The Fragrance of Geraniums (A Time of Grace Book 1) Read Free Page A

last with a sigh of contentment.
“Thanks, Ben,” she said. “These are really good.”
    He rested his
cheek against Bessie’s rounded side. “No problem, little girl.” The sound of
the milk pinged through the barn, rhythmically, soothing Grace’s jittery
emotions. First, the incident with Mr. Kinner, causing her to despair, and now
the intense pleasure of having Ben home. Maybe now, with him here… maybe now
their home could be a normal one at last, instead of continuing in the bizarre
and embarrassing path that it had taken for as long as Grace could remember.
    Sitting there
sucking the next chocolate baby, Grace gazed at her brother, who seemed lost in
thought. He owned the short, slightly stocky build of all the Picoletti men,
deep-chested with arms made for manual labor, muscled from years of working
with willful race horses. The prominent jaw that jutted out even more than was
natural from its stubbornness. The sensitive aquiline nose, quivering with
emotion like one of the Greek heroes Grace had read about in her textbooks. Ben’s
oval eyes, tapering at the edges as if God had drawn them on with a calligraphy
pen; they flashed with anger sometimes and rained down compassion at others. His
forehead rose, white and smooth under the thatch of auburn hair, and she could
see the suntan line where his cap usually rested.
    Grace popped
another candy into her mouth. Yes, if anyone could help fix their family, it
was one of their own: Ben. No one else would understand why every word of her
father gave pleasure and pain at once. Why her mama wept late into the nights –
alone – and then presented a countenance of steel at the breakfast table each
morning, doling out each child’s gray lump of oatmeal like she didn’t care if
they lived or died, but she would do her duty nonetheless. Why her papa sang
like a red-breasted robin in the choir loft, burly chest puffed out, golden hair
slicked back like one of the seraphim… and then sneered at Mama’s soft humming
over the half-broken kitchen stove. Why Ben had left in such a huff three years
ago and had now returned.
    All these
questions, these “whys,” Grace turned over in her mind as she sat there on the
hay bale, tongue rolling over the chocolate babies, one-by-one. She studied
Ben’s broad back, the muscles pulsing beneath his worn shirt as his nimble
fingers drew the milk from Bessie. “Why’d you go, Ben?” she surprised herself
by asking. She heard her voice float out, a speck of sound in the air, thin as
Thursday-night soup.
    Her brother
stopped milking for a just a moment, then his hands began pulling again. He
turned his head a jot and gave Grace a crooked grin – the kind you give when
you’re smiling through pain. “Had to go. A man’s gotta make his own way, you
know.” He leaned his cheek against Bessie’s side, tan against deep brown, and
his dark blue eyes sought Grace’s matching ones. “I was sixteen. Almost twenty
now, you know.”
    “I’m nearly sixteen,”
stated Grace softly, “and I ain’t making my own way yet.”
    “‘Am not,’
canary. Learn to speak right, and maybe you won’t end up a bum like your big
brother.” Ben smiled, and Grace knew he was joking. “Besides, that’s different.
You’re a girl. Mama needs you.”
    “Papa needs you,
Ben,” she answered. “More than Mama needs me. She’s got Lou and Nancy.”
    Ben snorted.
“Old Sourpuss and Fancy-Pantsy? They’ll never hold a candle to you, Grace, and
Mama knows it. She needs you here, so don’t you go getting yourself ideas.”
    He stood up,
pulling the stool from beneath himself and setting it against the side of the
stall. Suddenly, he looked at Grace with that piercing gaze of his, usually so
full of fun and laughter, now turned deadly serious. “By the way, why were you
late? School got out a good hour and a half ago, didn’t it?”
    Grace ducked her
head. “Yeah.” She didn’t dare refuse to answer Ben. But, oh, how to explain…
    “Well,