Charley hated to catch Curt in a moment when he needed his concentration, but sometimes a man had to think about the greater good even if it meant a yolk got broken.
“I just wish Ben could have been alive to see you making your traditional Mother’s Day breakfast for his grandmother,” Charley said. “You did it every year. A boy should know what his family’s made of.”
“No big secret there. We’re probably made of fried eggs and pancakes by now,” Curt said as he turned one of six eggs on the same griddle he’d used a little earlier to make pancakes. Fried eggs and pancakes were about as advanced as the cooking got at the farm, although Curt could make a good bowl of chili as well.
“If I remember right you made some fancy French toast one Mother’s Day. What was it you put in it?”
Curt grinned. “I put cinnamon on top of it. I thought I was really the gourmet chef.”
Charley smiled. “And you had some real maple syrup. Your mother talked about that syrup for days. She couldn’t figure out where you’d gotten a bottle of the stuff.”
“Billings,” Curt said as he turned another egg with a flourish. “I bribed Mr. Dennison and he brought it out for me when he did the mail route.”
“How come we never have French toast?” Ben grumbled as he pulled his own chair out. He’d just washed his hands and he wiped some of the dampness on his jeans before he sat down on the chair and pulled it close to the table.
“I only made it that one time for Mom,” Curt said as he reached up into the cupboard and grabbed a platter.
“I wish I’d been there,” Ben said quietly.
Charley had never seen a more wistful boy than Ben. Charley had thought Ben would outgrow it when he was on the farm, but he hadn’t yet. The boy always looked like he was missing something. And he was too quiet. He didn’t yell and shout like most teenagers, not even at basketball games.
“I wish you’d been there too, son,” Curt said as he put the turner under a couple of eggs and slid them onto the platter. The pancakes were keeping warm in the oven. “I wish it more so you could have met your grandmother than because my French toast was anything special.”
“Your grandmother was real tickled when you were born,” Charley added. One of the sad facts of his life was that his wife had died a few months after Ben was born and, due to her sickness, had never seen Ben. If the boy’s grandmother had lived, she would have known what to do to make Ben feel he had whatever it was he was missing.
“I always like to think Grandma would have been something like Mrs. Hargrove,” Ben said.
Curt set the platter of eggs and pancakes in the middle of the table and pulled out his own chair. “Your grandmother was not quite as opinionated as Mrs. Hargrove.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman having opinions,” Charley said. He knew Curt still had hard feelings for all of the Hargroves, but he kept hoping someday Curt would soften his views on Mrs. Hargrove. Charley counted the woman as one of his best friends and it rankled that his son didn’t respect her as he should.
Curt grunted. “She can have opinions as long as she keeps them to things she knows about.”
“I can’t imagine that there’s much that Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t know about,” Charley said. She had tended his broken leg and made him a salve that killed the pain better than the pills the doctor had given him. She didn’t just have book learning, either; she was a woman who knew her Bible. That had to count for something.
Curt snorted. “I can think of a thing or two she doesn’t know.” Curt stopped and looked over at his son. Curt swallowed and his voice was milder when he spoke again. “Of course, we all respect her for what she does for the community.”
Charley nodded. He was glad Curt could rein in his annoyance. “Mrs. Hargrove has a way with children.”
“She’s always nice to me,” Ben said. “I like her.”
Ben was looking at his father with a big question in his eyes and Charley could see that Curt was holding his tongue. Charley was glad that he and Mrs. Hargrove had decided to do something to try and fix the hard feelings they had caused all those years ago. If Curt’s feelings about Mrs. Hargrove were anything to go by, there were still some unresolved issues.
“The Hargroves were always our best and closest neighbors,” Charley finally said.
Curt clenched his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “And Mrs. Hargrove always charges me a fair price for leasing her land.”
Charley nodded. “She’d rather rent that land to you than anyone.”
“It’s good land.”
Charley thought he’d begun his conversation satisfactorily. He didn’t want to force Curt in any direction; he just wanted to give him time to think. “We have a lot to be grateful for—including these eggs.”
Curt looked at his father and took the cue. “Well, let’s pray then so Ben isn’t late catching the school bus.”
After taking a moment to let his irritation quiet down, Curt began to pray. Curt figured God knew his heart when it came to the Hargroves and that would have to do for now. There were other things to think about. “Lord, thank you for all you give us today and every day. For food, for work, for family and friends—we thank you. Keep us safe and help Ben in school. Amen.”
Curt decided he would eat his pancakes and forget about the Hargroves. There was a minute’s worth of silence when he thought his strategy was working.
“I bet Mrs. Hargrove can make French toast,” Ben said as he slipped a second pancake onto his plate. “She’s probably got a recipe and everything.”
“I’m sure she does,” Curt said as he took the platter that Ben passed his way and looked up at the clock. “You’re going to have to get ready for the bus soon.”
“I’ve got time,” Ben muttered. “I’d even have time to eat French toast for breakfast if we ever had it.”
“Well, Mrs. Hargrove has offered to cook us dinner when we help her with those Mother’s Day baskets,” Charley said from the other side of the table. “If we wanted to make it French toast, I’m sure that would be fine.”
“We don’t want to waste one of Mrs. Hargrove’s dinners on something I can make myself with a few pointers,” Curt said as he cut into the pancake on his plate. “I still remember the lasagna she used to make.”
Curt wasn’t sure exactly when he had agreed to help Mrs. Hargrove plant her pansies, but he wasn’t sorry that he was doing it as long as he could do it without having to spend too much time in her presence. He had plowed the plot for her six weeks ago and covered the whole thing with a heavy plastic that kept the warmth inside.
Mrs. Hargrove had some solar lights out there and the whole thing made a low-lying greenhouse. He’d been skeptical that it would work until he remembered that Mrs. Hargrove had found a way to grow her pansies years ago in the old days when she didn’t even have the solar lights.
“She’d have to drive into Billings to find the ingredients for her lasagna,” Charley said. “And you know her car’s been having some trouble so she’s not driving it that far these days.”
“Well, I could drive her into Billings.”
Charley looked down at his pancake. Things were working out better than he had hoped. “Wouldn’t hurt to make the trip count twice. Someone needs to pick Doris June up this evening.”
“Doris June’s coming?”
Charley nodded.
“Here?”
Charley nodded.
Curt told himself he should have seen this coming. He knew Doris June didn’t usually come home for Mother’s Day, but this was a special Mother’s Day for Mrs. Hargrove if those pansies were anything to go by. He supposed Doris June would want to spend the day with her mother. He couldn’t begrudge her that.
“I’ll be happy to lend my pickup to Mrs. Hargrove,” Curt said. “No point in two people making the trip to Billings.”
Charley nodded. “I’m sure the two of you can work something out.”
Curt looked over at his father. The man was innocent
ly eating a second pancake and looking as if he hadn’t been anywhere around when the noose had been thrown around Curt’s neck.
“Linda from the café might be able to drive Mrs. Hargrove to Billings—she can use my pickup,” Curt added. He’d be willing to pay Linda a prime wage to do just that. Doris June liked Linda. She’d be happy to have a ride back to Dry Creek with the young woman. Curt knew Doris June wouldn’t like to see him meeting her at the airport. In fact, she might stay on the plane rather than get in a pickup that he was driving.
When Curt moved back to Dry Creek four years ago, he had assumed he would see Doris June again. He had even hoped they might have a nice, quiet conversation about what had happened all those years ago. He knew a hole had been burned through his world the day their elopement fell apart, and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t affected Doris June as well. There was no ignoring that hole, but maybe if they talked about what had happened, they could become friends again.
At the very least, Curt would like to apologize. He’d been impatient back then when he had pressed Doris June to elope with him. He’d been wrong to pressure her and then wrong to run off and join the army when everything fell apart. He’d started to write her a letter many times, but he never found words that said how very sorry he was if he had hurt her.
He knew he’d hurt himself with his hot-tempered actions. He’d lost the best friend he’d ever had in his life.
Curt knew better than to hope that someday they could be more than friends. He was a man who believed in the power of prayer to heal things, but even he couldn’t believe Doris June would forgive him to that extent. He knew Doris June. She was a very organized woman, and if she had moved him to the “undesirable” section in her mind, she wouldn’t likely budge from it later. She had been furious with him when they parted twenty-five years ago, and her silence since then told him all he needed to know about how she felt.
Of course, it hadn’t all been his fault. Curt often wondered if Mrs. Hargrove ever told her daughter how many times he had asked for Doris June’s address in Alaska and been refused. When he thought about it much later, he couldn’t believe that Doris June had forbidden her mother to give him the address, so he laid the blame squarely at Mrs. Hargrove’s feet.
And the older woman was still at it. The fact that Doris June went out of her way to avoid seeing him when she came to Dry Creek was not lost on Curt. When she came to visit her mother, Doris June always seemed to know where he was—at least, he assumed she must know where he was because she was never at the same place as he was and, in a town the size of Dry Creek, that could only be intentional. Even if Doris June had not asked her mother back then to refuse to give him her address, she was certainly asking her mother to help her avoid him these days.
It was too bad, Curt told himself as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up to go get the rest of the pancakes that were in the warm oven. It was definitely too bad. There had been many times over the past twenty-five years when he could have used a friend like Doris June. He liked to believe that she missed his friendship as well. Even if she could never love him again, he wished she could forgive him enough to sit down with him and ask him how his life was going.
Of course, for her to do that she would have to talk to him again and that didn’t seem likely. Once Doris June made up her mind about something, it stayed made up. She was one stubborn woman. Just like her mother.
Chapter Three
Doris June waited for the airplane to come to a complete stop at the Billings airport before she unfastened her seat belt. It was dark outside except for the lights on the runway. Other passengers had started to reach for their overhead luggage, but Doris June was content to live by the rules and stay seated. She had a bag of puzzles in the overhead compartment and she’d wait for the line of people to pass before she pulled it down. She’d gotten to the airport at six o’clock this morning anyway and she was tired.
She could also use the few extra minutes to go over in her mind what she intended to say to her mother about the quite understandable possibility that her mother’s mental agility was compromised and that her mother might want to be open to receiving some help. Help that Doris June fully intended to give even if she had to pretend to take a series of short vacations to Dry Creek, Montana, to give it.
In her checked luggage, Doris June had a whole packet of information about how to deal with what she had decided to call “senior confusion.” She hoped that “confusion” was a friendly, befuddled term that would not hurt her mother’s dignity. The one thing that stood out every time she read one of those brochures was that Doris June, being the primary caregiver in the event of anything, should realize her mother needed help and that it should be given as naturally as it would be if her mother had a physical limitation that meant she couldn’t walk or see or hear anymore.
There was no cause for shame because a person faced a change in mental ability and Doris June intended to see that that message got through to her mother. Her mother was a proud woman and deserved to keep her pride.
Doris June knew that she was limited in how much help she could give her mother from a distance and she was perfectly willing to spend more time with her mother if that was what was needed. Doris June’s job was going smoothly, and she could afford to take a week off every three months or so. She had already mentioned the idea to her boss, and she had his full support. He knew Doris June was all her mother had and he understood the importance of family obligations.
There was nothing to prevent Doris June from flying back to Dry Creek regularly to help her mother with odds and ends—things like filling out the form for the state tourism board or maybe doing her taxes. Even if all she did was make pots of soup for her mother to freeze, Doris June would be happy to do it.
She was even prepared to make the big move and leave her job in Anchorage so she could relocate to Dry Creek. She had thought about doing that anyway before he moved back—not that she was exactly staying away because Curt Nelson was back, but she sure didn’t want it to look like she was moving back home because he was there all single and available.
If Doris June did move back to Dry Creek, she would want it clearly understood that she was moving back there to do her duty to her mother and for no other reason. The people of Dry Creek had a tendency to gossip about their own and Doris June didn’t want to have any speculation that she was coming back to ignite a love that had died decades ago.
She’d had enough pity stares over the years to last her a lifetime. She didn’t know why the people of Dry Creek had been so interested in the breakup between her and Curt. People broke up all the time even in a small town in southern Montana.
Besides, Curt had married that woman from Chicago. What was her name?
Not that it mattered, Doris June decided. The only thing important about that wedding was that it should have put a complete end to any speculation about her and Curt. She certainly would never have chased a married man. And, not only because she knew God would be appalled if she did, she also knew that she’d be so mad at a cheating man that she wouldn’t be able to respect him much less love him even if she did snag his interest.
Doris June picked her purse up from under the seat in front of her.
The real problem was that even though the speculation had died down, the pity hadn’t gone away. During the year or so after Curt announced his marriage, the people of Dry Creek treated Doris June as if she was a recent widow. The more sympathy people gave her though the more irritated she got. Her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d thought it would, but she didn’t need a crowd of people around her reminding her of the fact. She could remember it very well on her own.
She would have stopped going to church when she visited Dry Creek those first years after Curt got married, except she refused to give people there anything else to say about her. She did stop going when she was at home in Anchorage, however. At first, she told herself that she was too tired on Sunday morning and she just needed
a break until the busy times at work let up. Finally, when the pace at work slowed and she still didn’t want to go though, she faced the truth of it. She was mad at God. He had let her down and she didn’t know what to do about it.
She knew she couldn’t stop believing in Him; that would be like refusing to acknowledge that her mother was alive. She knew God existed; she had felt Him in her soul and there was no undoing that. She even continued to believe that He had some sort of a plan for her life. What she couldn’t believe any longer, however, was that He placed any value on her heart.
She felt betrayed. She had lived her life by His rules. She had honored the wishes of her parents when it came to leaving Curt. Honor thy father and thy mother, the Bible said, and she had done it. She had trusted that God would fix things if she kept her part of the bargain. After all, she knew her parents followed God’s ways as best as they could. They all prayed. They all believed. She’d had faith that God would work things out. She had been patient. And then—boom—Curt had married someone else. That’s when she knew she shouldn’t have listened to her parents or to God. They had all let her down.
Her heart was broken and it was because she had obeyed someone else’s rules.
Of course, she could not live her life with her face turned away from her parents any more than she could renounce God. She wished she could say she’d had an epiphany of understanding somewhere along the line and that she had forgiven God and her parents; but it wasn’t like that. Life had just inched up on her.
Her father had his first heart attack and Doris June had to stay in close contact with her parents, even if she wasn’t talking to God. Finally, she became tired of avoiding God, too. There was no undoing what had been done and she was the only one suffering. She missed going to church and talking to God in prayer, especially when she was worried about her father. She had no real choice but to return to God. It was a bitter decision, however, and the dryness never really left her heart.
A Match Made in Dry Creek Page 3