An Uncommon Grace by Serena B. Miller Page B

hour later with no milk and no groceries, but worried sick about a new best friend you had just made.”
    “The deli-counter woman was going through a nasty divorce and I was concerned,” Elizabeth said. “They patched things back together, you know. She still calls me from time to time to let me know how things are going.”
    Grace grinned. “What about the man you met on the airplane with whom you still exchange Christmas cards?”
    Her grandmother sniffed. “He was a lovely young musician and we enjoyed our two-hour talk tremendously.”
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have down through the years. Tell me about Levi. This time I’ll listen. I promise.”
    “He reminded me of your father when he was a child. So curious and smart. I had an illustrated book on birds and we would sit together on my porch for hours studying it together and matching the pictures with the birds we saw around the farm. Of course that ended as he grew up and took on a man’s share of chores around the farm, but he still comes when he notices something that needs to be done around here. I never have to ask.”
    Elizabeth gave a little sigh. “I always thought it was a shame that Levi was not allowed more than an eighth-grade education. There was a real brilliance in him. He could have been anything he wanted. Of course, it takes a very smart man to make a living on a small farm, and he seems content.”
    Elizabeth yawned.
    “You’re tired.” Grace kissed her forehead. “Call out if you need me. I’ll be on the couch.”
    “Oh, honey,” Elizabeth said, “I don’t want you having to sleep there. I’ll be fine tonight. Go on up to your bedroom, child.”
    “I’m not comfortable being so far away from you,” Grace said. “I hated leaving you alone this morning.”
    “I was fine,” her grandmother protested. “Becky came home for lunch and when she saw I was alone, she stayed. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I had some company.”
    “Who?” Grace positioned a glass of water so it would be easier for her grandmother to reach.
    “One of the sheriff’s deputies came by.”
    “Did he have any news?”
    “No, but he asked if I had seen or heard anything suspicious.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I told him that if I knew anything about Abraham’s death, I would not have waited around for a deputy to come to my house. I would have called the sheriff’s office immediately.”
    “Did he tell you if they had any suspects?”
    “They don’t, but he assured me they wouldn’t give up until they found out who did it.”
    “I hope they find whoever did it soon.”
    Elizabeth yawned again. “Me, too.”
    Grace turned out the light, left her grandmother’s door ajar, and then walked around the house making certain every door and window was locked. Not that it would really make any difference. A determined man could easily break into this farmhouse—but not without making noise. The doors were sturdy and the windows had the old-fashioned frames that would be nearly impossible to open without breaking both wood and glass.
    She shook out an afghan and got as comfortable as possible on the living room couch. She was grateful that her grandmother’s bedroom was downstairs, opening directly off the living room. With Elizabeth unable to climb stairs, it was so much easier to care for her here on the main floor.
    As she waited for sleep, she tried to picture the little boy Grandma had described. It was hard to imagine the taciturn, work-hardened Levi ever having been that child.
    And yet, her grandmother had been a principal for an inner-city elementary school in Columbus for thirty-five years. If Grandma said a child was brilliant, he was.
    The couch was lumpy, and the unaccustomed quiet of the country was unnerving. Sometimes in Afghanistan, quiet could be deceiving. Sometimes it was merely a precursor to an attack. Try as she might, Grace couldn’t seem to stop beingon constant alert for the next missile