The Time Keepers

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

A S G RACE CLEANED UP THE KITCHEN, THE PHONE RANG.

“Grace?” Adele’s voice sounded urgent. “Is now a good time? I tried to wait until after dinner to call.…”

Ever since she saw Adele in the street that morning, she knew she’d be hearing from her. Adele loved gossip.

“Yes … I’m just doing the dishes.…” Grace cradled the receiver against her shoulder and shook the water off her hands. It was nearly 9:00 p.m., and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed after such a long day.

“I just wanted to check up on you. I was a little worried when I saw you this afternoon with that … boy.”

“Worried?”

“Oh, you know what I mean, Gracie. He clearly wasn’t from around here. So I was concerned.”

Grace kept her voice measured. A lot had happened over the years between the two women. Adele was one of the first to welcome Grace to Bellegrove after she married Tom. Those first few months in the town had been particularly hard for Grace, as so much of suburban East Coast life was unfamiliar to her. When she lived in Queens, she was surrounded by loads of girls just like her, from small Irish villages, who all still kept a little bottle of holy water and a prayer book tucked inside their handbags, along with the rosary from their first communions. None of those girls cared if someone’s house hadn’t had indoor plumbing back home.

But in Bellegrove, she had on occasion found herself being described as “progressive,” a term she’d never heard before. When she inquired its meaning to Tom, he had laughed. “Gracie, it’s their way of saying someone’s broad-minded enough to marry a Jewish guy like me.” He bent over and kissed her.

“I just feel like a country bumpkin … that’s all.…” she said. While Tom was smitten by her old-world innocence, she couldn’t help but feel insecure about her lack of sophistication. She hardly felt like a trailblazer. Her cloth coat and sensible shoes looked dated, and her Irish accent only reaffirmed the notion that she was still very much a new immigrant.

When Tom and his mother suggested she might want to join the local branch of the City of Hope organization, a group of young women who raised money for that prestigious research hospital, she took their advice to heart, hoping she’d soon find a circle of friends willing to welcome her. While nearly all of the women had snubbed her, preferring to socialize with friends they’d known for years, Adele had come up and introduced herself to Grace at that first meeting.

“Are you the new Irish girl who married Tom Golden?” she asked with an enviable confidence that Grace found intimidating. She dazzled in her green angora sweater and strand of cultured pearls, her slim hips fitted in a wool pencil skirt and kitten heels.

“Welcome to Bellegrove!” Adele squeezed Grace’s hand and then paraded her around the basement room, introducing her to the other women.

Grace had felt lucky when Adele first befriended her, as if some of her new friend’s glamorous shine might rub off on her. She was elated when Adele offered to take her shopping to update her wardrobe or offered to share her “American” recipes. And when her brother Bobby died in Vietnam, Grace’s heart broke for Adele, especially knowing the young man had been a childhood friend of Tom’s. But as much as Grace wanted to have compassion for the O’Rourke family tragedy, she soon saw another side of Adele that made her pause. There had been many times where she felt Adele was inappropriately relaying information that should have been kept private, like news of miscarriages or husband problems. It made Grace reconsider sharing any personal information with her.

“That’s very kind of you, Adele. I appreciate you checking up on me.” Grace pulled the dishrag from the counter and dried her hands. “And him.”

“Of course! Were you able to return him to his parents? They must have been so worried.”

Grace let out a sigh. Adele was known for her persistence. “He’s living on the grounds of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs with his aunt. The diocese sponsored some Vietnamese refugees.”

The phone crackled with silence.

“From Vietnam? Well, if that’s not …” Adele paused. “Vietnam—that certainly is long way from here.”

“Yes.” Grace softened her voice. “I’m sorry … I know that country brings up a lot of painful memories for you and your family.”

“Not just my family …” Adele sounded prickly. “There’s a lot of families who lost someone over there.” She paused again. “And what about that man Tom took under his wing? The veteran who lives above your store. You think he’s not going to be upset?”

Grace’s stomach flipped. She’d felt terrible that she’d forgotten to telephone Jack and cancel dinner. He always looked forward to having supper with them on the first Sunday of the month. The children told her how he’d came to the house promptly at 5:00 p.m. but left quickly when he realized something had come up. Of course, Adele still had never made the effort to remember his name.

“I have no idea … but they’d be wrong to be upset. This boy and the others were the people our men believed they were fighting for. They’re not the enemy.…” she answered quickly . She knew so little about the politics behind the war, but truthfully, she’d been sickened every time she picked up the paper or had watched the news. It wasn’t only the images of countless coffins being escorted off airplanes with American flags draped over them that had upset her, but all of it. That photograph of the child running naked in the street, her body on fire. All the torched forests. The pain and devastation were too much .

“Bobby was just a kid.…”

Grace closed her eyes and tried to imagine the young man who she had only seen snapshots of in Tom’s scrapbook. He was tall and lanky with shaggy hair just like Tom and shared a similar mischievous grin.

“I know, Adele. And this little boy is just a child. I’m going to call over there tomorrow and see if there is anything our women’s group can do to help.”

“You are always so good like that, Grace.” Adele had managed to restrain her emotions.

“I don’t know how good I am, Adele … but I was the one who found him. I want to make sure he’s in safe hands.”

Katie came into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants.

“Oh, good, you’re off the phone. I wanted to call Annie.”

“Go ahead, I’m done.” Grace took a sponge to the counter.

“Who were you on the phone with?”

“Adele.”

Katie made a face. “Her son, Buddy, has been hanging out with a new boy, Clayton Mavis.… They’re both always shooting spitballs at Annie and me.” She went to the cupboard and pulled out a cookie from the brightly colored packaging and took a bite.

“Well, that’s not right. You want me to call the teacher?”

“No, it’s not that bad. Clayton’s just such a bully … picks on Francis Wilson all the time, calling him names like ‘Blubber’ and ‘Lard-ass’ …”

“Katherine Rose …” Grace said her daughter’s full name to show her disapproval. “No need for that kind of language.”

“I was just stating the facts, Mom.” Katie rolled her eyes and went to pick up the phone.