Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek (35 page)

“So things can change?” the sheriff asked.

Barbara couldn't help but notice that the sheriff's face wasn't pale anymore. In fact, it was looking, well, certainly more healthy than before. “Slowly, things can change slowly.”

“We've got time,” Carl said. His face was beaming now. “I figure we're due to drive into Miles City for dinner next time.”

“And miss out on this?”

Carl slid a little closer to her. “Well, we can see the stars from here.”

Barbara slid a little closer to him as well. She remembered that there was more than one way to see stars when Carl was around.

Maybe things wouldn't need to go all that slowly, she thought, as Carl bent to kiss her. No, she thought, they might not need to go slowly at all.

T
he wedding was to be in the fall. Barbara and Carl had both gone through premarital counseling with the pastor of the Dry Creek Church and decided to add a confession of faith to their wedding vows.

They were working on the wording of their confession of faith with Mrs. Hargrove and her Sunday-school class. The children were excited that they could play a part and, under Mrs. Hargrove's guidance, were coming up with some good suggestions. The children's favorite suggestion was to work in the story of Daniel in the lion's den.

“You could say that you realize it is important to trust God when the beasts of life are coming at you,” Mrs. Hargrove suggested.

“Lions—they need to say lions,” Bobby said. “When the lions are coming at them.”

Barbara and Carl were regular helpers in Mrs.
Hargrove's class now, so they were there for the discussion.

“We could say lions,” Carl said.

It was going to be a unique wedding anyway. The bride had decided she wanted to pour the coffee for her reception. She'd ordered a cream-colored gown that was frothy with lace and had the added value of having a veil that was short enough so that it wouldn't get in the way when she poured that coffee.

The bride was debating sending into Billings for a rental silver urn for the coffee just so the ceremony would have a little extra polish.

Then, a few weeks before the wedding, the bride noticed that a shy young woman had just moved into town. The woman sat in the back pew of the Dry Creek Church and never stayed long to talk with anyone. The Sunday before the wedding, the bride asked the woman if she'd be willing to pour coffee for her wedding reception.

“You don't know what this means to me,” the young woman said. She was wearing a modest cotton dress that had seen many washings. Her shoes were a little scuffed, as if they had been polished and re-polished until the leather refused to take any more black polish.

The bride just smiled. “I'm glad you will enjoy it. Welcome to Dry Creek.”

The groom was holding the bride's hand and, when the young woman left, he whispered to his wife-to-be. “That was generous of you.”

The bride had told him about the coffee. “Mrs. Hargrove already asked me to pour coffee on election day.”

“Won't that prejudice people to vote for me?”

The bride grinned. “I hope so. We never did get around to making that sign.”

“Who needs a sign when I have you?” the sheriff said as he bent down to give the bride a quick kiss.

There were half a dozen people still in the church and no one even looked up at the kiss. The sight of Carl kissing Barbara didn't even make a good story any longer. It happened all the time.

Dear Reader,

I wish for all of you many days of pouring coffee and sharing fellowship at your church. Our lives are meant to be lived in community and, as often as not, that means taking time to serve each other.

I thoroughly enjoy writing about the church in Dry Creek, primarily because it is a focal point of the community. It is the place where troubles and joys are shared with the whole town.

I'd like to give a nod of thanks to people like Mrs. Hargrove who help such local communities run. I've known many women—and men—like her in the churches I have attended. You'll usually find such people in the kitchens or in the Sunday school rooms or serving communion on certain Sundays. Without them, our shared communities wouldn't be nearly as rich as they are.

Sincerely,