A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  Grace stared at the colors, entranced by the light. She smiled at Mrs. Gould. “How very lovely.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Please sit down so you and I can have a chat. Mary Anne, will you have Nettie bring us more tea? You do drink tea?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for the beautiful room. I apologize that I slept through dinner.” And so late this morning.

  “You were exhausted. I am surprised you are up so early this morning.”

  Grace glanced at an ornate clock on the desk. Surely the hands didn’t say eleven o’clock. She’d never slept so late unless she was sick. But then she’d taken a bath too. Uff da. What would Mor say?

  Mrs. Gould rose and came to sit by Grace on the sofa. “I have some suggestions that I would like to share with you, so please do not take what I say the wrong way.”

  Grace had no idea what was coming or what she should say, so she said nothing.

  “I asked Jonathan if this would be all right, and he said to go ahead. I know you had to leave without a lot of preparation, so I would like my seamstress to sew you some new gowns. We have a party coming up, and I know you have nothing formal to wear. I thought of using some of Lillian’s dresses, but you and she are not the same size. She was hoping to meet you, but they sailed for London two days ago.”

  As Mrs. Gould kept turning away from her, Grace struggled to follow the conversation. Finally she got the sense of it. Grace raised a hand. “But I can sew and—”

  “I’m sure you can, dear, but we want to have the party before Jonathan has to leave for school, and he wants you included. You see what a short time we have. My seamstress will be here within the hour to measure you and bring samples of dress goods.”

  “I appreciate your generosity, Mrs. Gould, but I thought I was only here for a short visit, and—”

  Mrs. Gould cut her off. “Yes, but we don’t want to appear too unprepared now, do we? Besides, this will help you make a good impression at the school for your interview.”

  “Tea, ma’am.” Another maid, wearing the same uniform as Fiona, set a tray on the table and removed the first. “Anything else?”

  “You may pour.” She turned back to Grace. “Do you take milk or lemon?”

  Grace shook her head. It seemed that Mrs. Gould had decided she did not meet their standards. And these were the people her family considered friends? Although Grace could not hear Mrs. Gould’s tone of voice, she recognized her urgency. Now she knew what it felt like to be run over by a runaway six-up team hauling a wagonload of grain.

  WOULD HE NEVER BE ALONE WITH GRACE?

  Amazing how quickly he’d forgotten the strictures of propriety in his mother’s house. Jonathan thought back to Blessing, where he had been welcomed as a member of the family. After only a few days they had all dropped the formality and called him Jonathan. Astrid told him to call them by their first names—the girls, that is. He’d always referred to the adults as mister and missus. But in his mind he called them Ingeborg and Haakan sometimes, wishing he could use the Far and Mor addresses the families used.

  Mary Anne had adopted Grace as her own personal mentor and herself as guardian. While their mother thought it cute and he was grateful, he knew Grace was being made comfortable. He ached to touch her hand again, to resume long conversations like they’d had on the train. Living in his mother’s house was like playing a game. While he knew the rules, he no longer wished to play by them. But he also knew he must not let his mother have any sense of his real feelings for Grace. Especially after the surprise dinner she’d held on his first evening home. What connection was she trying to make this time?

  His only reprieve was the sign language lessons with Grace and, of course, Mary Anne, who was learning so much more quickly than he that it was embarrassing. He checked the clock and headed for the library, where they met. Sometimes, when she could get away, Fiona joined them. And while Daniel and David thought it interesting, they came and went.

  His mother claimed to be too busy to learn sign language.

  “Good morning.” Grace both signed and spoke slowly, so they could be learning from the very beginning of the hour.

  “Good morning.” The words came easier than the signs, so Grace signed good morning again.

  Jonathan watched her graceful fingers carefully and then concentrated on making his fingers do the same. When she nodded, he felt like the sun had just come out.

  “I copied some signs onto paper for you to take with you, so you can practice on your own. Mary Anne, please sign your name for me and hand out the papers.”

  Mary Anne’s fingers flew. “Mary Anne Adele Gould.” At Grace’s smile and nod, she did as directed.

  Fiona stumbled on her middle name. Grace corrected her and complimented her when she did it right.

  Jonathan found himself in a quandary. If he did it right, he’d be blessed by an angel smile. If he did it wrong, she would hold his hands to shape the letters correctly. He chose to do it right.

  “Why does she”—he nodded to Mary Anne—“learn this so much faster than the rest of us?”

  “She practices continually. Watch her when she is walking.”

  “Mary Anne,” Fiona signed, then sighed and finished, “rarely walks.”

  They all laughed because it was so true, no matter how hard her mother tried to correct her behavior.

  “I cannot …” Mary Anne’s tongue peeked from between her teeth. “H-e-l—” She looked up at Grace. “What is p?”

  Grace showed her and Mary Anne finished with “it.” She beamed her pleasure. “I sure wish we could do this outside.”

  “Is there any reason we can’t?” Jonathan’s gaze had strayed to the window once or twice too.

  Fiona looked at the clock. “Miss Knutson has a fitting in fifteen minutes.”

  Grace rolled her eyes.

  Jonathan had a pretty good idea what she really thought of all the fittings, the choosing of accessories, shoes, hats. She’d far rather be in the classroom or out weeding the garden. The gardener had commented that he’d found her out weeding and transplanting a wayward marigold just after sunrise. He said she was most delightful company and wished she was staying for a longer visit.

  Everyone seemed to love Grace except for the most important person—his mother, who still held herself in reserve. And Mrs. Smithston, who always copied her mistress.

  But Father would be back soon, and that might ease their chill toward Grace. Jonathan wasn’t sure whether his mother felt Grace was too below them socially or if her deafness offended her in some way.

  Grace pinned up a paper with words on it. Please, thank you, ear, nose, eyes, face, and chin. She made the signs for each as she read them. “Soon some of these will be so natural you’ll forget that you are signing, which is really an entirely new language.”

  Jonathan realized he had missed most of these words in his early lessons. But then he had been concentrating more on chores and farm items.

  “Can you sign in French?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Sign what you are able when you speak.”

  “But then I have to talk so slow.” As if doing anything slow was the end of the world. “Can you sign—” she grew frustrated, wrinkling her face, but continued to the end—“in French?”

  “Excellent. But no, I cannot. I did not learn that language. I had enough trouble with the two I was already working in—sign and English. I do speak some Norwegian, but I am harder to understand in Norwegian than English.” Her smile was definitely teasing. She paused.

  Jonathan could tell she was thinking. She always wore that same bemused look. “Signing Norwegian would not be difficult. There are only a few letters that are different.” She swiftly formed a j and an a for ja. “That means yes.” Jonathan heard footsteps coming down the hall. Surely it was someone coming to tell Grace the seamstress had arrived. While he knew the party was in his honor, he wished his mother had not planned one. Especially not when this would be Grace’s introduction to society, even though
his mother said it would be informal. The word informal did not mean the same to his mother as to some other people. But a Saturday afternoon fete was definitely preferable to an evening cotillion. He would have much rather gone to the shore as he’d told Grace they would. He’d wanted to share with her all the things he most enjoyed. He thought she seemed disappointed too.

  He had watched Grace manage to disappear when in large groups of people. She faded into the background and could be found making sure someone else was comfortable. As a guest of honor, she would not be able to do that at the party. She danced all right. If he could dance with her throughout the hours of the fete, he was sure he could keep something bad from happening, but that was impossible.

  At the doorway Mrs. Smithston cleared her throat. When Jonathan realized Grace did not see her, he stood so Grace couldn’t miss him and then nodded over his shoulder.

  “Oh, thank you.” She dismissed the class, making her way to the door. The brief smiles she had shared with them suddenly became swallowed up in a mask. It was the same look she had worn after Toby had humiliated her. What was going on when he wasn’t around?

  Jonathan caught a narrowed-eyed look from the housekeeper. Why was she having such a hard time understanding that Grace was deaf, not ignorant or deliberately impolite? He saw Grace bite her lower lip slightly and realized she’d seen the look too. How many more did she get that he did not see? Mrs. Smithston was either over-stepping her authority or within his mother’s boundaries. Both possibilities made him very uncomfortable.

  Friday Jonathan and Grace were walking along the gravel paths in the rose garden, with her and Mary Anne pausing to inhale the fragrances of every other bush, when he saw his father step out onto the slate of the veranda. Jonathan waved, catching Mary Anne’s attention at the same time.

  “Father’s home.” Mary Anne grabbed Grace’s hand and tugged her back up the path. “Come along, he’s been looking forward to seeing you again.” She’d paused and faced Grace so they could talk.

  Jonathan felt a burst of pride, colored with delight in the caring his little sister showed to Grace. No matther how much he wished for time alone with Grace, he realized the advantages of having the three of them together. He caught Grace’s glance down at her skirt, as if unsure if she were dressed right. She’d never used to worry about things like that, one of the many things he liked about her.

  “Don’t worry. You look lovely.” When her smiled trembled slightly, it was all he could do to not take her hand and tuck it in his arm.

  Instead, she allowed Mary Anne to lead her up the path, with him following.

  “Ah, Miss Knutson, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” His father’s smile could have melted a frozen lake.

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

  Was Jonathan the only one to pick up on her slight hesitation? He glanced at Mary Anne, who nibbled on her bottom lip, a sure sign that she was concerned.

  “Grace is teaching me to sign.”

  “Really? What a wonderful idea.” His father smiled down at Mary Anne. He leaned over slightly and lowered his voice. “But shouldn’t you be calling her Miss Knutson?”

  Mary Anne rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I s’pose so, but she is my friend.”

  “And I asked her to call me Grace.”

  Jonathan caught the glint in his father’s eyes and kept a grin from his own face. What his mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Or them.

  His father motioned to the garden chairs. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable. Mary Anne, perhaps you would go ask Cook for some refreshments to be brought out here. Then go ask your mother if she would like to join us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jonathan swallowed another smile as Mary Anne leaped over one stair and then after a quick glance at the house windows made herself walk instead of run. Irrepressible fit his little sister. And he loved her for it.

  His father seated Grace, usurping Jonthan’s chance to take her hand, so he sat next to her and leaned back in his chair. In Blessing they’d never had time to sit like this. Grace or Astrid would have gone inside for the tray with glasses and most likely made the swizzle or lemonade before returning.

  Did Grace miss her life there? If so, she’d been good at hiding her feelings.

  By Saturday afternoon, Jonathan wished he and Grace were anywhere but there. Foreboding hung on his shoulders like half-full grain sacks. The air added more weight. While many of their friends were still at the shore, some had returned to the city to attend the party. He paced at the bottom of the staircase, hearing his mother greet some of the guests and guide them to the veranda, where refreshments were being served.

  What was keeping Grace? He started up the steps but paused when Mary Anne at the top shook her head. Grace appeared beside her, fashionably clad in a light blue gown sprigged with white daisies, the neckline lined with white lace. With the short puffed sleeves and a ruffle around the bottom, she looked like she was drifting on a cloud of flowers. Her hair was gathered up in back, and ringlets tumbled down from a bow matching the dress. He’d never seen her look more beautiful.

  As she came down the stairs, he stepped up to meet her and offered his arm. “You look so lovely, I cannot begin to say what I feel.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile hid the trembling he felt in her hand.

  “You’ll be fine.” Please, Lord, let it be so. While he’d not been much of a praying man most of his life, he’d learned much from those in Blessing who had an honest regard for the Father and a willingness to speak their faith and voice their needs. And right now, he knew he needed divine help. Together they walked out the French doors and joined the milling guests. Should he tell people Grace could not hear and they needed to face her, tell them that was the reason for her strange speech? Or had his mother already begun to spread the word? What could he do to make this easier for her?

  A business associate of his father’s greeted him. “Jonathan, my boy, welcome back from the wilds of North Dakota.” He reached out to shake his hand. “How did you manage, banished from civilization like that?”

  “Quite well, thank you. I’d like you to meet a friend of ours who came back to go to school here in the city. Miss Grace Knutson, Mr. Simpson.”

  “I am pleased to meet you.” Grace spoke slowly and as clearly as she was able, her hand tightening on his arm.

  The man looked at her, glanced at Jonathan, and then smiled a bit too broadly. “Welcome to New York, Miss Knutson. You are from North Dakota?”

  “Yes. Blessing, North Dakota.”

  “Blessing, did you say? Strange name for a town.”

  Her glance up at him prompted Jonathan to add for her, “The women outvoted the men when it was time to name the growing town. The settlement began in 1880 when the Bjorklunds arrived there to homestead.” The pressure on his arm told of her appreciation.

  “Sounds like you got to know a lot about the place.” Simpson beckoned his wife over. “This is Miss Knutson from North Dakota, where Jonathan went for the summer.”

  Mrs. Simpson smiled up at Jonathan, almost including Grace in the gesture. She tapped his arm with her fan. “We missed you at the shore, young man. Delia and the other girls, especially.”

  “I’m sure they found someone else to devil.”

  “You might be surprised. They are all becoming most attractive young ladies. I hope you found time to keep your tennis arm strong. They’ve set up a tournament for next weekend,

  “Oh, my arm is strong enough, but I’m not sure if I’ll have time.” He noticed Mary Anne motioning them from the edge of the crowd. Saved by his little sister. “Excuse us. Mother said we need to mingle. Greet the girls for me.”

  That the woman had made no effort to talk to Grace at all set his collar to steaming. Had she always been that rude? He tried to think back. She’d always been one to tell everyone what to do and made sure her daughters were mixing with the proper people. Mrs. Simpson and his mo
ther were good friends. What had his mother told her?

  Mary Anne handed Grace a fan. “Do you know how to use one?”

  “It’s difficult to sign if I am fanning my face.”

  “No one else can sign here anyway, so it don’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t.” Grace and Jonathan corrected her at the same time, then turned to smile at each other. The blue dress made her gray eyes look blue. He thought he might be falling into them.

  Mary Anne stared up through her fringe. Grace missed her comment and Jonathan pinched the girl, sending her away giggling.

  “Would you like some refreshments?”

  “Yes, please.” She slipped the loop on the fan over her wrist and let it dangle. She glanced over to see Mr. Simpson look her way and read his lips.

  “Pretty little thing, isn’t she? But her voice has a …”

  She felt the blush begin at her toes and work its way upward. If only she could leave the gathering. If only she could get on the train heading west. But … why was there always a but?

  She accepted the cup of pink liquid Jonathan handed her, smiling her thanks over the rim. Hot as the weather was, she could drink the entire thing in one gulp. That would surely shock someone watching her. She felt eyes on her from every direction. She held the cup out for a refill.

  Jonathan touched her arm, and when she looked at him he asked, “Are you hungry?”

  She sipped her punch again and shook her head. Let’s just get this over with.

  Jonathan took her empty cup and set it on the tray of a passing servant. “Let’s go back into the fray.”

  “When can I leave?”

  His chuckle at her determined look drew the attention of those nearby.

  The people she met became a blur of color, perfumes, gowns, and various degrees of curiosity and interest. One woman Grace fell in love with immediately. Jonathan introduced her as Mrs. Wooster. “With a W,” he said, making the sign for the letter.

  “You dear boy, you are learning to sign so you can help your friend. What a good idea.” She turned to Grace. “I so admire your grit, young lady. Why, when Geraldine told me about your difficulty, it near to broke my heart. Come humor an old woman, and let’s sit down. These slippers are killing my feet.”