Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  Barbara longed with all her heart to be deeply rooted in Dry Creek, but she had never asked herself if her children also felt like outsiders and wanted to belong. People seemed to have friend ships that lasted a lifetime in this little town. Even people who grew up here and then moved away stayed connected. Barbara wanted that for herself and her children.

  Barbara wondered what her children thought it would take to belong. She knew her signal was something as simple as being invited to pour coffee for those in the community. Her children might be longing for a real home to make them feel part of this small town. All of the other children here had regular houses. It was a normal expectation for a child.

  She and the children might still have to wait for the people of Dry Creek to fully accept them as their own, but Barbara vowed she would do something now to let her children know it would happen soon.

  It would probably be months before she could actually rent a place, and that included the old house Mr. Gossett’s nephew was supposed to decide if he wanted to rent to her. The house was across the street from where they were living now and down a little. Barbara could see its yard when she looked out the windows of the studio in front.

  Often, during the day, she’d stop what she was doing and look across the street at that house. The fence around it was half falling down and the house itself had ceased being white a long time ago. Now, it looked mostly gray where the paint had been worn down by the winters around here. No grass grew in the yard. There were a few pine trees that had managed to survive around the house. Anything else that had once been planted had died, either because of the winter cold or the summer heat.

  Barbara saw all of the house’s short comings, but for her, that old place was a dream she wanted to come true. She could almost see what the place would look like if it had someone to care for it.

  So far, Mrs. Hargrove hadn’t received another letter saying the Gossetts had made the decision to rent the house to someone. And Mrs. Hargrove might not get such a letter for months.

  Barbara decided her children couldn’t wait much longer without hope that things would change. A sturdy table was a beginning, and she wanted to be able to give them that much now. It would signal that a change was going to happen.

  Barbara knew she could afford a table if she sold the rings. She almost reached for the phone to ask Mrs. Hargrove to advise her on how to sell the three-ring set, but then she pulled back. She didn’t want to have to run to Mrs. Hargrove for advice on everything.

  There had to be a pawnshop in Miles City, Barbara reasoned. Maybe whoever ran it would give her a few hundred dollars for the rings. That was a quick and easy way to get money. She’d ask about catching a ride into town on Monday with Mrs. Hargrove. The older woman had said earlier that she was going to a dentist appointment then.

  The whistle of the teakettle distracted Barbara, and before long she was holding a cup of hot tea. The steam from her cup warmed her face. The smell of cinnamon in the tea also made the room seem more welcoming. She wished she’d had tea steeping when she and the sheriff first got back here. She’d have to leave a pot steeping when he came back later to go to dinner. Mrs. Hargrove would probably like some tea while she watched the children anyway.

  Forty-five minutes later, Barbara looked at herself in the old mirror that hung above the sink in the small bathroom next to the main room. The mirror had grown a little warped over the years, but it gave back a pretty accurate image even if it did make her face look yellow.

  Barbara had washed and curled her hair until it flew around her face. She had brought out her makeup bag and put on a foundation cream and a little blush powder. She debated about putting on her eye liner and some green eye shadow before deciding that a little makeup couldn’t define a dinner as a date. It was only natural that she wanted to look her best for the meal.

  Barbara used the same logic as she pulled out one of the four dresses she owned. She’d picked the dress by elimination. Her oldest dress was a sleeve less cotton summer dress, and she didn’t even consider that for tonight because it was too cold outside to wear it. Another dress was more of a navy suit, and Barbara had already decided she would keep that back for Sunday school and church tomorrow morning.

  The third dress was that lavender brides maid’s dress and Barbara knew she’d cause a huge amount of gossip if she wore that to dinner with the sheriff. She smiled to herself just thinking about it. Several of the younger couples in the area made it a habit to come to the café for the Saturday-night specials, so there’d be plenty of wit nesses to her dinner with the sheriff. The story about her wearing a brides maid’s dress to dinner with someone would last even longer than the story of her catching that bridal bouquet.

  The remaining dress was her only choice, and that was the one Barbara was wearing. When she’d been married to Neal, this had been her “reconciliation dress.” In the early days, when they’d had a fight, Neal would take her out some place to dinner later and she would wear this dress. The dress was a deep vi o let that was so close to being black that it shimmered back and forth between the two colors, looking like one or the other depending on the way the light shone. The dress was fitted and long enough that it looked elegant. And it had a deep neckline that made it look even more as though it belonged in a supper club, especially when Barbara added a string of pearls around her neck.

  Barbara always felt like a lady when she wore this dress.

  She knew the dress was too elegant for her dinner with the sheriff, but Barbara had decided to wear it anyway. After the sheriff had gotten a good look at the room where she lived, it wouldn’t hurt to try and impress him. She at least wanted him to know she had some nice clothes.

  Barbara heard the car drive up to the steps leading into the outer studio room and come to a stop. She had left one of the overhead lights on in this room and she could see the shadows of two figures through the curtained window on the door. She listened for a knock.

  The sheriff adjusted his tie. He hadn’t fussed about what to wear some place in years. He knew he should probably have just put on a clean uniform and been done with it. That’s what he would normally wear to a dinner business meeting. But he knew that this dinner wasn’t about business; at least, it wasn’t for him. So, he’d put on his one suit, the same black one he’d worn to the wedding and the same one he’d wear to church in the morning. At least he had a new white shirt to wear with it tonight. He had even borrowed Mrs. Hargrove’s iron so he could press it.

  “You look fine,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she stepped up until she was even with him at the door. “Do you want me to knock?”

  “No, I should knock.” The sheriff rapped on the door with his knuckles. He wondered if Mrs. Hargrove knew how nervous he was.

  “You’re a handsome man, Carl Wall, and don’t you be for get ting it,” Mrs. Hargrove said staunchly as they listened to the foot steps coming toward the door.

  “Thanks,” the sheriff said, resisting the urge to smooth down his hair. He knew Mrs. Hargrove was just being supportive, but he did appreciate her telling him he looked fine. And everything would go fine, too; he just needed to take a deep breath and relax. The sheriff got his breath out, but he never got it back in again.

  The door opened instead and he saw a movie star. Or one of those fancy magazine models. Whoever it was, she was dressed to go some where on the arm of a millionaire instead of a poor man who was going to pass out any minute now if he didn’t take a deep breath.

  The sheriff gulped.

  Mrs. Hargrove slapped him on the back at the same time as she said hello to Barbara.

  “Is he okay?” Barbara asked Mrs. Hargrove.

  “More than okay,” the older woman said. “I think he’s going to do just fine.”

  The sheriff breathed again. At least, he thought he must be breathing, because he hadn’t passed out.

  “I’ll just go on back to where the children are,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she walked through the doorway and headed toward the back roo
m. “You two have fun now.”

  The sheriff noticed that that thought seemed to alarm Barbara.

  “We’re going to work on a slogan,” Barbara turned to say the older woman.

  Mrs. Hargrove didn’t even break her stride as she walked across the floor toward the back room. “You’ll come up with a good one, too.”

  Mrs. Hargrove entered the back room, and the sheriff heard the excited shrieks of the children.

  “I see they woke up,” he said, wishing for the tenth time today that he’d been born with the gift of gab. He’d never seen the use of chitchat before tonight. But now he was coming to appreciate the skill of making small talk, even though he didn’t have any of it.

  Barbara nodded. “I fed them a sandwich earlier.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Do you need to do anything else before we go? Because I can wait if you need. That’s no problem.”

  The sheriff paused for breath. He sure wondered what Pete Denning would say to a woman in this same situation. “You did something different with your hair. It’s nice.” The sheriff wondered if that was adequate. “Real nice.”

  Barbara smiled as she lifted one of her hands to her hair. “Thanks. And I guess I’m ready. Just let me go get my shawl. It looks cold out side.”

  The sheriff nodded. “It is a little chilly.”

  The sheriff watched Barbara walk across the floor to the doorway of the back room. He hoped he could catch his breath while she was back there. He didn’t want to give the impression that he couldn’t walk a few steps without being winded. Especially now, because he planned to offer his arm to Barbara for the walk down the street to the café. He’d decided when he put the suit on earlier that it would be the proper thing to do.

  If he didn’t get his wind back though, she might think he was offering his arm so that she could steady him. That wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. Not at all. He took another deep breath. This one sat easier inside. Mrs. Hargrove was right. He’d do fine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Barbara hadn’t stepped completely through the door into the café before she knew something was wrong. She’d walked into this same café hundreds of times in the past five months, and she’d never seen it look like this.

  Usually on Saturday evenings, Linda added a candle to each table. But she also had fluorescent tube lighting in the ceiling that streamed down and gave everything a homey appearance. The candles were only an accent. No one actually ate by candlelight.

  The Dry Creek Café wasn’t a romantic place. It had a black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, and even with the white table cloths Linda used on Saturday nights, it looked like a place where one would go to order a ham burger with friends instead of a gourmet meal with a date. In fact, the usual Saturday-night specials were bacon cheese burgers and T-bone steaks.

  But tonight was different. The lighting was so low no one could see the person in front of them, let alone the color of the floor at their feet. Soft instrumental music was playing on the stereo Linda kept in the kitchen. Even Linda herself was transformed. Instead of wearing her usual T-shirt and jeans, she was wearing a black dress with a white collar and a white bib apron. Linda’s hair was drawn back into a bun and clipped with a gold barrette.

  “Isn’t anyone else having dinner?” Barbara whispered when she and the sheriff walked past Linda. Usually, the café had a half dozen people in it at this hour. In the past month or so, Linda had even been talking about hiring extra help. Saturday was the big night for people in Dry Creek to go out to dinner. The place shouldn’t be empty.

  “The Redferns were in earlier and ate,” Linda said calmly as she closed the door behind Barbara and the sheriff. “Oh, and the Curtis family were here, too. And the Martins.”

  “But it’s not even dinner time yet, and they’re all finished,” Barbara said. She couldn’t believe it. “What about the Elktons? They always come in around this time on Saturday night. They’re like clock work.”

  “They ordered takeout tonight. I just gave them their bag not five minutes ago.”

  “Takeout? No one ever orders takeout here.”

  Linda shrugged and gestured for Barbara and the sheriff to sit at the one table that had been moved to the center of the room. It was clearly a table for two, its size small enough for close conversation. Usually, large group tables sat in the middle of the café floor. Barbara knew the smaller table had been placed there especially for her and the sheriff. Someone had even stuck a long red rose in a silver vase and put it in the center of the table. For good measure, there was a doily under the vase.

  “My best table,” Linda said as she pulled back one of the straight-back chairs.

  The sheriff stayed standing until Barbara sat down and then he moved closer to settle her chair under the table.

  When the sheriff finished pushing in her chair, he went back and sat in the other chair.

  “Our specials tonight are garlic-roasted pork loin or grilled Atlantic salmon. Both are served with cream of asparagus soup and a nice rice pilaf,” Linda announced.

  “Cream of asparagus soup,” Barbara repeated. What had happened to the chili burgers and tuna melts? Even the steaks Linda offered on Saturday nights were usually served with fries. People in Dry Creek didn’t eat much rice pilaf. She was sure they didn’t eat asparagus soup. “That sounds good.”

  “Which would you like?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’ll take the salmon,” Barbara answered.

  “Make that two,” the sheriff said.

  Linda nodded and walked back to the kitchen area.

  Barbara waited until she and the sheriff were alone before she whispered, “Did you make some kind of special reservations for dinner to night?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “I didn’t make any reservations at all—no one has ever needed reservations here before. I did mention to Mrs. Hargrove what time we were planning to eat, but that was only because she needed to know so she could watch the children.”

  “I’d guess that more people than Mrs. Hargrove know that we’re having dinner here tonight at six-thirty,” Barbara said.

  The sheriff nodded. “I’m glad I wore my suit.” He looked at Barbara and smiled. “I would hate to waste all of this on my uniform. Linda’s gone to a lot of work.”

  “Pork loin and salmon? I guess we should feel honored,” Barbara said.

  Barbara knew there was a general misunderstanding being spread around Dry Creek. No one else had private dining in the café. Either she or the sheriff had the measles, or there was some other reason they were being left alone tonight.

  “They think we’re on a date,” Barbara stated the obvious.

  “Maybe we are,” the sheriff said.

  “I don’t think—”

  “We’re both dressed up and eating together by candlelight at a table with a fresh rose on it,” the sheriff declared. “And people are worried about our privacy. Oh, yeah, we’re on a date.”

  “Well, may be—but it’s a business date. To figure out a campaign slogan.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “We can do that, too. It shouldn’t take long. How about Vote for the Sheriff?”

  “You at least need to have your name with it,” Barbara pro tested. “People might vote for your competition instead if you’re not clear.”

  “I don’t have any competition. Besides, people always call me the sheriff. Mrs. Hargrove is the only one who uses my name.”

  “Oh.” Barbara blinked. That didn’t seem quite right to her somehow. “Everyone should have a name that people use.”

  “Folks around here just know me as the sheriff.”

  Barbara smiled. “But what if you weren’t the sheriff, what then?”

  The sheriff looked at her as though she’d suggested the unthinkable. “I’ve been the sheriff here for fifteen years—ever since I was twenty-one.”

  A loud noise interrupted them. It sounded as if several pots and pans had fallen on the floor in the kitchen. Barbara’s suspicions were con fir
med when she saw Linda poke her head out of the kitchen door. Linda’s black dress was still neat, but her hair looked like she’d been through a whirl wind. The bun was gone and strands of dark hair fluttered around her face.

  “I’m sorry for the racket,” Linda said, a little breathlessly. “I’ll have your soup out in a minute. I just need to whip up some more—if I can find some more asparagus back there. I thought I bought more.”

  “Don’t worry about the soup,” the sheriff said.

  “But we wanted the dinner to be special for you,” Linda fretted. “Especially since it’s your first date and all.”

  The sheriff put his hand over the one Barbara had on the table as though to stop the words he knew were ready to come out of her mouth. She supposed he was right. No one believed her when she said it wasn’t a date anyway.

  “We’re doing just fine here,” the sheriff said.

  Barbara nodded. “We’d be fine with hamburgers and fries too, if that’s easier for you.”

  “You would?” Linda said. She looked relieved.

  “I’ve always liked the hamburgers here,” the sheriff said. “Some of the best in the stat e—especially the ones with the pepper jack cheese on them.”

  Barbara wondered how long the sheriff expected to keep his hand over hers. He’d probably for got ten that he even had it there, and she knew he had only put it there as a request that she be silent, but she still thought he should move it. It was causing her to feel, well, warm for one thing. Plus, it was also causing her to remember that kiss the sheriff had given her when she was in the hospital. He’d never even mentioned it since. The man must make a habit of making gestures that he never acknowledged.

  “You’re a flirt,” Barbara said when Linda had gone back into the kitchen. The sheriff’s hand still cradled hers.

  “What?” The sheriff seemed astonished.

  Barbara nodded. “You could move your hand. I got your message. But you just leave it there like you don’t even know that it’s there. Conveniently for got ten. It’s just like that kiss you gave me in the hospital. You do it and then you don’t even bother to acknowledge it.”