Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (28 page)

“Well, that was interesting,” Barbara said when Pete finally left the café. “How long ago was it that he and Linda dated?”

“Pete and Linda?” the sheriff asked in surprise. “Why there's nothing between the two of them. Linda's been waiting for that boy friend of hers, Jazz, to give up on that band of his and come home. She's been waiting a good three years now. They started this café together before he left Dry Creek to try and become a rock star. What a waste of a man's future.”

“Three years is a long time to wait for some one,” Barbara said slowly. She could already smell the hamburgers cooking on the grill in back. She also heard the sound of a pickup driving around behind the café.

“How long are you planning to wait?” the sheriff said quietly. “Before you marry again, that is.”

“Oh.” Barbara flushed. “I'm not going to marry again.”

The sheriff didn't say anything.

“I'm just not very good at it,” Barbara finally confessed, partly because she felt un comfort able not giving any reason at all. Plus, there was nothing else to fill the silence.

The sheriff shook his head. “I don't believe it. Now me, I'm the one who wouldn't know how to go about this family business. But you? You have it down pat already.”

Maybe it was the fact that the café was still dark and she only saw flashes of the sheriff's face. It was like being in a confessional. Whatever it was, Barbara went ahead and told him everything. “It's not about family life. I can do that. It's just that I'm not any good at picking men. You know, like some women aren't any good at picking watermelons. I don't seem to do very well with picking men. I doubt Neal ever loved me, not even at first when I thought he did. I should have known better.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I figure a woman can learn to pick out a good watermelon,” the sheriff finally said. “And, if she can't, she gets a neighbor to help her pick one out.”

Barbara smiled at that. “I don't know of too many neighbors who want to pick out a husband for some one.”

The sheriff snorted. “You could've fooled me on that one. It seems everyone around here has an opinion on who should marry who.”

Barbara frowned. Now that she thought about it, that was true. “Especially who should marry me.”

She remembered the night of the wedding reception when Charley had offered his nephew and Jacob had offered himself.

“But it's not the same,” Barbara said. “No one should pick out a partner for someone else. It should be something special that just happens between the two people.”

“I wouldn't know about that,” the sheriff said.

Love was a whole lot different than picking out a watermelon, Barbara thought. Love made a woman lose the sense she was born with. Picking out a ripe piece of fruit never did that.

She didn't get a chance to tell the sheriff that though, because the door to the kitchen opened and Linda came out with a small plastic basket in her hands. “I thought I'd bring you some fries to get you started. Your hamburgers will be out in a minute. What kind of cheese do you want?”

“I'll stick with the pepper jack,” the sheriff said.

“I'll have mine plain,” Barbara said. “With lots of catsup.”

“And some mustard for me,” the sheriff added.

Linda set the basket of fries down on the table and went back into the kitchen.

Barbara and the sheriff were silent for a minute.

“I'm not planning to get married again anyway,” Barbara finally said. She thought she should tell him that. After all, he had been kind enough to understand her watermelon theory.

The sheriff nodded as he picked up the basket. “You've made your feeling on that subject clear. Want some fries?”

Barbara reached into the basket and pulled out a hot French fry. “I think Linda should get married though. I can't help thinking about Pete and her.”

The sheriff grinned. “See what I mean about picking out watermelons for your neighbors? Everybody wants to do it.”

“Who would you pick?”

“For you?” the sheriff said. His grin was gone and he looked serious.

Barbara shook her head. “No, for Linda.”

“I'd pick Pete,” the sheriff said promptly. “Just to keep him away from you.”

“That's not a very good reason.”

“It is to me,” the sheriff said with a nod. “He's not good enough for you. Not by a long shot. You need to marry a man with—” the sheriff seemed at a momentary loss for words “—well, with lots of money, I guess.”

Barbara gasped. “I'd never marry a man for his money.”

“Of course, you wouldn't,” the sheriff agreed and wiggled his eyebrows. “That's why you need to let a neighbor like me do the picking for you.”

Barbara laughed. She had for got ten about the sheriff's eyebrows. He'd told some of the best stories when she was in the hospital and, as often as not, they'd ended with that wiggle of his eyebrows. She didn't even pay any attention to the sounds of the kitchen door opening.

When the sheriff saw she was laughing, he wiggled his ears, too. And then his nose.

“You need to read a bedtime story to the children some night,” she said when she got her breath back from laughing. “You'd do a great three little pigs.”

Barbara gradually became aware that Linda was walking toward them.

“I brought your hamburgers,” Linda said cautiously as she sat two platters down on the table. “I'll be back with the catsup and mustard.”

Barbara wiped a tear away that she'd gotten from laughing. “Thank you, we're really not crazy. We're just—”

Linda held up her hand. “You don't need to explain. Tonight I'm an anonymous waitress. Your date is private.”

“Well, it's not so much a date as it is—” Barbara stopped to think a minute. “Well, really, it's just two old friends having dinner together.”

The sheriff nodded. “I can live with that. As long as it's not just business.”

Linda smiled and turned her back to walk toward the kitchen. “There'll be blue berry pie for dessert if you want some.”

“Blue berry is my favorite,” the sheriff said. “We'll sit here a bit after we eat our hamburgers and have some.”

“And we do need to think of a slogan for you,” Barbara said.

“We've got time,” the sheriff said. “I'm not fussy and I don't mind lingering over dessert.”

Barbara felt the sheriff's hand cover the hand she had on the table again and give it a squeeze before letting it go.

“Right now you're probably hungry for these hamburgers though,” the sheriff said as he unfolded the cloth napkin by his plate and put it on his lap.

Barbara couldn't remember when she'd tasted a better hamburger.

“Uhmmm, that's good,” the sheriff said as he took a bite of his own hamburger.

Barbara smiled. She liked watching the sheriff enjoy his meal. She liked the way the evening had
slipped into friend ship as well. She took another bite of her ham burger.

After a minute, Barbara sat her hamburger down on the plate. “Now isn't this better than being on a date? Just two friends eating together. No pressure. No—you know—”

The sheriff lifted his eyebrow as he put down his own ham burger. “‘No—you know'? What's that?”

Barbara shrugged. “Holding hands. Kissing. That sort of thing.”

The sheriff smiled. “Oh, I intend for there to be kissing.”

“But—”

“It wouldn't be fair to have Linda go to all this work for us and us not even to kiss after,” the sheriff said. “It might discourage her from doing this sort of thing for others.”

Barbara knew she should protest. But somehow she didn't really want to argue about it. It seemed churlish to argue when the stereo in the kitchen was playing old love songs now. She could afford to kiss the man again. In fact, she'd begun to wonder what it would be like to kiss the sheriff again now that she was free of pain and not sedated at all. She'd probably find out that a kiss now wasn't the same as the one had been back then anyway. It would actually be good for her to kiss the sheriff. It'd be an experiment of sorts.

If the sheriff had expected an argument, he didn't say. He just kept eating his ham burger as though everything were normal. But Barbara knew that things were far from normal. For one thing, the temperature in the café had shot up as though someone had turned the furnace on. For another, the ham burger that had tasted so good a moment ago now tasted like sawdust.

Barbara had finished her ham burger before she convinced herself that the sheriff had been teasing her about the kiss. He must have been teasing, because he looked as if he'd completely for got ten about any kiss. Between bites, he kept humming along with the tunes on the stereo. When he did talk, it was about the weather. A man didn't do that if he had kissing on his mind. Yes, he must have been just teasing her.

Barbara and the sheriff had both finished their hamburgers and folded their napkins when Barbara realized how wrong she had been. The sheriff hadn't for got ten and he hadn't been teasing.

The sheriff stood up and offered his hand to Barbara. “Would you like to take a stroll before dessert?”

Barbara didn't even have to answer him; he just put her hand in the curve of his elbow and escorted her out of the café and onto the front steps. Together they stepped down onto the ground.

“Let's step out a few feet,” the sheriff said as he
led her away from the building. “We can see the stars better then.”

On the walk over to the café, Barbara hadn't paid any attention to the sky. Now she was surprised anyone could walk beneath it and not notice the spattering of jewels up there.

“The clouds left at least,” the sheriff said as he looked up. “I was hoping they would.”

So that's why he was wondering about the weather during dinner, Barbara realized. He wanted to be sure they could see the stars.

“It's beautiful,” Barbara said softly.

They were silent for a moment, just looking upward.

“I guess this makes it a date officially,” Barbara said with a little laugh. “We're out looking at the moon and the stars.”

“No, that doesn't make it official. This does.”

Barbara felt the sheriff turn toward her and she lifted her face to his. She told herself it was not a real kiss. It was just a kiss to knock the memory of that other kiss out of her mind.

The next thought she had was that looking at the sky wasn't the only way to see stars. She felt the sheriff's kiss all the way down to her stomach. Or was it her toes?

“Oh, my.” Barbara breathed when she could.

The sheriff took his own deep breath. “—dear.”

Barbara looked up in panic. The sheriff was going too fast.

The sheriff looked at her for a moment before smiling a little ruefully. “That's the way it all goes. It's ‘oh, my dear.'”

“Oh,” Barbara said in relief. “That's right.”

Trust the sheriff to think about things like completing a phrase at a time like this, Barbara thought to herself as they walked back into the café. But it was good that one of them was thinking of something sensible. She didn't quite seem able to at this time.

I
t seemed like a long walk to Sunday school the next morning even though the church was only two doors down and across the street from the place where Barbara and the children lived. Barbara could see that the children were much more excited about going there than she was.

“They have a birthday bank,” Bobby had confided to her this morning over a break fast of toast and cereal. “On your birthday, you get to go up and put a penny in the bank for every year old you are. Then they sing Happy Birthday to you and give you a pencil.”

Barbara had no idea that Bobby knew so much about what happened in the Sunday school at the Dry Creek Church. The other kids had obviously told him all about it.

“And they sing songs,” Amanda had added solemnly as she carefully poured milk on her second
bowl of cereal. “But nobody has to sing all by themselves so it's not scary.”

“I'm sure none of it will be scary,” Barbara had told the children.

And, even now that they were walking toward the church on this fine spring morning, she was sure that what she had said was true for the children. She, on the other hand, had every right to be terrified about going to Sunday school.

People expected adults to have at least a nodding acquaintance with what went on in a church. Barbara didn't. She knew about the Golden Rule and the Lord's Prayer, but she didn't know anything about what actually went on in a church. She didn't know if you bowed to the minister or stood when the choir sang. She knew the Christmas story, but that's all she knew about the Bible.

Yet, even though she had told Mrs. Hargrove that she didn't know anything, the older woman had still wanted her to help with her first- and second-grade Sun day-school class. Amanda and Bobby would both normally be in that class, so she had agreed. She didn't make her children go to the dentist alone; she wouldn't make them go to Sunday school alone either.

Besides, Barbara didn't plan on making Sunday school a habit, so she didn't suppose it mattered what class any of them attended. At least Mrs. Hargrove
had a class of younger children instead of junior-high kids. Barbara hoped the class would be easy.

Barbara adjusted the jacket of her suit and then took both of her children's hands in hers before she started up the steps to the church. Even though they'd never had a steady home, she had taken the children to the dentist at least once a year. It was just one of those things a parent had to do for their child. Church was probably like that, too. They could do this, she told herself.

Fifteen minutes later, Barbara decided she was wrong. She, for one, couldn't do this. She should have known better. They didn't even have Novocain.

It had been easy enough to get directions to the room where Mrs. Hargrove held her Sun day-school class and the stairs down to the basement were clearly marked. The basement had been painted bright colors and there were high windows along all of the walls. The basement was marked off into several areas for different Sun day-school classes and each area had a long kid-sized table with a dozen chairs around it. Mrs. Hargrove had a chalk board in her area with her name on it so Barbara would have known which space belonged to the older woman's class even if Mrs. Hargrove hadn't been there.

Finding the right place seemed to go pretty well, Barbara thought. After that though, things stopped being easy.

Five minutes after Barbara and the children settled into chairs around the table, Mrs. Hargrove led the children in a game called a sword drill. The older woman gave Bibles to both Bobby and Amanda so they could play with the other children.

Barbara was glad that Mrs. Hargrove hadn't offered her a Bible. She didn't know where anything was located in the Bible, and it was quickly obvious that this was the skill required to solve puzzles in the game. Mrs. Hargrove called out a man's name with a number behind it—like John 3:16—and the children tried to be the first to find where those words were written in their Bibles. Barbara was dumb founded that the little kids could find things so quickly. She wouldn't have even known that the children weren't using the full Bible if Mrs. Hargrove hadn't told her.

Fortunately, the sword drill didn't last long and then it was time for the sheriff to tell the story. Correction, Barbara reminded herself, it was time for Carl Wall to tell the story. She had decided some time during the night that she was Carl's friend and friends called each other by their name and not their job title.

By the look on Carl's face, he could use a friend about now, so Barbara nodded encouragingly to him as he stood up. He'd been sitting in a folding chair in the back corner of the room until he stood. Barbara
thought he looked a little uneasy until one of the boys rolled a piece of paper into a wad the size of a marble and threw it at the girl across the table from him.

Carl straightened right up then. “That's not allowed in here.”

 

The sheriff saw the look of panic on the boy's face and glanced at Mrs. Hargrove. He didn't want the older woman to have a heart attack because he'd frightened one of her precious students. Besides, the boy was probably only six years old, and right now he was stiffer than some men had been when he'd called out, “Drop it.”

The sheriff thought the boy was a Camp bell—Sam or Danny or something like that. He knew the boy's father was Frank Campbell. Frank worked for a gas station between here and Miles City.

“No spit wads,” the sheriff said in what he hoped was friendlier voice than he'd used initially. To make sure he was nice enough, he added a smile. “We're here to learn, not throw things at each other.”

At least that's why the kids were here, the sheriff told himself. He was here because he'd bartered his Sunday morning in exchange for his Saturday night and, as un comfort able as he was now, he still thought he'd gotten the better of the deal.

“She started it first,” the boy said with an indignant protest. “She kicked me under the table.”

The sheriff looked at the girl that the Campbell boy was scowling at and, sure enough, she wouldn't meet the sheriff's eyes. The boy's trouble with women was starting early. The sheriff knew the girl's name. It was Suzy Holmquist. The family lived out by the Elkton place.

“Well, there's better ways to handle things,” the sheriff finally told the boy.

“Are you going to arrest me?” the boy asked, looking defiantly up at the sheriff. “Bobby told me you might arrest him if he didn't do his homework.”

Where did the kids come up with these ideas? the sheriff wondered. “I'm not arresting anybody today.”

“Not even if a bad man shows up?” Suzy asked, finally deciding it was okay to look the sheriff in the eye. “You'd have to arrest a bad man. You're the sheriff. It's your job to protect everyone in Dry Creek.”

“I'm off on Sun days,” the sheriff said.

“Oh.” Suzy looked surprised. “Well, who protects us on Sun days?”

The sheriff looked over at Mrs. Hargrove. He was out of his league with these kids, and he had the good
sense to know it. “You're sure you don't want a new roof in stead?”

Mrs. Hargrove smiled as she shook her head. She did, however, stand up, which to the sheriff's dismay seemed to make the children pay a little more attention to what was going on. He doubted anyone kicked anyone else under the table while Mrs. Hargrove was on duty.

“Suzy is asking a good question, class,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Who protects us if the sheriff isn't around?”

There was a moment of silence.

“My dog,” one boy said hesitantly. “He's good at scaring people away.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “Is there anyone else who is even more powerful than your dog?”

“She means God,” a red headed girl said. “He's around to help us out if we meet up with trouble.”

There was another moment of silence.

“God would have a hard time beating up a bad guy,” another boy said. “I'd rather have the sheriff working on Sun days.”

The sheriff knew he shouldn't let that make him feel good, but it did. Though, at least he had the sense to know that it wasn't what Mrs. Hargrove wanted to hear.

“Can the sheriff protect you from twenty lions
even if he doesn't have a gun?” Mrs. Hargrove asked the class.

The sheriff was gratified to see that the children seemed to be debating the question instead of just saying no.

“Does he have pepper spray?” Suzy finally asked.

Mrs. Hargrove shook her head. “He has absolutely nothing.”

Several of the children shook their heads.

“The sheriff is going to tell you what happened to a man who had to face more than twenty lions and didn't have a gun or pepper spray or any thing,” Mrs. Hargrove said and then paused. “Well, he did have one secret weapon. Listen to the story and see what it was.”

The sheriff had to admit that Mrs. Hargrove did know how to get the attention of these kids. They were all caught up in the story of Daniel in the lion's den even though the sheriff just read it to them from the book Mrs. Hargrove had given him. He showed them the pictures from time to time, but the children seemed content just to listen to the words being read.

“And so, what was the man's secret weapon?” Mrs. Hargrove asked when the story was finished.

“God,” the children answered together.

“And what did he do when he was in trouble?”

“He asked God to help him,” Suzy said.

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “That's what we do when we pray. We ask God to help us. And then we trust Him to do what He has promised.”

 

Barbara felt as if she'd run a marathon. She'd watched the expressions on the faces of Amanda and Bobby as they listened to the story, and she could see the longing in each of them. She was clearly not all that her children needed to feel safe and protected. If she were, they wouldn't be looking so hungry for more words to the story.

She had to admit she felt a certain wistful ness herself. She would sleep better at night if she believed someone was watching out for her, listening to her prayers or cries. She supposed though that one had to have the trust of a child to believe such a thing. She'd long since given up on being that trusting of anyone.

“Thank you, Carl,” Mrs. Hargrove said as the sheriff went back to the chair he had sat in earlier.

Some where a bell rang.

“That leaves us five minutes,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Just enough time to say a few prayers. Who wants to go first?”

Barbara watched her children bow their heads along with the other children. One of the boys prayed
that his brother would get over the flu. A girl prayed for the children in Africa.

And then Barbara's heart stopped because her daughter prayed. Amanda's voice was clear and steady as she made her request. “Dear God, my mommy wants a house for us to live in.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Hargrove said just as she'd said at the end of each child's prayer.

Barbara just sat in her seat until the children finished praying and scram bled out of their seats to go upstairs. Before long, Amanda and Bobby were the only children left around the table.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she looked from Barbara to the sheriff. “You've been a blessing.”

“Carl told a good story, didn't he?” Barbara said.

The sheriff looked surprised. “No one except Mrs. Hargrove calls me Carl.”

“They do now,” Mrs. Hargrove said with an approving nod at Barbara. “And it's about time.”

Barbara liked seeing someone as flustered as she felt. Both she and Carl were in foreign territory here. Neither one of them had even intended to come to church. Mrs. Hargrove had just been so compelling. “We forgot to take some pictures.”

Barbara had a disposable camera in her purse and she had been all set to take a few shots.

“We can try again next Sunday,” Mrs. Hargrove said serenely.

“Next Sunday?” Carl said with a gulp. “The deal was for
this
Sunday.”

Mrs. Hargrove smiled slightly. “I understand you both had a good time last night. I thought you might want to repeat the deal next week end.”

“Does everybody know about our d—” Barbara stopped herself from saying
date.
“About our dinner?”

“Oh, I expect so, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said, just as though it weren't anything unusual.

Carl grunted. “Maybe next Saturday we should drive into Miles City.”

Barbara smiled. So there was going to be a next Saturday.

“There's a coffee time before church,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she picked up her books. “Next to the kitchen in the area at the top of the stairs.”

“Do you need anyone to pour the coffee?” Barbara asked. It was starting to be a rather nice day. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she started walking toward the stairs that led up to the main part of the church. “We couldn't ask you to do that. You're a guest.”

“Oh,” Barbara said.

“They have cookies, too,” Bobby said as he and
Amanda walked over to Barbara. “Some guys told me. He said to take the ones that have choc o late chips in them.”

Barbara could see her children would want to come to Sunday school again.

“Well, I guess we wouldn't want to miss out on the cookies,” the sheriff said as he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and the two of them started walking toward the stairs.

Barbara put her hand on Amanda's shoulder and started walking too. She supposed they would all sit together during church. She almost hoped so. Her worry about doing the wrong thing in church would be easier with someone beside her who could arrest people for harassment if things went bad.