The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (23 page)

“I
don’t think
she’s coming, Geoff.” Emmeline let the lace curtain drift back into place. She
turned from the window with a sigh. The extra stuffing, pies, and ham would
stock the refrigerator for the rest of the week.

Geoff offered a
sympathetic smile from his seat next to the Christmas tree. “I’m sorry, Emmy. I
know that you look at Grace almost… well, almost as a daughter, short time
though you’ve known her.”

Emmeline shook
her head and walked over to the tree, staring up at its star with a rueful
expression. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Of course Grace has her own family. Of
course she wants to spend Christmas Day with them.”

She fingered one
of the glittery red balls hanging from a needled branch. With a wisp of
laughter, she went on, “I suppose I’ve been picturing myself as Grace’s
salvation of sorts. Thinking that she needs
me
when perhaps…” Emmeline
let her words trail off as she met Geoff’s eyes.

He rose from his
cozy armchair, putting his mug of hot cider aside, and wrapped his arms around
her. She could smell nutmeg and cinnamon on his breath. “When perhaps Jesus is
who she really needs?” he questioned softly, finishing her thought.

Emmeline nodded,
fingers still tracing the shimmery lines of the ornament. “What do you think?”
she ventured, half-hoping he’d disagree with her.

Geoff paused
before answering. “Yes and no, I think, dearest one,” he replied at last.
“Ultimately, yes, Grace does need only Jesus. I’ve told you that my own heart
has ached for her more than once during this school year. Not merely for her
obvious poverty, but also for her evident desire for approval, for praise. Grace
wants worth, but only Jesus can give that to her.”

Again, he
hesitated, then said, “And no, too. Because in a way,
you
are Jesus to Grace.
I don’t mean literally, of course, but you are making Him real to her. She sees
Him in you, Emmy, and I pray, in me, by His grace. And when she comes
face-to-face with Him someday, I hope that He will seem to her like coming
home.” He smiled; Emmeline felt it in the curve of her neck.

Glad in
expectation, Emmeline lingered for several minutes with Geoff near the tree,
twinkling with dozens of lights. And later, when they’d consumed far too much
dessert, she and her beloved husband knelt down and, together, brought Grace
and her family before the Lord of Hosts.

T
he moonlight
climbed steadily across her bedroom wall, but Grace’s eyes continued to drift
open. Usually, she felt too worn out from the day’s work to have a problem
sleeping. Yet this Christmas night differed.

Flipping onto her
back, she pulled the blankets up higher and snuggled down into her bed. She
would have to wake up early tomorrow to milk Bessie and start breakfast.
Determined, Grace closed her eyes and tried to inhale the deep, steady breaths
of sleep.

A minute later,
she gave up. Gathering a blanket around her shoulders, she padded over to the
geranium plant perched on her windowsill. Beneath its stems, in the shadow of
the sculpted pot, she’d placed the gift from Paulie, opened alone early this
morning.

For the
twentieth time that day, Grace picked up the small box labeled
Timothy
Simmons, Jeweler.
Fingers tingling with pleasure, she opened the lid,
basking in the sight of the two creamy pearl clip earrings nestled comfortably
on their soft cushion.

Paulie bought
them for me. For me!
Biting her lip to keep from smiling too widely, Grace plucked one earring from
its velvety socket. Of course, she’d never wear them. They were too beautiful,
too obviously costly. Wrapped in her old blanket, she gazed at the gift for a
long time, a smile touching her lips, her mind recollecting the past
twenty-four hours…

Last night, Mama
had returned with a package. Unwrapping it, she’d pulled out painted figurines:
the Holy Mother, Saint Joseph, a shepherd boy with his sheep, the Three Wisemen,
an angel, and, of course, the Lord Jesus in a manger bed. A glued-together
stable, in which all the figures fit, completed the scene.

Mama didn’t say
much about it; just that she’d seen it the other day in Harold Quincy’s
five-and-dime store and thought it would be nice to have a manger scene. Ben
hadn’t seemed to think much of it; he only appeared happy that Mama had gotten
what she wanted.

But staring at
those figures, particularly the one of the Baby Jesus, so small and helpless… Well,
Grace felt something echo inside of her that she couldn’t put her finger on. His
arms outstretched in the manger bed… outstretched just as they were on the
cross in church.
Why?
It made her uncomfortable, fearful. She wished she
could dismiss these nagging thoughts.

Cliff came home
in time for supper, after which they all – except for Ben – attended Mass.
There at church, Grace tried hard to reconcile the Man hanging on the cross
behind the altar with the tiny painted figurine in Mama’s manger.

What difference
does it all make? What does it all mean?
The thoughts were new ones for Grace,
spurred by the music Mama had played on the radio several nights ago. Grace
dared not share them with anyone.

Not even Ben,
who’d met them when they were halfway home so that he could walk by her side. Their
feet crunched through the hardened snow drifts. She’d breathed in the ice-cold
air, feeling the hairs in her nose freeze, trying to forget everything but the
fact that Ben had come home for Christmas…

Now, alone in
the dark, Grace lightly ran her fingers over the round earrings, delighting in
the glow of the creamy color. Just beneath her window, an automobile chugged
quickly up the driveway, startling her.

Papa’s home.
Grace’s heart
sank into her socks. He’d been gone all day, leaving before dawn with Gertrude;
why did he have to return now? Why did he
ever
have to return?

The crunch of
his boots on the snowy driveway followed by the titter of Gertrude’s annoying,
muffled laughter reached Grace’s ears. Clenching her teeth, she refused to
torment herself by looking out the window at their dark silhouettes, drunkenly
staggering under the moon.

And there Mama
lies in the bedroom below, pregnant with his child.

Grace thought
again of that manger scene on the side table, of how Mama had placed each
figurine inside the stable just-so, making certain that Joseph and Mary stood
at the right angles to the adored Child.
If I’d been Mary, I would’ve
chucked Joseph,
she decided, listening to Papa and Gertrude’s steps fade
away.

The tears rose
to her eyes, though her chest tightened to suppress them.
Joseph, he was
probably just like Papa.
Grace’s fingers tightened around Paulie’s gift,
and she held herself erect, desperate to squash the hollow weeping that she
sensed approaching.

Or was he like
Mr. Kinner?

The thought
pushed in, and Grace considered it. Not many men were like Mr. Kinner – kind,
generous with his time, loving toward his wife.

The pearl felt
smooth beneath Grace’s fingertip.
Paulie.
Though not yet a man, Paulie
had all the markings of Mr. Kinner.

What made them
different from most men, even from good-natured but unreliable Ben? What caused
Mr. Kinner to open his home to her and Paulie’s lessons every weeknight? What
made him continue to cherish Mrs. Kinner, a wife who couldn’t give him what
every man in their right mind should want – a son?

And Paulie… Why
would he care about
her?
Grace touched her cheek in thought. Perhaps she
had a little beauty – Ben said so – but was that enough for Paulie to humiliate
himself with that lice incident? She had no money, no popularity, no pretty
clothes. Why, then, did Paulie take such pains to show his regard for her? And
why was his regard so… so sincere?

“I’ve never met
a man – a boy – so nice,” she murmured aloud, staring down at the earrings for
a long moment before snapping the box shut. Carefully, Grace set the gift beside
the geranium plant.

She had just
lain down when she remembered.
The Kinners.
They’d invited her for
Christmas dinner. Smiling, Grace snuggled down into her bed. Funny, when Mrs.
Kinner asked her, Grace had thought that the Picoletti’s Christmas Day would
turn out bleak and that she’d wish that she’d gone to the Kinners.

Yet it hadn’t.
Aunt Mary had brought Evelyn for a few hours, which delighted Mama to no end.
And Ben and Cliff had shared jokes. Mama had cooked a canned ham and boiled
potatoes and baked a pie. And, in the privacy of her bedroom, Grace had opened
Paulie’s gift.

Still, Grace
wondered what joy she had missed at the Kinners’ house. It was a place of such
warmth and love that even having Ben home couldn’t prevent her pining to be
there… a bit.

B
en came around
the house the next morning to say goodbye. He’d spend the day hitchhiking his
way back to the racetrack or wherever his winter quarters were. He never said
outright.

“You’re still in
school, right?” he said to Grace for the ninth time, it seemed. She’d decided
to walk through the woods toward Main Street with him. “No choir, but you’re
still in school, kid?” he repeated.

“Yeah, Ben, I’m
still in school,” Grace assured him.
But for how long will Mama let me stay
there?

Ben took a long
drag of his cigarette, giving her a satisfied nod. “That’s good, kid. Sorry
about the choir, but you’ll figure out another way.”

“Another way?”
Did he think she should pursue music, then? Another way to what?

“Remember what I
told you? We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars?”
Ben kept taking his long steps as he talked, and Grace had to walk double-time
to keep up with him.

“Yeah, I
remember,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Hey, don’t say
it like that. You were born to look at the stars,” stated Ben.

His affirmation
lifted her spirits a little. If not the choir, perhaps something else. Grace
felt the square box bang against her leg. She’d put Paulie’s jewelry box there
to show Ben, and now she remembered it. “Wait,” she said, her breath a cloud in
the frigid air.

They stopped in
the middle of the icy path. Grace pulled the jewelry box out of her pocket,
glancing up to find Ben’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. Gently, she opened the
embossed lid, revealing the pearls, shimmering in their square sea of blue
velvet.

Ben whistled
low. “Somebody give you those, canary?”

Self-consciously,
Grace nodded. She held her breath, waiting to see what else Ben would say.

Without asking
her permission, her older brother reached for the box. His eyebrows shot up as
he inspected the quality of the earrings. “Well,” he said at last, “somebody with
lots of dough is sweet on you, that’s for sure, kid. It was a boy gave ‘em to
you, right?”

“Yeah,” she
answered, glad that Ben agreed with her assessment of Paulie’s gift.

Then he frowned,
looking down at the earrings. “See here. I ain’t home to look after you, like a
brother should.”

She cocked her
head. What did he mean? What was he getting at?

Ben licked his
lips.

“Just say it,
Ben,” she urged, her heart starting to thump. A squirrel chattered in the
branches above their heads, the only sound in the still patch of woods beside
their own breathing.

He stared down
at the earrings. “Well, it’s just this, kid. Guys don’t give expensive stuff
like this unless… they want something in return. Got it?”

Suddenly, the
earrings didn’t hold the same pure delight. Grace shivered, feeling the cold
bite through her thin jacket.
He’s right…

Clearing his
throat, Ben snapped the box shut and offered it back to her. She reached out a
mittenless hand and took it, feeling the velvet exterior against her numb
flesh. Visions of Gertrude intruded into her mind, unwanted… Gertrude wearing
the latest hat or a new pair of high heels as she minced down the driveway to
Papa’s car. Where did she get all that new stuff?

From Papa.

“Just be
careful, alright?” Ben’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She looked up at
him. “Yeah, I’ll be careful, Ben.”

J
anuary turned
out so cold that year, even fire would freeze.

When Grace
returned to the Kinners’ after Christmas break, she expected Mrs. Kinner to evidence
some sort of disappointment that Grace hadn’t shown up for Christmas Day. But
the woman didn’t do anything of the kind. Instead, Mrs. Kinner asked small
questions about Grace’s family holiday.

“So your brother
came home for Christmas? That must have been a treat for you all,” Mrs. Kinner smiled,
her hands busy breaking up ground hamburger in a sizzling frying pan.

Grace nodded,
standing to the side of the stove. Usually, she didn’t arrive until after six
o’clock, but she’d rushed through her chores today, hoping to spend a little
extra time with Mrs. Kinner before she and Paulie settled down to do their
homework.

“Will your
brother – Ben, right? - be able to come home again soon?” asked Mrs. Kinner,
eyes on the hamburger.

Dread crept up Grace’s
throat. How far would Mrs. Kinner’s questions go? “Uh… no. I don’t think so. He
works pretty far away,” Grace managed. She ran her fingernail along the
countertop to alleviate her nervousness.

“Oh? What line
of work is he in?” came the horrible question. In her family’s own circle of
friends, Grace would’ve had no trouble saying that Ben was a groom. She’d brag
about how he brushed the horses for some big-city fellow. But somehow, Grace
knew that being a horse-groom at a racetrack wasn’t a suitable profession for
people like the Kinners… for people who attended church at First Baptist and
ate hamburger – real hamburger! - for supper on a weeknight.

How could she
tell Mrs. Kinner the truth
without
telling her the truth? Suddenly, Grace
remembered something she’d overheard Ben say back in the fall: that he groomed
horses for a local politician. “He works for a politician,” she answered Mrs.
Kinner. Relief lifted the dread from her chest.

“Oh, so your
brother is in politics?”

What? “Uh, I
guess,” Grace stumbled, hoping that she wasn’t
really
lying.

A bright rap
sounded on the kitchen door then, announcing Paulie’s entrance and allaying one
of Grace’s anxieties while introducing a fresh one.

Paulie.
Grace stole a
glance as he let himself in. Snow covered his head, and he laughingly dusted it
off his dark curls.

“It’s freezing
out there!” he exclaimed, unwrapping his scarf.

Grace had seen
him only once since the day he’d given her his Christmas gift, and it had been
during class, so they’d just had the chance to exchange pleasantries. No time
to talk; no time for Paulie to say what he’d meant with his gift.

For he had to
have meant
something.
Oh, she hoped against hope that Paulie differed
somehow from what Ben had said: that he’d only given it ‘cause he wanted
something in return.

And Grace wasn’t
her mama’s daughter for nothing. She knew precisely what Ben meant.

M
rs. Kinner had
offered them a plate of macaroni and hamburger, but since Grace declined it,
Paulie felt a little awkward digging into a mound by himself. Besides, he’d
eaten a nice big plate of steak, potatoes, and cooked carrots before coming
here. The Kinners weren’t badly off or anything, but Paulie knew that Dad and
he lived on a higher scale than they did. It didn’t seem right to take food
from them when he was sure that they could use the leftovers.

He and Grace
settled to work at a small table in the parlor while Mr. and Mrs. K. ate in the
kitchen. Paulie couldn’t help glancing more than once at Grace as they opened
up their textbooks and organized their pencils. What was she thinking? She
seemed quieter than usual tonight…

Was it the
earrings? Did she not like them? She’s not wearing them.
But then, Grace
never wore earrings. Maybe it was the wrong gift! But Mrs. K. said that girls
liked jewelry, and Dad had approved it as well.

Then why didn’t
she say anything about the gift? And why did he feel so thick-tongued? Paulie
licked the tip of his pencil, preparing to dive into his math homework.

“Paulie,” Grace
surprised him by starting a conversation. He set down his pencil, but she kept
her eyes glued to the literature book splayed on the table in front of her.

He waited.

“I don’t think
you should pay me for the mathematics help anymore,” she said in her
feather-soft voice.

Well, this came
out of nowhere. “Why not?” he asked, frankly curious as to her reason. The
fifty cents didn’t matter one way or the other to Paulie. “You think I’m a
hopeless case,” he added, joking to lighten up the mood.

One side of Grace’s
thin lips pulled up in a smile, but she seemed to strangle it.
Why?
“I
don’t mind helping you, Paulie,” she said. “I’ll do it without pay, whenever
you need help. As a friend, you know.”

“And here I
thought you were doing it as an enemy,” he joked again. Grace didn’t return his
grin, and then the meaning of her pointed phrase took hold of him.

She means
only
as a
friend.
His heart plummeted into his shoes. Grace had ascertained why he’d
given her the earrings, alright. And she was saying no to his affections
outright. Without a second thought.

“Well, sure, Grace,”
he managed to gulp out, trying to keep his voice from cracking like a thirteen-year-old.
“If that’s how you want it.”

He saw her quick
nod. Her golden hair spilled across her face, and her huge blue eyes remained
fastened to the page. Stunned, Paulie picked up his pencil but didn’t begin the
first problem yet.

How could I have
so misjudged things? I thought there was something between us for certain. I
even told her that I liked her back in the fall!
Paulie shook his
head, dazed at Grace’s rejection.

And he’d prayed
about this, too. Asked the Lord to prevent Grace from coming to First Baptist
that Christmas Sunday if God didn’t want him to give her the gift. And she’d
come. Paulie had thought God had answered his prayer.

Evidently not.