Free The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) by Alicia G. Ruggieri Page A

feet, gilding all it touched, turning the fallen teardrops
to prisms. A great sigh tore from her chest.
    For many
moments, Emmeline sat bowed at the instrument, not putting off what she knew
she would do but waiting until the Lord Christ ripened the desire in her
heart. At last, she heard Geoff’s footfalls on the porch. He hadn’t whistled a
cheerful hymn as he usually did on his way home from school, she noted briefly.
    But Geoff’s
approaching presence gave her the impetus to drive forward. This will eat
away at me, at him, at us, if I continue to carry it. Slowly, ever so
slowly, Emmeline turned her hands over, palms open. She had no strength to
raise them but kept them resting on the ivory-and-black expanse. “Lord,” she
whispered – and a witness would have testified to the iron in her tone, “I am
Yours. All of mine is Yours. You give what You deem is best, and I will pour it
back at Your feet as an offering.”
    As she continued
there in silence, she felt the burden of the weekend – no, of the years she and
Geoff had waited for a child – lift from her shoulders. The relief felt so
palpable that Emmeline nearly gave into the desire to look in the mirror on the
far wall to see if anything had changed in her appearance. A sorrowful peace
had replaced the anxious weight. She felt she could breathe again without the
anchors of unmet expectations holding down her lungs.
    Emmeline heard
Geoff making his way upstairs and turned on the bench to greet him. Knocking
once, her husband pushed open the door. He stood there, a burnt-out match,
expression full of care. Emmeline rose and kissed the worn cheek. Geoff’s tense
arms gathered her against him. They were strong arms, yes, but not nearly
strong enough to carry their trouble alone.
    She nestled her
head against the five o’clock shadow of his cheek. “Don’t fear, beloved one,”
she whispered. A tear – one of his – dropped into the dark ocean of her hair.
“He will not give us a stone for bread. He will not.” Her eyes closed, sharing
his weeping. “He’ll give us what is good, beloved.”
     
    T he moon had
shone for hours by the time Grace finished her homework. She leaned back as
much as possible in the upright desk chair, stretching out her overworked arm.
Her gaze fell on the two double-beds, occupied by her three sisters. Evelyn
appeared as a round lump under the covers, curled up like a cat. Only her two
braids showed, spread out on her pillow. Evelyn nestled right in the center of
the bed, and Grace knew that she would have a difficult time of getting her
little sister to move onto her own side.
    In their own
bed, Lou and Nancy lay, the latter’s mouth open in a light snore. Both had come
home too tired to hear much about the new situation with Mama, Papa, and the
woman he’d brought into their house. When Grace had explained what had
happened, Lou had just shrugged and Nancy snorted, “Oh, Grace, you always think
of the craziest things.”
    When Grace had
persisted in talking about it, whispering furtively in the privacy of their
bedroom, her older sisters became angry. “Look,” Nancy had finally said, “just
keep your trap shut about it. Our family is embarrassing enough as it is. If
you keep talking like that, how d’you think Lou and I’ll ever get dates?”
    So Grace had
shut her mouth and given the smallest possible account to Evelyn, who didn’t
understand all that adult stuff yet anyway. Cliff lived in his own world, so Grace
didn’t waste her breath on explanations to him. While Nancy and Lou did their
hair up in rags and Evelyn played with her homemade paper dolls on their bed, Grace
sat and did her homework. But now that all of her sisters slept, she closed her
textbooks and tiptoed to the open window. She thought of her Mama’s face –
unfair, partial Mama; hardworking, dogged Mama – and of what Papa had decided
to do to her, and the tears rose to Grace’s eyes. They bubbled over, streaming
down her cheeks so