by Lyn Cote
Rodd stiffened. Harlan took in a quick breath, but Wendy didn't flinch. Harlan said in a low voice, "Rodd, we only have three more long tables to put up."
"Talking behind my back, Harlan?" Veda barked.
"Good morning, Veda," Harlan said without glancing at the woman and without his usual warmth.
Hoping to avoid a scene for Wendy's sake, Rodd kept his peace.
"I see you, Sheriff." She humphed, advancing on them. "Why aren't you out doing your job?"
Rodd faced her, but before he could speak, Veda shook her finger in his face. "If you weren't so busy keeping late hours with Doreen Rieker's worthless daughter, maybe you'd have time to do your job. Sitting in your Jeep at four in the morning the day after Thanksgiving—"
Shocked and outraged for Wendy, Rodd took a step forward.
"Veda, doesn't it ever occur to you that no one is especially interested in your opinions?" Harlan said without turning to face her. The older man's words seemed to make the old witch angrier.
Veda scowled. "I'm not the only one who's noticed that it's Wendy's patients who are getting robbed. She's probably telling her uncle who's away, so he can do the dirty work for her."
At first, Rodd was too stunned to react. How could anyone accuse Wendy, a warmhearted, good woman—
Harlan thrust past Rodd. Wendy grabbed his arm and Lady began barking.
Rodd stepped between Wendy and Veda. He lifted his voice over Lady's agitated barking. "Miss McCracken, you have just opened yourself to the charge of slander. Harlan and I can both testify that you have publicly defamed Wendy Carey's reputation by accusing her of crimes she didn't commit."
Veda's lumpy, round face turned red. "How do you know she didn't commit them? Have you arrested someone?"
"When I arrest the perpetrator, I will advise Ms. Carey to bring legal action against you." Rodd stood his ground.
"And I'll pay the lawyer," Harlan said, his anger giving force to each word.
Veda glowered, then swung away from them, barking orders to the other ladies. They scurried into the kitchen for white plastic to cover the tables. Veda, dressed in purple polyester slacks and a matching overlarge sweatshirt, marched behind them as if she were their commandant.
Silent and ashen, Wendy stood, still holding on to the sheltie's leash. Lady barked on.
Rodd didn't know what to say to Wendy. How could he counter the abuse that he'd just witnessed unleashed on her?
"Wendy—" Harlan began.
"I'm fine," she answered. She forced a weak smile. "Come on, Lady." She hurried outside.
Rodd watched her go, trying to think what else he could have done. But Veda's attack had come so quickly, it had taken him by surprise. And he couldn't have clapped a hand over an older woman's mouth. Veda's nastiness was so outside the realm of normal politeness that it left one without a response. Veda was beyond anything he'd experienced before, and this time she'd crossed the line. Slander was against the law. And he'd be happy to proceed with a civil suit against her.
Penny and Zak hurried toward Harlan. "I guess we'll be going now," Penny said.
Rodd didn't blame them for clearing out.
"We're done here too," Harlan muttered.
Asking without words, Zak reached up and Rodd swung him up high. Zak muttered in Rodd's ear, "I don't like that mean purple lady. Her voice hurts my ears."
Rodd gave the boy a big hug and set him down. "Be good and help your mother."
"I always help her," Zak said in a wounded tone.
"I couldn't do without him." Penny smiled, but Rodd thought she looked a bit pale today. Maybe the cold weather was keeping them all inside too much. Bundled up warmly, Penny and Zak departed for the short walk to their house.
"Rodd, can you give me a lift to Harry's Shop?" Harlan asked, straightening himself as though his back were stiff.
"No problem."
Outside, Rodd brushed the fine layer of snow off the front and back windows. The sharp, fresh air cleaned away the last of Veda's nastiness.
Sitting beside Rodd in the Jeep, Harlan let out a long breath. "Over the years, I've just ignored Veda, but it's getting harder and harder."
Rodd drove out of the parking lot. He'd wanted to ask Harlan about Veda many times but had always shied away from prying. This time he couldn't help but comment, "I don't know how you and Wendy have put up with her." He waited to see if Harlan would respond.
Harlan lifted his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. "Veda has delighted in causing trouble since she was a child. My late wife, Nelda, left home early to marry me partly to get away from her younger sister."
Rodd turned right at the snow-piled comer of North Center and Main.
"And I soon learned that my wife and I were happier when we had as little to do with her sister as possible." An edge crept into the older man's voice.
"Veda never married?"
"No, she was all-right-looking when she was younger, but she couldn't tame that tongue of hers. James, brother of Jesus, called the tongue 'a flame of fire.' I think he had Veda in mind. Veda just seemed to have been born bitter, always looking to make trouble. Sometimes I think she isn't rational. There's something wrong with her mind."
Rodd frowned. "Can I ask you why Veda hates the Riekers so much?"
"It's not the Riekers. They've been a troubled family for generations. But I told you, Nelda and I were happy if we limited Veda in our life." Harlan turned his head to face Rodd. The old man appeared to age before his eyes. "Then when our son, Daniel, got Doreen Rieker pregnant and married her, Veda saw her chance to drive a wedge between my wife and me. I think she'd waited for this opportunity for ages. Anyway, she made things as bad as she could between us.
"She kept stirring Nelda up until she had Nelda believing she couldn't accept Daniel until he got free of Doreen." Harlan's voice picked up speed and volume. "Daniel wouldn't do that, of course. He'd done wrong, but he loved Doreen. He married her and gave Wendy his name just as he ought. But even when he left for the service, Nelda wouldn't say good-bye."
Rodd held his peace but wondered if Harlan's love for his late wife blinded him to a certain degree to his wife's culpability. Veda may have made everything worse, but Nelda could have made peace with her son.
Glancing away, Harlan went on as though talking to himself. "Then Daniel died in a skirmish in the Mideast. I think Nelda turned all her guilt onto Doreen and Wendy. She couldn't live with what she'd done, with how she'd turned her back on her son when he needed her most. So she used Doreen and Wendy as her scapegoats. And even after Nelda died, Veda has kept it going. Telling everyone Doreen had put Nelda in an early grave." Harlan fell silent.
As Rodd pulled up in front of Harry's Auto Repair, a fifties-vintage gas station and garage, he remembered Uncle George telling him years earlier about Harlan losing his son in the war. He'd never realized all the pain Harlan had suffered. How could a man handle his wife's rejecting their only son and then losing both of them?
"Hatred and bitterness bring only unhappiness, strife," the older man muttered. Then he looked over at Rodd. "When Daniel didn't come back, I helped Doreen get the trailer and I tried to look out for her. But I didn't help her as much as I should have. But when she got to drinking too much to take care of the girls after Sage was born, I took them home and wouldn't let her have them back until she started going to AA. I just hope I've made everything up to her and Wendy."
"It's obvious to everyone that Wendy and Sage love you very much," Rodd said.
"They have been a blessing to me." Harlan looked into Rodd's eyes. "Sage is going to be a blessing in Trav Dietz's life, and Wendy will be a blessing to any man who has the sense to marry her."
Evidently, Wendy's grandfather believed some of the romantic gossip that had started about Wendy and him. Why shouldn't people believe that Wendy was a woman a man could find it easy to love? But at times, Rodd questioned whether he'd be good enough for Wendy. Today, she'd certainly not returned evil for evil.
F
eeling Harlan's intense scrutiny, Rodd belatedly nodded.
Harlan opened the door and got out. "Thanks, son." He waved and walked toward the repair shop to pick up his car.
Rodd felt a tide of sadness for the man who'd lost his wife as well as his son and carried deep regret. He knew how regret could gnaw at one's soul. He'd made more than one mistake in his career. The memory of the worst tagged him. He shied from it. Letting out a long breath, he drove to the courthouse on the square to take care of a few mundane details.
Two days later Rodd sat at Harlan's kitchen table, wondering what he'd do next to try to tempt the Weasel into a trap if Gus refused to cooperate. Gus Feeney, a wiry man in his eighties, sat with them. Rodd had enlisted Harlan to help him convince Gus to be part of the next—and Rodd hoped the last—trap. If anyone could persuade Gus, Harlan could.
"I still don't know how you're going to get that burglar to move his dirty work from Steadfast to LaFollette." Gus folded his arms over his thin chest.
"That isn't your problem, Gus. Something else is," Harlan pointed out. "The thing is, we just can't wait around. The sheriff here has got to get the thief before he hurts someone seriously. I was over at Carl's Grill the other day visiting with him. He says he won't go to the clinic overnight or leave his home unprotected again."
"So?" Gus asked, a glint in his eye.
Rodd held his tongue with effort. But if anybody could convince Gus, Harlan could.
"So if people here around Steadfast stop leaving their homes to go to the clinic or going away for the holidays to see their kin, where's the thief going to look for money? He could head right over to your neck of the woods. This is a preventative strike, Gus. Just think how so many American lives would have been different if the U.S. had moved against Hitler while he was still gathering his strength. But we let him march through Poland and then the Netherlands and into France, and we just sat on our hands and watched like he'd never look our way."
Gus eyed Harlan. "I get your drift. We need to nail this guy before he really hurts someone badly. Okay, I get it."
As the point hit home, Rodd nearly jumped to his feet and pounded the veteran on the back.
Gus scraped his chair back from the table. "Okay, Sheriff, I'll do it. Just call me and let me know what you want me to do and when. I'm not too old—" he paused to grin—"to take on another bully."
The ringing of the phone woke Wendy late in the night. Rubbing her eyes, she got up and staggered, sleep-drugged, to the phone in the kitchen. "Hello."
"Wendy!"
"Sage, is that you?" Wendy slumped down at the table. "What's the matter?" She yawned. "You sound upset."
"I'm sorry to wake you, but I was afraid you might wake up and wonder where I was."
Wendy looked at the clock: 1:36 a.m. "Aren't you at the Weavers' baby-sitting?"
"Yes, but I'm going to stay the night with Zak. Bruce called me from the restaurant in Woodson where he and Penny were having dinner. He had to rush Penny back to the clinic."
"Why?"
"She's having some trouble." Sage's voice showed her worry. "She might lose the baby."
"Baby?" Wendy sat up straight. "I knew they were trying, but I didn't know she was expecting—"
"She didn't tell anyone since she'd miscarried again last spring. She's only about two months along."
Sympathetic anguish for Penny cut through Wendy. "Oh, dear."
"I feel like crying." Sage's voice thickened. "Penny's so sweet. Why can't she have another baby?"
The pain of watching friends and loved ones suffering never became easier. Wendy faced it every day. "I know what you mean, Sis."
Sage sniffled into the phone. "Well, I didn't want you to worry about me like you did on Thanksgiving night."
"Thanks, kid."
"Good night, Wendy."
"I'll be praying for Penny. If they haven't come home by morning, call me and I'll bring over a change of clothes for you for school. If Bruce needs someone to watch Zak, I can take him on rounds with me."
"You're great, Wendy."
"And you're tired. Try to get some sleep."
"Night."
Wendy hung up the phone and pressed her face into her hands. Oh, Lord, may it be your will that Penny and the baby are fine. She's a great mother. And Bruce is such a good father. Bless them with more children. Be with them and comfort them tonight. Please.
Chapter Eleven
On Sunday morning as he sat in church, Rodd stifled an unusual restlessness. Two things distracted him: a mysterious phone call from Mrs. Benser, which he'd received very early this morning, and the fact that Wendy was absent. The sanctuary felt hollow, empty without her. He was well aware that his feelings for her were intensifying. But he didn't know if she cared for him in the same way. Always cheerful and kind to all, she kept her heart under wraps.
"I want to thank all of you," Pastor Bruce spoke from the pulpit, which was adorned with fresh evergreen branches and shiny gold ribbon, "for all the meals you've brought in. For those of you who have helped care for Zak during this very ...stressful ...week." The pastor paused, plainly getting his emotions back under control.
Rodd felt for the man. Penny's problems had lasted for days now. Usually Zak sat beside Rodd in church. But his mama's staying overnight at the clinic had moved Zak onto Rodd's lap, where he now sat. As usual, the little boy brought Rodd memories of his childhood visits with Uncle George.
Being "the law" had only made Rodd feel separated from others. But with Zak on his lap, he was no longer isolated. Zak liked him and trusted him. Rodd wished the rest of the county agreed. The newspaper editor had just fired off another article demanding reasons why the Snowmobile Burglar hadn't been arrested yet. Didn't Cram realize that no one felt this continued failure more keenly than Rodd himself? He was counting down the last few days till the Bingo Fund-raiser.
Hope stirred. Perhaps Mrs. Benser's call meant that she had some lead about the burglaries. What other reason could Mrs. Benser, who sat in the pew ahead of him, have for calling him? He didn't think he'd exchanged more than a polite nod with her before. He tried to keep a lid on his anticipation. She had said nothing about the burglaries during the call.
Harlan, sitting beside Rodd, leaned over and ruffled Zak's hair. "Don't worry. Your mom is going to be okay." Sucking his lower lip, Zak nodded.
Rodd tightened his hold on Zak, telling him without words that he was there and would stand by him. Zak snuggled deeper into Rodd's arms. Was this how Uncle George had felt when he'd held Rodd in his arms? Rodd placed a kiss on the top of Zak's head—just as he vaguely remembered Uncle George doing to him so many times, so many years ago.
"On to other news." Pastor Bruce picked up where he'd left off. "The Senior Craft Bazaar and Bake Sale yesterday was a rousing success. A total of $293.96 was raised to be added to the new doctor's tuition fund. We thank the seniors who worked so hard in this cause. And finally, don't forget our Christmas caroling party is coming up next week. Remember this is our holiday outreach to our community. We want to make Steadfast ring with the joy of Christmas." He raised both his hands. "Let's rise for the next hymn." He smiled at his son. "I've chosen Zak's favorite carol to get us into the Christmas mood."
Setting Zak to stand on the pew beside him, Rodd rose. They sang, "Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.'" Zak's high, childish voice found the notes. Uninhibited, he swayed to the music. '"The stars in the sky looked down where he lay, the little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.'"
When all the verses had been sung, the congregation settled down. Back on Rodd's lap, Zak squirmed until he found just the right position. Rodd stretched his legs out under the pew in front of him and relaxed. Fresh pine greenery had been added to every window sash and scented the chill air in the sanctuary. Cold wind always seeped into the old, white frame church.
The pastor began his sermon by reading Scripture. "Matthew 7:7-8: 'Keep on asking, and you will be given what you ask for.
Keep on looking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds And the door is opened to everyone who knocks.'" The pastor looked up from his Bible. "These familiar verses seem to be a rather simple list of statements. And they are. But how often we humans ignore the simple fact that God is able to meet all our needs."
Rodd shifted in the pew. He'd been seeking all right, but when would the finding start?
Pastor Bruce paused, his eyes scanning the faces turned toward him. "Why do we resist this? I've spent this week trying to come up with an answer. Could it sometimes be our pride? That we don't want to humble ourselves and admit we need help?" Again he gazed out, gathering everyone's attention. "God is able to meet all our needs," he repeated. "The old 'God helps those who help themselves' mind-set shuts God out. We are not to depend on ourselves alone."