Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (30 page)

“Ahhh.” Floyd sat there like a deer in the headlights. He didn't know which way to turn.

“If you need to take a couple of days off to get some rest, don't be shy about asking. Just fill out the form,” the manager finally suggested as he stood up. “You haven't taken much sick time this year.”

Floyd waited for his manager to leave before he started to breathe again. He sure could use a couple of days off. Maybe he could even get his stomach to settle down.

W
hen Barbara arrived at the dentist's office to meet Mrs. Hargrove, the older woman's jaw was still frozen, and she nodded in relief when Barbara offered to continue driving the car through to Dry Creek.

“'Hank 'ou,” Mrs. Hargrove mumbled.

Barbara stopped at the grocery store before leaving Miles City and bought a bag of frozen peas so that Mrs. Hargrove could hold their coldness to her cheek.

“I always got frozen peas for the kids when they had dental work done,” Barbara said as she came back from the store, carrying a bag with the vegetables and a few other items. She handed the peas to the older woman through the open window in the car.

“'Onderful,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she gratefully took the peas.

At least Mrs. Hargrove let her help some, Barbara reflected as she walked around to the driver's side of the car, stopping to put the rest of the grocery bags in the back seat. Barbara was glad she could do some small service for Mrs. Hargrove. Maybe a person needed to work up to coffee-pouring around here, she reflected. Maybe it would start with a bag of frozen peas.

When Barbara slid into the driver's seat, Mrs. Hargrove reached for her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “'Et me 'ay 'ou.”

“You don't need to pay me for a bag of peas,” Barbara said. “Neighbors borrow things like that. It's like a cup of sugar.”

Mrs. Hargrove shook her head and offered the bill to Barbara again. “'Or the children.”

Barbara shook her head, too. “The children and I are fine.” Barbara reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the stack of twenties. “See? We're fine.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she lowered her five-dollar bill into her lap.

Mrs. Hargrove slept on the way back to Dry Creek, with the bag of peas pressed between the side window and her cheek. The ride was peaceful for Barbara. One thing she never got used to was all the space that there was here in southern Montana. She liked looking at these empty vistas filled with browns and grays and the blue of the sky. There wasn't much
traffic on Interstate 94, so she watched the gray cloud formations in the sky as she drove. It was restful.

It was three o'clock before Barbara drove the car into Mrs. Hargrove's driveway. The sky had grown increasingly full of gray clouds as the hours passed. It felt like it should rain, but no drops had fallen.

Barbara was glad she'd sent the children to school with jackets today. It was still another hour before they'd get here on the school bus, and it might be raining by then.

One would think, she told herself, with all the rain they had had lately that some grass would be starting to grow beside the road and in the spaces between the houses around here. The ground still looked like gray and brown mud though. There weren't any leaves on the few oak trees around, either. Only the sturdy pine trees held their green needles.

Barbara helped Mrs. Hargrove into her house. Ordinarily the older woman wouldn't need any help getting anywhere, but today she seemed a little wobbly after her dental appointment.

The house was cold and Mrs. Hargrove asked Barbara to turn on the heat, so she did. The thermostat was located in the dining room.

Mrs. Hargrove's house wasn't anything special. It had a big lived-in kitchen on the first floor, along with a small living room and dining area. Upstairs, Barbara guessed, there were two large or three small
bedrooms and a bathroom. Many of the walls had floral wall paper on them, and the paper didn't always match the curtains at the windows or the rugs on the floor, but together everything looked cozy.

Barbara dreamed of having a house like this. She'd never demanded a fancy place with designer furniture. What she wanted instead was a house that had more artwork on the refrigerator than on the walls. A place where everyone felt at home and guests didn't have to take off their shoes to walk on the kitchen linoleum. A place like that would be a happy place for her children.

Maybe, she decided, she should walk past the building where she lived and go down a few houses to take another look at the old Gossett house. She needed to do something to make her dream seem as if it could happen.

 

The sheriff hoped the rain would hold off enough for him to finish painting at least the front of this fence. He'd bought a gallon of white outdoor paint and a couple of brushes from the hardware store an hour or so ago. He always had some old clothes in the trunk of his car for the days when he needed to do a quick chore for Mrs. Hargrove. Once he'd slipped an old sweat shirt over his uniform, he'd started painting up and down along the spikes of the old picket fence.

Surprisingly, the wood seemed to be in good shape, except for the places where a nail had come loose and the board was swinging. The sheriff would fix those later. Maybe with a coat of paint and some nails, it would stand up for another year or so until old man Gossett's nephew decided what to do with the house.

For the time being, the sheriff hoped Barbara would be able to rent the place. It wasn't the house he figured she wanted eventually, but it would be good for the children to have something now. They needed a place to run and scream and be kids.

The sheriff had never thought much about houses until the last few days. Mostly, a house to him was just some place to sleep and keep his things. The trailer had suited him fine. Oh, a year or two ago, he had bought plans for a three-bed room log cabin from some ad he'd seen in a magazine. He'd thought about building that log house and tucking it next to those trees on his place so the huge porch it showed in the picture would have lots of shade in the summer.

He had enough in his savings account for a down payment on the kit they sold to build the house. It included all of the materials; all he'd have to supply was the work. He already had a well and septic system on the property. Electricity, too. It wouldn't take much to actually make that log house a reality.

But something held him back. Maybe it was just
that since it was only him, he'd rather rattle around in a tin box instead of setting himself up in a house that was meant to be shared. A man could get awfully lonesome sitting on that big porch all by himself.

The sheriff wondered if that was why old man Gossett hadn't kept up his house. Maybe it had become depressing to the man when he was living all alone in it. Some things were just meant to be shared and a house was one of them. The sheriff thought about the old man as he kept painting the fence boards. Too bad Mr. Gossett hadn't started going to church, the sheriff finally decided. That would have made him feel better.

The sheriff had to admit there was something that drew a person to the church two doors down from where he stood. For the life of him, he didn't know what it was. He knew that Matthew gave some good advice in his sermons. Even if he hadn't gone there yesterday to hear one for himself, the sheriff had talked with Matthew enough over the years to know that the man had a good head on his shoulders. But just good advice didn't seem like it covered the reason why so many people seemed so content to be there.

The sheriff put his brush down on the rim of the paint can as he stood to stretch his back. He might just have to go back to that church next Sunday. Not that he wanted to help Mrs. Hargrove with her class again. Those little ones would cause him grief soon
enough when they were teenagers. He wondered what the town would think if he deputized Mrs. Hargrove to keep them in line when the time came. She'd do it, too, he thought with a smile.

The sheriff heard the sounds of foot steps coming down the gravel road and turned to see Barbara walking toward him.

“Well, look who's here. I was just thinking about you,” the sheriff said.

The afternoon was developing quite a chill and Barbara's cheeks were rosy from the cold. She hugged her jacket to her, her arms crossed in the wool sleeves.

She was pretty as a picture, the sheriff thought as he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her.

“Hello, Carl,” Barbara said. “Are you the one who has been doing all this painting?”

Barbara had smelled the paint when she passed the hardware store. It was the smell that had made her look up to see that someone had been painting the fence around the old Gossett house.

“Want to help paint?” the sheriff asked. “I've got an extra brush and an old sweat shirt in the trunk of my car.”

Barbara took a deep breath. “I've thought about painting this fence my self—just in case Mr. Gossett ever decides he can rent the house to me.”

“I've been thinking the house would suit you,” the
sheriff said. “The inside would need some painting, too, but the rooms are sound and the ceiling is tight. No leaks that I've seen.”

“You've seen inside?” Barbara asked. “I've been tempted to look in the windows, but the gate was locked and—”

The sheriff frowned. “I think someone broke the lock on the gate to get back in the trees.”

“I hope it's not someone else like me who wants to rent the place,” Barbara said. “I know I've been tempted to tamper with the gate.”

“I don't know of anyone else who's thinking of renting it,” the sheriff said.

“But as long as the gate is open,” Barbara said, “I don't suppose it would be trespassing just to take a little look in the window?”

The sheriff grinned. “I'm supposed to be checking out the place now and again, so I think we can look through a few windows.”

Barbara couldn't help herself. When the sheriff used a handkerchief to wipe away a spot on the window so she could see inside the kitchen of the Gossett house, she knew right where she wanted to put the table.

The kitchen was a square room, with an old refrigerator and stove pushed to one wall. The window she was looking in was over the sink. A light blue linoleum covered the floor and what looked like
yellow paint covered the walls. There were no curtains on the window and only a bare bulb hanging down in the center of the room

“I want a round table for the middle right there.” Barbara pointed to the place directly under the light bulb. “Maybe one of those old oak ones—you know, the ones that have leaves that you put in when you have company? I bought the classified ads so I can look and see if anyone has one to sell. It'd be perfect for Sunday dinners.”

“Tables like that are hard to find,” the sheriff said. “Even used they're a pretty penny.”

Barbara nodded. “They're worth it though. There's a place to put a Tiffany-style lamp right over it. I can just see Bobby sitting there and doing his math homework. I should check the classifieds for a Tiffany-style lamp, too, although that's not likely to be listed.”

“No, no, it's not,” the sheriff said.

Barbara finally pulled herself away from the window. “Can we look in the living-room window too? I want to know what kind of a sofa to look for—it'll have to be used, of course, but there's still a pretty good selection.”

The sheriff used his handkerchief to clean a circle on the next window too.

“Oh, there's still a rocking chair in there,” Barbara said.

The living room was also square-shaped, but it
had a nice wood floor that Barbara thought would clean up nicely. With a little wax, it would even shine. The walls in this room were such a dirty mauve that she knew it had been a long time since anyone had painted or even cleaned the walls.

“There's two fair-sized bedrooms in the back and a third one that's pretty small off the dining room,” the sheriff said. “One of them has a bed in it. That was the room old man Gossett slept in. I don't think there's much in the other rooms. Maybe some old dressers.”

“I can get furniture,” Barbara said. She was filled with confidence. She had the money from the pawnshop in her pocket and she'd make every penny count. If she was buying used, she should be able to furnish the whole house with the money she had.

Barbara would have kept looking in the windows even longer, except she wanted to help finish painting the fence before the children came home from school. She was full of excitement herself, but she didn't want to get the children's hopes up. She didn't know, after all, if the Gossett house would ever be avail able for her to rent.

After they walked back to where the sheriff had left the paint and brushes, he went to his car and opened the trunk. He held up two old sweat shirts. “The black one or the purple one?”

“Purple,” Barbara said as she walked over to take the sweat shirt. “It's too nice a day to wear black.”

“It's going to rain.”

Barbara smiled as she took off her jacket. “All the more reason to wear purple. Now, can I leave this in your trunk?”

Barbara held out her jacket to the sheriff. He took it.

“You don't want to lose any thing,” the sheriff said as he carefully laid her jacket in the trunk. “Jackets like this should have zip pockets.”

The sheriff put his hand right over the wad of twenty-dollar bills Barbara had in her pocket, but she wasn't sure if he saw them peeking out of the fold. He must not have, she decided, because he didn't say anything.

Not that there was any reason he shouldn't see the money, she told herself. She just didn't want people to know she had sold her wedding rings. There was something so sad about it, even though, she had to admit, she'd felt pretty good since she'd sold them. Thinking of all the furniture she could buy when she moved into a house with the children made her feel as though everything was possible.