A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Our pleasure, Miss Knutson. Jonathan was afraid we had missed you in this stream of people.”

  “You both came here to see me?”

  Mr. Gould picked up her valise as Jonathan tucked her arm through his and turned slightly. He smiled down at her. Were his eyes misty, as she felt hers were?

  “But I’m only here for an hour—less now.”

  “I know,” Jonathan said. “We’ll take you to your train. I was so looking forward to showing you New York at Christmas.”

  “I’m sorry, but I-I have to go home.”

  “I understand, I think.”

  “Come, let’s get out of the way of all these people who are in such a hurry.” He waved to the porter to follow them. Mr. Gould led the way, and Grace felt like skipping behind him. When they reached the area near where her train would leave, he found them seats and set the valise on the bench. “I’ll go find us all some coffee. Are you hungry, Miss Knutson?”

  “Coffee, yes. Food, no thank you.” She paused. “Unless, of course, you are hungry.” Where were her manners? Jonathan looks so pale and tired. Is it safe for him to be here? Why is he here?

  Jonathan shook his head and motioned her to sit. They watched his father move away before he pulled a small package from his pocket. “I wanted to give you this in person.”

  “But I don’t have a present for you. I sent it in the mail.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see you.” He handed her the square package wrapped in silver paper. “Open it.”

  “But it’s not Christmas.”

  “I want to watch you open it.”

  “If you say so, but my mother would scold me for opening a present early.”

  “Your mother is not here.”

  Grace unwrapped the package carefully; she’d never had such pretty paper before. The flat box wore the insignia of a jeweler. She glanced at Jonathan, who nodded encouragingly. She flipped the top open to find an oval cameo pin in the form of a young woman with her hair bundled on top of her head. “Jon—er, Mr. Gould, this is far too expensive to give me.”

  “You call me Jonathan. Mr. Gould is my father.” He touched the cameo. “She reminded me of you, and I want her to remind you of me.”

  “She is lovely.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  She glanced up to see him staring at her as she pinned the cameo to her jacket collar. Did he mean the cameo, or was he referring to me? The thought made the heat rise on her neck.

  “Thank you.” I don’t need a reminder, though. I think of you every day. When did that happen? Since your illness. No, before. Ever since you called me Pure Grace. Her breath caught.

  She looked up to see Jonathan’s father arriving alongside a white-jacketed waiter carrying a tray holding coffee and sandwiches. Another waiter had brought a folding stool, which he set up in front of them, and the first man set the tray on the stool, creating a table for the three of them.

  Grace glanced up to see Mr. Gould’s eyes twinkle.

  “There are advantages to having wealth.” His smile made her smile back. No wonder his son had the ability to fit in anywhere. He resembled his father.

  The waiter poured the coffee and passed the cups around, then a plate of fancy sandwiches.

  Grace helped herself and sat back to enjoy the impromptu party. Here they were in Grand Central Station with herds of people milling around or purposefully going about their business, and they might as well have been in a drawing room. They had two waiters standing at attention with their legs slightly spread and hands locked behind their backs. Her hand kept reaching up to touch the cameo in case this was all a dream. Such a generous gift. Too generous, and she should refuse. But she couldn’t. She saw Jonathan’s eyes sparkle with pleasure when he noticed her gesture.

  When the call came for her train, Jonathan placed her cup and saucer back on the tray and, taking her hand, pulled her to her feet. Jonathan and his father walked out the concourse to her train and they both helped her onto the train and to her seat.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a private compartment?” Mr. Gould asked.

  Knowing that he would go buy her a different ticket, Grace shook her head firmly. “This is fine. I like having other people around.”

  “If you are sure.”

  How easy it would be to just let them take over. “No, I am sure.”

  “Remember me while you are in Blessing.” Jonathan squeezed her hand as he said good-bye and followed his father out of the car. Both of them stood waving while the train pulled out of the station.

  Grace waved back, then sank into her seat. What a surprise. She fanned down the heat that had continued to warm her neck ever since he’d held her hand. The tingle from his touch still lingered. She opened the card inside the cameo box. Looking forward to a new year together. Love, Jonathan. She reread it. And read it again.

  Blessing, North Dakota

  “NEXT STOP, BLESSING.”

  Grace smiled at the conductor, who had stopped to tell her personally. “Mange takk.” The Norwegian phrase slipped out naturally, as if it too had been waiting until she got home.

  “You take care now.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  As the train squealed into the station, she saw a sleigh and team tied to the railing. She felt her heart surge when she saw her family waiting on the platform. The snow had been shoveled off the platform into mounds on the eastern side of the station. From the looks of it, Blessing had been having a normal year of snow. No one had written about a bad blizzard yet. Grace gathered her things and, after handing her valise to the conductor, stepped carefully down the three stairs and into her mother’s arms. Her father, Trygve, and Samuel stood right behind her, waiting their turns to greet her.

  “You look different,” Samuel said, studying her.

  “That’s because she left here a girl and came home a young woman.”

  Her father’s words caught her by surprise. She smiled up at him. “Mange takk. I made it in time for Christmas.”

  “Barely.” Trygve took her valise. “Everyone will be at our house tomorrow.”

  “Everyone?”

  “All the Bjorklunds. Penny and Hjelmer and the children even came home.” Kaaren took her daughter’s hand.

  “And Sophie?”

  “Them too. And one of Garth’s brothers and his family. That’s why we are all at our house. It’s bigger.” Kaaren smoothed Grace’s coat sleeve. “This is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

  “Mrs. Gould made sure I was properly attired.” At her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow, Grace realized she must have sounded just the teeniest bit sarcastic. Her mother was so perceptive. “She was very nice to me.” While she tried to mean the words, what she left out said far more than she wanted. “They are a very generous family.”

  “We received a letter from a Mrs. Wooster. She thinks you are one of the most remarkable young women she has ever met.”

  As her father handed her into the sleigh, Grace smiled up at him to receive back the slow smile of his that showed both his love and pride in his daughter. “I missed you, Far.”

  He shook his head, slowly and gently. “I cannot tell you how much we missed you. The students even left your chair empty. No one ever sat in it.”

  Grace’s eyes misted over. When she settled under the robe with her mother, she turned to ask, “What did you think of Mrs. Wooster’s ideas?”

  “She most certainly gave us a lot to think on. She said she will be coming to Blessing to talk with us as soon as the weather softens.”

  Softens. That sounded like Mrs. Wooster. She really had no idea what North Dakota winters could be like. But then, who did if they’d not lived here? So far the winter in New York had been cold, but the wind there was nothing like the northerner that howled down from the polar ice cap, seeking to devour everything in its path.

  Far backed the team and clucked the horses into a trot, the sled runners shooshing and the harness bells jingling as they headed for h
ome. Sunlight threw diamond dust across the white drifts, bursts of fire wherever she looked. She’d not seen such a blue sky since she boarded the eastbound train last fall.

  “We got three new cows, so you can help milk in the morning if you want to,” Samuel said from beside her. He’d tapped her arm to get her attention first, something they all did as a matter of course.

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I’d hate to deprive you of the joy of milking.” She grinned at him, and he wiggled one eyebrow, the action making her shake her head. How she had missed her brothers too.

  Trygve turned from the seat in front beside Far. “He almost forgot how. Complained for days how his hands and arms hurt.”

  “How’s Maggie?” Grace couldn’t resist the teasing question since her mother wrote that Trygve had been paying attention to the eldest Clauson daughter.

  Samuel dug his elbow into her side, no easy feat since she was wearing her thick wool coat and traveling suit over all the extra under-garments of winter. “Trygve likes to tease but can’t take it much.”

  “Nothing has changed, then.” Grace wished she had on a knitted wool hat rather than the fashionable fur that looked good but didn’t cover enough. She reached up and pulled her scarf higher over her ears. When they passed the Bjorklunds’, she saw Astrid and Ingeborg waving from the front window. They all waved back and swooped into the lane leading to the house. Plain compared to the places she’d seen, but the house seemed to reach out with welcoming arms and remind her there was no place like home.

  Her father reined the horses to a stop by the shoveled walk, and Trygve jumped out to assist his mother and sister, while Samuel took the valise and the trunk from the back.

  Grace held on to her mother’s arm as they made their way to the back porch and up the swept-off steps. Split wood lined both the walls of the house and the porch, ready to be hauled in to fill the woodbox. She stopped inside the door and inhaled lungfuls of all the scents of home at Christmas. Woodsmoke, cinnamon, pine tree, vanilla, bacon left from breakfast, and fresh bread. Had her mother stayed up all night to prepare for today, Christmas Eve? She unwound her scarf and settled it under her collar before reaching up to unpin her hat. All the time her fingers did their nimble duty, her gaze traveled around the familiar room, seeing as if for the first time the huge range that cooked food for so many, shined and blacked to glinting. The red-and-white checked curtains at the windows looked freshly washed, starched, and ironed. The red geranium on the windowsill matched the curtains. A dish towel covered the loaves of bread left cooling on the table, and crocks and tins of cookies and other Christmas baking lined the counter. All so familiar, and all so new.

  She hung her coat on the coatrack. “Did my box come?”

  “Yes. The presents are under the tree already. I was so sad when the box came, and I thought you weren’t coming home for Christmas.” Kaaren hung up her coat and placed her hat on the shelf above the coatrack, as had Grace. “Your telegram was the best Christmas present ever.”

  “I-I have some decisions to make, and I wanted to talk things over with you and Far first. Letters just didn’t seem enough. I know Jonathan—” She saw her mother’s eyebrows raise. “I cannot keep calling him Mr. Gould. That is his father’s name, and …” She paused and smiled a gentle smile. “He is my best friend for now, and he was looking forward to showing me New York City in her ‘Christmas finery,’ as he described it.”

  “Has he recovered from his illness?” Kaaren took down an apron and tied it over her blue serge dress.

  “Not all the way. He is still pale and I think tires easily. He and his father met my train in New York City so we could visit before I had to leave again.” Grace donned an apron too, after removing her jacket. She unpinned the cameo and tucked it into her pocket.

  “Are you hungry or can you wait for supper?” Kaaren opened the oven door to check on the ham baking for the next day. The steam carried the aroma around the kitchen and made Grace’s stomach rumble.

  “Can we have cookies and coffee now?”

  “Of course. You set out the cups and saucers while I get a new pot started. The men should be in any minute.”

  Samuel clattered back down the stairs after taking her baggage upstairs. “I put them in your room. Mor and Ilse made you a surprise up there.”

  “Samuel!”

  “I didn’t tell her what it is.” He dodged his mother’s playful swat. “Far said we’d do chores early this afternoon. He didn’t figure the cows would mind.” While he talked he edged over to the counter and lifted the cover on one of the crocks to snitch a ginger cookie.

  “Everyone is coming tonight?”

  “No, tomorrow. Church is at six, and one of the new girls at the school, Laurie Clauson, will read her Christmas story as part of the program. Thorliff ran it in installments in the Blessing Gazette.”

  “Really? How good of him.” Grace handed a plate to her brother. “See if you can fill this with a variety without eating them all.”

  “Eating all what?” Trygve and Lars came through the door after stamping their feet on the porch.

  “The cookies.”

  “Are we having lutefisk and lefse for supper?” Grace asked as she put folded napkins at the five places.

  “Of course. Far set the lutefisk to soaking yesterday.” Kaaren added another stick of wood to the fire.

  Sitting around the table, catching up on the news, Grace glanced from face to beloved face. All of a sudden her life in New York seemed another existence, as though she’d dreamed it and here was the reality. Strange, but she’d felt the same there, with this life seeming a dream. Was it always like that—with the two lives connected by more than a thousand miles of railroad track and a mind that encompassed it all?

  With the cows milked and chores finished along with the day-light, the family gathered for supper, everyone already dressed for church. As soon as they said grace, Mor pulled the bag of lutefisk from the steaming water in a large pot on the stove and poured the translucent pieces of fish onto a platter. At the same time Grace set the bowls of potatoes and melted butter on the table, where the lefse, pickles, and coleslaw already waited.

  “There, and it is just right.” Kaaren set the platter in front of Lars. “Not mushy at all.” She turned and looked at the stove. “Oh, the beans.” The string beans they’d dried over a line in pairs that looked like men’s britches had been simmering with bacon, including the rind, and onions. She used her apron as a potholder to carry that bowl from the warming oven. “Now we’re set. Help yourselves.”

  Grace glanced around the table. Five place settings. It just wasn’t right without Sophie, but then, there would always be others with her now. How empty the table must have been with both twins gone. Even when the students filled it up. She swallowed quickly and took the platter of lutefisk from Trygve, spooning a fine chunk onto her plate. A quick thought of the Goulds flashed through her mind. She was sure it was safe to say they were not serving lutefisk and lefse for their Christmas Eve supper.

  She poured melted butter over her fish and potatoes and slathered butter on her lefse, then sprinkled sugar on it. While her mother and father liked theirs plain, all the children preferred theirs sweeter. To think she had almost missed this traditional supper. She had missed lots of things by being gone. But had she stayed home, she would have missed lots of other things. She put her hand in her pocket, and Jonathan’s smile lit up in her thoughts.

  “Here, I warmed up the lutefisk if anyone wants more.” Kaaren sat back down. “I think the store ran out of lutefisk. I heard someone say they’d not been able to buy as much as they wanted.”

  “We could have given a couple of our slabs away. We still have enough for at least two more meals.” Lars mopped his melted butter up with the last of his lefse. “Just think, in Norway this is a staple winter food, and here we have it just for special meals.”

  “We dried plenty of fish here too in the early years.”

  “There is a diffe
rence between drying and treating. Makes you wonder whoever dreamed up that idea. Treating fish with poison to make it into something different.” Lars shook his head. “You just never know.”

  Kaaren glanced at the clock. “We better be hurrying along. We can have dessert with coffee when we come home.”

  “One sandbakkel?” Samuel pleaded, trying to look forlorn.

  Kaaren rolled her eyes. “You think you might fade away before we get home, and there will be nothing at the church?”

  Grace stood, and the two women cleared the plates away and into the steaming dishpan on the stove.

  “We’ll do those later.”

  She stared at her mother. Leave something to later? What other changes had gone on while she wasn’t home?

  The lanterns on the fronts of the sleighs looked like candles bringing the light of Christmas across the frozen snow. As soon as they tied up the horses and while the men threw heavy quilts over the teams, Grace was greeted like a long-lost celebrity. All the girls, Astrid, Rebecca, and Deborah—crowded around her and hustled her into the church, where they admired her fur hat and muff and asked questions faster than she could answer.

  As their families claimed them, she promised to answer more during the coffee hour after the program.

  Sophie and her family swept in just before the doors closed. Kaaren nudged Grace to look back. They took the places saved for them, and Grace reached across Samuel to squeeze her sister’s hand. She figured her eyes were just as tear filled as Sophie’s. She used the tip of her gloved finger to wipe away the moisture that had made it over the edge and trickled down her cheek.

  “Sorry we are almost late,” Sophie signed. “Getting babies ready for anything on time is a major success.” As she passed Hamre down to Mor, Grace held him for a moment. He was so much bigger and even while asleep looked so alert. She felt a soft hand pulling at her and looked down as Linnie scrunched in next to Grace, giving her a big smile.

  The congregation stilled when the ushers blew out the sconces on the walls. Two small children walked down the center aisle and lit two candles, then two more and two more, set on stands on either side. Grace knew the piano was playing. She could feel it through her feet. The congregation rose and joined in singing “Joy to the World.” Grace followed along in the hymnbook, remembering the times she had signed the carols and the hymns during church. Back at the Fen-way School they’d signed the hymns on Sunday, since none of the students could hear.