Free An Uncommon Grace by Serena B. Miller Page A

gravel.
    The Shetler farm looked shabby by comparison. Thehouse was in need of a coat of paint. The driveway was only packed dirt that turned into mud each time it rained. The yard was small and unkempt.
    His church believed that it was wrong to take pride in the appearance of their farms and homes. It was one more way they chose to keep themselves apart from the world.
    But in Elizabeth’s granddaughter’s voice, there had not been even a hint of contempt for him or his people. Grace was the kind of person he wished he could know better, but he was a baptized believer and should not allow himself to even think about someone like Grace Connor.
    Still, the look of admiration he had seen in her eyes because of the special basket he had woven had felt sweet indeed.
    “But I don’t want to take a nap.” Elizabeth sat on the side of her bed.
    Grace set out a glass of water and two pills. “Grandma, you need your rest.”
    “I feel fine.”
    “You won’t feel fine if you don’t rest.”
    “I didn’t make you take naps!”
    Grace considered. That was true. It had been one of the many perks of her too-brief visits here as a child. No naps. Lots of stories. Picnics on the back porch. Visits to the chocolate and cheese factories.
    “I’ll read,” Elizabeth wheedled. “And I’ll stay in bed while I read. Would that make you happy?”
    “Having you get well is what will make me happy.”
    “I think I’ve done pretty well—all things considered.”
    “I think you’ve done wonderfully,” Grace said. “Is there a specific book you want?”
    “Yes. It’s in the top drawer of my dresser.”
    “This?” Grace pulled out a paperback. “ Love’s Savage Heart ? Are you sure?”
    It had a lurid cover, with a man so well muscled that she could not imagine him doing anything except working out twenty-four hours a day. The woman was apparently having a button crisis, from the looks of her blouse.
    “You don’t read these kinds of books.” She glanced at her grandmother. “Do you?”
    “I believe I am old enough to read any kind of book I want.”
    “Okay.” Grace handed it to her. “If you’re sure this is the one you want.”
    Elizabeth chuckled. “I was just rattling your chain. One of the nurses at the hospital gave this to me after she finished. She was such a doll-baby I took it to keep from hurting her feelings.” She adjusted her glasses and reached for the book, scanning the cover. “The problem is, I’m afraid she’s going to be disillusioned if she thinks she’s going to find a husband who looks like that with his shirt off. It isn’t possible, you know, although your grandfather came close.”
    “Grandma!”
    “Well, he did.”
    “I wish I could have known him better.”
    “I wish I had, too.” Elizabeth laid the book down. “He died so young. We had only been married forty years.”
    “He was sixty.”
    “That’s entirely too young. You’ll realize that once you pass forty.”
    “Is missing him the reason you keep all this stuff?” Grace gestured around her grandmother’s cluttered bedroom. Fishing rods and wooden fishing lures covered most of one wall. “I don’t understand this. None of us fish.”
    “He didn’t fish much, either.”
    “Then why . . . ?”
    Her grandmother scooted further back onto the bed, pulled off her house slippers, and dropped them on the floor. “He just loved collecting those things. We used to go down to Kentucky to the longest garage sale in the world. It went on for miles. I collected antique toys, old dishes, and anything else that struck my fancy. He would look for these old lures and fishing rods. We had wonderful times together.” She gazed around at the room. “To you it’s clutter. To me it’s a room filled with good memories.”
    “But the big bedroom upstairs is chock full of things, too, and there’s barely room in the kitchen cabinets for drinking glasses.”
    “Are you worried that I’m becoming a hoarder like those people