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*25* Tournament
*Juliet*
“The Coadys aren’t staying. Maxwell Coady says they’re moving north near his wife’s family.”
Margie sits on one corner of my blanket, cleaning the lens on her camera and talking about the township’s leaders and their rebuilding meetings since Main Street was all but leveled a couple weeks ago. Out on the baseball field, the teams are warming up before their rematch for the baseball tournament between the four townships that intersect here, and my eyes follow Sam as he throws the ball around to his teammates, fielding when it’s returned.
“But Pat’s been fixing up the grocery store ever since. He’s almost done.” Alice occupies another blanket corner, rocking her youngest sleeping over her shoulder, but leans forward and gives a light smack to the hand of one of her children when our new shepherd pup give a pained yip. “Gently when you touch the puppy,” she scolds h
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The Work of Grace *26* Post-game
*Sam*Carrying Julia’s baby bag on one arm and the puppy tucked under the other, Juliet unlocks the mudroom door when we get home, calling over her shoulder as Julia darts down the veranda towards the porch swing. “Julia, come inside now.”“Swing!” Julia shouts back, as if in explanation.Removing the keys from the knob, Juliet calls again, “No, not right now. Come inside.” As she opens the door, the most delicious savory smell drifts out, assaulting both our senses, and breathing deep, we take it in gladly. My stomach seconds our assessment with a loud rumbling growl.Along the veranda, Julia’s stopped, but her little face is screwed up in angry rebellion and she actually stomps her foot, balling her little fists when Juliet tells her ‘no’. It’s all I can do not to laugh. Knowing how
The Work of Grace *27* Anniversary
*Sam*I know Julia must be exhausted if she missed a nap this afternoon, but she still plays in the bath for nearly a half hour. Splashing and squealing when I get her with the squirty bath toys, together, we make up adventure stories for Floaty the sea turtle, Whittford the whale and Sally seal she keeps in the bath, though mostly the story-telling falls to me. I’m tempted to ask who came up with the names, then decide I probably don’t want to know.I’m on the verge of wondering how Juliet ever manages to get our daughter in bed when abruptly Julia’s done and asks to get out. It takes another fifteen minutes to gently comb through her jet black hair, twist it into a braid and get her to brush her teeth. Then she zips into her bedroom to pick out her bedtime stories while I straighten up the bathroom and dry up the splashes.As I descend the stairs a half hour later, it’s to the sweet sound of Juliet’s voice, singing True Love in a perfect harmony with Bing Crosby playing softly on the
The Work of Grace *28* Two Steps Forward
*Sam*“To getting to ‘yes’!” Stew raises his pint in the air and my brothers and I clink ours against it, Randall beaming brightest of us all. “I still can’t believe she said yes. Took you long enough, Randy.”“The timing’s not my fault,” Randall replies. “Debi wasn’t quite so easy to convince that leaving the city for life on a farm was the thing to do. You three got lucky.”“To getting lucky!” Stew toasts, drunkenly, laughing as we all heartily chime in on that one. Our raucous table draws attention, and at the end of the bar behind us, Basil and Jack Mueller turn on their stools, and raising their shot glasses, toast to Randall too.As the summer’s worn on, life’s resumed a new normal. Several of us men work on a regular basis rebuilding the Main Street shops for those merchant families who opted to remain. There’s been little progress figuring out who started the fire that wiped most of it out, but it has been determined that it was deliberately set.Which painted a bullseye on Jun
The Work of Grace *29* Veneer
*Juliet*“Oh, my word,” I giggle, delightedly staring up at the great steamer, Isle Royale, as we make our way along the dock to the ship’s gates, and beyond them, the gangway aboard. “It’s a beast of a vessel, isn’t it?” I hadn't expected it to be, but I'm excited at the prospect of this trip with Sam.The ship has been remodeled in recent years, stripped of its turn of the century Art Deco ornament and streamlined into the Art Moderne style that became popular during the Depression, the war years and after. Its aerodynamic pure-line concept gives the impression of motion and speed even though its not moving using cylindrical forms and long horizontal windowing. I have to admit it certainly does look sleek and modern.The vessel’s capable of berthing two hundred eighty-eight passengers and carrying another eighty-six crew in addition to accommodating an entire train—thirty-two boxcars on four tracks in the lower deck. At least that's what Sam's told me. A couple times now, though it's
The Work of Grace *30* Facades
*Sam*The dining room is bustling with fellow passengers, accomplished ladies and fine gentlemen, graciously nodding to one another as they pass on the way to or from their seats. At the head of one table sits the middle-aged florid-faced captain, smiling courteously as passengers are escorted to their tables, occasionally rising to escort a dowager to her seating and smile condescendingly at the younger unattended misses.The tables are already spread with a substantial amount of food—washed fruits, some peeled by the kitchen staff or plucked from their stems, hot breads and delicate saucers of molded pats of cream butter, interspersed with tiny settings of sugar and cream, low bowls of various sauces and crystal goblets of iced water beside flutes for champagne. Along the periphery of the lavish room, ice sculptures set in extravagant floral arrangements full of hothouse orchid and lily blooms finish the decorations, their soft fragrance drifting lightly in the air as if scenting the
The Work of Grace *31* Recompense
*Sam* To say that was a daunting conversation with Andrew James is an understatement. He’s a fine man, certainly, but fierce, determined, with an unstoppable drive to achieve. Which is intimidating to say the least as a man but reassuring as Juliet’s husband— he's nowhere near her type, if I'm a fair judge. Despite the obvious—flexibility, lacking a better term—I’ve seen in my brief and sickening introduction to the people from Juliet’s former high-society existenence, Mr. James is very much and very happily married, and while he may or may not be a decent friend to my wife, has no more designs upon her than in a friendly capacity, much to my relief. In fact, he’s as determined to see I’m restored to her good graces as I am. Thankfully. Unfortunately, beyond reminding me what I already know about Juliet, he can’t help me undo all the egregious mistakes I’ve managed to make in a single day and night of blind stupidity beyond escort her safely from the ladies' salon to our stateroom.
The Work of Grace *32* Honeymooning
*Juliet*“The chief engineer, assisted by the second or assistant engineer, is responsible for the steamer’s machinery and operation,” Captain Blake explains to Mrs. James trailing along at his side. “The firemen or stokers are under their supervision and responsible for feeding either wood or coal fuel into the furnaces to keep the steam up in the boilers.”“So,” using her dainty hands, Mrs. James repeats the hierarchy to Captain Blake for confirmation, the level of her hands descending like rungs on a ladder, “Engineer and his assistant, then oilers and firemen. And working together, they comprise the heart of this marvelous monster?”“Assuredly, Mrs. James. While he must take direction from myself regarding maneuvering, the engineer’s also subject to dispatches from headquarters, but only as to speed and the consumption of fuel.”Behind Mrs. James’ shoulder, Mr. James gives a knowing smile. “Much like a civil government contractor—under you as Captain, but somewhat independent of yo
The Work of Grace *33* Port
*Juliet*“Did I hear a knock at the—oh!”Hurriedly emerging from our state room’s bathroom in the morning to keep someone from waking Sam, I find my efforts in vain discovering him reading through a hand-delivered note as he slowly crosses the antechamber. He’s dressed only in his sleep pants, his hair tousled and his head down as he skims the words on the page, and though we’ve been together for over a decade now, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve seen.As his eyes slip over the words on the paper, mine rove this broad muscular chest and shoulders appreciatively, creep along at the hard lines of his midriff to where they narrow at his waist. I was doing something. I remember that much. But there’s no telling what that was now because the sight of my muscly and perfectly chiseled husband, sleep-disheveled and half-nak
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