A Touch of Grace (41 page)

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 stopped. “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?

“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.