Tucker's Bride

by Lois M. Richer

  “Well!” She glared at him. “You tried to make me put them in neat little rows. As if you make a woods with neat little rows of trees! That’s an orchard, not a woods.” She huffed her indignation. “Anyway, I don’t suppose maple is particularly good for a tree house.”

  “Who’s building a tree house?” Tom stood in front of them, a stringer with fish dangling from his hand.

  “We are,” Ginny announced, jumping to her feet.

  “You and Tucker are building a tree house? Oh.” Tom stared at the fish, then lifted his eyes to Tucker’s, a question lurking in the depths. “Doesn’t she like it at home?”

  “Cute. Very cute.” Tucker faked a smile. Can’t quite say the words, can you, Townsend? Scared of six young boys?

  Yes! his mind screamed. Scared stiff.

  “We’re building it, all of us. Hey! Paul, Nick, everyone, come here!” Ginny danced from one foot to the other as if the grass scorched her toes. Her hair bounced, bobbing and shimmering with a life all its own.

  Once more Tucker was reminded of the past, of an evening seven years ago when her excitement had overcome all inhibition and she danced across the deck in the same way.

  You promise, Tuck? You absolutely, positively promise? You won’t break your word and forget me?

  “Tucker, tell them why we want to build a tree house.”

  Tucker came to the present with a thunk. He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry and sticky at the expectation revealed on seven faces. The words would not come. He tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  “Tucker has this great idea. He wondered if you guys wanted to form a club. A boy’s club. He was thinking maybe a tree house could be your clubhouse. You could meet there every week, do all sorts of fun things over the summer.” Ginny glanced from the boys to Tucker, waiting, watching.

  “A boy’s club? Like us six and you?” Tom stared at Tucker. “Doing stuff together?”

  Nod, Townsend. Make some response. Don’t just stand there.

  “Yes. Us and anyone else who wanted to join.” Tucker nodded, his neck stiff. What on earth was he doing?

  “We’d have to have rules. Not just anybody can walk in and be a member of our club.” Tom met Tucker’s stare and blushed, his carrot head vying with his face for most color. “I guess rules do have a place,” he mumbled.

  Tucker sat down. He had to. His knees would no longer support the weight of his body.

  “What kind of rules?” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Guess I’m allergic or something. My voice feels funny.”

  Ginny sat beside him and slipped her hand into his surreptitiously so no one could see. Her smile encouraged him.

  Ginny had faith. If she believed God could make some good out of this club thing, he’d hang on to that. For now.

  “Well, I dunno.” Tom set his fish carefully in the bag he’d brought, then flopped down across from them. “We don’t want nobody in our group that doesn’t have the same rules we do.”

  “Yeah, like curfews and stuff.”

  The others nodded.

  “No smoking,” Nick suggested.

  Tucker stared. “Do any of you smoke?” he asked.

  They shook their heads.

  “Then—” Tucker stopped, his eyes on Tom’s downcast head. Something clicked. Fire. Smoking. Probation. “Good. Smoking’s bad for everybody. Rule number one. No smoking. Next?”

  They argued, debated and finally settled on the rest of the rules until the boys had hammered out nine absolutes.

  “And no girls. That’s number ten.”

  Tucker glanced at Ginny, wondering how she’d take that.

  “Except for Ginny,” Paul inserted. “She’s our special guest. She can come any time we invite her. Especially if she brings food.” He grinned.

  The others nodded.

  Ginny accepted their ruling with grumbled good grace.

  “I feel compelled to tell you that at some point in the future girls are going to become very important to you.” Tucker almost laughed at the looks on their faces.

  “As if!”

  “It’s true. Soon you’ll be wanting to date, to bring them to our meetings, to show them the clubhouse.” Tucker chuckled at their skepticism, his eyes meeting Ginny’s fun-filled ones.

  “Never!” The vote was unanimous.

  “Just remember what I said.”

  Fish forgotten, they began scratching out blueprints in the sand, growing more excited with every line.

  “You’d better rethink it, guys.” He should take his own advice. “It’s a clubhouse. In a tree. There won’t be all that much room.” Tucker shook his head at the elaborate plans.

  “Well, how are we going to do stuff if we don’t have room?” They sat back, waiting for an answer.

  “What kind of stuff?” He should have asked first and volunteered later. A little hesitation was a good thing.

  “Projects and stuff. You know.”

  That was the trouble. He didn’t know. He had no clue what he was doing here, and in about thirty seconds they were going to know it.

  “He’s right. The clubhouse should be for official meetings. Brainstorming. That kind of thing.” Tom stared at the sketches, his body tilted slightly forward. “But I might know someplace we could go, you know, to build stuff. Or whatever.”

  “Yeah? Where?” New respect filtered through the others as they waited for his answer.

  “My dad—my foster dad. He has some basement rooms at the paper. He might let us use them.” Tom looked straight at Tucker. “As long as we had someone responsible with us.”

  Responsible? Him? Prickles feathered up and down Tucker’s arm. He tried to swallow the lump of fear, but his mouth was so dry, words wouldn’t come. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say! All he felt was a deep, cloying apprehension.

  “That’s a good idea, Tom. I’m sure Tucker won’t mind asking Marty tomorrow.”

  He heaved a sigh of relief as Ginny drew their attention away from him. But what was he going to do when she wasn’t there?

  “Right now I think we’d better clean up. I’ve got to head home. Dad’ll be wondering what happened.” She stood and began shaking out the blanket she’d sat on. “This was a good day, guys. A very good day.”

  Was it? Tucker wasn’t so sure.

  But he helped her clean up. They packed the van and he rode back to her house without blurting out his fears. It was only when he sat alone in his room at the Bains’ that the enormity of what he’d agreed to sunk in.

  Okay, maybe running back to Ginny and Jubilee Junction wasn’t so smart after all.

  Chapter Seven

  “Marty? Hi. How are you?”

  “I’m okay, Tucker. How’re you doing? You look a little less battered than the last time I saw you. Feeling all right?” The older man scrutinized him thoroughly, but there was kindness in the depths of his eyes.

  “Well, I was.” Tucker shook his head. “Now I think I might have had a touch too much sun on Sunday. Either that or Ginny Brown conned me big time.” Tucker took the proffered seat and leaned back, watching Marty’s grin appear.

  “Ginny, huh? Well, she’s always gone after what she wants. What’s the problem?” Marty shuffled a stack of papers off his chair and onto the floor before he flopped down and tilted back, eyes curious. “You get another assignment or something?”

  “Sort of.” He told him about the boy’s club. “The thing is, Tom sort of volunteered some space you had in the basement for a kind of workroom.”

  “He did, huh? Good for Tom. I’m glad he’s taking an interest in something.” Marty’s lined face brightened. “Workroom for what?”

  Now for the hard part. Tucker winced as he heard himself say it.

  “I haven’t got a clue.”

  “Huh?” Marty stared.

  “I mean it. I have no idea what to do with that bunch. Boy’s club sounds good in theory, but practically, what do you do with a bunch of kids who’ve been in trouble with the law?”


  “Keep ’em very busy.” The newspaper editor grinned. “I mean it, Tuck. They need something to care about, something they can get involved in.”

  “That’s where I was hoping you’d come in. Got any ideas?” Tucker waited, his breath stuck somewhere in his chest, while Marty considered the question.

  “As a matter of fact I do.” The editor dug around in a corner for several minutes before unearthing a battered and bashed brown box. “See this?”

  “You want them to build boxes?” Oh, this was going to be some club!

  “Nope.” He dropped the contents on his desk. “Here. You take a look.”

  Tucker unfolded the white paper, chagrin slowly giving way to delight as he saw the contents. “You’re kidding!”

  “I’ve been wanting to get that thing done for ten years. Just never got around to it. Kind of hoped Tom and I might find some common ground with it.” He scratched his chin. “I used to have quite a collection, years ago.”

  “And the pieces are all here?” Tucker peered into the box.

  “Every one. It’s painstaking work, though, Tuck. And touchy.” He fingered the balsa wood with the tip of his little finger.

  “I know. But a remote-control airplane—” Tucker couldn’t believe it. “It’s perfect.”

  “It’s something.” Marty tipped his chair again, eyebrows meeting in a frown of concentration. “But it’s just one thing. We’ll have to do more than that with this bunch.”

  Tucker set the plans for the airplane inside the box and closed it. Marty was right. He’d been so relieved he hadn’t thought it out. “Like what?”

  “Well, I think they’ll appreciate their club and this plane more if they have to work for it. There’s glue to buy, fabric for the wings. And a motor. That’s going to be the biggest expense.” He scribbled a figure on his yellow pad and held the pad up so Tucker could read what he had written.

  “That much?”

  Marty nodded. “Easy.”

  “You think they should earn the money.” Tucker figured that wasn’t likely to go over well. These kids weren’t used to earning anything, as evidenced by their court records. If they wanted something, they just took it.

  “They’ll take more pride in their achievements if we don’t just hand it to them.” A flicker of a smile twitched. “I’ve got an idea about that, too, if you want to hear it.”

  “Why d’you think I’m here, Marty?” Tucker grinned. “Ginny’s plans notwithstanding, I’m not aiming to take on six ruffians by myself. I need a partner.”

  “Notwithstanding? You talk like a lawyer.” Marty grinned. “I’d like to be your partner in this, Tuck. I’d really like that.” They shook on it. “Now, tell me what you think of this?”

  They spent two hours hashing out the details, and by the time the big clock chimed noon across the town square, Tucker was more than pleased with their plan.

  “We could hold the first meeting tomorrow night. I had a look at those trees behind Ginny’s, and I don’t think putting up a tree house is going to be hard.” Tucker stretched. “I better get going. Thanks, Marty. It’s obvious you’re the brains behind this operation.”

  Marty turned from his stance at the window, his mouth quirked at one corner as he squinted at Tucker.

  “Nice compliment, but I don’t think so, son. The brains of this plan is walking out the door of her father’s store right now, and you know it. Seems like Ginny just can’t help helping people.”

  Tucker joined him at the window, finding Ginny’s quick, lithe form without any difficulty.

  “Yeah. She’s so good at helping, you and I are doing the work,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, she’ll be there, son. Won’t be able to help herself. She’s got her finger in more pies than a baker.” Marty chuckled, letting the blind fall into place.

  Tucker kept watching, narrowing his eyes to peer through the slats as he watched her. “She doesn’t go home for lunch?”

  “Today’s Monday, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then she’s heading for Mrs. Wheeler’s house. Ethel doesn’t eat properly now that Ed’s gone. Ginny goes over for lunch on Mondays, and the old girl cooks up a storm that lasts the rest of the week.”

  “She eats the same thing for a whole week?” Tucker made a face but never moved his eyes off Ginny.

  She had on some kind of floppy shoes today. The brightly striped soles slapped against her heels as she trotted to the front door of a big redbrick house.

  “No. Ethel and Ginny make TV dinners out of the leftovers and freeze them. They been rotating the menu for ages so that now Ethel’s got a whole freezer full of decent food. Every so often she invites everybody in her Sunday school class over, and we have a potluck from her freezer.”

  Tucker barely heard. His eyes were stuck on Ginny as she wrapped the elderly woman in a hug. He was sorry when they disappeared inside and the door closed.

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty effective. She helps out a lot of the seniors.” Marty stopped speaking long enough to deal with a few questions from his assistant, then answered the phone. “I’m sorry, Tuck, but I’ve got to go down and deal with this. The weekly comes out Wednesday, and I can’t afford to have the printer on the fritz.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re busy, Marty, and I’m holding you up. I’ll get out of your way.” Tucker moved to the door, pulled it open as he spoke. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for pitching in like this.”

  “I do.” There was a funny little gleam in Marty’s eye.

  “Name it.” Tucker waited, flinching when that unusual look got much brighter.

  “I’ve got two and a half columns on the second page that need filling.”

  “Marty, I don’t—”

  “Fill it however you like. Talk about your work over there, what it’s like to come home, I don’t care. Just get it to me by tomorrow morning.”

  “But I—”

  “Boss, I think you’d better come. Now!” A harried woman cast one glance at Tucker, as if to tell him to leave, before focusing all her attention on Marty.

  “I’ve got to go, Tuck. You get the boys set for tomorrow night. We’ll meet in back of Ginny’s. And get me that column.”

  He scurried away, belting out questions so fast Tucker’s head spun.

  Tucker wasted ten minutes staring after him. How in the world had that happened? One minute they were hashing out a boy’s program, the next he was writing columns? Apparently Ginny Brown wasn’t the only one who could conscript people to do what she wanted.

  He finally roused himself enough to cross the room, walk down the worn oak stairs and let himself out the front door of the paper.

  “Hi, Tucker.” Ginny looped her arm through his, matching him step for step.

  “Ginny. What are you doing here?” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the Wheeler house.

  “Oh, my lunch date had an unexpected male friend come to call. Things looked promising for the two of them, so I butted out.” She grinned at him. “And you?”

  He muttered something about Marty.

  “He’s sure got lots of ideas about kids. He and his wife wanted children, you know, but it just never worked out.” Her shoes smacked an even rhythm to her words. She grinned at him. “Wanna share lunch?”

  “Depends.” A guy had to be careful with Ginny.

  “On what?”

  “On what you’ll try to feed me. Every time you offer me food, I end up taking on more work.”

  She giggled, joy bursting out of her. “Don’t be silly! I’m not like that at all.”

  It felt good to have her arm in his, to tease her and see her eyes sparkle. It was as if he’d never left.

  “All the same, I think I’d better buy this time.”

  “Really?” She stopped short, eyes round, lips glistening as she licked them in anticipation. “I know exactly what I want.”

  “So do I.” Tucker grinned at her fro
wn. “Know exactly what you want, I mean. Zanyk’s chicken salad on brown, toasted, and a triple-thick milk shake,” he recited. “With a dill pickle,” he added, before she could.

  Suddenly his courage deserted him. What if she’d changed so much she didn’t like the same things anymore?

  Ginny’s laugh chased away the fears.

  “You remembered!” One hand patted her hip where the white lawn skirt floated upward in a gust of wind. She frowned as she considered her options.

  “I shouldn’t, you know.”

  “You shouldn’t?” He could hardly believe it. “Why shouldn’t you?”

  “That mayo alone adds five pounds after you eat it. And a milk shake—well, let’s just say fat is not our friend.” Then she shrugged, lifted her hands and grinned. “But I’m going to eat it anyway, and enjoy every bit. I’ll just have to walk more this afternoon.”

  He led the way to Zanyk’s Grill. “What’s this afternoon?”

  “This afternoon I have to scope out a site. The Harders are building a new house, and they’ve hired me to design it.” Her chin lifted proudly as she described the property. “I want to take a second look at what the lot looks like in relation to the sun.”

  “The sun was always a big part of your life, wasn’t it?” Tucker gave the order, than sat beside her on a bar stool. “You’re like those flowers, I forget the name. They only open when the sun shines on them.”

  She wiggled to get comfortable. Tucker waited for her to pick up the threads of their conversation.

  “The sun is very important to me,” she admitted. “I get cranky if it’s gone for a few days. I don’t know how anyone could live in Seattle with all that rain.” Ginny looked around. “Just imagine this place without a few sunbeams to lighten it up.”

  Tucker didn’t need to look. He didn’t think Zanyk’s had changed one whit in seven years. And even with the sun, it seemed as dark and gloomy as ever. Sort of like his future.

  “Hey, Gin, can we make this a carryout? I’d like to scope out this property with you.” He endured the funny look she gave him. “I mean it. We could even sit in that sun you like so much.”