A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  She’d spent much of the night on her knees and searching through her Bible for the promises God had given on healing. Pastor Solberg had given them all a list once, if only she had kept it in her Bible where it belonged. She returned to her letter.

  Hearing that you are on the way to recovery has made us all rejoice. Even the smaller children ask me how my friend is.

  Thanksgiving here was so different from home. While your family invited me to come there, I decided that here was where I could be most helpful. Some of our students could not go home for such a short time, just like at our school in Blessing. So we had a good dinner here and played games in the afternoon. At least they understand enough signs now that I can read to them, and they can follow the story.

  I am looking forward to a letter written by your own hand. However, Mary Anne says she will take dictation and write for you—just in case your hand is too weak.

  Your praying friend,

  Grace Knutson

  She kept herself from writing Your loving friend, as that was not appropriate, even though she was his friend. She knew that for sure, and she most certainly had been thinking about him a lot. She couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled through. She felt as if a part of her would have been lost, and she really didn’t understand why. Maybe this was what a good friend felt like. Before, her closest friends had also been family. Except Toby. But even during times she had felt the need to pray for him, she had not felt this sense of separation. Maybe it was just the distance, she reasoned.

  She slid both pieces of paper into the envelope, addressed it, and set it aside to be mailed when she went down for dinner.

  Since Sunday afternoon had become her letter writing time, she wrote one to her mother, another to Sophie, praying once again for an answer this time, and one to Astrid, knowing full well they would share the news, so she made each one different.

  “Miss Knutson, would you come see me after supper?” Mrs. Callahan stopped by her chair to ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Now, don’t worry. There is nothing wrong.”

  Grace’s heart settled back down out of her throat. This would be a long meal if her worry streak had anything to say about it. One of her Bible verses tiptoed through her mind. Fret not. Fret and worry seemed to be twins. One always traveled with the other. At least here they did. They had never seemed to be her insistent companions in Blessing.

  She watched carefully as one of the children signed for permission to leave the table. “Why?” she signed back. He wrinkled his forehead, so she signed again, “Why?” and spoke the word at the same time.

  He rubbed his tummy and shook his head, then signed, “Sick.”

  She beckoned him to her side and felt his forehead. Sure enough, he was too warm, and he looked a little green. Just as she rose to take him to the infirmary, he vomited all over her apron and the corner of the table. The shocked look in his eyes would have made her smile if he hadn’t been so miserable.

  “Don’t worry,” she signed and reached for an empty bowl, handing it to him to hold in case he needed it. She signaled one of the kitchen helpers to come clean it up, at the same time removing her apron and folding it across the back of the chair. She took his hand and led him out of the room, grateful she’d been able to breathe through her mouth so that she didn’t throw up right after him. While the others had stared round eyed, all of them went back to eating.

  “Richard had an accident at the table, and he really isn’t feeling well,” Grace signed when they reached the nurse’s office.

  “Poor little fellow.” Nurse took his hand and felt his head. She signed, “Come with me,” and he sent Grace a pleading look, so she went along too. He vomited again when they were getting him into a nightshirt, and he started to cry. Nurse sat down in a rocker and motioned him to climb up in her lap. With a sad look over his shoulder to Grace, he did so and leaned against the woman’s soft shoulder.

  “I’ll let you know how he is.”

  “Thank you. I need to get back to my table.” Grace stopped in the bathroom and washed her hands, grateful for the big aprons that protected her clothes. Please, Lord, let it be only an upset stomach, not something serious. Back in the dining room, the mess was cleared away, and one of the older girls had taken her place at the table. Dessert dishes filled with tapioca pudding, topped with crushed peppermint candies, were being served as she sat down in Richard’s place.

  “Is he bad sick?” signed the girl who always sat next to him. While children were assigned tables, they could sit anywhere they wanted at the table. Until they got into a squabble, and then the teachers and assistants took over.

  When the last of the pudding had disappeared, everyone was dismissed and the evening monitors took over. Grace tucked her napkin back into the ring by her place and stood.

  “Will you be joining us in the parlor?” Miss Parke asked. “I brought my knitting, and I was hoping you could find where I went wrong.”

  “I have something else I have to do first, and then I’ll come.” Some of the teachers had asked her to teach them to knit, and now they met once a week for lessons. Unless there was a problem or other responsibilities to attend to, like now. “You most likely dropped a stitch.”

  “Or added an extra.” Miss Parke shook her head. “You make it look so easy.”

  “You are doing well. I’ll be in soon.” All she could think of was the night Mrs. Callahan had come to tell her about Jonathan. Even though the woman had said this was not a bad thing, her stomach said otherwise. Grace tapped on the office door and opened it enough to stick her head in. At Mrs. Callahan’s smile and beckoning hand, she entered and took the chair next to the low table that was indicated. She clasped her hands in her lap, the better to keep them from trembling.

  “Now, Grace, I told you not to worry.”

  “I know.” She forced herself to smile.

  “I have a problem, and I’m hoping you can help me solve it.”

  “If I can.”

  “Here is the situation. Miss Dunkirk has received a letter saying that her mother is ill and needs her daughter home to help take care of her. She needs to leave in the morning, and I was wondering if you would be willing to step into her place?”

  Grace stared at her, wondering for a moment if she heard correctly. “You want me to be a full-time teacher?”

  “Yes. Starting immediately. And I have a strong feeling that Susan will not be coming back for some time.”

  “What about my studies?”

  “I am sure you will pick up whatever you may need as you go along. The rest of us will assist you any way we can.”

  Grace stared at her mentor and tried to stop her churning thoughts.

  “The pay will be what we always start beginning teachers at.” She named a figure that made Grace swallow quickly.

  “Are-are you sure I am worth that?”

  “Oh, I am sure. Your patience and gentle spirit have earned you many accolades from other teachers already.”

  “I’ll still be able to go home for Christmas?”

  “Oh yes. The school is closed down for the holidays, starting on December twenty-first.” She paused. “Somehow I thought you were going to New York City to be with the Gould family for Christmas.”

  Grace realized what she had said. Home. A wave of homesickness rolled over her so mercilessly she could scarcely catch her breath. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “That is what I meant, of course.” Like a little child with a stuck-out lip, something inside her insisted, I want to go home to Blessing. Home is not New York City.

  “Let’s walk up to your classroom. I’ll send for Susan to join us, and she can show you around. Have you been in her classroom before?”

  “No. I’ve only assisted with the beginning signing classes.”

  After receiving Miss Dunkirk’s schedule and an overview of the class projects, Grace headed back to her room with her mind swimming. But underneath anoth
er thought kept nibbling. Maybe, just maybe, with the pay Mrs. Callahan had stated, she could go home to Blessing for Christmas. Yet she had promised the Goulds, especially Jonathan and Mary Anne.

  Teaching four classes of primary a day and spending the remainder of the time preparing for those classes gave Grace an increase in respect for all the teachers she had known. There was a big difference between assisting and teaching. By the time she could finally fall into bed, only her prayers for Jonathan’s healing occurred before sleep claimed her. And gratitude that Richard was better and a virus had not spread through the classes. So on the third morning she asked their floor maid to wake her half an hour earlier so she could read all the promise verses again and ask for wisdom for herself as a teacher. She flipped pages until she reached Proverbs to remind herself that God gives wisdom to all who ask for it. It sounded like wisdom and insight liked to travel together, so she stored the verses deep in her heart. At the same time, her heart was at war again over promises made and heartache for Blessing. Please show me, Lord, what is your will. Is it a waste to spend the money going home?

  Still she packaged the presents she had bought for her family and shipped them off, praying over each person, imagining their faces when they opened their gifts.

  The final week of school approached and with it finally a letter from Jonathan in his own hand. What a relief that he was strong enough to write himself. Thank you, Lord, for your healing hand. At his comments regarding his mother’s level of overcare, Grace smiled and then frowned. Mrs. Gould would not be pleased at having Jonathan’s attentions upon her at her visit. But she had promised.

  Then she opened Tante Ingeborg’s letter. She could smell the coffee on the paper and pictured her writing in the kitchen by lamplight. A wave of homesickness struck her again as her aunt’s love flowed through the pages. Her aunt informed her that Astrid might try the school in Grand Forks after all, for the winter session—just to see.

  Grace grabbed a piece of scratch paper and scribbled out the costs of being at the school until June and added her pay as a teacher. It would be tight, but it was possible. She had already spent her extra money on Christmas presents. Her heart decided. I have to go home.

  The last two days were spent in class parties and making cookies and candy for the children to take home to their families. She tucked that idea away to use in her mother’s school. After all, the children were too excited to settle down anyway, let alone some of the teachers, like her.

  She sent two telegrams. One to Jonathan apologizing for not stopping to visit on her way west, as she would not make it home in time for Christmas if she did. He had accepted her news that she was going home so kindly that it hurt to send this telegram. Maybe she could stop on the way back, she thought, to make it up to him and Mary Anne. The other telegram she sent to her family with a sense of excitement, saying she was coming home after all.

  After the staff saw all the children off and cleaned up their class-rooms, they gathered in the parlor for tea and Christmas goodies, sharing their Christmas plans and appreciating the lack of children’s feet thundering vibrations on the halls and stairways. Grace had always thought it interesting that so many deaf children could still create a sense of internal noise just by their busyness.

  Mrs. Callahan moved from teacher to teacher, handing out envelopes. “I’m sorry this couldn’t be more but know that it comes with my heartfelt gratitude for the superb jobs you all do. I could not ask for a more dedicated staff, and I am grateful to each one of you for the love and care you give our students.”

  When they all opened their cards, Grace was surprised to find enough money there to pay for her ticket to Blessing. She shot a surprised look at Mrs. Callahan, who just smiled and nodded. A second smaller envelope held her pay, which, since she’d held the teacher position for such a short time, was not much but seemed so, as she’d never worked at a job that paid regular money before. Most of her time in Blessing had always been spent helping out a family member. While Bridget had sometimes paid the girls when they worked at the boardinghouse, this was different. She was not only earning her room and board but enough to pay for her own schooling, and now this on top of all that. God had provided more than she could imagine. Her continuing guilt at not keeping her promise dissolved when she recognized this gift as from His hand.

  Grace tucked the envelopes into her skirt pocket. If she wanted to purchase something, she could do that. If she wanted to buy something for someone else or put money in the offering plate, she was free to do so. Or add to her sugar bowl, as her mother referred to the savings she always kept in a sugar tin in the cupboard.

  The thoughts leaped and whirled in her mind like the fall leaves playing in a brisk breeze that she’d watched from her window. There would be more envelopes with money in them that she had earned. She accepted the platter of cookies, took two, and passed it on. Nibbling on one while conversation streamed around her, she shut herself off by paying attention to her tea and cookie. Even though she could read both sign and lips, she still struggled to keep up in a large group of people talking. She could start a savings account at a local bank here or at the Blessing Bank, where all the family accounts were held. Or. Such a special little word, two letters long but ripe with a wealth of possibilities.

  But it also would mean staying in New York for a longer time than she had planned.

  The next morning the buggy arrived to take Grace and several of the others to the train station. When the train to New York City arrived, she said her good-byes and climbed aboard, taking her valise and a bag holding a blanket with her and a small trunk that the porter loaded into the baggage car. Once seated, she glanced up to find a young man with dark brown eyes smiling at her. She smiled back and settled her bag under the seat, removing a book to read on the journey. The first change of trains would be in New York City. A rush of surprise caught her as she realized how matter of fact her thoughts were. She was traveling alone and did not have that familiar nausea swirling about.

  Instead of reading, she watched the farmlands and small towns flow by the window, all the while sensing that she was being watched. Each time she looked up, the young man nodded and smiled at her again.

  If Sophie were here, she’d smile and flirt, and soon they’d be talking like old friends. The thought made her smile to herself. Would Sophie still do that now that she was married and the mother of four children? That thought led to another, not one that brought about smiling. Had Sophie forgiven her for her outburst? Another reason to go home. She needed to see Sophie for herself. It was the only way she could know.

  She stared at the window, no longer seeing the scenery. The real question lay simmering somewhere beneath the surface, where she did not like to go. Had she forgiven Sophie for leaving her and for leaving home, and not only that but for being Sophie? The words so often heard now only in memories, “But Grace always …” no longer had a bite to them. She pondered that. When had the change occurred? When Jonathan called her Pure Grace? She repeated Grace Always several times and put the words in the context of the event and realized she was right. They didn’t hurt any longer. When she thought of Sophie, she wanted to laugh instead of cry. How had this happened? A desire to see her sister rushed through her just as the train entered a tunnel and all went black. They were nearing the station, where she would change trains. Father in heaven, you worked a miracle and I didn’t even know it. Did I forgive Sophie? Oh yes, I did, like you have forgiven me. Those nights of tears are behind me. You were working, and I wasn’t even aware. How do you do that? She put her hands to her cheeks, feeling the trembling smile the thoughts brought, at the same moment using her fingertips to wipe away a couple of joy tears.

  The windows lightened again as the train slowed and eased into one of the long slots with platforms on either side that was Grand Central Station. She knew she had an hour or so before her west-bound train would depart, so she let some of the other passengers go ahead of her.

  The smiling man sto
pped. “May I help you take your bag down?”

  She started to say no but instead said, “Thank you.” She caught his surprised reaction to her voice as he held her valise in one hand.

  “I’ll carry it out for you.” His face became a formal mask.

  She nodded and, taking her handbag on her arm, walked ahead of him and down the steps, letting the conductor assist her on the steep metal stairs. Once on the platform, she reached for her valise. “Thank you and good day.”

  He hesitated only a second before handing her the luggage. Then he touched the brim of his hat. “You are most welcome, and I wish you the best on your journey.” He looked almost disappointed. Another person for whom she did not measure up. A hollow feeling began inside, but before it could take hold, a picture of Jonathan floated through her mind. He accepted her just as she was. He even called her Pure Grace. A special friend to be sure. Her only regret at going home was not seeing him and Mary Anne. But the hunger for her family was stronger right now, especially with all the decisions before her.

  She smiled at the porter who arrived with her trunk and motioned for him to lead the way. Following the stream of humanity into the main station, she admired the way some were dressed in the latest fashions and felt quite at home in the traveling ensemble Mrs. Gould had had made for her. She ran her hands over the dark blue tweed. The jacket was trimmed in black cord, which apparently was no longer the style in New York, but never had she had an outfit so elegant. A little boy and girl caught her attention, and she stumbled into someone standing still. Her valise fell to the marble floor, and she jerked her head up to say excuse me, but the words caught in her throat. “Jonathan—er, Mr. Gould. How did … why … what … ?”

  “I came to surprise you.” He stared into her eyes, his hands still clutching her arms to keep her from falling. “I guess I did.”

  “Oh, you did.” That look was in his eyes again. The one she had seen Garth give Sophie. No, it couldn’t be possible. She became aware of another man standing with him. “Ah, Mr. Gould, how good to see you.” Is my hat on straight? Do I look all right?