“And they sing songs,” Amanda had added solemnly as she carefully poured milk on her second bowl of cereal. “But nobody has to sing all by themselves so it’s not scary.”
“I’m sure none of it will be scary,” Barbara had told the children.
And, even now that they were walking toward the church on this fine spring morning, she was sure that what she had said was true for the children. She, on the other hand, had every right to be terrified about going to Sunday school.
People expected adults to have at least a nodding acquaintance with what went on in a church. Barbara didn’t. She knew about the Golden Rule and the Lord’s Prayer, but she didn’t know anything about what actually went on in a church. She didn’t know if you bowed to the minister or stood when the choir sang. She knew the Christmas story, but that’s all she knew about the Bible.
Yet, even though she had told Mrs. Hargrove that she didn’t know anything, the older woman had still wanted her to help with her first- and second-grade Sun day-school class. Amanda and Bobby would both normally be in that class, so she had agreed. She didn’t make her children go to the dentist alone; she wouldn’t make them go to Sunday school alone either.
Besides, Barbara didn’t plan on making Sunday school a habit, so she didn’t suppose it mattered what class any of them attended. At least Mrs. Hargrove had a class of younger children instead of junior-high kids. Barbara hoped the class would be easy.
Barbara adjusted the jacket of her suit and then took both of her children’s hands in hers before she started up the steps to the church. Even though they’d never had a steady home, she had taken the children to the dentist at least once a year. It was just one of those things a parent had to do for their child. Church was probably like that, too. They could do this, she told herself.
Fifteen minutes later, Barbara decided she was wrong. She, for one, couldn’t do this. She should have known better. They didn’t even have Novocain.
It had been easy enough to get directions to the room where Mrs. Hargrove held her Sun day-school class and the stairs down to the basement were clearly marked. The basement had been painted bright colors and there were high windows along all of the walls. The basement was marked off into several areas for different Sun day-school classes and each area had a long kid-sized table with a dozen chairs around it. Mrs. Hargrove had a chalk board in her area with her name on it so Barbara would have known which space belonged to the older woman’s class even if Mrs. Hargrove hadn’t been there.
Finding the right place seemed to go pretty well, Barbara thought. After that though, things stopped being easy.
Five minutes after Barbara and the children settled into chairs around the table, Mrs. Hargrove led the children in a game called a sword drill. The older woman gave Bibles to both Bobby and Amanda so they could play with the other children.
Barbara was glad that Mrs. Hargrove hadn’t offered her a Bible. She didn’t know where anything was located in the Bible, and it was quickly obvious that this was the skill required to solve puzzles in the game. Mrs. Hargrove called out a man’s name with a number behind it—like John 3:16—and the children tried to be the first to find where those words were written in their Bibles. Barbara was dumb founded that the little kids could find things so quickly. She wouldn’t have even known that the children weren’t using the full Bible if Mrs. Hargrove hadn’t told her.
Fortunately, the sword drill didn’t last long and then it was time for the sheriff to tell the story. Correction, Barbara reminded herself, it was time for Carl Wall to tell the story. She had decided some time during the night that she was Carl’s friend and friends called each other by their name and not their job title.
By the look on Carl’s face, he could use a friend about now, so Barbara nodded encouragingly to him as he stood up. He’d been sitting in a folding chair in the back corner of the room until he stood. Barbara thought he looked a little uneasy until one of the boys rolled a piece of paper into a wad the size of a marble and threw it at the girl across the table from him.
Carl straightened right up then. “That’s not allowed in here.”
The sheriff saw the look of panic on the boy’s face and glanced at Mrs. Hargrove. He didn’t want the older woman to have a heart attack because he’d frightened one of her precious students. Besides, the boy was probably only six years old, and right now he was stiffer than some men had been when he’d called out, “Drop it.”
The sheriff thought the boy was a Camp bell—Sam or Danny or something like that. He knew the boy’s father was Frank Campbell. Frank worked for a gas station between here and Miles City.
“No spit wads,” the sheriff said in what he hoped was friendlier voice than he’d used initially. To make sure he was nice enough, he added a smile. “We’re here to learn, not throw things at each other.”
At least that’s why the kids were here, the sheriff told himself. He was here because he’d bartered his Sunday morning in exchange for his Saturday night and, as un comfort able as he was now, he still thought he’d gotten the better of the deal.
“She started it first,” the boy said with an indignant protest. “She kicked me under the table.”
The sheriff looked at the girl that the Campbell boy was scowling at and, sure enough, she wouldn’t meet the sheriff’s eyes. The boy’s trouble with women was starting early. The sheriff knew the girl’s name. It was Suzy Holmquist. The family lived out by the Elkton place.
“Well, there’s better ways to handle things,” the sheriff finally told the boy.
“Are you going to arrest me?” the boy asked, looking defiantly up at the sheriff. “Bobby told me you might arrest him if he didn’t do his homework.”
Where did the kids come up with these ideas? the sheriff wondered. “I’m not arresting anybody today.”
“Not even if a bad man shows up?” Suzy asked, finally deciding it was okay to look the sheriff in the eye. “You’d have to arrest a bad man. You’re the sheriff. It’s your job to protect everyone in Dry Creek.”
“I’m off on Sun days,” the sheriff said.
“Oh.” Suzy looked surprised. “Well, who protects us on Sun days?”
The sheriff looked over at Mrs. Hargrove. He was out of his league with these kids, and he had the good sense to know it. “You’re sure you don’t want a new roof in stead?”
Mrs. Hargrove smiled as she shook her head. She did, however, stand up, which to the sheriff’s dismay seemed to make the children pay a little more attention to what was going on. He doubted anyone kicked anyone else under the table while Mrs. Hargrove was on duty.
“Suzy is asking a good question, class,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Who protects us if the sheriff isn’t around?”
There was a moment of silence.
“My dog,” one boy said hesitantly. “He’s good at scaring people away.”
Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “Is there anyone else who is even more powerful than your dog?”
“She means God,” a red headed girl said. “He’s around to help us out if we meet up with trouble.”
There was another moment of silence.
“God would have a hard time beating up a bad guy,” another boy said. “I’d rather have the sheriff working on Sun days.”
The sheriff knew he shouldn’t let that make him feel good, but it did. Though, at least he had the sense to know that it wasn’t what Mrs. Hargrove wanted to hear.
“Can the sheriff protect you from twenty lions even if he doesn’t have a gun?” Mrs. Hargrove asked the class.
The sheriff was gratified to see that the children seemed to be debating the question instead of just saying no.
“Does he have pepper spray?” Suzy finally asked.
Mrs. Hargrove shook her head. “He has absolutely nothing.”
Several of the children shook their heads.
“The sheriff is going to tell you what happened to a man who had to face more than twenty lions and didn’t have a gun or pepper spray or any thing,�
� Mrs. Hargrove said and then paused. “Well, he did have one secret weapon. Listen to the story and see what it was.”
The sheriff had to admit that Mrs. Hargrove did know how to get the attention of these kids. They were all caught up in the story of Daniel in the lion’s den even though the sheriff just read it to them from the book Mrs. Hargrove had given him. He showed them the pictures from time to time, but the children seemed content just to listen to the words being read.
“And so, what was the man’s secret weapon?” Mrs. Hargrove asked when the story was finished.
“God,” the children answered together.
“And what did he do when he was in trouble?”
“He asked God to help him,” Suzy said.
Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “That’s what we do when we pray. We ask God to help us. And then we trust Him to do what He has promised.”
Barbara felt as if she’d run a marathon. She’d watched the expressions on the faces of Amanda and Bobby as they listened to the story, and she could see the longing in each of them. She was clearly not all that her children needed to feel safe and protected. If she were, they wouldn’t be looking so hungry for more words to the story.
She had to admit she felt a certain wistful ness herself. She would sleep better at night if she believed someone was watching out for her, listening to her prayers or cries. She supposed though that one had to have the trust of a child to believe such a thing. She’d long since given up on being that trusting of anyone.
“Thank you, Carl,” Mrs. Hargrove said as the sheriff went back to the chair he had sat in earlier.
Some where a bell rang.
“That leaves us five minutes,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Just enough time to say a few prayers. Who wants to go first?”
Barbara watched her children bow their heads along with the other children. One of the boys prayed that his brother would get over the flu. A girl prayed for the children in Africa.
And then Barbara’s heart stopped because her daughter prayed. Amanda’s voice was clear and steady as she made her request. “Dear God, my mommy wants a house for us to live in.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Hargrove said just as she’d said at the end of each child’s prayer.
Barbara just sat in her seat until the children finished praying and scram bled out of their seats to go upstairs. Before long, Amanda and Bobby were the only children left around the table.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she looked from Barbara to the sheriff. “You’ve been a blessing.”
“Carl told a good story, didn’t he?” Barbara said.
The sheriff looked surprised. “No one except Mrs. Hargrove calls me Carl.”
“They do now,” Mrs. Hargrove said with an approving nod at Barbara. “And it’s about time.”
Barbara liked seeing someone as flustered as she felt. Both she and Carl were in foreign territory here. Neither one of them had even intended to come to church. Mrs. Hargrove had just been so compelling. “We forgot to take some pictures.”
Barbara had a disposable camera in her purse and she had been all set to take a few shots.
“We can try again next Sunday,” Mrs. Hargrove said serenely.
“Next Sunday?” Carl said with a gulp. “The deal was for this Sunday.”
Mrs. Hargrove smiled slightly. “I understand you both had a good time last night. I thought you might want to repeat the deal next week end.”
“Does everybody know about our d—” Barbara stopped herself from saying date. “About our dinner?”
“Oh, I expect so, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said, just as though it weren’t anything unusual.
Carl grunted. “Maybe next Saturday we should drive into Miles City.”
Barbara smiled. So there was going to be a next Saturday.
“There’s a coffee time before church,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she picked up her books. “Next to the kitchen in the area at the top of the stairs.”
“Do you need anyone to pour the coffee?” Barbara asked. It was starting to be a rather nice day. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she started walking toward the stairs that led up to the main part of the church. “We couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re a guest.”
“Oh,” Barbara said.
“They have cookies, too,” Bobby said as he and Amanda walked over to Barbara. “Some guys told me. He said to take the ones that have choc o late chips in them.”
Barbara could see her children would want to come to Sunday school again.
“Well, I guess we wouldn’t want to miss out on the cookies,” the sheriff said as he put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and the two of them started walking toward the stairs.
Barbara put her hand on Amanda’s shoulder and started walking too. She supposed they would all sit together during church. She almost hoped so. Her worry about doing the wrong thing in church would be easier with someone beside her who could arrest people for harassment if things went bad.
Chapter Thirteen
Floyd Spencer looked at the church building and swore. He hadn’t planned to drive back to Dry Creek this morning. He’d seen that the cake was delivered yesterday, and he thought that would be enough for the time being.
But last night someone had come into his house while he was sleeping and left a note taped to his bathroom mirror. The note said he had three more days. There was no signature to the note, but he knew who it was from. Harlow Smith was letting him know that the cake wasn’t enough.
Floyd didn’t know what to do. The door to his house had been double-locked. The windows had been locked, too. Whoever had come inside hadn’t even had to break into his house, and he’d even changed the locks a few weeks ago. Someone had picked the lock. That was the only explanation. And if Harlow had someone working for him who could pick locks, Floyd wasn’t safe anywhere.
Floyd knew it was probably foolish of him to come to Dry Creek. He’d spent the past hour hiding behind those pine trees in back of the deserted house. He didn’t want anyone to see him. But he was a desperate man. If he could find a way to take that boy of Neal’s as a hostage, that’s what he was going to do. He’d already nosed around that place where Neal’s wife and the kids stayed, but they weren’t there this morning. It looked like the only place they could be was in that church there.
He’d hoped to catch the boy alone, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen today.
Floyd patted his pocket. He needed one of those antacid pills. He’d bought another packet this morning at the same grocery store next to the motel where he stayed in Miles City. At this rate, he’d spend all of the money he’d gotten from the robbery on gas driving out to Dry Creek and on antacid pills to keep his stomach settled down.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, for the first time in fifteen years, the sheriff stood in front of his bedroom mirror and debated about whether or not to put on his uniform. Of course, he knew he had to put it on. Monday was a working day for him, and people needed to know that he was on duty.
It was just this business of Barbara calling him Carl that made him feel un settled inside. He’d always liked people calling him Sheriff instead of Carl. It said who he was, and that was enough. People needed a sheriff.
It should be enough for a man, shouldn’t it? The sheriff shook his head. He wished he knew. It had certainly been enough for him for all these years.
He’d never had a family and he’d never expected to have any friends. He didn’t need to be more than the sheriff to anyone. Or did he?
He wasn’t sure what had changed things for him. Maybe it was Barbara using his first name all morning yesterday or maybe it was sitting with her and her two children during church. Whatever it was, he found himself having dreams of something he’d never known—a family. At least, he thought it was dreams of having a family. He didn’t even know what a family felt like. He’d never come close to anything like it in all those places where he’d lived growing up. He
hadn’t even missed it. Everyone had limitations. He’d been content with his life. Until now.
The sheriff reached for his shirt and started putting it on.
Church had been a surprising thing for him, too. He’d never thought someone like him belonged in a place like that. Church was mostly for families and children.
He had always been more comfort able with the ranch hands, his boots hitched up on a corral when the rodeo hit Miles City. He hadn’t thought he would like sitting in church, but he had. People came up and shook his hand after the whole thing was over and he knew he was welcome. The church at Dry Creek didn’t have any of the fancy frills he’d feared, either. The building was a place where people could just be them selves.
The sheriff reached for his pants.
He’d been able to follow the talk Matthew Curtis had given, the sheriff thought with satisfaction. It was mostly about a person trusting God when they were in trouble. The sheriff had no problem with people doing that. He knew he couldn’t be everywhere. It was good for people to ask God for help some times, too.
Of course, the sheriff hoped no one was foolish enough to ask God for help when they really needed a sheriff instead. After all, a lawman carried a gun.
The sheriff reached for his belt that looped onto his gun holster.
Yes, the sheriff told himself, he needed to be ready to do his job. Today was a day just like any other work day.
When he had finished dressing, the sheriff walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. Somewhere in there he had a brass name badge that he’d been issued with his uniform years ago. He shoved aside some socks and found it. It wouldn’t hurt to wear the badge, he told himself as he pinned it on to his shirt—just in case other people wanted to call him by name, too.
Barbara started baking early so she’d get the donuts and the pies ready this morning before nine. It was a fairly light day for bakery orders; Monday always was, probably because people ordered so much for Saturday that by Monday they were thinking they needed to eat a little more fruit instead of baked goods.
Sugar Plums for Dry Creek & At Home in Dry Creek Page 27