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

by Ruggieri, Alicia G.

  Grace watched in silent wonder as Mama finished her outburst, bosom heaving. Papa stood wordlessly as well, his jaw evidently taking a break from pumping, his eyes staring hard at Mama.

  Mama paused, then stepped toward Papa. “I’ve put up with your runaround ways for twenty years. I would’ve let you keep going with them, too, in spite of the humiliation you’ve caused this family-”

  “That I’ve caused!” Papa interrupted, folding his heavy arms across his square chest, a smirk growing on his face again. “What about you? Look at you! You think I’m proud of a wife like you?”

  The arrow went straight to Mama’s heart; Grace would have seen that no more clearly if the well-aimed dart had been visible. A red flush crept up Mama’s neck and face, hiding in part the welt that grew near her hairline. Grace squirmed inside, her heart throbbing in pity, tensing with the agony of seeing Mama appear so pathetic.

  Papa’s words had silenced her. Red-faced, Mama bowed over, arms loose at her sides, the picture of a beseeching captive whose plea for freedom the ruling monarch had denied.

  “You make me so angry sometimes, Sarah,” Papa’s tone softened just a bit. “And now you – or your fool man-hating sister – is spreading lies about me to Father Fredrick. How am I supposed to keep up our family’s reputation with you doing that? Huh?”

  “Father Fredrick?” Mama asked, regaining her shell of steely non-emotion. She picked up the half-full coffee cup and carried it over to the deep sink with only slightly trembling hands.

  “Said he’d heard that I wasn’t so faithful to my family. Now where’d he get that from, I’d like to know?” Papa stuck out his chin like a teenage boy looking for a fight. For an instant, he looked just like Ben.

  Mama shrugged, turning on the tap to run a dishrag under it. She brought the wrung-out cloth back to the table and began mopping up the spilled coffee. Her hands moved with small, efficient strokes.

  “Where’d he hear it?”

  Grace whirled her head at the echoed question. Nancy poised herself in the large archway between the living room and the kitchen. Grace’s older sister wore her clothes for working down city: a smart navy-blue skirt suit handed down from Aunt Mary, accessorized with a tiny perky hat. In her manicured hand, she clutched her matching pocketbook. Without glancing at Grace or Mama, her eyes flung steak-knives straight at Papa. “How does Father Fredrick know that you’re a cheater?”

  Grace’s eyes opened wide as Nancy took two long steps into the kitchen. Her tall sister ended up standing nearly nose-to-nose with Papa. Nancy laid a mocking finger aside her smiling lips. “I don’t know, Papa. Could it be the fact that you’ve got a kitten living in the cottage behind our house?”

  What is Nancy doing? Grace couldn’t believe what she saw. Of all her siblings, only Ben had ever taken a stand against Papa. And he left once he had done it.

  But Nancy… Why would Nancy, of all people, burst out like this? Nancy had always been content to escape the house when things got bad; to fling off responsibilities onto Grace’s thin shoulders; to hole up in their shared bedroom, door locked, reading the latest edition of Film Weekly. She nor Lou had ever seemed to share Grace’s concern for Mama or anyone else in the family.

  But here Nancy braced herself, angry-eyed, a derisive smile turning up the corners of her lacquered lips, raising her plucked eyebrows. Grace chanced a look over at Papa, wondering what he would make of this phenomenon… and what he would do about it.

  He showed her soon enough. For an infinite moment, Nancy and Papa stared into each other’s eyes, seeming to dare the other to back down. But neither did.

  “Get out.” Papa gnashed out the words, fists shaking. “Get out before I do something I don’t want to do.”

  Nancy’s sneer grew. “What are you going to do, Papa? Kill me? Oh, wait,” she mock-gasped. “That would ruin the family reputation, wouldn’t it?”

  His hand shot out then, that Italian palm, meaty as a sausage, and smacked Nancy’s mouth. Head thrown back for a moment, Grace’s older sister didn’t even wince. A thin stream of blood threaded down her split lip, but she grinned through pink-tinged teeth. It looked like she’d eaten deviled ham from a can and forgotten to swallow.

  “Made you feel manly, didn’t it?” Nancy scoffed, letting out a little snort of a laugh. Papa seethed, jaw popping.

  Frightened, Grace watched as Nancy turned her back on Papa and sauntered from the kitchen, moving toward the stairway. Nancy’s eyes didn’t flicker once toward either Grace or Mama. She wiped the rivulet of blood with the back of her hand as she walked, probably trying to avoid getting stains on her blouse.

  Papa gave Mama a glare of disgust and stalked out the screen door. Grace shrank back as he passed, but he shoved her aside anyway. Mama had stood motionless during Nancy and Papa’s exchange, coffee-soaked dishrag in hand, but when the door slammed shut, Mama regained mobility. She took wooden steps over to the kitchen sink and rinsed out the dishrag with slow handwringing.

  Nerves tingling, Grace glanced out the screen door. Sure enough, Papa marched across the back pasture. Toward Gertrude’s cottage, ached Grace. Her father would take his comfort from the arms of a permed blonde to whom he’d made no sacred vows and who had never sacrificed her body to bear him children. Grace left the kitchen, taking the stairs to her shared bedroom.

  She could hear shuffling inside the bedroom. Nancy had shut the door, but the lock had never worked for as far back as Grace could remember. She gave a slight knock, then squeaked open the door and entered the dimly-lit room.

  Nancy stood before the four sisters’ common closet, pulling her few skirts and dresses off the hangers. She looped each over her arm and deposited them on the bed before moving to the room’s sole bureau, a beat-up hand-me-down from Mama’s family. Yanking open a drawer, Nancy’s nimble fingers pulled out camisoles, underwear, stockings, garter belts. She gathered them all in a messy ball and stuffed them into the open carpet bag sitting on her bed.

  Grace watched silently for a moment. It’s like when Ben left for the first time, years ago. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  Nancy didn’t hesitate or look at Grace. “Leavin’.” She gave the heap of clothes a final shove and buckled shut the carpet bag. “Shut the door, kid.”

  Grace nodded and obeyed, closing the door with a gentle click, feeling the cool brass knob yield to her pressure. “Where’ll you go, Nan?” she said softly.

  Her sister glanced at her, jaw set like cement. “Richard’s got a place now. Above Barry’s auto garage.” A smile hardened on Nancy’s lips. “He’s been pushing me to marry him for who-knows-how-long. I’ve been putting him off, telling him I need more time.” Nancy snorted. “Well, I guess now’s the time, huh, kid?”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “What about the priest? Father Frederick wouldn’t marry you just like that, without Papa and Mama-”

  “I didn’t say anything about Father Frederick, Grace,” Nancy interrupted. “There’s a Justice of the Peace, you know.”

  No priest blessing the Sacrament of marriage? Grace couldn’t believe her sister would do such a thing. “But Mama-”

  “I don’t really care what Mama thinks, Grace,” Nancy huffed, glaring at her for daring to object. “Mama and Papa were married by the Church, and I don’t see that it did them any good.”

  Grace hung her head, studying her fingernails. The whole family… everything… is just fallin’ apart. She felt Nancy’s hand squeeze her shoulder then and looked up to see her big sister’s toffee eyes fastened on her face. “I gotta do what’s best for me, kid,” Nancy explained, her voice a little softer. Her hand dropped off Grace’s shoulder. “Hey, at least you’ll have more space now, huh?”

  Grace managed to nod, blinking back the stinging tears. There would only be her and Lou sleeping in the bedroom now. But instead of relief at the thought of no longer being squashed together with three sisters, Grace felt only an ache. “Good luck,” she offered.

&n
bsp; “Thanks, Grace.” Nancy picked up her bulging floral bag, and Grace stepped away from the door. She opened her mouth to say good-bye, but the words wouldn’t creep out her throat. “See you, kid,” Nancy said and was gone.

  The room was so silent that Grace could hear the tick-tick-tick of the old mantle clock counting the seconds on the desk. She moved with noiseless feet to her bed and perched there. I don’t feel anything, she thought wonderingly. I know I’m sad and hurt and all that, but I just can’t feel it anymore.

  Though Grace had been on the verge of crying only moments before, she now sat tearless and dry-spirited. No sound came from the kitchen below the thin floorboards; Grace vaguely wondered whether Mama had seen Nancy leave or if her older sister had just slipped outside without saying a word to the woman who birthed her, who raised her.

  She didn’t raise us. We raised ourselves! The truant thought sneaked through Grace’s mind. Acutely conscious, she felt the bitterness rise up as she remembered Mama all during her growing-up years: colder than the blocks that the ice-man brought on Tuesdays, less caring than a cowbird was for its young.

  The room felt so empty. Evelyn had left, too. Aunt Mary had taken her namesake to live with her and Uncle Johnny today. Grace looked at the two double beds, one of which she sat on, made so neatly that a quarter could bounce on them. Then her eyes went to the big closet, where the four sisters’ clothing had fought for legroom. It was more than half empty now; Evelyn and Nancy had taken all their things.

  Evelyn’s saddle shoes were gone from their place beneath the bedside table. Somehow, that made the emptiness unbearable. Bending over, Grace pulled off her own shoes and placed them in that spot.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Monday morning, Emmeline had just finished crimping the crust of an apple pie when the phone rang. She wiped her hands down her bibbed apron, brushed back the wisps of hair from her face, and picked up the black receiver.

  “Mrs. Kinner? This is Doctor Philips’ office.”

  Emmeline’s fingers gripped the phone, knuckles bleaching as she anticipated what words might come next. “Yes,” she swallowed, “this is Emmeline Kinner.”

  “Doctor Philips would like you to come in for another consultation.” The starched voice paused. “He’d like to be sure that everything is going as it should.”

  Going as it should? But nothing was going as it should.

  Emmeline’s mouth parched. She forced herself to swallow, nearly choking, then asked in what she meant to be a calm tone, “When would the doctor like me to come in?”

  “When it’s convenient for you,” the nurse replied.

  Emmeline barely heard the times and dates offered next. Her mind had turned to wood, it seemed. When she didn’t reply to a question, the speaker on the other end said, “Mrs. Kinner? Are you alright?”

  Lord, help me. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I’m alright. What… What are the possible appointment times again, please?”

  The nurse rambled off a list of available days in the next week. Then she added, “Or you could come in today. Doctor Philips has an opening this afternoon at one o’clock.”

  “Yes,” Emmeline answered. “I’ll come today.”

  Behind his massive oak desk, Doctor Philips tapped his fountain pen against his lips. In the silent moment, Emmeline remembered the medical man once telling her that he didn’t like to write in pencil, ever; it seemed too changeable. “When I write something,” he’d said, “whether prescription or diagnosis or symptoms, I don’t intend to alter it.”

  Clutching her small black purse in her lap, Emmeline crossed her ankles and tried to appear as serene as possible. Oh, God of my fathers, You alone are in control.

  Doctor Philips gave a final tap, and leaned back in his padded chair. “Mrs. Kinner,” he began, “this is a most difficult conversation for me to have with a patient whom I’ve known for as long as you.”

  Emmeline could not reply, could not even nod. I know what you’re going to say…

  The doctor cleared his throat. “As I informed you at your last visit, your pregnancy seems at an end.”

  Emmeline felt the word seems like a jolt. “Seems?” Her gaze sought the doctor’s. “Do you mean… Do you mean that I am, in fact, still pregnant, then?” Hope stretched its wounded wings in her heart, despite the doctor’s grim expression. Her hands shook; she gripped her purse tighter to quiet them. “I thought… the bleeding… I thought that I’d already lost the baby?”

  The doctor’s shoulders lifted and fell with a sigh. “Losing. Lost. At this point, we can’t be certain which it is.” He looked straight into her eyes, compassionate but unflinching. “Mrs. Kinner, please prepare yourself. I am certain that your body is aborting this fetus. What you’ve related to me – the experience you had the other night – only confirms my belief.”

  “Is there no chance at all, then?” Emmeline heard herself ask.

  Doctor Philips bushed his eyebrows together, his mouth relaxing a little. “Not much of one, Mrs. Kinner.” He shook his head. “I would be a cruel man to let you think that there is. I would rather prepare you for the inevitable.” He leaned forward in his chair, searching her eyes with his.

  Her breath came slow and shallow. “So I will never have children, Doctor?” She stared down at her white knuckles, firmly clinging to the purse for safety.

  Doctor Philips paused. “Only God knows that, Mrs. Kinner. But, speaking as your doctor, no, I don’t think so.”

  “I see.” She stared down at her lap, feeling his kindly gaze on her.

  “Hey, Mr. K. is really booking it today,” Paulie observed, looking down the hallway. He carried Grace’s books in his hands once again, grinning.

  Grace tried to find a polite way to tell him to give her back her books and get lost. I don’t want Paulie finding out where I live, she thought, her eyes following Mr. Kinner as well. He really was in a hurry. He practically ran down the corridor, not seeming to pay any attention to the stares of other teachers or the surprised looks of students.

  “Must be in a hurry to get home.” Paulie grinned, showing off those dimples.

  “Where are ya going, old boy?” Teddy Bulger’s chipper voice sounded right behind Grace. She felt her face growing warmer as the number of boys around her increased. How can I escape? But Paulie blocked her way – not meaning to, of course – from the front and now Teddy came alongside her, freckles shining on his oily face.

  “Walking Grace home,” answered Paulie, keeping her books tucked securely under his arm. He didn’t look ready to give them up anytime soon.

  Grace stood miserably, ignoring the boys’ conversation until she heard her name again. “Well, I’m walking Grace home right now,” Paulie said to his friend. “I can come over to help you with your essay right after that.”

  Teddy turned curious eyes toward Grace, and she could just hear his thoughts: Why would he want to walk her home? But Teddy didn’t say anything out loud. He shrugged and said, “Okey-doke. See you, Paulie.” Hefting his own load of books under his arm, he trotted toward the main entrance.

  This is it, Grace. This is when you make Paulie give you back your books and flee. But even as the thoughts ran through her mind, Grace found that she didn’t want to say them, not in her heart.

  Especially when Paulie turned his broad smile back to her. “Ready?” he asked.

  Grace nodded, the faintest smile touching her own lips.

  Sarah pressed a hand to her back, feeling every surge of the pain shooting up her spine. Biting her chapped lips, she bent once more to the task before her: scrubbing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees. “Blast that girl,” she muttered. If Nancy hadn’t been so fresh with Charlie the other night, Charlie wouldn’t have told her to high-tail it out of the house.

  And Sarah would’ve had just a little more help around here. “Not much, though,” she grumbled out loud. Nancy had always been the independent sort. Not lazy, exactly; just bent on doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Lou acted sim
ilarly. And, in some ways, Sarah had always admired her twin daughters for that streak of selfishness. Least they grab what they want outta life. Unlike me. Unlike Grace.

  Just at that moment, the screen door banged. Sarah picked up her head to see Grace entering, flushed and hot in the Indian-summer weather. “Don’t slam the door,” Sarah huffed. How many times do I have to tell the girl?

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Grace stood just looking down at Sarah, lunch pail dangling from one hand, books cradled in the other arm’s crook.

  Pathetic. Just like me. “Well, don’t stand there like a pelican. Get changed. I need your help with supper,” Sarah snapped, not feeling the least bit bad about it. Fact was, lashing out at someone felt kinda good, especially when you knew that they weren’t the type to bite back.

  Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. “What?” questioned Sarah. She shifted back on her heels, feeling the ache rip down her spine.

  Her daughter seemed hesitant. With a slight clink, Grace set her lunch pail down on the kitchen counter. “I… I got a lot of homework, Mama.”

  Did Grace think of nothing else but school and homework and singing? Didn’t she understand that Sarah needed her help? Didn’t Grace realize that Sarah had no one else upon whom she could depend? “You can do that later if you want,” Sarah answered, lacing the words with sarcasm. Grace might as well know now. “This’ll be your last few months of school anyway, so I don’t see why you’re all worked up about your homework.”

  She shot a glance straight into her daughter’s eyes, willing the innocence out of them, before turning back to her scrub bucket. Sarah dunked her bristle brush and tore away at the floor. She let a couple of minutes pass before looking up to see the effect her words had.