by Grace Walton
“Then take me somewhere safe. You know I’ll go with you.” That logic seemed easy enough to her, unless he had another goal, one that included her death.
“I can’t.” His stark answer was powerful in its finality.
Carrie felt her eyes well up and she turned away from him before they spilled over. “Gage it doesn’t have to be this way. There’s got to be another way,” she pleaded for her life.
He shook his head. “Baby, there’s not. I wish there was. But there’s not.”
Carrie knew it was hopeless to beg. “I understand you believe that. I hate it though. I hate it for what it will do to you Gage.” And she truly meant every word. Carrie wasn’t afraid to die. Her decision in October had taken the sting out of death. But she had a pretty good idea of what murder did to a person’s soul. So she found the courage to look into his eyes and shuddered at what was written across his hard face.
“I love you.” It was just a whisper, but she had to say it to him at least once. This might be her only chance. She heard the tortured groan rise from the depths of his throat and felt his strong arms gather her against his solid chest. Instead of the fiery kiss, she expected, Carrie was enfolded and rocked like a desolate child.
“I love you,” she said it one more time for good measure.
“Baby, I know. I know. When this is all over,” he whispered hoarsely into the tangle that was her hair. He continued rocking her back and forth. They stayed like that forever, or at least it felt like that long to Carrie. After a while, he gently set her away from his big body.
“I’ve got to go.”
Carrie swallowed and nodded. She lifted up on her toes and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. As she tried to step away from him, Gage growled a refusal and dragged her back. Seemingly against his will, his starving lips found hers. Carrie instantly fell into a deep spiral of longing. But just as soon as the kiss began, he tore away and ended it.
“Why?” Carrie almost sobbed. It was more than one question. “Why does it have to be this way?”
Gage shook his head not answering. His hand trembled as he tucked a lock of fiery hair behind her ear. “I’ve got to leave now Carrie.”
His words were soft and strangely hoarse. It was all he said. Then he was gone. She didn’t hear him walk away. Or see how he got out of her house. He was like a ghost who, having once appeared disappeared into a vapor just as easily.
Carrie wrapped her arms around herself trying to dispel the emptiness she felt. Now what? She asked herself. Do I go to bed and lay there awake all night? Or do I try to figure out how this is all going to end? Maybe she should call Sam? No, she hated that idea. She didn’t trust him and what could he do? So Carrie did the only thing she could, she prayed.
She prayed for herself and tried to make peace with the fact she might not be alive this time tomorrow night. She had regrets, lots of them. She struggled to turn them over to the Lord. And she had dreams that would never come to fruition. Dreams about life with one good man who loved her, whom she would always love in return. Bittersweet dreams about the sons and daughters, she’d never have. Kids who’d have golden eyes and jet black hair just like Gage. And the hope of justice for her father, that was now another truly impossible dream. All had to be surrendered one by one.
When that was finished, she prayed for Gage. Maybe he was a terrible person, a flawed and dangerous man who killed easily and often. Maybe everything in that manila folder had been true. Facts like those didn’t lie. Even so, she loved him. She loved him enough to pray for him. Loved him enough to cry over what a brutal warrior’s life had made him. She loved him enough to die for him if it came to that.
And so when she finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning her pillow was soaked and her eyes were heavy and swollen. Her head was stuffy and achy. The next morning at eight o’clock the pounding on her kitchen door sounded like a judge’s gavel ringing through the house. Carrie somehow pulled herself up, popped in her contacts, and ran down the hall to the back door. Raising the shade she was greeted by Ruthie and Patsy waving frantically through the glass. With resignation, she opened the door.
“Wow! You look bad Carrie,” Ruthie said. “You can’t be getting the flu on the day of the Christmas Pageant.” She sounded horrified at the thought.
“You sure can’t,” agreed Patsy. “Nobody else can handle all those little criminals tonight.” She reached over and snagged a cookie from the jar on Carrie’s kitchen counter.
“Wow, those smell great.” Ruthie reached for one too. She sniffed it, then shook her head. “Well, something else smells good, even better than these chocolate chips.” She looked at Carrie expectantly. “You must have been up late last night cooking something with cinnamon and?” She sniffed.
Patsy sniffed too. “Cloves- yeah, cinnamon and cloves, right?”
Carrie shook her head. She struggled to keep from crying. No, she wanted to scream, I wasn’t baking, Gage had been there here. His scent must still cling to her cotton nightgown. Ruthie and Patsy looked horrified.
“What did I say?” asked Patsy trying to make amends.
“No, it was probably me. I’m always saying the wrong thing,” Ruthie admitted.
Carrie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown and reassured them. “No, neither one of you did anything wrong. I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.”
“Well, we can fix that. Right Patsy,” Ruthie said brightly.
“We sure can,” Patsy chimed. “Guess what?”
Carrie made a face and shook her head. “Don’t say that.”
Patsy grimaced. “Oh, right… bad choice.”
“I’ll tell.” Ruthie smiled. “Gage Ferguson is back in Burnt Hickory.”
“And, he’s coming to the Pageant tonight,” Patsy squealed.
Carrie’s mouth went suddenly dry. “How do you know he’s coming to the Pageant?” Not at the church God, please not there. Don’t let me die in front of the kids. Carrie silently prayed.
“We know cause we invited him, just this morning,” Ruthie said.
Patsy nodded. “We were in the diner having breakfast when he came in.”
“Yeah, we were. And Carrie, he looked like he must be coming down with something too. I mean, I’ve never seen him less than perfect. Not that I’ve seen him that much, mind you. But when I have, he’s been perfect. Perfect clothes, perfect hair, you know, perfect everything.” Ruthie was a fount of information.
“But not this morning,” Patsy agreed. “No this morning he looked down right scruffy. Although I must admit scruffy on Gage Ferguson is really, really sexy.”
“Patsy shut up.” Laughed Ruthie. “But honestly Carrie he looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days.”
Carrie needed only to nod once or twice and the other two were fine. The conversational ball just kept rolling right along which was good. Since she was numb.
“I bet he heard Sam moved out and he’s back here to court you Carrie,” Patsy mused aloud.
Carrie shook her head. “I doubt that.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Ruthie allowed. “I heard from Martha Sims, who heard it from Cerise Ferguson’s own lips that he’s been planning some big to-do out in California. I think it might be a wedding. No names were mentioned, of course. Do you think he’s getting married?” She seemed pleased to have scored that coup.
“Well, his own mother would surely know if he was getting married,” agreed Patsy. “Don’t you think Carrie?”
“What? Yes, Cerise would surely know,” she said weakly. And that little kernel of gossip answered a lot of her most plaguing questions. Like why he’d stayed in LA so long without once trying to get in touch with her. Some of the other questions… well she couldn’t even bear to think about them.
“That’s not really why we’re here,” Ruthie announced.
“It’s not?” Carrie asked warily.
“Of course not,” scoffed Patsy. “We’re here to take you to the spa.”
“The spa?”
“Yep, it’s a Burnt Hickory tradition. On the day of the Christmas Pageant, all the past choir directors put up enough money so the current victim… I mean director, gets the full spa treatment,” Ruthie teased. “Believe me, you’ll need it before this day is over.”
“That’s nice, but I don’t think,” Carrie started.
“Don’t think,” encouraged Patsy. “You won’t believe what those gals can do for you Carrie. You’ll look like a movie star when they’re done with you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, thought Carrie. “It’s so kind of you all, but,”
“Yeah, you’ll look better than that model who disappeared a few years back. What was her name?” Ruthie said.
“Caroline,” Patsy answered. “Her name was Caroline. And our Carrie will leave her in the dust.”
“Yeah, Carrie you’ve got to go. It would be a terrible breach of tradition if you didn’t,” begged Ruthie.
Carrie nodded and saw rather quickly that she had no choice in the matter. Hopefully she could keep her makeover low-key. So she agreed and left them chattering at her kitchen table while she went back to her room to change. A waft of cinnamon and cloves drifted around her as she pulled the nightgown over her head. When she was dressed, she held the wadded up gown to her face and breathed deeply. It was true what they said, fragrance triggered memories. And every one she relived clutching the nightgown was bittersweet.
Ten minutes later she was back in the kitchen. Her hair had been shoved into a knot at the back of her neck. Carrie’s glasses were perched on her nose. She was wearing a pair of baggy faded jeans and a huge sweatshirt that reached to her knees.
Ruthie wrinkled her nose. “You’re not wearing that tonight are you Carrie?”
“Of course she’s not wearing jeans to the Pageant,” Patsy scolded her friend. “She’s just gonna be real comfortable at the spa, right Carrie?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.
Carrie nodded slowly processing it as best she could. “Uh… what do most folks wear?”
“Well, the year I was directing, I wore a jeweled red velour jacket and a long satin skirt,” Ruthie offered.
“I was in charge last year and I wore a floor length silk sheath. I got it when we went to Dallas on vacation,” Patsy confided.
Carrie’s heart sank. “So it’s pretty formal?” They both nodded in unison.
“I just thought that since the church services were always so casual…” Carrie was holding out hoping.
“Well, that’s true, but I guess this is the one time a year we do put on the dog,” Ruthie said by way of apology.
“Yeah, even the guys dress up,” Patsy said. “I haul Ed’s tux out of the closet the week before and take it to the cleaners every year.”
Carrie didn’t like the sound of all this. How was she supposed to look like a scarecrow in formal clothes after a day at the spa? Oh, she had plenty of formal clothing stashed away in the attic in a big plastic bin labelled ‘Scrapbooks’. They were all at least four years old, but that was in Paris years not Burnt Hickory years. Here in Montana they were practically cutting edge couture. She sighed resolved. She’d find something in there that made her look bad, she had to.
“OK,” Carrie said brightly. “I’m glad you told me. I think I have something just right for a formal occasion. So what’s next?” She smiled, putting herself at their mercy.
“The spa!” They giggled and led her out the back door to a car. Once inside she slumped down in the back seat as they regaled her with stories of past Christmas Pageants. That litany lasted all the way to the spa. Ruthie and Patsy escorted her inside the discreetly decorated building, paid the fee, gave her a hug, and left.
Carrie breathed a sigh of relief and surrendered to the spa attendants. She completely tuned out their exclamations over her beautiful hair as it was pulled from its knot for conditioning. She closed her eyes as a cosmetologist asked her why she was hiding such perfect skin behind a green tinted moisturizer. And she stifled a giggle when the masseuse offered her a few handy tips on how to make the most of what the prim older woman called her ‘considerable physical assets’.
When Ruthie and Patsy came back to pick her up later in the afternoon, they both were in shock. Oh, their friend still looked like a stick figure in her baggy old jeans and sweatshirt. And it was a darn shame about those big old horn rim glasses. But other than that Carrie looked good, amazingly good. Her hair was stunning.
Ruthie said so straight out, “Carrie what did they do, dye your hair?”
Carrie shook her head. “No.”
“I know, it must be one of those new non-permanent rinses,” Patsy offered. “You know, they have names like ‘Moonbeam Glow’ or ‘Tahiti Sunset‘. It looks fabulous. I think you ought to do that all the time Carrie. It really makes a huge difference.”
Carrie smiled. “Thanks. And thanks for the day. I had a great time. You were right. It was just what I needed. I’ll be able to face the Pageant with a smile on my face.” She gave them each a hug across the back of the front seat and got out of the car. Her little shabby house had never looked better. She practically raced to the door only stopping once to wave at them.
Once inside she leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath. Now what? She asked silently. And she just as quickly answered. Now you get up in the attic and find something as frumpy as possible to wear out of that ‘Scrapbooks’ bin.
Two hours later she stood in front of a full length mirror in her bedroom and began to acknowledge defeat. It was impossible to make the beautiful Parisian gowns look bad. They had all been cut and tailored specifically for her. And even though it did look like she’d lost a few pounds, well that just made the lines of the clothing fall better.
Then there was her hair. She couldn’t braid it as she normally did. That would be a terrible insult to Ruthie, Patsy, and all the other ladies who’d paid dearly for her spa day. So what was she to do with it? The worst she’d come up with was to pull it away from her face and let it trail over her shoulders and down her back. But the problem was that bared her face. Of course she still had to put on the glasses. Once she did, she felt better a little better.
From the explosion of fashionable clothing on her bed, she plucked the least flamboyant thing she could find. It was a black velvet pencil skirt. It was cut to hug her hips and fall in a straight line to the floor. Next she plucked a Thai silk wrap style top from the pile. It had tight sleeves and a plunging Vee neckline. But it was the closest thing on the bed to conservative. Once upon a time the top had been specifically dyed to match the color of her eyes. Now she prayed the brown contacts would spoil the effect of the rich molten silver.
After slipping into a pair of high-heeled black sandals and throwing a black cashmere wrap around her shoulders she was ready. Like a soldier marching into battle she walked out to her battered car, got in, and pulled out of the driveway.
Later in the church parking lot she clutched the thin wrap tightly around her shoulders and tied it into a lumpy knot. She settled the bulging thing over her bosom. It helped disguise her perfect curves.
There was a cold, harsh bite in the air and that helped her calm down. Taking a really deep breath, she got out of her car and crossed the asphalt on her 4 inch heels. She was an old hand at teetering across rough surfaces in sky high heels. So she had no problems making it to the church entrance. Luckily the doors were open and no one else was there yet.
She got her music stand set up and her program and sheet music organized before the first of the kids came in. The mothers were certainly complimentary about her appearance. But she didn’t hear the surprised whispers they gave each other as they dropped off their kids and saved seats close to the front for their families.
Carrie had just enough time to take the children over a quick run-through of their songs. Then she led them out a back door to the fellowship hall where they’d all wait until it was their turn to sing.
R
uthie and Patsy had volunteered to ride herd on the whole bunch too, and they were already waiting. They quickly had the kids organized and seated at tables. Once that was accomplished, they turned to Carrie.
“Wow Carrie, I didn’t realize you were so tall. I bet you were on the high school basketball team, huh?” Ruthie smiled.
“It’s the heels Ruthie,” said Patsy in her practical, down to earth way. “She’s wearing a killer pair of heels. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear they were those Italian designer’s. What's his name, Mano,Pano, something or other?”
“Well, they sure do spice up that outfit,” Ruthie said, eyeing the bunched up shawl critically. “Carrie, you can’t wear the wrap to direct in. You won’t be able to move your arms.” She untied the sloppy knot and whipped the shawl away.
“Whoa!” Patsy murmured. “The top sure puts the shoes to shame. Sweetie, won’t you get cold in that skimpy little thing?”
“Maybe we better rethink the wrap,” Ruthie quipped as she took the black cashmere away from Patsy. Giving it a good shake she settled it back around Carrie’s shoulders.
Chapter Sixteen
Carrie blew out a huge sigh of relief as the kids finished their last song and the sanctuary filled with applause. Camera flashes erupted from all over the building. And in the chaos Carrie finally looked out in the audience. She had successfully avoided making eye contact with anyone when she’d led the choir out and made sure all the children were in their places. So steeling herself, she scanned the big auditorium. He was the first one she saw. Gage was sitting towards the back in a severe black tuxedo. His arms were crossed and his face was set. He wasn’t here for a night of harmless entertainment. He was working. She could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the way his cold eyes continually roamed the church sanctuary.
She wasn’t afraid of crowds, or being in the spotlight. Nobody in her former line of work thought twice about that sort of thing. But Carrie dreaded seeing the shocked looks on the faces of her church family when they got a good look at her. The hair alone would cause comment. Already she saw the frowns of disapproval on several women’s faces. A couple of the bachelors in the congregation had stepped out in the aisles so they’d have a better view. But mostly she didn’t want to know if Gage was sitting there with a gun holstered under his arm, patiently biding his time.