Beulah narrowed her eyes and then blew out a breath. “All right then. I’ll see what I can do to make that happen. But understand what you’re getting yourself into. We have no idea if she’s violent or psychotic. Jesus, Grace. Are you sure about this?”
Grace had never been surer of anything in her life. Even though she knew that Jasper would probably blow a gasket when he found out. But Jasper was out of town, which meant she would deal with that when the time came. “I’m positive.”
Chapter Eight
Mud watched the trees go by through the window of the van she rode in.
The hum and vibration of the van brought back a vague memory of the woman named Grace… The woman who’d driven her to the hospital. The woman who’d helped her.
Flora’s words suddenly whispered through Mud’s mind. “You can’t trust them folks in the village, Mud. They’re evil. All of ‘em. The Devil controls their minds. You can’t believe nothin’ they say, Mud. You understand me?”
“Yes, Mama. We can’t trust the village folks.”
Mud had trusted no one but her mama. And yet… She wasn’t terrified of Grace. Was Grace controlled by the Devil like the others? According to Flora, they all were. But the Devil was dead, wasn’t he? Mud had buried him.
Well, Mud didn’t plan on sticking around to find out. She would run the first chance she got. She needed to bait her traps and bring the rainwater in before the animals got to it.
The van came to a stop outside a large white house. Mud remembered seeing the house when she’d slipped into the village in search of food.
The driver of the van got out, took a few steps, and then slid the side door open. Her dark brown eyes warily assessed Mud. “We’re here.”
Mud’s heart began to pound hard enough she was sure the driver could hear it.
And then, Grace stepped from the house, a soft smile on her face, and some of Mud’s apprehension dissipated. Some. Not all.
“Hi, Mud. I’m so glad you’re here.” Grace held out a hand.
Part of Mud wanted to accept the hand offered to her, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her mama wouldn’t have wanted her to.
Lowering her gaze, Mud slid off the seat and dropped to the ground next to Grace. She kept her attention focused on a rock lying close to the woman’s foot and waited to see what would happen next.
“Okay then,” Grace gently whispered. “Well, let’s go inside, shall we? I cooked us a nice dinner.”
Mud’s stomach growled on cue.
Keeping her head down, she followed alongside Grace and entered the house behind her.
The smell of food hit Mud instantly. She wanted to run through that place until she found the source of that smell. But she didn’t. Grace would probably be horrified.
Of course, what did she care if Grace were horrified? But she did. A small part of her did.
Grace slowly crouched down until Mud was forced to look at her. “I bought you some things in town. We can go through them as soon as you’ve eaten. You must be hungry.”
Man, was she ever, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. She simply stood there, unmoving.
“Okay. The kitchen is this way.” Grace rose to her full height and made her way into the next room.
Mud hesitated, her gaze touching on everything around her, from the clean furniture scattered throughout the room to the large stones against the far wall. From the ashes residing in the bottom, Mud knew it to be where Grace built her fires.
And then, she noticed the wooden-framed faces resting along the top of the stones as well as hanging on the wall.
Mud’s mama had shown her pictures before, when she would return from the village with a few stolen newspapers. But Mud had never seen any as lifelike as the ones she looked upon now.
One of the pictures showed a man standing behind Grace, his hand resting on her shoulder. Mud wondered who he was. More importantly, where he was. She shivered.
“Hey,” Grace softly called, her face appearing in Mud’s peripheral. “I made you a plate. Would you like to come eat with me? I’m awfully hungry.”
Mud was hungry as well. She nodded sharply and moved in the direction Grace indicated.
The kitchen was a spacious, brightly lit area, with pots hanging from the ceiling, and pictures of roosters hanging on the walls. A tall silver box stood across the room, similar to the one Mud had stolen the meat from at the eatery. Only, that box had been glass.
Grace stopped next to a large, round table and pulled out a chair. “You can sit here.”
Mud did as Grace instructed, mostly because she was too hungry not to. A plate rested in front of her, containing some kind of delicious-smelling meat, potatoes, and carrots. And potatoes were her favorite.
There was also bread. Mud recognized it as a biscuit. Her mama had made them on special occasions when she would bring back flour from the village.
“If you’ll bow your head, I’ll say the blessing over the meal,” Grace softly suggested, taking a seat across from Mud.
More confusion settled inside Mud. If Grace were a bad person, why would she pray over the food? According to Flora, God was good, where the Devil was bad.
Though Mud lowered her head, she kept her eyes open. She would never close her eyes in the company of strangers. No matter how nice they appeared to be.
Grace began her prayer. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food we are about to eat and for bringing Mud into our lives. We also thank you for seeing to it that she’s on her way to recovery. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
More than a little puzzled by Grace’s actions, Mud kept her head down until she heard the woman pick up her drink.
Unable to wait a minute longer, Mud snatched up her piece of meat and tore into it with her teeth.
She glanced up to find Grace smiling back at her. “I knew you were hungry.”
Mud didn’t comment. Mostly because she didn’t know how to respond.
Chapter Nine
Grace watched Mud eat as if she were a starving animal. It broke her heart to think that she could be that hungry. It also puzzled her that Mud ate with her fingers, bypassing her fork and spoon. Surely the girl knew how to use utensils. Didn’t she?
“Mud?”
Mud stopped chewing but didn’t look up from her plate, her tangled and matted hair hiding her eyes.
“Would you like me to show you an easier way to do that?”
That brought the girl’s head up. She stared back at Grace with a curious yet wary expression.
Grace slowly picked up her own spoon and scooped up some mashed potatoes. She then brought it to her mouth and took a bite. After swallowing, she said, “See? Much easier. Now, you try.”
Mud picked up her spoon. She adjusted it in her hand, obviously attempting to hold it the way Grace held hers. After a couple of tries, she seemed to have it down.
More than a little stunned by the knowledge that Mud didn’t know how to use utensils, Grace took another drink of her tea and then went back to her meal.
Once Mud finished her plate, Grace offered her a second helping, only to be surprised when the young girl shook her head. Of course, with Mud being as thin as she was, her stomach undoubtedly couldn’t hold any more.