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

by Ruggieri, Alicia G.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta stop off here,” Paulie interrupted her thoughts. They’d been walking in slightly uncomfortable but pleasant silence for a couple of minutes. Only their feet broke the quiet as they scuffled through the autumn leaves littering the sidewalk.

  They were at the Kinners’ house. Surprised beyond words, Grace knew that her astonishment must beam right off her face.

  “It’s Mr. K.’s house,” Paulie explained, obviously unaware that Grace already knew that. “Dad said that Mrs. K. might want some company afterschool until Mr. K. got home.”

  Paulie knows the Kinners personally? Grace stared at him wordlessly, then turned her gaze to the porch to see if Mrs. Kinner reclined there on the chaise. But Grace didn’t see her.

  “They go to our church,” Paulie said, as if he had heard her silent question. “Mrs. K. had an operation a few weeks ago – Dad did the surgery – and she’s still recovering. The Kinners don’t have the money to hire a full-time nurse, so, from the time the day-nurse leaves after lunch until when Mr. K. gets back from school, Mrs. K. stays by herself.”

  Grace nodded, not sure how she felt about this connection between Paulie and the woman whom Grace was beginning to think of as a friend, though she’d met her only once.

  She was just about to reach for her books when Paulie’s eyes lit up. “Hey, you want to come inside and meet her? She’d like you a lot; I’m sure of it.”

  Grace felt a smile creep onto her face. “I already met Mrs. Kinner the other day.”

  “You did?” Paulie appeared astonished, but in a good way.

  “Uh-huh. She was layin’ out on the porch couch, and she called out for me to come get acquainted,” Grace explained, enjoying the warmth of Paulie’s gaze on her.

  He broke out into his wide grin. “Well, then! You’ve gotta come inside to say hello! Please say you will, Grace. It’ll mean a lot to her,” Paulie cajoled.

  Thoughts of the chores – the milking, starting supper, sweeping out the kitchen – and her homework rushed through Grace’s mind, but with one decided motion, she pushed them away. What will five minutes matter? One more look at Paulie determined her choice, though she feared that, if she once gave into the kindhearted appeals of his eyes, she would not be able to say no ever again.

  Ten minutes later, Grace flew down the sidewalk toward home. Her heart felt light as whipped cream. Mrs. Kinner had still been too weak to climb the staircase and show Grace her “geranium room.” But she’d said that, if Grace returned a few days later, she surely would have the strength to do it then.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “A perfect paper again.” The now-familiar voice sounded very near. Almost halfway home, Grace swiveled her head to look behind her. Sure enough, Paulie was there, just two steps behind her.

  “Thought you were gonna join the chess team,” Grace commented. “Weren’t sign-ups today?”

  Paulie quickened his pace to catch up with her. “Yes, but I found out that they practice three times a week after school.”

  “So?” Grace asked, then wished that she hadn’t been quite so blunt.

  “So, you think I’m going to miss walking you home three times a week just so I can move a few pieces of ivory around on a gameboard?” Paulie questioned, raising his eyebrows.

  I’m more important to him than joining the chess club! Grace reddened at his words and her thoughts. Why did she have to have such light skin? If her skin was a nice olive tone like Papa’s, these infuriating blushes wouldn’t show up so strikingly!

  “Oh, good job on your perfect paper, by the way,” she said, desperate to change the subject.

  “Perfect paper?” He sounded surprised.

  She was sure she hadn’t misheard him. “Didn’t you say that you had another perfect paper? Right when you came up behind me?”

  The confusion on his face cleared, and he grinned. “Yes, I have another perfect paper, but it doesn’t have my name on it.” He held out a sheet of paper in his right hand.

  Grace glanced over at it and saw her own name swirling in neat cursive at the top. “That’s the math test we got back today. How come you have mine?”

  “You dropped it a little ways back,” Paulie explained, offering it to her. “So I guess the onus is on me: Good job, Grace. I think you were the only one in the class who got a perfect score. That test was hard!” He shook his head wonderingly.

  Grace shrugged, embarrassed at receiving his unabashed praise. She looked off to the side of the road, watching the postman make his final deliveries for the day.

  “What, does your daddy crack the academic whip?”

  Startled, Grace stopped in her tracks, her lungs out of air. Was he serious? Did Paulie have any idea how things at her home really stood? She figured not – hoped desperately not – and squirmed inside, trying to make up a somewhat-truthful answer without giving anything dreadful away. Anything about cottages and burning trash and scraping the bottom of the barrel so hard that your fingernails hurt from the splinters under them.

  But Paulie winked. “I’m only kidding you, Grace. I bet your parents are swell. It’s you who’s the perfectionist, right?”

  What did you say to that? Sucking in the crisp autumn air, Grace merely gave another shrug instead of trying to figure out how to verbally respond. Why did she strive so hard to get perfect scores when no one at home cared if she failed or passed?

  Because then I am worth something.

  The thought sprang into her mind without warning, vivid and scalding. Its very unsought suddenness declared its veracity. And then, just as quickly, its light faded and Grace focused on her conversation with Paulie.

  “I’m stopping to see Mrs. Kinner,” Grace told Paulie as they came to the white gate.

  Just then, the screen door on the front of the house opened. Grace saw Mrs. Kinner, dressed in a pale-pink housecoat, standing at the threshold. “Grace!” she called, waving. “I’ve been watching for you. Do you have time to come in and see my geraniums today?”

  So Mrs. Kinner hadn’t forgotten! Chest tight with excitement, Grace nodded. “Yes! I’m coming.”

  “You want to come, too, Paulie?” Mrs. Kinner asked, smiling at him.

  Grace looked at Paulie, half-hoping that he’d say no. She kind of wanted to meet the special geraniums without him distracting her.

  To her relief, Paulie shook his head. “Naw, but thanks, Mrs. K. I promised Dad that I’d give the lawn one last haircut this year.” Grinning, he handed Grace back her books. “Thanks for letting me walk you home, Grace. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you,” Grace echoed. Their eyes locked for just a moment before Grace swung away, feeling the red creep up her neck. Her feet carried her up the path to the Kinners’ porch steps, where Mrs. Kinner greeted her by extending both of her hands and clasping Grace’s.

  “Grace, Grace, it is good to see you,” Mrs. Kinner exclaimed. She gave Grace a smile as honest as lemonade is sweet. “Now,” she said, and the hint of anticipation that entered her voice thrilled Grace, “are you ready to see my geraniums?”

  Mrs. Kinner still felt very weak. Grace could tell by the way her hostess’ hand gripped the doorframe as she held the screen door open for Grace to pass by her. Was it too much to ask of the woman? She’d told Grace that she kept the geraniums upstairs, and as much as Grace longed to glimpse the scarlet blooms again – and up close, for the first time – she didn’t know if it was right to ask Mrs. Kinner to brave what might be a long flight of stairs.

  “Are you sure that you’re not too sick, ma’am?” she said before stepping into the house. She didn’t want to ask the personal question but felt conscience-stricken if she refrained. She glanced up into Mrs. Kinner’s face, expecting to see her own hesitancy reflected there.

  But though a shadow of pain flitted across Mrs. Kinner’s countenance, a smile of joy more authentic than Grace had ever seen came with it. “I’ve been waiting to show you my geraniums all week, Grace; ever since you stopped by my porch. The Lord God has
been very good to me with this operation, and I’m healing, slowly but surely. Now come inside, dear,” she urged, and Grace obeyed, her heart lifting as if she really was a canary like Ben often called her.

  The first thing Grace noticed was the bowl of apples sitting in the middle of the table. Not that apples were an uncommon sight in autumnal New England, but Mrs. Kinner had arranged the fruit carefully in such a way that pleased the love of beauty that Grace hadn’t known she’d possessed. The Golden Delicious apples nestled near the chubby Macs, picking up the color of each other. Then, Grace’s eyes turned to the embroidered placemats, neatly lined up at each of the four chairs. The stitched flowers and vines complemented the crocheting both on the placemats and, Grace noticed, on the window curtains. The kitchen itself shone with cleanliness but in a way that made Grace feel happy and peaceful there, rather than rigid and uncomfortable.

  “Come along this way,” Mrs. Kinner invited her, moving toward the opening that seemed to lead into the parlor. Grace followed her, glancing this way and that, first at the long bookshelves lining the parlor, then at the glass-faced cabinet filled with a collection of teacups.

  The stairway jutted out into the parlor, and Grace trailed behind Mrs. Kinner as they climbed to the second floor very slowly. Mrs. Kinner wore ballet-style house slippers, nearly soundless, but Grace’s flappy saddle shoes threatened to make a slapping noise with each narrow, tall step. Hoping against hope that Mrs. Kinner wouldn’t notice if they did, she curled her toes to decrease that likelihood and moved up the staircase like a wooden soldier.

  At the landing, Mrs. Kinner stopped for a long moment, eyes closed, just breathing. Unsure if she should offer help (but what kind of help could she give?), Grace stood silently. A step up from the landing, the short hallway provided the mooring for several dark-wooded closed doors. If Mrs. Kinner hadn’t accompanied her, Grace would have found the upstairs a little spooky.

  Finally, Mrs. Kinner opened her eyes and gave Grace a quiet smile. “This way,” she said and stepped across the worn carpeting to one of the closed doors.

  The knob turned easily, though the hinges squeaked as Mrs. Kinner pushed it open. Grace felt her nostrils awaken as an unfamiliar spicy scent met them at the threshold.

  Mrs. Kinner smiled. “That’s the scent of geraniums, Grace. I don’t think a person can forget it once she smells it.”

  They stepped into the light-filled room, and Grace let her eyes rove from the large windows facing the west to the piano perched in the room’s center and, finally, to the long table near the windows. There the baskets of geraniums sat.

  Where were their scarlet flowers? Suddenly, Grace felt ill. She stepped closer and saw that someone – Mrs. Kinner? – had cut the stalks to a savage stubbiness; not a bloom remained. Gone was the beauty she had so hoped to see.

  She couldn’t help it. Speechless, she threw a look of deep betrayal at Mrs. Kinner.

  “Why, what is it, Grace?” Mrs. Kinner asked, obviously confused. “Is something the matter?”

  Somehow, Grace forced herself to find her tongue. “The geraniums… They’re dead…” She could say no more. Silly though she knew it must seem, the loss of the flowers – no, their ruin – struck her deeply. Her chest grew tight; she feared that she might cry. Unwilling to permit her tears to fall in front of Mrs. Kinner, Grace turned toward the door, desperate to leave and find a place to weep by herself.

  But Mrs. Kinner caught her by the arm with a gentle hand. “Grace, no. You don’t understand.”

  Grace hesitated, her thoughts so tangled with distress. She’d been unable to keep the tears at bay, so she impatiently brushed her fingers across her eyes before turning to face Mrs. Kinner. The woman’s voice was so kind, so quiet. Despite her grief, her feelings of betrayal, Grace couldn’t just rush out on Mr. Kinner’s wife.

  Mrs. Kinner’s beautiful hazel eyes looked right into Grace’s light ones. She seemed to be hiding nothing. “Grace, I always cut the geraniums down after I bring them inside for the winter. That’s how you make geraniums grow well. They need a time of cutting back, of pruning, so that they become stronger for the next year.”

  Dazed by this revelation, Grace stared past Mrs. Kinner, her gaze on the plants. “The red flowers… will come back?” she dared to ask, lips trembling.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Kinner smiled. “Next spring, they’ll be new again. They will stay in this cool room all winter, and then I’ll bring them out in the springtime. They’ll be hanging in my baskets by May, Grace. And you are very welcome to come and check on them any time you’d like to, all winter.”

  Suddenly feeling rather foolish, Grace nodded and blinked away the remaining tears. She must think I’m a real dolt!

  But Mrs. Kinner’s face showed no sign of that. With the same warmhearted expression, she asked, “Now that you’ve seen my geranium room, would you like a snack before you go home? I have fresh oatmeal cookies just out of the oven.”

  Almost before she realized it, Grace nodded again. In less than five-minutes time, she and Mrs. Kinner sat at the kitchen table, sharing cookies and milk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The cold water felt good on his skin. Paulie gave one more splash to his face and then wiped it with the bleached hand towel. He’d already mowed the lawn; now he had an hour to go before supper. Might as well crack open his math book. His class had a huge test coming up in two weeks, and Paulie knew that he was nowhere near ready for it.

  Pulling his button-up shirt back on, he sighed. Funny, as the son of a doctor, you’d think he’d be good at math. Well, you don’t stink at it, Paulie. You just don’t get perfect scores.

  Like Grace Picoletti did.

  As his fingers nimbly fastened the white buttons, Paulie’s face broke into a grin. He had an idea.

  Quite a swell idea, actually.

  “Grace, you milked that cow yet?”

  Mama’s voice, full of its usual irritation and weariness, called out the door as Grace hurried up the back walkway. Hearing it, Grace’s stomach twisted into a knot. I stayed too long at Mrs. Kinner’s house. She broke into a run and reached the screen door in two seconds flat. Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the rusty door and entered the kitchen. She hoped that she could grab the milking bucket without Mama noticing.

  But no such luck could be Grace’s today. Broom in hand, Mama stood facing the back door, eyebrows furrowed like she’d heard that a storm was coming. “Hi, Mama,” Grace gulped. She avoided Mama’s eyes as she set her schoolbooks down on the table and picked up the milk bucket.

  “So you didn’t milk her yet?” Mama stated rather than asked. “Where under heaven have you been since school let out?”

  “Nowhere, Mama,” Grace replied, fear freezing her thoughts. Then, realizing that she’d have to confess another lie to the priest if she didn’t elaborate, she forced out, “A lady asked me if I wanted to come inside and see her flowers. That’s all.” Tense, she waited for Mama’s response.

  But Mama just harrumphed. “Flowers,” she muttered. “She goes to see flowers while I’m here working my tailbone off so that she can keep going to school.”

  “Mama, it only took a little while. I’m sorry that I’m late…” The words stumbled out as Grace felt the guilt rise. Mama did look so worn-out, standing there with her hair in bedraggled strands around her saggy cheeks.

  “As if I don’t have enough stress what with your father… Oh, never mind. Just milk the cow, Grace, and stop giving me your silly excuses,” Mama muttered, her ragged broom scraping the floor again. “I can’t wait until you’re old enough to quit that school, anyway. Least then you can earn a little money with a job or something.”

  Quit…

  At that moment, surrounded by the hollow, dark cheerlessness, Grace longed for the bright peace of the Kinner home – more than she had wished for anything else in her whole life.

  Geoff Kinner arrived home from school to find his wife on her hands and knees. Her garden tools at her side, Emmeline’s ha
nds moved skillfully as she pulled out errant tufts of grass and shook the soil from them. She hadn’t noticed his presence, and so he stood watching her for several moments, listening to the hymn she softly sang:

  “Neither life nor death shall ever, from the Lord His children sever; unto them His grace He showeth, and their sorrows all He knoweth.”

  The tears rose to Geoff’s eyes as his listened. The recent sorrow they’d experienced together still burned so fresh in his heart. Sometimes he wondered how Emmeline could move forward seemingly unhampered by the hopelessness he often felt.

  The memory of their child’s loss caused Geoff to think about how fragile his wife’s health still was. “Should you be out here gardening, Emmeline?” he asked, concerned.

  She started, falling back on her heels, but then smiled when she saw him. “Oh, Geoff,” she said, “I didn’t see you there. Yes, I’m feeling much better lately, and this couldn’t wait any longer. It’s November. I had to get these in before the first hard frost.” She pointed to a small pile of bulbs at her right.

  Once Emmeline made up her mind to do something, nothing outside of a direct command would have any bearing on her actions. And it was her determination that he loved so much. “Here, let me help you,” Geoff offered, rolling up his shirt-sleeves.

  Emmeline nodded her agreement, and he felt the ground’s autumnal moisture seep through his pant-legs as he knelt down beside her. “Show me where you’d like the holes dug,” he requested, and she pointed out the spots.

  Geoff asked her about the happenings of her day, and Emmeline inquired about his, and they accomplished the planting quickly. Enjoying the gratification of seeing the job well-done, Geoff helped his wife to her feet. They stood there for a moment, looking at the neat circle of plantings around the base of the old weeping willow.