A Touch of Grace (12 page)

“Do you feel all you said with Mr. Wiste?”

“Oh my, yes.” She closed her eyes again. “I know this is so right, and we both agree that life might be too short. Look what happened to both our mates. We don’t want to waste any of the time we might have together. In spite of what etiquette says.” She shuddered. “Who made those rules anyway?”

Grace grinned at her sister. “They’re not in the Bible.”

“See? That’s what I mean.”

They both looked up as the screen door opened. Mrs. Sam nodded over her shoulder. “Gentleman here to see you.”

“Can he come out here?”

“I think you better come in.”

Sophie dusted crumbs off her gown and followed Mrs. Sam into the kitchen.

Grace moved to Sophie’s chair so she could continue to rock the cradle. She watched as Joy stretched and then settled back into sleep. Good thing, since her mother was busy at the moment.

The screen door slammed, the babies flinched at the bang, and Grace caught the movement from the side of her eye. Sophie, furious, didn’t need signs or words to let her sister know something was wrong.

“What is it?” Grace asked.

“That insolent creep Mr. Cumberland—the man who wanted to buy the boardinghouse and spread rumors that I agreed to sell—is back. This time with another offer he is so sure I will take that he even offered, mind you, to go talk with Haakan and Thorliff for me so that no one can say he took advantage of a poor widow, young as I am.” She stomped up the porch, then down.

Grace could feel the force of her sister’s fury right through the soles of her feet.

“And then he had the nerve to request a room here for the night.” She glanced in the cradle to see the babies twitching and making faces.

“And if I don’t calm down, I’ll have babies to feed, and maybe my milk will be curdled.” She threw Grace a half smile. “Do women get mastitis?”

Grace shrugged. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Any suggestions?”

“You could write a letter to his company, telling them to leave you alone, that due to his mismanagement, you would never consider selling to them.”

“He is one of the owners.”

“Oh.”

“Now look what I’ve done.”

Grace watched Sophie swoop down and pluck Hamre from the cradle.

What if I have a baby, and since I can’t hear it when it cries, something
terrible happens?
Where had a thought like that come from?

“Shush, shush. Let your sister sleep.” Sophie looked to Grace. “Joy has been awake for a couple of hours each night lately.”

“Fussy?”

“Screaming. I’m afraid she’ll wake the men who are sleeping. Mrs. Sam has helped me walk her.”

“Still the colic?”

“I don’t know. Ask Mor for me, will you?”

“You ask her. She’s planning on coming in tomorrow. If you want me to, I could spend the night.” She inhaled the wonderful fragrance of strawberry preserves wafting from the kitchen.

“I need to go change him. Keep your eye on Joy, will you please? I’ll be right back.”

Grace leaned her head against the back of the chair, the rocking motion soothing her as much as the baby. How she would have loved to pick little Joy up and rock with her, but Sophie wanted to feed Hamre before this one insisted. After spending the entire day here, Grace realized Sophie was right. Feeding babies was what she did most of the time. How had Mor managed with the two of them?

She closed her eyes, and as usual Toby came striding across her mind, greeting her with a smile. He tucked her arm in his, and they walked up a path lined with green grass and bright yellow buttercups on both sides. Bluebells danced on their slender stalks; a meadowlark heralded them from the meadow. They paused under the shade of a big old oak tree. Toby turned toward her, looking deep into her eyes.

Grace, I—

She knew he was going to kiss her. She leaned forward and—

Her eyes flew open as she felt Sophie return.

“All right, we are back. I see Joy is still sleeping. Thank you, Lord.”

Grace could feel a flush start up her neck. Good thing Sophie couldn’t read her mind or decipher her dreams. What would Toby’s lips feel like on hers? How would she breathe if he ever kissed her a long time? Was her heart beating extra hard like Sophie had asked?

She watched Sophie settle Hamre in to nursing. “Is he staying awake longer so he doesn’t want to eat as often?”

“Somewhat.” Sophie peeked under the blanket at her son. “Garth can never seem to hold these babies enough. Every evening he sits and rocks them, one in each arm. He says it helps make up for when he was away from Linnie. That little girl of his would have nothing to do with him when he went to Minneapolis to visit at Christmas, but she warmed up to him a bit sooner when he went back to sell his house.”

Since Joy was still sleeping, Grace stood. “Think I’ll go on home. Wish you could come with me.”
Should I offer again to spend the night,
or did Sophie not answer before on purpose?

“Me too. But even more I wish I could show you Mr. Wiste’s house.”

Why don’t you want me to stay the night, and why do you keep talking
to me about his house?
Her head ached a little at the many twists and emotions their conversation took.

“It’s going to be your house.”

“Soon, but for now it’s not.”

Grace waved and walked down the steps to the grass Lemuel kept mowed. The garden was huge, and she waved to the young black man out hoeing. She should have been doing the same today. The large round leaves of hollyhocks filled a bed on the eastern side of the house, while lilies of the valley sent a sweet fragrance to welcome her as she reached the street front. It immediately relaxed her. She noticed a man walking toward her from the direction of the flour mill and waved when she realized it was Toby.
Maybe he’ll offer
to walk me home
. She waited for him to meet her. He looked tired, even with his fedora shading his eyes, eyes that did not brighten with his smile.

“Hello.”
Please be happy to see me
.

“You visiting with Sophie?”

She nodded. “You were working at the mill today?”

“Yeah, it’s almost finished.”

“You didn’t come to the fish fry.” Her hands clenched the paper-wrapped rhubarb bread Mrs. Sam had insisted she take home to Mor.

“No time.”

Toby, talk to me. What is wrong?
“Why don’t you come to our house for supper?” She couldn’t believe she’d suggested such a thing.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve agreed to help my mother tonight.”

“How about tomorrow night?” She reached out and touched his arm. Her frustration made her tongue thick, the words harder to say.
Grace, if your mother heard this, she would be appalled. Why am I doing
this? It must be because of what Sophie said
.

When he stepped back away from her as if he’d been burned, she swallowed hard.
He can’t even bear my touch
. Pain seared her soul.

“Sorry, Grace, I just don’t have time right now.” He touched one finger to his hat brim and nearly broke into a run getting away from her.

He didn’t have to be rude. She stared at his sweat-stained back.
Here I think I’m in love with you and you can’t even spend five minutes
in my company. Even friends don’t treat each other like that
. Grace thought over the list of questions Sophie had asked. She honestly wasn’t sure how to answer them with Toby, although she was clear about her thoughts concerning Jonathan—she knew she wasn’t in love with him. Did her uncertainty mean she really wasn’t in love with Toby? But he was—she thought he was—her best friend, at least her best male friend, and she had often heard Mor and Tante Ingeborg say how important friendship was in a marriage. Grace rubbed her forehead as the headache returned.

J
ONATHAN LATCHED THE GATE
to the pigpen and then checked it again. Embarrassment and guilt still rode him like spurs. He’d never realized how important a garden could be to a family until the rampaging pigs did so much damage. He’d never realized a lot of things until he came west. Tonight he needed to write to his family again and share his list of learned things. One of which was that money could buy a lot of comforts, and did in his family’s case. Something else he had learned—but not something he felt he could tell them— was that money did not buy love in a family.

He picked up a stick and leaned over the wooden fence to scratch the big sow’s back. She’d stand there grunting in contentment for as long as he’d take time to scrape the stick up and down her arched back. He’d also not known how smart pigs were or any of the farm animals, actually. But then, his knowledge had been restricted to dogs and horses.

On Saturday there would be a house raising for Garth Wiste’s sister and her family, who were moving to Blessing from Minneapolis. The idea that half the community would turn out to do such a thing intrigued him. Astrid said there would be a party that evening after the house raising. Perhaps he would be able to dance with Grace. Always lately, it seemed, his thoughts turned to Grace.

Jonathan picked up the buckets and took them back to the barn. The whey from the cheese house filled two barrels a day, which they fed twice daily to the pigs and chickens. He’d hauled four barrels down from the cheese house the day before—two for here and two to Andrew’s barn. Today he was to take the wagon and pick up full milk cans at three other farms, then deliver them to the cheese house and dump them into the tank, where the first stage of cheese making began.

Life was never dull around here, that was for sure. If his mother could see him now, she would be appalled. The idea made him smile.

Up at the house he found all the women in the shade shelling peas—the peas that weren’t in the abundance needed due to his carelessness with the gate, so the hogs got out and into the garden. “I’m on my way with the milk cans.” He watched as Grace popped open a pod with her thumb and tossed the peas into her mouth. “Those aren’t cooked.”

“Didn’t you ever eat peas straight from the garden?” Astrid looked at him like he was missing a body part, a look she had perfected and he saw frequently. Grace’s eyes twinkled as she munched and then handed him a full pea pod.

He started to slit it open. Grace shook her head, as did Astrid.

“No, this is the easy way.” Astrid held up a pod, ran her thumbnail down the seam, and laid it open, then scraped the peas into her bowl. “See?”

He followed her example and tossed the peas into his mouth. The crisp crunch and sweet flavor made him want more. “So why don’t we eat them this way instead of cooking them?”

Ingeborg laughed. “We are canning these for winter. The creamed peas we had last night were cooked. Are you saying those weren’t as good?” Like mother, like daughter. They did love to tease him.

“No comment.” He grinned back at her. At this time of day, his mother would be in the morning room, enjoying a cup of tea and perhaps writing letters or planning the next week’s menus or the guest list for a party. If the peas they ate came in pods, only Cook or her helper would know. “Do you need anything from town?”

“Thank you for reminding me. There’s a stack of mail on the kitchen table to be mailed.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“And take a couple of cookies that are cooling there.” Her comment followed him into the house.

The sun was edging close to vertical by the time he’d picked up full milk cans from three farms and dropped the mail off at the post office, dodging Mrs. Valders’ questions, as he’d learned the extent of her inquisitiveness on previous trips. His dealings with Mrs. Valders gave him a vague sympathy for the son he’d heard about who tended to lose his temper easily. He heard the ringing of the triangle when he turned the team into the lane. The cans rattled and clanged as he urged the horses into a slow trot. He needed to get the cans into the cool of the cheese house before he went in for dinner. More and more this way of life felt so natural and New York a foreign place where he had been raised but never really belonged.

Saturday morning breakfast wore an air of hilarity. While raising a house sounded like a lot of work to Jonathan, the other men talked like this was a huge party. Haakan had spent the evening before sharpening saws, and he’d explained that while there were usually teams that raced to build the walls of a barn, this house had come ready to put together like a jigsaw puzzle.