The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (30 page)

“T
hought I told
you to stay away from the house!” Charlie growled through gritted teeth. Why
couldn’t women ever listen? Gertrude had lived here for, what? More than six
months! And she still waltzed around the main residence in broad daylight. If
there was anything that would anger Sarah, that would be it!

In the little
cove behind the cottage, Gertrude squinched up her nose, peering up at him with
narrowed eyes. “I don’t like staying down at the cottage all day, Chuckie,” she
complained. “When are you going to divorce that old woman, anyway, and let me
come live at the big house?”

Not over my dead
body.
“You gotta be patient, Trudy,” he evaded. “I’m doing the best I can.”

She sneered as
only Gertrude could. “Well,
I
don’t see you doing nothing. Staying
around that wife of yours is all. What, ‘cause she cleaned up your face for you
when you burned it?”

He would ignore
her. Just let her talk on and on; he’d not say anything. Soon enough, Gertrude
would run out of words.

“You’re a fool,
Chuckie, that’s what you are. You think I’m gonna stay around and wait for you
to get everything straightened out?”

He shrugged. Let
her leave. He could always get another girl.

M
rs. Kinner
stayed at the Picoletti house for a full month following the birth, going home
only to fix up a batch of meals for Mr. Kinner every few days. She bathed Mama,
cared for the infant, and helped Grace with the housework and cooking. And Grace
knew such gratitude toward the woman; surely the Mother of our Lord must be
just like her!

“Grace,” Mrs.
Kinner said one day as she rocked the baby, “did you keep the geranium plant I
gave you for Christmas?”

Startled, Grace
nodded. “Of course.”

Truth be told, Grace
had found herself too busy these past few weeks to pay too much mind to the
geranium. Actually, she probably hadn’t watered it as much as she should have.
What if it had died? “Uh, excuse me, ma’am,” she said, hurrying out of the
kitchen.

Her bare feet clattered
up the staircase, her heart pounding in anticipation. Would she find the plant
crumpled and dry from neglect, unable to support itself on its wobbly stalks?
Would she never see the red flowers her own plant could produce?

Half-afraid to
look, Grace peered into her bedroom. There, in the still stale air, punctuated
by the late April sunlight flooding through the windows, the plant held firmly
to its place on the sill. She approached it with slow steps and gently lifted
up the carved pot.

The soil in the
pot was dry; there was no denying that. And a few stems and leaves had grown
brittle and brown. Yet, the sight of three bright green shoots flooded Grace’s
soul with joy.

“Mrs. Kinner!
Mrs. Kinner!” Grace forgot all sense of decorum and reserve as she flew down
the staircase, pot cradled against her chest.

Mrs. Kinner
glanced up, obviously surprised at Grace’s unusually boisterous entrance. “What
is it?”

Grace took a
breath of shuddering joy. “The geranium. It’s going to live.” She couldn’t keep
the grin off her face. “I thought… I hadn’t taken the time to water it these
past few weeks, and so I thought… But it’s going to live anyway. See?” She held
the plant out for Mrs. Kinner’s inspection, and the scent of geraniums filled
her nostrils.

Mrs. Kinner gave
Grace a smile that reached her eyes. “So it is.”

T
he evening light
had already dimmed, and Emmeline turned on the lamps when she entered the
kitchen, humming a hymn under her breath. Sarah recognized it from the radio
minister’s broadcasts, but she didn’t remember the title.

“You’ll have to
go home soon,” Sarah remarked, hoping her friend – truest in all ways – would
protest.

But Emmeline
nodded. “Yes, but I’ll visit you often. And I wouldn’t trade the time that I’ve
spent with you for the world.” As the younger woman took a seat at the table,
Sarah admired her grace once more.

“What would you
name him?” Sarah asked suddenly. Tracing the baby’s rounded cheeks with her
rough index finger, she felt sorry that he’d gone so long without a name.

Emmeline looked
startled. “Oh, Sarah. You have some favorite names, I’m sure.” She didn’t bring
up Charlie’s preferences; Sarah had told her already about his reaction to the
baby’s birth.

“I’ve used up my
favorites on the other kids. Please, what would you name him?”

Sarah watched
sadness touch Emmeline’s face. “If he was mine,” she stated slowly, “I would
name him David. It means
beloved.
”

David.
It was a good
name. Naming her son that… Well, it was the least Sarah could do after all
Emmeline had done for her. “Thanks,” Sarah offered.

Emmeline smiled
and the shadow of sadness disappeared. She leaned forward in her chair. “May I
pray for you and your family, Sarah?”

“Yes, please
do,” Sarah responded immediately, bouncing the baby a little to quiet him. In
this past month, a strange working had begun in her heart, a working that she
was only just becoming aware of, and the implications of which she was yet
unsure. In the compassionate words and hands of Emmeline, Sarah knew she’d
experienced something of the love of God, the Savior who gazed down at her from
the crucifix on her bedroom wall. As she learned to trust Emmeline, even in her
pain, Sarah had begun to believe in Christ in a new and personal way. She
couldn’t explain it; she was no priest or even a radio minister. But she felt
it; she
knew
it.

Their hands
clasped in this last evening together, the two women brought the Picoletti
household before the throne of God, Emmeline with her sure, steady prayer and
Sarah with a halting few sentences. They prayed for Grace; for Ben; for Nancy
and Lou; for Cliff; and for Evelyn; for this new baby; and, lastly, Sarah said
humbly, “Lord, I could be wrong, but I think it’s not right the way our family
has been going these last few years. I’ve… I’ve not done right by my children.
I want to, but I’m not sure how to go about it, what with Charlie and all. Show
me. Deliver us.”

That last
sentence popped out before Sarah knew it.
What did I say?
She peered
over at Emmeline, but her friend didn’t appear shocked, just a little curious.
So Sarah went on, speaking from her heart. “And I will give You whatever You
ask to thank You.”

It seemed silly.
After all, what could she, an impoverished woman, give God?

G
ertrude was
gone. Sarah was sure of it. A black Roadster had snaked into the driveway
around eleven o’clock that morning, while Charlie’d been away. Through the
kitchen curtain’s veil, Sarah had watched the bottled blond scuttle up the
path. A stuffed carpet bag tucked under each arm, Gertrude had hopped into the
passenger side with the speed of a mourning dove escaping a hawk.

Maybe he asked
her to leave… Maybe the baby’s made Charlie think everything over…
Her prior
experiences with her husband lectured Sarah on the unlikeliness of that, but
then, the God whom Sarah was just beginning to know could work miracles,
couldn’t He? Was this the answer to her prayer?

Hope prickled
through her heart, and Sarah couldn’t wait for Charlie to come home tonight.

T
he rain pinged
on the barn roof as Grace finished milking Bessie that afternoon. Just as she
rose from the milking stool, she heard a cough outside the barn door.
Papa.
He’d lain low for several weeks now, not even coming into the house for meals.

Her arm
straining under the weight of the milk-pail, Grace peeked between the slats of
the barn door. Better to figure out now where Papa lurked so that she could
avoid him, if possible.

However, instead
of Papa, Paulie stood there, taking cover under the overhang, blowing his nose
into his handkerchief! “Why is he here?” she asked aloud. She shrank away from
the door.
I thought it was finished for good.

He kept glancing
toward the house, probably figuring she was there. If he went inside the house,
Grace would have to talk to him. More so than if she just shooed him away now.
Gathering her courage, Grace pulled open the door.

“Hi, Paulie,”
she forced the words out of her tight throat. Why did seeing him make her want
to cry, to weep even, like the sky was weeping now?

He whirled
around, handkerchief still to his nose. “Grace!” he gasped and gave a final
wipe.

She wouldn’t let
his dimpled smile soften her. “Why are you here?” she asked, hardening her
face, making herself impervious to him, she hoped.

Tucking away his
handkerchief, Paulie squared his dripping shoulders and looked at her. To her
surprise, he wore a stern expression – gentle but firm, and Grace glimpsed the
man he would become – a man who would command her respect.

He took the
heavy bucket from her hand and set it down on the ground. “I’m here,” he
stated, stepping so close to her that she could smell the mint on his breath,
“because I care about you, Grace, and I want to help you in whatever way I
can.”

She raised her
chin and met his eyes with only a slight flinch. She mustn’t let him break down
her barrier; she wouldn’t think about the pearl clip earrings hidden away in
her desk drawer.

“And what’s
more,” Paulie went on, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, “God cares about
you, Grace. Jesus Christ cares about you!”

The bitterness
in the laugh she threw at him scared her. “Cares about me? God cares about me?
Didn’t you hear any of what I told you weeks and weeks ago?”

Again, just like
last time, her wild, raw words dug into him; Grace could see that and was glad
for it. Let Paulie suffer a little; it was nothing compared to what she had
suffered for her whole life! She defied him with hard, tearless eyes.

But gently,
Paulie took her cold hand in his warm one. She tensed but couldn’t resist. “Grace,
I don’t pretend to understand the hurt you’ve undergone. I… I know some of the
facts – not all of them. But even if I knew them all, I would say the same
thing to you: What men mean for evil, God uses for good.” His eyes held hers
with a fervency she’d not seen him display before now. “He is a
good God,
Grace. He gave His Son for you!”

“I know that!” Grace
snapped, angry that her vision had begun to blur. “I go to church, same as you!
Just because I’m Catholic doesn’t make me a heathen,” she huffed.

“Sure. But you
are a sinner, same as me, same as everyone else. And it’s that sin in the world
– in us - that causes all this pain, Grace. We’re not right on the inside, so
how can things go right on the outside?”

She gave him the
sourest smile she could muster. “So you’re saying that if I become more
religious, I’ll have a happier life? That you and the Kinners and your dad are
more religious than I am, and that’s the reason why God gives you all that good
stuff, why you all have such great lives?” It sounded ridiculous.

He frowned. “No,
Grace. What I’m saying is, it doesn’t matter who you are: doctor, teacher,
junker, whatever. It matters who you belong to. You know, you’re so concerned
with the badness of your circumstances that you don’t stop to think of who
allowed those circumstances to come into your life.”

That was where
he was wrong. The bitter tang rose in her heart. She knew exactly Who had
allowed these circumstances. And she believed what the Bible, what the Church
taught: that God was indeed all-powerful. Omnipotent. Mighty to save…
and
yet He wouldn’t.
So she submitted, not with the love of a daughter, but
with the rancor of a slave…

He grasped both
of her elbows, drawing her face close to his. “
God
did. God allowed
those circumstances
for your good.
”

“What good? What
possible good could come from my circumstances in life?” Grace burst out, not
caring what he thought of her.

Paulie’s voice
stayed low and earnest. “So you’d seek Him and find Him, even though He’s never
been far from you, Grace.”

“Well, He
certainly found a funny way of doing that!”

“What?” Paulie
gave her a look of surprise.

Charming. A
little boy who’d never felt the knife go into his chest, who’d never had to
bite the bullet.

“Of… what would
you call it? Bringing me good? Making me find Him?” Grace snarled. Hearing the
anger in her own voice caused a thrill through her bones. “What do you know of
it, anyway, Paulie Giorgi? You live in your grand palace. Your papa dotes on
you. You have every chance of success in life. You’ve never known what it is to
suffer – to watch all of your dreams die and turn to ash!” She wrenched her arm
from his grasp as if he held it tightly.

He stood quietly
for a long moment. Only a lone robin broke the silence with its evening
serenade. “My mother died,” Paulie murmured at last. “When I was eleven, she
died from a brain aneurism that we never knew she had. It was… really, really
hard.”

Paulie met Grace’s
stare with tear-filled eyes. Her heart broke a little, but she refused to show
it. So his mama died? So what? Grace wished her mother could have died so that Mama
wouldn’t have had to endure this nightmare of a life with Papa.

“So I kinda
understand where you’re coming from. With the suffering, I mean,” he added. “In
a small way.”

“You don’t
understand anything at all,” Grace ground out from between clenched teeth. “And
don’t say that you do.”

He went on as if
he hadn’t heard her. “I felt lost. Completely alone, even though I had my dad.
He was engrossed in his own grief over Mother. And,” he sucked in a deep
breath, “that’s when I understood the Cross.”

“What?” Grace
gave him her best glare of disbelief.

“That Jesus came
and suffered, just as we do, the effects of sin in this world. The effects of
our
sin,
Grace! He suffered
for me. For you.
And He didn’t have to. He
identified with us – broken humanity - to save us from our sin, to restore us
to sit on the Father’s knee. Jesus bore the real burden – the sin of the whole
world – so that we could be made whole again.”

Her ache widened
and deepened at his speech. She longed to conquer this unending agony that
lashed through her heart. “Go away, Paulie,” she commanded. She tucked her
unruly hair behind her ears so that she could glower at him good and hard. So
that he’d know she really meant it.

And he did.
Slowly, Paulie nodded. “Alright, Grace.”

But he didn’t
leave right away. He stood, hesitating, as if waiting for her to regret her
words. So Grace picked up the heavy bucket and turned from him, running toward
the house through the thick rain, not caring if the milk splashed on the ground.

When she turned
again, Paulie had gone.