Now as Grace examined herself in the mirror, she wondered what it would be like to have a home and a husband. For the greatest irony of her situation was that, in acting as a mother to her sisters, she had developed a maternal side to her character that none of the other girls possessed.
Maybe a little of that rice powder wouldn’t hurt. The thought flashed through her mind, and for an instant she was tempted to go to Prudence’s chest and take out the small china case in which her sister kept the cosmetic. But almost instantly she rebelled against the impulse, saying under her breath: “Grace Swenson, thee needs no man who has to be caught by dust on a woman’s face!”
She drew the comb through her long blond hair, then tied it quickly back and left the room. As she approached the parlor, she heard Dortch talking with her father, and she stopped abruptly. Standing in the hall, she had the absurd impulse to turn and flee—to run into the barn and hide, or rush along the path beside the brook in the woods. She was a sensitive young woman, far more so than most people knew, and her lack of knowledge of men made her anxious and vulnerable in a situation such as this.
Quakers were not known for parties or dances, but they had, over the years, established a highly developed system of courtship. Since her teenage years, Grace had dreaded such things as she was about to face. The other girls had lived for the encounters with boys, it seemed to her, but she had only memories of shame and humiliation in such situations. She had grown tall during adolescence, so that the boys of her own age were shorter than she, and this made her feel like some kind of giantess. A feeling that the boys only confirmed by their avoidance of her, and the girls only made worse by their pitying glances. Gradually Grace had managed to assume the role of sponsor at such affairs, serving the food and doing the other small chores that kept her busy—and enabled her to avoid the embarrassment of sitting alone with no young man coming to talk to her.
In all her twenty-six years, no young man had ever come to call. And now that one had, she was possessed of a terror wondering what she would say to him! She had listened to the laughing talk of young couples and was certain she could never achieve such a teasing tone or such lightness of spirit.
Grace closed her eyes. Lord, I feel so—so helpless. Help me to talk to this man! Then, opening her eyes and clenching her teeth, she entered the parlor.
“Ah, here thee is, Miss Grace!” Dortch stood up at once, and a smile exposed his fine teeth. “Your father and I were about to get into a controversy.”
“No! No!” Grace’s father shook his head with alarm. “That would not do—not at all!”
Grace said, “It’s good to see thee, Friend Dortch, but I think you’ll find it hard to have an argument with my father.” She smiled fondly at her father, adding, “He’s not much for contention.”
“Oh, I was only joking,” Dortch said quickly. “We were just discussing this man Charles Finney and his ‘new measures.’”
Swenson said quickly, “I’ll leave Grace to defend Mr. Finney. She’s quite taken with him.” He got up, nodded, and left the room.
Dortch smiled ruefully at the woman who stood regarding him, saying, “I know better than to argue religion with a preacher, Miss Grace. And the truth is, I don’t really understand what it is Finney’s doing that’s caused all the controversy. I wish you’d explain it to me.”
Relief washed over Grace. This was something she could talk about! Thank You, Lord!
“Why, I’m no authority, Friend Dortch,” she said. “I don’t know what it is about Rev. Finney that’s caused all the controversy, but I have studied Rev. Finney’s teaching closely.”
“Fine!” Dortch exclaimed. “Why don’t we sit down and thee can try to explain it to a rather thickheaded layman.” He indicated the narrow couch, and when Grace sat down, he joined her. Grace tried to forget that this was the couch the girls called the “Courting Couch” for obvious reasons. When two adults sat together, they were very close. She licked her lips nervously and began talking.
“Well, Mr. Finney teaches that the new birth is necessary for everyone who comes into the world…,” Grace began, and for the next half hour she explained Finney’s “new measures” and some of the controversy that they had occasioned.
Dortch listened carefully—or seemed to. He kept his eyes fixed on Grace, asking an occasional question. He was not a tall man, being of no more than average height, so that his eyes were on a level with those of the woman next to him. “So Mr. Finney says that revivals of religion are ‘harvests’? Is that it?” he asked. “And you don’t quite agree with that?”
Grace was beginning to have a difficult time concentrating on theology. The narrow couch worked very well as long as the occupants sat straight up and faced the front, as if they were sitting on a wagon seat. But Clyde Dortch and Grace were forced to turn slightly so that they could face each other—and in the process, Dortch’s knee had come to press against Grace’s knee.
The intimacy of the contact brought a slight flush to Grace’s cheeks, but Dortch didn’t seem to notice. As they continued to talk, however, the pressure of his knee grew more pronounced, and his right shoulder somehow began to press on her left.
Don’t be a fool! Grace told herself when the thought came into her mind that she was allowing the man too much liberty. You’ve got to get over this foolishness!
Nevertheless, she said abruptly, “Friend Dortch, I baked yesterday. Would thee like some pecan pie and a glass of milk?”
“That would be fine,” Dortch responded, his teeth gleaming. “The best part of our socials are your pies and cakes, Miss Grace.”
The compliment caused a rosy flush to touch Grace’s cheeks, and she grew flustered. “Oh, there are better cooks than I am!” she murmured, getting to her feet.
“Now that’s your opinion, Miss Grace, but it’s not valid,” Dortch responded. “Everybody knows you’re the best in the whole community at making pies.”
Grace was pleased at his praise, and when he ate two thick wedges of the pecan pie, she said, “Would thee like to take some home, Friend Dortch? I still bake for six after all this time.”
“That would be a treat for a lonely bachelor,” Dortch said, then added with a winsome smile, “but I can think of one thing I’d like even better than the pie.”
“Why, what’s that, Friend Dortch?”
“That we agree to call each other by names, not titles.” Dortch made a slight face, adding, “Don’t you think ‘Friend Dortch’ sounds too formal? Couldn’t it just be Clyde and Grace?”
“I—I don’t see why not,” Grace said slowly.
Noticing the hesitation in her voice, Dortch said quickly, “I don’t want to be presumptuous or forward, Grace, but—well, the truth is, I’ve admired thee for a long time.”
This admission drew a glance of astonishment from Grace. For some time, Clyde Dortch had been one of the most eligible bachelors in the Quaker community. His family was not prosperous, but their farm was better than average. Hiram Dortch, Clyde’s father, had suffered a stroke two years earlier and was an invalid, so it was Clyde’s older brother, Daniel, who was now in charge. The Dortches were good Quakers—though a little too prone to slightly radical doctrine than the more conservative element of the fellowship liked.
Still, Clyde was handsome and stood to own at least half the farm one day. He was a fine musician, too, which made him a popular addition to the social life of the community. Grace well knew that Dortch liked the company of women, but she also knew he had never singled out any one girl for special attention. She recalled he had had some trouble with a few of the other young men whose sweethearts showed too much attention to him. Grace’s sister Dove had once said, “Clyde likes women, but he likes taking them away from other men too well.”
Grace thought about that fleetingly, but his compliment silenced her concerns—though not before she had a quick flash of memory of a time when James Thomson had beaten Clyde thoroughly for trying to take Hannah Toler from him.
&nbs
p; “I didn’t know you ever thought about me,” Grace said finally.
“Oh, for a long time,” Dortch said quickly. Then he shrugged and grinned ruefully. “But I never said anything.”
“Why not…, Clyde?” The use of his first name was difficult for Grace. “Was it so hard?”
“Oh, I think it’s because you’re a preacher,” Clyde said thoughtfully. “That scares fellows off, you know.”
“I suppose so.”
“Sure it does! I mean, how’s a fellow supposed to act when a girl is a preacher?”
Grace stared at him. “Couldn’t thee act just like thee does with other young women?”
“And if I did,” Dortch asked quickly, his eyes gleaming, “what would you do?” He suddenly reached forward and took her hand, holding it tightly. “For example, it’s not unusual for a fellow to hold a girl’s hand like this. Do you mind, Grace?”
The suddenness of his action caught Grace off guard, and her first impulse was to jerk her hand back.
But that would prove he is right!
“Nooo…I don’t think I mind.” She spoke slowly. With great daring, she pressed his hand—then color rushed to her cheeks. She laughed awkwardly and pulled her hand back. “I’ll put your pie in a covered dish,” she said and got to her feet.
When Clyde left, he smiled at her, saying, “I’d like to come by some evening. Your father said he wouldn’t mind.”
Grace said, “Why, yes, Clyde. Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here!” Dortch looked at her and asked, “Will you wear that blue dress?”
Grace nodded and smiled at him. “I might even put on some of Prudence’s rice powder.”
“Don’t do that, Grace!” Dortch said quickly. “That’s only for girls who need it. You have the most beautiful complexion I’ve ever seen!”
Grace watched as he mounted his gray mare and rode away. Slowly she made her way back to the kitchen and washed up the dishes.
I didn’t make a fool of myself, she thought. He’s really very Nice…if only he were a bit taller. Then she scolded herself for her foolish wish.
“Did thee have a good visit with the young man?”
Grace was so preoccupied with her thoughts that her father’s voice startled her. She turned quickly to face him, saying awkwardly, “Oh yes. It was nice.”
“Fine-looking young man.”
Something in her father’s tone made Grace look at him. “Well, I asked him to come to dinner tomorrow. Is that all right, Father?”
“Of course, daughter. Be nice to have him.”
Grace felt very awkward, which was unusual for her, for she and her father were great friends. “Father, I—I let him hold my hand.”
Swenson smiled. “Did thee, now?”
“Yes. Do you think that was wrong?”
“No, I don’t,” Swenson said firmly. “I held your mother’s hand before we were married.”
The admission made Grace smile. She had a wry sense of humor that few ever saw, and it came out now. “Sit down and drink some milk,” she ordered. “And thee can tell me how to trap a man.”
“Oh, now—!”
“I can’t ask anyone else, can I?” Grace poured a glass of milk and set it before him, then sat down and put her chin on her hand. Now that the ordeal was over, she was feeling light and happy. “Come now, give me some counsel. Shall I order some French perfume from Philadelphia? Or maybe one of those dresses with a bustle on the back?”
“Daughter! Thee would get read out of the meeting!”
Grace broke into laughter at the horrified look on her father’s face. “I can see myself rigged out like that! Wouldn’t it be something to see, though? My going to preach in a thing like that?”
Swenson suddenly laughed with her. “Might do us good. Nobody would go to sleep, would they?” He took a sip of the milk, then shook his head and grew silent. Finally he said, “I wish thee could marry and have children.” He looked at her, asking, “Has thee thought of that?”
Grace sobered at once. “When I was younger. Not for a long time.”
Her confession seemed to hurt Swenson. He knew his illness was serious and that he would not live very long—though he had never mentioned this to his family. “I wish I could go back,” he said heavily. “I made a mistake letting thee work so hard.”
“I don’t want thee to think that, Father!” Grace spoke almost sharply and went to stand behind him. Leaning over, she put her arms around him and placed her cheek next to his. “God will take care of me—and of thee.”
She could feel the thinness of his frame and knew a moment of fear as the thought of losing him came to her. She held him tightly, whispering, “Don’t thee mind about me! I’m choosy about my men! Until I find one as good and loving as the one right here in this chair, I’ll not have him!”
Swenson’s eyes filled with tears, and he reached up and held her hands. Good Lord in heaven—keep this lamb safe as the apple of Thy eye!
CHAPTER 2
TWO KISSES
Among the Quakers, affairs such as courtship move very slowly. One wag put it, “If you enjoy watching the movements of major icebergs, you’ll enjoy watching the courtship of Quakers.”
As for Grace, she was not at all disturbed that Clyde Dortch had little to show for the fact that he had come to take dinner with the Swensons twice a week for two months—little, that is, besides the slight bulge around his middle. She was not by nature a hasty young woman, and she was prepared to cook twice a week for ten more months before the next stage of courtship began.
Truthfully, she was enjoying the mild sensation that the courtship had stirred in the small, tranquil world of the Friends. For the first time in her life, she was aware that people were staring at her, watching with interest as she moved through the rites of passage! Always before it had been one of her sisters, though Grace had never resented their moments of glory—if a Quaker courtship could be so labeled.
The community had long ago, she realized, grown accustomed to the notion that their lady preacher would remain in single bliss, taking care of her father and serving as an aging aunt for the offspring of her sisters. It was a role that they could understand and approve. They loved ritual and the even tenor of habit, these Quakers, and Grace Swenson had been neatly identified, labeled, and consigned to a certain slot.
Now the tall young woman had astounded them all by stepping outside the classification into which they had locked her, and it set her little world—and in particular a Mrs. Lula Belle Gatz—to buzzing. One of the Friends had said of Lula Belle Gatz, “She’s got a tongue long enough to sit in the living room and lick the skillet in the kitchen!” While this might have proven anatomically impossible for the lady, metaphorically, she lived up to the reputation!
Sister Gatz, in truth, had too little to do at home—her children being all grown and mostly beyond her “arrangings”—so she moved from house to house, from quilting to quilting, discussing the affairs of others. She was at heart a kindly woman—a Dorcas, who was always the first to help when trouble came. She was so assiduous in this sort of thing that folks in the community swore it was always “First Lula Belle, then the doctor, then the undertaker!” Once, when Mary Rochard sickened and died with record speed, Sister Gatz arrived after the doctor and the undertaker had come and gone. It grieved her so greatly that she became almost ill over her delinquency, but she found solace in rearranging the funeral plans made by the family.
When she presented herself at the front door of the Swenson home bearing a quilt as a wedding gift, both Grace and her father knew that it would be an expensive gift. And they were not mistaken, for with the quilt came a host of warnings, suggestions, and searching questions about the match.
“She’s settling in for a long visit, Grace,” Amos said gloomily. “I don’t think I feel up to it. That woman is worse than a case of grippe!”
Grace laughed at the gloomy comparison. “Go lie down, Father. Don’t come out until
I come for thee,” she said. In truth, she was worried about her father. He seemed to have grown weaker for the past two months, and she spent much time fixing foods he would eat.
“That might not come for a day or two,” Amos sighed. “Sister Gatz is a fine woman, but gives away too much advice.”
After she got her father off for his nap, Grace squared her shoulders, put a smile on her lips, and marched in to take her medicine. It proved to be a long, rather bitter dose. She sat in her rocker knitting socks as the older woman spent two hours running down a rather vivid list of dangers that a young couple could expect to begin no later than ten minutes after they were married. Sister Gatz was an angular woman, in shape as well as in mind, with a hungry-looking face set in sharp planes and a pair of piercing black eyes.
As she drew breath to begin another chapter in her remarks, she happened to glance out the window. The words shut down momentarily, and her mouth drew into a small round O. “Isn’t that young Prudence with Clyde?” she demanded, turning an accusing look upon Grace.
Grace glanced up from her knitting, looked out the window, and nodded. “Yes, Sister Gatz. Prudence needed to go over to Riverton to fetch some material for my dress. Gelt’s Store didn’t have anything suitable.”
The O of Sister Gatz’s mouth drew down to form an inverted U. “I’d think thee would want to go choose thy own material, Sister Swenson.”
“Oh, the new calf is due, and I’m expecting some trouble with the birthing. And Prudence has a better eye for dress material than I have.”
“Humph!” Sister Gatz formed this monosyllabic expression by snorting through her long nose. It was an odd sound, but one the lady used effectively to express doubt, disgust, or displeasure. She stared out the window, observing the couple as Clyde helped Prudence out of the buggy, noting the ease with which he lifted her up and set her down. The two were laughing—a most inappropriate activity in Sister Gatz’s mind, for she was always suspicious when a young man and a young woman laughed together.
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 33