An Uncommon Grace Read Online Free PDF Page A

was kind enough not to say in front of the children.
    In his world, raised among people so pacifist that they did not believe in so much as putting up a hand in one’s own defense, absolutely nothing could explain a murder.
    The ambulance had barely stopped beneath the portico of the Pomerene Emergency Room before Grace was out theback door, helping release the undercarriage of the gurney upon which Claire lay. She steadied the IV pole that held the lifesaving liquid they had started flowing into Claire’s veins moments after they had lifted her into the ambulance.
    As she helped maneuver the gurney through the door, she heard her name being called.
    “Grace? Is that you?” It was Karen, an ER nurse she had bumped into in the cafeteria while her grandmother was in the hospital. Karen, a vibrant redhead, was a beautiful woman, but she had served in Iraq and had the bearing and no-nonsense attitude of a staff sergeant. After Grace had helped her clean up the lunch tray she had accidentally knocked out of Karen’s hands, they ended up bonding over war stories.
    “What’s going on?” Karen asked.
    “My neighbor, Claire Shetler. Age forty-one.” Grace gave the information in short, clipped sentences. “Gunshot wound to the upper right thigh and lower abdomen. According to her son, she has no allergies. Is there a surgeon on call?”
    “Yes. Dr. Allen.” Karen rounded the desk. “I’ll page him. Follow me. Room two is open.”
    As Karen and other staff members crowded around and took over Claire’s care, Grace found herself backed up against a wall. It felt strange not to be in the thick of the battle for Claire’s life, but this wasn’t her turf.
    “We’ve got this, honey,” Karen said over her shoulder. “Go help yourself to some coffee.”
    Grace watched for a few more minutes. They seemed competent and there really wasn’t much space. Reluctantly, she left the room as the familiar adrenaline rush began to drain away, leaving her limp and shaky. She leaned her forehead against the coolness of the hallway wall for a moment and then found her way to the waiting room.
    As she passed the coffeepot that Karen had mentioned, the smell of scorched coffee made her stomach churn. She had practically lived on the stuff during her first year in Afghanistan and had permanently lost her taste for it.
    Instead of coffee, she chose an empty chair in the far corner of the waiting room and closed her eyes, still trying to quiet her spirit and the pounding of her pulse. This was not what she had planned for the day—but this is what God had apparently planned for her.
    She prayed for Claire, for the unborn baby, and for those now working to save their lives. Prayer came easily for her, but leaving things in God’s hands did not.
    That was her grandmother’s strength.
    Speaking of which . . .
    She pulled out her cell phone and dialed, breathing a sigh of relief when she heard her grandma’s voice.
    “Are you okay, Grandma?”
    “Right as rain, sweetheart. I’ve just been sitting here in the living room on the couch behaving myself and waiting for your call. Is Claire all right?”
    “So far.”
    “Do you think the baby will make it?”
    “Possibly, but that family could really use your prayers right now.”
    “Oh, honey. I haven’t stopped since the moment Levi rode into our yard.”
    After their brief conversation, Grace picked up a magazine and flipped through it. Someone had thoughtfully dropped off their private stash of People —but only after carefully cutting off the address. She wondered what, exactly, they expected someone to do with those addresses—drive up to their homes and stare? Knock on their front doors and complain that they had not donated a higher-quality magazine?
    The country she had fought for was getting more paranoid every day. After what had just happened to her neighbor, she couldn’t say she blamed Americans for their fear. There was a lot of crazy floating around.
    She tossed the