Sisters of Grace

By Katherine Trent

Thirty year old journalist Olivia Barrett loves her life in the Windy City. Her career, however, is a different story- literally. Being a journalist for Southern Elegance and Traditions Magazine is just a pebble in the stepping stones it will take to get to the top of the journalistic world... or so she thinks.

When an assignment to Manchester, Mississippi throws Olivia face to face with the issues she chooses to ignore, she will discover that even the purest of gold has to be refined by fire. As she interviews the manor residents, twelve gracefully aging southern belles, she finds that the true beauty of Granview Manor is not on the outside but on the inside. Over the course of her assignment Olivia discovers that wisdom is acquired through observation or experience and maybe she doesnt have to learn everything the hard way. It isnt long before she realizes that she wants what these women have, but does she have what it will take to lead a life of virtue?

Besides being captivated by each individual journey, Olivia is witness to the truth, wisdom and faith that is shared by women of all ages and geographic locations. Read and discover why Olivia felt as if she was living a life of meaning, until she found the true meaning of life among the Sisters of Grace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512744224

Katherine Trent

Katherine Trent is an extremely thankful person to her awesome and loving God. She has been very blessed in her life with a precious family, and a warm and caring church. Katherine has been married for 36 years to her husband Landon. They make their home in the beautiful mountains of Southwest Virginia. One of her greatest rewards is teaching the Word of God to the young hearts in her Sunday School class. Katherine found Christ at the young age of eleven years. It is now her life’s goal to help light The Way to Christ for others.

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Copyright © 2016 Katherine Trent.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4423-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4424-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4422-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908872

WestBow Press rev. date: 6/10/2016

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1 Granview Manor---House of Grace

Chapter 2 Alexandra's Advice---A Champion for Humanity

Chapter 3 Rachel's Wildflowers---Love Never Dies

Chapter 4 Jacqueline Kay Wentworth---A Heart Blinded by Beauty

Chapter 5 Madison Graham---Me, Myself, and I

Chapter 6 Victoria Jackson---Never Walk Alone

Chapter 7 Ava Faulkner---What Are We Worth?

Chapter 8 Elizabeth Sheffield---Timeless Perfection

Chapter 9 Katherine McCallister---Make the Difference

Chapter 10 Sadie Mae Murphy---The Grateful Lady

Chapter 11 Amelia Lancaster---Change a Life and Change the World

Chapter 12 Lilly Jane Landry---From Fearful to Faithful

Chapter 13 Grace Manchester---Lady of the Manor

Chapter 14 Granview---Chapel of Faith

Chapter 15 Olivia's Farewell

About the Author

Acknowledgments

F IRST AND FOREMOST, I WOULD like to thank my heavenly Father for His unlimited blessings and guidance. For He is everything in my life, and without Him I would be nothing. Secondly, I would like to extend a very special thank you to my best friend and husband, Landon. There is no one else that I would rather walk through life with. Also to my amazing niece Stephanie who is the sunshine in my heart. Without their belief and support, this book would not have been possible.

Introduction

M Y GOAL IN WRITING THE Sisters of Grace was to help people from different walks of life, that they might recognize themselves in one or more of these characters. In doing so, they may discover how these characters confronted, endured, and overcame the paths set before them, as well as how they achieved fulfillment and victory over their circumstances.

My prayer is that the Holy Spirit will guide your lives in the direction that you are intended to travel, just as the sisters of Granview Manor were led by God's grace and care. May each one of you be found guilty of obedience to our heavenly Father. May God's grace comfort, bless, and soothe your hearts and minds always with His loving peace.

CHAPTER 1

Granview Manor---House of Grace

I T WAS ANOTHER COLD CHICAGO morning. After being awake for several hours during the night, I reached over and turned off my alarm clock early. I sat up on the side of my bed, and my body shivered when my feet hit the cold wood floor. There was a part of me that wanted to fall back into my warm blankets and cover my head, pretending that it was just going to be another peaceful, routine Sunday.

No such luck. Not knowing where I would be laying my head that night, I incorporated the simple fact that I had to pay my bills, and therefore my comfort was of no consequence. I reluctantly did the responsible thing and dragged my sluggish body to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and waited for the mirror to steam over before I stepped into my morning shower. As my brain screamed the entire time for hot coffee, I thought for the hundredth time, How is it that I got myself into this assignment?

Luckily, I had packed my bags the night before. I took a last, longing look at my comfy little apartment as I towel-dried. I would definitely miss my routine here: my friends and our Friday nights out on the town together, our dinner and movie nights in on Tuesday, and most of all, the late-night conversations over the phone. The city really didn't sleep. I smiled to myself and thought, I will even miss this tiny apartment and the noisy neighbors I so often complain about.

I sighed and reminded myself that it was just for a little while and that it had been my choice to become a journalist in the first place. As I walked over to the tiny alcove I considered a closet, I decided to at least be comfortable for the flight to Mississippi. I pulled on my leggings and a tunic sweater with a warm, cashmere scarf and topped it off with my favorite leather jacket and leather ankle boots. With my usual businesswoman look about me---minimal makeup and hair pulled in a tight ponytail---I made one last check around the apartment, gathered my things, and headed downstairs to find an early-morning taxi.

The city of Chicago was already up and moving in full force as I got in the taxi. I began to feel a familiar irritation mingled with impatience as I checked my phone for the fourth time in as many minutes. I realized that I had left in plenty of time and reminded myself that trying to beat the busy traffic was a part of the daily city routine I had just been lamenting. After very little sleep, the cold morning air had awakened my brain, with the assistance of my cup of liquid caffeine, of course, but it had done very little to improve my mood. My phone buzzed with the reminders from my calendar. Like I could forget, I thought with a small grimace as we pulled up outside my office. I paid the cab driver, and he quickly retrieved my bags from the taxi. I took a deep breath and headed up the stairs to meet with my editor for some last-minute instructions.

I arrived at my editor's office at six o'clock sharp to attend our final meeting before my departure to Granview Manor, located in the Deep South, as she put it, in a Mississippi town called Manchester. I still felt frazzled and rushed despite my apparently ineffectual deep breathing as I rapped on the door of Jenny, my editor.

Come in! she called. She smiled as I slid through the door. Just the girl I want to talk to this morning. Please take a seat. I have some hot lemon tea and croissants with honey butter. She gestured toward a tray of goodies on the side table to the left of her desk. Help yourself.

Thank you, Jenny. This is one of my favorite foods, I said as I spread the butter on the hot croissant.

Olivia, I want to cover a few last-minute ideas about this story, she began, waiting on me to pop the last bite in my mouth and take out my notebook. I opened it and prepared to take down her instructions.

"First, I would like for you to take some photos with your phone before I send down Bradley so we can make sure he has the right equipment. Familiarize yourself with the estate, taking note of the details of the lighting of the morning, afternoon, and evening so you can give Bradley a heads-up upon his arrival of the best shoot times. I'm going to schedule him for later in the second week. That will give him some ideas of what direction to take. I think one to two days will accomplish our goal and give us the best pictorial layout if you've done some of the groundwork already.

Second, I want you to keep me informed by e-mail of your best potential story points. I would like a short summary of your daily collection of information about the manor as well as its residents. This will allow me to begin to judge the size of our article so that I can allow for sufficient space. I've got a hunch this story is going to be big, Barrett, and I want to be clear that it has top priority in the magazine. I could even bump a couple of stories to next month's publication if need be. I want to cover this article in a thorough way and not hold back anything important from our readers.

I inwardly rolled my eyes at her insistence of importance. It's really not that interesting, Jenny. But I wrote down the information anyway.

She continued. "Also, as you interview each resident, see if they would mind having their pictures taken solo as well as in a group. I intend to place their picture above their individual section of the article, so the reader can place a face with the story. Keep in mind, Olivia, for the next few weeks you are not the hip city girl anymore. You are the eyes and ears of our faithful readers. You have to realize that our readers are taken by these stories of the Deep South, and this is a big story---a big story that I wouldn't just give anyone.

The reason I have given you this assignment is because you are my most thorough and tenacious journalist at the magazine, but work isn't everything.

She paused, considering, and I was not sure if she meant the last comment as a compliment. I decided to take it as such, and my decision was supported by her next words. I trust in your abilities to do an excellent job. I hope you understand this could be a career changer. Leave no stone unturned. Remember, I am just a phone call or e-mail away. Night or day, I am at your disposal.

As I put away my notebook and gathered my things, I replied, Jenny, I appreciate your faith in me. It means a great deal. I do appreciate the opportunity and will take this assignment very seriously. After speaking with my mother last night, I think she's more excited than I am.

I smiled, remembering the conversation with my mother. She was all about my wardrobe and jewelry, loaning me some of her best things and giving me a warning about not wearing leggings or crazy mismatched patterns. She talked with me at length about respect for myself and others and how it was a different world down there. She also instructed me to bring back tons of pictures. I just hope that both Mom and Jenny aren't disappointed when they find out that it's just not that big of a deal.

That proves my point, Olivia. Some of our mature readers live for this stuff. It is our job to deliver. To be honest, I really wanted this project for myself. She waved a hand toward the cast on her ankle, the result of a recent car accident, and sighed. It was just not meant to be. I can assure you if I was not on these crutches, I would be the one on that airplane.

Despite the career opportunity she assured me this article was, I too couldn't help but wish that she was the one going.

Oh well. Things work out how they're supposed to, I guess. What time does your plane leave, Barrett?

I looked down at my phone clock and saw that it was near seven o'clock. I'd better get going. I need to be at the airport by eight.

Safe travels, Olivia. I'll be with you in spirit. Remember, I'm counting on you, and I'll be looking forward to your daily updates. She effectively dismissed me while leaving the tone of confident caution hanging in the air.

With a nod of understanding, I left Jenny's office. I realized that she considered my work on this project as the most serious assignment I had ever been given. The thought depressed me. The most important assignments have yet to come, I assured myself. I longed for action, to be writing the serious stories, writing on meaningful topics, such as politics and world issues. Just paying my dues so I can work for a notable publication, I thought for the millionth time since coming to work for Southern Elegance & Traditions magazine.

Jenny had let me know that she was expecting my best, and that was what she was going to get. As she'd said, I had to deliver. Whether this place turned out to be a big deal or not, I had to make it that way, and that in itself was pressure.

My annoying thoughts were intrusive; these ladies were the age of my mother or older. I can do the interviews for sure, but what can we possibly have to talk about the rest of the time? We were from a different generation and apparently a very different part of the country. I felt anxious at the idea of weeks of boredom and mentally rechecked the books I had packed, hoping they would be enough to keep me entertained.

I felt a great weight around my neck to make the story happen. I considered my ability versus the task at hand. I stopped back by my office to pick up a few things. As I glanced out, I saw thick fog banked up against my office window. It was very much like the days ahead of me, not knowing what I was walking into.

I checked my makeup and brushed my hair back, adjusting my ponytail. It's as good as it's going to get, I decided. I gathered my coat, luggage, and laptop and was out the door. As the elevator descended to the ground floor, I felt a knot in my stomach.

The doorman helped to get my luggage into the taxi he had hailed. I settled down in the backseat as off to the airport we went.

Finally through security and in the waiting lounge, I gave my mother a quick call to let her know I was ready to board my plane. She was without a doubt my greatest fan, my constant, the one I could go to with anything. After her fifth request of specific pictures from the trip, I ended the call, reminding her to check on my apartment and to water my plants but most of all letting her know that I loved her.

On board the plane, I allowed my mind to drift back to thoughts of my assignment. My only positive thought was that I got to escape the bone-chilling northern winds of Chicago.

With an uneventful flight, we landed in Manchester several hours later. I made my way to the front of the airport. There was a limousine waiting with the words Granview Manor placed on the front side door. Much to my surprise, there was a tall man with a head full of gray hair, dressed in a starched white shirt and black pants, holding a bouquet of flowers. He spotted me at the same time and with a deep southern accent inquired, Are you Miss Olivia Barrett?

I responded, Yes, I am, and he introduced himself as Elijah Livingston but insisted I call him Elijah. I reciprocated, saying that he should call me Olivia.

I am your driver, Miss Olivia. May I take your bags?

Well, thank you, Elijah, I said as he was already taking the things from my hands.

What a polite man, I thought, looking at his kind eyes and warm smile as he opened my car door for me.

The town seemed quite small in comparison, coming from the big city. It was quaint and clean and ... different. Truly a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live here.

As we traveled through the town, I inquired about how Elijah came to be employed by Granview Manor and what he thought about his employer. He answered me in that deep southern accent.

Well, Miss Olivia, I have been employed by Ms. Grace for thirty years this month. In those thirty years, I have really enjoyed working at the manor. My wife, Phoebe, is also employed by Ms. Grace. She is in charge of the housekeeping. I take care of the grounds mostly, but I act as driver and a few other things when needed. The truth is we are like one big family at Granview. Every day is an absolute blessing. A beautiful gift from God, as you will soon see for yourself. His smile broadened.

A lot of people put on a good show for interviews, but something in Elijah's face showed a sincerity I couldn't ignore. My curious nature was getting the best of me, and I couldn't help but feel the smallest ember of excitement. What was it that people found so special about this place? From what I had been told, it was a conglomeration of a dozen senior women that had turned this historic manor into a shared living facility. Old folks' homes weren't nearly this exciting in Chicago ...

How much excitement could there be? Were southern women so very different from northern ones? Did they sit around and knit all day? Did they play checkers in a sunroom? Or did they share in-depth conversations about their health issues, such as their cholesterol numbers or their newest arthritis medication? What else did my mother's friends discuss? Oh yeah, how they wished they could still wear sleeveless dresses without showing their sagging arms. Or that they could no longer wear their three-inch high heels. I wished I could forget about their fiber conversations I had accidentally overheard. I hope that we don't have stewed prunes for breakfast! At this point, I realized how dramatic my thoughts had gotten and scolded myself for these unfair, judgmental, and frankly mean assumptions.

I could not imagine being a senior citizen at that point in my life, but that didn't mean I couldn't be empathetic. Most of the older generation that I had been around were simply grumpy or too opinionated---quick to tell you, without reservation, what their perception of a situation was and how one should be living their life. This judgment came most of the time without knowing all, or any, of the facts.

I saw my mother's face in my mind and considered her personality, unlike any that I had just thought of so uncharitably. Again, I reminded myself to control these unsubstantiated and critical remarks running through my mind; after all, I had yet to meet these people. Regardless of age, was I not mentally doing what I was accusing them of? They might be wonderful characters, full of personality and humor like my mother, and with that thought, I decided I would try not to be so judgmental.

I still felt like it could be the longest two weeks of my life. I could hear my mother's voice in my head telling me that one day I too would be older and would have to endure the changes that come with aging. I mentally concluded that staying young at heart was my choice, regardless of what happened to my body. I looked out the window and saw the beautiful flowers that were just beginning to bloom. I suddenly found myself with hopes that this place would be as charming as it claimed to be. With people that possessed the manners and traditions of the old South in accordance with the novels that I had read about such places. Where dinners were an event and afternoon teas were enjoyed out on the veranda---the kind of place where kindness and courtesy were still practiced, where etiquette and manners were taught from the cradle on up.

At these thoughts, I felt the urge to handle this assignment with the utmost respect. I was a professional and had been entrusted by my editor to represent our magazine. I was to produce an article that our magazine could be proud of, personal comforts aside. I must write an article that represents the old South in a dignified manner, respectful of these women, their history and lifestyle in a way that our subscribers will appreciate.

Elijah brought me back to the present from my warring thoughts and asked me how the magazine decided to do this article on Granview.

Well, Elijah, our magazine often does public interest pieces on historic southern properties, and Granview is just the kind of place that we think our readers would love to know more about.

It's a wonderful manor to be sure, Miss Olivia, but how did you come to choose Granview? There must be a ton of old southern mansions just swimmin' in history. Why'd you choose us?

When my editor began researching some of the historic mansions of Mississippi, the pictures of Granview on the Internet were few but breathtaking, thus sparking her interest.

He laughed a little. I didn't know we were on the Internet, Miss Olivia. I wonder how that happened.

Well, like I said, only a few pictures, probably from travelers passing through the area that thought it was a pretty property. The fact that it is a relatively unknown manor was part of the basis of its appeal. Truthfully, my editor thought that there was something unique and mysterious about the lack of media coverage on such a historical venue. The mystery was what drew her attention here and made her want to pursue the interviews. After a pleasant phone conversation with Ms. Manchester, giving us permission to come down to interview, photograph, and write the article for our magazine, all that was left to do was set the date. Elijah was smiling and nodding, still obviously amused by the fact that we considered the manor to be anything media worthy.

I continued, my journalistic nature taking over. I know my editor is really excited about the story of this old antebellum mansion. How it became a manor house of retired professional and sophisticated ladies. Ladies who have been friends for over thirty years, due to their membership in their hometown garden club. Is that correct?

Still nodding, Elijah answered, That's about the way of it, Miss, but I'll leave the answering of questions to the ladies themselves. He was still smiling but turned his attention back to his driving, clearly dismissing the idea of being interviewed himself.

Nice but taciturn, I thought to myself, Great! Maybe the interview part won't be the only easy part. I grimaced but quickly reminded myself to monitor my thoughts and not share my negativity with Elijah. He was such a nice man. Besides, give this opportunity a chance. I heard my mother's words from the night before. After all, it may not be what you think.

Elijah said, "Here we are, Miss Olivia---the mysterious Granview Manor." He smiled and gave a silent chuckle that could only be seen in his shoulders.

I had no idea what lay before me as we traveled up this long, winding country road. We came to an opening in the tree line, and I was utterly amazed at what appeared before me. This southern-style architectural manor was truly a majestic and splendid work of artisans and craftsman of a bygone era. I had seen pictures of this opulent manor house and grounds, but I must admit, in no way did they do it justice, and I was truly impressed.

I pulled out my phone and snapped the first picture, feeling regretful of the quality. This was an experience that the natural eye and senses had to encounter; pictures on a smartphone simply would not do. Bradley's best equipment might come closer though. The well-manicured house and grounds were breathtaking, with the obvious nuances of a time gone by. The history was so evident it was as if the house were clearly saying, If these walls could talk, what stories they would tell.

This beautiful, well-kept mansion had once been an extravagant hotel, owned and operated by a wealthy European couple, and did in no way disappoint. The pristine manor sat perfectly on a carpet of emerald-green grass. The trees were dripping with gentle, swaying Spanish moss. The driveway was lined with colorful plants that circled up to the mansion. Water was falling from a triple-tiered fountain that was centered in the circle drive. White rockers were placed across the front porch of the manor. Large, green, hanging ferns lined the front porch.

What a gorgeous place, I thought as Elijah opened the limo door for me to exit. I could envision the special events and celebrations that were once held here. What a perfect place for a wedding. A stream trickled down to a small lake where swans were swimming upon the reflection of the blue sky with white billowy clouds. A beautifully crafted gazebo was off to the left side of the manor. White flagstone walkways wound throughout the gardens. Half-circle benches with intricate carvings were nestled under the trees for shade from the sun. This truly seemed a place of solace and peace from a hectic world.

The manor itself was painted white with a large central building flanked by two extensions. The front of the manor had six large columns across the house-length porch. I was beginning to feel excited; there were endless things to visually appreciate. The house and grounds were immaculate and bathed in beauty. Maybe I wouldn't be so bored after all.

Elijah explained to me that Granview Manor had in fact been host to many special occasions. Its reputation was extremely popular among the wealthy and privileged who would boast of their time there. In the past, it had been known as providing a memorable experience to those people who had been awarded the good fortune to spend time at such a lavish retreat. However, since the passing of a couple of generational owners, its main purpose now served as the retirement home for twelve of the most wonderful women, from all walks of life, that he had ever known.

I was beginning to realize that my editor was right and that my time at Granview Manor was possibly the highlight of my career as a journalist thus far. I felt the need to pinch myself; I began to feel as though I was in a dream. Places this beautiful could only exist in a fairy tale.

Seeing my expression, Elijah said, Miss Olivia, if you think the outside is beautiful, just wait until you see the inside, and I am not only talking about the building. You'll see why it's such a privilege to work here. He smiled again, obviously referring to the people he had described earlier as his family.

The entrance's double-etched glass doors suddenly opened up, and out of those doors stepped one of the most elegant, stately-looking