Read Online An Uncommon Grace by Serena B. Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Serena B. Miller
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whistling overhead—readying herself for the next run for the nearest bunker. Even though Bagram was huge and well secured, the Taliban loved making her and the rest of the personnel jump, and sometimes the terrorists just plain got lucky.
Unlike people who lived near a railroad track and got so used to the clatter of the trains that they didn’t even notice when they went by, the sound of rockets or gunfire never lost its ability to thrust Grace into immediate action. Even when she was so exhausted from a mission that her sleep resembled a coma, the shout of “Incoming!” could propel her out of bed with her legs already moving at full speed. Her training and experience had made her hypervigilant, and she didn’t know how to find the necessary switch to flip that hypervigilance off. She got back up, peeked in on her grandmother, and checked all the locks again.
She had just gotten settled back beneath the afghan when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready for fight or flight.
“Sis?” Becky called softly.
She relaxed. “Over here, Becky. What’s wrong?”
“It’s creepy being upstairs all by myself.”
“You can sleep down here on the other couch if you want to keep me company.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Even though Becky was seventeen, she was carrying her blanket and her favorite pillow along with her—just as when she was small and had crept into Grace’s bed when she was afraid.
Becky made herself a nest on the other couch. In spite of the adjustments she was having to make, Grace was filled with gratitude that she had been able to come home. There was a killer on the loose and she was grateful that she was hereto watch over the two people she cared for most in the world.
“I’m glad you could come home.” Becky fluffed her pillow and doubled it beneath her head.
“I’m glad, too. Good night, Becky.”
Instead of the roar of fighter jets overhead and the rattling gunfire of distant fighting that had permeated her sleep for so long, Grace heard the sound of her grandmother having a quiet conversation with God. Elizabeth had done that for as long as Grace could remember.
It gave her a feeling of peace even now, just as it had when she was little. The comfort of her grandmother’s prayers helped her to temporarily switch off the feeling of unease with which she lived. She allowed herself to nod off as she listened to her grandmother standing sentry for their family, asking the God she had served for over six decades to surround their family with the strength of His mighty angels.
chapter F OUR
G race tossed her keys into the large wooden bowl that sat in the middle of her grandmother’s kitchen table. She remembered Claire expressing admiration for the well-crafted article the first day she had met her. Claire had shyly informed her, during her one short visit, that the bowl was designed for kneading bread. It was obvious she was dismayed to see such a fine culinary tool being used as a mere receptacle for car keys.
Grace had chosen not to spoil the visit by telling Claire that she had no earthly idea how to make bread, nor did she have any particular desire to do so. The thought of herself elbow-deep in bread dough almost made her smile.
Almost. Because even though she and Claire were worlds apart in many ways, she felt a connection developing between them that day. Claire had been fascinated by the fact that she was a nurse—and had asked many questions. She, in turn, had discovered that Claire had a great deal of knowledge about healing plants. Grace had been too long in a primitive country with poor medical resources not to respect those who tried to relieve what pain and sickness they could with whatever tools they had.
In her hand was a box of handmade candy she had purchased at Coblentz’schocolate factory over in Walnut Creek. Mother’s Day was coming soon and she had picked up an assortment of her grandmother’s favorites.
She
Unlike people who lived near a railroad track and got so used to the clatter of the trains that they didn’t even notice when they went by, the sound of rockets or gunfire never lost its ability to thrust Grace into immediate action. Even when she was so exhausted from a mission that her sleep resembled a coma, the shout of “Incoming!” could propel her out of bed with her legs already moving at full speed. Her training and experience had made her hypervigilant, and she didn’t know how to find the necessary switch to flip that hypervigilance off. She got back up, peeked in on her grandmother, and checked all the locks again.
She had just gotten settled back beneath the afghan when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready for fight or flight.
“Sis?” Becky called softly.
She relaxed. “Over here, Becky. What’s wrong?”
“It’s creepy being upstairs all by myself.”
“You can sleep down here on the other couch if you want to keep me company.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Even though Becky was seventeen, she was carrying her blanket and her favorite pillow along with her—just as when she was small and had crept into Grace’s bed when she was afraid.
Becky made herself a nest on the other couch. In spite of the adjustments she was having to make, Grace was filled with gratitude that she had been able to come home. There was a killer on the loose and she was grateful that she was hereto watch over the two people she cared for most in the world.
“I’m glad you could come home.” Becky fluffed her pillow and doubled it beneath her head.
“I’m glad, too. Good night, Becky.”
Instead of the roar of fighter jets overhead and the rattling gunfire of distant fighting that had permeated her sleep for so long, Grace heard the sound of her grandmother having a quiet conversation with God. Elizabeth had done that for as long as Grace could remember.
It gave her a feeling of peace even now, just as it had when she was little. The comfort of her grandmother’s prayers helped her to temporarily switch off the feeling of unease with which she lived. She allowed herself to nod off as she listened to her grandmother standing sentry for their family, asking the God she had served for over six decades to surround their family with the strength of His mighty angels.
chapter F OUR
G race tossed her keys into the large wooden bowl that sat in the middle of her grandmother’s kitchen table. She remembered Claire expressing admiration for the well-crafted article the first day she had met her. Claire had shyly informed her, during her one short visit, that the bowl was designed for kneading bread. It was obvious she was dismayed to see such a fine culinary tool being used as a mere receptacle for car keys.
Grace had chosen not to spoil the visit by telling Claire that she had no earthly idea how to make bread, nor did she have any particular desire to do so. The thought of herself elbow-deep in bread dough almost made her smile.
Almost. Because even though she and Claire were worlds apart in many ways, she felt a connection developing between them that day. Claire had been fascinated by the fact that she was a nurse—and had asked many questions. She, in turn, had discovered that Claire had a great deal of knowledge about healing plants. Grace had been too long in a primitive country with poor medical resources not to respect those who tried to relieve what pain and sickness they could with whatever tools they had.
In her hand was a box of handmade candy she had purchased at Coblentz’schocolate factory over in Walnut Creek. Mother’s Day was coming soon and she had picked up an assortment of her grandmother’s favorites.
She
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