Charming Grace by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online

arched brows; him young, handsome, and frowning, giving off lawyerly vibes even in rumpled khakis and a golf shirt; her bathing me with a tongue-in-cheek smile, such an auburn-haired showstopper in her fashionable pantsuit of pastel tweed, one long, tanned hand impatiently flicking the white stiletto of an unlit cigarette. “Well, who would have imagined,” my grandmother deadpanned. “Grace, listening at the door.”
    “Daddy, you always say people have to give something to get what they want. And you say the law’s not made up of wishes and promises. It’s made up of real collateral and clauses that fix it so people can sue when they’re mad.”
    His shoulders sagged. “Honey, no, that’s not—”
    “I can work the way your laws work, Daddy. I can give up something to get what I want. I can give you collateral.” I drew myself up formally, attempting to look like an honest plaintiff despite the spring mud staining my clothes with small smears of Harp’s blood. “I hereby do and forthwith state to all the parties of this part that I, Grace Wilhemina Bagshaw, will never complain again, as long as I’m a kid, about being in beauty pageants. I herewith and for your cause do guarantee that I will give my very very best to every talent Candace tells me to practice, even how to smile without swallowing and sing The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow . I’ll wear every fluffy thing she wants me to wear, and I won’t be scared of doing a leap in dance class, no matter how many times I fall down. I’ll work on my tan and say all the right things when the judges ask me why I deserve to be Miss Junior Peach Festival or whatever. I’ll try out for TV commercials, too. Anything that makes Candace happy.”
    I clasped both hands together, over my heart, pleading. “And all you have to do, Daddy, is let me be friends with Harp Vance. Because without me he doesn’t have any friends at all. And because—” my voice trembled—“Mother would want you to let me help a poor little boy who loves the ladyslippers just like she did.”
    No doubt I won the argument when I invoked my mother. The rims of Daddy’s eyes turned the deep sad color of dark cherries. He was a humorless but adoring father and I loved him as much as he loved me—and as much as we’d both loved my mother. He sat down on his heels in front of me. “Baby,” he said gruffly, “do you know how much your bravery and happiness remind me of your mother?”
    I nodded. Tears rolled down my face. “Daddy,” I mewled. “Daddy. I’m not going to get hurt or die. I promise I won’t leave you like Mother did.”
    He cried, too, then hugged me.
    “If Harp Vance ruffles so much as a hair on her head,” Daddy told G. Helen later, “I’ll kill the little bastard.”
    I went back in Harp’s room and sat beside his bed again with my chin propped on my fists, watching him sleep. Harp was not handsome. Not then. He would grow into his big, dark eyes and gangly body, become a solid man and not a wild mountain refugee. He would soften from kindness and education and deep, soul-comforting nights in his own Bagshaw Downian bed with snapshots of me, his sister, and G. Helen on the nightstand. His smile would emerge along with a devastating dimple on the right side of his mouth, and his chopped-off brown hair would become the glossy, well-fed color of a walnut armoire. But he would never be comfortable among my family or the rest of the world, and he would never trust anyone, really, but me. No, Harper wasn’t handsome or charming in the easy ways, but then again, he didn’t have to be. I had already looked into the future and decided he would match his heart.
    “I have to go,” I told my sleeping prince. “But I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t you dare try to escape. You can’t get away from me.” It would not be the last time I’d threaten or bully him for his own good.
    Harp’s eyes fluttered. He stared at me, half-awake and groggy, before his dark gaze