Glory was at a loss. She didn’t know how to manufacture faith or trust in Matthew. He didn’t believe her, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. No one ever forced another one to have faith. Faith and trust came from the heart. Maybe that’s why it was so upsetting to her that Matthew did not trust her. She had thought they were friends. And friends should stand beside each other.
“So what is it—crazy or lying?” Glory finally asked.
Matthew was startled. He stopped staring over her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “What?”
“Me and the boxes. Do you figure I am crazy or lying?”
“Well, n-neither…” Matthew stammered.
Glory noticed with satisfaction that he looked uncomfortable. “It’s got to be one or the other. Which is it? Am I lying about the boxes coming or am I crazy to say they are coming?”
Silence. “I know you want the boxes to come.” His blue-green eyes looked bone weary and his shoulders slumped
Glory nodded sadly. So that was as far as he could get. “Overly optimistic, huh?”
Matthew nodded. His eyes moved to a spot on the table. Glory wondered what was so fascinating about a red-checked plastic tablecloth with silverware wrapped in a paper napkin.
“Hi, folks.” A bearded man set down two menus in front of them. “Welcome to Billy’s, home of the best food west of the Dakotas.”
Matthew looked up at the waiter in pure relief. “What’ve you got?”
“The special today is meat loaf with mushroom sauce and garlic mashed potatoes.” The man smiled fondly. He wore blue jeans, a red-checked logger’s shirt, work boots and—over it all and spotless—a white BBQ apron. “Wife’s in the kitchen today and she likes to make things fancy. When I’m cooking, it’s plain meat loaf and plain potatoes. No chives. No parsley. No garlic.”
“Which is better?” Glory liked the way the man’s eyes lit up when he talked about his wife. He couldn’t be over forty, but he looked as if he’d worked long and hard in this life. The only softness on his face was the love that showed when he talked about his wife.
“Hers are,” the man leaned down and whispered. “But don’t tell her I said so. I like to keep the rivalry going. Keeps the marriage interesting.”
“In that case, I’ll have the meat loaf.” She’d have to remember this man and his wife for her next talk with Linda. Apparently even meat loaf recipes could be part of what kept a couple happy. “See how your wife makes it.”
“You know, my wife is really something.” The man had a scar on his cheek and a faint trace of whiskers on his face, but he looked like an old-fashioned knight. “When I started this place, no one believed I could stick with it. I’d been a drifter—cattle hand mostly—until I met her three years ago. But when they said I couldn’t do it, she stood by me. We weren’t even married then, so she didn’t have to take my side. She believed in me when no one else did. I’ll never forget that.”
“Good for her,” Glory said softly. She envied the couple their devotion. “She must be special.”
“She is.” The man cleared his throat. His neck grew flushed and he had a suspicious moistness in his eyes. “Didn’t mean to go on like that.”
“I’m glad you did.” Glory handed back her menu. “It’ll make the meat loaf more memorable.”
“You want extra mushroom sauce with that? Her sauce is sure good.”
“I’d like that.”
“And you? What’ll you have?” The man looked at Matthew.
“I don’t suppose you have any crow on the menu, do you?” Matthew asked sheepishly.
“Well, no…” The man looked momentarily puzzled and then he grinned. “Too close to home, huh?”
Matthew nodded.
Glory watched the shadows lift from Matthew’s face. His weariness shifted, and it was as if a load was lifted off him. He looked directly at Glory. “I know I should trust you. Please forgive me.”
“Should?”
“I want to do better. I just don’t trust easy.”
Glory nodded. She saw the sincerity in his eyes. “I guess wanting to trust someone is a step in the right direction.”
“And the answer is neither crazy or lying,” Matthew said firmly as he handed his menu back to the man.
Glory grinned.
“And I’ll have the meat loaf, too.” Matthew looked up at the man. “With extra sauce.”
“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” the man said, then carried their menus to the back counter and took their order slip into the kitchen.
It was one o’clock, and they had just eaten the last bite of meat loaf. Matthew had to admit he’d been loitering. He checked the door for suspicious-looking people periodically, but the people who came into Billy’s were humble. Besides, Mrs. Hargrove was watching the twins, and he wanted this date to last as long as it could. He loved to watch Glory’s eyes when she laughed. He’d told her some of the twins’ favorite jokes just to get her started. Josh had a whole series of chicken-crossing-the-road jokes that were pure corn. Her blue-gray eyes crinkled with gold when she laughed. Her bronze hair sparkled in the sunlight coming in the side window. She threw her head back and the delicate curve of her neck made him think of a swan.
“You’re beautiful.” The words came out before Matthew thought about whether he should say them.
Glory stopped laughing and blushed.
He cleared his throat and added, “Very beautiful.” He’d never seen anything prettier than Glory blushing. She didn’t blush red like some people—she just pinked. She was a pearl. He smiled. “You truly do look like an angel.”
“Oh—” Glory looked flustered. Then she glanced down at her watch. “Speaking of angels, I better get back and make sure the costume fits.”
Matthew nodded. All dates did come to an end. Then he brightened up. The date didn’t end until he pulled in to the driveway. They still had the drive home left.
The afternoon sun reflected off the snow as Matthew drove his car back to Dry Creek. The back seat was filled with groceries and lumpy bags. The heater made the inside of the car a little stuffy.
“Mind if I turn it down?”
Glory nodded. She’d been thinking about Matthew’s reluctance to trust her or anyone else, up to and including God. He couldn’t have been born that distrustful. Her experience with young children was that trust came easily. “Did you grow up around here?”
“Here and a million other places.”
“Father in the service?”
“Maybe.” Glory noticed Matthew’s fingers tighten on the wheel of the car until his knuckles were white.
“Maybe?”
“My father left us when I was six. We never heard from him regularly. But shortly after he left one of his old friends called one day—drunk—asking for Sergeant Curtis. Mom thought maybe Dad had enlisted. He’d always wanted to be in the military. Least, according to her.”
“I’m sorry.” Glory wanted to reach over and put her hand over Matthew’s fingers, but she wasn’t sure he’d welcome her touch. He looked brittle.
“Don’t be.” Matthew took his eyes off the road briefly to look over at her. “He wasn’t much of a father when he was around.”
“Your poor mother. Where is she now?”
“Died when I was eighteen. I’d just barely graduated from high school. It was like she was waiting to finish her job with me so she could leave.”
“Oh, dear, no wonder you have a hard time trusting God.”
Matthew grimaced and looked back at her. His eyes were deep with pain. “What makes you think it’s God I don’t trust?”
“Why, who else?”
“It’s myself I don’t trust.” Matthew spit the words out. He tried to stop them, but they seemed to come of their own power. “It’s me I don’t trust. It’s me that messes up. It’s me that can’t get it right.”
“And was it you that let Susie die?” Glory felt as if they were lancing a boil. Was this the poison that Matthew kept inside his heart?
“Yes,” Matthew whispered. “It was me that let her die. Me that let my mother die. Me that let my father leave. It was all me.”
“No, oh, no.” Glory reached over to touch Matthew’s hand. “It wasn’t you at all.”
Matthew grimaced and then turned coldly polite. “Then who was it? God?”
“No. No.” Glory was at a loss. How could she convince Matthew he did not carry the fate of the whole world on his shoulders? That the choice was not just between him and God. Life threw curves. She’d had her own battles with guilt over her father’s accident, but it was nothing like the burden Matthew carried.
Dear Lord, help Matthew. Help me help Matthew. Show me how to help him.
Glory wished Socrates were sitting in this car next to Matthew instead of her. Or Solomon. Even Dear Abby would do. Glory felt so inadequate. She’d tried to talk to Matthew about his feelings three times already as they drove back to Dry Creek, but each time he’d put her off with a joke or a shrug. The snow-covered tops of the Big Sheep Mountains in the distance were more likely to thaw out and talk to her than Matthew was.
“If you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s fine.” Glory gathered her ski jacket closer to her. It was still only midafternoon, but the outside cold seemed more of a threat than it had earlier. “Not talking isn’t good. It’s not healthy. But it’s fine.”
“I just don’t want to talk about it now,” Matthew said patiently. Some charming date he’d turned out to be. She probably thought he was a basket case. In his mind they were supposed to be talking about amusing things, light things—date things. At least, that was the way it was back when he was dating. Things couldn’t have changed that much. “You never have told me about your artwork. What your favorite medium is, who your favorite artist is, your favorite art museum…”
“Refusing to talk about these things won’t make them go away,” Glory persisted. They’d turned the heater off to let the car cool down somewhat and Glory’s ears were beginning to be chilly. She rubbed her left ear.
“Talking about them won’t make them go away, either.” Matthew shrugged as he slowed down so that a car behind him could pass. He switched the heater back on. “And I thought you were going to let me know when you felt chilly. I have this leather jacket on—I’d be warm in a snowdrift. But you’ve only got that light ski jacket.”
“My jacket’s warm enough. Nothing wrong with it.”
Matthew sighed. He couldn’t seem to say anything right. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with it. You look beautiful in it. Black’s a good color for you. And that shade of pink of your sweater is good, too.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could see Glory smile. Now, this was the way a date was supposed to be. “I noticed you’ve done your hair different, too. Sort of softlike. It’s good. And your earrings. I’ve watched them all day. They put me in mind of dolphins, with the graceful shape they have to them.”
“Okay, you win,” Glory said. “We won’t talk about your issues now, but we will later.”
Matthew nodded. He hoped he and Glory would have lots of laters to talk about all of their issues. If he was lucky, he could keep her talking to him all winter. Maybe by then she’d be charmed by eastern Montana and decide to stay. He chided himself. He shouldn’t think long-term with Glory. He knew he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t the Christian man she deserved to marry. But even if they didn’t marry, he’d like to have her in his life somewhere. Who am I fooling? Could I bear to have her in my life and not have her belong to me as my wife?
“Mail it for me, will you?” The Bullet was back at Douglas’s. He pulled two twenties from his pocket and handed them to Douglas along with an addressed box that he’d had wrapped at the store. “Overnight it. It’s Millie’s Christmas present and I can’t wait for the post office to open.”
“You’re not going to be there for Christmas? Not with Millie?”
“No.”
Chapter Ten
The afternoon sun was starting its slide down by the time Matthew pulled the car into Dry Creek. He’d primed Glory with a question or two, and she’d spent the rest of the drive back telling him about her desire to paint faces. He told her about the Custer County Art Center back in Miles City. He knew Glory loved art, and he wanted her to know art had a place around Dry Creek. They were, in fact, close to Charles M. Russell country, and they had his museum in Great Falls. Not that far to drive if she stayed a while.
Matthew loved to watch Glory. Her whole face lit up when she talked about art. She was a woman who noticed color and shadow and—Matthew looked down the street of Dry Creek. Over half of the houses needed painting. The whole town definitely needed tending. He hadn’t noticed that it was run-down when he moved here. But now, driving up with Glory in his car, he wondered if a city woman, an artistic city woman, could ever live in a place like this. And it wasn’t just the lack of a coat of paint. He could get a brush out himself and do most of the houses if needed. There were so many other things. Dry Creek wasn’t Seattle. Why, there wouldn’t be movies in town if it wasn’t for the rack of family videos they carried for rent at the hardware store. And there wasn’t a hair salon, unless you counted the back room at Marcy Enger’s. She’d never had any formal training, but the people around agreed she had a knack for cutting hair. An art center and an art museum wouldn’t make up for all that. Not to a woman who liked flavored coffee.
“Look at that!” Glory said as she pointed to the old café.
Matthew groaned. And the old café—it was an eye-sore. He didn’t need that called to his attention. “Sorry about that. Businesses don’t always make it in Dry Creek.”
“Well, this one just might,” Glory said as she pointed again. “Look at that sign.”
Matthew looked again. He was so used to seeing the old café, he hadn’t really looked before. He’d missed the banner. And the clean windows. And the open door.
“Christmas Jazz and Italian Pasta—$5.00.” Matthew read the words of the foot-high banner that had been strung across the door. “What in the world is that?”
The trim around the big window had been painted a bright red, and someone was pasting a frosted star inside the window’s left corner. The person’s head was bent, but Glory thought the hair and angle of the neck looked familiar. She was right. Matthew hadn’t even parked his car before the woman in the window looked up and waved.
Linda called to them before they even got the car parked. “Come and see.”
The first thing Glory noticed when she stepped into the old café was that Linda’s black lipstick was gone. The young woman’s face was bare of any makeup—which was a good thing, since that left room for the traces of dust that trailed over her cheek. But, while there was dirt on Linda, there didn’t look as if there was a speck of dirt hiding anywhere else in the large room. Wooden tables had been righted and scrubbed. The floor had been freshly mopped. The pine smell of disinfectant came from the kitchen.
“Jazz, honey,” Linda called into the kitchen. “The rev and the angel are here.”
Matthew winced. Glory laughed.
Duane came out of the kitchen. He didn’t look like the Jazz Man now. Instead of a black leather jacket he wore an old flannel shirt that had holes in the sleeves and grease spots on the front. He was even more thoroughly dirty than Linda. He waved his arm in the direction of the back room. “Been getting the heater set up back there. Can’t open up without heat.”
“Open up? You’re going to open up?”
“Just for Christmas Eve, at least so far,” Linda said. Her eyes shone with excitement. “And word is spreading. We have a ton of cousins that are helping. The Alfsons and the Bymasters had to go home for supper, but they’ll be back. So will the Lucas kids. It was Jazz’s idea, really.” Linda stopped to look at her boyfriend adoringly. “He got to thinking that all those people coming to the pageant might like to have a spaghetti dinner.”
“Actually, Mrs. Hargrove gave me the nudge. Told me Go
d answered prayers. It’s just that sometimes He answered with our hard work. Then she gave me the keys and suggested Linda and I take a step of faith, as she called it. I wasn’t so sure at first, but then I figured if the reverend can cook so can I. And then Linda said that music makes any meal better.” Duane pointed to a raised area at the side of the room. “The band’ll set up there.”
“What a great idea!” Glory said, and turned to Matthew. “We could help them get ready, can’t we?”
“I don’t see why not. At least, until I have to get the twins.”
Matthew disappeared into the back to help the Jazz Man with the furnace and Glory rolled up her sleeves to help Linda explore the cabinets under the counter next to the kitchen. Glory could smell that the cabinets had been cleaned. Everything that could be done in a short period of time had been done.
Linda pulled on one of the cabinet doors. She had to tug to open it. “Those two ladies who used to own this place had good taste, all right—and they didn’t mind spending some money. This café was some kind of a hobby with them. I think they were planning to bring tea and civilization to the wild West.”
“They seem to have left it soon enough.”
“Dry Creek didn’t match their dreams.” Linda held out a large apron for Glory. “Here, wrap this around you. You don’t want to get dirty like I did.”
“Not match their dreams? Why not?” Glory said indignantly as she slipped the apron over her neck and tied the strings around her. “Everything I’ve seen is charming, quaint, full of real people and their lives.”
Linda laughed as she opened a bottom cupboard door. “Not everyone wants real.”
Glory leaned down with Linda to look into the cupboard. Inside the cupboard were stacks of old-fashioned restaurant dinner plates, the white plates with a thin green band around the rim. “Well, well, look at this. There must be a hundred plates there.” Glory quickly counted the stacks of plates. She’d estimate there might be 120.
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