A Touch of Grace (30 page)

For a moment a twinge of guilt for missing dinner pinged inside her, quickly replaced by relief. She thought Mrs. Gould was probably relieved too, since she had invited the young lady as a special treat for Jonathan. Not that she herself was any competition or would even be considered as such by Mrs. Gould.

Grace slipped out of her white lawn waist and black serge skirt. Since her trunk and valise were nowhere in sight, she checked the chest of drawers and located a nightdress. Once she’d divested herself of the remainder of her clothing, she hung the skirt and waist in the armoire and laid the other things in an empty drawer. No pegs on walls here, that was for certain. She climbed back up on the bed, reached over for the tray, and with her knees bent and her gown bunched around her feet, nibbled at each of the offerings, enjoying the blueberries with cream most of all. When she’d finished it all, she set the tray back, folded down the quilt cover, and slid between ironed sheets faintly scented with lavender.

With a sigh she thought of home. Her mother wouldn’t believe the opulence of this house—she would enjoy the beauty, especially the roses. If only Astrid were here, she wouldn’t feel so intimidated by Mrs. Gould. Had she felt that way with Mr. Gould when he came to Blessing? She thought not, but then he was the guest not the host. Did that make a difference?

The next morning the tray was gone and so were her clothes she’d taken off the night before.

A note on the lamp table said to come down for breakfast whenever she woke or to pull the cord in the corner one time to order her meal brought to her room. Grace made up the bed, making sure there were no wrinkles so that it looked the same as when she arrived, found more of her unmentionables in the drawer, and ambled into the bathroom. The bathtub was calling her name.

Turning on the taps and watching the tub fill was a delight in its own right. She didn’t have to lug the water into the house, heat it on the stove, haul in the washtub, pour in the hot and cold water, and set up the screen so that no one would surprise her. Inspecting the bottles on the shelf at the high end of the tub, she found lavender, rose petal, and a fragrance she couldn’t define. Bath salts—whatever were they for? She followed the instructions and tossed a handful of lavender into the steaming water. Too hot but ah, the fragrance. She turned the hot handle down and raised the cold. When she climbed in, she sank down into the foaming water and leaned back against the slanted end of the tub. What bliss. No wonder in the pictures she’d seen, the bather always looked pleased.

If only her mother could see her now. What would she say, other than “Don’t waste the water,” of course. So much to write home about already. She slid down to get her hair wet then applied the bottle of lavender shampoo—at least that’s what the label said. Putting a dab in her hand, she rubbed it into her hair and then added a little more. This was better than the rose soap she had purchased at Penny’s store to wash her hair. She lathered and rinsed, soaped herself and rinsed, then pulled the plug in the bottom and watched the water drain away.

“Mor, somehow we need to get running water into our house. You wouldn’t believe all this.” With a towel wrapped around her hair, she dried off and slipped into her underthings. Would sitting out in the sun to dry her hair be considered seemly? She guessed not. When she returned to her room, she pulled a matching dimity waist and skirt from the closet, holding them up to discover they had been freshly ironed. Who were the invisible people who were doing all these things? She turned from brushing her hair at the window to see a small hand waving from around the slightly open door.

“Come in.”

“Oh good. You’re up and dressed. I was beginning to think you would stay in the bathroom all day.” Mary Anne came to stand beside her. “Would you like me to bring up a tray? Or Fiona will.”

“Is it too late for breakfast downstairs?”
I can’t believe I slept so long.
Mor would be so embarrassed
.

“No.” The girl shrugged. “You can eat any time you like. Cook will fix whatever you want, but I have to tell you, she makes the best muffins in the entire world. Today they are blueberry, my favorite.”

I don’t have to cook, clear away dishes, take care of my clothes. What
will I do all day?

“You have beautiful hair.”

“Thank you.”

Mary Anne sank down on the floor with her elbows on her crossed knees, one of which wore a scab, and watched Grace fluff and brush her hair to dry it. At home she washed it in the rain or with water from the rain barrel and let the clean Dakota wind blow it dry. In the winter they dried their hair in the hot air from an open oven door.

“And you smell good.”

“Thanks to the bottles in the bath.” Grace kept one eye on her guest so she could see her speak.

“When are you going to teach me some signs?”

“When I get my hair dry enough to put it up.”

“I think you should wear it down. It’s too pretty to wear up.”

“If only I could, but I must be proper.”

Mary Anne jumped up and went to the door. She returned, followed by a young woman wearing an apron that covered her from neck to ankle. A white frilled cap sat on her riot of carrot hair. “This is Fiona. She is your maid.”

My maid? What do I need a maid for?
“I am happy to meet you.”

Fiona gave a slight head bow. “Do you need help with your hair?” She spoke very slowly.

“You can talk regular. You just have to make sure Miss Knutson can see your face. She reads lips.” Mary Anne leaned against the bed.

“I see.” But her face said she clearly did not.

“I am deaf. That means I cannot hear, but I can see what you are saying.” Grace motioned to her ears as she spoke.

“She also talks with her fingers, but none of us know how to do that except Jonathan. I’m going to learn, though.”

“Would you like me to help with your hair?” Fiona pointed to the brush and Grace’s head.

“Why?”

“Because part of my job is to help you.”

“Did you take my clothes?” Grace wrapped her hair around her fingers and reached for one of her hairpins.

Fiona nodded. “I’ll be bringing them back this afternoon.” She handed Grace the pins as she needed them. “I am good with hair, miss.”

Grace caught part of the sentence in the mirror. “Perhaps another time.”

“Will there be anything else, then?”

“No, thank you.”

Instead of going out the door to the hall, Fiona went into the bathroom and returned with the wet towels. “I’ll take care of the bath, miss.” And out the door she went.

“She’ll make up your bed too. I have to make my own. Mother says that develops character.”

Grace followed her guide out the door, down the stairs, and into a room taken up by a long table, chairs, and a credenza along the wall. One place remained set.

She caught Mary Anne’s hand. “Can’t I eat in the kitchen?”

“You better not. Mother insisted we leave a setting for you. I’ll go tell Cook you’re here.” She pointed to the chair and then headed through another door. There were enough doors in this house to fit an entire boardinghouse.

Ordering breakfast was another ordeal, and then Mary Anne said her mother wanted to see Grace in the morning room when she was finished. So Grace hurriedly downed coffee, one of the celebrated blueberry muffins, slices of bacon, and more blueberries and cream. She started to pick up her dishes, but Mary Anne shook her head.

What would she do without her guide?

Mary Anne led her past the music room and the inviting French doors and into another room, where Mrs. Gould sat at a desk, still in a dressing gown, the remains of her breakfast on a tray. The tray sat on a low table in front of a flowered chintz sofa. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows like in the other rooms, dancing on brass fittings and throwing rainbows on the tables through crystal dangles.

Grace stared at the colors, entranced by the light. She smiled at Mrs. Gould. “How very lovely.”

“Thank you, my dear. Please sit down so you and I can have a chat. Mary Anne, will you have Nettie bring us more tea? You do drink tea?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for the beautiful room. I apologize that I slept through dinner.”
And so late this morning
.

“You were exhausted. I am surprised you are up so early this morning.”

Grace glanced at an ornate clock on the desk. Surely the hands didn’t say eleven o’clock. She’d never slept so late unless she was sick. But then she’d taken a bath too. Uff da. What would Mor say?

Mrs. Gould rose and came to sit by Grace on the sofa. “I have some suggestions that I would like to share with you, so please do not take what I say the wrong way.”

Grace had no idea what was coming or what she should say, so she said nothing.

“I asked Jonathan if this would be all right, and he said to go ahead. I know you had to leave without a lot of preparation, so I would like my seamstress to sew you some new gowns. We have a party coming up, and I know you have nothing formal to wear. I thought of using some of Lillian’s dresses, but you and she are not the same size. She was hoping to meet you, but they sailed for London two days ago.”

As Mrs. Gould kept turning away from her, Grace struggled to follow the conversation. Finally she got the sense of it. Grace raised a hand. “But I can sew and—”

“I’m sure you can, dear, but we want to have the party before Jonathan has to leave for school, and he wants you included. You see what a short time we have. My seamstress will be here within the hour to measure you and bring samples of dress goods.”

“I appreciate your generosity, Mrs. Gould, but I thought I was only here for a short visit, and—”

Mrs. Gould cut her off. “Yes, but we don’t want to appear too unprepared now, do we? Besides, this will help you make a good impression at the school for your interview.”

“Tea, ma’am.” Another maid, wearing the same uniform as Fiona, set a tray on the table and removed the first. “Anything else?”

“You may pour.” She turned back to Grace. “Do you take milk or lemon?”

Grace shook her head. It seemed that Mrs. Gould had decided she did not meet their standards. And these were the people her family considered friends? Although Grace could not hear Mrs. Gould’s tone of voice, she recognized her urgency. Now she knew what it felt like to be run over by a runaway six-up team hauling a wagonload of grain.

W
OULD HE NEVER BE ALONE WITH
G
RACE
?

Amazing how quickly he’d forgotten the strictures of propriety in his mother’s house. Jonathan thought back to Blessing, where he had been welcomed as a member of the family. After only a few days they had all dropped the formality and called him Jonathan. Astrid told him to call them by their first names—the girls, that is. He’d always referred to the adults as mister and missus. But in his mind he called them Ingeborg and Haakan sometimes, wishing he could use the Far and Mor addresses the families used.

Mary Anne had adopted Grace as her own personal mentor and herself as guardian. While their mother thought it cute and he was grateful, he knew Grace was being made comfortable. He ached to touch her hand again, to resume long conversations like they’d had on the train. Living in his mother’s house was like playing a game. While he knew the rules, he no longer wished to play by them. But he also knew he must not let his mother have any sense of his real feelings for Grace. Especially after the surprise dinner she’d held on his first evening home. What connection was she trying to make this time?

His only reprieve was the sign language lessons with Grace and, of course, Mary Anne, who was learning so much more quickly than he that it was embarrassing. He checked the clock and headed for the library, where they met. Sometimes, when she could get away, Fiona joined them. And while Daniel and David thought it interesting, they came and went.

His mother claimed to be too busy to learn sign language.

“Good morning.” Grace both signed and spoke slowly, so they could be learning from the very beginning of the hour.

“Good morning.” The words came easier than the signs, so Grace signed
good morning
again.

Jonathan watched her graceful fingers carefully and then concentrated on making his fingers do the same. When she nodded, he felt like the sun had just come out.

“I copied some signs onto paper for you to take with you, so you can practice on your own. Mary Anne, please sign your name for me and hand out the papers.”

Mary Anne’s fingers flew. “Mary Anne Adele Gould.” At Grace’s smile and nod, she did as directed.

Fiona stumbled on her middle name. Grace corrected her and complimented her when she did it right.

Jonathan found himself in a quandary. If he did it right, he’d be blessed by an angel smile. If he did it wrong, she would hold his hands to shape the letters correctly. He chose to do it right.

“Why does she”—he nodded to Mary Anne—“learn this so much faster than the rest of us?”

“She practices continually. Watch her when she is walking.”

“Mary Anne,” Fiona signed, then sighed and finished, “rarely walks.”