A Touch of Grace (40 page)

“I know. But I think we need to rewrite our agreement. When you are well, we will discuss it. I think you should come home to recuperate.”

“But then I will have failed this semester. Surely I’ll be able to return to class in a couple of days.” He tried to sit up but collapsed back against the pillows.

“I talked with your professors. You will have until classes resume in January to make up for your lost time. You can take your finals when you return.”

“What did you do? Buy them off with a building?”

The burst of laughter from his father made him smile too. He took the next spoonfuls of soup with good grace.

“You really do love Miss Knutson, don’t you?”

The question caught him by surprise. Had his father doubted it? Obviously so. But when he thought to the flitting from flower to flower that had been his practice for his prep-school years, which his mother had thought delightful, perhaps his father had not been of like mind. “I told you I did and do.”

“You kept calling for her, as if she were lost and you couldn’t find her.”

What else had he said? How frustrating that he could remember none of it.

“I called Mrs. Callahan to tell Grace and ask her to pray for you also.”

The words dropped like petals on a lazy stream.

“You did?” He had never heard his father talk like this of praying before. Granted, they went to church occasionally but only as a social responsibility. Their family name under a plaque on one of the stained-glass windows was as close to community as they came.

“I sent a telegram to the Bjorklunds, asking them to pray too.”

That did it. Jonathan’s jaw sprung the lock and hung to his chest.

“Mrs. Maguire reminded me that God promised that when two or three agree on something, He will honor those prayers.”

“I see.” He didn’t really, but that seemed a good thing to say. His mind was having a hard time accepting all this information. “So does Grace know I’m still alive?”

“Oh yes. I called to have a message delivered there yesterday when we knew you were on the mend. Mrs. Bjorklund telegraphed a receipt for one of her homemade medicines, and after we found the ingredients and poured that into you, the crisis passed. I will never be able to thank her enough.”

Jonathan knew there was a laugh in there somewhere, but he couldn’t find it before he slipped into sleep again.

When he awoke a few hours later, a note sat propped against the lamp. This time as he reached for it, his hand held steady. He slit the envelope with a fingernail grown long and read the letter.

My dear Jonathan,

I’ve been called back to the city—marvelous machines these telephones—but I want you to have some more to think about. I believe you should come home on the train as soon as you are able to travel. We will send someone to assist you. Mrs. Maguire will supervise your care there. She has been a stalwart friend. I release you from your agreement not to mention your feelings to Miss Knutson. I know a letter from you as soon as you can write one would ease her concerns. I sent a message to her again and telegraphed the Bjorklunds, thanking them for their prayers. I guess Mrs. Bjorklund threatened to come and nurse you herself if you didn’t improve. I thank our God for the friends He has given us. We will bring in a tutor to help you make up the time if that would be a good idea. Getting well and strong again is your first priority.

I agree with you. Grand Forks sounds like the best school for what you want to do.

Your loving father,

DJG

If he hadn’t been lying down, Jonathan knew he would have collapsed.

New York

December

Dear Jonathan,

Please get well. Our whole school is praying for you. I’ve enclosed a note one of my sweet little girls wrote for you. I was so shocked when your father called in the message and so grateful he informed me of what was happening. As Tante Ingeborg has always said, Mr. Gould is a fine man and faithful friend. I believe you take after your father, even though I’m not sure you see that in yourself.

Grace brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes.
Lord, please bring
healing
had been her waking prayer since the telephone call that nearly scared her out of her wits. Mrs. Callahan had knocked at her door that evening just as she was thinking of getting dressed for bed.

“I have a message for you from Mr. Gould,” she’d said. “His son Jonathan is terribly ill, and he wanted you to know so you could pray. I told him we would all be praying. I hope that is all right.”

“Did he say what was wrong?”

“Pneumonia.”

“Oh! Oh, please dear God, not Jonathan.” Her mind immediately flew back to the times that Ingeborg and later Elizabeth had nursed people in Blessing, some to live and some not.

“Has he passed the crisis point yet?”

“No, I don’t think so. He didn’t say. He sounded very worried.”

She’d spent much of the night on her knees and searching through her Bible for the promises God had given on healing. Pastor Solberg had given them all a list once, if only she had kept it in her Bible where it belonged. She returned to her letter.

Hearing that you are on the way to recovery has made us all rejoice. Even the smaller children ask me how my friend is.

Thanksgiving here was so different from home. While your family invited me to come there, I decided that here was where I could be most helpful. Some of our students could not go home for such a short time, just like at our school in Blessing. So we had a good dinner here and played games in the afternoon. At least they understand enough signs now that I can read to them, and they can follow the story.

I am looking forward to a letter written by your own hand. However, Mary Anne says she will take dictation and write for you—just in case your hand is too weak.

Your praying friend,

Grace Knutson

She kept herself from writing
Your loving friend
, as that was not appropriate, even though she was his friend. She knew that for sure, and she most certainly had been thinking about him a lot. She couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled through. She felt as if a part of her would have been lost, and she really didn’t understand why. Maybe this was what a good friend felt like. Before, her closest friends had also been family. Except Toby. But even during times she had felt the need to pray for him, she had not felt this sense of separation. Maybe it was just the distance, she reasoned.

She slid both pieces of paper into the envelope, addressed it, and set it aside to be mailed when she went down for dinner.

Since Sunday afternoon had become her letter writing time, she wrote one to her mother, another to Sophie, praying once again for an answer this time, and one to Astrid, knowing full well they would share the news, so she made each one different.

“Miss Knutson, would you come see me after supper?” Mrs. Callahan stopped by her chair to ask.

“Of course.”

“Now, don’t worry. There is nothing wrong.”

Grace’s heart settled back down out of her throat. This would be a long meal if her worry streak had anything to say about it. One of her Bible verses tiptoed through her mind.
Fret not
. Fret and worry seemed to be twins. One always traveled with the other. At least here they did. They had never seemed to be her insistent companions in Blessing.

She watched carefully as one of the children signed for permission to leave the table. “Why?” she signed back. He wrinkled his forehead, so she signed again, “Why?” and spoke the word at the same time.

He rubbed his tummy and shook his head, then signed, “Sick.”

She beckoned him to her side and felt his forehead. Sure enough, he was too warm, and he looked a little green. Just as she rose to take him to the infirmary, he vomited all over her apron and the corner of the table. The shocked look in his eyes would have made her smile if he hadn’t been so miserable.

“Don’t worry,” she signed and reached for an empty bowl, handing it to him to hold in case he needed it. She signaled one of the kitchen helpers to come clean it up, at the same time removing her apron and folding it across the back of the chair. She took his hand and led him out of the room, grateful she’d been able to breathe through her mouth so that she didn’t throw up right after him. While the others had stared round eyed, all of them went back to eating.

“Richard had an accident at the table, and he really isn’t feeling well,” Grace signed when they reached the nurse’s office.

“Poor little fellow.” Nurse took his hand and felt his head. She signed, “Come with me,” and he sent Grace a pleading look, so she went along too. He vomited again when they were getting him into a nightshirt, and he started to cry. Nurse sat down in a rocker and motioned him to climb up in her lap. With a sad look over his shoulder to Grace, he did so and leaned against the woman’s soft shoulder.

“I’ll let you know how he is.”

“Thank you. I need to get back to my table.” Grace stopped in the bathroom and washed her hands, grateful for the big aprons that protected her clothes.
Please, Lord, let it be only an upset stomach, not
something serious
. Back in the dining room, the mess was cleared away, and one of the older girls had taken her place at the table. Dessert dishes filled with tapioca pudding, topped with crushed peppermint candies, were being served as she sat down in Richard’s place.

“Is he bad sick?” signed the girl who always sat next to him. While children were assigned tables, they could sit anywhere they wanted at the table. Until they got into a squabble, and then the teachers and assistants took over.

When the last of the pudding had disappeared, everyone was dismissed and the evening monitors took over. Grace tucked her napkin back into the ring by her place and stood.

“Will you be joining us in the parlor?” Miss Parke asked. “I brought my knitting, and I was hoping you could find where I went wrong.”

“I have something else I have to do first, and then I’ll come.” Some of the teachers had asked her to teach them to knit, and now they met once a week for lessons. Unless there was a problem or other responsibilities to attend to, like now. “You most likely dropped a stitch.”

“Or added an extra.” Miss Parke shook her head. “You make it look so easy.”

“You are doing well. I’ll be in soon.” All she could think of was the night Mrs. Callahan had come to tell her about Jonathan. Even though the woman had said this was not a bad thing, her stomach said otherwise. Grace tapped on the office door and opened it enough to stick her head in. At Mrs. Callahan’s smile and beckoning hand, she entered and took the chair next to the low table that was indicated. She clasped her hands in her lap, the better to keep them from trembling.

“Now, Grace, I told you not to worry.”

“I know.” She forced herself to smile.

“I have a problem, and I’m hoping you can help me solve it.”

“If I can.”

“Here is the situation. Miss Dunkirk has received a letter saying that her mother is ill and needs her daughter home to help take care of her. She needs to leave in the morning, and I was wondering if you would be willing to step into her place?”

Grace stared at her, wondering for a moment if she heard correctly. “You want me to be a full-time teacher?”

“Yes. Starting immediately. And I have a strong feeling that Susan will not be coming back for some time.”

“What about my studies?”

“I am sure you will pick up whatever you may need as you go along. The rest of us will assist you any way we can.”

Grace stared at her mentor and tried to stop her churning thoughts.

“The pay will be what we always start beginning teachers at.” She named a figure that made Grace swallow quickly.

“Are-are you sure I am worth that?”

“Oh, I am sure. Your patience and gentle spirit have earned you many accolades from other teachers already.”

“I’ll still be able to go home for Christmas?”

“Oh yes. The school is closed down for the holidays, starting on December twenty-first.” She paused. “Somehow I thought you were going to New York City to be with the Gould family for Christmas.”

Grace realized what she had said. Home. A wave of homesickness rolled over her so mercilessly she could scarcely catch her breath. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “That is what I meant, of course.” Like a little child with a stuck-out lip, something inside her insisted,
I want to go home to Blessing. Home is not New York City
.

“Let’s walk up to your classroom. I’ll send for Susan to join us, and she can show you around. Have you been in her classroom before?”

“No. I’ve only assisted with the beginning signing classes.”

After receiving Miss Dunkirk’s schedule and an overview of the class projects, Grace headed back to her room with her mind swimming. But underneath another thought kept nibbling. Maybe, just maybe, with the pay Mrs. Callahan had stated, she could go home to Blessing for Christmas. Yet she had promised the Goulds, especially Jonathan and Mary Anne.