impressive, Grace gave him a most indignant glare, but said nothing. She merely turned and went back to her table, sitting as she must have been when he rushed into the room. She took up her pen and dipped it into the ink.

As she had not invited him in, Jacob hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Why did it always feel as though he was wrong-footed of late? It had started when he learned Hope planned to leave on her voyage. At least that no longer stung as it had before. He could think on her being away and wish her well. After speaking with Mr. Spratt, Jacob’s heart hadn’t been troubled by Hope’s absence.

Truly, his only present difficulty was the role he played in Grace’s deception. That reminder brought him back to his purpose for arriving at such an hour. It was barely past breakfast for most households.

“I am sorry for my part in the conversation last night,” he said at last.

Grace’s pen stilled but she did not look up. “Your part? I cannot think of anything you said that you need apologize for.”

Encouraged by even that much consideration, Jacob stepped further into the room. “I believe it is my fault you are now proving yourself with a picnic.”

Her nose wrinkled as she looked up at him. Most would think that wrinkle a sign of disgust, but Jacob knew well enough it indicated her confusion.

“A picnic is hardly an imposition. I have planned dozens of them, after all.”

“You have?” He took another step and tucked his hands behind him. “I thought the picnics were Hope’s ideas.”

“Some were.” Grace stared at him as if he were spouting ridiculous nonsense. “But whether I planned an event or she did, Hope sends the invitations, then she plays the hostess. I always do everything else. That is how we divide all our projects, because people are more keen to do a thing if Hope suggests it.” She went back to working on her list, completely unaware as to what her explanation had done to Jacob.

All their projects, she had said. Not just picnics and parties. All. Perhaps like the Sunday school for the village daughters, or the sewing club for the orphans of soldiers killed in the line of duty, or the lending library meant to benefit those who could not afford to purchase books of their own. Hope had voiced each of those ideas within his hearing, and Jacob assumed they had been her ideas.

Before he could decide whether or not to discover the truth, Grace sat back in her chair, laying her pen down upon her paper. “Can you think of any picnic you enjoyed in particular?”

Asking him a question regarding his opinion ought to be as good as an invitation to stay. He settled himself on a spindly-legged chair near where he stood. “There was that one where we all played games. That was so long ago, we were only children. I don’t suppose that it is a helpful memory, but it is one of my best.”

Grace’s eyes gleamed and her lips turned upward. “Can you imagine ladies and gentlemen running about in the gardens, having three-legged races?” The amusement in her manner turned to enthusiasm. “Oh, this is a wonderful idea. Thank you, Jacob.”

“I cannot see how it helped you at all.” He had to admit, though, that imagining his brother playing leapfrog, at his age, would be cause of amusement. Yet the humor in the situation fled when he noticed Grace’s expression.

Grace stared at the floor, nibbling at her lower lip, her blue eyes distant.

“Is there something else troubling you?” he asked, studying the weary tilt of her head. If planning the picnic had not worried her, what did? Acting as Hope? How much longer would she have to play that role?

Grace emitted a deep sigh and the wrinkle on her nose appeared again. “Everything is changing, Jacob. I knew it must happen, but that does not mean I have to like it. Silas is married and spends part of the year in London, Isaac has not really come all the way home from the war, Hope is gone, and you are to be our vicar.”

“What of you?” he asked when she did not continue her list. “How are you changing?”