One Was a Soldier

by Julia Spencer-Fleming

  He made a noise. Pointed away from the terrace. They walked across the lawn, sloping gently toward the black waters of Lake George. “Why the hell did he relocate up here? What was wrong with Baltimore? Isn’t that where the business originated?”

  “Easier to hide the bodies up here in the mountains.”

  He stopped. “Not funny.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry.” She turned to face him again. “I’m guessing he’s relocated because there’s a large pool of affordable workers up here. The resorts are only the tail end of the business, remember. It’s primarily development and construction.”

  “I know that. What I don’t know is why the hell he can’t go to Alabama for his cheap labor, like everyone else.”

  She paused again. They were nearer to the water than to the terrace now. She could hear the lapping of the waves and the wind sighing through the leaves of the trees shading the paths leading down to the landing. Mellow lights picked out the texture of crushed rock and velvety lawn. The sweet and peppery scent of unseen carnations drifted up from stone planters. “Russ.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think this is very romantic, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.” He led her onto the landing, their shoes thunking and clacking on the wood. He stopped. Looked at her. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do.” She smiled at him in an encouraging fashion. “I think this is just about the most romantic place I’ve seen in the entire North Country.”

  He grinned at her. “This is your way of telling me I should keep my mind on the business at hand, isn’t it?”

  “That’s not precisely how I would have stated it, but…”

  “This isn’t a surprise to you, is it?”

  She started to laugh. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “God.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Okay, let’s see if I can get this done without making a complete idiot of myself.”

  “Please feel free. I don’t mind.”

  “That’s good. Because half the time, just being with you reduces me to a state of idiocy.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling. “What about the other half?”

  He took her hands. “The other half of the time, it’s like being at the summit of one of the high peaks with a stiff wind blowing. Terrifying and exhilarating and everything in the world in a completely new perspective.”

  Her smile fell away.

  “You make me … not better than I am, but more of who I am. Which is better. Do you know what I mean?”

  She nodded. She didn’t think she could speak if her life depended on it. He glanced down at the wooden deck with a dubious expression. One side of his mouth quirked up. “I hope you didn’t have your heart set on me getting down on one knee.”

  She shook her head. He reached inside his coat pocket. Took out a small box. Pried the lid open. Even in the dim light from the lanterns, the ring sparked like white fire. “Marry me. Please.”

  She tried to answer him, but all that came out was a whispery rattle as her lungs emptied. She took a deep breath. Tried again. “Yes.”

  “You don’t need to tell me right away,” he said. “I mean, maybe you ought to think about it.”

  “Yes,” she said more firmly.

  “I am fifty-two. And I’m planning to stay in Millers Kill. I mean, I suppose I could move after I retire, but I’m committed to heading up the force as long as—”

  “Russ. I’m trying to say yes, here. I will marry you. I want to marry you. Let’s do it.”

  “Really? I don’t want you to jump into anything without thinking it through.”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Can I put it on?”

  He pulled the ring out of its holder. Her hands were shaking so, she almost dropped it. He helped her slide it onto her finger. It was smooth and heavy, with three diamonds set low in fat circles of gold. “It fits.”

  “I, uh, took your UVA ring off your dresser to size it.”

  “Very sneaky.” She grinned up at him. “I like that in a man.” She flung her arms around him and he squeezed her back. “I love it.” She kissed him, a jubilant smack that turned into a long, sweet kiss that left her breathless. “I love you.”

  “Good. How soon can we get married?”

  “Let’s see. First, I have to get permission from the bishop.”

  He released her. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Holy—I don’t have to go and ask him for your hand, do I?”

  “No, it’s more like—a professional courtesy. Once I have his blessing, let’s see. We’ll get married at St. Alban’s. I could ask one of my friends from seminary to take the service … or maybe Julie McPartlin here in Lake George could officiate. She could do our counseling.”

  “What counseling?”

  “We have to have three or four sessions of premarital counseling before being married in the church.”

  “For what?”

  “For all sorts of things. When I meet with engaged couples, we discuss issues like sex—”

  “I’m for it.” He kissed her neck.

  She smiled. “And money—”

  “You can handle it,” he said into her ear.

  “And children.”

  He stopped. “We haven’t talked about children.” He pulled away from her, his hands still on her shoulders. “How do you feel about having kids?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Honestly?” He blew out a breath. “I like kids. I hoped—when Linda and I were young, we tried for a long time.”

  She bit her lip. “How about now?”

  He rubbed his thumbs along her collarbone. “I think I’m too old. Even if we had a kid right off the bat, I’d still be seventy-two or seventy-three when he graduated from college. If I make it that long. I just don’t think it’s fair, to give a child an old guy with bad knees as a father.”

  She nodded.

  “How about you?” His face was intent, serious. It should be serious. They were deciding things that would affect the rest of their lives tonight. The immensity of marriage, everything it would be, suddenly stretched out before her like the waters of the lake, wide and deep and full of unfathomable mystery. How about you? She weighed her answer.

  “I like children, too, and there’s a part of me that would very much like to be a mother. But my ministry takes so much of my time and attention and emotional energy—all the things I’d have to give to a child. I don’t know if I could be a good priest and a good parent.”

  “So … no?”

  She paused. “No.” Then she hugged him hard, burying her face in his shirt, because even though it felt right, it was still a kind of a loss.

  “Maybe a dog.”

  “A big, hairy dog?”

  “Sure. It can hang around the church office with you and terrorize the vestry when they get out of line.”

  She laughed. “It’s a deal.” She stepped back, tugging at his hands. All at once she couldn’t wait another minute to let everyone know. “Let’s go home. I want to call my parents, and your mother, and Dr. Anne, and everybody.”

  “Whoa.” He laughed, but he let her drag him off the landing and onto the path anyway. “You still haven’t told me when.”

  “Advent’s out, and Christmas and Epiphany are crazy. Late January? That’s when I usually take a week off. Of course, that might be a difficult time to travel. I don’t know if I can persuade my family to leave southern Virginia when we’ve got three feet of snow and single-digit temperatures.” She stopped. “Oh, good Lord. My mother is going to birth a live cow over this. She didn’t ever think I was going to land a husband.”

  “January?” He shook his head. “Can’t we just do it quick and simple? The last time, all I needed was a license and twenty-five bucks for the justice of the peace.”

  Clare bit her lip. “Oh, God, Russ, I don’t know. Yes, we could get married within sixty days of notifying the rector.”

&nbs
p; “Consider yourself notified.”

  “You have to understand, though, my mother’s been planning table arrangements and picking out silver patterns since Grace and I were toddlers. She never had the chance to put on her dream wedding for Grace.”

  “Is that what you want? A big blowout?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then let’s make it easy and quick. You don’t need any more stress in your life than you already have. Get a pretty dress and some flowers, we’ll let your church ladies bake us a cake, and boom, it’s done.” He did something she had never seen him do before. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “We’ve lost too much time already.”

  And we don’t know how much time we’ve got.

  She nodded. “The end of October, then.”

  A woman screamed. Russ’s head jerked up and Clare whirled. Above them, on the terrace, a knot of bodies thinned out to reveal two men stripping off their jackets, circling each other. The band wheezed to a stop. She could hear the woman again, shrill and tearful, and excited shouts, egging the fighters on.

  “Oh, for chrissakes. Why do people drink if it just makes ’em mean?” Russ pushed past her, tugging his badge holder from his pocket and flipping it open. “Stay back.”

  She nodded, but of course, he couldn’t see her. She watched him force his way into the crowd gathering around the spectacle, then lost sight of him. She stood on tiptoe. Cursed under her breath. The lawn in front of the tent would give her a better vantage point. Admittedly, it was closer to the fight—a lot closer—but she could argue that it still qualified as “staying back.”

  She clutched her wrap more firmly around her shoulders and strode toward the tent. Over the eager sounds of the crowd, she thought she could hear Russ’s deep voice, trying to calm things down.

  Call 911. The thought was immediately followed by the realization that she’d deliberately left her cell phone in Russ’s truck. No calls from parishioners on her big date, nosirree. She could have whacked herself in the head. Then she spotted a woman with a phone. She was talking into it, rapidly, quietly, her shoulders set in an angry line. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” She snapped the phone shut.

  “Excuse me.” Clare hated to break up someone’s special moment, but Russ needed backup. “Could you please call nine-one-one?” The woman turned to her. It was Tally McNabb.

  “What? Why?” Tally frowned.

  “The fight?” Clare gestured to the melee. Above the shrieking woman and the jeering guys, she could hear Russ’s voice, hard and authoritative.

  “A fight?” Tally shook her head. “Christ. Sorry. I didn’t notice. I was…” She made a vague gesture in the direction of her phone. She teetered on the balls of her feet to peer over the heads of the crowd. “I think somebody’s already busting it up.”

  “That’s Chief Van Alstyne, yeah, but he’s alone and—” Clare didn’t want to say “unarmed.” She compromised with “And the Lake George police ought to know.”

  Tally looked at Clare more closely. “Hey. I know you.” Her mouth opened, and even in the dim light, Clare could see red rising in the younger woman’s cheeks. “It’s you.”

  Clare took a breath. Attempted a smile. “Please? Call nine-one-one?”

  Behind them, a smooth voice said, “No need. The hotel has already been notified.” Clare and Tally both turned.

  The CEO of BWI Opperman stood behind them. His suit and shoes were hand-sewn perfection, an expensive difference that set him apart from every other man on the terrace. He held a half-empty wineglass and was looking at the knot of cheering spectators with a pained expression.

  “Mr. Opperman. Hi.” Tally sounded like a high schooler dismayed to see her principal at a picnic.

  “Tally McNabb. Are you enjoying yourself?” Opperman turned to Clare. “You don’t work for me.” He tilted his head to one side, as if trying to slide her image into place. She twisted her wrap, tightening it across her exposed shoulders. She could see the moment when he recognized her. “Ah. The Reverend Clare Fergusson. What a surprise. I haven’t seen you since that little hearing we had before my insurance company’s adjustment board.”

  “Mr. Opperman.”

  “Insurance company?” Tally said.

  Opperman answered her without turning his gaze from Clare. “Reverend Fergusson went joyriding over the Adirondacks in the BWI company helicopter a few summers back and crashed the thing. It was a total loss.”

  “I was trying to save the life of a man who was trapped in the mountains. He was badly injured. I didn’t have time to ask for permission to use the ship.”

  “As you said, yes.” The corners of his mouth tilted upward, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It was fortunate for you the insurers accepted your version of the event. Pilot error would have been an ugly thing to have on your record.”

  “As opposed to sabotage?”

  “I believe you mean mechanical failure. That was, after all, the official verdict.”

  Clare found herself wringing the ends of her shawl. Opperman had never been linked to the mysterious collapse of the fuel pump that had nearly killed her and Russ, and he never would be. Let it go. She forced her hands to relax.

  He went on. “I was under the impression you had gone back to being a captain in the army. I certainly hope you haven’t wrecked any of their helicopters as well.”

  She jerked her chin up. “I’m a major. In the Guard. And no, I haven’t broken any Black Hawks yet.”

  “She was in Iraq, too.” Tally spoke brightly, like a woman who wanted to change the subject away from who did what to whom.

  Opperman turned to her. “Did you know each other over there?”

  “No. Oh, no. No reason our paths would have crossed.” Tally looked at Clare. “We’ve really only ever met once before this. Accidentally. Right?”

  Clare nodded. Tally clearly didn’t want her employer to know she’d been living off the streets and using the soup kitchen. “Right.”

  He smiled. “Then may I ask what you’re doing at my party? I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.”

  Clare flushed. “Excuse me. I walked up from the landing to see if anyone had called the police. Now I know you have, I’ll go back and wait for my date.” Involuntarily, she looked over her shoulder to the place where Russ had disappeared.

  Opperman stretched up to get a better view. “Is he fighting?” His face creased, as if a row of figures didn’t add up. “No. Of course not. Van Alstyne.” His voice changed, so that when his gaze snapped back to Clare she had to keep herself from flinching. “Yes. I had heard rumors about you two…” He looked her up and down, as thoroughly and impersonally as if he were doing the last-minute flight check of a helicopter. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think Van Alstyne’s interest in you would survive his wife’s death. He adored her, you know. Still … a man in mourning needs some distraction, and you are reasonably attractive.” He zeroed in on her hands. He stared for a long moment. Finally, he said, “What an exquisite ring. I take it best wishes are in order?”

  She resisted the urge to hide it from view. Grandmother Fergusson pried open her mouth and made her say, “Yes. Thank you.”

  He leaned in toward Clare, close, where no one else could hear. She forced herself not to back away. “Do you really think you can compete with his wife?” His breath was hot on her face, his voice a slither in her ear. “Linda Van Alstyne was beautiful, creative, sharp-witted, loving—everything except faithful.” He blinked in slow motion. “She was certainly the best fuck I ever had.”

  Clare’s jaw unhinged. “That’s a lie!”

  Opperman shrugged. “Take it as a friendly warning, before you get in too deep. A man doesn’t forget a woman like that. He compares every other woman to that perfection and finds her lacking. Is that really as high as you can aim for yourself? To be the consolation prize for someone who can’t have what he really wants?”

  Clare couldn’t s
peak. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She stood, trembling, like a battered boxer one punch away from going down. Opperman stepped toward her and she twisted away, but he walked past her as if she were already a ghost.

  “Tally.” His voice was cool and even. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Opperman.”

  Clare wanted to grab hold of Tally and drag her away from Opperman. She wanted to find the nearest shower and scrub down until she felt clean again. She wanted to look Russ in the eye and ask him, Are you really over her? Is it truly me you want?

  No. That was crazy. She knew Russ, knew him like she knew the Book of Common Prayer, carried him as a lamp beneath her breastbone. Opperman was playing her.

  He stepped back into her line of sight and smiled. “Excuse me, please. I’d better go see how the rest of the party is getting along.” His smile faded into a concerned expression. “Think about what I said, Major Fergusson.” He walked away into the crowd.

  Clare was shaking. Tally looked at her. “What was that all about? What did he say?”

  Clare shook her head.

  “Hey. I owe you big-time. I was a total asshole that day at the soup kitchen. Let me make it up to you. You want a drink or something?”

  Clare wanted a drink very much. She nodded. “Hey, Drago.” Tally hailed a hulking man bumping his way through the bystanders with two full glasses cupped in one giant hand. “Get this lady a drink, will ya? What are you having, Major?”

  Clare took a breath. “Whisky.”

  “I got a Canadian Club I was taking to Zeller.” The big guy held out a glass brimming with amber liquor. His fingers were covered in black hair. “I’ll give her mine.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t—”

  “Go ahead.” He deposited the glass in her hand. “You look like you need it more’n she does right now.”

  “Thanks, Drago.” Tally punched him in the shoulder. Clare downed half the contents in one swallow. “Whoa. Easy there, Major.”

  She squeezed her fingers around the drink until she could feel the cut edges of the crystal digging into her skin. She swallowed the rest of the whisky.

  “Hell, lady, take the other one.” Drago tugged the empty glass out of her grip and placed the second drink in her hand.