Grounded (25 page)

Practice with the band that night ran late, and Grace had to be up at four thirty Friday morning—limo was coming at five thirty to get her to Union Station by six. But she figured she could catch a nap on the train, and she'd make sure she got to bed early at the hotel that night. It was smart to go a day early.

It was a good thing they'd decided to arrive at six to pick up their tickets because boarding the early morning commuter began at six thirty. Sam, a little bleary-eyed herself, helped Grace stow their suitcases in the luggage area over their reserved seats in the club-dinette car, and then said, “I'm going to get us some coffee.”

Grace watched, amused, as her assistant moved to the snack bar in the middle of the car, and then she sank down into the wide burgundy Naugahyde seat by the window. This Amfleet club car was nice … very nice. Wide seats—two on one side, just one on the other—spacious legroom, snack bar handy, six tables at the other end. She wondered what the regular coach cars were like.

Sam brought back coffee, two yogurt cups, and two cinnamon bagels with cream cheese. “Breakfast!” she grinned. “Want to eat here or back there at one of the tables?”

“Here's fine.” But even with the coffee, Grace managed to doze off before the train passed Joliet … and woke an hour later as the train pulled into the station at Bloomington-Normal.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Sam had on her reading light and was leafing through a magazine she'd brought along. “Figured out one good thing about taking this early train—fewer stops. It's only been a couple hours, about three to go. But we should get there about noon.”

Grace got up to use the restroom, then made her way back to their seats. The car was full, but didn't feel crowded. Several people were playing cards at the tables in the back, laughing and talking, or just drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Others were in their seats, working on their laptops or reading. Or zonked, legs stretched out on the retractable footrest.

This really was a great way to travel. And she didn't have to feel guilty about Sam doing all that driving just so she could be rested.

Cornfields of yellow stubble and pastures just beginning to turn a hopeful green flashed by the window. A few farmers were turning over their fields with monster tractors, getting ready for planting. The mournful train whistle sounded its warning at every rural crossing, and once she saw a horse pulling an Amish buggy down a road at a real clip. Things she'd never hear or see thousands of feet in the sky. Nice.

But … would it be feasible to take the train all the way to Seattle? It might take a few days to get there, but once the tour started, they'd have a tour bus from Seattle to LA, and then a few days back by train.

It was her time, after all. Well, Sam's too. Grace really didn't want to travel alone. But maybe she should give the girl the option.

Grace opened her notebook and worked a little more on the song she'd been playing with that she'd titled “One.” Would the band be able to pick it up on such short notice? Except … some of the lyrics just weren't coming together. Maybe trying to do a new song was a bad idea.

A young man sporting a grin, a two-day growth of beard, jeans, and a T-shirt, and a blonde woman dressed in a modest navy suit were holding up an eight-by-ten-inch sign saying “Welcome Grace Meredith” when Grace and Sam made their way into the St. Louis Gateway Station among hundreds of travelers coming or going.

“Hello!” Beaming, the woman reached out to shake Grace's hand. “I'm Willa Baker, this is Doug Swarthmore. We are so thrilled you were able to come. We've been blanketing the city with radio promo and sending invitations to all the churches, so hopefully we'll have a good crowd tomorrow night. Is this all your luggage, or did you check some bags?” She seemed to notice Samantha for the first time. “And this is …?”

Grace introduced Sam as “Samantha Curtis, without whom the world might stand still,” which earned her a smirky glance from Sam. Once in the church van that proclaimed Hawthorn Christian Fellowship along both sides in large letters, Willa chatted on. They learned that Doug was part of the sound team at Hawthorn and would be working with the band for the concert tomorrow night. And Willa was the event coordinator.

“We didn't expect you quite this early—just got the call from Bongo yesterday that you were arriving by train. But it's all good,” the woman giggled. “The hotel should let us check you in early. We don't have any dinner plans for tonight, but the hotel has a fine restaurant. Of course, you're welcome to join us for our Good Friday service—starts at eight o'clock.”

Grace felt torn. It was Easter weekend, after all. But there was probably no way she could just slip in and slip out, and both she and Sam had been up since before sunup. “Sounds tempting,” she murmured. “but we, uh, have prep to do for tomorrow.” And she'd like more time to work on that new song. “But I have a question … I'd love a meet and greet time after the concert tomorrow night. Would that work out?”

“Oooo. Great idea. We'll make sure to reserve a room for that. How many people should we invite? I'm sure the ministry team and pastoral team—if they're at the concert—would love a chance to chat with you.”

Grace glanced at Sam, giving her a
Say something!
look.

“I think what Miss Meredith means is, she'd like to meet some of the concertgoers, especially some of the young people—teens, college age.”

“Oh. Yes, of course …” she said. “We'll work out something.”

The auditorium of Hawthorn Christian Fellowship was beautiful—and immense. “Going to be a bit embarrassing if we don't fill it,” Grace murmured to Sam as they walked in the next morning, taking in the rows upon rows of plush, red theater-type seats.

“Don't worry about it. God'll bring whoever's supposed to be here tonight. Just pick one person and sing to that person—oh, there's Barry. Gotta talk to him about the changes you want to make in the first set.” Sam waved at the band manager, who was testing microphones and set off toward the stage.

Grace felt slightly chided by her assistant—but of course Sam was right.
This isn't about me
, she told herself—but she still hoped they had a decent crowd.

The practice sessions went well—except for the new song. The poetry just wasn't clicking. Petey said he'd like to work more on the melody. “Give it some time,” Barry said. “Maybe you can do it on tour.”

Grace was disappointed. It took her down a peg or two. Would she ever be able to write her own songs again?

As she and Sam waited offstage that evening for her cue to begin, she caught a glimpse of the auditorium. The balconies were sparse, but the lower level was nearly full, which, she'd been told, held at least a thousand.
Thank you, Lord!
A good crowd after all. Mostly a sea of white faces, though, which was often the case at her concerts. How did Sam feel about that, or Zach in the band, always playing to mostly white audiences?

She'd never really thought about that before. Somehow meeting the Bentleys in their home, wondering if they'd like to come to one of her concerts … She'd love to draw a more multicultural crowd, but how? Could she sing gospel—the kind Estelle Bentley listened to? Probably not, though she'd heard the band cut loose on some gospel songs a few times, just jamming. Maybe—

“You're on,” Sam murmured, giving her a nudge.

“… our special guest, straight from Chicago—Grace Meredith!” The dramatic announcement by Hawthorn's minister of music brought a burst of applause from the audience.

Grace took a deep breath, put on a smile, and sailed over the red carpeting of the large stage into the spotlights, carried by the applause. As they'd planned, the band began a soulful introduction to “Rock of Ages,” a hymn that bridged Good Friday and Easter. As she waited for the applause to die and her eyes to adjust to the bright lights, she remembered what Sam had said earlier: “Pick one person and just sing to that person.” Might help her focus … ah, there was her musical cue.

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me …” Her start was strong, low and steady. “Let me hide myself in thee!” Faces were beginning to emerge from the bright lights. Her eyes swept the first row as she sang the next line: “Let the water and the blood, from thy wounded side which flowed …”

There. A young teenager in a red sweater caught her eye, face enraptured. She'd focus on her.

“Be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure …”

The band repeated the melody of the last line before starting in on the second verse. A man sitting next to the girl had a big smile on his face. Must be her father—

Wait
. No … it couldn't be!

But it was.

Her agent. Jeff Newman.

Willa Baker found Grace at intermission and told her they'd picked twenty people at random to get “backstage passes” for the meet and greet time. Grace told her to be sure to include the girl in the red sweater in the front row and anyone she was with. “And that's my agent sitting next to her. Bring him back too.”

“That's Jeff Newman?” Willa Baker peeked into the sanctuary. “Of course! He arranged this whole concert. We spent hours on the phone—he was so helpful.” She peeked again and tittered. “Gosh, he's hot. Is he single?”

Grace stopped short of rolling her eyes.

But she had to hand it to the event coordinator: there was even coffee and lemonade in the church lounge for the meet and greet after the concert. Grace hugged the girl in the red sweater—“I'm Becky,” the girl said, giggling with two of her friends—and told her she was her inspiration that evening. “I was?” Becky's eyes went wide, setting off another round of giggles and embarrassed hands covering her face.

But Grace kept looking for Jeff—and finally saw him as the crowd thinned, leaning against the wall with a paper cup of coffee, still grinning. She'd almost forgotten how attractive he was—all that dark curly hair and a dark shadow where a beard would be if he let it grow. She made her way over to him and spouted, “Jeff Newman! Don't ever do that again! At least warn me next time you decide to spy on my concert. I nearly forgot a verse!”

The lopsided grin got wider. “Sorry about that. Though it was kind of fun to catch your eye and watch you flounder for a second
or two. Nice recovery though.” He nodded approvingly. “Good concert. Your voice sounds really great.”

That was sweet to hear. She'd tanked up on lozenges and hot tea during the short intermission while the Hawthorn emcee took an offering for something or other, but personally she'd felt her voice had stayed clear and strong. “But what are you doing here? I just talked to you in Colorado on Thursday!”

He shrugged. “Felt kinda bad, arranging this venue so last minute. Realized you were making a major effort to get here and had to come up with a whole new song set on top of it. Thought the least I could do was show up and give you some support. Besides, I haven't ever heard you in live concert. Decided this weekend was as good as any—well, except for the holiday. Yesterday was a madhouse at the airport, but I was able to get a flight this afternoon, and … here I am.” The grin again.

Grace hardly knew what to say. She was glad to see him—but she also felt awkward. Before she could respond, he waggled his paper cup. “This coffee doesn't quite make it. Any chance you'd be up for a real cup of joe or something? I saw a coffee bar on the next block. But if you're wiped and need to crash …”

“No, no, that'd be great. Takes me a couple hours to wind down after a concert, anyway. But I should tell Sam—oh, speaking of Sam …”

Grace waved Sam over, feeling slightly giddy with adrenaline and fatigue. “Sam, this is Jeff Newman, my new agent, who showed up tonight unannounced and had the bad manners to sit in the front row.” She deliberately kept a straight face. “And Jeff, this is Samantha Curtis, my assistant—in name only. She's actually She Who Must Be Obeyed. You two have talked on the phone, right?” Ignoring the face Sam made, Grace added, “Anyway, Sam, we're going out for coffee to take care of some business, won't be long.”
Business …
why did she say that? Jeff hadn't said anything about “taking care of business.”