The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (28 page)

E
mmeline had just
finished watering her geraniums when she heard the front door open and shut.
Geoff’s
home from school.
She couldn’t keep her lips from smiling. Setting down her
small watering can, she wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the
staircase.

On her way down,
Emmeline discerned more than her husband’s voice below.
He must have brought
a visitor.
She glanced in the hallway mirror to make sure that she looked
presentable and then moved into the entryway to greet Geoff and his guest.

Sure enough, Sam
Giorgi stood with her husband, hanging up his thick coat. Geoff dropped a quick
peck on Emmeline’s cheek. “Hello, darling. I found Sam sitting out on our front
porch, so I decided to let him in.” He gave a wink to Sam.

Surprised,
Emmeline looked at Sam. “I didn’t hear you knock. I’m sorry if you were sitting
out there long.”

Sam shook his
head. “No, I was waiting for Geoff. He promised to lend me a particular book
when I saw him in church on Sunday.”

“Will you stay
for dinner?” Emmeline asked, hoping that she had bought enough cubed steak.

But Sam
declined. “No, I have to get home, but thank you. Paulie’s waiting for me. I
promised him that we would go fishing. The stream’s fully thawed behind the
house.”

“I won’t keep
you, then. Excuse me while I go fetch that book,” said Geoff, and he scurried
off toward the parlor.

“I miss Paulie
coming to see us,” Emmeline commented as a way to pass the moments until Geoff
returned. And she truly did miss Paulie… but she missed Grace more. “It seems
our little homework circle has broken up.”

Sam nodded and
seemed like he was about to say something. “What is it?” Emmeline urged, hoping
that he’d not had any objections to his son’s participation at the unofficial
Kinner Homework Parties.

“Nothing,
really,” Sam smiled. “My guess is that Paulie doesn’t come any longer because Grace
doesn’t come. He means no slight to your household, Emmeline, I’m sure.”

So she wasn’t
the only one who had noticed Paulie’s fascination with Grace. “I didn’t think
your boy did, Sam. I just wish…” She couldn’t go on. Didn’t know how to phrase
the desire of her heart: to see Grace happy and whole, no longer hobbling under
the pain of a difficult life.

Again, Sam
paused. Then he said, “You know, I visited Grace’s house recently. Her father
received a nasty burn on his face, and the family sent for Doctor Philips to
come. Philips was attending yet another one of his conferences, so Grace ran
for me, instead.”

“I’ve never met
her father. What is he like?” wondered Emmeline aloud. Perhaps that would give
her more clues into how to help Grace find her way.

Sam shrugged.
“I’m not really sure. He was in a lot of pain when I was there. Not entirely
conscious. But her mother was the surprise for me.” A curious smile grew on
Sam’s lips.

“Oh?” Emmeline’s
interest deepened.

“Yes. You see,
almost as soon as I saw her, I recognized her.” Emmeline saw faint pain tinge
Sam’s countenance even as he maintained a collected expression. He continued,
“Her name is Sarah. She
was
Sarah Antonelli; now she’s Sarah Picoletti,
is that right?”

“Yes, that’s Grace’s
last name,” replied Emmeline, hoping he would continue. Gingerly, she prodded,
“So you knew her before she married Grace’s father?”

A chuckle
escaped Sam’s mouth. “I knew her when she wore her hair in pigtails. Sarah and
I went to school together. Well,” he corrected himself, “I was a few years
ahead of her, so we were in different classrooms.”

Emmeline smiled,
wanting to encourage him to keep telling the story. But she wasn’t prepared for
what he said next.

“We were
engaged,” he murmured, his voice lower now.

Emmeline’s eyes
grew wide as she took in his words. “What happened?” she asked, hoping Sam
wouldn’t feel that she’d pried too much.

The slight smile
dropped off Sam’s face. He looked down, his usually commanding demeanor bowed
low. “I broke the engagement,” he replied. “My family didn’t approve of Sarah –
too plebeian, too common a girl, they said – and so I dropped her. Truth be
told, I thought I could come back for her after I’d used my father’s money to
get through medical school.” He shook his head slowly. “But by then, I’d heard
that Sarah was married. You know, I left this town for almost twenty years? And
I suppose, when I accepted the position at the hospital a couple of years ago,
a little part of me wondered what had become of Sarah Antonelli.”

Geoff returned
with the book just then, but Emmeline tucked away Sam’s story in the back of
her mind. She brought it out later, in her evening prayer-time with Geoff.

S
crub-scrub,
back-and-forth. Grace’s hand molded around the chunky bristle-brush as she
moved it in short motions across the kitchen floor. The hard, old boards cut
into her knees, but the job would only feel more difficult to finish if she
stood up for a minute or two. Getting back down on your knees always hurt more
than just staying down in the first place.

And wasn’t that
the truth? Even now, tears smarted at the back of her eyes as she remembered
the high joy of the Kinner household. Going in through the kitchen door,
schoolbooks in hand… munching cookies or biting into a slice of pie… hearing
Mrs. Kinner play hymns on that piano upstairs… enjoying school all the more
because it meant that Grace would have homework to bring to the Kinners’…
working on essays and math problems with Paulie…

Dunking her
brush into the soapy water, she shook her head, trying to clear away those
memories that clung like cobwebs to the rafters of her mind.
It’s all over,
she
told herself.
No point in thinking about any of it – even Paulie –
especially Paulie – anymore, Grace!

Even though he
had spoken low in her ear that night that Papa got hurt: “Grace, I miss you.
Couldn’t I come by and see you sometime?”

And she’d shook
her head fiercely:
No.

A light knock
sounded on the back door, startling her. Grace glanced toward her parents’
bedroom. Mama had gone to lie down after breakfast; she’d said that her head
ached. No wonder with Papa so peevish lately; his burns were healing nicely,
but, like the man he was, he still griped about them. Grace just tried to stay
out of his way.

The knock
sounded again, and Grace set aside the brush. Wiping her hands on her
already-wet skirt, she went to the door, curious to see who would visit at this
hour of the morning. Most women she knew did their housekeeping chores around
this time.

“Hello, Grace.”
Once again, Mrs. Kinner stood on the other side of the door. And once again,
she carried a loaf of bread in her hands.

She’s back. Even
after I nearly ran her off last time.
Grace had never felt so glad to see
anyone, had never been so hungry to talk. A bit shyly, she pulled the door open
even further. “Won’t you come in, Mrs. Kinner?”

A
n hour later, Grace
waved her good-bye to Mrs. Kinner. Her heart fairly bubbled with delight. The
one subject Grace had been afraid Mrs. Kinner would broach – Grace’s return to
school – had never been mentioned.
She must realize how impossible it is,
Grace assumed, her momentary joy sinking a little at the thought.
Impossible.

We’re all in the
gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Ben’s words
returned to Grace, but she smirked at them now.
For some of us, there are no
stars, Ben,
she replied inwardly, closing the door.

“Who was that, Grace?”
Mama leaned against the bedroom doorway, weariness etched into every line of
her body. The baby had grown so large.
Surely, Mama’ll have her baby soon.
It’s so late this time.

“Just Mrs.
Kinner, Mama. The lady whose house I used to go to, remember? She came once
before,” Grace replied, kneeling down by her bucket again. She still had a
little of the floor to finish, and noon loomed near. “She brought apple bread,
if you want some.”

“Not connected
with the government, is she?” Mama asked, tucking her gray-streaked hair behind
her ears.

“No, Mama,” Grace
answered. She picked up the brush and felt the muscles in her arms protest as
she began to scrub once more.

Mama heaved her
way into the kitchen, hand pressed against her lower back. “Good. ‘Cause I
don’t want no government interfering in this family. What happens in our house
is our business. Nobody else’s.”

“Yes, Mama,” Grace
agreed, going at the floor with fatigued vigor. She certainly didn’t want
anyone knowing everything that went on in their house, either!

“You almost done
with that?” Mama asked.

“Nearly,” she
managed to reply between scrubbing.

“When you’re
finished, want to make up some jelly sandwiches for lunch?”

“Sure, Mama. Is
Cliff coming home?” Grace asked. Her brother sometimes brought a paper-bag
lunch to eat in the schoolyard; other times, he trotted home to eat leftovers
or a jelly sandwich or two.

Mama shrugged.
“Not sure. I think he took something with him today.” She eased her bulk into a
chair at the kitchen table.

Grace heard her
groan. “You alright, Mama?” she said, anxiety wrapping around her throat.

Wincing, Mama
sighed. “Yeah. Wish this baby would come. Must be jumbo size by now.”

Grace stood,
feeling her knees pop into joint again. She carried the bucket to the back door
and tossed the soapy water into the yard, then set the empty bucket and bristle
brush beside the door. Returning to the kitchen, she set about slicing bread,
thickly spreading strawberry jam across it. Two sandwiches for Mama; one for Grace.
She brought them over to the kitchen table as they were – no sense in dirtying
napkins. Setting the sandwiches down, Grace plopped into a chair, grateful for
the break in her work.

“Bless us, O
Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty.
Amen,” Mama mumbled, crossing herself.

“Amen.” Grace
echoed Mama’s crossing and brought the sandwich to her lips. How wonderful the
jam felt as it squished between her teeth. It seemed so long since her small
bowl of oatmeal at breakfast.

“Doctor Giorgi…
How’d you find him, Grace?” Mama asked suddenly. She chewed bites of her
sandwich carefully; Grace knew Mama was missing a few of her back teeth.

“He’s Paulie’s
daddy. I know Paulie from school,” Grace answered, fingers picking apart her
sandwich. Why did Paulie’s name alone conjure up such awkwardness within her?

Mama nodded
silently.

“You knew Doctor
Giorgi from somewhere, Mama?” Grace ventured to ask. The question had burned a
hole in her since the night of Papa’s accident. She kept her eyes on her
sandwich, waiting for Mama to answer.

A few seconds
passed before Mama opened her mouth. “I knew Sam Giorgi when I was a young
girl. Hadn’t seen him in a long time. A real long time. He left Chetham when I
was seventeen. Didn’t know he’d moved back here, that’s all.”

Grace glanced up
and found that Mama’s eyes contained a distant expression that forbade any more
questioning. Sweeping the crumbs from their sandwiches into her palm, Grace
rose from the table to continue with her household tasks.

T
wo days later,
at nine o’clock in the morning, Grace heard that same determined knock on the
kitchen door. She wasn’t surprised this time when Mrs. Kinner stood there. The
woman didn’t carry any baked goods, but a workbasket hung on her arm.

“Hello, Grace,”
she smiled, showing her pretty white teeth. “I wondered if your mother might be
up to seeing me today?”

“Mama?” Grace
echoed, surprised. Mrs. Kinner had never expressed any interest in meeting Mama
before now. What did she want to talk to Mama about?

Mrs. Kinner
nodded. “Yes.” She gestured to her basket. “I brought my knitting. I’m having
trouble with the pattern I’m using, and I remember that you mentioned once that
your mother is an excellent knitter.”

Vaguely, the
memory of telling Mrs. Kinner that Mama had knitted her cardigan came to Grace’s
mind. Hesitantly, unsure of how Mama would receive her, Grace let Mrs. Kinner
into the house.

“Let me just see
if Mama’s feeling alright. She was sick earlier.” Grace headed off to the
bedroom, where Mama rested in a wooden rocking chair.

“She wants to
meet me?” Mama furrowed her eyebrows when Grace told her Mrs. Kinner’s
intention.

Biting her lip, Grace
nodded. “She… She has some knitting project that she wants your help with.”
When Mama didn’t answer her right away, Grace hurried on, “I can tell her that
you don’t feel too good today.”

But Mama shook
her head. “No, I’ll come.” With a groan, she rose to her feet, stumbling toward
the bureau. “Let me just get dressed. Show her into the sitting room, Grace.”

Surprise making
her heart beat double-time, Grace backed out of the bedroom to settle Mrs.
Kinner in the rarely-used sitting room.

A
fter that,
Emmeline returned to the Picoletti house every few days. She couldn’t explain
it exactly – couldn’t point to chapter and verse in her Bible – but she knew
that God wanted her to get to know Grace’s mother. And Sarah seemed to welcome
her visits, whether Emmeline asked for help with her knitting or merely sat and
chatted about mundane things.

Emmeline hadn’t
given much thought to the woman before Sam Giorgi explained his link to Sarah.
And it was an odd connection, certainly! Yet, Emmeline sensed that God had not
woven the threads of all their lives together without purpose. Had Grace come
into her life, perhaps, so that she could minister to Sarah?

Minister
– such a
professional word. Emmeline really meant another:
Love.

T
he moon rose
high above Paulie as his feet took along the familiar path to Grace’s home. How
many times had he walked this way over the past weeks? Ten? No, more like
twenty. Each time, he’d stayed just out of sight, gazing up at the room which he
guessed belonged to Grace.

What happened?
Over the winter, he’d thought Grace had softened toward their friendship. Then,
while he blinked, she’d slammed the door on him. Abandoned their afterschool
sessions at the Kinners’ house. Dropped out of school. Dazed by her words and
actions, Paulie had lain low, hoping for Grace to return to them. To him.

But she hadn’t.
Oh, Paulie had hoped that the night she’d come to beg for Dad’s assistance, she
would acknowledge his friendship again. But she’d not done that. Not even when
he’d told her that he missed her and wanted to visit her. No pressure to go
back to school or to the Kinners.

But she’d
dropped her eyes and shook her head so fiercely that Paulie was afraid to raise
the question again. Instead, almost every night now, he slipped from his
sleepless bed and wandered to the Picoletti house, his heart aching. Though
she’d refused to accept his visits, Paulie figured that he didn’t need Grace’s
permission to wait. Or to pray.