Free Absence of Grace by Ann Warner Page B

appeared to be. Early to mid-twenties was his guess. Pam had also been assertive to the point of being considered snippy. Perhaps it was a trend among younger women.
     

    Gerrum didn’t see Hailey again until two weeks later when he treated himself to dinner at the lodge and found she was doing the same. After he greeted the locals, Gerrum walked over to Hailey and, with a lift of his eyebrows, asked permission to take the bench seat across from her.
     
    She shrugged, and he counted it as assent.
     
    “I heard you’re a writer,” she said as he sat down.
     
    “That’s right. My first book comes out this fall.”
     
    “Bet it feels good.”
     
    “You better believe it. Marian’s planning a big do as soon as the publisher ships us copies. If you’re around, you’ll have to come.”
     
    “I’d like that. How did you come up with your plot?”
     
    “Bits and pieces from stories I’ve heard, read. Personal experiences, observations. I watch people all the time. Listen in on their conversations.”
     
    “Most of which are, you know, like rainy-day dull, like, you know.”
     
    “Too true. But every once in a while, I pick up a gem, like your ‘rainy-day dull.’” He could see his compliment pleased her.
     
    The cook, a young man who’d just graduated from cooking school, carried plates of food over to the counter. Tonight’s offering was spareribs, baked potatoes, green salad, and cornmeal muffins. Gerrum picked up plates for himself and for Hailey, and while they ate, they continued to chat.
     
    He found her pleasant to talk to, although pleasant was not precisely the correct word for what he felt watching her cut and delicately eat her food. That same delicacy applied to stirring her coffee, her mouth curving in a smile at something he said.
     
    Too bad she reminded him of Pam. Although, she’d still add an interesting dimension to the season.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    1984
     
     
     
    Resurrection Abbey - Stowe, Vermont
     
    As a visitor at Resurrection Abbey, Clen could attend services in the chapel up to seven times a day, starting with Vigils at 3:15 a.m. and ending with Compline at 7:30 p.m. It was something she chose not to do. Instead, she ate three simple meals in the visitors’ dining room and the rest of the time she slept or walked the expansive grounds, soaking up the peace, stopping to sketch.
     
    After she’d been at Resurrection a week, she was summoned to an interview with Mother Abbess. The nun gestured to a chair in the small interview room, then gave Clen a soul-fingering look. “I am told you’ve requested a longer stay with us.”
     
    Although not stated as such, it was clearly a question—one Clen struggled to answer. “I’ve changed my life. Ended my marriage. Left my career.”
     
    “Are you questioning those choices?”
     
    “No. They were the right decisions. I’m just not sure what comes next.”
     
    “Perhaps it would be useful for you to have a regular companion as you seek that answer. I believe Sister Mary John would be a good choice. She has a great deal of insight into difficulties such as yours.”
     
    Clen had arrived at Resurrection wound tight, her body brittle with the stress of her journeying, and she had no interest in Mary John’s insights. Instead, she preferred to be left alone to relax in the peace that seemed to be part of the very walls here. But if the price for remaining within those walls was to meet with this Mary John person, she would do it.
     

    Sister Mary John turned out to be a short, dark-browed nun with shrewd eyes. She and Clen walked in the garden each Tuesday and Thursday in the hour after breakfast. At first, they spoke only of trivial things, until Mary John’s willingness to let her set the pace led Clen to share some of her history—a history she was still guarding the most intimate parts of when the Abbess sent for her again.
     
    The nun inclined her head, her fingers steepled, examining Clen. “You have