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

by Ruggieri, Alicia G.

  The mercies of God…

  Even now, looking into the bedroom mirror after Sam and Paulie left, Sarah narrowed her eyes in disbelief. The mercies of God? What were they? The mercies of the Mother of God she could understand. At times, Sarah herself begged the Mother of the Lord to plead for her before her Son. But the mercies of God himself? She shook her head. All of her life had become one long marathon to escape a cold God’s sickle-blade, it seemed, no matter what that radio preacher said. What mercy had God shown to her? What mercy did she even deserve?

  “None,” Sarah whispered aloud. Though she’d always tried to live decently. And she couldn’t be blamed for being born. Didn’t God owe her something for that, at least?

  And how could Sam find the mercies of God in the death of his wife? The question puzzled Sarah. Perhaps his wife had been a nasty old hag. But if she’d had anything to do with the raising of their son – a polite, good boy by all appearances – Sam’s wife couldn’t have been too bad. Not bad enough for Sam to consider her death a mercy in and of itself.

  A groan from the kitchen couch roused Sarah from her reflections. No sense in pondering such useless things as this, at any rate. She had a sick, grouchy husband to tend. With his eyes bandaged shut, Charlie wasn’t likely to be in good humor. Second-degree burns, Sam had said, probably from a flash flame in that stupid barrel where Charlie always stood tossing in the trash and leaves.

  I really oughta get a haircut, Sarah sighed as she turned from the mirror and waddled back to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Emmeline 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.

  Scrub-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?”

  An 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.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Two 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.

  After 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.

  The 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 fr
om 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.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The baby hung on until the first week of April. Five weeks late. Grace found Mama gripping the corner of the stove with a white-knuckled hand one morning, so early that the frost still clung to the window panes.

  “Want me get Mrs. Bailey, Mama?” Grace asked for the tenth time since Christmas. Her heart sped up in anticipation. The baby’s coming! I’m sure it is.

  Mama turned a grimaced face toward her. “No, not yet, Grace.”

  Grace heard a dripping noise and realized that Mama stood in a puddle of fluid.

  Mama glanced at her uneasily, almost apologetically, like a dog who’d vomited and felt bad.

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” Grace hurried. “I’ll clean it up.”

  Weariness already gnawing her face, Mama nodded. “Thanks.” She held her hands against her back and shuffled toward the bedroom.

  “Tell me when you want me to get Mrs. Bailey,” Grace called after the retreating figure. She grabbed an old towel and began mopping up the puddle, nervousness making her fingers shake.

  Grace gritted her teeth at the guttural moan issuing from Mama’s bedroom. She’d long since fetched the old midwife, who relaxed in the rocking chair beside Mama’s bed, her knitting held in sun-spotted hands.

  Chop the carrots. By the time you finish, her labor will be over. Grace coached herself through each task. She was preparing chicken soup at Mrs. Bailey’s instruction. “Your Mama,” Mrs. Bailey had said earlier, “will feel weak and want something nourishing to eat after the baby’s born.” So Grace filled the afternoon hours with making the soup, glad to have something with which to occupy her hands.

  “Ouch!” A line of liquid red sparkled on her finger. The knife had slipped. Grace inspected the offending digit. Not too deep. She sucked away the tangy blood and wrapped a scrap of rag around the cut as a makeshift bandage.