Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (26 page)

“The cake has some coconut, but I kept it light,” Barbara said. “I know you don't like coconut.”

Neal nodded. “Thanks.”

“Well, I'm going to be going then,” Barbara said. She thought of all of the angry things she had thought she'd like to say to Neal if she saw him again, but now she didn't want to say any of them. He looked so defeated.

Barbara looked around and signaled for the guard.

“Ask him if I need to sign something so you can have what was in my pockets when I came here,” Neal said.

Barbara nodded. “Goodbye, Neal.”

 

The sheriff opened the car door for Barbara. The visit with her ex-husband had been fruit less. The guard had reported that Neal had signed over his be longings to Barbara and that she had taken them, but the FBI had already examined everything he had in great detail so there were no new clues there.

“Keep your eyes open for any new purchases though,” one of the FBI men had told the sheriff as they whispered outside the jail while Barbara started walking the children back to the car. “That's the only way we're going to know if she's in on any of this.”

“Don't you think the fact that she told me about the cake pretty well clears her?” the sheriff asked.

The FBI man had shrugged. “Telling you about the cake got the cake to him, didn't it?”

The sheriff shook his head as he walked away from that discussion. Those FBI men saw too much crime. They'd be suspicious of their own mothers. As far as the sheriff was concerned, Barbara was in the clear.

“Let's get out of here,” the sheriff said as they finished walking to the car. Barbara already had the children settled in the back seat and was opening the door on the passenger side of his car for herself.

Barbara nodded as she sat down in the seat. “I feel chilly.”

“I'll turn the heater on in the car,” the sheriff said as he sat in the driver's seat. He didn't like the whiteness in Barbara's face.

The sheriff noted that the sky was overcast. He was right about it being a cold afternoon. With the heater going nicely, the children would probably doze off in the back seat before they were ten miles down the road. He didn't have much hope that Barbara would want to slide closer to him and snuggle, though. He only hoped she wasn't going to cry.

I
t was five-thirty in the afternoon when they arrived back at Barbara's place in Dry Creek. All of the bakery items were delivered. Now that they were back, the sheriff offered to carry a sleeping Bobby inside to a bed. Barbara didn't usually have visitors in this back room where she slept with the children, but Bobby was too heavy for her to lift, so she nodded her agreement.

Barbara was the first one through the outer studio and stopped at the doorway of the back room. She winced as she looked around. She wished she'd at least taken the time to paint the room before she'd moved into it several weeks ago. The walls were drab and made everything look worse than it was. Not that drabness was the room's only problem.

“This is only temporary,” Barbara told the sheriff as she stepped into the room so he could also enter.
She switched on the overhead light, hoping it would make things look cozier. It was late afternoon and dusk seemed to be creeping in earlier than usual, probably because the day was still overcast. The extra light didn't do much for the room in Barbara's opinion. Maybe it would have been better to leave everything in shadows instead of turning on the light in the ceiling. “I plan to find us a real home soon.”

The sheriff laid Bobby on the bed. “And what makes a real home?”

Barbara shrugged. “A yard with a white picket fence, I guess. Some thing solid where the kids can feel secure.” Barbara looked at the sheriff and smiled. “At least something with more than one room. They need that.”

The sheriff nodded, but his eyes didn't leave her face to look around the room. “That'd be good for all of you.”

“I can do it, too,” Barbara said. She looked closely at the sheriff so she could judge his reaction. Her ex-husband had never thought she was serious about wanting a home. He had never thought she could do much about it either so it wasn't surprising that she'd given up on even talking with him about her dreams. She wondered if the sheriff knew what a real home would mean to her children.

The sheriff nodded. “You can do anything. You just need a little time.”

The sheriff's eyes were a mossy green with golden flecks and Barbara could see that they were serious. He believed she meant what she said. She'd do it, too. “I'll have to work hard. Maybe get a second job.”

The sheriff frowned and the green of his eyes darkened. “You don't want to work too much, not with the kids needing you.”

Barbara nodded. “That's what has stopped me from taking a second job so far.”

The sheriff looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn't. He just ran his hands over his head like he was trying to straighten out his hair. “I need to get Amanda,” he finally said as he left the room.

Barbara realized she'd never noticed before what a fine head of hair the sheriff had. First his eyes and now his hair. She wondered why it had taken her so long to see his finer points His hair was an ordinary kind of light brown, but it was thick and looked like it had a nice texture to it. He should really leave his hat off more often, especially in the spring when a hat wasn't needed for warmth or shade. Then people would see his fine eyes and hair.

Barbara would have to mention the hat to him some day when he was more likely to take her advice. No one seeing this room right now would want to take her advice on anything related to looks and fashion. Maybe it was that realization that made her look at
the sheriff more closely. For months, she'd thought of him as plain, but maybe he really wasn't. Maybe he was like this room and just needed to make a few changes to bring out his positive points.

Barbara went to the counter that ran along one side of the room and wiped it with a dish towel even though there was no need. The counter was stained, but nothing had spilled on it. The room was clean. It was just al so—well,
used up
were the only words that came to mind.

She was wrong in thinking that the sheriff was like this room. There wasn't a positive point to this room, and the sheriff had his share of pluses.

Barbara sat down in a folding chair and rested her arms on the folding table. The table felt as though it could collapse at any time. Everything in the room was old or stained or temporary. None of the dishes matched. The silverware was mostly plastic. Even the lamp by the bed was missing a shade and looked ready for the trash.

A footstep sounded in the outer studio and Barbara looked up as the sheriff entered the room and then carried Amanda to the bed. Barbara wondered when the children had grown too heavy for her to lift. They were changing, just as Mrs. Hargrove had indicated. They were old enough to notice things like not having a proper home.

“I'll be back in an hour,” the sheriff said as he
pulled a blanket up over the children and looked over at Barbara. “Don't let them sleep too much or Mrs. Hargrove won't have a chance at getting them to bed at a reason able hour later. By the way, I'll pick up Mrs. Hargrove on my way.”

Barbara stood up. “Don't worry. They adore her. They'll probably pretend to go to sleep if nothing else just to please her.”

The sheriff smiled and nodded. “I'll be back soon then.”

“I'll be ready.”

Barbara watched the sheriff walk out of the building. He didn't appear to have noticed how worn everything was, but maybe he was too polite to remark on it. Just as she was too polite to mention that he should stop wearing a hat. She walked over to the stove and turned on the heat under the teakettle.

Barbara shook her head. She needed to forget about the sheriff's hat and do something about a better home for herself and the children. Listening to Mrs. Hargrove talk this morning had made her realize just how much her children thought about everything. She wondered how all of this temporariness was affecting them. They had lived hand-to-mouth all of their lives with their father. She wanted them to know they could trust her to take care of them and give them a normal life.

Barbara longed with all her heart to be deeply rooted in Dry Creek, but she had never asked herself if her children also felt like outsiders and wanted to belong. People seemed to have friend ships that lasted a lifetime in this little town. Even people who grew up here and then moved away stayed connected. Barbara wanted that for herself and her children.

Barbara wondered what her children thought it would take to belong. She knew her signal was something as simple as being invited to pour coffee for those in the community. Her children might be longing for a real home to make them feel part of this small town. All of the other children here had regular houses. It was a normal expectation for a child.

She and the children might still have to wait for the people of Dry Creek to fully accept them as their own, but Barbara vowed she would do something now to let her children know it would happen soon.

It would probably be months before she could actually rent a place, and that included the old house Mr. Gossett's nephew was supposed to decide if he wanted to rent to her. The house was across the street from where they were living now and down a little. Barbara could see its yard when she looked out the windows of the studio in front.

Often, during the day, she'd stop what she was doing and look across the street at that house. The fence around it was half falling down and the house
itself had ceased being white a long time ago. Now, it looked mostly gray where the paint had been worn down by the winters around here. No grass grew in the yard. There were a few pine trees that had managed to survive around the house. Anything else that had once been planted had died, either because of the winter cold or the summer heat.

Barbara saw all of the house's short comings, but for her, that old place was a dream she wanted to come true. She could almost see what the place would look like if it had someone to care for it.

So far, Mrs. Hargrove hadn't received another letter saying the Gossetts had made the decision to rent the house to someone. And Mrs. Hargrove might not get such a letter for months.

Barbara decided her children couldn't wait much longer without hope that things would change. A sturdy table was a beginning, and she wanted to be able to give them that much now. It would signal that a change was going to happen.

Barbara knew she could afford a table if she sold the rings. She almost reached for the phone to ask Mrs. Hargrove to advise her on how to sell the three-ring set, but then she pulled back. She didn't want to have to run to Mrs. Hargrove for advice on everything.

There had to be a pawnshop in Miles City, Barbara reasoned. Maybe whoever ran it would give her a few hundred dollars for the rings. That was a quick and
easy way to get money. She'd ask about catching a ride into town on Monday with Mrs. Hargrove. The older woman had said earlier that she was going to a dentist appointment then.

The whistle of the teakettle distracted Barbara, and before long she was holding a cup of hot tea. The steam from her cup warmed her face. The smell of cinnamon in the tea also made the room seem more welcoming. She wished she'd had tea steeping when she and the sheriff first got back here. She'd have to leave a pot steeping when he came back later to go to dinner. Mrs. Hargrove would probably like some tea while she watched the children anyway.

Forty-five minutes later, Barbara looked at herself in the old mirror that hung above the sink in the small bathroom next to the main room. The mirror had grown a little warped over the years, but it gave back a pretty accurate image even if it did make her face look yellow.

Barbara had washed and curled her hair until it flew around her face. She had brought out her makeup bag and put on a foundation cream and a little blush powder. She debated about putting on her eye liner and some green eye shadow before deciding that a little makeup couldn't define a dinner as a date. It was only natural that she wanted to look her best for the meal.

Barbara used the same logic as she pulled out
one of the four dresses she owned. She'd picked the dress by elimination. Her oldest dress was a sleeve less cotton summer dress, and she didn't even consider that for tonight because it was too cold outside to wear it. Another dress was more of a navy suit, and Barbara had already decided she would keep that back for Sunday school and church tomorrow morning.

The third dress was that lavender brides maid's dress and Barbara knew she'd cause a huge amount of gossip if she wore that to dinner with the sheriff. She smiled to herself just thinking about it. Several of the younger couples in the area made it a habit to come to the café for the Saturday-night specials, so there'd be plenty of wit nesses to her dinner with the sheriff. The story about her wearing a brides maid's dress to dinner with someone would last even longer than the story of her catching that bridal bouquet.

The remaining dress was her only choice, and that was the one Barbara was wearing. When she'd been married to Neal, this had been her “reconciliation dress.” In the early days, when they'd had a fight, Neal would take her out some place to dinner later and she would wear this dress. The dress was a deep vi o let that was so close to being black that it shimmered back and forth between the two colors, looking like one or the other depending on the way the light shone. The dress was fitted and long enough that it looked elegant. And it had a deep neckline that
made it look even more as though it belonged in a supper club, especially when Barbara added a string of pearls around her neck.

Barbara always felt like a lady when she wore this dress.

She knew the dress was too elegant for her dinner with the sheriff, but Barbara had decided to wear it anyway. After the sheriff had gotten a good look at the room where she lived, it wouldn't hurt to try and impress him. She at least wanted him to know she had some nice clothes.

Barbara heard the car drive up to the steps leading into the outer studio room and come to a stop. She had left one of the overhead lights on in this room and she could see the shadows of two figures through the curtained window on the door. She listened for a knock.

 

The sheriff adjusted his tie. He hadn't fussed about what to wear some place in years. He knew he should probably have just put on a clean uniform and been done with it. That's what he would normally wear to a dinner business meeting. But he knew that this dinner wasn't about business; at least, it wasn't for him. So, he'd put on his one suit, the same black one he'd worn to the wedding and the same one he'd wear to church in the morning. At least he had a new white
shirt to wear with it tonight. He had even borrowed Mrs. Hargrove's iron so he could press it.

“You look fine,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she stepped up until she was even with him at the door. “Do you want me to knock?”

“No, I should knock.” The sheriff rapped on the door with his knuckles. He wondered if Mrs. Hargrove knew how nervous he was.

“You're a handsome man, Carl Wall, and don't you be for get ting it,” Mrs. Hargrove said staunchly as they listened to the foot steps coming toward the door.

“Thanks,” the sheriff said, resisting the urge to smooth down his hair. He knew Mrs. Hargrove was just being supportive, but he did appreciate her telling him he looked fine. And everything would go fine, too; he just needed to take a deep breath and relax. The sheriff got his breath out, but he never got it back in again.

The door opened instead and he saw a movie star. Or one of those fancy magazine models. Whoever it was, she was dressed to go some where on the arm of a millionaire instead of a poor man who was going to pass out any minute now if he didn't take a deep breath.

The sheriff gulped.

Mrs. Hargrove slapped him on the back at the same time as she said hello to Barbara.

“Is he okay?” Barbara asked Mrs. Hargrove.

“More than okay,” the older woman said. “I think he's going to do just fine.”

The sheriff breathed again. At least, he thought he must be breathing, because he hadn't passed out.