A Valley to Die For (7 page)

“Carrie, you’ve probably never needed someone like I did once. You’ve probably never had someone turn on you when you needed them most.”

After a silence, she said softly, still not looking at him, “I do know, Henry. Even if Amos was still here, he wouldn’t be the kind of person who could offer understanding, or comfort, or support. I’ve had to stand on my own pretty much all my life. I don’t know how it was with you, so maybe it isn’t the same, but... ”

“Amos never turned against you, never lied, never tried to make you suffer!” His words were full of pain.

Now she turned toward him again. “No, no, he didn’t. I’m sorry. You mean it was Irena? Irena did that?”

Carrie knew very little about Henry’s marriage except that his wife had left him five years ago, about the same time Amos died. That was one reason the two of them were drawn together in the beginning. They had each been alone for about the same length of time, and in most ways both of them were comfortable with their single lives. That added to companionable understanding in a relationship without commitments. But other than saying he had been married, his wife had left, and there were no children, Henry had offered nothing, and Carrie hadn’t wanted to ask.

JoAnne, who seemed to know a lot about Irena’s family—probably from reading the society pages of the Kansas City papers—had reported to Carrie that the family had lots of “old” money. JoAnne said that when Irena’s last relative died, she inherited all the remaining wealth. At least Henry didn’t need to worry about supporting his missing wife. Maybe Irena was supposed to be sending him alimony! Surely that wasn’t what he meant.

“This is a depressing conversation, isn’t it, Carrie? Let’s change the subject.”

But she couldn’t help asking. “Did you get a divorce?”

Henry’s smile returned, though he didn’t look at her. “Yup, no attachments!”

Now why did I have to ask that, Carrie thought. She’d opened her mouth before thinking!

* * *

The grocery wasn’t busy, and she walked beside Henry as he pushed her cart through the almost empty aisles.

“Ah, Kitty-Kat Krunchies,” he said, enunciating each “k” and “t” sharply and rolling the “r.” She started to laugh as she put the box of food for FatCat in the cart, and, with that encouragement, he began reading more product names aloud. Even though most of the brands were known to her, somehow Henry’s sonorous voice rolling out, “toe-MAH-toe bits,” and, “Be-a-nie-We-e-enie” made the names sound ridiculous—and hilarious.

No one could mistake us for an old married couple, she thought. We’re acting too silly.

After the sacks of groceries were safely stowed in the back seat of the car and the milk and meat put in the cool chest, they headed toward the highway. “Shall we eat or go to the center first?” he asked.

She looked at her watch. “Eat,” she said. “The center will be closed now anyway, and I’m starving.”

“Ah, and you’re a fine woman, Carrie McCrite,” said Henry.

* * *

He became pompously chivalrous when they arrived at the restaurant, and they were laughing again by the time he bowed over her hand and helped her onto one of the rough-hewn wooden benches. Staring at them, the young hostess in cap and apron laid brown paper menus on the trestle table.

When she was out of earshot, Carrie said, “She can’t wait to get back to the kitchen and tell everyone about the strange old folks with odd manners.”

“Should have stayed,” Henry said, “might have learned something.”

The overall-clad waiter who came to take their order couldn’t be a day over sixteen, Carrie decided, as she began by asking for separate checks. She and Henry always went dutch.

Henry looked up at the boy and winked. “I can’t stand independent women, can you? No, suh, this lady goes on my ticket.”

Carrie, thinking she should be angry about his reference to her independence as well as more mindful of JoAnne’s admonitions, responded by holding the menu over the lower part of her face and batting her eyes at the confused boy. Then she looked at Henry and said, “Why, thank you, Colonel. You are most kind.”

My goodness, oh, my goodness, what was wrong with her?

“Was that supposed to be Scarlett O’Hara?” Henry asked when the boy left.

After that beginning, thought Carrie while they ate, I probably could have eaten the box of Kitty-Kat Krunchies and not known it.

The meal, however, was delicious. Henry obviously enjoyed it too, and even ordered extra hushpuppies as soon as he and Carrie finished a lengthy discussion about who was going to eat the last one on the platter.

“You just ordered more,” Carrie told him as they got up to leave, “because I ate the last one! But,” she said firmly, “I counted. They brought us eight, and we each had four. Fair is fair, and I no longer care a twit about a girlish figure.”

“Hm,” Henry said, keeping his eyes on her face as he held her coat, “I like a bit of roundness here and there myself.”

Oh, my, Carrie thought, oh, my.

When they went outside, the cold air was sharp against their faces though the wind had died. Stars sparkled, even in the city-lit sky. “Sure is cold,” Henry said unnecessarily as they got in the car.

“Sure is. Probably there’ll be frost flowers in the morning. We haven’t had them yet this year... hasn’t been cold enough. I plan to go for a walk tomorrow morning and see if I can find some.”

“Is that the curvy ice that comes out of the ground? Is that what you call them? I haven’t seen very many, but then I guess I’m not in the woods as often as you are. What makes them?” He glanced away from the traffic for a moment, and his brown eyes twinkled at her. “I’m willing to bet you know.”

“Fairy ice, frost flowers, they have lots of names. They happen when plants retain moisture in their roots after the tops die in the fall. When the air temperature is cold enough, the remaining moisture freezes and expands. Ice is pushed out through rows of tiny splits in the stems. That’s what makes the fantastic swirls. The ice swirls stop appearing as soon as all moisture inside the plant is gone. JoAnne told me those facts. I prefer to think it’s magic.

“Of course, they only occur in places where the weedy wildflowers are left alone, and most of society moves too fast to notice them when they do appear. Conditions have to be just right, and they don’t last long. They’re usually gone by ten o’clock, a transient beauty.”

“Yes, and I’d like to see more of them. Would it be all right if I went with you tomorrow? Besides, you probably shouldn’t go by yourself. Hunting season, you know. I saw trucks with gun racks along the road today.”

“You can come if you want to see the frost flowers, but I’ll be perfectly safe alone. I wear hunters’ orange, and tomorrow I plan to carry my radio and play loud music.

“We usually find the best display on the hill beyond the creek, which is about half-way between your house and mine, I guess. I want to go out early so I’ll have time to get home and dress for church. I’ll call you around eight, and we can meet on the hill if you like.”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed and was silent.

Maybe I should have asked him to go to church with me, Carrie thought. So far as she knew, Henry didn’t attend any local church, but he was always the first one to bow his head for a quiet table blessing when they ate out together.

Still, she was silent too and wondered if she wanted Henry to go to church for his good... or hers.

* * *

The Tourist Information Center parking lot was bright with mercury vapor light, and Carrie had no trouble finding her key to open the door while Henry followed with the first box. She didn’t turn on any inside lights. They could see quite well by light that came in through the windows. She showed him where to put the box and went back to get another. She was just putting it in the corner when he came in behind her with the last box, stacked it on top of the other two, then turned at the edge of the counter, blocking her exit. He leaned against the counter for a moment, studying her in silence.

She began to feel like she was floating in another time, clear back to her first year of high school. She was standing on the shadowy porch at her parents’ home with Christopher Kneeland, the first boy who had ever kissed her. But the big, powerful-looking man standing over her was not Christopher.

Nor was his kiss like Christopher’s.

Henry’s arms tightened around her, and without a thought of caution or regret, she welcomed the warm, strong body against hers. Carrie was almost beyond surprise when she recognized the stirring of feelings she barely remembered from long ago... long, lonely years before Amos died.

After several minutes she turned to put her cheek against Henry’s rough jacket, trying to calm her thoughts.

Then she looked up at him. “Oh, my,” was all she could say.

“Carrie,” he said, very softly, then shook his head. “Should I apologize? I don’t want to.”

“No,” she answered. “No, you don’t need to apologize.”

He picked the teal blue hat off the floor, handed it to her, then waited in silence while she locked the office door. She couldn’t think of anything to say except a rather formal thank you as he held the car door for her.

Henry turned the heater up as he headed the car down the highway, and Carrie, who was shivering now, welcomed the warmth. Had he expected this? Had he thought about it ahead of time? She certainly hadn’t.

And now she was scared. She didn’t know what she should think or say. She didn’t even know how she should feel. Passion was a word she never used, but was that it? Was remembering the warmth of Henry’s closeness wrong—the wrong feeling, the wrong time?

For the shortest moment, back there in the darkness, she had thought of the marriage ceremony, and two being one.

And she had felt so quiet, so safe, and so... unlonely.

True, it had been one heck of a day, but still, was she seeking escape from mental muddles over Evan and JoAnne and the quarry by responding to—no, welcoming, even encouraging—hilarity, and then... then... She’d certainly never acted like that in her whole life. She was going to have to think about Carrie as well as Henry. What was wrong with her? Or, what was wrong with this person in her body that really couldn’t be... had never been... her.

After they’d driven several miles, she backed away from her tumbling thoughts and struggled to make casual conversation, commenting on an early Christmas tree in a window they passed and wondering aloud how many times snow and ice would knock out their electric power this winter. Henry followed her lead, talking quietly, his earlier roles of comedian suitor and tender lover held back by what she supposed was either propriety or perhaps something akin to the shock she felt.

He helped carry her groceries into the kitchen, took his milk, and headed back toward the hall. He didn’t offer to stay, nor did she want to ask him. At the door he looked at her seriously for a moment, then smiled, brushed his gloved finger gently across her cheek, and bent to touch her mouth with his in the slightest whisper of a kiss.

She said thank you—meaning the dinner—then, after the door closed, realized he might not know just what she had thanked him for. Maybe she should have been more specific.

Awash in confusion, Carrie stood by her front door listening as the little car chugged up the lane toward the road, carrying Henry away into the night.

She put two logs in the wood stove before going to get ready for bed. She wrapped herself in the fuzzy robe Rob had given her last Christmas and sat in her chair by the stove for a long time, deciding she was almost as confused by Henry’s actions as she was her own. He had always been friendly, but that was it. He’d never touched her, unless it was to take her arm as they entered a restaurant or make some other polite gesture. His touch and kiss tonight had been rather more than polite.

Was this all wrong? Or could it be, somehow, all right? Why didn’t she, a sensible, independent, mature woman, know the answer to that? And how was she going to face tomorrow, and the next days, when she would see Henry, and other people would be there, and when she would look at him and know... know about tonight. What was she going to do?

Do? She didn’t even know what to think!

Well, one thing she must not do is be alone with Henry again. At least not for a while.

She’d come to no other conclusions when she closed down the damper on the stove and went to bed.

CHAPTER VI

Carrie awakened from the dream slowly. The images wavered, faded, and she let them go reluctantly.

Oh, my, just like the romantic movies of her childhood, and just as unreal. Silly.

She lay quietly under her down comforter, totally involved, for a brief dream-time, in memories.

Then, suddenly alert, she pushed memory away and sat up so quickly it made her dizzy. It was just a dream, but the man in the dream had been Henry, not Amos!

I’m carrying on as if I were a teenager instead of a mature woman, she thought. I must get this out of my head.

Carrie willed her thoughts into daylight and turned to look out the window. First light. The sun would come soon. Time to go see about JoAnne, and it would be a beautiful morning to share a woods walk with Henry.

No... oh, no, not now. That she could not do now, no matter what she’d promised last night. Besides, he undoubtedly regretted his actions, maybe was as embarrassed as she was and didn’t want to be alone with her either. That’s what he must be thinking. He would be wondering what had gotten into the both of them.

Several times before last night, they had talked about independence and agreed it was so important.

She turned from thoughts about Henry and began a prayer for JoAnne, then side-tracked, thinking that God must understand she hadn’t wanted Henry as anything but a good friend... someone who understood and was kind.

That person didn’t have to be a man, though Henry had seemed both understanding and kind. A real gentleman—if she overlooked his coming into her house without knocking yesterday. She hadn’t had the courage to ask about that.

Well, JoAnne was a good friend. She was intelligent, quick, loyal, and witty. But she was not gentle or kind.