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

by Ruggieri, Alicia G.

  “What would you name him?” Sarah asked suddenly. Tracing the baby’s rounded cheeks with her rough index finger, she felt sorry that he’d gone so long without a name.

  Emmeline looked startled. “Oh, Sarah. You have some favorite names, I’m sure.” She didn’t bring up Charlie’s preferences; Sarah had told her already about his reaction to the baby’s birth.

  “I’ve used up my favorites on the other kids. Please, what would you name him?”

  Sarah watched sadness touch Emmeline’s face. “If he was mine,” she stated slowly, “I would name him David. It means beloved.”

  David. It was a good name. Naming her son that… Well, it was the least Sarah could do after all Emmeline had done for her. “Thanks,” Sarah offered.

  Emmeline smiled and the shadow of sadness disappeared. She leaned forward in her chair. “May I pray for you and your family, Sarah?”

  “Yes, please do,” Sarah responded immediately, bouncing the baby a little to quiet him. In this past month, a strange working had begun in her heart, a working that she was only just becoming aware of, and the implications of which she was yet unsure. In the compassionate words and hands of Emmeline, Sarah knew she’d experienced something of the love of God, the Savior who gazed down at her from the crucifix on her bedroom wall. As she learned to trust Emmeline, even in her pain, Sarah had begun to believe in Christ in a new and personal way. She couldn’t explain it; she was no priest or even a radio minister. But she felt it; she knew it.

  Their hands clasped in this last evening together, the two women brought the Picoletti household before the throne of God, Emmeline with her sure, steady prayer and Sarah with a halting few sentences. They prayed for Grace; for Ben; for Nancy and Lou; for Cliff; and for Evelyn; for this new baby; and, lastly, Sarah said humbly, “Lord, I could be wrong, but I think it’s not right the way our family has been going these last few years. I’ve… I’ve not done right by my children. I want to, but I’m not sure how to go about it, what with Charlie and all. Show me. Deliver us.”

  That last sentence popped out before Sarah knew it. What did I say? She peered over at Emmeline, but her friend didn’t appear shocked, just a little curious. So Sarah went on, speaking from her heart. “And I will give You whatever You ask to thank You.”

  It seemed silly. After all, what could she, an impoverished woman, give God?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Gertrude was gone. Sarah was sure of it. A black Roadster had snaked into the driveway around eleven o’clock that morning, while Charlie’d been away. Through the kitchen curtain’s veil, Sarah had watched the bottled blond scuttle up the path. A stuffed carpet bag tucked under each arm, Gertrude had hopped into the passenger side with the speed of a mourning dove escaping a hawk.

  Maybe he asked her to leave… Maybe the baby’s made Charlie think everything over… Her prior experiences with her husband lectured Sarah on the unlikeliness of that, but then, the God whom Sarah was just beginning to know could work miracles, couldn’t He? Was this the answer to her prayer?

  Hope prickled through her heart, and Sarah couldn’t wait for Charlie to come home tonight.

  The rain pinged on the barn roof as Grace finished milking Bessie that afternoon. Just as she rose from the milking stool, she heard a cough outside the barn door. Papa. He’d lain low for several weeks now, not even coming into the house for meals.

  Her arm straining under the weight of the milk-pail, Grace peeked between the slats of the barn door. Better to figure out now where Papa lurked so that she could avoid him, if possible.

  However, instead of Papa, Paulie stood there, taking cover under the overhang, blowing his nose into his handkerchief! “Why is he here?” she asked aloud. She shrank away from the door. I thought it was finished for good.

  He kept glancing toward the house, probably figuring she was there. If he went inside the house, Grace would have to talk to him. More so than if she just shooed him away now. Gathering her courage, Grace pulled open the door.

  “Hi, Paulie,” she forced the words out of her tight throat. Why did seeing him make her want to cry, to weep even, like the sky was weeping now?

  He whirled around, handkerchief still to his nose. “Grace!” he gasped and gave a final wipe.

  She wouldn’t let his dimpled smile soften her. “Why are you here?” she asked, hardening her face, making herself impervious to him, she hoped.

  Tucking away his handkerchief, Paulie squared his dripping shoulders and looked at her. To her surprise, he wore a stern expression – gentle but firm, and Grace glimpsed the man he would become – a man who would command her respect.

  He took the heavy bucket from her hand and set it down on the ground. “I’m here,” he stated, stepping so close to her that she could smell the mint on his breath, “because I care about you, Grace, and I want to help you in whatever way I can.”

  She raised her chin and met his eyes with only a slight flinch. She mustn’t let him break down her barrier; she wouldn’t think about the pearl clip earrings hidden away in her desk drawer.

  “And what’s more,” Paulie went on, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, “God cares about you, Grace. Jesus Christ cares about you!”

  The bitterness in the laugh she threw at him scared her. “Cares about me? God cares about me? Didn’t you hear any of what I told you weeks and weeks ago?”

  Again, just like last time, her wild, raw words dug into him; Grace could see that and was glad for it. Let Paulie suffer a little; it was nothing compared to what she had suffered for her whole life! She defied him with hard, tearless eyes.

  But gently, Paulie took her cold hand in his warm one. She tensed but couldn’t resist. “Grace, I don’t pretend to understand the hurt you’ve undergone. I… I know some of the facts – not all of them. But even if I knew them all, I would say the same thing to you: What men mean for evil, God uses for good.” His eyes held hers with a fervency she’d not seen him display before now. “He is a good God, Grace. He gave His Son for you!”

  “I know that!” Grace snapped, angry that her vision had begun to blur. “I go to church, same as you! Just because I’m Catholic doesn’t make me a heathen,” she huffed.

  “Sure. But you are a sinner, same as me, same as everyone else. And it’s that sin in the world – in us - that causes all this pain, Grace. We’re not right on the inside, so how can things go right on the outside?”

  She gave him the sourest smile she could muster. “So you’re saying that if I become more religious, I’ll have a happier life? That you and the Kinners and your dad are more religious than I am, and that’s the reason why God gives you all that good stuff, why you all have such great lives?” It sounded ridiculous.

  He frowned. “No, Grace. What I’m saying is, it doesn’t matter who you are: doctor, teacher, junker, whatever. It matters who you belong to. You know, you’re so concerned with the badness of your circumstances that you don’t stop to think of who allowed those circumstances to come into your life.”

  That was where he was wrong. The bitter tang rose in her heart. She knew exactly Who had allowed these circumstances. And she believed what the Bible, what the Church taught: that God was indeed all-powerful. Omnipotent. Mighty to save… and yet He wouldn’t. So she submitted, not with the love of a daughter, but with the rancor of a slave…

  He grasped both of her elbows, drawing her face close to his. “God did. God allowed those circumstances for your good.”

  “What good? What possible good could come from my circumstances in life?” Grace burst out, not caring what he thought of her.

  Paulie’s voice stayed low and earnest. “So you’d seek Him and find Him, even though He’s never been far from you, Grace.”

  “Well, He certainly found a funny way of doing that!”

  “What?” Paulie gave her a look of surprise.

  Charming. A little boy who’d never felt the knife go into his chest, who’d never had to bite the bullet.

  “Of… what wou
ld you call it? Bringing me good? Making me find Him?” Grace snarled. Hearing the anger in her own voice caused a thrill through her bones. “What do you know of it, anyway, Paulie Giorgi? You live in your grand palace. Your papa dotes on you. You have every chance of success in life. You’ve never known what it is to suffer – to watch all of your dreams die and turn to ash!” She wrenched her arm from his grasp as if he held it tightly.

  He stood quietly for a long moment. Only a lone robin broke the silence with its evening serenade. “My mother died,” Paulie murmured at last. “When I was eleven, she died from a brain aneurism that we never knew she had. It was… really, really hard.”

  Paulie met Grace’s stare with tear-filled eyes. Her heart broke a little, but she refused to show it. So his mama died? So what? Grace wished her mother could have died so that Mama wouldn’t have had to endure this nightmare of a life with Papa.

  “So I kinda understand where you’re coming from. With the suffering, I mean,” he added. “In a small way.”

  “You don’t understand anything at all,” Grace ground out from between clenched teeth. “And don’t say that you do.”

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I felt lost. Completely alone, even though I had my dad. He was engrossed in his own grief over Mother. And,” he sucked in a deep breath, “that’s when I understood the Cross.”

  “What?” Grace gave him her best glare of disbelief.

  “That Jesus came and suffered, just as we do, the effects of sin in this world. The effects of our sin, Grace! He suffered for me. For you. And He didn’t have to. He identified with us – broken humanity - to save us from our sin, to restore us to sit on the Father’s knee. Jesus bore the real burden – the sin of the whole world – so that we could be made whole again.”

  Her ache widened and deepened at his speech. She longed to conquer this unending agony that lashed through her heart. “Go away, Paulie,” she commanded. She tucked her unruly hair behind her ears so that she could glower at him good and hard. So that he’d know she really meant it.

  And he did. Slowly, Paulie nodded. “Alright, Grace.”

  But he didn’t leave right away. He stood, hesitating, as if waiting for her to regret her words. So Grace picked up the heavy bucket and turned from him, running toward the house through the thick rain, not caring if the milk splashed on the ground.

  When she turned again, Paulie had gone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The potato skins dropped into a pile on the table. Sarah’s hands trembled a bit as she peeled the spuds, and she strictly told them to stop shaking, lest she cut herself good.

  Just as she told her heart to stop hoping.

  Bang. There he was, with the car. The spring rain came down heavy; Charlie’d want something hot to drink, maybe with a dash of anisette in it. Sarah rose to her feet and hurried to pour a cup of coffee, black and thick as the night that crept around the house.

  She had just added the splash of colorless liqueur when the kitchen door scraped open. Breathless with anticipation, Sarah turned from the counter, holding out the steaming cup. “Made you some coffee,” she offered.

  Charlie stared at her for a long moment. The rainwater dripped off his hat and shoulders onto the floorboards, leaving a dark mark.

  “I put anisette in it, the way you like it,” Sarah faltered. Why did he stay silent? Had she been wrong to hope that maybe, just maybe…?

  Finally, Charlie took off his hat. Looking at him, Sarah could still see the young man whose laughing company had once numbed the memories of Sam Giorgi’s betrayal, who had made her his wife, who had given her a few short years of happiness and devotion. Maybe it wasn’t too late to start again. Maybe God would give a second chance…

  “You didn’t have to,” he grunted, and he seemed angry as he ripped the mug from her hand. But Charlie had always been a little rough around the edges.

  “I wanted to,” Sarah replied softly. As he took a satisfied slurp, she picked up the paring knife again and sat down at the table. Should she wait for him to speak? Or was it up to her to broach the subject of Gertrude leaving and what that meant for them?

  Charlie drank it up fast, like he always did. Afraid that he would disappear back outside again before they’d talked, Sarah forced herself to open her mouth. “I saw… her leave this morning,” she said, stealing glances to see his reaction.

  Charlie just looked at her, his face blank.

  “Did you ask her to leave, Charlie?” Sarah managed to ask, unnerved by his silence. “Are you… Are you coming back? ‘Cause, if you are, I’m glad. We… We don’t have to talk about the past, you know. We can just go on from here, like it never happened. We can—”

  His explosive curse gagged her. She stared at him, stunned. The paring knife clattered to the tabletop, finding a nest among the potato peels.

  The utensil’s movement must have caught Charlie’s eye. He lurched toward the table and snatched up the knife. The breath whooshed out of Sarah’s lungs as her husband towered over her, his face masked in crimson rage. Sweat broke out on her forehead when she felt the blade against her neck.

  “You,” he growled. “Did you tell her to leave?”

  “No. Honest, Charlie, I didn’t,” Sarah whimpered. She could hear the baby stirring in her bedroom.

  He stared down at her for long seconds, and her loud heart kept the time. There ain’t no feeling left in him for me. And despite the menacing knife at her throat, it was that thought that made Sarah weep.

  “You’re not worth the trouble it would take to kill you,” Charlie snarled finally. He flung the paring knife to the floor and turned away.

  The door banged shut behind him.

  He couldn’t believe it. She took almost everything! With a forceful sweep of his arm, Charlie threw all the cheap dishware to the cottage floor.

  Good thing he’d kept his spare change on him today; Gertrude probably would have had no qualms about snatching that, too. She’d taken the silver teapot, his small hoard of cash, and even Charlie’s own cigarettes!

  Left him! He – Charlie Picoletti! How dare she! Didn’t she know a woman should follow through with her promises of love?

  “Can’t ever trust a woman,” he muttered. Just when you thought you had them submissive again, they bucked. Bless all the saints if Charlie could figure out why!

  He kicked the table leg savagely. He’d figure out what to do. But first… first he needed a drink.

  Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Charlie headed for Kingpin’s Club with a violent thirst.

  Sarah wept. One hand rubbing at her swollen eyes, the other clutching little David close against her body, she wept and rocked and wept some more. No need to worry about anyone hearing her; Cliff and Grace had escaped upstairs to their bedrooms after a silent supper. No doubt Grace at least had overheard some of her and Charlie’s fight.

  Fight. Sarah was so tired of it. So very tired of… everything. Dully, she glanced up at the small crucifix adorning the wall above the radio. And He certainly hadn’t helped her, despite her bargaining prayer.

  But I meant it. I would have given anything He asked of me, if only He had helped me. If only He had saved me. The tears dripped off the tip of her nose, splashing onto the baby’s head. Carefully, she took the corner of the swaddling blanket and wiped away the moisture. Sarah wished for Emmeline’s company, for her soothing words, but the woman had returned home for good a day ago.

  It was past time for that minister to come on the radio, but Sarah didn’t know if she could bear to listen to his airy words of hope tonight. Not when a truer darkness bit at her all around. Yet, perhaps he was done preaching by now; maybe the choir was singing. And anything was better than sitting here, alone and silent with none to comfort her, now that she’d nearly spent all her tears.

  She flicked on the dial. The radio crackled. Then the minister’s familiar baritone emerged. He was reading Scripture. Sarah recognized the passage vaguely and found herself caught up in
the story as the minister told it:

  “Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. (It was that Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.) Therefore his sisters sent unto him, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick.

  When Jesus heard that, he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.

  Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus. When he had heard therefore that he was sick, he abode two days still in the same place where he was. Then after that saith he to his disciples, Let us go into Judaea again.

  His disciples say unto him, Master, the Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again?

  Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him.

  These things said he: and after that he saith unto them, Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep.

  Then said his disciples, Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well. Howbeit Jesus spake of his death: but they thought that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep.

  Then said Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead. And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe; nevertheless let us go unto him.

  Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him.

  Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the grave four days already. Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen furlongs off: And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother.

  Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him: but Mary sat still in the house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee.