When Grace Sings by Kim Vogel Sawyer Read Free Book Online

creamy in its newness led to the screened porch door, and inside the porch he located the door for the kitchen. It had to be the kitchen door based on the good smells seeping from behind it. His nose detected cinnamon, sausage, coffee … a tantalizing combination. His stomach growled and saliva pooled under his tongue in anticipation. Maybe he’d ask if he could be served up right away instead of waiting another fifteen minutes ’til it was eight o’clock.
    He gave the square etched-glass window on the door a few taps with his knuckles before pushing it open. The kitchen was empty save for the wonderful aromas, but he heard voices from somewhere in the house. So, feeling a bit like an intruder, he moved past the warm kitchen through a short hallway lined with cupboards from floor to ceiling and stepped into a good-sized dining room, where a table big enough to seat at least a dozen people lurked in the middle of the hardwood floor.
    Alexa sat at the head of the table. She glanced at him, her face flooded with pink, and she lurched to her feet. “Mr. Forrester … good morning.”
    Two men—one older, one who looked a little younger than Briley—and a gray-haired woman sat on opposite sides at one end of the table. Based on their clothes, Briley surmised they were Mennonite. Alexa’s family, maybe? The men turned backward in their chairs to peek briefly at Briley. Each gave a nod of greeting, then focused again on the contents of their plates. He couldn’t blame them. Whatever they were eating smelled great. The older woman held her fork motionless and appraised him with a steady look. A slight smile curved her lips, but he sensed she was taking stock of him. He fought the urge to fidget.
    He covered his unease by aiming a smile at Miss Zimmerman. “I know I’m a little early, but you said you’d have coffee ready, so …”
    She tossed her napkin onto the table and gestured to the chair next to the older woman. Silverware rolled up in a green cloth napkin and a mug were already in place. “Please have a seat and I’ll get your plate and some juice. The coffeepot is there on the sideboard, along with cream and sugar. Just help yourself.” She scurried out of the room with her ponytail bouncing on her spine.
    Briley sauntered around the table—it was a fairly long walk, given the length of the table and the size of the room—and hooked the mug with one finger. Making it spin like a pistol, he moved to the sideboard and then stilled the mug’s rotation with a clamp of his hand. He set the mug gently on the wood top. No sense in scratching things up if he could avoid it. Although he’d distinctly heard conversation when he came in, no one spoke now. The scrape of forks on plates seemed extremely loud in the otherwise quiet room. Were the trio at the table watching him? He chose not to look. He filled his mug to the brim and raised it for a sip. Strong and flavorful with a rich, almost nutty aftertaste. Perfect.
    Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he turned toward the table. At the same time, Alexa bustled through the doorway with a glass of pulpy orange juice—fresh squeezed?—and a plate so filled with food he couldn’t even see the pattern around the edges. She followed him to his chair and set the plate in front of him, careful not to brush his arm as she leaned in.
    “There you are. Would you like ketchup or some hot sauce for your casserole? I used spicy sausage, but one man’s ‘spicy’ is another man’s ‘mild.’ ”
    Briley glanced across the table to the other men’s plates and noted they hadn’t added anything to theirs. He presumed that meant it would be flavorful enough. “No, thanks. This looks great. Thanks, Miss Zimmerman.”
    With another quavery smile, she backed away and returned to her chair. She sat and placed her napkin in her lap, but she didn’t lift her fork. “Mr. Forrester, let me introduce you to my grandmother, Mrs. Zimmerman, and our other guests. Joe Brungardt