Page 9 of Grounded (May Hollow Trilogy #1)

Thunder woke Beulah well after midnight.

She listened to the storm at its worst and stayed awake as it abated, leaving only the patter of rain.

Her knee might be going out, but her hearing was still crackerjack, she thought, hearing the refrigerator kick on from the kitchen.

And above the gentle rain, she heard what distinctly sounded like a car door.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, she listened intently.

Another sound she couldn’t quite make out.

On alert now, Beulah reached for the gun.

She tiptoed into the second floor hallway, barely daring to breathe. Loud thumps sounded beyond the front door, as if someone was dropping something on the front porch.

From the top of the stairs, the full length of the front door came into view, thanks to the dim light of the downstairs lamp she had taken to leaving on at night after Fred died. Then there was another thump, followed by the sound of metal on metal as if a key were sliding in the lock.

Lifting the gun to her shoulder, Beulah spread her feet apart and steadied the barrel, drawing a bead just above the doorknob. Her mouth was dry as cotton batting.

The door cracked open. Beulah sucked in her breath, hearing Fred’s words echo in her head: “Steady now, steady does it.” A shadowy figure slid into the opening. The gun clicked as she cocked it, ready to fire.

“Hold it right there,” she said.

The figure jerked, sending the vase perched on the hall table crashing to the floor. Two hands rose in surrender.

“Grandma, it’s me!”

“Who?”

“Annie, your granddaughter!”

Beulah dropped the shotgun to her side, her arms suddenly feeling like Jell-O, and flipped on the light. “Law have mercy, child! What in the world are you doing sneaking around like a thief in the night? You like to have scared me to death.”

“Well you scared me too!”

Beulah eased the hammer down and laid the shotgun next to the steps, barrel pointing away. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was afraid it might explode. For heaven’s sake, what was that child thinking?

As Beulah made her way down the steps, she saw Annie’s white face and knew her granddaughter had learned her lesson. But just to be sure, she said, “You should have called. What else was I to think when I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you for months.”

“I did call, but no one answered,” Annie said.

“Didn’t I tell you the area code changed? I thought I wrote it in my last letter.”

“I forgot, there was just so much going on.”

Beulah noticed the puffy eyes and the strain around her granddaughter’s pursed mouth.

“Well, we’re up so we might as well have some tea.”

While Annie slept late the next morning, Beulah wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and took her steaming cup of black coffee on the back porch. Settling herself in the painted metal chair, she looked about her and breathed in the crisp morning air.

These first days of spring were like sweets to a dieter, and she was greedy for as many as she could enjoy.

Beulah admired the maples and the shagbark hickory, their leaves finally unfurled in an impressive mass of foliage.

The only ones still standing naked were the walnuts, which was fair enough since they kept their leaves longest in autumn.

Annie was home. Usually Beulah was thrilled over Annie’s visits, but she found herself a little miffed this morning.

If she had known, she would have aired out the bed in Annie’s room, baked chess pies instead of chocolate, and stocked up on groceries.

She felt like the anticipation had been stolen from her, and on top of that, she nearly shot the child!

A chilling shudder ran from her shoulders to her spine.

What else was she to do when there was all this talk about home invasions?

And Annie, dressed in black, using the front door like a stranger.

Beulah shook her head and shuddered again, then whispered a prayer of gratitude that nothing more than a vase had been broken during the episode.

Beulah pulled the sweater tighter around her and puzzled over Annie’s situation.

It made sense for Annie to come home, what with no job for a spell—Annie had broken the news to Beulah last night—but why come so sudden?

On top of that, she had rented a car and drove all the way from New York City by herself.

It seemed kind of desperate to Beulah, like she was running from something or somebody. Time would tell the truth of it.

Wiggling her toes, she felt the bunion on her right foot press against the soft leather of her shoe.

It wasn’t hurting today, which likely meant a dry spell coming up.

Her neighbor, Joe Gibson, had already clipped the grass a couple times this spring but here it was, ready for another.

If her knee didn’t bother her so much, she had half a mind to start up the old mower out in the shed and do it herself.

It was a hard thing, being a widow, but the infernal reminder of her dependency on others was the worst of it.

Joe didn’t mind, of course, but she couldn’t stand to think she was ever a nuisance to someone.

They had worked out a deal for Joe to lease the farm after Fred died. He needed more land to graze his cattle and cut hay. She needed someone to tend to it.

“Mowing your yard is part and parcel of the bargain,” Joe had said, but Beulah still felt like it was secret charity.

She looked at her watch and saw it was time to get ready for church. Annie was still in her bedroom and Beulah was glad she couldn’t see how the stairs pained her knee. When she reached the top, she knocked on Annie’s bedroom door and waited.

“Time to rise and shine. Sunday school starts in an hour,” Beulah said, recalling the same line she’d used when Annie was a teenager.

Back then, there was never a question of Annie going to church as long as she lived under their roof.

Beulah still thought it was the respectful thing to do, but there was no sound coming from inside her granddaughter’s room.

In her own bedroom across the hall, she tugged on her pantyhose and new floral dress she had bought at Penne’s end of summer sale last year.

With her Bible in hand and her tithe check in her pocketbook, she gave one last knock on the door of Annie’s bedroom.

Beulah frowned at the closed door and wondered how often her granddaughter missed church these days.

Well, she would not alter her routine, visitor or no visitor.

It was the Lord’s Day, after all, and He deserved the first fruits. Annie could be dealt with later.

Beulah was surprised to see Annie’s door still closed when she arrived home from church. After changing into her housedress, she made her way down the steps, not bothering to knock on her granddaughter’s door. If she slept through church, she might as well sleep through dinner, she thought.

Evelyn was already in the kitchen moving around it with the familiarity they shared in each other’s homes.

Evelyn, nearly twenty years younger than Beulah, was elegant as usual in a pale pink suit, looking for all the world like she was taking lunch at the Idle Hour Country Club up in Lexington.

As was their routine, Evelyn gave her the news from the Presbyterian’s prayer list, and Beulah shared the concerns of the Baptists.

In a small town, many of the prayer requests were the same, but there was always something new to talk over.

While Evelyn tied on a new apron and Beulah fished the vegetables out from the pot roast, she told her about the near disaster of the night before.

“Law have mercy, Beulah!” Evelyn said, clicking her tongue. “Thank the Lord you always leave that light on downstairs!”

“Somebody’s here. Can you see who it is?” Beulah asked, hearing the gravel crunch in the drive.

“It’s Woody. He must have worshipped in the great outdoors this morning. Looks like he just came from fishing,” Evelyn said.

“For someone who likes the outdoors, he does manage to bring himself inside for food,” Beulah said, chuckling.

The back porch door banged open. Woody stood with a string of fish in each hand, water dripping on the linoleum.

“Ladies, I’ve got you each a string of the finest blue gill and crappie my pond can produce. I’ll even clean them for you if you tell me where to get started.”

“My goodness, did you catch all those this morning?” Evelyn asked.

“They were biting like piranhas. It was hard for me to tear myself away, but when I remembered the good meal waiting for me, it came easier.”

Beulah thought Woody wasn’t a bad-looking fellow, except when that unruly upper plate popped out of his mouth when he talked too fast. He never cared to clean up much either and one flap of his overalls usually flopped down on his chest.

“There’s a bucket in the smokehouse. Put them in water, and I’ll see to them later,” Beulah said.

Shortly afterward, the divorced teacher Mary Beth White arrived in the same car as Lindy Childress, the young lawyer who came home to work in the family practice. Both attended the new Grace Community Church.

Lindy flopped her purse down in a corner and looked around the room. “Beulah, who’s here with New York plates?”

“It’s Annie’s rental car. She came in late last night.”

“I don’t think I’ve met her before,” Mary Beth said quietly, placing her purse next to Lindy’s.

“Likely as not,” said Beulah. “She hasn’t been around much since she got out of college and moved off.”

“She left about the time you moved here,” Lindy said to Mary Beth. “I remember her from school, even though she was about five years older than me. Didn’t she date Brett Bradshaw?”

Beulah nodded, not caring much to pursue that subject.

Woody came in from the back porch. “I went ahead and gutted them. All they need is a good scalin’ and the heads off.”

“You made fast work of it,” Beulah said, shaking flour and water in a small jar, then adding it to the beef juices.

“Scott’s tied up the next two Sundays eating with church members,” Lindy said. “He wanted us to tell you not to throw his plate out. He’ll be back.”

“I’m glad the parishioners are taking care of him. I hope he’s getting home-cooked meals and not something from a drive-through lane.”

“Well, it is a young church,” Lindy said, grinning at Beulah and pushing her dishwater blond hair out of her small face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with these young people. My generation raised several kids and cooked their own food from what they grew. It was a pleasure to host the minister for Sunday dinner and everybody took turn’ about doing it,” Beulah said.

Evelyn rinsed the roasting pan and set it on the rack to dry. “Nowadays, all the women work. It’s a different world.”

“They’re working because they want too much stuff. Live on less and be happy with what you’ve got; that’s how I was raised.”

Lindy put her arm around Beulah while she stirred the beef gravy.

“Beulah, look at it this way. If the church members fed Scott like they should, he wouldn’t be here with us so often, and you and Evelyn would miss out on promoting ecumenical harmony.

Instead, here we are, Baptists and Presbyterians and … what are you, Woody?”

“An occasional Methodist,” he said, pulling a piece of meat off the roast before Evelyn could smack his hand.

“An occasional Methodist. What do you think?” Lindy grinned at Beulah before kissing her on the cheek.

“I believe that university up in Lexington turned you into a slick-tongued lawyer, that’s what I think.”

“What can I do to help?” Mary Beth asked, her pretty auburn curls pulled back in a twist.

“You can put the green beans and the macaroni and cheese on the table. Lindy, you can pour the tea. Woody, grab that basket of rolls.”

While Evelyn set the platter of roast beef, potatoes and carrots on the table, Beulah poured the gravy into a bowl.

“Is Annie coming down?” Lindy asked.

“I doubt it. She seems bent on sleeping all day.” Beulah sat down and reached for Mary Beth’s hand on her left and Woody’s on her right.

“Woody, would you say grace for us?” Beulah said, catching Evelyn’s sideways glance before they closed their eyes. It wouldn’t hurt Woody to pray a little.

“Uh, all right, I reckon I can. God, thank you for this beef and the cow who give it up for us. Thank you for the taters and the carrots, the gravy Miss Beulah made, and the bread to sop it up with. Amen.”