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The Gift of Grace

By Julie Lessman

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For by grace have ye been saved
through faith;and that not of yourselves:
it is the gift of God.
—Ephesians 2:8



Chapter One


Last Chance, California
Fall, 1885

Shelter, food, and babies, Lord, that’s all I ask.
Grace O’Malley peered out the window as the railcar groaned to a stop in front of a tiny train station, her stomach rumbling louder than the iron wheels on the tracks. Hand to her queasy middle, she peeked up at an azure sky tufted with cotton and expelled a guilty sigh, almost forgetting her other important prayer.
Oh, and a decent job?
“Last Chance, California!” the conductor bellowed, and a flurry of activity erupted. Grace’s abdomen responded with a ridiculously noisy growl, turning the heads of several people despite all the commotion.
“Hungry?” an elderly woman asked with a sympathetic smile, relieving Grace’s embarrassment over a mortifying trait that plagued her since her youth—an abnormally loud stomach whenever she was nervous.
“Not really,” Grace said, her smile wobbly at best. Yet, oh, how she wished she could say yes! But her days of untruths were behind her. She drew in an unsteady breath. Just like my days in a saloon.
The woman patted Grace’s hand, her rheumy blue eyes soft with understanding. “A new babe for you and your husband then?” she whispered, “causing a wee bit of morning sickness?”
Grace blinked, her cheeks suddenly toasty. Goodness, if only! But the only “morning sickness” Grace had ever known was from stale cigar smoke and late hours at The Red Dog Saloon in Virginia City.
“Second call for Last Chance!”
Relief flooded as she welcomed the interruption, saving her a response while she quickly collected her valise. Offering a smile, she inched past the woman toward the exit when the cry of an infant snagged her attention. Tiny fists flailing, the child squalled in its mother’s arms while the poor woman herded two toddlers to the door. Compassion propelled Grace forward to assist.
“Landon, no!” the mother shrieked when one toddler escaped, plowing straight into Grace’s worn skirt.
Delighted, Grace dropped her bag and swooped up the runaway, her giggles merging with his as she snuggle-kissed his neck. “I think I may just gobble you up, little man,” she said with a squeeze, “but first we need to follow your mama off the train.”
“I am so sorry!” Cheeks blooming bright red, the young mother reached to take her son.
“Don’t be,” Grace said with a smile, cuddling the imp close. “I love children, so I’m happy to help.”
The pinch of the woman’s face eased, and with a tired nod of thanks, she turned to usher her family from the train.
Clutching the squirm-worm to her side, Grace retrieved her bag before hurrying after the boy’s mother, pretending for one blissful moment the little dickens belonged to her.
But that would never be.
“It’s called amenorrhea,” the doctor explained when pregnancy eluded her after eloping with Gabe at fifteen. She’d always known her “womanly time” was different, twice-yearly instead of monthly, but she’d always believed she’d have children despite the doctor’s awful prognosis. Barren. Nonetheless, three years of marriage had produced little but heartbreak, and when Gabe died in a mining accident, she was left with nothing.
No husband.
No income.
No babies.
A delicious giggle feathered her cheek, and her gloom instantly vanished. Hopping down onto the platform, she couldn’t resist a playful whirl or two, Landon’s giggles taking flight along with her blue calico skirt, which billowed in the dusty air. Flush with laughter, she delivered Landon to his mother, who’d already handed the baby to a silver-haired woman of striking resemblance.
“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” the young mother said, the gratitude in her eyes edged with fatigue as she took the toddler from Grace. “Can my parents and I offer you a lift?”
“I’m not sure,” Grace said, scanning with a hand to her eyes, stomach cramping at the possibility that Eileen might not even live here anymore. Her last letter was over a year and half ago when the young mother was expecting her fourth child and begged her to come. But the prospect of a saloon girl paying a visit to a pastor’s wife had been too painful to consider, especially since she’d lied to her childhood friend, claiming to be a “teacher.”
Only not in any school.
Gripping her valise, she squared her shoulders. But . . . she was a new creature in Christ according to Maggie Mullaney, a young nurse who tended her wounds after a barroom brawl. Sweet Maggie’s ministrations had not only helped heal Grace’s body, but also her soul, instilling a hope for a new beginning. One last chance to make things right.
In Last Chance, California.
Her lips tipped up at the corners of her mouth, the irony of the town’s name not lost on her. It had, in fact, been a motivating factor in even considering a visit to a friend she hadn’t seen in years.
Prophetic, she hoped. And God’s will, she prayed.
“I’m looking for the parsonage,” Grace said with a crimp in her brow when she saw no sign of a steeple on the dusty main street lined with a hodge-podge of buildings and pines. “I was hoping it would be in walking distance, but I don’t see anything that even remotely resembles a church.”
“That’s because the Last Chance Chapel is on the west hill, tucked away in the trees,” the silver-haired woman explained, joining her daughter as she jiggled the baby. “You must be here to see the McCabes. Are you a relative?”
The McCabes. A silent sigh seeped out. Eileen was still here!
“No,” she said too quickly, loud enough to mask another noisy churn of her stomach. “Just a friend of the family hoping to help out.” Anxious to avoid further probing, Grace started for the west edge of town, lifting a hand in farewell. “Thank you for pointing me in the right direction.”
“If you’re here to help, they’ll be mighty glad to see you,” the woman called as Grace picked up her pace. Offering a wave, Grace rounded a building that appeared to be a saloon, given the familiar tinkling of a piano and several bleary-eyed cowboys who stumbled out.
“Hey, pretty lady, where ya off to in such a hurry?” one of the men slurred, and Grace bolted down the wooden sidewalk without a glance back, hand plastered to her straw bonnet to keep it from blowing off. Ducking around the mercantile, she backed up to the side wall, hand splayed to her heaving chest. The foul scent of liquor and tobacco assailed her, and she willed the apple she’d eaten for lunch to stay in her stomach.
A wagon rumbled by, and she jerked from the building, spotting a steeple through the trees in the distance. Praying Eileen would welcome her despite the lack of notice, Grace finally arrived at a white clapboard church tucked among a peaceful copse of red maples. The sight literally stilled her soul. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the shingled roof like the finger of God leading her home. Behind it at the top of a hill, a log cabin peeked through the pines, a lazy curl of wood smoke rising from the chimney to fill the air with its welcome scent.
Gaze flicking back to the church, she decided a chat with the Almighty might be wise. “To hedge my bets,” she said, then ruefully glanced up. “Forgive me, Lord—gamblers and saloons are part of my past, not my future, so please don’t let Eileen turn me away.”
Grace carefully approached the cherry-red door as if she were trespassing, the whiff of wood shavings tickling her nose. Sidetracked by the wonderful smell that reminded her of her grandfather, she tiptoed around the corner to see a makeshift workbench beside a stack of lumber. Memories of Grandfather’s carpentry shop tugged, and breathing in the heady scent of cedar and lacquer, she knew this was a sign from God.
She was finally home!
Grateful she was alone, she tiptoed into the tiny vestibule before entering the dim church, blinking to adjust from blinding sunlight to stained-glass shadows. A loud gasp popped from her mouth when something moved in a far corner of the rafters, and her stomach immediately followed with a truly ferocious growl. The sound startled a poor man painting the ceiling, jerking him around so fast, his ladder teetered for several horrifying seconds. Right before his can of stain shimmied off the top, splatting onto the floor with an awful crash.
Along with her hopes.
Dark eyes circled in shock gave way to a tic in a hard-sculpted cheek as he slowly descended, the clamp of a steely jaw not a good sign.
Grace gulped. Finally home? Gnawing the edge of her lip, she groaned—along with her stomach.
Then again, maybe not . . .

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