A Match Made in Dry Creek (11 page)

“Something with chocolate in them. Teenagers always seem to like chocolate.”

“Well, who doesn't?” Linda said, and then gave a whoop. “That's it. Chocolate. I put a little chocolate in the sauce.”

“In the spaghetti sauce?”

Linda nodded with a grin. “My grandmother used to call it her secret ingredient. She didn't use much, but she said it made the tomatoes taste a little more mellow.”

Doris June stood up. “Well, I'm glad you've solved the problem.”

“Now if I can only remember where Duane kept that old guitar of his. Aaron thought it would make a great
decoration to hang on the wall. You know, the guitar that the Jazz Man used to play when he was a nobody.”

“You should be proud of him,” Doris June said. “I've heard he's become very well-known. As I remember, you were the one who encouraged him to do his first performances here.”

Linda nodded. “He always had talent, Duane did.”

“Maybe, someday…” Doris June began.

Linda shook her head. “He invited me out to visit him a while back and I went. He lives in a whole different world now. I couldn't live in that world even if it meant being by Duane. Which it wouldn't really—he had so many other people around him.”

Doris June nodded. “I guess people change.”

“Although, it would be nice to have a wall of the café to remember him by,” Linda said. “It'd be nice to hear his name once in a while. Not a day goes by that I don't wonder where he is and if he's okay. I mean with drugs and everything, I wonder if he's all right. At least you always knew where Curt was.”

Doris June nodded. She'd never considered that a blessing before, but maybe it was. She had always known Curt was safe and well. If he'd been seriously sick, she would have heard about it.

Doris June helped Linda put the chairs down before she walked back to her mother's house. Her mother said Glory Becker was going to take her Sunday school class for her so she could just focus on the pansy baskets.

“That's good,” Doris June said as they put their jackets on to drive out to the farm. “There's no need to do everything yourself. I know you're not used to asking for help, but it's time for you to do it when you need it.”

“Well, I don't always need help.” Mrs. Hargrove bristled. “It's just all that's going on this weekend.”

“I didn't mean you always need help,” Doris June said as she opened the car door for her mother. “I mean there's no shame in asking for help when you do need it.”

“Well, of course not.”

“What I really mean,” Doris June said as she held the door open while her mother arranged herself inside the car, “is that I would like to give you more help these days.”

“Well, that's different,” her mother said with a pleased look on her face.

Doris June walked around to the driver's side of the car and slid inside. “What would you think if I came home more often? Maybe every couple of months or so?”

“Why, that would be wonderful.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Doris June said as she started the car.

It was time she came home, Doris June told herself. Even if it was only for scattered weekends every few months, it would be enough time for her to be more a part of her mother's life and more a part of the life of Dry Creek, too. She'd be able to do things she hadn't been able to do in her annual visits. It would give her a chance to see if she should make a permanent move to
Dry Creek, too. She shouldn't let the past bind her as it had. If it hadn't been for her pride, she might have already moved back to Dry Creek. She surely would have researched doing it at least. She didn't like the fact that she'd let the past determine her future. This whole concert thing might be just what she needed to let the past go. She surely hoped so.

C
urt had spent the morning carefully digging pansies out of the ground and putting them in his wheelbarrow. He wanted to have things ready to go when Doris June and Mrs. Hargrove got here. It was late Friday morning and he hoped, with the moss, that the pansies would be okay in their baskets until Sunday if they were kept cool and watered.

He hadn't realized until this year that Mrs. Hargrove had chosen such a delicate flower for her Mother's Day presentations all those years ago. As he thought about it he wondered why she hadn't chosen a geranium or a mum. Those were two flowers that were strong enough to endure almost any kind of neglect. Then again, maybe she didn't want these floral gifts for the church's mothers to be too hearty. Maybe there was something about appreciating motherhood that required someone to pay attention.

The whole motherhood thing was a mystery to Curt. He knew, without being told, that Ben suffered from not having had a mother in his life, but Curt had never known what to do about it. Ben's mother was nowhere to be found, and even if Curt did manage to find her, he knew she wouldn't come back and be Ben's mother. His ex-wife had never been fond of relationships where she wasn't the center of attention and a child wasn't just a reflector of happy thoughts.

Curt had wondered often over the years how he could have been so foolish when he'd married. He knew part of it was his impatience as a young man. He wanted quick results with everyone—his parents, God, and Doris June. He had not understood that a good life might require some waiting and that, just because Doris June wasn't really ready to run away with him, it didn't mean she didn't love him.

The irony was that patience was the one big lesson God had taught him since then. He still had to watch himself to be sure that he didn't get ahead of God, but, usually, Curt found he could slow his steps now and wait for things to develop. He wondered sometimes if his attention to his own lessons had resulted in Ben being too timid. It was as if his son had become the opposite of what Curt was like at his age.

That's one of the reasons Curt was glad Ben was working on this concert. It would do his son good to get up and perform for people. Ben was due some applause
in life and the teenagers around Dry Creek were good kids and would see he got it.

If doing the concert meant that Curt had to get up in front of the kids of Dry Creek and admit his mistakes, then so be it. Curt wasn't proud of the mistakes he had made in his life, but he was willing to talk about them with others if it could save some other young hothead from doing the things he had done.

Curt had even looked in the hall closet this morning and found his old letterman jacket. There was the figure of a cowboy on the back for the Miles City basketball team. Throughout high school either he or Doris June wore that jacket. They passed it back and forth so it carried both of their scents. He'd left it in his room at home when he joined the army and his father had kept it for him until he came home. Curt figured Doris June would enjoy seeing the jacket, so he'd bring it to the concert.

Curt heard Mrs. Hargrove's car coming even though he had his back to the road.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Hargrove called as he turned around. She waved to him from the car window.

Curt walked over to the car. “Why don't you let me look at your car for a minute? I can hear there's something wrong.”

“We can fix it later,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she opened her car door. “First, we need to get the baskets going.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Curt said as he watched Doris June get out of the other side of the car.

“Where's Charley?” Mrs. Hargrove asked as she walked toward Curt.

“He'll be here soon,” Curt said. “He wanted to make another batch of cookies. The first batch burned.”

“I didn't think Charley knew how to make cookies,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

“Neither did I, but he's doing it.”

“See.” Mrs. Hargrove turned to Doris June. “Even Charley knows that the cookies have to be homemade.”

“Mom doesn't think we should buy cookies for the concert,” Doris June explained to Curt as she walked over to where he had the pansies in the wheelbarrow.

“Almost everything the kids eat anymore comes wrapped in plastic,” Curt said as he followed Doris June over to the wheelbarrow and then turned his head to say something to Mrs. Hargrove. “Don't worry about the kids. They'll appreciate anything.”

Mrs. Hargrove grunted. “Nobody bought cookies in my day.”

Curt grinned. “I'm sure they didn't. That's why my dad is back home mixing up his oatmeal cookies.”

“Well, we just want the concert to go well,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she picked up a shovel.

“The concert will be fine,” Curt said as he reached over and put his hand on the shovel. “There's plenty to do with the baskets, you don't need to lift a shovel.”

“That's right, Mother,” Doris June agreed when she turned around from the pansies she was digging up.
“There's enough to do with those ribbons inside. Remember, we're cutting thirty-inch lengths of ribbon to make bows?”

“And we still need someone to put the baskets in stacks of twelve,” Curt said. “That's about how many baskets we can fill with the pansies in a wheelbarrow.”

“Fine, I'll go inside and sit down.” Mrs. Hargrove put her hands up in a sign of surrender. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“You're more than helpful, Mother.” Doris June stood up straight and looked directly at her mother. “You're the reason we're here.”

Mrs. Hargrove brightened. “That's right.”

“In some ways, you've already done your part,” Doris June said. “So relax if you want.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded as she started to walk toward the old farmhouse. “I just might do that.”

Doris June watched her mother until she entered the house and then she looked over at Curt. “Give her two minutes and she'll be scrubbing the windows in there.”

Curt nodded. “It's hard to change your nature.”

Doris June nodded and then turned to push her shovel into the dirt again.

Curt knew this was a natural opening to talk to Doris June about the impatience that had driven him as a young man and how it had done so much to damage his life. She hadn't been here very long this morning, though, and he thought he should wait and let them
work shoulder to shoulder for a bit. He didn't want to rush into any serious discussion unless he was sure the timing was right. He'd already made his mistakes with rushing Doris June and he wanted to be sure she was open to listening to him before he confessed his failings.

“Are you having a good time with your mother?” Curt asked after a couple of minutes of silence. “I can tell she's happy you're home.”

Doris June nodded. “I think she misses me more now that she's getting older.”

“Yeah, things change.”

Together they finished filling the wheelbarrow with pansies, all in their own clump of roots and dirt.

“I bet your dad's glad that you're back,” Doris June said as she straightened up.

“Yeah, he is.” Curt tilted the wheelbarrow up and started to push it to the house. He looked over to be sure Doris June was coming with him. “My dad didn't want to sell the farm and I don't know what he would have done if I hadn't wanted to come back and take over. Besides, Ben and I were both tired of Chicago and I didn't want to keep raising Ben there.”

Doris June nodded as she put out a hand to steady the wheelbarrow. “I know my mom is glad that you're back and want to rent the land on our farm. She's not ready to sell the place, either.”

“Well, maybe you'll want the farm someday,” Curt said.

Doris June just grunted.

By that time, they were on the porch of the farmhouse and they were ready to start putting the pansies into baskets. Curt figured he had done what he could to plant the thought in Doris June's head. He'd have to wait and see if she took hold of it with any interest.

They had several baskets put together when Curt heard another vehicle drive up to the house.

“It's Charley,” Mrs. Hargrove announced as she walked over to the door and opened it. “What took you so long?”

Mrs. Hargrove walked out on the porch to greet his father.

Curt could see out the window as his father held up a brown paper bag.

“I take back everything I said about store-bought cookies being okay,” Curt said as he winked at Doris June. She had just turned around to look at him. Curt pointed to where his father was walking toward the door. “I think we hit the jackpot.”

“Cookies,” Mrs. Hargrove announced as she led Charley into the kitchen.

“Oatmeal raisin,” Charley added. “The pick of the batch.”

“I thought you'd save the best for the kids,” Curt said.

Charley shook his head. “The workers need to eat.”

“I'll go along with that,” Doris June said as she held up her hands. “Just let me wash up a bit.”

Doris June stood at the kitchen sink and let the water
run over her hands. She'd used a bar of soap that sat beside the sink. She didn't know what Curt was thinking about when he mentioned that she might want the farm someday. She wondered if he was repeating words he'd heard her mother say.

It hadn't escaped Doris June's notice that her mother had kept everything about the house here livable. She still kept the electrical running and had the drapes all sealed away in plastic tubs in the corner of the living room. The wooden furniture had been left standing in its place. The books had been moved and all of the furniture, like the sofa and living room chairs, had been given away to neighbors long ago. But it wouldn't take much to make the house usable again. Even if she never farmed the land, she would probably want to spend summers at the house like her family used to if she moved back to Dry Creek.

It unnerved her though that Curt had mentioned the idea. The Curt she remembered never just mentioned anything. He had a definite opinion on everything. The fact that he hadn't urged her to move back and open the house hadn't escaped her notice. He'd asked the question very neutrally. That wasn't like him. She wondered if it meant he was just seeking information and didn't have an opinion.

She shook her head. She didn't see how she could move back to the farm. She'd see him driving his tractor around the land every spring and see him harvesting every fall.

“Save some cookies for Doris June,” Charley said.

Doris June finished drying her hands.

“I was saving some,” Curt protested. He was holding the bag. “See, these are her three right here.”

“Well, okay, then,” Charley said.

“The kids are going to love these,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she held up one of the cookies. “I don't think I've tasted a better oatmeal cookie, and here all these years you've been coming to me to get cookies.”

“Well, I didn't say I like to bake them. I'd rather brand a hundred calves than stir up a dozen cookies. I can hardly read the recipe anymore. And all of those teaspoons and tablespoons. I don't know why they don't just use a cup for everything.”

Mrs. Hargrove looked at her cookie more closely. “You did measure things, didn't you?”

Charley nodded. “I didn't want to, though. It about drove me crazy. And waiting to take them out of the oven. I think there should be a better way.”

Curt smiled as he handed over the rest of the cookies to Doris June.

Mrs. Hargrove and Charley walked out onto the porch.

“You can see where I got my impatient nature,” Curt said to Doris June softly. “It's a wonder I waited until you were seventeen to ask you to elope with me. I thought of it when I first got my license. You were so beautiful.”

“You just want a share of my cookies,” Doris June said as she looked into the brown bag. She hoped her cheeks weren't pink. She wasn't sure how to take Curt's teasing.

Curt chuckled. “Well, I wouldn't say no to another one if you insist. I had no idea my dad could bake.”

Doris June handed him one of her cookies. “Well, what did you think he did for meals before you moved home? He'd been on his own for years by then.”

Curt nodded. “I never thought of that. He said he didn't cook and I just started doing it. I thought maybe he ate with your mother or something.”

“Every meal?” Doris June said. “And they didn't have the café back then, either.”

“I bet he can even make pot roast,” Curt said. “I came home early from plowing one day and he was pulling a pot roast out of the oven. I thought your mother had brought it over.”

“Well, our parents can surprise us,” Doris June said as she took the last cookie from the bag. “At least, they don't seem romantically inclined anymore.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Curt said. “I kind of miss it.”

“You
miss
it?” Doris June took a bite of the cookie.

Curt shrugged. “Yeah, I kind of thought maybe they'd go for it. I mean, they've been friends forever.”

“Just because they're friends, doesn't mean they have any business getting married. Getting married is very complicated.”

“Is it?” Curt asked.

Doris June nodded. “It's a business contract, for starters. There's money involved and houses and things.”

“I don't think our parents would let those kinds of
things stop them from getting married,” Curt said. “And, if they were worried about it, they could draw up a prenuptial agreement.”

“Oh, I can't see them doing something like that.”

“Well, no, I can't, either,” Curt said. “But, if they were worried about it, they'd have sense enough to do something like that rather than just not get married.”

“Maybe.”

“I know I would sign a prenuptial,” Curt said. “If the woman I was marrying had, say, a huge retirement account or a house or something. I wouldn't let money stand in the way of getting married. Not after all this time.”