The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (24 page)

M
ama’s belly kept
rounding more and more.
Soon, she’s gonna tell me she needs me at home.
Nervously,
Grace finished her chores every day and took her homework over to the Kinners’
house.
I can’t give Mama the chance to speak her mind about me quitting
school.

True to her
word, Grace hadn’t taken one dime from Paulie since that day in January. She’d
come up with the idea as a way to even things up between them with the pearl
earrings.
If I keep helping Paulie with his math, he can’t expect “payment”
for the earrings.
Not that Grace felt opposed to affectionate feelings
toward her from Paulie; but what Ben spoke of was different. It cheapened the
whole thing. And Grace wouldn’t have this precious friendship with Paulie
cheapened any more than she would her friendship with Mrs. Kinner. She didn’t
want
to find out if Paulie was like Papa.

At first, she’d
feared that Mama would stop her from going to the Kinners once the dimes
stopped flowing into the Picoletti home each week. But, surprisingly, Mama
didn’t seem to mind; she asked once or twice, “You sure those people want you
to keep bothering them?” Otherwise, Mama didn’t say anything against Grace
bundling up her books each night after supper and trudging through the woods
and then down the road.

Often, Grace
returned home from the Kinners’ to find Mama sleepily listening to a preacher
or some hymns on the radio. Grace still felt a little startled every time she
entered the house to the soothing sound of “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,”
rather than to the tinny blare of an evening comedy hour.

One evening, as
usual, Grace tapped a couple times on the Kinners’ door, hugging her jacket
tightly around her body to keep warm. She’d layered two cardigans beneath it. The
snow poured down, bright white under the street lights; Grace hoped it would
let up before she had to leave for home.

“Come on in, Grace!”
Mrs. Kinner called, and her voice filled Grace with joy right down to her
darned stockings.

Grace turned the
knob and stepped into the house. The warmth shocked her, as it did every
evening. The aroma of cookies filled the kitchen, and Mrs. Kinner stood at the
sink, washing up the last of the supper dishes. “Hello, Mrs. Kinner,” Grace
greeted her, not feeling too shy around the older woman anymore. She picked up
a dish towel to help dry.

“Oh, thanks,
dear,” Mrs. Kinner smiled. “I wondered if you’d come tonight, what with the
snow. Mr. Kinner’s headed off to a meeting at church, and I thought I might
have to be all by my lonesome self.”

Sure enough, Mr.
Kinner popped into the kitchen just then, Bible in hand. Grace noticed it was
worn.
Like he reads it,
she thought without surprise. Grace had never
known anyone who read the Bible outside of church except for the Kinners.
Perhaps Father Frederick did, but that was part of his job.
Maybe Paulie
does, too…

Mr. Kinner
swiped a handful of snickerdoodles off the plate that sat on the kitchen table.
“Geoff, are you stealing my cookies?” Mrs. Kinner asked without even turning
around.

He winked at Grace
and sidled up to his wife, holding out his handful of cookies. “Guilty as
charged, darling.”

Grace watched
Mrs. Kinner struggle to keep her lips from turning up as she gave her husband a
mock-stern look.

“But I’ll pay
for them,” Mr. Kinner went on, a serious expression on his face.

Mrs. Kinner
placed the last clean dish in the strainer to drip and wiped her hands on her
apron. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that, Geoff?” she asked, turning to
face him.

Quick as a wink,
he grabbed his wife by her elbows and his mouth pecked hers. “With a kiss,” he
grinned, releasing her.

Mrs. Kinner
shook her head and gave him a playful shove toward the door. “Go on with you,
Geoffrey Kinner!”

Chuckling, Mr.
Kinner ambled toward the door, still clutching his cookies and Bible. “Well,
I’m off. Good-bye, Grace, if you’re not here when I get home.” He pulled on his
thick coat, gloves, and hat before popping out the door.

Grace smiled her
good-bye, her mind turning over the affectionate scene she’d witnessed. Even
years ago, when Mama and Papa had gotten along better, she couldn’t remember
them having such a simple delight in one another. This… This was
love
,
pure and simple, that she saw and heard and felt in the Kinner household. And
it was this that kept Grace coming back every night that she could. She wanted
to have a piece of that love, or at least feel the wind of it ruffle the sails
of her soul. Even though it scared her to get too close to it, sometimes.

“Men,” Mrs.
Kinner commented, giving Grace a smile. But she didn’t say it in the disgusted
voice Mama or Aunt Mary might use. She just said it in a way that made Grace
feel like she and Mrs. Kinner had a special kinship as well.

“Speaking of
which,” Mrs. Kinner continued, untying her apron, “I wonder if Paulie will come
tonight.” She hung the apron on its hook near the sink.

Grace froze in
the middle of hanging up the dish towel to dry. She felt heat rushing from her
neck into her face. Ever since Paulie had given her those beautiful earrings
and she’d rejected his fifty cents, she’d felt a little tongue-tied around him,
though he still walked her home from school most days.
He probably doesn’t
notice your foolishness, Grace, so don’t worry about it.

“He’s a nice boy
– Paulie. How old is he?” Mrs. Kinner asked as she began to neaten a stack of
papers on the countertop.

Grace swallowed.
“A year older than me,” she managed, “Seventeen.”

“That’s the age
I was when…” Mrs. Kinner broke off as a firm rap sounded on the door. “That
must be him now,” she smiled. “Come on in, Paulie.”

The door swung
open. Paulie walked in, and so did another visitor. Grace’s mouth dropped open.

A petite
dark-haired girl stepped – no, bounced, Grace decided – into the kitchen. Her
heart-shaped face wore a perky pink smile, her round cheeks glowed rosily in
the warm lighting, and her perfect black eyebrows arched over large mossy green
eyes. The young woman was, quite simply, flawless, from the tiny hat perched
atop her fresh bob, to the colorful scarf knotted at her white throat, to the
furry snow boots covering her delicate feet. Laughing, she dusted snow from her
own shoulders and then… from Paulie’s, as well!

Mrs. Kinner looked
surprised. “Well, hello.” She glanced at Grace, then at the girl. Grace
squirmed inside but wouldn’t let on.
What in the world?

Paulie gave his
usual hearty grin. “Mrs. K., Grace, this is Angelique. She’s from Montreal. Her
daddy just started working at the hospital, and they’re staying with us until
they can find the right house to buy.”

Angelique
fluttered her very long, dark lashes. “My father is an orthopedic surgeon, Mrs.
Kinner,” she explained in a softly-accented voice. “I hope Paul didn’t overstep
by bringing me here. Both of our fathers are on duty tonight, and…”

“No, no, not at
all,” Mrs. Kinner assured her, smiling, and Grace felt her hackles rise in
jealousy. Who was this Angelique, to shove in on their study-time?

“Great!” Paulie
exclaimed. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought her, Mrs. K.”

Grace suddenly
noticed that Paulie carried a larger-than-usual stack of books.
He must be
carrying Angelique’s books! Well, why shouldn’t he, Grace? You have no claim on
Paulie’s undivided attention,
she reminded herself.

Grace busied
herself with laying out her own textbooks, notebook, and pencils on the kitchen
table. She made sure that she left enough room for Paulie and Angelique’s
things. She knew Mrs. Kinner would knit or sew in the rocking chair that sat in
the corner.

“Angelique, this
is Grace,” Paulie said as he set down his load of books with a thump.

“It’s so nice to
meet you, Grace,” Angelique said. Even her voice sounded like a poem. “Paul has
told me quite a lot about you.”

Grace glanced up
from her math problem. She saw Angelique’s bright eyes examining her with a
quizzical expression and then darting to Paulie. Flushing, conscious of her
unstylish haircut and threadbare sweater, Grace fastened her eyes back on her
paper. “Nice to meet you, too,” she mumbled.

Paulie and
Angelique took seats at the table, and he immediately reached for a couple of
cookies from the plate. “Help yourself,” he told Angelique. “Mrs. K. makes the
best cookies ever. Want one, Grace?”

“I’m not
hungry,” Grace replied, though her stomach protested. She refused to glance up
again and tried to lose herself in the order of operations.

“Nervous about
the math test on Friday?” Paulie commented. “Boy, Angelique, are you fortunate!
Sixteen and already finished with school.”

Grace paused and
sneaked a look at Angelique. The girl sat erect with a thick novel clasped in her
long white fingers. She smiled at Paulie. “Well, finished for now, Paul,” she corrected.
“I plan to attend university, you know.” Excitement spread over her pretty
features, adding even more color to her cheeks and brightening her wide eyes.

“Of course,”
agreed Paulie, “but it sure must be swell to have finished high school. I’ve still
got another year to go after this.” He groaned and flipped open his own math
book. “And then college. Dad keeps telling me to pray about which school to
head off to. I know that, in his heart, he really wants me to go to Brown, like
he did, but Harvard… Harvard’s just so
enticing
. You know what I mean?”
Paulie cocked his head to the side like a robin red breast and grinned. He popped
an entire snickerdoodle into his mouth and chewed it before continuing. “Then
again, there’s always the possibility of going overseas, you know, to Oxford or
Edinburgh…”

Angelique
nodded, smiling that she understood exactly what he meant. But Grace didn’t.
Couldn’t fathom it.
Harvard? Brown?
She straightened her skirt hem over
her knees.
Can he ever know how differently I live?
Grace knew she’d
count her blessings if she managed to finish this school year, never mind
attempt higher education. Mama’s baby was due soon.
And, if Mama gets her
way, I’ll be staying out for good.
The thought burrowed into her mind as
she turned the pencil around in her fingers.

“Where do you
want to go, Grace?” The question came from Angelique’s perfectly-formed lips.

Grace’s tongue
turned numb. She felt the blush branding her face again.
What am I supposed
to say? The truth? The truth is, I probably won’t even finish high school.
“I… I don’t know,” she finally mumbled.

I can’t take
this anymore.

Grace rose
suddenly, knocking over her chair. Paulie jumped up to right it, but she didn’t
stop. “I’ve gotta go home. I can’t concentrate,” she stated, shutting her books
and stacking them in a wobbly pile.

“Hey, are we
talking too much?” Paulie asked. “I’m sorry, Grace. Stay. We’ll be quieter; I
promise.” His big brown eyes implored her.

She refused to
be persuaded by his dimples. “No, I’ve gotta go.” Calling out a good-bye to
Mrs. Kinner, who’d gone to retrieve her knitting from her bedroom, Grace darted
out the door, grabbing her jacket from its hook.

The snow had
nearly stopped. Grace breathed a shaking sigh of relief as the silent night
closed around her. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. Somehow, the
loneliness of the evening hours comforted her; she understood what it was to be
alone, to be the one on the outside looking in.

It was nice
while it lasted.
Her eyes gazed up at the light glowing inside the Kinners’ kitchen – warm,
welcoming, completely “other.”

I won’t be going
back.
Finally, she admitted what she’d always known in her heart: She didn’t really belong;
she never had, and she never would. She didn’t fit in with loving people like
the Kinners or smart, kind boys like Paulie Giorgi. They corresponded with the
Angeliques of the world, with their neat picket fences, their red geraniums,
their brick walkways, their diplomas from universities, the other well-dressed
members of First Baptist, and their perfectly-round snickerdoodles.

They just don’t
get it. They don’t get that life for me is fated to be one long thread of
despair.
Gritting
her teeth, Grace refused to look back at the house again, afraid that her
resolve might soften, though she knew that her conviction was right.

Her heart felt
too heavy to do any more thinking, any more feeling. She put one foot in front
of another.
I need to change out the cardboard,
she realized, feeling
the slush soak through her shoes.

Mama would be
glad to see her walk in early, though she wouldn’t say it. She could see Mama
in her mind, sitting there all swollen with the baby coming, rocking away by
the window. Papa never came inside at night anymore; he spent all of his nights
with Gertrude in that dumpy cottage.

I wonder if I’ll
end up just like Mama?
The thought brought a dull shiver of horror.
Who
knows what’s in the cards for me, I guess,
she reflected.
Mama sure
couldn’t have thought this would be her life.