A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “David is spending a week with friends at the shore, and Daniel is having a tennis lesson. He will be back soon. He wanted to skip in order to be here when you returned but acquiesced when I insisted he keep to the schedule.”

  “Why make him learn tennis when he’d much rather be reading?” At the slight change in her smile, he knew he’d made a gaff. Playing tennis was an important part of summers at the shore, and she expected her children to be at least adequate in all areas of sports and social graces. Proficient was more suitable. He thought of Astrid and Grace making light of working in the garden. What would they think of tennis and lawn bowling, croquet and badminton for an afternoon’s entertainment, and changing clothes again for dinner and dancing in the evening? Although they loved to dance, the parties in Blessing were few and far between.

  Was bringing Grace back here a wise move or a horrendous mistake?

  Grace hung her traveling suit in the spacious armoire. After washing her face, hands, and neck, she felt much cooler and a bit more ready to face the unknown. At least the nausea had stopped. She stood in front of the mirror and unpinned her hair, letting the golden mass fall around her shoulders. Looking longingly at the tub, she instead picked up the brush she found lying along with a comb on a glass shelf and tried to brush the travel dust away. If only she could lie down and sleep for a week, then take a bath in that tub big enough for three, wash her hair, and sleep for another week. Instead, she wound her gathered hair around her fingers and pinned it again at the back of her head up off her neck. She felt a slight breeze coming through the open window from the parklike place behind the house. She expected Jonathan was regaling his mother with stories of his summer in Blessing. What would she think of them? Life in Blessing was so far removed from this world. How had Jonathan ever managed? How would she manage here?

  She stared into the face in the mirror. “Well, best to beard the lion.” The face staring back needed to smile and make sure to include the eyes. She turned away and, after shaking out her black serge skirt, took a deep breath and strode toward the door, where she hoped Mary Anne with an e was still waiting. Lord, please continue your peace in me.

  “CAN YOU REALLY READ LIPS?”

  Grace nodded with a smile. “Otherwise I would not know how to answer you.”

  “You can’t hear a thing?” The girl frowned and shook her head when Grace shook hers. “That’s awful.”

  “I learned to live with it. But I can also talk with my fingers.” She made several signs.

  Mary Anne stared at the gracefully moving fingers, then up at Grace’s face. “What did you say?”

  “Mary Anne.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  “If you like. Your brother knows the alphabet and some other signs. He wants to learn too.” Grace pointed at the grass stain.

  “I couldn’t get it out, not even with soap.”

  “If you scrub it good and lay it in the sunshine on the grass, the stain will disappear.”

  “If I scrub me good and lay me in the grass, will I disappear?” Her laughing eyes said she was joking.

  Grace grinned back at her. “I most certainly hope not.”

  Mary Anne took her hand. “Come on. Mother is waiting.”

  Oh, I don’t think she’s waiting too eagerly. I think she’s probably glad to have her son all to herself. Grace allowed the girl to lead her back down the hall to the staircase, down and out the French doors. Even with all the green grass and trees, the air didn’t smell anything like that of the wide open skies of North Dakota. However, once they took a few steps out onto the flagstone terrace, the fragrance of the formal rose beds that bordered each side of the beautifully laid cut rock made her smile. Grace sneaked glimpses of vibrant reds, pinks, yellows, and whites as she walked with her escort to the decorative iron table with matching chairs and a huge umbrella.

  Jonathan stood and turned to smile at her as soon as he heard them approach. “I was beginning to think I needed to come fetch you.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, not at all. Mother, I want you to meet Miss Grace Knutson.” He took her hand and drew her closer.

  “Welcome to New York, Miss Knutson.”

  Mrs. Gould extended her hand so Grace shook it gently. Grace had never seen a hand so smooth and unmarred.

  “I hear I have much to thank you for?”

  Grace glanced at Jonathan with a questioning look.

  “I’ve been telling her of all the help you and Astrid were to me.”

  Grace turned to his mother. “I think the reality is all the help he was to us. Your son worked harder than anyone this summer.”

  “I had to prove I wasn’t just a stuck-up city boy.”

  Grace rolled her lips together. He must have heard someone talking at home. “You proved that, all right.”

  “Please, won’t you sit down?” Mrs. Gould indicated a chair. “Mary Anne, would you please walk nicely and ask Cook for more ice?”

  Mary Anne nodded, but it was only three steps before she skipped two, sobered, sent a glance at her mother, and tried again to walk nicely.

  Since Grace was facing that way, she saw it all. Did they expect Mary Anne to act like an adult all the time? What was wrong with a little girl running and skipping? When she turned her attention back to the conversation, she realized she’d missed part of it.

  “Mother was asking how your train ride was,” Jonathan filled in for her.

  Long, hot, dirty, and … “The scenery, especially through the mountains, was beautiful. I had never seen such variety of land before or realized how big this country is.” Grace leaned forward. “Your roses are lovely.”

  “Thank you. The fragrance makes sitting out here such a pleasure. Did you find everything to your satisfaction in the Rose Room?” She glanced up to see her daughter carrying back a cut-glass bowl of ice. “Thank you, dear. Set it right here.”

  But before she could reach the table, Jonathan stood and took the bowl and set it on the glass-topped serving cart. “Now, who would like more ice in their tea? Grace, here is a glass for you.” At the censorious look on his mother’s face, he caught his error. “Mary Anne, would you please hand this to Miss Knutson? And the plate of cookies too.”

  “I’d like more ice.” Mrs. Gould held her glass up. “Please.” She looked at her daughter. “Were there no servants available to help you?”

  Mary Anne held the plate for Grace. “No, Mother, and Cook was up to her elbows in flour getting ready for the—” She stopped, glanced at Jonathan, and set the plate back on the table after taking two cookies, one lemon and one spiced, and sat in her chair, swinging her legs as she took the first bite.

  Jonathan watched his sister for a moment then turned toward his mother. “Father referred to a surprise in his letter, and I sense busyness among the staff today. Anything special going on?”

  Mrs. Gould smiled. “Well, yes. I’d have rather waited until dinner, but since you’ve been so observant, we have some guests coming tonight. I know you’re probably tired, but this was the only evening she was available, and I knew you wouldn’t want to miss seeing her again.”

  His face flushed and jaw tightened. “Who would that be, Mother?”

  “The Bloomquist niece from Chicago, whom you spent so much time with over the Christmas holidays. She was disappointed when she arrived at the shore and found you were in North Dakota, so we arranged a small dinner party this evening.”

  Jonathan looked like he’d swallowed bees. “Mother, I have absolutely no interest in the Bloomquist niece. I was simply being polite at Christmas, and she was the least obnoxious of all the young ladies.”

  Grace saw Mary Anne hide a giggle behind her cookie.

  “Her family has excellent connections, Jonathan. I am shocked at your rudeness.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I really did not expect to be social on my first night home.”

  Mrs. Gould turned back to Grace. “There is sugar and lemon for your tea if you prefer.�
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  Grace set her glass down. “No thank you. This is very good.” She tried to keep track of the conversation, but weariness was not only catching up with her but running her down. Also, she felt she was intruding on a family issue. She nibbled the cookies, drank her tea, and wished she were at home. Trying to hide a yawn behind her hand, she drank some more iced tea.

  She glanced up in time to see a frown flitter across Mrs. Gould’s forehead. Jonathan touched her arm. “Mother wondered if you would like to take a nap before dinner.”

  “Oh yes, please. Pardon me, I had no idea I was so tired.”

  “I’ll take you.” Mary Anne slid off her chair, stuffed a cookie into her pocket, and took Grace’s hand. “Miss Knutson is going to teach me sign language. Would you like to learn too, Mother?”

  “We shall see.” She smiled at Grace. “I’m sure you will feel better after a lie-down. I return from a train trip exhausted. Why, it takes me two or three days to recuperate.”

  “Yes. Thank you, ma’am—Mrs. Gould.” Grace followed her escort; sure she was as glad to be away from there as Mary Anne was.

  Grace removed her shoes and lay down on the bed, wishing she could stay awake long enough to take a bath. But with the state she was in, she might fall asleep and drown. Falling asleep was like tumbling down the rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland.

  Darkness, but for a small lit lamp by the door, filled the room as Grace fought to remember where she was. How long had she been asleep? A light blanket had been placed over her, so someone had come in to check on her. She stretched and wiggled her toes. After making use of the facilities, she returned to her room and turned on the lamp by the bed only to discover a tray with sliced cheese, crackers, a little dish of blueberries and cream, and several of the cookies like those she’d had with the iced tea. A folded little piece of stiff paper lay beside the spoon. She unfolded it and read, Since you missed dinner, I brought you something in case you are hungry. The childish hand was signed Mary Anne.

  For a moment a twinge of guilt for missing dinner pinged inside her, quickly replaced by relief. She thought Mrs. Gould was probably relieved too, since she had invited the young lady as a special treat for Jonathan. Not that she herself was any competition or would even be considered as such by Mrs. Gould.

  Grace slipped out of her white lawn waist and black serge skirt. Since her trunk and valise were nowhere in sight, she checked the chest of drawers and located a nightdress. Once she’d divested herself of the remainder of her clothing, she hung the skirt and waist in the armoire and laid the other things in an empty drawer. No pegs on walls here, that was for certain. She climbed back up on the bed, reached over for the tray, and with her knees bent and her gown bunched around her feet, nibbled at each of the offerings, enjoying the blueberries with cream most of all. When she’d finished it all, she set the tray back, folded down the quilt cover, and slid between ironed sheets faintly scented with lavender.

  With a sigh she thought of home. Her mother wouldn’t believe the opulence of this house—she would enjoy the beauty, especially the roses. If only Astrid were here, she wouldn’t feel so intimidated by Mrs. Gould. Had she felt that way with Mr. Gould when he came to Blessing? She thought not, but then he was the guest not the host. Did that make a difference?

  The next morning the tray was gone and so were her clothes she’d taken off the night before.

  A note on the lamp table said to come down for breakfast whenever she woke or to pull the cord in the corner one time to order her meal brought to her room. Grace made up the bed, making sure there were no wrinkles so that it looked the same as when she arrived, found more of her unmentionables in the drawer, and ambled into the bathroom. The bathtub was calling her name.

  Turning on the taps and watching the tub fill was a delight in its own right. She didn’t have to lug the water into the house, heat it on the stove, haul in the washtub, pour in the hot and cold water, and set up the screen so that no one would surprise her. Inspecting the bottles on the shelf at the high end of the tub, she found lavender, rose petal, and a fragrance she couldn’t define. Bath salts—whatever were they for? She followed the instructions and tossed a handful of lavender into the steaming water. Too hot but ah, the fragrance. She turned the hot handle down and raised the cold. When she climbed in, she sank down into the foaming water and leaned back against the slanted end of the tub. What bliss. No wonder in the pictures she’d seen, the bather always looked pleased.

  If only her mother could see her now. What would she say, other than “Don’t waste the water,” of course. So much to write home about already. She slid down to get her hair wet then applied the bottle of lavender shampoo—at least that’s what the label said. Putting a dab in her hand, she rubbed it into her hair and then added a little more. This was better than the rose soap she had purchased at Penny’s store to wash her hair. She lathered and rinsed, soaped herself and rinsed, then pulled the plug in the bottom and watched the water drain away.

  “Mor, somehow we need to get running water into our house. You wouldn’t believe all this.” With a towel wrapped around her hair, she dried off and slipped into her underthings. Would sitting out in the sun to dry her hair be considered seemly? She guessed not. When she returned to her room, she pulled a matching dimity waist and skirt from the closet, holding them up to discover they had been freshly ironed. Who were the invisible people who were doing all these things? She turned from brushing her hair at the window to see a small hand waving from around the slightly open door.

  “Come in.”

  “Oh good. You’re up and dressed. I was beginning to think you would stay in the bathroom all day.” Mary Anne came to stand beside her. “Would you like me to bring up a tray? Or Fiona will.”

  “Is it too late for breakfast downstairs?” I can’t believe I slept so long. Mor would be so embarrassed.

  “No.” The girl shrugged. “You can eat any time you like. Cook will fix whatever you want, but I have to tell you, she makes the best muffins in the entire world. Today they are blueberry, my favorite.”

  I don’t have to cook, clear away dishes, take care of my clothes. What will I do all day?

  “You have beautiful hair.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mary Anne sank down on the floor with her elbows on her crossed knees, one of which wore a scab, and watched Grace fluff and brush her hair to dry it. At home she washed it in the rain or with water from the rain barrel and let the clean Dakota wind blow it dry. In the winter they dried their hair in the hot air from an open oven door.

  “And you smell good.”

  “Thanks to the bottles in the bath.” Grace kept one eye on her guest so she could see her speak.

  “When are you going to teach me some signs?”

  “When I get my hair dry enough to put it up.”

  “I think you should wear it down. It’s too pretty to wear up.”

  “If only I could, but I must be proper.”

  Mary Anne jumped up and went to the door. She returned, followed by a young woman wearing an apron that covered her from neck to ankle. A white frilled cap sat on her riot of carrot hair. “This is Fiona. She is your maid.”

  My maid? What do I need a maid for? “I am happy to meet you.”

  Fiona gave a slight head bow. “Do you need help with your hair?” She spoke very slowly.

  “You can talk regular. You just have to make sure Miss Knutson can see your face. She reads lips.” Mary Anne leaned against the bed.

  “I see.” But her face said she clearly did not.

  “I am deaf. That means I cannot hear, but I can see what you are saying.” Grace motioned to her ears as she spoke.

  “She also talks with her fingers, but none of us know how to do that except Jonathan. I’m going to learn, though.”

  “Would you like me to help with your hair?” Fiona pointed to the brush and Grace’s head.

  “Why?”

  “Because part of my job is to help you.”

/>   “Did you take my clothes?” Grace wrapped her hair around her fingers and reached for one of her hairpins.

  Fiona nodded. “I’ll be bringing them back this afternoon.” She handed Grace the pins as she needed them. “I am good with hair, miss.”

  Grace caught part of the sentence in the mirror. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Will there be anything else, then?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Instead of going out the door to the hall, Fiona went into the bathroom and returned with the wet towels. “I’ll take care of the bath, miss.” And out the door she went.

  “She’ll make up your bed too. I have to make my own. Mother says that develops character.”

  Grace followed her guide out the door, down the stairs, and into a room taken up by a long table, chairs, and a credenza along the wall. One place remained set.

  She caught Mary Anne’s hand. “Can’t I eat in the kitchen?”

  “You better not. Mother insisted we leave a setting for you. I’ll go tell Cook you’re here.” She pointed to the chair and then headed through another door. There were enough doors in this house to fit an entire boardinghouse.

  Ordering breakfast was another ordeal, and then Mary Anne said her mother wanted to see Grace in the morning room when she was finished. So Grace hurriedly downed coffee, one of the celebrated blueberry muffins, slices of bacon, and more blueberries and cream. She started to pick up her dishes, but Mary Anne shook her head.

  What would she do without her guide?

  Mary Anne led her past the music room and the inviting French doors and into another room, where Mrs. Gould sat at a desk, still in a dressing gown, the remains of her breakfast on a tray. The tray sat on a low table in front of a flowered chintz sofa. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows like in the other rooms, dancing on brass fittings and throwing rainbows on the tables through crystal dangles.