The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (19 page)

T
he following
Monday, Paulie decided to bring his idea out into the open. As usual, he walked
by Grace’s side as they made their way from the high school toward Main Street,
where Grace would undoubtedly inform him that she would make her own way from
there.

What’s she
hiding?
He’d
asked himself that a million times. Her family’s poverty? A lot of families had
dug themselves into a hole, what with buying on credit and the Market Crash a
few years back. And businesses weren’t hiring people anymore; it was hard,
really tough, to make ends meet. Paulie’s family hadn’t experienced much of
that; his dad’s work as a leading obstetrical and gynecological surgeon secured
plenty of business, yet Paulie knew that many of their friends had gone – were
going – through a difficult time. Naw, it couldn’t be that. It was too common a
problem to hide it.

So what is it?
One day, he
promised himself, he’d find out.

But right now,
he had a question that needed asking. “Grace,” he started as they turned a
corner, heading away from the school. Several students trailed behind them and
walked ahead of them, but nobody with whom either of them was friends.

Grace looked up
at him, her gaze shy but full of life. “Yeah?”

He shifted the
stack of schoolbooks from one arm to the other. “I have a favor to ask.” Paulie
watched her face carefully and saw that he’d definitely surprised her. “I’m
wondering if you would mind giving me some tips in math.” He held his breath,
wondering whether she’d see right through his ploy.

But she just
looked quizzical and a little guarded. “Tips?” she questioned, slowing her
pace.

“Yeah,” Paulie
said, hoping to explain it right. “You know, we have that big math test coming
up in a week-and-a-half. I haven’t been doing great in math lately – not
terrible, just not great – and I’d really like to get my average up again. You
do swell at math,” he added and then held his breath.

Grace had come
to a complete halt. Her expression blank, she stared at him.
Great, what’d I
say now? She’s probably gonna grab her books and run home!
Paulie groaned
inwardly. But he kept his smile on his face, trying to appear as winsome as
possible.

“You mean help
you cheat?” she finally said.

What? “No, not
at all. I don’t cheat,” he stated, a bit offended. “I’m wondering if you could,
I don’t know, maybe help me understand the concepts better.”

He was
unprepared for what came next.

“I’d have to
charge you,” she said, glancing to the side, as if she didn’t want to meet his
eyes.

“What?” He
almost laughed. Was she joking?

But no, she was
not. That much was apparent from the way in which she responded to his
exclamation by raising her chin with a defiance Paulie had not known she
possessed.

“How much?” he
managed at last, choking down his disbelief.

At this, she
seemed unsure. “Uh…” Her eyes went to the stack of books in Paulie’s hands, and
he knew that she was about to take them and leave him. And he didn’t want to
lose her company for a second.

“Hey, how about
you think on it and let me know?” he suggested.

Slowly, Grace nodded.
He offered her a smile, and she gave him one – a very tiny one – in return
before they resumed their trek toward Main Street.

W
alking along at
Paulie’s side, Grace couldn’t believe her good fortune. Here Mama had just been
saying that she couldn’t wait until Grace quit school so that she could earn
some money for the house, and Paulie popped up with this question. True, he
hadn’t known Grace was going to
charge
him for help with his schoolwork,
but then, Grace hadn’t known it either until the words dashed out of her mouth.
But it certainly did seem like the perfect solution.
How can Mama complain
if my schoolwork pays hard cash?

And though Grace
felt a slight twinge at charging her friend – she could call Paulie no less
than that – she brushed the spasm of conscience aside. Hugging her thin
cardigan tight to her body, Grace shivered in the chilly late autumn air. Not
everyone could live a cushy life.

“T
he order of
operations, Paulie. Remember the order of operations,” Grace sternly reminded
him, forcing herself to keep a straight face when he winked.

“Okay, Grace.
Order of operations,” Paulie repeated, grinning silly.

Her finger
tapped the book sprawled out on the table. “Do the next ten problems, and then
I’ll look them over,” she said. She still couldn’t believe that she was doing
this: tutoring Paulie Giorgi in math at Mrs. Kinner’s kitchen table. The Blessed
Mother must have heard her prayers after all.

“Yes, ma’am,”
Paulie answered, winking up at her again.

Flustered, Grace
turned to her own work, an easy history assignment. “You joke it off, Paulie
Giorgi,” she said, keeping her voice even so that he wouldn’t know that her
heart skipped beats when she was so near him. “But you’re the one losing the
ten cents every day ’cause you don’t try hard enough.”

He went silent
then, and Grace felt sorry that she’d been so harsh, just to hide her own
discomfiture. She was about to soften it up, but Mrs. Kinner entered the room.
Wearing her apron as usual, the woman smiled at the two of them; Grace returned
the friendly expression shyly.

How strange that
Paulie hadn’t minded what Grace had assumed was a high price for her tutelage!
And that, when they’d stopped together at the Kinners’ house last month and
mentioned Paulie’s proposition, Mrs. Kinner had offered her kitchen as the
perfect spot to conduct the tutoring.
Insisted was more like it,
thought
Grace now as she put her pencil down to watch Mrs. Kinner move elegantly toward
the cookie jar.

“Anyone hungry
for a snack?” Mrs. Kinner turned suddenly, and Grace dropped her gaze, not
wanting to be caught staring.

Paulie perked
up. “I am!” he announced. “What kind of cookies, Mrs. K.?”

Mrs. Kinner
brought the jar over to the table. “Let’s see,” she said, pulling the lid off.
“I see sugar cookies and sugar cookies and more sugar cookies.”

“I should’ve
guessed,” Paulie laughed. “It
is
Christmas-time.”

“Two weeks
left,” Mrs. Kinner added. Apparently excited, she smiled at Grace, but Grace
felt hard-pressed to return the gesture this time. Christmas at the Picoletti
house would be awful this year; Grace was sure of it. They hadn’t heard from
Ben since he’d gone back to the track in early fall.

And Aunt Mary
barely brought Evelyn to visit.
Thanksgiving was a joke,
remembered Grace
miserably. She’d seen Papa swing out of the driveway early that morning,
Gertrude at his side, surely on their way to Uncle Jack’s house. Nancy spent
the holiday with her new husband’s family, and Lou… Who knew where Lou was any
day of the week now? Mama hadn’t even bothered to fix a turkey since it had
just been the three of them: Grace, Cliff, and Mama. Grace had cracked open a few
cans of tomato soup; they’d crumbled Saltines into their bowls and called it
Thanksgiving dinner.

Would Christmas
be any different? Grace guessed not. She blinked back the tears that sprang so
unwanted into her eyes and pretended to focus on her history assignment while
Mrs. Kinner and Paulie chattered about their upcoming happy holiday.

“We’re going
back to New York to visit Mother’s family,” Paulie said. “It’ll be nice to see
them again, but I kind of wish we could spend Christmas in our home.”

“Will you leave
before the twenty-third?” asked Mrs. Kinner. “That’s the special Christmas
Sunday service at First Baptist.”

Grace peered
through the lace of her eyelashes at Paulie. He bit his lip thoughtfully. “I
don’t know. I’ve gotta ask Dad.” Then he turned to Grace. “Hey, Grace, you
should go to that service. I bet that you would like it. We sing all sorts of
Christmas hymns, and we light the next-to-last Advent candle…” He trailed off,
then added, “And the pastor usually gives a good sermon, too.”

“It
is
a
beautiful service,” Mrs. Kinner agreed.

Grace stiffened.
“I’m a Catholic,” she reminded them. She hoped that her cold reply would
dissuade them from trying to coax her further. What would Father Frederick
say?! Her family already had enough gossip making the rounds without Grace
attending a Protestant Christmas service!

But Paulie paid
no mind to her coolness. “Well, that’s perfect,” he enthused. “Go to… what do
you call it? Mass?”

She nodded.

“Right. Couldn’t
you go to Mass on Saturday night, and then come to First Baptist on Sunday
morning?”

Never!
Grace licked
her lips, unsure of how she should phrase her definite refusal without losing
Paulie and Mrs. Kinner’s favor.

“Won’tcha think
about it, Grace?” Paulie persisted, biting into a large snowman-shaped sugar
cookie.

“You could sit
with us, dear,” Mrs. Kinner offered.

Grace thought of
Mama fingering her rosary each night as she sat in her rocking chair. Mama
would skin her alive for even
considering
this; Grace was sure of it!

“I… I’ll think
about it,” she finally replied and bent her head feverishly over her homework.

S
arah looked at
the clock and then at the back door. Nearly eight, and Grace wasn’t home yet.
There were probably still chores to be done; didn’t Grace know…?

She shook her
head.
No.
If she was honest, Sarah would admit it: She was lonely, and knowing
Grace was in the house alleviated that.

It’s my own
fault,
Sarah chastened herself. When Grace had come to her last month, pleading to be
allowed to tutor some boy in math, Sarah had agreed solely for the sake of the
extra fifty cents it would bring in every week. “As long as you come home first
and do your chores,” Sarah had cautioned her middle daughter.

And Grace had
kept her part of the bargain. Every day after school, since November, she
arrived home to complete her chores, wolf down an early supper, and leave for
some woman’s house where the tutoring took place. Who the woman was, or why the
tutoring took place at her house, who could say; Sarah certainly didn’t pay
attention to such non-important details.

‘Specially since
Charlie had taken to spending nearly every night either at Gertrude’s cottage
or at his brother Jack’s. Glancing out the window, Sarah saw that a light snow
was beginning to fall – the first one of the year. If Charlie was planning to
come home tonight – Sarah didn’t count the cottage at the back of their
property as his “home” – he’d have been inside by now.

“Where is that
girl?” Sarah mumbled again, banging the teakettle down on the Plymouth gas
stove. She waited over the burners, craving the heat the stove threw into the
cold house. At last, the water boiled hot, and Sarah poured herself a generous
cup of tea. Normally, she preferred coffee, but tea was cheaper since she could
reuse the bag three or four times. And cheaper equaled better, especially with
Christmas coming…

She’d buy
nothing for Lou and Nancy, of course; they wouldn’t expect it and, for all
Sarah knew, they probably wouldn’t even stop at home for Christmas. And Grace
shouldn’t hope to receive anything, either, at her age. Cliff, certainly, would
have a little something; he was a boy, and boys were by nature and habit greedy
things. For Evelyn…

Jealousy stabbed
into Sarah’s heart, making her grit her teeth as she calmly stirred a
quarter-teaspoon of sugar into the tea.
The last time Mary brought her here,
Evelyn acted like she barely knew me. Me, the one who gave birth to her!
Dressed in a raccoon fur coat and bright patent-leather shoes, Sarah’s youngest
child had half-hidden behind Mary, not attempting to leave her guardian’s side
during the entire visit. In an odd way, Sarah had felt relieved when the two
left; it had caused too much pain to know that her physical separation from her
favorite child had turned into an emotional estrangement as well.
Who knows
what Mary has been telling her…

But Evelyn would
fare better where she was, Sarah reminded herself. Already, Mary spoke of
sending Evelyn to a fine all-girls boarding school, perhaps next year; and
after that, maybe college.
Yes, Evelyn will make something of herself,
Sarah assured her heart as she picked up the chipped, steaming teacup and took
her customary seat on the kitchen’s rocking chair. A radio – bought with the
little money Sarah’s mama had left her when she died – balanced on the small
table beside the chair.

With a deep
sigh, Sarah sank into the chair cushions and flicked on the dial. She settled
her head against the chair’s back and held the warm teacup steady on her plump belly.
Seven months already. The baby will be here in February.
At least, she
hoped so. The women in her family had a habit of carrying babies well past
their due-date; she’d carried Ben almost a month over his expected arrival. And
who knew exactly when this baby had been conceived, anyway? Sarah had too much
on her plate to keep definite track of anything so inconsequential.

Somehow, the
banter of the two radio comedians sounded banal and foolish tonight. Maybe it
was because Grace wasn’t home yet, and so Sarah couldn’t quite concentrate on
the jokes the man and woman exchanged between them. Impatiently, she leaned
toward the dial, clicking through the stations, trying to find something that
didn’t grate on her nerves. At last, she found what sounded like old-fashioned
singing; something through which she could just rock numbly. Satisfied, Sarah
leaned back and sipped the steaming amber liquid.

A few minutes
passed. Sarah felt the tension of the day rocking away, soothed by the sweet
singing. Then suddenly, her half-closed eyes shot open: This was a Protestant
radio program! Perking up her ears, Sarah listened more closely to the lyrics:

What a Friend we
have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!

What a privilege
to carry everything to God in prayer!

Oh, what peace
we often forfeit, oh, what needless pain we bear,

All because we
do not carry everything to God in prayer!

Yes; it was
Protestant. Sarah was sure of it! She pushed her weary body forward to click
over to the comedy show again, but before she changed the station, the thought
that she actually
liked
what she was hearing went through her mind.

She glanced
uneasily around her and then chuckled.
As if someone was watching me! If I
like listening to it, there’s no reason I shouldn’t,
she reasoned. But her
own mother’s warning about Protestants fought against her own logic: “The
Protestants – all of them – would like nothing better than to eat us Catholics
alive!” Her mother had meant spiritually, of course, but her words still sent a
shiver of fear down Sarah’s back.

Yet the words of
the song drew her. The choir sang another verse:

Are we weak and
heavy laden? Cumbered with a load of care?

Precious Savior,
still our refuge, take it to the Lord in prayer.

Do your friends
despise, forsake you? Take it to the Lord in prayer!

In His arms
He’ll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.

Well, in her
younger years, Sarah might have been taken in by those words, but now she was
older and wiser. Prayer had never unburdened her, really. Had it ever made her
hopeful for a time, that things would change, maybe get a little better with
Charlie?

Yeah.

But it never
helped in the end. It never answered the cry that burned in Sarah’s bosom, no
matter how tight-lipped she kept her face:
Why, God? Why did you place me in
such misery? And why, oh, why am I so alone?