That Wilder Boy

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He drew in a great breath then released it slowly, an attempt to calm his ragged nerves. “Get out and go into the house,” he mumbled. With a trembling hand he pulled the door release and stepped onto the street. Standing beside his car, he took a moment to tighten the knot on his tie and straighten the lapels of his new jacket. He resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair. The new shorter cut, styled only that morning, felt alien to his fingers.

  Pushing his keys into his pocket, he forced his feet to move to the iron gates that had intrigued him as a child. He paused beside the keyboard, wondering what to do, then he saw a button marked “intercom.” With one finger he pressed it then leaned forward to listen.

  “Yes?” came a voice—female and formal.

  He straightened. “Yes, I—.” His dry throat made his voice sound croaky, so he swallowed and tried again. “I’m here for Carrie’s birthday dinner.”

  “Name, please?”

  Rocky shoved his hands into his pockets. “Rocky Wilder.”

  Not even a pause before the instruction came. “You will hear a buzz; then the gates will open. You will have fifteen seconds to proceed through before the gates begin to close.”

  “Thank you.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when the buzzer sounded. Rocky didn’t waste any time stepping through. He was halfway up the brick driveway before the gates reversed themselves and sealed him inside. As the gates clicked, he stopped and turned back to look. As a kid, how often had he imagined what it would feel like to be on the inside looking out?

  The gates were the same from both directions—scrolled, black iron with a solid oval in the center bearing the gold letter S for Steinwood. When he was young, he thought he’d feel different, special, to be allowed inside the sacred ground of the Steinwood mansion. But for some reason now, realizing he was stuck in here until someone let him out, he only felt trapped. A chill crept up his spine.

  Giving himself a shake, he turned and went the remainder of the way to the porch. He stepped past deeply cushioned white wicker furniture and potted plants and crossed to the double doors that would allow him access to his childhood dream house. As he raised his hand to press the brass doorbell, the door swung open, and Carrie caught him with his finger pointed in midair.

  Her smile made his insides spin like the blade on a power mower. “Hi, Rocky. I’m so glad you made it. Come on in.”

  She moved aside, allowing him entry, and he stepped over the threshold to root himself on the marble floor of a two-story foyer. Although curiosity made him want to gawk at everything, see if it was all the way he’d imagined, he kept his gaze on her. It wasn’t too difficult to focus on her, though—she was beautiful in a flowing dress of white scattered all over with roses. He allowed his gaze to rove from her tumbling blond curls to the bright pink sandals on her feet, and he whistled softly.

  “Wow, Carrie, you look. . .wonderful.” He couldn’t find a word good enough to describe her.

  She laughed, touching one curl that fell across her shoulder. “Thank you. So do you.” Her slender hand took hold of the tip of his tie, lifted it and let it fall, much the way she had at the park. “I like this—is it new?”

  Rocky cupped his fingers around the tie and ran them down its length. “Tie’s not, but the jacket is.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Am I dressed okay? I didn’t want to—you know—stick out.”

  Her tender smile touched him deeply. “You’re perfect, Rocky. Quit worrying.”

  “And I didn’t bring you a present. I. . .” He faltered. To be honest, he hadn’t known what he could buy that she didn’t already have. He should have picked up some flowers—maybe a bouquet of pink roses. Those would coordinate perfectly with her appearance this evening.

  “Just coming this evening is present enough,” she assured him. Then she put her hands on her hips and gave a mock scowl. “But what did you do to your hair?”

  He chuckled ruefully as he touched the cropped strands above his left ear. “Got it all styled for you. Some lady named Diana did it. What do you think?”

  Carrie leaned sideways, a teasing grin on her face, and thoroughly examined his new haircut. Finally she shook her head. “It looks nice, Rocky, but it’ll take some getting used to. I sure liked those curls along your collar. I’ve always been tempted to give one a tweak.”

  His brows shot upward. She had wanted to tweak the curls at his collar? Her words must have surprised her as much as they had him because her face suddenly flooded with pink that matched the roses on her dress. His own grin grew broad as he teased, “So now the truth comes out.”

  Assuming a stern expression, she pointed a finger at him. “Yes, well, don’t let it go to your head. Especially now that it’s impossible—no curls in sight.”

  He nodded, his grin still stretching his cheeks.

  “Carrie? Are you going to introduce your guest?”

  The deep voice from behind them startled their gazes apart. Carrie took him by the elbow and turned him toward a man Rocky immediately recognized—Mackenzie Steinwood. The last time he’d seen Steinwood was in juvenile court, when the man had testified against him. Back then, although tall for his age, Rocky had been the shorter of the pair. Now he towered over Steinwood by at least three inches.

  The man had aged—graying hair was combed straight back from his high forehead, and lines around his jowls gave him a stern appearance. But he twisted his face into the semblance of a smile as Carrie made the introductions.

  “Mac, this is Rocky Wilder. Rocky, this is my stepfather, Mac Steinwood.”

  Rocky held out his hand, and Steinwood took it, the man’s palm soft against Rocky’s calluses. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Well, it’s hardly a first meeting, is it?” The man’s sardonic voice let Rocky know exactly where he stood. “We have met before, although these circumstances are certainly more pleasant.”

  Rocky wasn’t sure how to respond. Before he could form an answer, Carrie gave his elbow a tug.

  “I know Myrna has things ready for us. Let’s go to the dining room, shall we?” She guided him past Steinwood, through a wide doorway and across highly polished floors scattered with thick, patterned rugs, to what was clearly the formal dining room. Rocky kept his gaze straight ahead, aware of Steinwood behind him. He felt certain the man watched his every move.

  An older version of Carrie stepped into the room from a door on the opposite wall just as they entered the dining room. Although Rocky could see beauty in the woman’s delicate features, a hardness in her eyes distracted him. She crossed immediately to Rocky and offered her hand. It was so thin Rocky was afraid to touch it.

  “Good evening. Mr. Wilder, is that correct? Carrie has spoken so highly of you. I’m her mother, Lynette. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Rocky gingerly clasped the woman’s hand, considering her words. Though welcoming in content, the lack of warmth in the delivery gave him a chill. He glanced over his shoulder to find Steinwood fixing him with a distrusting glare. There was no question—Rocky did not belong here. He had a sudden desire to excuse himself, head right back to the double doors, and go home.

  ❧

  “Rocky?” Carrie sensed the tension in Rocky’s frame. She wished she could give both of her parents a good tongue-lashing for making him feel so uncomfortable. It certainly wasn’t hospitable! But it would have to wait until later. The important thing to do now was make Rocky feel at home.

  She waited until he glanced down at her—even in her three-inch heels, he still stood inches taller than her. She loved the feeling of protection his height offered. “Let me show you to your seat.” She guided him to the table which was set for four.

  His gaze bounced from the table to her face. “Just the four of us?” His voice rasped out in a whisper meant only for her ears.

  “Yes.” She leaned closer, her shoulder against the firm muscle of his upper arm. “That’s what I wanted. You’ll be fin
e.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as she smiled into his face. Then, raising her voice, she said, “You sit here, next to me.”

  He pleased her by pulling out her chair before seating himself. By the time they were settled, Mac had seated Lynette, and she rang a little bell to signal Myrna to bring in the first course.

  Stilted conversation carried them through the appetizer of French onion soup and the main course of chicken breasts smothered in grilled mushrooms, onions and peppers, served with wild rice and steamed baby carrots. As the birthday girl, Carrie had been allowed to choose the menu. She’d selected her favorites, but she hardly tasted the food, keenly aware of Rocky’s discomfort. And Mac wasn’t helping that one bit! Her anger stirred as Mac set his fork aside and pinned Rocky with a look that could only be described as challenging.

  “So, Mr. Wilder”—the disdainful tone set Carrie’s teeth on edge—“tell me how you’ve occupied your time since last we talked.”

  Carrie watched Rocky fold his hands together, his fingers so tightly linked his knuckles looked white. He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She longed to put her hand on his knee, offer some support, but she was afraid to move.

  “Well, sir, as you know, after our last meeting I spent some time in a detention center. It wasn’t exactly summer camp.” He managed a light, self-deprecating chuckle. “But it served its purpose—made me determined to straighten myself out.”

  “So can I assume you did straighten yourself out?”

  Carrie wanted to give her stepfather a kick under the table. Since when were guests treated so rudely? But Mac was sending her a clear message—Rocky wasn’t considered a guest but an intrusion in his home.

  “Yes, for the most part. I never stole anything again.” Rocky offered a shrug, the navy blue jacket pulling tight across his broad shoulders with the movement. “Doesn’t mean I was perfect, but I was better.”

  “So you finished school?”

  “Yes, sir. Graduated from high school.”

  “And what college curriculum did you choose?”

  Carrie bit down on the end of her tongue. Mac was being deliberately cruel!

  Rocky had every reason to rail at the man, but his mild answer made her chest expand in pride. “I haven’t had the privilege of college. . .yet.”

  Mac perked up at the subtly dangled bait. “Yet?”

  At that moment Myrna bustled in to remove dinner plates and ask Carrie if she was ready for her cake. Carrie nodded, relieved by the distraction the dessert would provide. She went through the formality of blowing out the candles, although the birthday song went unsung. Myrna cut and served huge squares of the decorated confection then disappeared back into the kitchen.

  The moment the door swung shut behind the cook, Mac picked up the dropped topic. “Can I presume you intend to begin a study at college?”

  Rocky put down his fork, swallowed the bite in his mouth and swiped his napkin across his lips before answering. “Yes, sir. I do hope to attend college. I plan on opening a landscaping business.”

  Mac leaned back, raising his eyebrows high in a look of feigned interest. “Landscaping? Well, I believe Petersburg has one landscaper at work now. Have you investigated the need for a second?”

  Carrie’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two men as the conversation moved quickly.

  “Yes, sir. I believe there’s enough work, with all the new construction going on right now, to support two landscaping businesses in town.”

  “And our local university provides the necessary course work?”

  “Courses in both science and business. I could get everything I need right here.”

  “You would continue working at Elmwood Towers while attending school? Or do you plan to quit work altogether and focus on college?”

  “Frankly I can’t afford to quit. I’ll have to take as many evening classes as possible so I can keep my job.”

  “Mm-hm. . . .” Mac crossed his hands over his chest and fixed Rocky with a penetrating look. “Evening classes. It will probably take twice as long to finish that way. That would mean you’d be—what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six years old when you finish?”

  Mac’s cruelty made Carrie’s heart ache. Must Rocky be knocked down at every turn? She opened her mouth to defend her friend, but Rocky spoke first.

  “I realize it’ll take me longer. I realize I’m late getting started.” His quiet, respectful tone pleased Carrie. “But God planted this dream, He gave me the ability to do the job well, and I trust I’m doing what He’s planned for me. I trust Him to help me make it all happen.”

  Mac waved his hand, his expression contemptuous. “God is fine for old women and children, but men—”

  “Men are wise to recognize their need for their Creator,” Rocky interrupted softly. Although tension showed in the lines around his eyes, he faced Mac without rancor and continued. “I thought it would be a sign of weakness, too, to give myself over to God, but when I accepted the gift of salvation through His Son’s sacrifice at Calvary, I suddenly realized how wrong I was. My own strength was nothing compared to God’s strength in me. I don’t know how I made it as long as I did without Him.”

  Carrie felt tears behind her lids. Nothing proved God’s presence in Rocky’s heart more than his calm rebuttal to Mac’s intentional goading. Love and admiration welled up within her, and she looked Rocky full in the face, praying he’d recognize the light of approval in her eyes.

  He met her gaze, and the soft smile he offered let her know he appreciated her silent support. Suddenly he rose. “Thank you for inviting me here this evening. I’ve enjoyed myself. And, Mrs. Steinwood”—he swung his gaze toward Carrie’s mother—“please tell your cook everything was delicious. But”—he turned back to Carrie—“it’s getting late, and I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  Although Carrie was disappointed he wanted to leave so soon, she understood. Why would he want to spend any more time visiting with Mac? She rose, too, taking hold of his elbow. “I’ll walk you out.”

  They walked without speaking until they reached the gates, which Carrie opened. Then they paused on the drive with the gates spread around them like a giant pair of wings.

  “I’m sorry Mac was rude.” Her heart ached at the way Rocky had been treated.

  He offered a shrug. “I don’t blame him. His memories of me aren’t too great.”

  Carrie would have admired him less had he spoken disparagingly. His refusal to berate Mac spoke clearly of God’s influence. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. “Thank you for coming, Rocky.”

  His firm arms came around her briefly; then he stepped back, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Thank you for inviting me. I–I’d better go.”

  She watched him drive away, waving until his car turned the corner; then she looked back toward the house. Squaring her shoulders, she prepared for a storm. She marched to the house, stomped directly to the dining room and wheeled on her stepfather.

  “Of all the rude, uncivilized ways to treat someone.” It gave her satisfaction to see Mac pull the coffee cup away from his lips and lift his startled gaze to her. “Rocky was a guest in your home, but you treated him like an intruder. What were you doing?”

  “Carrie, darling,” her mother said, lifting her hand toward Carrie.

  Carrie shook her head. “It’s too late, Mother. You said nothing the whole time he was here, which was just as reprehensible as Mac’s attempts at intimidation. Neither of you treated him well. He was my guest—my only guest. Was it too much to ask you to be polite?”

  Mac rose to his feet, glowering. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. He doesn’t belong in this house. That Wilder boy is a common thief and a delinquent. He’ll never amount to anything, and I hope this evening proved to you just how ridiculous your association with him is.”

  Carrie met her stepfather’s angry gaze without flinching. “All this evening proved was how much Rocky has changed since he was a boy. The old Rock
y would have risen to your bait, gotten angry, said things that were unkind. But he didn’t, did he? He was respectful even when you weren’t. ‘That Wilder boy,’ as you call him, no longer exists, Mac. He’s a new creation with Christ in his heart, and I love him.”

  “Love.” Mac released a snort of derision. “You’re insane.”

  “No, I don’t believe so. But I won’t spend time debating that with you. I will tell you this, however—I intend to support Rocky in his business venture. I believe in his talent and ability, and I am going to do whatever I can to make his dream a reality.”

  “Well, that explains why he would spend time with you—for what he can get,” Mac said in a derogatory tone. He thrust out his chin. “But what can he possibly give in return?”

  Mac’s question, though thrown out in anger, made Carrie take a step back. She offered an honest reply. “All I want from him is his love and respect. That’s the greatest thing one human being can give another.”

  “Bah!” Mac spun toward the door. His back toward her, he grated out, “You’re a fool, Carrie. Love and respect won’t pay bills. You’ll waste your money on that piece of trash, and he’ll leave you high and dry. I just hope that God of yours will be able to pick up the pieces.” He stormed out of the room.

  Carrie turned to her mother. “Is that how you feel, too?”

  Lynette dropped her gaze to the tabletop. “Mac is rarely wrong, Carrie.”

  Carrie could have argued that, but she knew it was pointless. It saddened her that her parents were so close-minded. The acquisition of money and prestige had become their god. Their hearts were hardened to anything else. She released a sigh. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mom, because what I told Mac is true. I love Rocky, and I will help him, even if you disapprove.”

  Her mother stood slowly, as if very tired, and crossed to Carrie. She touched Carrie’s cheek and offered a weary smile. “You’re an adult, darling, and you don’t need our approval to spend the money your father left you. But—” She bit down on her lip, and whatever she’d intended to say went unsaid. She gave her head a little shake. “I must go see to Mac now.” She walked out, leaving Carrie alone.