Free Measure of Grace by Al Lacy

others. Maybe you could have gone at it a little differently, but you were doing what you felt was best. Please don’t punish yourself.”
    “She’s right, dear,” said Sylvia. “Don’t punish yourself.”
    Knight’s footsteps were heard on the back porch, and Sylvia tensed up. When he came through the door bearing the bloody, tattered jacket, she felt a cold prick her skin.
    Moving up close to her, Knight held the jacket so she could get a sufficient look at it. He let her see the front, then turned it so she could see the back. Turning the front of the jacket toward her once more, he said, “It’s Jordan’s all right, ma’am.” His voice was hollow, like the tail end of an echo.
    Sylvia let out a wail and broke into deep, mournful sobs.
    Supper was forgotten.
    While the others stayed with Sylvia, Mark rode to town and brought Dr. Philip Warner back with him. The doctor immediately gave Sylvia a strong sedative, telling her it would take effect within half an hour and would help her to get some sleep.
    The doctor told William to send for him again if he was needed.
    Sylvia clung to her husband. Never once did she utter a word of blame toward him. She told herself William was blaming himself enough. She would not add to his misery.
    Holding Sylvia tight, William ran his eyes to the others, then looked back at Sylvia. “I’ll go to Marshal Woodard in the morning, show him the jacket, and ask him to form a search party to help me find Jordan’s remains.”
    “I’ll be part of that search party, Mr. Shaw,” spoke up Mark Hedren.
    “Good,” said William. “Thank you.”
    “Mom,” said Knight, “may I go along, too? I realize it will take me out of school for whatever time we’re gone, but—”
    “It’s all right, son,” said Annie. “If the tables were turned, Jordan would do it for you.”
    “Thank you, Mom,” said Knight, patting her cheek lovingly. “I’ll catch up on my schoolwork as soon as we get back.”
    “I appreciate your letting him go with us, Annie,” said William. “Knight has proven over and over that he indeed was Jordan’s best friend.”
    Sylvia was fighting the effects of the sedative, but the stronger force of the medicine was winning the battle. Everyone saw that Sylvia was getting drowsy.
    Annie said, “Mr. Shaw, if you’ll help Sylvia to the bedroom, I’ll tuck her in.”
    Sylvia’s eyes were droopy as William carried her to their room. Annie hurried ahead and turned down the covers. Lorene followed, and as her father laid her mother on the bed, she said, “I’ll stay with her, Papa.”
    “No need for that, child,” said Annie. “You and your papa need some time with each other. You go on back to the parlor. I’ll stay with your mama.”
    Both William and Lorene thanked her and left the room.
    Sylvia was already asleep. Annie pulled the covers up over her, then slid the rocking chair that sat by the window up next to the bed and eased into it.
    As she rocked silently back and forth, Annie whispered to the Lord, praying for this family who so desperately needed Him. She and Buck had talked to the Shaws on several occasions after they were saved, trying to make them understand their own need for salvation, but they had politely told her they had their own ideas about life, death, and eternity.
    “Please, dear Lord,” Annie prayed aloud, “let this tragedy work in their hearts and minds so it will result in them receiving You as their Saviour.”
    Back and forth she rocked, her work-worn hands clasped tightly in her apron-clad lap.

E ARLY THE NEXT MORNING , Marshal Mike Woodard held Jordan Shaw’s tattered, bloody jacket in his hands with his young deputy, Bob Price, looking on.
    Shaking his head, Woodard looked at William Shaw, Knight Colburn, and Mark Hedren. “There’s no way Jordan can still be alive.”
    “We’ve accepted that, Mike,” said William, his voice breaking. “Sylvia and Lorene had a hard time with it, but they know all we can hope for