by Lilah Rivers
But this time, there was confusion. There was mystery, and it invited her to solve that mystery once and for all.
“Lovely sermon,” Amy commented, sliding her arm under Clinton’s as they strolled away from the church. She glanced around, smiling in the sunshine. “And such a beautiful day.” She turned to Jodi and Scott. "What did you two have planned for the day?”
Scott said, “There's a very nice new restaurant down the street. After that, there are a number of… amusements here in Angeldale. I’ll have her home by dark.”
Clinton and Amy chuckled. Amy said, “You speak as if we were her parents and she a mere child!”
“Even so,” Scott said, “I have business in the morning—and every morning.”
Clinton gave him a friendly tap on the arm. “Have fun. We’ll see you this evening, then.” He and Amy walked away, Amy giving Jodi a little wink before they faded into the crowd.
Scott extended his hand to the street stretching out in front of them, one of the main thoroughfares running through the center of town. “Shall we?”
With a smile, Jodi nodded and let him lead her away from the church.
She felt just a little uncomfortable at first, but as their strides began to coincide, she became more at ease with every step. Looking around at the wooden buildings, she noticed some of them stood over two stories high, something she hadn’t imagined living among the brownstones of the East Coast.
“Such a nice little town,” she noted, taking a breath of the fresh air. “Providence is nice, don’t get me wrong. But out here in the desert, things are just different, y’know?”
“Bound to be,” was all Scott said as they walked on.
Listen to me, Jodi thought, prattling like an idiot! Do better, Hoffman!
People nodded at them as they passed, but Jodi knew it was their sheriff who was the target of their attention and their appreciation. And he’d earned it, by Jodi’s estimation. It reassured her of his value to the town, his efficiency as an organ of justice. And his citizens clearly appreciated him and his calming influence; to Jodi, that spoke as well of them as it did of him.
One of them said, “Sheriff,” and walked on, then stopped and turned. “Excuse me?” Jodi and Scott turned to see the stout, middle-aged woman, vaguely familiar, turning back to them. Well dressed in a tea-length dress, she took a closer look at Jodi. “You were selling cupcakes at the church sale, were you not?”
“I was,” Jodi admitted with a humble roll of her eyes. “Among many others, of course.”
“Yes,” the woman pressed, “but yours were different, with chili and chocolate, of all things. And cinnamon?”
“That’s right,” Jodi confirmed, her stomach turning with a quick nervousness. To imagine herself being dressed down by an angry customer for having made her ill or nauseous with her cupcakes, suddenly made Jodi want to fall into a hole and never come out.
But to Jodi’s relief, the woman cried, “They were just delicious! We spent hours chatting up what the recipe would be.”
“You’ve got it in a nutshell,” Jodi told her. “Feel free to cook and enjoy them to your hearts’ content.”
“Oh no, dear, that would hardly be right. But have you ever thought of opening your own bakery?”
She never had, but Jodi had to admit to feeling pretty good about the suggestion. “I… I hadn’t, but it’s a very flattering notion.”
“There's no flattery to it at all, child! My husband owns a building not far from here, and there happen to be three shops open on the bottom floor. I would certainly suggest to him that you would make an excellent tenant.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—we haven't even met. I’m Jodi Hoffman.”
“Delores Hayes,” she replied. “The building is on the corner of Hogarth Street and Baller Road. Have a look when you get the chance, we live on the second floor.”
Jodi wasn't sure what to say, other than, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hayes—”
“Delores, hon, I insist.”
“Delores,” Jodi repeated. “I will give the matter some serious thought, I assure you.”
“Please do,” she said, turning her attention to Scott. Her eyes shifted from him to Jodi and then back in a way that did not escape Jodi’s attention. Dolores said only, “Sheriff Covey,” before giving him a little half-smile and turning to walk on in the other direction.
Jodi and Scott made their own way onward toward the restaurant. “How exciting for you,” Scott remarked.
Jodi smiled, but she had to wave it off. “I hardly think this is the time. I’m here to help Amy with her pregnancy.”
“She seems to be doing well.”
“She does, yes, God bless.” Jodi flashed on that fact, and the notion that perhaps her friend was just embellishing the truth in order to compel Jodi to come out for her own sorrowful good. But there was no time or real need for reflection. “She’s still quite early on, of course.”
Scott nodded. “She’s lucky to have you here.”
Jodi smiled at him and said, “More and more, I think I’m the lucky one,” before she could stop herself.
Chapter 24
They stopped at the new restaurant, founded by another newcomer to the area, a Russian and his family. The goulash was rich and flavorful, warm in Jodi’s belly. The zapekanka casserole hot and creamy, slices of potato still firm and flavorful. Mixed fruit and berry juice washed it all down in place of red wine.
Jodi asked Scott, “You don’t drink at all?”
Scott shook his head. “My father drank enough for the entire family—for generations, I should think.”
“I understand.” Jodi had seen such men, known them through her friends and never liked them. To know that Scott would never be such a man was gratifying, but it did beg another few questions. “You say drank. He’s—?”
Scott nodded. “Five years ago, I hear. I left the house when I sixteen, when my mother died.”
“Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry to hear that, Scott.”
“Happens to everyone,” he replied with a vague shrug. “It was very sad, though. My mother was… Well, she lived a life without sin, and that’s a rare thing.”
“Rare indeed,” Jodi agreed. “I wish I could say the same for myself.”
“Don’t we all?” Scott took a sip of his juice and went back to his goulash. “But if we were all without sin, I’d be without a job.”
“I imagine there are any number of things at which you’d be quite adept,” Jodi surmised. Thoughtfully, she asked, “Did you always want to wear a badge?”
“That’s something I may owe to my father,” Scott said, clearly giving the matter some thought. “Drink wasn’t his only vice; gambling was another. The men he fell into debt to, the men he lost his money to, the men who came to the house looking to settle those debts and losses …” His words faded as he stared off into the window of memory, visible only to him. “Much as I hated him for the way he treated me and my mother, I never wanted to see him go through what those men put him through. Between the beatings and the booze, it’s no wonder his body gave out so young.”
Jodi could only look on as Scott sat calmly, privately wrestling with the demons of his past. “I remember once, my father sent us into the closet. ‘Just stay quiet,’ he ordered, ‘don’t you come out fer nothin’!’ And we sat in that dark closet, my mother and I, her arms around me. I could hear their voices, my father shouting back at them. Then the voices stopped, and there were punches, the wood of the furniture cracking, my father grunting in pain. I… I tried to pull out of my mother’s arms, go out and do something. Because he was my father, after all. But my mother, she wouldn’t let go, held me so tight. Finally, I stopped fighting, just held her back, tight as I could. That was all I could do, really, just hide in the dark and hold onto my mama.”
Jodi couldn’t fight a little tear escaping the corner of her eye.
“But I knew then and there that when I could, as soon as I could, I’d take up the badge. I’d have an answe
r to men like that—and not merely the fury of a child, not just angry vengeance, but justice, the law. That would be my strength, that would be my cause.”
“I see,” Jodi responded quietly, so impressed that she could hardly speak.
Scott seemed to realize the gloom his story brought to the table. “I apologize, Jodi. No need for such glum conversation on such a lovely day.”
“No, it’s… I appreciate you sharing that with me. I’m glad I haven’t anything so sorrowful to share in return.” They shared a little chuckle.
“Hopefully you never will.” He raised his glass of juice and Jodi raised hers, clinking them together in the center of the table. “Here’s to hope.”
After lunch, they strolled around the streets of Angeldale. They came upon a trio of musicians paying on a street corner; a trumpet player and two guitarists, one pulling at four thick strings while the others strummed six thinner ones. The music rolled forward with three beats per measure, a classic waltz time which Jodi recognized from many popular songs of the day.
All three musicians sang, high voices ringing out Spanish lyrics that Jodi could not understand. But she felt that she could perceive their meaning, a ballad of love and longing, distance and reunion, destiny under the hot desert sun.
Scott gestured toward the street in front of the musicians, where several people were already dancing.
“Oh no,” Jodi said, “we mustn’t.”
“I respectfully disagree,” Scott countered, leading Jodi to the corner to join the others dancing in the street. Jodi clung to him and let Scott lead her in a series of graceful turns on the thoroughfare. He moved with incredible grace and fluidity for a man of his height, and even more for a man of his profession. Jodi had to chastise herself for prejudging him on such a foolish thing, but it was just another reminder to her that, in life, one never could be sure what would happen next. As he spun her around, Jodi felt lighter than air, small in his grip. He smiled, seeming to reveal yet another facet of his fascinating self as he appeared suddenly at ease with himself and with his surroundings, much more than he seemed at other times.
And that made Jodi feel more at ease, with herself and with him.
The musicians played to the refrain of the tune and, as it came to its natural climax, Jodi let her head fall back as Scott dipped her. She leaned in his arms, long blonde hair falling back. But she felt entirely secure in Scott’s strong grip, knowing that she was in good hands, and that it was just where she wanted to be.
The music ended and applause rose up. But when Jodi opened her eyes and looked around, she realized that the applause was not for the musicians, but for her and Scott. They’d captured the attention of everyone in the area, who were gathered around them in an appreciative circle.
Scott seemed surprised, too, but he appeared to brush it off as he pulled her up. She felt sheepish, biting her lower lip as she led him lead her away, the crowd cheering them as they faded back down the street, arm in arm.
Chapter 25
Scott took Jodi back to the Burnett ranch on his horse, and she found the ride exhilarating. She’d been in the carriage, naturally, but it only struck her then that, at twenty-two years, she’d never actually ridden on horseback. Her life with Martin and Ellen Hoffman of Providence, Rhode Island, had been one of comparative luxury and modernity. And she savored the difference between the two places, two sides of the same wondrous coin. Her great nation had shown her that it had more facets than she’d expected, and that her citizens would have the same thing. Even that brutal man, Scott’s father, who would beat him and his mother both, would still hide them from danger when he could, protecting him even from the results of his own sin and at the expense of his own life. Jodi thought about Alice, her cousin, needy and hurt but also unkind and selfish; Giles, too. And Jodi knew herself to be vulnerable to shortcoming, too, ready to pity herself in favor of congratulating others. Even Amy had confessed to conflicted feelings of the sort.
Truly, none of us are perfect, Jodi had to realize, none worthy of the mantle of hero or villain; merely human, with all the frailties and faults and fascinations.
But the horse was strong beneath them, pushing them forward toward the Burnett ranch, a place she had begun to think of more and more as home. And she rode there with Scott Covey, sheriff of Angeldale, a man she’d only recently come to know and wanted to get to know better. He seemed the embodiment of the desert itself, gorgeous and mysterious, powerful and graceful.
More and more, Jodi wanted to call the desert home.
The horse’s muscles flexed beneath them, massive and powerful—like the desert, like Scott Covey, like the course of Jodi’s new life; elements swirling together to paint a picture around Jodi with herself at its center. Colors and sounds and tastes and energy pouring through them all, masterpiece of life. All seemed well and right, and Jodi knew then that her call to come to New Mexico was not only from Amy, but from God; the ultimate artist.
They arrived at the ranch house and dismounted. Scott walked Jodi to the door and they paused, standing together under the moonlight.
“Well,” Jodi said, “thank you so much for a lovely day. I… you’ve shown me parts of… of Angeldale that I had no idea were there.”
“And you’ve shown me parts of Rhode Island I should like to know better.” He looked into her eyes, Jodi’s heart still beating from the ride out of town. He glanced at the house. “I hope we’re not disturbing the Burnetts.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re awake,” Jodi assured him, “waiting to hear every detail.” They shared a little chuckle.
“They’re well to be protective of you, Jodi. You’re a good person, anybody would be blessed to call you a friend.”
“Would they?”
“Indeed,” Scott said, “to call you friend, or… or…”
Jodi watched him, knowing what he was clumsily trying to get at. And she took a certain satisfaction in standing there and letting him fail. With all his amazing blessings, to see that he was all too human was a relief—and it was kind of funny, too.
“You may call me whatever you like,” she finally said, ready to let her poor fish off the hook.
He smiled, clearly eager to accept her mercy. He gave her a little nod and a tip of the hat. “Jodi,” he said.
This brought a smile to her face, to know how simple and forthright the man could be, how crisply he saw the world and saw her. He saw things for what they were, herself included, perhaps even more than she did.
So Jodi replied simply, “Scott,” and they shared a smile in the long, quiet silence which passed.
Scott glanced around. “I have to get back.”
“You have an early morning.”
He nodded. “Well, goodnight then. I hope you can give the Burnetts a good report.”
Jodi couldn’t help but smile. “Very good,” Jodi agreed. “Perhaps it’s rude, but I thought maybe you’d like to come back sometime soon and give them your own report.”
Scott’s smile wriggled on his handsome face, struggling to be comfortable. “Well, I should like that, I think. So long as it wouldn't be rude for the invitation, um, not to come from Clinton himself.”
“Well,” Jodi admitted, “he is the man of the house.”