Grace Taylor has left her rural, working class community to attend Kent State, a university with an infamous past. Her upbringing in Salem, Ohio was defined by an abolitionist and farming lineage, a history quickly disappearing with the encroachment of The Rust Belt.
Through her friendship with Sam Dunn, an openly gay student, Grace begins to question the long-held beliefs of her family and community. When her brother’s violent behavior results in Sam’s death, Grace is forced to acknowledge a history of abuse in the church and its lasting effect on her family.
Fifty years later, on a campus healing from a tragedy during the Viet Nam war, Grace finds the strength to reflect on her values and confront inter-generational prejudice. Upon The Ashes is a coming of age story about the moral development of a first-generation college student and a young woman finding her voice in the quest for social justice.
“My Dear Sirs – I cannot express to you in words how deeply grateful I am to the people of Salem for devoting a day to the celebration of the abolition movement. So far as I know, Salem is the only city in the country which has ever had such a celebration.” - Booker T. Washington
Settled into the northeastern Ohio valley, the town’s name meant “city of peace”, an appropriate choice, as it was originally inhabited by Quakers who valued racial equality and religious freedom. Abolitionists made Salem a hub in the Underground Railroad and the suffrage movement held the first woman’s rights convention in the state. By the early 20th century, Salem exhibited the best of life in a small, American community.
“Look on the bright side,” Sam reassured her as the ambulance left and he helped her inside. “Everyone will know who you are and you have a new friend.”
“I don’t want everyone remembering me for this.” She reluctantly held onto his arm as she swayed a little. “And what makes you think we’re going to be friends?”
“It was meant to be.” He smiled brightly and pointed to the placard atop a post, the text as cheeky as his smirk.
Grace shook her head as she read it.
In Case You Needed a Sign.
Exhaling slowly, Grace closed her eyes in prayer, feeling the connection between she and her Creator. It was the oldest voice in her mind, the deepest sense of security, stronger than the love of her mother and father combined. It was absolute peace and trust.
In these moments, she could share anything with Him, feeling no shame or embarrassment in her vulnerability. He saw all, knew all, and Grace appreciated that she could communicate silently, her preferred form of prayer.
On May 4, 1970 members of the Ohio National Guard fired into a crowd of Kent State University demonstrators, killing four and wounding nine Kent State students. The impact of the shootings was dramatic. The event triggered a nationwide student strike that forced hundreds of colleges and universities to close. H. R. Haldeman, a top aide to President Richard Nixon, suggests the shootings had a direct impact on national politics. In The Ends of Power, Haldeman (1978) states that the shootings at Kent State began the slide into Watergate, eventually destroying the Nixon administration. Beyond the direct effects of the May 4th, the shootings have certainly come to symbolize the deep political and social divisions that so sharply divided the country during the Vietnam War era.
JERRY M. LEWIS and THOMAS R. HENSLEY
The location midway between Cleveland and Pittsburgh had originally been an asset, but as business in these regions suffered, so too did Salem. Incomes in Columbiana County were below average by the time Grace was born. Nearly half of the manufacturing jobs were lost and a new term was being used in the region: The Rust Belt. The region was bleeding. Jobs left, people left and those who remained could do little more than reminisce.
Prologue
Tiny pellets of snow gathered in the corners of the window where Grace sat, the most secluded chair in the generically decorated waiting room. They almost looked like the fake snow used in store fronts, which had only recently been removed, now that the Christmas holiday was past.
She wrapped her arms around her frame, the weather outside making her feel colder. The chill had been a part of her life for months and sometimes Grace wondered if she would ever feel warmth again.
From the second floor of the student health center, there was a view of the ice arena and parking lot. The varying shades of cars were hidden, all of them temporarily white, covered in a veil of frozen precipitation. She remembered Sam gathering snow from the hood of a car in that parking lot and pressing it into a ball before tossing it playfully in her direction. Grace’s tear ducts pricked and her chest constricted painfully at the happy memory. There would be no more of them.
A pile of magazines were spread on the coffee table in front of her, but Grace made no move to pick one up and feign pleasantness. This was the last place she wanted to be, which was saying something, as she had resided in hell for two months.
“Grace Taylor?”
Startled, Grace’s head snapped toward the woman in the doorway, which had opened silently. She nodded once and stood, stuffing her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t have to shake hands.
“Grace, I’m Dr. Lansbury. It’s nice to meet you.” The woman extended a hand and, quietly irritated, Grace shook it once before returning her hand to her pocket.
As they walked to a room at the end of the hall, Grace took in the doctor’s appearance. With soft, gray hair, chinos and a cardigan, she looked more like someone from the woman’s group at her church than a psychiatrist.
Grace followed her into the large office, tastefully decorated in classic furnishings and landscape paintings.
“You may hang up your coat, if you wish.” Dr. Lansbury gestured toward the coat stand near the door. It was warmer in this room and Grace shrugged out of her heavy coat, placing it on an empty hook before sitting in the armchair furthest from the desk.
To Grace’s surprise, Dr. Lansbury did not take a seat at the desk but sat in the armchair across from Grace, settling in with ease and a small, pleasant smile. “How are you today, Grace?”
Grace narrowed her eyes slightly at the question. “If I were fine, I wouldn’t be here.”
She thought she saw the shortest flicker of amusement in Dr. Lansbury’s expression.
“Why don’t you tell me what is not fine, then? What brings you to my office?”
My father died last fall. And three days later, my best friend was killed. By my brother.
Grace’s pulse and breathing quickened, perspiration forming over her face and body. Her throat tightened as she tried to find and formulate words.
“Isn’t all of that…” She looked for a file to gesture toward, but saw only a legal pad and pen in Dr. Lansbury’s lap. “Don’t you already know?”
“I read what you wrote in the paperwork,” the doctor answered. “That doesn’t tell me everything, though. Does it?”
“You want to know everything?” Grace’s voice sounded small and timid.
“I would like to know what is causing you to be unhappy,” Dr. Lansbury spoke slowly and softly almost mimicking Grace’s tone. “More importantly, I would like to know what we can do to help you be happy again.”
“I don’t expect to be happy again.” It was not pessimism, but an unavoidable result if Grace did what was necessary.
Dr. Lansbury leaned forward, regarding her patient intently. “Then, why are you here, Grace?”
Grace’s shirt grew damp as she felt herself being scrutinized. How could she explain to this woman, despite everything she had been through in recent months, the worst was ahead of her?
She retrieved a tissue from a nearby box, wiping her nose roughly and balling it in her fist. Unfortunately, the action did not alleviate the prickling in her eyes and nose as tears threatened to form. “Because, I have something important to do and no one else will help me with it.”
Dr. Lansbury moved toward the edge of her seat, her expression unchanged. “What is that, Grace?”
Closing her eyes, the tears that had been pooling in Grace’s lids, spilled onto her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly and took several deep breaths before speaking.
“I need to make sure my brother goes to prison.”
Chapter 1
A cloudless blue sky shone on the Kent State University esplanade, creating short shadows on the brick pavers, warm and glowing as light reflected off their surface. Sunglass clad students with smooth skin and shiny hair walked briskly atop them, chatting happily with friends, their clear, smooth voices filling the air. Despite the burden of backpacks, many moved quickly and easily, with a spring in their step as they navigated the crowd.
Some walked with heads down as they checked mobile devices, bobbing aimlessly until they looked up and momentarily reoriented their direction. Others took in the sights around them, offering smiles and subtle waves to those they knew. They appeared, not merely busy, but productive. It was a wave of youth moving toward futures as bright as the glare on the windows.
Their optimism was infectious, except for Grace Taylor, who kept to the side in the shade of the trees with her eyes on the ground. She knew better than to look for familiar faces and could not relate to the ease of their gait or countenance. There was no buoy or shoreline in this sea of bodies, and it left her nauseous every time she set foot outside the predictable confines of her residence hall.
At the loud metal clank and slamming door of a delivery truck, Grace startled, looking up in time to see the familiar graphic of a sun on the side of the vehicle, one of the university logos. As the truck drove off, gasoline fumes lingered in the air, causing Grace to cover her face. The keening motor blended into the hiss of a public bus stopping for a group of waiting passengers.
Sound was a constant part of this new atmosphere. Sounds of people, cars, machines and more people. There were so many people and so much sound it gave her a headache. For a moment, she wished she were home. There she could escape to the fallow farm fields to see all the sky at once and breathe earthy, sweet air.
Grace could not understand why it was so difficult to fit in at the university, when she was certain it was where she should be. It had been divinely provided with the church scholarship, resulting in the first Taylor to attend college. But being the first, meant being alone. She felt like an immigrant in this new world, an alien planet of asphalt and brick, rather than soybeans and corn. Its inhabitants were just as strange, leaving her feeling small and insignificant.
At the thought, she could hear her mother’s voice in her mind. You were the one who wanted to leave.
Yes, Grace chose to leave, but no one understood why. She had been forced to decide: stay and be haunted by ghosts or escape and be surrounded by strangers. No matter how frightening the crowd, it was nothing compared to the reason she fled.
Perhaps, if her parents had known, they would have supported her. Unlike other families, the Taylors had not left with words of reassurance or tearful smiles, but with backward glances of hurt. At the memory, Grace rushed toward her residence hall, the pace causing rivers of moisture to trail down her temples and damp clothing to cling to her form. She was steps away from her familiar dorm room, offering respite to the unpredictability surrounding her.
Walking toward the door, Grace was suddenly immobile as her backpack stuck on a jutting handrail. Tugging on it angrily, she lost control when it finally loosened, hurtling her toward the door at the exact moment another student opened it to exit. With an audible crack, her nose made contact with the glass, and a wave of pain emanated from the center of her face outward, causing her to clutch her nose and stagger backward.
“Oh my God!”
Grace couldn’t see who was shouting. The tears that had threatened to appear earlier, now filled her eyes, blurring her vision. As the throbbing intensified, her legs collapsed under her. Kneeling on the hard sidewalk, her misery evolved into irritation as a stranger’s voice continued to assault her ears, using what Grace considered to be an expletive.
“Christ! Are you okay?”
“Please, stop saying that!” Grace blinked past tears to see the tousled brown hair and perfect bone structure of a handsome young man kneeling in front of her.
“Alright. I’ll stop.” His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing to inspect her face. “How badly does it hurt?”
“A lot.” Her voice sounded stuffy and she wasn’t sure if it was from crying or if her nose was swelling.
He pulled a phone from his pocket and quickly tapped a few numbers.
“Who are you calling?”
“An ambulance.”
“What?” Her eyes bulged in panic. “No! Why?”
“You could have a concussion or a broken nose.” He assessed her again, wincing as he took in her appearance. “Yeah, that looks pretty bad.”
“It does?” Grace tried to sit up to look at her reflection in the glass, but he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t move. You might have a spinal injury.”
She stared at him in annoyance. “I know more about spinal injuries than you do. Let me go.”
He looked like he was going to laugh, but stopped to talk to the dispatcher. Grace glanced around and saw students watching her. She sat back down and crossed her legs, hoping to look less like an injured victim.
“They’re on their way.” He tapped his phone once more and put it in his pocket. “We need to sit tight. Can you see clearly? How many fingers am I holding?” He held up one finger and Grace considered lifting one of her own, far less politely.
“One,” she grumbled.
“Who’s the president?”
“Hillary Clinton.”
His eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “No, she’s not.”
“No, but she should have been.”
He chuckled heartily, a warm sound she might have enjoyed under different circumstances. “What’s your name?”
“Grace Taylor.”
“I’m Sam Dunn.”
Could you please be done?
She smirked at her silent joke which Sam mistook for friendliness, returning her smile. Turning away to avoid instigating him further, Grace met the curious face of a black squirrel staring at her, immobile except for his twitchy nose.
“Go away,” she muttered. “There’s nothing to see here.”
Sam looked between she and the squirrel suspiciously. “Uh… did he say something to you?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay.” He continued to stare at her apprehensively, as he took a seat next to her.
The loud sirens caused her to wince, sensitive to both the sound and the attention it would garner. She silently fumed, imagining Sam being cursed with things like nostril pimples, irritating and uncomfortable, but not so evil that she should feel guilty about them.
The emergency medical technicians strode up the walkway and Sam scooted behind her, not leaving. She didn’t know why. Even the amused squirrel had disappeared, knowing when to take his leave.
It didn’t take long to asses she did not have a broken nose or a concussion, just a severe case of bad luck and a bruised ego as half of the residents were now observing the commotion outside their residence hall.
“Look on the bright side,” Sam reassured her as the ambulance left and he helped her inside. “Everyone will know who you are and you have a new friend.”
“I don’t want everyone remembering me for this.” She reluctantly held onto his arm as she swayed a little. “And what makes you think we’re going to be friends?”
“It was meant to be.” He smiled brightly and pointed to the placard atop a post, the text as cheeky as his smirk.
Grace shook her head as she read it.
In Case You Needed a Sign.
The following afternoon, Grace had the odd feeling she was being watched as she sat in the student lounge. Pretending to retrieve her water bottle, she scanned the room as she reached backward toward her pack.
Walking toward her was Sam, eyeing her cautiously. “Hello?”
“Is that a greeting or a question?”
“A warning.” He took a seat nearby. “I wasn’t sure if you were still mad at me.”
Grace took a small sip of water, allowing herself time to assess the person she had barely gotten a good look at the day before. He was well-dressed, in clothes which appeared expensive and slightly formal compared to his peers. His expression was friendly, but cautious, and she felt guilty about the hostility she had shown toward him the day before. Grace softened her expression and tone as she looked at him.
“I’m not mad.” He cocked his head to one side and Grace quickly added, “anymore.”
“You were pretty miserable, yesterday.”
“I’d just had my face smashed in, Sam.” At the memory, Grace rubbed her sore nose.
“You remembered my name.” Sam smiled and Grace couldn’t help mirror the expression at someone made happy so easily.
“What’s your major, Grace?” He gestured casually at her. “Yesterday, you said you know about spinal injuries so I’d guess you to be pre-med, but you don’t look like a doctor’s kid the way half of them do.” He tilted his head before narrowing his eyes. “Nursing, maybe?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Education?”
“I’m exploratory.”
“See. I knew I could guess it.”
She squinted at him quizzically. “What?”
“Huh?” He briefly mimicked her confusion, before smirking mischievously.
Grace eyed him specutively and tried to resume a normal conversation. “You live in Lake, too?”
“I’m the resident assistant on the second floor,” Sam answered. “Noticing stressed out students, such as yourself, is an occupational hazard.”
At the repeated mention of her mood the previous day, Grace’s eyes darted toward the floor,
“Before our collision, you looked upset.” He inclined his head toward hers. “Everything okay?”
As if his words were directly linked to the muscles in her face, Grace’s jaw tightened. “I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Then why did you ask me?”
“The first step is admitting you have a problem”
“If I can't admit it, I must be hopeless.” Grace raised an eyebrow, which Sam mimicked.
“Maybe.”
They stared at each other for a moment, until Sam’s cheek lifted in amusement and Grace found herself smirking.
He chuckled and leaned forward. “Have you had lunch?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you grab a bite with me? My treat for nearly knocking you unconscious yesterday.”
Grace’s smile fell slightly as she considered his question. College boys were the first thing her mother had warned her about, before handing her a small can of pepper spray.
She considered Sam’s slight stature and the small probability of being murdered in a public dining facility. Still, Grace felt the need to be clear about any expectations. “I'm not going to date you, Sam.”
He stood, retrieving sun glasses out of his bag and putting them on in one deft move. “I'm not going to date you either.”
Grace stood and followed him, mentally thanking the contribution to her meager meal plan.
The Hub wasn’t busy and she was grateful for the sparse crowd as Sam walked toward a sandwich counter.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes.” Grace smiled politely.
She listened in awe at Sam’s elaborate order, containing almost every side and condiment available.
“I’m starving,” he groaned.
“No kidding.” Grace raised an eyebrow.
Sam gestured toward her tray containing half a sandwich and apple. “Clearly, you are not.”
“Not really,” she lied.
Grace was always mildly hungry, but it was a state she was used to and she didn’t want him to spend much money on her. She followed Sam to an empty table and sat across from him.
“How are your classes going?” Sam took a large bite and watched her expectantly.
“Fine, I think.” She placed a napkin in her lap and unwrapped her sandwich. “Psych and bio are both good. Math is a little harder, but I’m seeing a tutor. I thought composition would be easy, but the professor is hard to please.”
“What do you plan to do about it?”
“See her during her office hours.” Although, it was the last thing she wanted to do. The woman terrified her.
“That’s a good idea.” Sam nodded in approval. “The best place to start with a faculty issue is their ass… and kissing it.”
Grace stared at him in shock, making him chuckle.
“Faculty have massive egos. Trust me; I’m the son of two of them.”
She took in his polished appearance. “You were born wearing glasses and tweed?”
“Look at that. She has a sense of humor.” Sam smirked. “Yes, I’ve always dressed like this, it made for some awkward playground moments, but I survived.”
Grace giggled at the image and Sam watched her thoughtfully.
“How do you like living in Lake?
“I like it.” She shrugged. “My roommate is pretty nice.”
“Are you getting to know anybody other than your roommate?”
“I’ve only been here a month.”
It sounded defensive, because it was. Compared to high school, Grace had almost no social life at Kent. Her limited income didn’t help, as she had to turn down any social engagements that weren’t free.
“Fair enough.” Sam acquiesced.
“What year are you?” Grace asked before taking another bite.
“I’m a sophomore, a newly declared physics major.”
The pride was visible as he shared the information and Grace raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “What does someone do with a physics degree?”
He smiled cheekily, “I want to study things that… matter.”
Grace nodded as she swallowed a bite of food.
“It’s a joke.” Sam’s smile diminished slightly. “You know? ‘Matter’?”
“Yes, I get it, Sam.” Grace reassured him with a smile.
“What about you, Miss Exploratory?” Sam opened a bag of chips and popped one into his mouth, speaking through the corner as he chewed. “Have you narrowed down your interests at all?”
Grace waited until her mouth was mostly empty before answering. “I’m considering education. I like kids.”
Good hours and summers off, her mother had reminded her. Wonderful once you have children. Not if, but when.
Sam’s voice brought her back to the present. “The world needs good teachers.”
“I’m also interested in English Literature,” she offered tentatively.
“My Dad teaches literature.”
“Here?” Grace wondered if she might take one of his classes. Perhaps, he was as kind as his son.
“No, my parents both teach near my home town.”
“Where’s that?”
“Hudson.”
Grace nodded, familiar with the affluent town just northwest of campus. Apparently, Sam could afford more than the half sandwich and apple she was relegated to.
“Where’s your hometown?” He looked at her curiously.
“I’m from Salem.” At the blank look on his face, Grace explained, “It’s about an hour southeast of here.”
Sam leaned back in his chairs, his eyebrows lifting comically, “Salem, huh? Is it full of witches?”
“No,” she responded deadpan. “They burned them all.”
Sam stared at her blankly and Grace cocked her head to the side. “I’m joking, Sam.”
He looked slightly embarrassed and she hurried to move the conversation along. “Did you like growing up in Hudson?”
“Yeah.” Sam chewed and swallowed. “What is witch-free Salem like.”
“Small, rural…” She turned toward the windows, suddenly sad as she imagined her home town and all its comfortable familiarity.
“Do you miss it?”
She returned her attention to Sam and nodded. “Sometimes.”
He watched her sympathetically. “The first semester is the hardest. It’ll get easier once you’re more familiar with campus and make some friends.”
Grace offered a small smile as she looked up.
“Then it’s lucky I’ve made one.”
Leaving campus that afternoon, Grace’s spirits matched the weather, clear and warm. The buildings became sparse as she headed east. Once she was on the highway, the trees and open fields on either side of the interstate reminded her of where she was headed: home.
Salem was a town on the way to nowhere. It would not be discovered accidentally. If someone exited the interstate onto the one lane road leading to town, they had done so on purpose. It was large enough and far enough from any city to allow its independence.
Signs on the outskirts of town boasted of Salem’s best qualities, a “city of peace” founded by Quakers who valued racial equality and religious freedom, a hub in the Underground Railroad and home to the first women’s rights convention in the state.
Grace had grown up hearing about Salem in the early 20th century. At the time, it had exhibited the best of life in a small, American community, where a trolley ran past the vibrant shops downtown and anyone could get a well-paying job in manufacturing. Now, the trolley sat ornamentally next to a dry cleaner, while many of the downtown shops housed tattoo parlors or auto-parts stores paying minimum wage.
A new term was being used to describe the region, The Rust Belt, but those who maintained their affection for Salem could see past it. They appreciated a walk along the tree lined sidewalks when the fall foliage was at its peak, the simple beauty of American flags decorating State Street from Memorial Day until Labor Day, and the quiet, comfort of the Carnegie built library.
On the outskirts of town, Grace turned left onto a rarely used rural road whose every turn she knew by heart. A long gravel drive emerged on the left which led to three homes representing generations of family members whom Grace bore a striking resemblance to. She had the Taylor look about her: lean, with tanned skin and piercing blue eyes, the color of a cloudless summer sky.
Just as the Taylor’s shared traits, they shared land and most lived on a parcel of the family farm. Of the three buildings within view, the first was the newest, a modest colonial her parents had built and where Grace had been raised. Slightly behind it, on the other side of the drive was her grandparents’ home, a brick ranch where the Taylors had raised three children. Farthest back was the original farmhouse, once beautiful, but uninhabited since the passing of Grace’s great-grandparents. It was a ghost of a building, whose empty windows stared down like vacant eyes.
The family legacy included more than generations of farming. There had been loss and, for Grace, deep regret which haunted her daily. It was an illness that grew and festered more each day, made worse by the impossibility of it ever being cured.
At the end of the driveway, Grace glanced between all three homes, preparing to turning left, toward her childhood home. Instead, her foot instinctively tapped the brake when she saw her brother’s dusty black truck. Picturing Danny’s icy stare, the one that had met her for years, Grace turned right. She couldn’t bear to see the hurt, now that she knew she was the cause.
Chapter 2
The back door of Bud and Ellen Taylor’s home squeaked as Grace opened it. Her grandfather could have oiled the hinges, but he chose not to. Instead, it alerted he and his wife to family arriving. Only strangers used the front door, and if they were soliciting, they were quickly rebuffed, Bud’s gun cabinet in full view as he stood with arms crossed in the doorway.
Grace passed through the small laundry room to the kitchen, where she found her grandfather hunched over a police scanner, his eyes tight in concentration as he scanned a list of codes corresponding to various emergencies.
Shaking her head in amusement, Grace greeted her grandmother who was peeling potatoes over the sink. “How’s the neighborhood watch, Grandma? Any interesting crimes?”
“Crimes don’t occur in Salem.” Ellen’s cheek lifted in a smirk, as she pressed a kiss to her granddaughter’s cheek.
A tiny, elderly woman sat near Bud, whom Grace quickly turned her attention to, kissing her papery cheek and speaking loudly into her ear. “Hi, Grape.”
The nickname had been a mistake, Grace’s toddler ears hearing the phrase ‘grape grandma’ rather than ‘great grandma’, but, for some reason, it had stuck.
“Grace!” The women’s aging voice cracked as she called out the name of her great-granddaughter excitedly. Between her poor vision, near deafness and dementia, every visit with a relative was a happy surprise.
Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Grace watched her grandfather patiently until he turned off the device and offered his gruff assessment. “Nothing to report, except Mr. Mooney who ate a newspaper.”
At the sight of his granddaughter’s face scrunched in disgust, Bud’s expression softened to amusement. “He thought it was a burrito.”
“His Alzheimer’s is getting worse,” Ellen offered sadly.
“Cuckoo…” Grace mumbled.
“Grace,” Ellen gently admonished, before depositing a sandwich and glass of milk on the table.
“Cuckoo.” Grape repeated and Grace couldn’t help giggling before taking a bite of the sandwich, smiling appreciatively at her grandmother. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Ellen returned to her potatoes.
A familiar squeak caused everyone to turn toward the backdoor, where Grace’s father entered with a slow gait and heavy carriage. A long week in manufacturing was etched on Ray Taylor. The wrinkles on his forehead were deeper, his face unable to hide the exhaustion of the past five days. Grace knew the expression on her father by heart. It was his Friday face. It would gradually erode over the weekend, only to reappear the next week, a cycle as predictable as the factory line that caused it.
“Hi, Dad.” Grace smiled, and her father greeted her with a peck to the temple.
“Hi, honey.”
Ray settled into a chair with a long exhale, motioning to the electronic device, questioningly. “How are things?”
“Mr. Mooney ate a newspaper,” Grace explained as she pushed the other half of her sandwich toward her father.
“This is why we live in a small town.” Ray smirked before taking a large bite.
“Ray?” Grape called out sadly. “I missed you yesterday. Why didn’t you see me?”
“Sorry, Grandma.” Ray checked on his parents and grandmother daily, but it was easier to apologize than correct her.
Bud shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, no nonsense as he glanced at his granddaughter. “How’s school?”
“Fine.”
“You just missed Danny,” Ellen offered casually, her view from the sink allowing her to monitor all Taylor driveways.
“Mmm hmm.” Ray’s chewing slowed as he barely acknowledged the comment.
A thick silence filled the air, but no one commented on Danny, just as no one ever mentioned Bud and Ellen’s youngest son who died as a boy. Why discuss an unsolvable problem?
Ellen joined her family at the table, sliding a glass of milk toward her son. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“We’re going to the football game tonight.” Ray spoke through a mouthful of food, his eyes flicking up toward his daughter. “That sound alright, Grace?”
Grape smiled broadly. “Is Grace here?”
“Yes, Grape.” Grace answered loudly, lowering her voice to answer her father. “Sure, Dad. The game sounds fine.”
“Taking the homecoming queen back to her throne?” Bud teased.
Ray smiled proudly. “That’s the price you pay for marrying the prettiest girl in town, Dad.”
“I’m glad you’re dating Vicki.” Grape smiled sweetly. “She’s a good girl.”
“Yes, Grandma,” Ray agreed. “Grace, you ready to head home?”
“Grace is here!” Grape shouted and Bud leaned away, his eyes bulging at the sound.
Covering her mouth to hide her laughter, Grace appreciated the momentary comfort. It was a gasp of air before going underwater.
That evening, sitting in the Quaker Stadium, Grace was uneasy. Everything was familiar: the songs played by the marching band, the cheers performed by her former squad and the crowd in the home stands, nearly all of whom she knew, but the timing felt wrong, as if she was trapped in a dream about her past.
A gentle wind stirred the trees nearby, causing Grace to tug at her jacket, her thin frame easily chilled. She had grown accustomed to being cold; just as she had quietly accepted the small portion her mother served Grace that evening. It was something her grandmother noticed, which is why she fed Grace at every opportunity.
At the thought, Grace glanced at her mother. With a delicate, feminine frame, full lips and large, ice blue eyes, Victoria Taylor had been a potent combination of vulnerability and sexuality when she was young. Being the minister’s daughter added another layer of inaccessibility, only increasing interest and desire from men in town. In her forties, Victoria Taylor still drew their attention, but it was less common. With her husband at her side it was always less overt and the reason she rarely attended social events without him.
“Gwace!”
A round-faced toddler tugged at Grace’s hands, pulling her out of her reverie.
“Yes, Brayden?” She looked down at her nephew with a warm smile. He looked like his father, but happier, the way Danny used to look.
“Gwace, do the finguhs!”
Grace eagerly accepted the request, setting him onto her lap before interconnecting her fingers.
“Here is the church.” She lifted each index finger connecting them at the top. “Here is the steeple.”
Brayden giggled in anticipation of his favorite part. “Open it up!”
She rolled her hands upside down and wiggled her fingers. “And see all the people!”
“Finguhs, not people!” He laughed hysterically as he corrected her.
Grace looked at her hands in shock. “What? Oh my goodness, Brayden, you’re right! They really are fingers.” She wriggled them again, in his direction of his stomach. “Tickle fingers!”
He squealed in delight as he leaned away, almost colliding with his grandfather’s legs as Ray returned to his seat with a large bag of popcorn.
“Whoa!” Ray smiled at his grandson wearily, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Careful there, young man.”
The male Taylors were never subjected to dietary restrictions and Grace watched as Brayden and Ray both retrieved fistfuls of popcorn, munching wide-eyed as they watched the players. It was remarkable how similar they looked, despite the multi-generational difference. As if to prove the point they each dusted their hands in unison and Grace smirked in amusement.
At the sight of a teenage boy with sandy blonde hair walking up the stairs toward her family Grace warmed, happy to see a friend.
Joshua Lang had been in her graduating class and was one of the few boys she could spend time with due to his involvement at the church. The fact that their father’s both worked at Quaker Steel almost made him family.
“Hi, Josh.” Grace smiled and scooted down the bench to make room.
“Hi.” He took a seat before extending a hand to Ray and nodding his head toward Vicki. “Mr. Taylor. Mrs. Taylor.”
Ray shook his hand firmly. “Josh, how are you?”
“Fine, sir. And you?”
“I can’t complain. Is your Dad here?”
“Not tonight. He had a long week.” Josh winced as the crowd witnessed an especially violent tackle.
“He’s been putting in a lot of hours.” Ray watched the opposing team disapprovingly, before tilting his head in the direction of the Salem players. “Johnny looks good out there.”
“He’s not as good as you were, but he’s alright.”
Grace noticed the way her father’s cheek lifted. Many of his records remained unbroken and framed photos of a young Ray Taylor lined the hallway outside the locker rooms. Her mother wasn’t the only reason the Taylors returned to the Quaker Stadium on Friday nights.
Ray’s face returned to one of concentration. “The baseball team will miss you next season.”
“It’ll be a rebuilding year, but they have a few decent underclassmen.” Josh exhaled and turned toward Grace. “How’s school?”
“Fine.” Grace shrugged. “How about you?”
“Fine.” Josh watched the team for a moment before returning his attention to her. “What are you taking this semester?”
“Probably similar courses as you,” Grace replied. “Math, English …”
“Josh, how is your grandmother?” Vicki interrupted.
Grace and Josh looked at each other in surprise before turning toward Vicki who seemed unaware of her rudeness.
Josh quickly rearranged his expression into that of politeness. “She’s done with chemo and starting to feel better. We’re bringing her to the festival tomorrow.”
“It’s good you’re around to help.” Vicki smiled brightly at the young boy and Grace’s jaw tightened as she watched Josh respond to it with slight pink in his cheeks. “How do you like the Salem campus?”
“It’s fine, for now,” Josh answered.
“For now?” Vicki’s smile disappeared and Grace’s returned.
“Next year I’ll start my engineering classes at Kent,” he explained in a matter of fact tone. “I can only take some of my coursework here.”
“Mmmm.” Vicki nodded once more, her lips in a tight, thin line. Grace bit her bottom lip to avoid smiling too widely.
“Brayden, can I have some of your popcorn?” Josh smiled mischievously at the little boy.
“No! Mine and pawpaw!” Brayden hugged the bag tight to his chest and Josh laughed.
Vicki looked mortified. “Brayden, that’s not nice. You should share.”
“I’ll get my own.” Josh chuckled as he stood and began to shuffle toward the stairs.
Grace stood up quickly. “I’ll go with you.”
Josh waited for her as he descended the stairs, turning toward her occasionally to make sure she was walking down safely. They made their way toward the underbelly of the bleachers, where the concessions and restrooms were housed. Taking a place at the back of the line, he turned toward Grace curiously. “Another weekend at home?”
“Yeah.” She shoved her hands into her pockets to keep warm.
“I thought you only had to come home for church.”
“I guess I didn’t feel like staying at campus this weekend.”
“You missed me.”
“So much,” Grace exclaimed breathily.
They both laughed while shuffling forward. Her smile quickly faded as she watched a student pass, wearing a letter jacket with a future graduation year on the sleeve. Their year had passed, and Grace was lingering past the expiration date.
“It sounds like your mom is still sour about you not sticking around.” Josh commented.
“You think?” Grace raised an eyebrow pointedly. “I was surprised you decided not to stay on at Quaker Steel.”
“Not a chance.” His voice was almost a growl.
Grace looked up at him worriedly. “Bad?”
“Worse than you can imagine.”
Taking a few steps forward, Josh’s tone softened. “The money was great, but I felt like a robot doing the same thing over and over. It explains why my Dad is always in a bad mood when he gets home.” He looked toward her, eager to change the subject. “Are you making new friends?”
“A couple.” She offered vaguely.
“You’ve always kept your circle small.” Josh watched her carefully, not eager to criticize. “And most of them have left.”
Grace could hardly blame those who accepted jobs and college offers elsewhere. They knew to leave a sinking ship.
She smirked and nudged him with an elbow. “I still have you.”
Josh smiled bashfully as he turned toward the counter to place his order. He glanced at her questioningly after ordering and she looked to the attendant. “A hot chocolate, please.”
Grace retrieved a small amount of cash from her pocket and extended it toward the counter.
“Put that away.” He pushed her hand away teasingly. “Your money’s no good here.”
Grace pocketed the money begrudgingly and Josh handed her the hot drink, which she eagerly cupped with cold hands.
He swallowed a mouthful of popcorn, as they walked slowly toward the stadium. “Maybe we could do something fun this weekend.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “This is my something fun. I’m working the harvest festival all day tomorrow. I have church Sunday, lunch with the family and back to school.”
“Do you have to be at the festival all day?”
She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her drink. “I consider myself lucky; I was assigned to face painting. Stop by my booth if you want a rainbow painted on your cheek.”
Grace smirked at her joke, but Josh remained serious as he watched her. “You could have said ‘no’.”
“It’s what people expect of me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a good girl and a dutiful daughter.” She shook her head in frustration. How could anyone understand what it was like to be her?
“And that’s why you’ve been home every weekend the past two months?”
“This is what happens when your brother has a baby at eighteen. The younger sibling is put on a very short leash.” Grace stared ahead in silence, trying not to think about Danny. It was an apt punishment for her running away when he needed her.
Turning toward Josh, she deflected with humor. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to get rid of me.”
“You know that’s not true.” His eyes met hers intently and, as if he had been caught staring, he shifted his posture, returning his attention to the field. “I want you to be happy and you don’t look happy sitting with your family tonight.”
Grace glanced at him warily. “You think I’d be happier if I spent more time on campus?”
“I think you would be happier if you made some new friends and you can’t do that by spending all your spare time with the old ladies at our church.”
“Hey.” She raised an eyebrow in warning. “Those are my people.”
Josh smirked at her before returning his attention to the game and Grace observed him as she sipped her drink, his expression placid as he stared ahead.
Eventually, Grace broke the silence. “Are you happy?”
Josh turned toward her in momentary surprise.
“Yeah, most of the time,” he tilted his head to one side thoughtfully, “probably because I’m making my own decisions.”
She found herself jealous at the ease in which he made the statement. “It’s different for girls, Josh, and especially for me.”
As they stood together in silence, Grace was painfully aware he was unable to argue with her.
Exhaling slowly, Grace closed her eyes in prayer, feeling the connection between she and her Creator. It was the oldest voice in her mind, the deepest sense of security, stronger than the love of her mother and father combined. It was absolute peace and trust.
In these moments, she could share anything with Him, feeling no shame or embarrassment in her vulnerability. He saw all, knew all, and Grace appreciated that she could communicate silently, her preferred from of prayer.
Salem Friends was the oldest and most attended church in town. The sanctuary was nearly full that Sunday, but the Taylors always had a seat in a pew unofficially reserved for them, near the front. Her father attended services less over the years, blaming it on his limited free time and household demands, but her mother only missed church if she was seriously ill and the same could be said for Grace. She couldn’t remember the last time her brother had attended.
Glancing at the program in her hand, Grace remembered she and Josh as children, playing tic-tac-toe on the back, until one of their mothers caught them and quickly removed the diversion. The memory brought a smile to her face and she reflexively looked at Josh who sat next to his grandmother. When a familiar scent wafted into the sanctuary, he glanced at her, both barely able to conceal their smiles. The smell of coffee meant refreshments were ready because the service was nearly finished. On cue, Reverend Bates finished his closing prayer and the congregation repeated his final benediction.
“Amen.” Grace added her voice in appreciation.
Out of habit, she glanced at her mother. Vicki’s head remained bowed longer than anyone, as it always did, and Grace felt a twinge of sympathy at the sight.
Victoria’s father, the Reverend Arthur Taylor, had been adored by the congregation of Salem Friends and his death had altered the atmosphere of the church community irreparably. Yet, none had been affected by it as much as his daughter.
It was at times like this, when Grace watched her mother’s silent heartache, that she recalled the gentle, yet authoritative grandfather she had grown up watching at the pulpit. The memories were less vivid almost ten years later, like watching a film in black and white when she had once seen it in color.
Taking advantage of her mother’s distraction, Grace stood and made her way deftly through the crowd. Growing up in the church, she knew every room and hallway, making it was easy to reach the fellowship hall before anyone.
Peeking around the corner to the kitchen, she whispered playfully. “Pssst! Sunny!”
Sunny Farmer gasped and spun around quickly, momentarily forgetting the platters she was arranging. “Gracie Lynn Taylor! Are you trying to stop my heart?”
Grace brought a mouth to her hand to hide her laughter as she hurried toward her former Sunday school teacher, giving her a hug. “You can’t stop a heart like yours, but, I’m sorry.”
Always quick to forgive, especially where Grace was concerned, Sunny shook her head and retrieved a large cookie, handing it to Grace who accepted it with a wide smile.
Behind Sunny, the Church Ladies, prepared hot beverages and pastries as they did every week. These women had no official title in the church. Grace had only referred to them as the Church Ladies in her mind because, like the building, they seemed a permanent part of the church.
The group of senior women prepared and served post- funeral meals, vacation bible school snacks and pies for the annual bake sale. Afterward, they cleaned the hall and kitchen spotlessly. The only evidence of their work was the lingering smell of dish soap and baking odors. They received no pay or accolades, other than an occasional word of gratitude, though they didn’t seem to expect it. It was a job done well, as if they were serving Jesus Himself, because in some ways they were, and no one did that better than Sunny.
Sunny smiled sweetly as she patted Grace’s back. “How is school, honey?”
“Just fine.” Grace answered between bites of cookie. “How is Chris? Is he here today?”
“No, not today. He is doing about the same. I really have to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s taking his meds, but he’s doing alright.”
“Good.” Grace popped the last piece into her mouth.
“You should stop by and see us.” Sunny filled bowls with single-serve creamers and sugar packets.
“I don’t have time this weekend, but maybe next weekend.” Grace peeked into the fellowship hall, which was gradually filling with parishioners. “Would you like any help?”
Sunny gestured toward the bowls. “Would you put those by the coffee, please?”
“Of course.” Grace winked at Sunny as she left the kitchen and Sunny cocked an eyebrow at the mischievous expression.
Depositing the items on the table, Grace saw Reverend Bates approaching and filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee, handing it to him as he reached the table. He accepted it carefully, mindful of his crisp suit.
“Always a servant’s heart.” He smiled warmly. “Thank you, Grace.”
“You’re welcome.” She returned the smile.
“How is school?” He gazed over the cup before taking a sip.
“It’s been an adjustment,” she admitted. “But, I’m doing my best.”
“I have no doubt,” he reassured her. “You deserved that scholarship.”
“Thank you.” Instead of feeling grateful for the compliment, Grace instinctively glanced at her mother, the one person who did not agree with Reverend Bates’ sentiments.
He followed her line of sight to her parents, chatting with the Langs. “All of your family is well?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Grace forced a smile, hoping he didn’t sense her unease.
This wasn’t true and he was surprised at how easy it was for Grace to tell a lie. Although, he should have been used to it after a decade in the ministry.
John Bates knew a great deal about his parishioners, probably more than they realized. He knew Jim Kerns attended any event that would prevent him from caring for his wife who suffered from multiple sclerosis. He was aware Kathy Thomas was having an affair with another parishioner and, despite knowing, her husband chose to keep it to himself. There was also Dale Baker, who had recently come to him in tears because he had gambled himself into debt so severe, he would be losing his house soon.
It wasn’t all bad. More often, he was touched by the kindness and generosity of his community. There was Bill Anderson, whose wife who had been addicted to pain killers for twenty years. Although he continued to attend services, he left immediately after, returning to his wife to administer her Naltrexone and ensure she was safe. Everyone knew Debbie Harris gave free haircuts to those too ill to leave their homes and John could never exclude Sunny Farmer. His devoted assistant invited recovering addicts to live with her and love as her own, when their families had turned them away.
John’s thought was interrupted as Sunny hurried toward the table, her mouth in a tight line.
“Is everything alright?” He watched her with slight concern.
“The coffee urn stopped working.” Sunny shook her head in irritation. “Grace would you mind grabbing the other urn and bringing it to the kitchen?”
“Sure,” Grace replied quickly. “Where is it?”
“In the storage room, off the gym.”
Suddenly immobile, Grace stared blankly ahead. Liquid ice poured down her insides, freezing her in place.
Sunny exchanged a quick look of concern with John before touched the young woman’s arm. “Are you alright, honey?”
“I’m fine.” Grace answered rigidly. Her eyes darted between the two of them. Suddenly self-conscious, she tugged at her dress, making sure it fell to her knees as her mother had always insisted it should. “I’ll… uh… I’ll go get it.”
Hurrying out of the fellowship hall, she stopped in the hallway near the nursery, unoccupied now that services were over. Leaning against the wall, Grace took a few deep breaths, fighting back the sting of tears.
It’s just a room, she repeated in her mind.
Except, it wasn’t. It was the room, with walls that used to be a pale shade of green, like the pallor in Grace’s face as she thought of the evil place. It was a lair that she had narrowly escaped, due to the sacrifice of someone whose veins still coursed with the poison he ingested on her behalf.
Steeling herself, Grace left the hallway in a hurry. Perhaps, her body could work faster than her mind and she could run Sunny’s errand before the memory returned. In the deepest, most shielded part of her mind, there was a safe for the darkest recollections, kept at bay when she was busy and in the service of others. She imagined it sealed, as she took another breath and turned the corner to the gym.
Gasping in shock when she nearly collided with someone, Grace only began to breathe when their facial features registered as familiar.
“Josh,” she exhaled in relief, bending over at the waist.
“Whoa.” He held her shoulder for a moment. “You okay?”
“Actually.” Grace stood up and narrowed her eyes in concentration. “I could use your help with something.”
“Of course.” Josh smiled and the uneasiness began to leave her body.
“Sunny needs the extra coffee urn from the storage room,” Grace explained. “Could you get it for her?”
He shook his head with a smirk. “Is it too heavy for your scrawny arms?”
She chuckled and it almost sounded genuine. “Something like that.”
“I’ve got your back.” He winked.
Grace watched as his long legs strode toward the gym, realizing the sense of unease had not left. Instead, it doubled as the heavy burden of guilt fell to her shoulders.
Once again, someone else had taken her place.
