The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (25 page)

Grace had just
turned the first corner when she heard footsteps pounding up behind her. Ever
alert, she whirled around on the deserted sidewalk. She prepared to run if
necessary and peered through the soft veil of falling snow.

Paulie.
His dark curls
flew back from his forehead as he jogged toward her, face full of heavy
concern. “Grace, wait up!” he called out. He’d only pulled on his coat; he must
have been in a hurry to catch her.

Half wanting to
relent, she hesitated for only a second, then turned and kept walking. He came
up alongside her, panting. “What’s the matter, Grace? You always do your homework
at the Kinners. That’s why I brought Angelique over there tonight, to meet
you.”

“Well, I met
her.” Grace clutched her books tightly in the crook of her arm, keeping her
ice-cold hands jammed down in her pockets. She looked straight ahead, not
trusting herself to meet Paulie’s eyes.

In two quick
strides, he moved in front of her, compelling Grace to stop. “What’s wrong, Grace?”
he asked, and when she looked up, she saw genuine confusion thick in his eyes.
“Did I do something?”

“No, you didn’t
do nothing… anything,” Grace answered, ducking her head. How could she meet the
gaze of this young man who was so far above her in every way that mattered?

“Did Angelique…?”

She forced
herself to raise her eyes, determined to maintain a modicum of dignity.
“Angelique is fine. I mean, she didn’t do anything wrong. She’s a swell girl,
Paulie. She’s great for you.” Grace kept her voice even, emotionless.

Paulie raised his
eyebrows. “Great for me? What are you talking about, Grace?” Realization and
then surprise replaced the confusion in his eyes. “You don’t think…” He gave
out a shout of laughter, and then Grace found herself seized in a fierce brief
hug.

Dazed by the
unexpected expression, Grace just stood blinking in the quiet glow of the
streetlamp when Paulie released her. “Grace, are you kidding me? I care about
you
,”
he said earnestly. “Don’t you understand?”

From deep inside
Grace’s heart, anger bloomed and spread suddenly, surprising even her with its
ferocity. “Well, you shouldn’t care about me!” She moved around him and burned
the pathway beneath her feet, desperate to get away, to get back home where it
was safe. Bleak, perhaps, but always safe. Always safe.

But Paulie
grasped her elbow, stopping her again and turning her toward him. “Why not, Grace?”
he asked. “Why won’t you let me?”

Because I’m
afraid. Afraid to hope.
“I just don’t fit, Paulie. That’s why. You… You
come from this gilded, happy-go-lucky life. I… I…” Her voice limped to a halt,
broken-toned.

“You…?” he
urged, and she glanced up to find his quiet eyes set on her face.

“I was born on a
dead-end road,” she said, her words cracking with tears she wouldn’t shed. Not
here. Not in front of him.
Better for him to know the truth now.
Grace
turned away from the light shed by the streetlamp, turned her face into the
shadows so that Paulie could only see her back.

“A dead-end
road?” Paulie repeated. “What do you mean, Grace?”

The smile had
fallen out of his voice. Was he confused? Or was he truly disturbed by what she
said? “I know where you live. I know that you’re poor. You don’t have to hide
that from me,” he murmured.

Would he never
understand?

“Look.” Grace
breathed deeply. “Your papa’s a doctor. Well, mine never finished grade school.
And he’s never held a steady job for as far back as I can remember. He keeps a
mistress in a cottage out behind our house. She’s my uncle’s - his
brother-in-law’s - sister.”

She dared to
look straight at Paulie, wanting to see his reaction. He flinched. Good. Better
for them both to understand the real deal.

Grace continued,
knowing that once she stopped talking, it’d be nearly impossible to start
again. “My family’s broken in pieces, Paulie. Mama’s nearly cried herself to
death this year, and I know that she wants me to drop out of school to help her
with the baby that’s due any day now. Your life… Well, it’s fun for me to visit
it, doing homework at the Kinners and all, but I have to admit it to myself,
Paulie. I have to admit: I don’t live in your world. I live in my world, bad as
it is.”

Her quiet words
had stunned him. Grace could see it in Paulie’s eyes. Good. Now he knew. And
she could quit hiding and she could stop dreaming and she could just settle for
the way things had to be.

They stood there
a few feet apart for several moments. Finally, Grace murmured, “I don’t mean to
hurt you. It’s just the way it is, you know?”

But he shook his
head, eyebrows furrowed. “No. No, Grace. It doesn’t have to be that way.
You
don’t have to be that way. You’re thinking you have to live your life the way
your family does? You don’t. You really don’t.”

Her anger flared
again. “And how am I supposed to get out of it, huh? I don’t have a daddy with
loads of money so that I can coast my way to Harvard. ‘Or maybe I’ll go to
Oxford,’” she mimicked bitterly. “And what am I supposed to do, desert my
pregnant mama? Nobody else is gonna help her. My older sisters left the house.
There’s only me!” She jabbed at her chest to underline her point. “I’m in the
gutter. There’s no way out for me. I can look up at the stars, but I’m still in
the gutter, Paulie! Alone.”

He hesitated
just a moment – Could those be tears in his eyes? “You aren’t alone,” he said
softly.

“What?” Great,
was this going to be some dramatic love-speech? Grace really wasn’t in the
mood. Even for Paulie.

He looked
directly at her, his eyes glittering in the streetlamp’s light. “You’re not
alone, Grace. Jesus is with you, in the gutter.”

She couldn’t
believe that he would bring something so off-topic into this. “Jesus? What does
He have to do with this?”

He breathed
deeply. “A great deal. I should have talked to you like this before. Honestly,
I feared coming across like I was preaching to you, or was against you being
Catholic or whatever.”

Grace stiffened.

“But I know that
you struggle with your lot in life and-”

“Struggle with
my lot in life?” Grace cut him off. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,
Paulie Giorgi. No idea at all!” She let her words out blood-red and clawed,
hoping to wound him. Perhaps that would rid her of some of the pain that twisted
its way up her throat, nearly choking her with grief.

Paulie swallowed
hard, obviously bitten by her tone. “I’m sorry,” his voice came low, his breath
frosty. “I’ll pray for you, Grace.”

She laughed. She
couldn’t help it. “Thanks a lot. My mother prayed to the saints for years, and
look where it’s gotten her.” She felt the tears coming, hot and bitter, and
knew she wouldn’t be able to stop them for much longer. “Bye, Paulie,” she
said.

This time, he
didn’t stop her.

I
t was over
between them. Grace knew that now. Their friendship couldn’t stand the gust of
reality which her harsh words blew.
It’s better this way,
Grace reflected
sometimes over the next few days. That thought soothed the pain of their
encounter.

The day after
their argument, she removed the little velvet jewelry box from its place of
honor beside the geranium plant. In the privacy of her bedroom, Grace didn’t
bother to stop the tears from scalding their way down her cheeks and staining
the box’s material. She muffled her sobs so that Mama wouldn’t hear, and she
placed the jewelry box deep inside her desk.

She begged her
heart to forget its existence. If only the box could just disappear forever. If
only her memories could disappear forever – They only made her present reality
even more wretched.

Grace quit
school immediately. She was sixteen now, and she knew that the school would
never question it. Lots of kids dropped out at that age.

Why wait any
longer? I’ll be forced to do it in the end, anyway,
she reasoned as
she placed her borrowed textbooks on the school secretary’s desk. Mama looked
ready to pop with this baby. Grace couldn’t screw her face up and look away
every morning when Mama turned pleading eyes on her, begging her to help.
There’s
no way out.

Did I do wrong?
Grace pondered
the question as she scrubbed the kitchen floor, swept out the bedrooms, and
fluffed the pillows. She remembered Mr. Kinner’s lively voice talking about
metaphors and similes as she fed the chickens, milked Bessie, and boiled spaghetti
for supper. She pulled the ticks off the family dog, squashing them with her
thumb on the rocks and thinking about Paulie Giorgi sticking up for her with
the lice incident last fall. Grace mended clothes and baked bread and rounded
up junk to sell to the peddler who came on Wednesdays while the memory of Mrs.
Kinner’s kindnesses replayed in her mind. The geranium plant stood on her
window sill yet, the last thing Grace saw before her weary eyes closed for the
night.

Finally, two weeks
after her argument with Paulie, Grace found that she had an hour or so of spare
time on her hands. She’d emptied the mending pile, and supper waited on the
back of the stove for whenever Cliff and Papa decided to tramp inside the house,
bringing more mud for Grace to sweep up. For Papa still took his meals at home
regularly.
I guess, for all her charms, Gertrude doesn’t know how to cook,
and diners get expensive.

One hand on the
doorframe, Mama rubbed at her lower back. Her belly stuck out like a July watermelon,
ripe and hard and tight against her faded print housecoat. Several sizes too
large, the garment slouched off one of Mama’s shoulders, revealing her worn doughy
flesh. Her hair stuck in damp, snarly tendrils that wormed their way down her
neck, despite the chilly March weather. “Think I’ll go lay down for a while, Grace,”
she murmured.

“Alright, Mama,”
Grace answered. “Want some water?”

Mama shook her
head. “No, I’m just tired. Wish this baby would come.” She rested a hand over
her enormous belly and winced.

Grace frowned.
Mama wasn’t one to show pain unless it really mattered. “You alright, Mama? Is…
Is the baby coming?” Grace remembered when Mama had delivered Evelyn; she’d
been just four years old and scared nearly witless by Mama’s screams. Papa had
shuffled her off to a neighbor’s house to wait out the delivery.

Now Grace was
sixteen.
I’m old enough to handle it, I bet.
She raised her chin,
wanting Mama to see how strong and capable she was. Of course, Mama would need
a midwife, too. “You want me to get Mrs. Bailey?” she asked. The old Irishwoman
played midwife whenever called upon by her impoverished neighbors, enjoying the
extra gin she could purchase with the small payment for her services.

But Mama wasn’t
paying any attention to how tough her middle daughter was. She just shook her
head. “No. Not yet, Grace. The baby hasn’t dropped. I’ll be alright. I just
have to lie down.” She hobbled off into the bedroom, leaving the door cracked
open. Grace heard the mattress groan heavily as Mama settled on it.

Grace had read
only a page of her book when she heard a soft rap on the kitchen door.
Surprised, she waited a moment to make sure that she’d heard right. The knock
came again, a little louder this time.

Dog-earing her
page, Grace glanced at the driveway through the kitchen window. She hadn’t
heard anyone drive up, and sure enough, no car loitered in the driveway.
Aunt
Mary Evelyn would bring her car.
A sliver of hope leaped into her heart.
Maybe
it’s Ben!
What she wouldn’t give to see her big brother now.

Her hand was
already on the knob when she realized,
Ben wouldn’t knock.
The hope
vanished, but her curiosity grew. “Who is it?” she asked through the closed
door, unwilling to open it to an unknown person when she and Mama were alone in
the house.

“Grace? It’s
Mrs. Kinner,” the familiar voice answered, a little muffled by the wooden
barrier.

Grace’s heart jolted
with sudden happiness. Mrs. Kinner stood just on the other side of the portal.
Then it plummeted to her knees.
What will she think of me dropping out of
school?
Her hand remained paralyzed on the knob.

She realized she’d
waited too long to open the door when Mrs. Kinner called hesitantly, “Grace,
couldn’t I come in? For just a moment?”

Grace swallowed
hard and turned the knob. She opened the door enough to reveal herself. Mrs.
Kinner stood on the top step, giving Grace her lovely, cidery smile. Grace
could see concern in her friend’s eyes.

“Hello, Grace,”
Mrs. Kinner said. “May I come in?”

Grace nodded and
stepped back to let Mrs. Kinner enter. She smelled the familiar powdery perfume
Mrs. Kinner wore as she stepped past Grace and moved into the kitchen.

“I brought this
for your family,” Mrs. Kinner explained, holding out a rectangular loaf wrapped
in waxed paper and tied with a little red ribbon. “I always bake too much for
just me and Mr. Kinner. It’s cranberry nut bread.”

“Th-Thank you,” Grace
stumbled over her words as she reached for the bread. It was so awkward, this
meeting between her and the woman whom she loved best in the world. She busied
herself with placing the loaf just so on the table.

“Grace,” Mrs.
Kinner began, once Grace had arranged the bread thoroughly.

Grace felt her
entire body tense. She knew what was coming. She tucked a stray piece of hair
behind her ear and swallowed.
I should offer her some coffee,
she
thought desperately and moved over to the kitchen counter, avoiding Mrs.
Kinner’s gaze. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, the grown-up phrase
feeling too big on her voice.

“Coffee would be
nice,” came the soft reply. Grace took her time setting up the coffee pot and
measuring out the coffee.

As the inviting
smell drifted through the room, she realized that Mrs. Kinner still stood with
her purse in hand, hat pinned to her head, and coat in place. “Oh, I forgot.
Please, sit down. Let me take your coat,” Grace flustered.

As Grace hung
the coat on the peg near the door, Mrs. Kinner sat down. She paused just a
moment before speaking again. “Grace, I came to ask why you haven’t been to see
us lately. I miss having your help with my geraniums, you know. And I know
Paulie misses your company while he does his homework in the evenings.”

Grace stayed
silent out of necessity. Her throat filled with tears she wouldn’t –
couldn’t
– liberate. She’d finished hanging up the coat but stayed right where she
was, in front of the pegs, her back to Mrs. Kinner.

“And Mr. Kinner
says you’ve not been to school,” Mrs. Kinner continued, her voice undemanding.
Just gentle and a little sad. Her words and voice broke Grace’s heart to hear.

Finally, she
turned and faced Mrs. Kinner. “I dropped out.” There. She’d said it.

Mrs. Kinner
scrunched her eyebrows, obviously perplexed. “Why, Grace? I thought you liked –
I thought you loved school.”

“I do. I did.”
She forced herself to meet Mrs. Kinner’s gaze. She would tell her the plain
truth without the situation between her and Paulie clouding things. “My mama,
she’s near having her baby. She needs my help around the house now.”

Grace couldn’t encounter
those kind eyes any more. She moved toward the coffee pot. Surely, it had
finished brewing by now! “Seeing I didn’t have homework, there was no point in
going to your house anymore, I guess.” She selected the least-chipped mug from
the cupboard and poured out the dark brew. “Did you want cream, ma’am?” Grace
knew there was no sugar in the house. Thanks to Bessie, there was cream, though.

Mrs. Kinner
shook her head. “No, black is fine. Thank you.” She accepted the steaming mug carefully.
“But I thought you came over to my house for more than homework, Grace. You’ve
become quite a friend to me over the past few months.”

Despite the
tenseness, Grace felt a blush of pleasure rise to her cheeks. Mrs. Kinner
counted her, Grace Picoletti, as a friend?

“Certainly, I understand
that you must help your parents and do as they bid you. And I
am
sorry
that you must drop out of school. But couldn’t you come over to our house from
time-to-time even without needing to work on homework?” Mrs. Kinner coaxed, her
hands clasping the mug. “It’s nearly springtime, and I’ll be starting my garden
and hanging the geraniums again soon. I would love your help with that, if your
mother could spare you for just a while, every so often.”

Grace couldn’t
help but smile just a little. After all, what harm could there be in helping
Mrs. Kinner with her garden? Just once in a while? She slowly nodded. “Well,
I…”

“And Mr. Kinner
would be more than glad to lend you books from our library so that you could
continue your studies at home, if you’d like,” Mrs. Kinner added, taking a
little sip of coffee.

The notion
tempted Grace sorely. Just because she didn’t belong to the same sort of people
as Paulie didn’t mean she couldn’t educate herself, did it? She wouldn’t
pretend to be like them, headed off for high things, but she could learn for
her own pleasure, couldn’t she?

“And Paulie
would love to see you again,” Mrs. Kinner continued. “He keeps mentioning that
he misses your help with his mathematics.”

No.

Grace shook her
head. “No,” she murmured softly but firmly. “I can’t.” Her hands trembled in
her lap, and she began to pick at the cuticles.

Now Mrs. Kinner
was really puzzled; Grace could see that. “But…” she trailed off, shaking her
head.

“I’m awfully
busy,” Grace said. “Mama needs my help. I don’t really have the time to go over
to your house anymore. I’m sorry.”