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

by Ruggieri, Alicia G.

  Glad in expectation, Emmeline lingered for several minutes with Geoff near the tree, twinkling with dozens of lights. And later, when they’d consumed far too much dessert, she and her beloved husband knelt down and, together, brought Grace and her family before the Lord of Hosts.

  The moonlight climbed steadily across her bedroom wall, but Grace’s eyes continued to drift open. Usually, she felt too worn out from the day’s work to have a problem sleeping. Yet this Christmas night differed.

  Flipping onto her back, she pulled the blankets up higher and snuggled down into her bed. She would have to wake up early tomorrow to milk Bessie and start breakfast. Determined, Grace closed her eyes and tried to inhale the deep, steady breaths of sleep.

  A minute later, she gave up. Gathering a blanket around her shoulders, she padded over to the geranium plant perched on her windowsill. Beneath its stems, in the shadow of the sculpted pot, she’d placed the gift from Paulie, opened alone early this morning.

  For the twentieth time that day, Grace picked up the small box labeled Timothy Simmons, Jeweler. Fingers tingling with pleasure, she opened the lid, basking in the sight of the two creamy pearl clip earrings nestled comfortably on their soft cushion.

  Paulie bought them for me. For me! Biting her lip to keep from smiling too widely, Grace plucked one earring from its velvety socket. Of course, she’d never wear them. They were too beautiful, too obviously costly. Wrapped in her old blanket, she gazed at the gift for a long time, a smile touching her lips, her mind recollecting the past twenty-four hours…

  Last night, Mama had returned with a package. Unwrapping it, she’d pulled out painted figurines: the Holy Mother, Saint Joseph, a shepherd boy with his sheep, the Three Wisemen, an angel, and, of course, the Lord Jesus in a manger bed. A glued-together stable, in which all the figures fit, completed the scene.

  Mama didn’t say much about it; just that she’d seen it the other day in Harold Quincy’s five-and-dime store and thought it would be nice to have a manger scene. Ben hadn’t seemed to think much of it; he only appeared happy that Mama had gotten what she wanted.

  But staring at those figures, particularly the one of the Baby Jesus, so small and helpless… Well, Grace felt something echo inside of her that she couldn’t put her finger on. His arms outstretched in the manger bed… outstretched just as they were on the cross in church. Why? It made her uncomfortable, fearful. She wished she could dismiss these nagging thoughts.

  Cliff came home in time for supper, after which they all – except for Ben – attended Mass. There at church, Grace tried hard to reconcile the Man hanging on the cross behind the altar with the tiny painted figurine in Mama’s manger.

  What difference does it all make? What does it all mean? The thoughts were new ones for Grace, spurred by the music Mama had played on the radio several nights ago. Grace dared not share them with anyone.

  Not even Ben, who’d met them when they were halfway home so that he could walk by her side. Their feet crunched through the hardened snow drifts. She’d breathed in the ice-cold air, feeling the hairs in her nose freeze, trying to forget everything but the fact that Ben had come home for Christmas…

  Now, alone in the dark, Grace lightly ran her fingers over the round earrings, delighting in the glow of the creamy color. Just beneath her window, an automobile chugged quickly up the driveway, startling her.

  Papa’s home. Grace’s heart sank into her socks. He’d been gone all day, leaving before dawn with Gertrude; why did he have to return now? Why did he ever have to return?

  The crunch of his boots on the snowy driveway followed by the titter of Gertrude’s annoying, muffled laughter reached Grace’s ears. Clenching her teeth, she refused to torment herself by looking out the window at their dark silhouettes, drunkenly staggering under the moon.

  And there Mama lies in the bedroom below, pregnant with his child.

  Grace thought again of that manger scene on the side table, of how Mama had placed each figurine inside the stable just-so, making certain that Joseph and Mary stood at the right angles to the adored Child. If I’d been Mary, I would’ve chucked Joseph, she decided, listening to Papa and Gertrude’s steps fade away.

  The tears rose to her eyes, though her chest tightened to suppress them. Joseph, he was probably just like Papa. Grace’s fingers tightened around Paulie’s gift, and she held herself erect, desperate to squash the hollow weeping that she sensed approaching.

  Or was he like Mr. Kinner?

  The thought pushed in, and Grace considered it. Not many men were like Mr. Kinner – kind, generous with his time, loving toward his wife.

  The pearl felt smooth beneath Grace’s fingertip. Paulie. Though not yet a man, Paulie had all the markings of Mr. Kinner.

  What made them different from most men, even from good-natured but unreliable Ben? What caused Mr. Kinner to open his home to her and Paulie’s lessons every weeknight? What made him continue to cherish Mrs. Kinner, a wife who couldn’t give him what every man in their right mind should want – a son?

  And Paulie… Why would he care about her? Grace touched her cheek in thought. Perhaps she had a little beauty – Ben said so – but was that enough for Paulie to humiliate himself with that lice incident? She had no money, no popularity, no pretty clothes. Why, then, did Paulie take such pains to show his regard for her? And why was his regard so… so sincere?

  “I’ve never met a man – a boy – so nice,” she murmured aloud, staring down at the earrings for a long moment before snapping the box shut. Carefully, Grace set the gift beside the geranium plant.

  She had just lain down when she remembered. The Kinners. They’d invited her for Christmas dinner. Smiling, Grace snuggled down into her bed. Funny, when Mrs. Kinner asked her, Grace had thought that the Picoletti’s Christmas Day would turn out bleak and that she’d wish that she’d gone to the Kinners.

  Yet it hadn’t. Aunt Mary had brought Evelyn for a few hours, which delighted Mama to no end. And Ben and Cliff had shared jokes. Mama had cooked a canned ham and boiled potatoes and baked a pie. And, in the privacy of her bedroom, Grace had opened Paulie’s gift.

  Still, Grace wondered what joy she had missed at the Kinners’ house. It was a place of such warmth and love that even having Ben home couldn’t prevent her pining to be there… a bit.

  Ben came around the house the next morning to say goodbye. He’d spend the day hitchhiking his way back to the racetrack or wherever his winter quarters were. He never said outright.

  “You’re still in school, right?” he said to Grace for the ninth time, it seemed. She’d decided to walk through the woods toward Main Street with him. “No choir, but you’re still in school, kid?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, Ben, I’m still in school,” Grace assured him. But for how long will Mama let me stay there?

  Ben took a long drag of his cigarette, giving her a satisfied nod. “That’s good, kid. Sorry about the choir, but you’ll figure out another way.”

  “Another way?” Did he think she should pursue music, then? Another way to what?

  “Remember what I told you? We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars?” Ben kept taking his long steps as he talked, and Grace had to walk double-time to keep up with him.

  “Yeah, I remember,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “Hey, don’t say it like that. You were born to look at the stars,” stated Ben.

  His affirmation lifted her spirits a little. If not the choir, perhaps something else. Grace felt the square box bang against her leg. She’d put Paulie’s jewelry box there to show Ben, and now she remembered it. “Wait,” she said, her breath a cloud in the frigid air.

  They stopped in the middle of the icy path. Grace pulled the jewelry box out of her pocket, glancing up to find Ben’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. Gently, she opened the embossed lid, revealing the pearls, shimmering in their square sea of blue velvet.

  Ben whistled low. “Somebody give you those, canary?”


  Self-consciously, Grace nodded. She held her breath, waiting to see what else Ben would say.

  Without asking her permission, her older brother reached for the box. His eyebrows shot up as he inspected the quality of the earrings. “Well,” he said at last, “somebody with lots of dough is sweet on you, that’s for sure, kid. It was a boy gave ‘em to you, right?”

  “Yeah,” she answered, glad that Ben agreed with her assessment of Paulie’s gift.

  Then he frowned, looking down at the earrings. “See here. I ain’t home to look after you, like a brother should.”

  She cocked her head. What did he mean? What was he getting at?

  Ben licked his lips.

  “Just say it, Ben,” she urged, her heart starting to thump. A squirrel chattered in the branches above their heads, the only sound in the still patch of woods beside their own breathing.

  He stared down at the earrings. “Well, it’s just this, kid. Guys don’t give expensive stuff like this unless… they want something in return. Got it?”

  Suddenly, the earrings didn’t hold the same pure delight. Grace shivered, feeling the cold bite through her thin jacket. He’s right…

  Clearing his throat, Ben snapped the box shut and offered it back to her. She reached out a mittenless hand and took it, feeling the velvet exterior against her numb flesh. Visions of Gertrude intruded into her mind, unwanted… Gertrude wearing the latest hat or a new pair of high heels as she minced down the driveway to Papa’s car. Where did she get all that new stuff?

  From Papa.

  “Just be careful, alright?” Ben’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  She looked up at him. “Yeah, I’ll be careful, Ben.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  January turned out so cold that year, even fire would freeze.

  When Grace returned to the Kinners’ after Christmas break, she expected Mrs. Kinner to evidence some sort of disappointment that Grace hadn’t shown up for Christmas Day. But the woman didn’t do anything of the kind. Instead, Mrs. Kinner asked small questions about Grace’s family holiday.

  “So your brother came home for Christmas? That must have been a treat for you all,” Mrs. Kinner smiled, her hands busy breaking up ground hamburger in a sizzling frying pan.

  Grace nodded, standing to the side of the stove. Usually, she didn’t arrive until after six o’clock, but she’d rushed through her chores today, hoping to spend a little extra time with Mrs. Kinner before she and Paulie settled down to do their homework.

  “Will your brother – Ben, right? - be able to come home again soon?” asked Mrs. Kinner, eyes on the hamburger.

  Dread crept up Grace’s throat. How far would Mrs. Kinner’s questions go? “Uh… no. I don’t think so. He works pretty far away,” Grace managed. She ran her fingernail along the countertop to alleviate her nervousness.

  “Oh? What line of work is he in?” came the horrible question. In her family’s own circle of friends, Grace would’ve had no trouble saying that Ben was a groom. She’d brag about how he brushed the horses for some big-city fellow. But somehow, Grace knew that being a horse-groom at a racetrack wasn’t a suitable profession for people like the Kinners… for people who attended church at First Baptist and ate hamburger – real hamburger! - for supper on a weeknight.

  How could she tell Mrs. Kinner the truth without telling her the truth? Suddenly, Grace remembered something she’d overheard Ben say back in the fall: that he groomed horses for a local politician. “He works for a politician,” she answered Mrs. Kinner. Relief lifted the dread from her chest.

  “Oh, so your brother is in politics?”

  What? “Uh, I guess,” Grace stumbled, hoping that she wasn’t really lying.

  A bright rap sounded on the kitchen door then, announcing Paulie’s entrance and allaying one of Grace’s anxieties while introducing a fresh one.

  Paulie. Grace stole a glance as he let himself in. Snow covered his head, and he laughingly dusted it off his dark curls.

  “It’s freezing out there!” he exclaimed, unwrapping his scarf.

  Grace had seen him only once since the day he’d given her his Christmas gift, and it had been during class, so they’d just had the chance to exchange pleasantries. No time to talk; no time for Paulie to say what he’d meant with his gift.

  For he had to have meant something. Oh, she hoped against hope that Paulie differed somehow from what Ben had said: that he’d only given it ‘cause he wanted something in return.

  And Grace wasn’t her mama’s daughter for nothing. She knew precisely what Ben meant.

  Mrs. Kinner had offered them a plate of macaroni and hamburger, but since Grace declined it, Paulie felt a little awkward digging into a mound by himself. Besides, he’d eaten a nice big plate of steak, potatoes, and cooked carrots before coming here. The Kinners weren’t badly off or anything, but Paulie knew that Dad and he lived on a higher scale than they did. It didn’t seem right to take food from them when he was sure that they could use the leftovers.

  He and Grace settled to work at a small table in the parlor while Mr. and Mrs. K. ate in the kitchen. Paulie couldn’t help glancing more than once at Grace as they opened up their textbooks and organized their pencils. What was she thinking? She seemed quieter than usual tonight…

  Was it the earrings? Did she not like them? She’s not wearing them. But then, Grace never wore earrings. Maybe it was the wrong gift! But Mrs. K. said that girls liked jewelry, and Dad had approved it as well.

  Then why didn’t she say anything about the gift? And why did he feel so thick-tongued? Paulie licked the tip of his pencil, preparing to dive into his math homework.

  “Paulie,” Grace surprised him by starting a conversation. He set down his pencil, but she kept her eyes glued to the literature book splayed on the table in front of her.

  He waited.

  “I don’t think you should pay me for the mathematics help anymore,” she said in her feather-soft voice.

  Well, this came out of nowhere. “Why not?” he asked, frankly curious as to her reason. The fifty cents didn’t matter one way or the other to Paulie. “You think I’m a hopeless case,” he added, joking to lighten up the mood.

  One side of Grace’s thin lips pulled up in a smile, but she seemed to strangle it. Why? “I don’t mind helping you, Paulie,” she said. “I’ll do it without pay, whenever you need help. As a friend, you know.”

  “And here I thought you were doing it as an enemy,” he joked again. Grace didn’t return his grin, and then the meaning of her pointed phrase took hold of him.

  She means only as a friend. His heart plummeted into his shoes. Grace had ascertained why he’d given her the earrings, alright. And she was saying no to his affections outright. Without a second thought.

  “Well, sure, Grace,” he managed to gulp out, trying to keep his voice from cracking like a thirteen-year-old. “If that’s how you want it.”

  He saw her quick nod. Her golden hair spilled across her face, and her huge blue eyes remained fastened to the page. Stunned, Paulie picked up his pencil but didn’t begin the first problem yet.

  How could I have so misjudged things? I thought there was something between us for certain. I even told her that I liked her back in the fall! Paulie shook his head, dazed at Grace’s rejection.

  And he’d prayed about this, too. Asked the Lord to prevent Grace from coming to First Baptist that Christmas Sunday if God didn’t want him to give her the gift. And she’d come. Paulie had thought God had answered his prayer.

  Evidently not.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Mama’s belly kept rounding more and more. Soon, she’s gonna tell me she needs me at home. Nervously, Grace finished her chores every day and took her homework over to the Kinners’ house. I can’t give Mama the chance to speak her mind about me quitting school.

  True to her word, Grace hadn’t taken one dime from Paulie since that day in January. She’d come up with the idea as a way to even things up between them with the
pearl earrings. If I keep helping Paulie with his math, he can’t expect “payment” for the earrings. Not that Grace felt opposed to affectionate feelings toward her from Paulie; but what Ben spoke of was different. It cheapened the whole thing. And Grace wouldn’t have this precious friendship with Paulie cheapened any more than she would her friendship with Mrs. Kinner. She didn’t want to find out if Paulie was like Papa.

  At first, she’d feared that Mama would stop her from going to the Kinners once the dimes stopped flowing into the Picoletti home each week. But, surprisingly, Mama didn’t seem to mind; she asked once or twice, “You sure those people want you to keep bothering them?” Otherwise, Mama didn’t say anything against Grace bundling up her books each night after supper and trudging through the woods and then down the road.

  Often, Grace returned home from the Kinners’ to find Mama sleepily listening to a preacher or some hymns on the radio. Grace still felt a little startled every time she entered the house to the soothing sound of “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” rather than to the tinny blare of an evening comedy hour.

  One evening, as usual, Grace tapped a couple times on the Kinners’ door, hugging her jacket tightly around her body to keep warm. She’d layered two cardigans beneath it. The snow poured down, bright white under the street lights; Grace hoped it would let up before she had to leave for home.

  “Come on in, Grace!” Mrs. Kinner called, and her voice filled Grace with joy right down to her darned stockings.

  Grace turned the knob and stepped into the house. The warmth shocked her, as it did every evening. The aroma of cookies filled the kitchen, and Mrs. Kinner stood at the sink, washing up the last of the supper dishes. “Hello, Mrs. Kinner,” Grace greeted her, not feeling too shy around the older woman anymore. She picked up a dish towel to help dry.

  “Oh, thanks, dear,” Mrs. Kinner smiled. “I wondered if you’d come tonight, what with the snow. Mr. Kinner’s headed off to a meeting at church, and I thought I might have to be all by my lonesome self.”