by Connie Cook
"That would be perfect," Mom said, looking triumphantly at Ruth.
Ruth had said nothing during this exchange. Whatever was about to happen next could remain on her mother-in-law's conscience. Hers would be clear. She wasn't entirely ungrateful, however. And she was more than a little curious to know what would happen next.
* * *
Ruth sat in the pew between her mother-in-law and James Hardcastle, holding Gabe on her knee. The foursome were seated conspicuously near the very front and the only ones in their pew. There was no avoiding the free advertising James' presence with Ruth and Mrs. MacKellum was receiving that Sunday morning. Ruth needed to sit in the front in order to be ready to slip out and make her way quickly to the pulpit when her time came for her solo.
Her heart hammered, her stomach reeled, and her palms were moist for more reasons than one. Although it wasn't the first solo she'd performed in church, she'd never overcome her nerves entirely, and this solo would be the hardest on her nerves. So conscious was she of Bo in his accustomed spot, three pews behind her, unavoidably noticing the newcomer sitting next to her, that, from her state of mind, he might as well have been the only other member of the congregation that morning.
Her cue came, and she rose and glided unobtrusively to the front (or hoped she glided), suddenly aware of limbs she'd just discovered she had and didn't remember ever having used before. Had she grown a new set of hands for the occasion? And what on earth should she do with the things? She opted for resting them on the pulpit. It probably wasn't proper soloist etiquette, but they were too heavy to allow them to hang freely.
She'd been so preoccupied with the hand question, she'd almost forgotten about the butterflies tripping the light fantastic in her stomach. They made their presence known again once the piano played the introduction.
But once launched into her solo, the simplicity and beauty of the words and the melody wrapped themselves around her and she lost herself in the old hymn, closing her eyes and forgetting about the audience and even Bo and James listening.
"Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly ..."
The hush that filled the sanctuary when she finished told her that her listeners had felt what she had felt as she sang. When she opened her eyes at the end of the song, they, of their own accord, rested on Bo's face for a moment. What she saw there convinced her that perhaps she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion about the sweet and feminine, natural blonde who was a little too young for Bo. Maybe blonde wasn't his preferred type after all.
The warm rush of feeling that washed over her was only partly due to the relief of having finished her solo and having finished it well. She found herself hoping that Mom's ploy might succeed after all and wondering if there was anything she should do to help it along.
* * *
"Ruth, your song was beautiful. One of my favourites. And you sang it beautifully, too." Bo's face was abnormally serious as he congratulated Ruth.
"Thank you, Bo. James, this is Bo Weaver, my boss. Bo, I'd like you to meet James Hardcastle, a friend of mine from Camille. We got to know each other awhile back when I was taking my secretary training there."
James had his hand cupped protectively around Ruth's elbow, escorting her out of the pew, and on an impulse she would later regret, Ruth leaned into him slightly and smiled up at him in what she hoped was an adoring manner. Being unaccustomed to committing fraud of any variety, it's very possible she overdid the act badly. James opened his eyes a little wider, lifted his eyebrows, and grinned back at her. He didn't appear at all displeased by her unusual display of special attention. Ruth's heart sank and her conscience joined it.
"Pleased to meet you," Bo said formally and stiffly in an abnormally serious tone to match his abnormally serious face. He didn't offer his hand. "Well, Ruth, I'll see you tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed your song. I hope you'll enjoy your time in Arrowhead," he said to James; then turned rapidly and made for the front door of the church. His head was held very erect, and his back was as straight as a yardstick. He hadn't even said hello to Gabe or taken any notice of him, and that never happened.
Something in Ruth died a small death. This was lunacy. Whatever had inspired her to listen to an idea that came from reading too many romance stories? Talk about a royal backfire! She should have known jealousy wouldn't prompt Bo to action. Of course, if he believed himself vanquished, he'd nobly step out of the way to clear the field! How like him!
And the whole nonsense was unnecessarily cruel. How could she ever have wanted Bo to suffer the torments of jealousy on her behalf? The only good to come from it was that she now knew everything she needed to know. Not that the knowledge did her any good. How could the entire mess be fixed now? She wasn't sure, but she had to try.
"Excuse me for just for a moment. I have to talk to Bo about something," she said to her guest, handing Gabe to his grandma.
Bo was out the door and in the parking lot, nearly to his pickup.
"Bo ... Bo," she called, running across the grass, her heels digging into the soft soil. She knew it was undignified, chasing a man across the church lawn, and she didn't know what she would say if she caught him, but pride and caution had to be thrown to the wind.
He turned as he reached his vehicle.
"Hi," he said shortly.
"Bo ..."
"Yes?" His voice was flat.
"Bo ... I ... he's ... James is just an old friend. Just someone I knew for a short time a few years ago."
This wasn't playing the game. Women shouldn't blurt out truths that could be so very nearly construed as "forward." She knew it, but what else could she do? Her natural, uncontrollable forthrightness couldn't be kept down.
"Is he?" The look in his eyes smote her. The hurt wasn't readily visible on the surface, but she knew the coldness in them came from hurt.
"Yes, he is. You have to believe me."
"Why should it matter to you what I believe about it?" he asked her. He sounded angry, and anger was out of character for even-tempered Bo. "What's it got to do with me? I told you once that I hoped you would find someone someday and be happy with him. And, I have to admit, the two of you don't look like just old friends. Maybe he's only an old friend now, but I don't think he wants to stay that way. You look happy with him. He makes you smile. I'm glad for you. It's what I wanted for you. I wanted to see you smile again."
"Bo ... I ... you ..."
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"Well, you make me smile, too, you know."
"And I am only an old friend, remember. Or maybe only just your boss as you told your friend. This isn't helping, Ruth. I'm sorry. I just don't want to discuss it with you right now. I'll see you tomorrow."
He was in his driver's seat and gone before Ruth had time to gather her wits about her.
What had just happened? Whatever it was, it certainly hadn't gone as she thought it might. As she'd hoped it might.
And now what? Now she had to go back and face James and Mom and make small talk over Sunday dinner.
Chapter 29
Work didn't go well for Ruth the Monday after James' visit and the scene with Bo. She couldn't keep her mind on her tasks, waiting and watching for Bo to come in to the office.
When he did, he was polite to Ruth and nothing more. The only words that passed between them were work-related. He was still angry then, was he? And for what? Ruth found her own temper rearing its head. Was this abrupt throwing-over of her all that his promise of his friendship had amounted to?
She'd worked up a good head of steam by the time she left the office that evening.
She spoke very little during supper. After supper, she played with Gabe, talking and cooing to him. It was the only time Mom saw her smile all evening.
When Gabe was in bed and the two women had settled down in the living room to read or crochet, Mom faced Ruth with it.
"You're brooding."
"What?"
"It's Bo, isn't it? Didn't you two m
anage to patch things up today?"
"No, we didn't get the chance. I'm not sure he wants to patch things up. Maybe there is nothing to patch up. Maybe we're just going to be two people who work together and nothing more. We'll have a nice, polite, working relationship, and that's all we'll ever have. Maybe we just weren't meant to be friends even."
"I'm sorry, Ruth. You were right about my cock-eyed idea. I feel like this is all my fault. Me and my romance novels."
Ruth smiled humorlessly. "Well, at least now I know how it feels to be a normal human being. I knew it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Don't feel badly, Mom. It wasn't your fault. I think it was the way I played along that did the damage. Actually, I'm not sure what's eating Bo. I told him James and I are nothing more than friends if that's what was bothering him. I'm not sure he has any reason to be upset. In fact, it looks to me like he's upset over nothing. If he's this easily upset, we're probably better off as we are. Can you imagine an oversensitive man trying to cope with me? Me, who just can't help saying anything that comes into my head?"
"That's nonsense. Bo's not oversensitive. I don't know what's upsetting him either, but it's no good your not talking it over with him. You need to talk to him, Ruth. Don't just jump to conclusions about what he's thinking. Don't give up on him so easily."
"Well, that's the thing, isn't it? He's giving up so easily on me. I don't think it should be up to me to try to hang onto our friendship if he's given up on it. But don't worry about it, Mom. It will all sort itself out in time."
Mom shook her head. "I don't know about that. When two people have a problem with each other, it can grow and grow with time. It doesn't just go away. Not communicating with a person can get to be a habit, and then it's much harder to break out of that habit down the road than it would be to have dealt with it early on. There's been untold misery in the world from people just not talking things out."
"But it shouldn't be up to me?"
"Why shouldn't it?"
"Well, because ... I'm the woman in the situation, aren't I?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just that ... I mean ... Don't you think the man is the one who should take the initiative? It's not lady-like, and I don't imagine men appreciate it, when a girl takes on the man's role."
"But, Ruth, Bo has spoken to you on a certain subject. And he's promised you never to do so again. You're the one who needs to let him know that your mind has changed. Or your heart has, at any rate. That's how I should have counselled you in the first place. I was wrong not to."
"I just couldn't! I couldn't come right out and ... what would I say? I can't even imagine. Besides, as much as I could, I did try to talk to him openly at church yesterday. It didn't do any good."
"That's foolishness. The man is in love with you. Anyone can see it. He's as much as told you so. He's just hurt because of my silly meddling. And I'm sorry, but now it's up to you to straighten it out."
"I tried."
"Well, try again. Go around and see him. Do it tonight. Don't put it off. It'll only get worse if you do."
"What? Now? It's nearly nine o' clock. I can just imagine what his mother will think when I show up at her house, all in a lather, just around the time civilized beings are going to bed."
"What difference does it make what anyone thinks? Since when did it bother you what anyone thought? Ruth, even if the two of you are meant to be nothing more than good friends, even your friendship is at stake if you let this misunderstanding build between the two of you."
"Well, what on earth can I say?"
"You can blame it all on me."
"Oh, very good. I can hear myself. 'Bo, I'm in love with you, and my mother-in-law thinks you'll never do anything about it. So James was just an attempt to make you jealous, but the whole thing was her idea, honest!' " Ruth could feel the heat climbing rapidly to her cheeks as she voiced the idea that she was in love with Bo. It was so ... bare ... when she stated it like that.
"Well, why not? You're the one who's famous for her honesty. Why should I be the one having to urge you to tell him the exact truth?"
"That's what I'm afraid of, that I'll get over to his house to talk to him and end up blurting out something like what I just said to you."
"Don't plan what to say. Just go. Now. Before it gets any later."
Ruth got up from her armchair. She grumbled to herself loudly enough for her mother-in-law to hear her as she found the keys for the car.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. This is even more hare-brained than the romance-novel idea of making him jealous. This idea is too hare-brained even for the romance novels. No one comes right out and says exactly what she's thinking and feeling about these kinds of things. It just isn't done."
"Go!" Mom commanded.
Ruth went.
She was back in under fifteen minutes in a state of relief and disappointment mixed in equal parts.
"He wasn't home," she reported. "Mrs. Weaver told me he had some work to finish up at the packing shed. He went back after supper, and he's there right now."
"So, go find him at the packing shed."
"You can't be serious!"
"Never more serious. I can't tell you why, but I feel very strongly that the two of you need to get this settled tonight. At least settled so that you're friends again. It's a policy Guy and I had. We never went to bed angry at each other. Sometimes we stayed up all night hashing things out."
"Now that's really not what I want to hear. I'm tired already."
"Go now before it gets any later. I won't wait up for you. Take all the time that you need. You need to get this talked out."
Again, Ruth did as she was told, shaking her head and wondering why she was following Mom's advice. The last batch of advice she'd been handed hadn't made itself conspicuous by its wisdom. Or its positive results.
* * *
Bo's pickup was parked outside the packing shed, and Ruth could see the lights on in the office, but the door was locked, and she was certainly not about to bang on the door to be let in. She'd wait for Bo to come out. Even if it took all night, she'd wait. She didn't dare go home to report to Mom that she hadn't seen him.
It was getting on for ten o' clock. How late could Bo work? He'd put in a full day already.
She began to pace back and forth outside on the gravel to keep herself warm and occupied. The night breeze was cool, and she didn't have a jacket with her.
An hour later, she was still pacing, and Bo had not made an appearance.
She'd put in a full day, too, and was feeling it. But she'd waited this long; she hated to throw in the towel now. And, truth to be told, Mom was right. Whatever had to be settled, she wanted it settled that night. The thought of going home and to bed now without even seeing Bo was too anticlimactic to be borne. No, she'd wait.
But she was getting colder by the minute, and exhaustion was beginning to claim her. She made for her car to sit and wait for Bo to emerge from the packing shed but thought better of it. She was likely to fall asleep if she sat in the car, and then she'd miss Bo when he came out. Not to mention, she could picture herself sleeping right through the night and crawling out of her car just as the packing shed employees were coming to work in the morning. Wouldn't she have some explaining to do then?! Maybe she should go and wait in Bo's pickup. That way she would have no chance of missing him.
He had a blanket covering the seat of his pickup, and Ruth pulled it around herself gratefully. She leaned her head against the window and closed her gritty eyes. But the window was hard and cold. Wouldn't it be heavenly to put her head down and curl up on the spacious bench seat? The idea was irresistible, and Ruth was dead to the world within minutes.
* * *
Ruth's first waking impression as she sat up in a rush was of Bo's very startled face, plainly visible in the yard lights of the packing shed. With one foot in his vehicle and one on the ground, he jumped back and nearly lost his footing.
"It was Mom's idea," were the
first words out of Ruth's mouth. That wasn't quite right; it wasn't exactly what she'd wanted to say, and she shook her head, trying to clear it of its fog. Maybe this hadn't been quite as good an idea as it had seemed (and it had never seemed like a very good idea in the first place). What was she doing here, cold and sleepy and ridiculous? How had she let herself get talked into doing anything other than staying at home that evening and going to bed at a reasonable hour?
"What was her idea? You sitting in my pickup, waiting to scare me out of ten years of my life? Your mother-in-law's going in for practical jokes now, is she?" Bo's tone was amused, now that he was over his fright.
Ruth didn't answer, trying to collect her senses. Why was Bo looking at her with that half smirk? She reached up and tried to smooth down the rat's nest her hair had become. What a sight she must be! At least Bo didn't appear to be angry at her anymore.
"What are you doing here?" he asked finally, still fighting a grin.
"Bo, I need to talk to you."
"Tonight? D'you realize it's nearly midnight?"
"Well, it wasn't my fault you worked so late."
"I wasn't exactly working. Not the whole time, anyways. Just needed a place to be alone to think and pray. And you're right, we do need to talk. But I think tomorrow would be a better time. You're still half-asleep." He made a motion with one hand as though he was going to help her smooth her hair, but he pulled his hand back and clenched the steering wheel instead.
"Besides, we both have to be at work in less than eight hours. I'd better just drive you home."
"I have my car over there," Ruth said, waving a hand in its direction.
"I'll drive you," he said. "Don't worry about your car. I'll swing by and pick you up for work in the morning. The car can sit overnight. I'd worry about you making it home all right in your doped condition." He nearly laughed outright at her.
"I'm fine," Ruth protested, but Bo was already starting the pickup.