A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  Grace breathed a sigh of relief. Finally someone who was not uncomfortable around her. She felt as if she should be waving her arms and crying Unclean! the way some of the guests were acting.

  “So now—” Mrs. Wooster beckoned to one of the servants, who came over instantly—“we would like punch for the three of us, some of those tea sandwiches, and whatever else you think we are missing.”

  “Yes, madam.” The man bowed slightly. “I will send someone with the punch immediately.”

  Grace glanced at Jonathan to see laughter dancing in his eyes. He liked this woman too. But then, who wouldn’t? Ah, I wonder if her directness has caused some of these others offense. How did Jonathan ever fit into life in Blessing so well when this is what he came from? No wonder Astrid was all set to not like him.

  “Thank you.” Amazing how quickly the punch appeared. When that man said immediately, he meant it.

  Mrs. Wooster took a long swallow. “I always say, ask for what you want and do it firmly. That way there is no confusion.”

  Jonathan nodded. “But I have never seen you to be anything but polite.”

  “Others might not agree with you, but thank you anyway.” She turned to Grace. “What can I do to help you?”

  “Help me what?”

  “To start with—” she motioned to the people around them— “these ninnies, as an example.”

  Jonathan choked on his punch and had to thump his chest. “Pardon me.” He coughed again. “Whew, you got me on that one.”

  “Good. There is hope for you, but I’ve always known that.”

  Grace locked her lower lip between her teeth. If only Tante Ingeborg and Mor could meet Mrs. Wooster. But even they would be amazed at her calling the other guests ninnies.

  The woman turned back to Grace. “Now I know you read lips. That is how you understand what people are saying. I read about this in a journal that I subscribe to.”

  “Many people, not just the deaf, learn to do this,” Grace answered. “It would be very useful for politicians.”

  Mrs. Wooster tipped her head to the side, much like a hen peering at a bug on the ground. “You, my dear, have a lot to offer, if only people will listen beyond your speaking.” She looked around the gathering, shaking her head. “Sadly, too many won’t. But …” She nodded to the young woman who set two plates of food in front of them. “Thank you.”

  So it was polite to thank servants. Grace tucked that away in her memory. She was glad she’d been doing so anyway. I wonder just how bad I do sound. No one in Blessing ever said, but then, they wouldn’t.

  “How did you learn to speak?”

  “The same way I learned to sign. My mother helped me, and I kept at it until I succeeded.”

  “And your mother runs a school for the deaf?”

  “Yes. Some of the students are in a sorry state when they come to us because of neglect or ignorance, but once they learn to sign so they can communicate with others, they are changed. Then they must learn skills to help them in life. When they have a good grasp on signing, they can attend the school in Blessing, where all the teachers can sign too.”

  “Your mother is a saint.”

  “Yes, she is.” Jonathan motioned to the sandwiches. “Help yourself.”

  Grace bit into a slice of cucumber on soft cheese on a circle of rye bread. It would take both those plates to fill one of my brothers, especially in the summer. What would they think of bite-sized sandwiches and tiny bits of cake? Why, they would laugh themselves silly over this.

  Mrs. Wooster looked at the food, then at Grace. “I never gave a lot of thought to being able to hear until recently. My hearing is not as good as it used to be. I find myself saying, ‘Pardon me,’ more often and, ‘Will you please repeat that?’ Sometimes it is easier to just nod and pretend I understand and hope I don’t make too big a fool of myself.”

  “Yes, that is it.” Grace laid her hand on the back of the woman’s liver-spotted one. “Thank you.”

  “You are indeed welcome. Now, I hear you are giving classes in signing here at the Goulds’. Would it be possible for me to join you?”

  Grace stared at her, fighting to comprehend. “B-but why?”

  “Because I want to learn something new and—” she tapped Grace’s hand with her fan—“I like you and what you are doing.”

  Grace looked to Jonathan, who said, “Of course she can come.”

  But will your mother be pleased with this?

  Mrs. Wooster wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Now I must let you two young people go and mingle. I have used up too much of your time. I see your mother glowering at me.” She took Grace’s hand. “What time on Monday should I be here?”

  “One o’clock?”

  “Done.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “Off with you now.”

  Grace stood and allowed Jonathan to guide her by touching her elbow. She glanced at Mrs. Gould and saw her talking with someone else. Jonathan introduced her to several other people, and she was content to try to keep up with the conversations. Being with one or two people was far easier than in groups of four or five or more.

  She glanced about the gathering and saw several younger women, more her age, staring at her. One tipped her head and said to another, “Why would they let her be here? She can’t even talk right. Isn’t there a place for people like that?”

  Grace felt like she’d been struck in the midsection and all her air forced out. She had to get out of there. “Excuse me,” she said and, head held high, made her way toward the stairs. She forced the tears back. She would not let these people see her cry. Mor, I want to come home. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to be here. But I know it’s important for you that I see the school. Mrs. Wooster is right. What you do is important, and I can’t let you down because I’m homesick. But this loneliness is as bad as losing Toby, only in a different way. Living here makes me feel like I am disappearing.

  I AM GOING HOME! You can’t go home. You have work to do here! Let someone else. I’m going home. Grace paced the length of her room and back, caught in a world of no sound, yet her mind yelling at her.

  Mary Anne came and stood inside the door until Grace saw her.

  “What?” At the child’s crestfallen look, Grace stopped and took a deep breath before answering. “I am sorry. What is it?”

  “Jonathan is worried about you. He’s right outside the door.”

  “Tell him to come in.”

  “I can’t. That would not be proper, and Mother would be upset.”

  And we cannot upset Mother. No one in Blessing ever had time to worry about upsetting Mor or Ingeborg or any of the other mothers. Except maybe Mrs. Valders. And she made a living out of being upset. People there got upset about cattle dying and prairie fires and drought. About too much rain, a hailstorm or … She paused in her inner diatribe. What would Mrs. Gould do if she got upset? Grace leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. I am upset and I can’t do anything about it. Other than to turn the other cheek. The verse she’d learned long ago flittered like a butterfly through her mind. Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. She laid the flat of her hands against her cheeks. She closed her eyes and thought of more of that Scripture. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.

  She’d been ready to give them a piece of her mind, not the cloak off her shoulders. Love your enemies … do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you. She felt a small hand tug at the fan dangling from her wrist. She looked down into Mary Anne’s sad eyes.

  “I don’t know what made you sad, but me and Jonathan, we want to help.”

  Grace knelt in front of her. “You help all the time. I do not know how I could bear to be here were you not my friend.”

  Mary Anne stepped into her embrace and patted her back, then leaned backward to look into her face. “Come. Let’s go to the library. No one else ever goes in there b
ut Father.”

  Together the two walked out the door hand in hand. Jonathan studied her face, nodded, and took Mary Anne’s hand.

  “We’re going to the library.”

  “Good.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked when they’d sat down in the chairs in front of the fireplace that now housed a huge bouquet of roses, the perfume filling the air. Grace inhaled the scent that brought back home, and the loneliness rose up like a fog.

  “I read someone’s lips and they said something that made me realize how much I don’t belong here and how much I miss home.”

  “Who?”

  “It is not important. If I am to make my way in life, I need to learn to turn the other cheek.”

  “Then they’ll smack you on that one.” Mary Anne sat on a hassock with her skirt wrapped tight over her knees. “Better to punch ’em back first.”

  “Don’t let Mother hear you say that.”

  “I won’t.” She looked up at Grace. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  “Well, I’m hoping they choose to let me into school, and then I will most likely live there.”

  “You could live here, and McHenry would drive you to school like he does me and the boys.”

  “I think it is too far for that, but thank you.” Another day here feels impossible already, except for you and Jonathan.

  “You can come home on weekends.” Mary Anne looked to Jonathan. “You could too.”

  “I’ll be too far away to come home often, but I’ll write you letters.”

  “Like you did this summer?” Her raised eyebrows said what she thought of his letter writing.

  “I’m sorry. This will be different.” He leaned forward. “I need to go back outside and make another appearance. Do you want to come, Grace, or stay here?”

  “Grace and me will come soon.”

  “And I,” Grace signed and said automatically.

  “I said you. Oh. Grace and I.”

  Jonathan left the room, his shoulders shaking in what Grace knew to be mirth. Mary Anne gave those around there plenty to laugh about. What a shame that her mother failed to see the humor in her delightful daughter.

  A few minutes later, feeling calmer, she pulled Mary Anne, who was practicing her signs, to her feet, and together they returned to the patio, where fewer people made it more pleasant. The younger people had moved out to where a croquet game was laid out and seemed to be having a good time. Some of the others had set up card games at two tables, and the rest were visiting while one portly gentleman slept in a chair off the flagstone and in the shade of the mulberry tree.

  Grace saw that Jonathan and his father were talking with another gentleman she was sure she’d been introduced to but could not remember his name. At his mother’s beckoning, she crossed to where Mrs. Gould sat with two of her friends, including Mrs. Wooster.

  “Are you all right now?” Mrs. Gould asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Grace started to make an excuse but decided not to.

  “I am glad to hear that. Perhaps you would like to join the others.” She motioned toward the game.

  “I will observe from here. I do not know how to play.”

  “I will teach you,” Mary Anne said. She had squeezed Grace’s hand to let her know to look down.

  “Could I bring any of you something to drink?” Grace asked.

  “That’s what—” Mrs. Gould cut off her comment.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Mrs. Wooster replied, her eyes twinkling. Her nod to Geraldine prompted a different ending.

  “And me.”

  “Make that three,” Mrs. Wooster added.

  Grace caught her sideways glance, realizing she had missed a comment. Bless that woman. What a kind heart she had. She brought back three cups of punch, feeling like a little girl afraid to drop what she was carrying.

  She started to turn away after their thanks, but Mrs. Wooster tapped her arm with her fan. Grace was beginning to realize that fans could be used for all kinds of things. “Yes?”

  “Geraldine tells me you have an interview at the Fenway School on Monday.”

  Grace nodded and smiled her thanks to Mrs. Gould.

  “I would be interested in accompanying you, if you would permit me. I know Mr. Gould and Jonathan will be with you, but I have a great curiosity regarding that school, thanks to you, and this way I could learn more firsthand.”

  Grace hadn’t known both Jonathan and his father were taking her, but she smiled and responded in the only way she could. “Of course. I would be delighted.” At the same time she was wondering why Mrs. Wooster would want to do that.

  Later, after the guests had left and the family was gathered in the music room, Mrs. Gould leaned forward. “Do you know who Mrs. Wooster is?”

  She actually looked animated, Grace realized, as if someone had given her a gift.

  “A very kind lady who is interested in a great many things?” Grace had no idea what was the proper answer.

  “Yes, she is that, but she also owns a goodly portion of New York City. And is renowned for her philanthropic activities. Perhaps she will decide to add the school for the deaf to her list of charities.”

  “That would be most generous of her.” She smiled at Mary Anne, who came to sit beside her. “We might have to change the time of our lessons on Monday, then.”

  “That’s all right.” Mary Anne signed as she spoke.

  “What’s that you are doing?” her mother asked.

  “Learning to talk in sign language. Grace is teaching me.”

  “Miss Knutson. I had expected just a few signals for communication’s sake, not ongoing sessions. Mary Anne has enough trouble keeping up with her other lessons. You are to stop now.” She looked at her daughter. “Understood?”

  Mary Anne slumped in a sigh. “Yes, Mother. Miss Knutson.”

  Oh, Lord, please may the interview go well, or maybe not, so I can go home. But I cannot live here any longer. It is wrong to accept the Goulds’ hospitality and have these feelings for Mrs. Gould. She seems to admire what Mrs. Wooster owns instead of the person she is.

  “So, Jonathan, what is it you wanted to talk to us about?” Mr. Gould took his favorite chair in front of the marble fireplace in the room designated as the men’s room. Mrs. Gould entered also and settled herself in the chair next to her husband, her needlepoint in hand. She chose a new color and, after threading the needle, began to stitch. Jonathan was too nervous to sit.

  He swallowed around the lump in his chest. He’d put this off as long as he dared, and here it was Sunday evening. He’d rather be playing chess with Daniel anytime, even though he always lost. Or talking with Grace, even though Mary Anne always accompanied her.

  “I thought … I mean, I believe …” He stopped. This was far worse than he imagined. He sighed all the frustration out and started again.

  “Father, Mother, I think I found what I want to do with my life, and the problem is, I’m not sure …” He wanted to say, “I am absolutely sure,” but decided to couch his words in the least offensive way possible. He sucked in and exhaled another breath. “I’m not sure you will be as excited about my plans as I am.”

  “Plans are a good thing.” His father templed his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “What is it you think we will not approve of?”

  “Father, please remember that my going to North Dakota was your idea.”

  “I am aware of that. I made the choice after a lot of deep thought as to what might help you overcome your undisciplined ways.”

  Mrs. Gould shot her husband a look that Jonathan recognized as censorship. Although they never argued or even sharply disagreed in front of their children, Jonathan had learned to recognize the signs, and sometimes, if he were honest, he’d used them against his mother to get what he wanted. This discussion was too important to waste on games, however.

  “I like farming. I liked the hard work and seeing something grow because I planted the seeds. I loved the smell o
f cut grass that became hay. I learned to string fence and care for the animals. I saw the heart-break of losing the livestock, and I felt like I belonged in that small town with such heart that I can’t describe it. I know you’ve always had a great deal of respect for the Bjorklunds and what they do. I want to join them, buy land and cattle and machinery, and …”

  He heard his mother take in a horrified breath but kept his attention on his father.

  “You think you learned enough this summer to take on a farm of your own?”

  “No, not at all. I learned enough this summer to know that I need to learn a whole lot more. I can begin this in one of two ways: go to work for a farmer, like I did, or go to agriculture school and then work for someone else. Or, there is a third way. School first, then hire a manager with a lifetime of experience to teach me and work beside me.”

  “And where would this agricultural college be?”

  “There is a good one in Grand Forks, North Dakota.”

  “Have you looked into anything in the eastern states?”

  “No. From what I understand, farming the prairies is different from farming here.”

  “We have dairies in New York State, New Jersey, all over. In fact, I found the cows for you in Pennsylvania.”

  “I’m sure there are. But out there, you can see forever. The sky is a huge blue bowl, and storms come across those plains in dancing curtains of rain.”

  “The north wind blows down in the winter with blizzards and cold beyond your wildest imagination,” his father added.

  “I heard stories of it.” At least Father isn’t saying an out-and-out no. He sneaked a peek at his mother. The way the needle flashed in and out of her frame said as much as her pursed lips and wrinkled brow.

  Mr. Gould leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over the other knee, elbows propped on the chair arms. “And what would you use as money to buy this farm? If there were a farm for sale.”