A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

He nodded, his lower lip thrust out. “Sissy cried.”

  “And the babies cried?”

  He nodded again, his face solemn. “I was bad.”

  “I see. What did you do?”

  “Spilled the milk.”

  “But you did not mean to?”

  “No.” He took Grace’s hand and looked at his sister. “Her is hungry.”

  Grace set Grant back up at the table, buttered and sugared a slice of bread for Linnie, and breaking it in pieces, set it on the tray so she could feed herself. She did the same for Grant, and while they were eating, she set about wiping off the table and putting the kitchen to rights, setting the dirty dishes in a pan on the stove and heating water in another.

  Sometime later Grant tugged on her skirt and pointed down the hall. Grace took Linnie’s hand and headed for the baby room, where Sophie was changing one diaper while the other baby was squalling.

  Grace picked up Joy and cradled her until she could use the surface of the chest of drawers to change her.

  “Nobody is happy with anything this morning. I don’t know what came over them. But one starts crying and the rest join right in. I’ve fed them both now, so if you will watch them all, I can go finish dressing.”

  Grace nodded and, with a baby in each arm, followed Grant back to the kitchen. Linnie sat down to happily spread bits of bread all over the floor. She grinned, showing her sparkling new teeth, and stuffed some bread into her mouth.

  “Sissy bad.”

  “No, babies don’t do bad things. She is just playing.”

  The look he gave her said what he thought about that.

  Grace had long before realized that Sophie would be having problems with two small babies and two little children, very little children. Usually Garth’s sister came over and helped, but something must have happened to her today. Sophie finally came out wearing a blue-and-white gingham dress with short puffed sleeves and a sweetheart neck-line, and she’d gotten her hair rolled up and a smile in place.

  “Thank you. One of Helga’s children is sick, so she couldn’t come. I have to find someone to help me here. What about you? At least until school starts.”

  “I can come some of the time, but Mor needs me too.” Grace handed Hamre to his mother. “Have you had breakfast yet?” Why does she expect me to drop everything and help? I guess because I always have before. Why does it bother me now?

  “No, but I did get the coffee made. Garth had to leave early for some reason, so he was going to eat at the boardinghouse. And I need to get there soon. Once breakfast is over, Lily Mae and Mrs. Sam need to work on the day’s meals and don’t have time for the desk work.”

  At the boardinghouse with the children settled down—Grant playing on the back porch, the babies sleeping, and Linnie busy with a wooden spoon and a small kettle—Grace and Sophie sat at the table with cups of coffee.

  “Why did you leave suddenly yesterday?”

  Leave it to Sophie to leap right in. Grace studied the dark liquid in her cup before looking up again to Sophie. “I talked with Toby.”

  “So?”

  “He said he is in love with a woman in Grafton and may marry her.”

  “So? Aren’t you glad for him?” Sophie paused. “You don’t still think you’re in love with him, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve loved him for years.”

  “Oh, Grace, you’re in love with the idea of Toby, not the real him. Why, the two of you have nothing in common, and …”

  The more Sophie went on, the tighter Grace’s jaw grew.

  “You’ve always been like Andrew, forever sticking up for the underdog.”

  “At least I wasn’t flirting with every male in sight.” Fingers flashed and the words slashed.

  “Grace Knutson, what a thing to say.”

  “Well, it’s true. You have always thought only of yourself. How do you know how I feel or think?” Grace thumped her fist on the table for emphasis. She glared at Sophie, who glared right back.

  “But you’re my twin sister.”

  “You should have thought of that when you took off with Hamre, leaving broken hearts in your wake.”

  “But Grace, you always—”

  “Not anymore. I am no longer ‘Grace Always.’ ” “Grace, you are shouting.”

  “I finally have the courage to tell someone how I feel, and you— you …” Grace pushed her chair back. “You can take care of your own children! Clean up your own mess!”

  She was out the door and on her way back on the road to home without looking back nor left nor right. As she passed the church, it hit her. What have I done? She slowed when she reached the lane to Ingeborg’s and turned in, each step heavier than the last. She should go on home and ask her mother to go to Sophie’s to smooth things out. She should go back and make amends.

  But why? I said only the truth.

  Ingeborg was alone, sitting in the rocker with her Bible on her lap when Grace walked in. One look at her aunt’s face and Grace crumpled to the floor, burying her face in Ingeborg’s lap. Her tears soaked the dress and apron. She had no idea how long she cried, but the soothing stroke of her aunt’s hand on her hair finally lulled her into hiccups and then sniffs. She mopped her face in the apron and blew her nose into a handkerchief Ingeborg handed her. When she looked up, she saw only love shining in the face above her.

  “Now tell me all about it.”

  Grace talked with both mouth and hands, spilling out the years she’d buried inside. She told of loving Toby, of the hurt when Sophie left, of all the times she’d wanted something and Sophie took it away, of taking care so that Sophie didn’t get into trouble.

  “And now I don’t know what to do.” She stared up at Ingeborg.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like me like this, angry and shouting and saying things I know I shouldn’t. This is awful.”

  “You need some time to get over loving Toby.”

  “You think I really love him?”

  “I think you have for a long time, and if he loved you back, you would know what to do. But since he says he’s in love with someone else, you have to let go and pray that he will be happy.”

  “But that’s so hard.”

  “Of course it is, but this is where God will come in to help you if you ask Him and follow His guidance.”

  “God doesn’t talk to me like He does to you and Mor.”

  “Could it be that you’ve not talked much with Him, not spent time in His Word? Loving God is a lifetime lesson. It never happens all at once. Think how you had to work to learn to speak. I remember you struggled so hard, yet you were so determined. And you still are. I know God has something wonderful in store for you, and if you search His Word, you will learn and grow.”

  “I want to be wise like you and Mor.”

  “We have both prayed for and sought wisdom for years. You are just seeing the end result of hours of prayer. God always promises wisdom to those who seek it.”

  “Mange takk.” Grace rose to her feet. When Ingeborg stood, Grace wrapped her arms around her aunt and the two stood together, locked in love.

  That evening when Jonathan drove the wagon in from threshing and stopped by the barn, he saw all the women gathered under the trees. Ellie, Astrid, Grace, Ingeborg, Kaaren, and Ilse.

  “Welcome home,” Ingeborg called.

  He waved back and stepped down to unharness the team.

  Astrid and Grace ran to help him. While Astrid hung up one of the harnesses, Grace asked, “Is the invitation to visit in New York City still open?”

  He stared at her. “Are you serious? Of course it is.”

  Grace nodded, her jawline set. “Then I would like to go with you.” All of her insides screamed at her to take back her words, but she ignored them.

  “Can you be ready in time?”

  “Can you wait one more day?” Her heart felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest.

  New York City, Ne
w York

  September 1902

  GRACE SWALLOWED HARD to keep from throwing up.

  Jonathan touched her arm to get her attention, and she turned so she could read his lips.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her desired nod got stuck on a shake, and she kept her eyes down, certain the fear that was eating her from the inside out would be visible should she look at him. Why had she ever decided to leave the safety of Blessing and come with him on this trip to New York City? Sophie was the one who wanted to travel, not her. She wove her gloved fingers together to keep them from shaking, certain he could sense her trembling anyway. Shivers stormed up and down her rigid spine, in spite of the heat in the train car.

  Sophie. This was all her fault. If she’d not been so … so Sophie, perhaps she’d never have blown up at her. And made such a radical decision. She had let her personal grief override common sense. But why hadn’t Mor stopped her from leaving? Instead, she’d seemed almost relieved. Why? She turned from her inner world at the insistent tap on her arm to see Jonathan peering at her, consternation furrowing his brow and tightening his jaw.

  “How can I help you?”

  She shrugged. He was trying so hard to make this easy for her. They’d practiced his signing for hours these days of swaying train travel. While he could form all the letters and create simple words, they still depended too much on her speaking ability. Another sigh escaped before she could force her lips to smile. “I do not know.”

  Four little words that conveyed all her heart’s confusion. She’d always known how to answer, how to do most anything. Especially how to make others around her comfortable. She’d caught the stares from other passengers when she spoke, and while she knew she didn’t speak the same as everyone else, no one in Blessing had paid much attention. Had the stares held pity or repugnance? Not that it much mattered. She didn’t care for either.

  “We’ll be going under the river soon and be at Grand Central Station before you know it.” He paused and studied her face. “What didn’t you understand?”

  Grace fought to still her trembling again. “Speak slower, please.” She kept herself from responding to the stares she could feel from the two children across the aisle.

  When she saw Jonathan whip around and glare at someone, she knew there’d been a comment he didn’t like. She glanced at the small boy talking to his mother, who was shushing him with a finger to her lips and a worried glance at Grace. He’d been the culprit. If only Jonathan could sign better, she would not be subjected to such scrutiny. Lord, help me, please. I am in over my head, and I’m drowning. She sucked in a deep breath. No, she wasn’t drowning. I am swimming in peace. The thought washed her in a comfort she’d not felt since leaving her bedroom several mornings ago. I am swimming in peace, Lord, your peace. Why did I not ask for help before? Was that a heavenly chuckle she sensed? Her mother had often said God must chuckle at some of their worries and concerns. After all, He knew what was coming next and what His plans were. She felt her shoulders leave off bumping her ear lobes and settle back where they belonged. The vibration of the train changed and their world went black.

  Jonathan had taken her hand in the two of his, and she was grateful he had warned her. Of course, the tunnel. How could men build a tunnel under a river without it leaking? Oh, so much she had to learn. She forced herself to take another calming breath and tried to look straight ahead. Never in her life had she felt such a darkness. Even in the darkest night at home, one could see shapes after the eyes adjusted. Was this what being blind would be like? She sucked in another breath of air overwarm already. Here, she’d sometimes thought being deaf was the worst thing that could happen. At least she could see the myriad colors of green on a spring day and the faces of those she loved.

  With a whoosh, light again flooded the car, and she blinked several times, glancing at Jonathan to see him smiling at her. In spite of herself she wanted to reach up and touch his jaw with one tentative finger. What a beautiful smile he had. She smiled back, unable to tear her gaze from the … the what? shining in his eyes. Had she not known better, she might think it love. What a silly thought. They were just friends after all. He was bringing her to New York as a friend of the family who would attend a special school. But what if Astrid had been right and this fine young man was falling in love with her?

  Grace Knutson, you have always been in love with Toby Valders— remember? The inner voice was changing from admonishing to strident. But Toby said he was in love with someone else. The arguments in her thoughts returned. And look at the trouble they caused last time she did not take them captive like Pastor Solberg preached. No one in her right mind could argue with that. The words had had to sink down in her mind before they could rise to the top at a time when she could think better.

  Was that time now?

  The train was slowing, and people around them began gathering up their things. Jonathan grinned at her, his happy-go-lucky look back in place, and said, “Welcome to New York City.”

  She nodded and turned to look out the window. If this was New York City, it was not a pretty sight. Soot-streaked brick buildings looked close enough to touch as the train chugged between them. Laundry hung from iron stairs that appeared too fragile for people to use. She’d read of fire escapes, and now she was seeing them in reality. A woman sat on one landing, smoking a cigarette, her carrot hair in such a tumble birds could have built nests in it with ease. One strap of her camisole hung over her shoulder.

  Grace bit back a gasp. The woman wore only a chemise and knickers. In broad daylight, out in public. And the folks of Blessing, her mother included, had been appalled when she and Astrid sewed their old skirts into pants earlier in the summer. Truth to tell, the pants had made kneeling in the garden far easier.

  Grace brought her wandering thoughts back to the moment as the train slowed even more and pulled to a stop between raised platforms that separated the trains already lined up on both sides of them.

  Jonathan tapped her arm to get her attention. “We’re here.”

  “I know.” Grace reached up to make sure her straw hat was pinned securely. Do I look all right? At home she’d not given looks or attire a great deal of thought, since most everyone there wore similar skirts and waists or faded calico dresses in the summer heat. So far, she’d seen many different styles. At least the traveling suit Elizabeth had loaned her, although she’d apologized for it being out of date, looked respectable.

  Jonathan removed their parcels from the overhead shelf, and tucking one under his arm, he picked up the valise and motioned for her to go before him.

  Shooting him a glance that she hoped appeared confident, she stepped into the aisle, her reticule dangling from one wrist while she clutched a small valise in her other gloved hand. If only she could have washed before—No, she commanded herself, don’t go thinking on all the if onlys. Mor always says that is a waste of time and effort.

  She paused at the steel steps and smiled at the conductor, who held out a hand to assist her, before clutching the handrail with her free hand. What if she tripped over her skirt and went tumbling right into his arms? Now wouldn’t that be a fine introduction? Grace closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, took in a deep breath, and on a silent exhale smiled again, at least she hoped it was a smile, at the conductor and took her first step down.

  “You hand me that satchel and I’ll take your arm, miss.”

  His calm direction soothed her trembling like the touch of her mother’s hand. “Thank you, sir.” She had to force herself to speak, conscious now of her oddity. She handed out the satchel, placed her hand in his extended one, and stepped down with ease. Once on the platform, she turned to see Jonathan smile at her. Warmth like a summer sunbeam circled her heart and caused her breathing to settle a notch or two. She saw Jonathan hand the man something that caused his dark face to widen in a smile.

  “Thank you, sir.” The man reached back in the train car to retrieve another bag while Jonathan set his on th
e platform and, taking Grace’s hand, tucked it through his arm.

  “Come. McHenry will have the carriage waiting.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see another black man loading their bags onto a cart. Looking up at her escort, she raised an eyebrow in question.

  Jonathan patted her hand. “That’s the way we do things in New York.”

  Grace half shrugged and let him lead her through the maze of people, following the crowd that moved out of the monstrous cavern and into another, this one with marble floor tiles, marble pillars, and high arched windows around the vaulted ceiling. She stumbled once when watching the splendor above rather than her feet below.

  Jonathan led her to a marble pillar of cream streaked with gray and paused to let her catch her breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Ja, there is so much to see.” Not only see but also smell. She touched her nose with a rose-scented handkerchief. Soot, unwashed bodies, the pungent eye crinkling smoke from the cigar of the portly man standing off to her left. Her nose wrinkled at what could only be dying garbage, overlaid by the heavy perfume of the woman in black standing next to a gentleman. No farm smell—not even the smells during butchering, which she’d always thought the most offensive— could begin to equal what threatened to overwhelm her here. Although not as terrible as the carcasses burning, her body reacted the same way. She could feel the bile rising again. She held her bit of cambric closer to her nostrils. “Can we go now?”

  “Of course.” Jonathan beckoned to the man with the luggage cart and led the way out the main doors to the street.

  A uniformed man stood holding a flashy bay team that was hitched to a carriage resplendent in shiny black leather with brilliant brass fittings. He waved to Jonathan and motioned to the man in the box before leaving his post to open the carriage door and fold down a step.

  Grace knew Jonathan’s family was wealthy, but the large carriage with two men caught her by surprise. She’d not thought ahead or asked what to expect, but if she weren’t so weary, she’d have tried to turn and head back to the train—a train heading west, all the way to Blessing. Instead, she managed to smile at the man with the twinkling blue eyes, the red hair, and the closely trimmed sandy beard of a freckle-bedecked Irishman.