Free Rhythms of Grace by Marilynn Griffith

It’ll be more convincing.”
    I looked around at the other guys, all leering at me now. I hadn’t noticed that none of them had moved to break up the fight, that they’d moved away from us instead of toward us. As I took in the room, I could see why. Everything around had my fingerprints on it. There was the pipe they’d forced into my mouth, cigarettes I’d smoked, bottles I’d drank from . . . The room was spinning and they were laughing at me, all of them except for that little sister, who really wasn’t so little, but she always seemed like it.
    “Go to the back,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “Go to the back and run.”
    For once in my life, I didn’t ask any questions. The guys swarmed me: punching, kicking in every direction. Somebody came at me with a needle, but I slipped through them and into the filthy kitchen, out the back door.
    Behind me, I heard sirens, the crash of front doors, feet pounding down the back steps, fear running in every direction. Not wanting to be caught up in the herd, I made a quick turn back toward the rosebushes. I looked up and saw the cross atop Mount Olive somewhere over the crest of the hill. If I could reach it, something told me I might make it.
    Tires peeled behind me.
    Maybe not.
    “Get in!”
    It was Joyce, wearing a Santa hat and red gloves. I climbed into her yellow Camaro and closed my eyes as she pulled away. A stack of Bibles pinched my side and the backseat smelled of turkey and gravy. It was Christmas Eve. I’d somehow forgotten. Lost track of the days over the break.
    “Thank you.”
    She didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on her rearview mirror and the police coming up behind us. Joyce pulled over as easily as she’d pulled off, as easily as she told the officer that I was one of her students. Didn’t he remember that I’d served him at the Law Enforcement Appreciation dinner. Yes, I attended Wright State. On a scholarship even. No, I didn’t need a breathalyzer. I didn’t know anything about any drugs. We were going to hand out dinners to the needy, take toys to the children in the projects behind the Charles C. Merry Christmas to you too, Officer. Merry Christmas to you too.
    By the time my heart stopped racing, we were over the hill and passing the church. I turned back in my seat and said a short prayer, fixing my eyes on the cross.
    Just below it, sitting on the roof, I saw something else. Someone else.
    X.
    And he was waving.

PART 2
HARMONY

2005

9
    Grace
    I should have buried it. I was good at that. So far I’d buried my father, my husband, and myself. It would have been best to bury what the package and its contents would resurrect. It would have been easy.
    Instead, I stabbed at my front yard with my fingers, raking back the top layers of the soil. The young weeds gave up with a tug. The others, only among my good plants, of course, played tug-of-war with me. With the last one in my hand, I sat back on my heels, panting. Praying about bitter roots and old hurts.
    I tossed the last weed on a pile of others like it and opened the envelope on the ground beside me. Hands shaking, I began to read.
    Diana Grace,
    I pray this finds you well. I have been better myself, but I would never admit it in person. I led Zeely’s dance class last week and the ladies moved with courage and spirit. No one danced like you though. I don’t know if anyone ever will. I know that you are hiding there in that empty house full of memories, but I am mourning too. Mourning the loss of you. I’ve included the notebook you kept after leaving Ngozi. It’s taken me all these years to find it, but it was worth every second. Read it. Read the teaching contract that I’ve also enclosed. My school and my students need you. Let me know when you will arrive. If you ever loved me, please come.
    In Christ’s service,
    Joyce Rogers
    Principal, Imani Academy
    P.S. You dance in my dreams.
    I hugged my knees close to my chest and closed my eyes, but the tears wouldn’t