The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) (31 page)

T
he 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.

H
e 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.

S
arah 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.

Jesus saith unto
her, Thy brother shall rise again.

Martha saith
unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.

Jesus said unto
her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he
were dead, yet shall he live:
 
And whosoever liveth and
believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?

She saith unto
him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which
should come into the world.
”

Strange, Sarah
had been brought up in the Church but hadn’t paid much attention to this story
ever before – except perhaps as a proof that God could work miracles if He
chose. That He could even raise the dead.

“Jesus asked
Martha,
Believest thou this?
” the radio minister stated. “Believest thou
that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? And I ask you, my friend: Do you
believe? Believest
thou?
Not that Jesus will raise your dead son, your
dead wife, your dead father back to
this
life. No, my friend, believest
thou
in Him?
Believest thou?”

In Him? Of
course Sarah believed that He was real; that He was God! Who didn’t believe
that? But how did that have anything to do with real life, with the bitter tang
of daily living with Charlie?

Didn’t the story
have more to do with why Jesus had waited to come to Lazarus’ aid? Martha made
a good point:
If thou hadst been here, my brother would not have died.

And Jesus had
not denied it. He could have come… if He wanted to. He could have given her a
happily-ever-after… if He’d wanted to.

“And Martha
believes,” the radio preacher continued. “She believes that He is the
Resurrection and the Life. That the one who believes in Him will not perish but
have life forevermore. She believes
in Him.
That
He
is the Christ
– the Coming One – who will weep with her – who will wipe all the tears from
her eyes.”

The clock
ticked.
Wipe all the tears from her eyes…
How good that sounded. Sarah
rocked slowly, intent on the voice emerging from the radio’s speaker.

“There is a larger
story here, friends,” the minister stated. “A bigger story than the death of
one of Jesus’ friends. Jesus doesn’t take His friend’s death lightly; later, we
read that He wept. Yet, Jesus knows that there is a bigger story – a great life
– beyond the grave. And that sometimes, deep sorrows are permitted by a loving
Friend so that the most beautiful story – that of resurrection – can be told.”

He paused. “Do
you have sorrow, friend? Is there a prayer Jesus seems to have not answered
with a yes? Do you weep?”

Sarah nodded,
feeling the tears bubble up again, spilling down her cheeks.

“Run like
Martha, then. Run to the Savior of the world. Fall at His feet, and reveal to
Him your broken heart. He is the Resurrection and the Life. Believe in Him as
the One who has taken all your sins, all your griefs upon Himself… and who will
exchange them for the crown of life, which He has purchased for you.”

Slowly, the
notion began to grow within Sarah. Perhaps – perhaps – her current life with
Charlie was just a small part of the bigger story – perhaps if this God was
good – that if He permitted destruction and bitter disappointment as Sarah’d
known in her own life, as Martha had experienced in Lazarus’ death – it was
only so that He might have the glory of Resurrecting Life – and that she might,
in some strange and unfathomable way, share in that life. A life beyond the
grave.

“I believe,” she
whispered into the quiet kitchen. “You and I both know, dear God, that I’m a
sinner. And there’s no help for me in this life or the next except through You.
I… trust You. I believe, like Martha, that You are the Resurrection and the
Life. I put my faith in You.”

And Sarah knew
that, though He’d tarried, Jesus the Christ had come to Chetham, Rhode Island,
that day and given new life.

“No matter what
happens with Charlie, God,” she said tentatively – and anything could happen,
after all. “I’m putting my bets on You. You’ve got me, no matter what comes.”

T
he rain gave way
to an opulent early May sunrise. Waking before Geoff, Emmeline took an
enjoyable amble around her gardens before strolling up the pathway to her front
door. The sunshine poured over the porch railings, making the wood shine even
whiter. Geoff must have given it a fresh coat of paint this week.

She climbed the
steps slowly, taking her time, enjoying the feeling of being home for good
again. But she wasn’t sorry for the time spent with the Picolettis, either. So
much good had come out of that. For Sarah and Grace, yes, but also for Emmeline
herself.

Winter has
passed. There would not be another frost… not until next year, at least.
Letting the washed spring air fill her lungs, Emmeline recognized that the time
had come.

A
n hour later,
she hooked the last basket onto the porch beam. The plants had not flowered yet
– she would have to wait for summer for that – but Emmeline knew that they
would.
In His time.

Like His
promises. Though she didn’t carry a child in her arms, though her womb could
never bear again, God would not fail her. He would give good to her, His child.

Lightly, she ran
a finger through a ruffle of green leaves. The spicy fragrance, unique to
geraniums, wafted on the breeze, and the old hymn rose in Emmeline’s mind:
The
bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.

“H
e never knew
what hit him, ma’am.” Grace entered the kitchen, skirt full of eggs, just in
time to hear the man say it to Mama.

Mama’s floury
hands hung limp by her side. She must have been kneading the lump of dough that
sat lonely on the wide table when this visitor arrived with evidently
disturbing news. Near the counter, Cliff stood motionless, a soda cracker
half-way to his mouth.

Grace stepped over
to Cliff as she peered at the man. It was Mick Nelson, one of the town’s
volunteer firemen. A nice enough man. He used to give Grace and Cliff pennies
if they’d carry his love notes to their sister Lou. Now, his fingers twiddled
with his cap nervously, and he wouldn’t meet Mama’s eyes.

“What is it?
What’s happened?” Grace heard herself asking, as if from far away.

Mick glanced up
at Mama, who nodded. “Your papa… He was hit by a truck last night on his way
home from…” The man trailed off, obviously feeling awkward.

The blood rushed
through her ears, yet Grace felt curiously detached, as if hearing about
someone she barely knew. “Is he going to be alright?”

Mick paused. Grace
licked her lips.

“Your father’s
dead, Grace.”

She stared
blankly at Mick. Papa was dead. Yet, somehow, that knowledge only carved more
emptiness into her heart.