Ezra nodded. “Everyone knows, at least the part pertaining to your mission in Barley. My folks said it was the main topic of conversation at their euchre club last night. Tonight they’ll all be talking about the excitement at the deBoer house. Mom told me she’s going to sleep with her jewelry under her pillow now in case the ruffians—her term—work their way down to a retirement home in Weary. Dad keeps his high school hockey stick ready to beat off any intruders. Although it won’t do much more than give the intruder splinters.”
“Your parents sound like characters. Are they?”
Ezra grimaced. “You’ve been in Barley for what, four or five days now? How many people aren’t characters? It’s as though we breed eccentricities into our people instead of out. It enhances the tourist trade.”
“You seem almost normal. Did the eccentricities miss you?”
“I should resent that. How many men in your acquaintance are simultaneous dogcatchers and justices of the peace? And hold down a regular job? My quirk is more of situation than character, but tourists still find it charming.”
Claudia leaned forward. “Barley is charming. The town and the people. Well,” she amended, “most of them. The Gomers have been incredible.”
“They are good people. Seem to think they were put on the earth to take care of others. Ann had taken my ex-wife under her wing, which made it hard for her when Melody asked for a divorce.”
Taken aback, Claudia grappled to readjust her thinking. Ezra the Widower had seemed noble. Divorced Ezra evoked a different characterization. He remained silent, waiting for a response.
“I’m sorry, Ezra. I thought your wife was dead.”
“Are you sure you didn’t major in obituaries at journalism school? You assumed my folks were dead, you were pretty sure Amos was a goner, and now you figure me to be a widower.”
She tried to remember why she’d formed that impression. The circlet on his finger glinted. “You still wear your wedding band.”
“That is interesting, isn’t it?” he said, looking at his left hand. “I’m not sure why. I didn’t contest the divorce once she assured me she’d found somebody else. And while I do believe marriage is a lasting proposition, I know ours is over and she isn’t coming back. I guess I haven’t completely adjusted to thinking of myself as a single man. Claudia, I really didn’t want a divorce. I had no choice.”
Embarrassed by her transparency, she was ready to disclaim any rush to judgment. Before she could speak Ezra’s eyes crinkled, and he leaned back in his chair.
“Or maybe it’s just too much trouble to take it off. My fingers are thicker than they used to be.” He grinned at her. “Weren’t you going to tell me about Peter?”
Claudia relaxed. Ezra’s failed marriage might not have the virtue of a deceased spouse, but it did make her failed relationship less ignominious by comparison.
“Well, I’m from a suburb north of Chicago, and you know I majored in journalism at the university downtown. Anyway, you heard that this watch is sort of a family burden? My mom’s family, actually. Her dad saw my great-great uncle give the watch to my great-grandfather and tell him to find Abner.”
“I know all about it. Amos couldn’t wait to tell me the whole story, although we got a little tangled in all the greats. He called from the hospital that same night you visited him. He’s probably told a few dozen other of his closest friends and relations, too. Sorry for the interruption. Keep talking.”
“For some reason, I’m the first person on the Thorn family tree in over half a century with time to follow up on it. Or maybe I’m the only one foolish enough. During my internship for the travel magazine I started checking the name ‘Abner.’ I think I told you Tuesday night at Blossom’s that the only Abner with a Galveston connection ended up dying in Weary somewhere.
“Anyway, I also did research on the watch but hit a total dead end. There’s no manufacturer name, and while it looks flawless, it doesn’t keep perfect time. A friend in the history department said that a firm of antiques dealers downtown consults for them. I made an appointment and met with Peter. He couldn’t tell me anything about the antecedents of the watch, but he was interested in the story, and said maybe we could do some preliminary checking for my grandfather. To add icing to that cake, he was flatteringly interested in me.”
She paused. “I haven’t dated much since the skiing accident. Few men are attracted to facial deformities.” She stopped, surprised at her tone of self-pity. Where had that come from?
Ezra looked long and hard at the scar, leaned back, and surveyed her entire face. Claudia couldn’t meet his gaze during the scrutiny, but made no attempt to cover the disfigurement.
“Did you have any work done?”
“Not yet. There was some surgery right after the accident, but it didn’t go well, and I got an infection. I planned to consult with a plastic surgeon but chickened out before the appointment. Lately I’ve been alternating between laser surgery or reconstructive work. I guess I’ve been afraid of making everything worse and that held me back.”
Ezra’s appraisal intensified. “You have great bone structure. The scar pulls your eye down a little and—could you smile? Good. Yes, when you really smile the scar almost disappears, or more like it melds into the smile lines and dimple. I wouldn’t call it a deformity. It does take a little getting used to, but not much. Dermabrasion or laser surgery would probably be your best bet, just to smooth it out. That scar isn’t bad enough to warrant reconstruction.”
Claudia needed time to assimilate this frank assessment of her features. For years she had seen herself as damaged and unlovely. She didn’t know whether to resent his casual approach to her tragedy or be grateful he had reduced it to a mere inconvenience.
He moved on, seemingly anxious. “I hope you don’t think I was harsh with my questions. You’re likeable. A nice girl.”
“Oh, really.”
Claudia’s tepid response to the compliment caught his attention, and he made anxious haste to clarify.
“Nice girls, I mean nice in every sense of the word, are hard to come by. We get beautiful girls who visit Barley, and talented, rich, and smart girls. Most of them have something nice about them. You’re nice in every way, your mindset, your behavior, your appearance, and your personality. That’s not a backhanded compliment. In the world of Ezra Prosper ‘nice’ is a nice word.” He beamed at her, obviously content with his explanation.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I think you are nice, too.”
He laughed. “There we have the basis for a beautiful friendship.”
Peter opened the door and ambled into the room. “One can never have too many beautiful friends.” The affirmation seemed more like a challenge. He sat down tight against Claudia.
She shoved him away. “You were listening!”
“Honey, I’m sensing Ezra’s desire to step into my shoes. I just want to make sure he’s worthy. Oh, and that he doesn’t make the fatal mistake of calling you Claude.”
Claudia flounced from the room, furious she hadn’t been able to come up with one clever retort to Peter’s outrageous statement.
TEN
Claudia barely had a chance to bolt the door and stomp around her room before she heard someone jogging up the steps. It wouldn’t be Peter. His athleticism was of the sinuous variety. He slithered. He never bounded.
Ezra followed up a hearty knock with an equally hearty, “Claudia? I forgot what else I came to ask you.”
She opened the door. Ezra, like Peter when he’d carried her suitcase, was barely breathing hard, while she again found herself panting from the dramatic exit and headlong rush up the steps. She stood in the doorway and glared at him.
“Before you commit violence,” Ezra said mildly, “I promise I will never call you Claude. I’m sorry Peter made things uncomfortable, and I wonder if you would consider coming to the Milk and Honey dance recital with me tonight?”
Claudia had not expected anything like this. Was he asking her
on a date? Out of kindness? Trying to drum up business for the recital?
“Milk and Honey?” was all she could think to say.
Ezra remained outside her room but relaxed against the doorframe.
“Thaddeus Milk and his wife retired here years ago. They were both choreographers in New York and even did some Broadway, or it could have been off-Broadway. Anyhow, they wanted some place to retire and found Barley. They loved it, and noticed our lack of a dance school. They started one a good fifteen years back, and it’s been great for the community. They’re both pushing eighty and don’t show any inclination to slow down.”
He stopped for a breath and beamed at her. “So, do you want to come?”
“Milk and Honey?” she repeated. There must be something wrong with her mental processes. She’d stalled out at ‘Milk and Honey.’
“It is a little corny, isn’t it? Maybe they wanted something edible-sounding to go with Barley. Thaddeus’s wife is Myra, but he calls her Honey. Don’t let the name keep you away. They put on a great show. Parents drive forty, fifty miles to have their kids in Milk and Honey.”
Claudia shook her head. The torrent of facts sorted themselves, and she could come up with a reasonable response. “Does Peter know?”
Maybe not such a reasonable response. Ezra nodded and to her relief didn’t appear offended.
“I told him. We’re so dad-blasted neighborly in this town. Of course, I only explained after he asked me why I was going to follow you up the stairs. Hope you don’t mind. You didn’t seem thrilled with either of us a minute ago. I said I have a ticket for you in the seat next to mine, and if he wants to come he’ll have to get his at the door. He said he’d think about it.” Ezra grinned like a boy. “He didn’t look too pleased when I told him you were sitting by me, but I wasn’t about to have him as my seat partner.”
The flutter in her stomach encouraged Claudia on a direct approach. “Do you consider this a date?”
He contemplated. “Not sure. A dozen years ago? Possibly. Now I’m cautious about labels. In my head, I’m thinking it would be nice to have you accompany me to the dance recital, because you’re such a nice girl. What do you think? Are you willing to be my dance recital companion, or is it important for you to call it a date?”
“It’s only a date if we go out for dinner, too.” The fluttering settled. “Since I’m not in the mood to brave Blossom’s tonight, and I know it’s the only restaurant around, you can call me your dance recital companion.”
A soft creak and light footsteps on the stairs indicated Ann’s approach. She paused halfway up and looked at them through the spindled railing.
“Claudia, I forgot to tell you we’re eating early tonight. The whole town goes to the dance recital. Heck, the whole county goes. You’re coming, right? Since Blossom’s will be jammed I told Ezra and Peter they could eat here, too. If you do, yes, we are putting it on your tab, but once you break everything down you’ll see that dinner and lunch cost less than breakfast.”
She turned to go, but popped her head back up.
“We’re eating at four-thirty which is—gracious, only half an hour from now! I know it’s scandalously early but Philip is so excited I need time for the food to settle in his stomach so he doesn’t upchuck all over the auditorium.” She trotted down the stairs.
Claudia marveled. “I didn’t know Philip took dance class. Shouldn’t he have been at rehearsals all week?”
“Philip decidedly does not attend Milk and Honey. The lovely Rachel does. Remember the blonde waitress at Blossom’s? She’s not only about the best dancer Barley has ever seen, she’s also a senior this year, which means she’ll be in lots of dances and have a solo. Philip is besotted with that girl, and he’s all twisted up with nerves for her to do a good job. Not that she won’t. Those pretty little toes are pointed straight at Juilliard.” Ezra straightened, beamed, and held out his hand. He pumped her arm with enthusiasm. “See you at dinner.”
Claudia showered in record time and looked through her clothes. When she’d packed for a short trip to search for Abner, she had not anticipated attending a recital. She pulled out a trim-cut gray denim skirt and a black sweater set. It would have to do. Careful application of the cover-up she had spent a fortune on diminished the appearance of the scar. She left her hair down instead of pulling it into the sleek ponytail, and brushed until it gleamed. The honey gold color provided a nice contrast with the dark sweater. Ezra wouldn’t receive pitying glances for his choice of companion if she could help it. She smiled hugely while applying her lipstick, and it smudged. Wiping the streak from her chin, she wondered why she was grinning like an idiot.
Down in the dining room, Ezra and Bud nodded in respectful admiration, and a smug Peter stood to escort her to the table. Philip came in and whistled. “Say, you don’t clean up too bad!”
Her face grew warm, but she enjoyed the unfeigned male admiration.
Ann deposited an earthenware crock on the table and removed the lid. An entrancing aroma set Claudia’s stomach rumbling. Lunch seemed long ago.
“French Cassoulet,” Ann announced. “Philip, run and grab the rolls.” She sat down and beamed. “This is what I love. Philip has five older siblings, and even though we had a crazy life, we’d always try to sit down to dinner together. Our older ones and grandkids come, but not as often as I’d like. By the way Claudia, you look fabulous.”
Outside, fading light showed the beginnings of soft snowfall. With the exception of a jittery Philip, everyone relaxed and enjoyed the meal. Ezra drew out the quiet Bud, and Ann told Claudia about her older children and her grandchildren. Peter again made himself charming. When Ann mentioned Philip’s crush on Rachel, he teased the boy just enough to make him pleased but not embarrassed.
Fortified by the splendid cassoulet, they set out for the high school, walking since it was only eight blocks away. The snow continued to fall, light and feathery, but not slippery. The recital would be in the auditorium, Ann explained, clutching Bud’s sleeve as she chatted. Claudia had spurned the arms offered by Ezra and Peter and chosen to walk by herself behind the Gomers. Philip had gone ahead with friends. He helped with some of the set changes, his mother explained, but made sure to move where he could see Rachel whenever she danced.
A familiar whine approached, and Felix Rich’s snowmobile lurched past. Claudia had seen him so many times she wondered aloud if he just lived on the machine.
Ezra caught up to answer. “After getting out of prison, he prefers being outdoors in any weather. Looks like he’s going home now. He lives down that road about a mile.”
Peter sauntered up to walk on her other side. “He was in prison? Why?”
The Barley natives closed ranks. They would talk about Felix amongst themselves, but they wouldn’t shame him before an outsider. They had trusted her with his story, though. She looked up at Peter. “I heard he made some poor choices when he was younger.”
When no one volunteered any more details, Peter shrugged and dropped back behind her. Ezra joined him, and Claudia heard the men remark on an enormous black Hummer parked by the curb.
Ann pulled Claudia up to walk next to her. She glanced back at the two men still admiring the SUV and murmured in Claudia’s ear, “Felix knows enough to stay away from the school tonight. All weekend, for that matter.” She continued, speaking so the others could hear. “The Milks have several recitals. There’s no way everyone could fit in the auditorium in one night. They’ll have performances tomorrow and Sunday. Barley people all come tonight and save the Saturday afternoon show for the people who have to drive farther. The grand finale is on Sunday. Did I warn you this lasts over three hours? Anyway, most of the kids have been in since kindergarten, except the new girl this year who’s supposed to be quite good. You won’t get Philip to admit that even if she’s spectacular, because he can’t stand anyone taking attention off Rachel.”
They arrived early at the auditorium, but already people were waiting in line. Claudia abandoned Peter
to the queue and agreed she would meet Ezra at the entrance in fifteen minutes. She roamed the lobby, looking at dancers’ displays and the high school trophy case. The balcony, she discovered after climbing the stairs, contained only the tech booth and a couple of long bench seats ranged behind the railing. Back on the main level she reconnoitered to locate the ladies’ room.
“Miss Alexander, isn’t it?” A husky man, the type who looked as though he’d played linebacker in high school and hadn’t adjusted his eating habits to accommodate a more sedentary lifestyle, looked down at her. A petite, pretty woman with pale blonde hair stood next to him. Claudia knew she should know them. She had it.
“You’re Rachel’s parents, right? I’m sorry, I can’t remember your names.”
“Saul and Crystal Cornelius,” Saul said, his voice quavering. He gave a ghastly smile, giving Claudia concern that he would be sick right in front of her. His little wife hugged his arm. He turned a pasty face down to her, mumbled a faint ‘excuse me,’ and sprinted to the restroom.
“My poor husband is anxious to the point of neuroses. Rachel is cool as a Popsicle for these recitals, but Saul can’t eat or sleep the whole weekend and spends most of his time in the bathroom.”
“No doubt he’ll meet Philip there. His stomach is giving him fits about your daughter too,” Claudia added anxiously, “Oh dear, I hope I didn’t divulge one of his deepest secrets.”
“No, no. He and Saul have been agonizing over recital weekend together for years now. They suffer enough for all of us, so I can just enjoy the show.”
“I used to ski jump competitively,” Claudia told her. “It was my mom who couldn’t take the pressure. Dad encouraged me while Mom stood with her eyes tight shut and her fingers in her ears, and she would count until she figured I was at the bottom of the hill. I’m willing to swear that she never actually saw me in action. She could only watch the video after it was all over.”
Winter Watch Page 10