An Angel for Dry Creek (12 page)

“She's got you there,” Matthew whispered. “You
are
sleeping in my bed.”

“Well, you're right in there with me.” Glory spit out the words and then stumbled when she realized what she'd said. “And if either one of us should care about their reputation it's you—you live here. Besides, you've got the boys.”

“My boys couldn't care less about my reputation. They'd love it if I slept with an angel.” Matthew chuckled. The one thing he didn't miss about the ministry was worrying about what people thought about him.

“Well.” The salesclerk softened as she looked at Matthew. “If he thinks you're an angel…”

“The whole town of Dry Creek thinks I'm an angel.”

“Oh, you're the angel at Dry Creek!” The older woman brightened. “Wait'll I tell Buffy. We were reading about you in the ‘Southeastern' column.”

“I'm not. Look. I've got no wings. No miracles. No divine message.”

“Yeah, but you're sweet,” the woman said, measuring her with friendly eyes. “And sweetness never hurt anyone. Right?” The clerk looked at Matthew.

Matthew nodded. The clerk was absolutely right.
That's why people were drawn to Glory. She was a kind, sweet woman. She didn't need to be an angel.

 

“Let's eat lunch and then we'll hit the department store.” Matthew put his hand under Glory's elbow. They were on the sidewalk outside Buffy's. He looked both ways for suspicious-looking cars and didn't see any. Mostly there were farm pickups parked on the street, since it was winter. “Slippery out here.”

“Let's stop by Dr. Norris's first. The clinic might close early, since it's so close to Christmas.”

“Okay.” Matthew felt helpless. His worry shifted. He could protect Glory from suspicious-looking cars, but he didn't know how to protect her from disappointment. “You're sure you don't want to eat first?”

“Come on. Let's get the boxes.”

 

Forty-five. Forty-six.
Glory was sitting across the restaurant table from Matthew and counting to one hundred. She'd taken her ski jacket off and draped it over the back of her chair.

Glory barely noticed the knotty pine paneling in the room or the ferns that hung from the ceiling. Everything was clean, but old. The air smelled of cooking meat and she faintly heard the rattle of silverware coming from the kitchen as well as the murmured talk of the other customers sitting at nearby tables.

Glory hadn't realized it until now—Matthew didn't believe her. He fussed all over her in his worry about a hit man, but when it came to believing in her integrity, he didn't. She knew he hadn't believed her at first. But she'd thought that somewhere during the past days he would have decided she wasn't crazy. The boxes were coming. Sylvia had called to tell her the order had
been processed. Just because the nurse at the clinic said the boxes hadn't come with the shipment today didn't mean they wouldn't come tomorrow. The nurse had promised she'd bring them with her when she came out to see the pageant tomorrow. The nurse—a stranger, really—seemed to believe her. Matthew didn't.

“We can go back to Buffy's.” Matthew wasn't looking her in the eyes. Instead, his gaze kept focused on the wall behind her. “I can buy some things. You know, backup presents. Some puzzles. Some books. Maybe some coloring books.”

Glory shook her head. “These kids have asked for specific things. The boxes will be here.” The right presents simply needed to come. She'd call Sylvia when she got home.

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.”