Thanksgiving Groom (6 page)

“He's stubborn.” She whispered as she dried the next plate.

She hadn't meant to think out loud. Wilma glanced her way with a curious smile and went back to the dishes.
The older woman washed a coffee cup and handed it to Penelope to be rinsed.

“Are you grumbling about Tucker?”

“Yes.” Penelope dried the cup. “Yes, I am. He's stubborn. He's like my father, my brother and all of the other men that I know. He's obsessed with control and with work. He's driven by his need to succeed. He thinks he can make decisions for everyone around him.”

Wilma clucked a little. “He's driven, but he's good at heart. He's finding himself, finding that part that he lost a long time ago.”

“He'd better hurry.”

“We all need time, Penelope. We need time to adjust, to find ourselves, to find faith and to find our path in life.”

“But you and Clark, you have faith. You know where you're going.”

Wilma smiled, soft and a little sad. “We've struggled, too. It happens to all of us.”

“What happened?” Penelope let the question rush out. “I'm sorry, that was wrong of me. A few days of knowing you doesn't give me the right to barge into your life.”

“It isn't something we're hiding from.” Wilma squeezed water from the dish rag and draped it over the now empty bowl. She sighed. “I guess we're not hiding from it. We were trying to outrun our sadness. Let's have cocoa.”

“I'll heat the water.” Penelope picked up the pitcher of water on the counter and filled the teapot.

“You're getting very good at this.”

“I have to admit, it isn't second nature. Second nature
would be turning on the faucet and heating water up in the microwave.” Or having someone else do it for her.

“Yes, but there's something about this life, about doing things in a way that isn't easy, that makes a person grow.”

Penelope put the teapot on the stove. She had watched Clark tend the fire inside the stove and she opened the door now to see if it needed more wood. It didn't.

“I hope I'm growing.” She turned, staying next to the stove, leaning against the counter. The room smelled of wood smoke and the fish they had fried.

“You are. This is a good place to test your mettle, see what you're made of.”

“I'm not sure if I'm made of much.”

Wilma sat down at the table. “You're made of the best our good Lord has to offer. You're the finest metal and you're being tested now. He's put you in the fire and you'll come out better for it. We've been there, girl. We've been there.”

The teapot whistled. Penelope poured water over cocoa in the cups, stirred the contents and moved to sit at the table with Wilma. They sat across from one another in that simple kitchen lit by candles and lanterns, cocoa in front of them.

“We lost our son.” Wilma's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and then a few of those tears dripped down her cheeks. “We were in Germany, he was in New York working. When we learned that he'd been hurt, we prayed and prayed. He was the child God had given us when we thought we would never have children.”

“He must have been very special.”

“He was.” Wilma smiled a little, but her pain was evident in her eyes.

Penelope breathed in past the tightness in her chest. She was new at faith and didn't know how to say it easily, that she'd pray, or even that she understood. She'd never gone through anything that tore her heart out.

Her life felt shallow. She squeezed her eyes closed and thought back to all of the things she'd done to try to make her life matter—the charity work, the foundations, and then traipsing off to Treasure Creek, as though an adventure could fix it.

And the Johnsons had been giving up everything for God.

“I'm so sorry.” She reached to cover Wilma's hand with her own.

“Thank you, Penelope.” Wilma wrapped her fingers around Penelope's hand that still covered hers. “Aiden lived until we got to New York, and then he left us. Our only child. It's amazing, our story and Tucker's. God brought us together here, all three of us running from something.”

“And then I showed up.”

“And you're running, too, aren't you?”

Penelope sipped the cocoa and she didn't know how to answer. She thought about Tucker losing his father and the Johnsons losing their son. They had real problems to run from and real needs for God to meet. She was running from life and from marriage. She was running to find herself.

“I'm running, but I feel selfish now, because my life has been so easy.”

“Honey, when it is our pain, it counts. Whatever we're
going through, we're the ones going through it, and if it hurts, it hurts.”

“Then it hurts.” Penelope set her cup down. “But I'm praying that God has an answer.”

“He always does. You don't pray that He has an answer. You pray that you'll recognize and accept the answer. That's the real hard part of faith.”

Footsteps in the hallway ended their conversation. Penelope looked up as Tucker entered the room. He captured her gaze and held it, and she couldn't look away.

She watched as he picked up the plate that Wilma had set on the wood stove. He grabbed a fork out of the drainer on the counter and stirred his potatoes, tasting them before adding more salt.

Penelope focused on her cocoa. She took a sip, pretending he didn't matter and his opinion of her didn't matter. He carried his plate and sat down next to her.

It was definitely time to head out away from Tucker. She didn't want him to be her problem. And he'd fixed that for her. In a few days they'd leave. And a few days after that, they'd be in Treasure Creek. That meant getting away from him. She told herself she looked forward to parting ways with him.

She was more than positive he'd be ready to rid himself of her. She had crashed into his seclusion and she was the reason he had to return to Treasure Creek.

T
hey left at dawn three days later. Tucker looked back at the cabin that had been his refuge for the last few months. He'd been running from life. He looked at the three people following him. He hadn't escaped. Instead, he'd been pushed into three other lives, with no possible escape in sight.

Life had definitely found him.

The biggest problem was that the time away hadn't solved a thing for him. It had given him time to rest up and to enjoy nature, but it hadn't solved problems he left Treasure Creek with.

He still felt guilty. He still felt like the worst excuse for a son and a person.

The pack on his shoulders was a heavy weight, but nothing like the one he was heading back to Treasure Creek with. His attention landed on Penelope Lear and he came pretty close to smiling.

Wilma had found clothes in a closet. So Penelope had gone from fashion plate to homeless chic.

She was using a walking stick that Clark had made for her. Her feet were shoved into heavy snow boots
and she was wrapped in an ancient parka that smelled of mothballs and musty closet.

At least she was warm.

He pushed on, refusing to look back. They had a long way to go. They also had company. He had seen the footprints again that morning. He'd tried to convince himself they were his footprints, but he didn't have shoes with that tread on the sole.

“How far will we walk today?” Penelope asked, and he shrugged. He figured this would be an adventure, with her asking “how much farther” on a regular basis. It would be worse than traveling with a five-year-old.

“Penelope, we'll walk as far as we possibly can.” He looked up at blue skies. “This weather might not last. I want to make the most of it.”

“You don't have to snap.” She trudged on, her nose and cheeks pink and her eyes watery from the cold.

“I wasn't snapping.” He sighed, because he
had
snapped. “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.” She walked faster, catching up with him.

She walked by his side, her breathing soft and her steps quick to keep up with his. He looked down and shook his head. No wonder her dad wanted to marry her off. Herman Lear wanted her out of his home so he could have peace and quiet.

“Excited to be going back?”

“Sure.” She didn't look up, but kept her gaze on the trail and on her feet as she walked.

“You don't sound excited.”

She looked up and then back down, careful over the rocky path. There were slick spots and the best going
was next to the stream. He just hoped none of them fell in. That would be a little more adventure than any of them needed.

“I'm not excited. I mean, I'll be glad to get back, but this hasn't been terrible.”

No, she had something there. It hadn't been terrible.

“You're right, it hasn't been bad.”

“You're probably not happy to be going back.” She slid a little on ice and he grabbed her arm to steady her.

“What does that mean?”

“You were content to hide out there, away from your life and problems. You lectured me about staying put when you're lost, and yet you walked away from the plane.”

The kitten had some pretty sharp claws. He would have smiled, but her words stung a little. She was insinuating that he ran from his problems. He'd never run from anything, never. Until June.

“I didn't run.” He half attempted a denial and then he sighed. “I'm not excited.”

Anything but excited. He would have to face Jake and Gage, who appeared to be about the only real friends he had in the world. He glanced back and the Johnsons were trudging a short distance behind, hand in hand. He had friends.

He noticed their red faces and slowing steps. He'd have to take breaks for their sake. If he hadn't worried about their safety at the cabin, they could have waited for the next supply drop and signaled the pilot.

When they got back to Treasure Creek they all had
things to face. Penelope wasn't as free as she wanted him to think.

They walked on in silence. Penelope didn't talk. Sometimes her lips moved and he guessed that she was praying. He remembered that new faith, when knowing God was as new as falling in love for the first time. He'd been a kid, but he'd wanted to tell everyone who would listen.

He glanced up at the bright blue sky and then around him, at towering mountains and evergreens. They were following the stream because it would take them to a village inhabited by native Alaskans. That was a twenty-plus mile walk by his estimation. He knew that there was a fork in the stream when they reached that village, and taking the southern fork would lead them to Treasure Creek. They'd also be able to have shelter for a night. But that wouldn't happen for a couple of days. His hope was that someone in the village would give them a ride to Treasure Creek.

He pulled back his thoughts, because they had to take one day at a time and not get overanxious about making it to civilization. They had limited daylight and rough terrain to take into account. This day would end with the four of them camped along this stream, hoping a fire, their tent and sleeping bags would keep them warm enough. And he was pretty doubtful.

At least Clark and Wilma would have each other. He glanced down at the woman walking next to him, huffing with exertion, her cheeks glowing from the cold and exercise. He shook off thoughts of her in his arms, because that wasn't going to happen.

He wasn't about to play into her father's plan.

 

They set up camp before the sun went down. Penelope held a pole for the tent, which was about all the help she could be. Her fingers, even though she'd worn heavy gloves, were frozen and numb. Her cheeks were wind-burned and cold. She stumbled a little and Tucker shot her a look. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Good thing he did, because she wasn't in the mood to be lectured.

She glanced toward Wilma, who was steadily adding wood to the fire. Clark was stirring up some type of dried beef and vegetables with water. Soup. If only they could have coffee. She'd give anything for coffee. But Tucker had insisted on downsizing, and the coffeepot had been deemed too bulky to take along.

She was going to miss that blue coffeepot that had bubbled so cheerfully on the wood stove back at the cabin. She was going to miss the cabin. She'd gotten to be herself, just herself, for the first time in a long time.

“Hold that steady,” Tucker commanded as he tapped one of the last stakes into the ground. “Almost done.”

She nodded but she couldn't talk. Her lips were frozen in a tight line. She trembled inside her coat, shivering until her back ached.

“Are you going to make it?” Tucker rounded the tent and was suddenly at her side. “Of course.”

“You look a little lost. Food will help.” He took her by the arm and steered her toward the fire. “And heat.”

“Yes, heat.” She stood in front of the fire and
soaked up its warmth. It left her back cold, so then she turned.

“This is a little more of an outdoor experience than you probably planned for.”

“A little.” She waited for Tucker to walk away. He didn't. He stood next to her for a long time and she wished he'd put an arm around her.

Sign of hypothermia. She'd read books. She knew the symptoms. People did crazy things when they got too cold. Sometimes they wanted to be held. And she'd never wanted to be held so badly in her life. Tears were burning her eyes and her throat tightened.

“Two more days, Penelope. You can make it.” His voice was soft and close to her ear.

She nodded, but she couldn't get words past the lump of emotion. He believed she could make it. He believed. She buried her face in her hands. How many people had ever believed she could make it?

“You're okay.” His arm slipped around her waist. Before she could really think about it, she turned into the solid wall that was his chest. Her cold cheeks met warm flannel that smelled of the outdoors. Strong arms wrapped around her and held her close.

“Shhh, it's okay.” He gathered her closer and she nodded, but she didn't want to talk, didn't want to move out of the safety of his embrace. She was suddenly in a place where it was okay to be weak, and yet someone thought she was strong.

“I'm sorry.” She hiccupped the words and didn't move her cheek from the soft flannel of the jacket he wore under his coat.

“You're fine. You're strong. It's overwhelming out
here, Penelope. It's cold. It's quiet. It's hard going. We're all tired. You're tired.”

She pulled back and wiped her gloved hand across her cheeks. He took her hand in his and pulled the glove off and shoved it into the pocket of her coat and pulled the other off.

“I'll freeze without them.” She started to reach into her pocket but he grabbed her hands, both of them, and held them tight in his.

“Your hands will freeze if you keep them on.” He lifted her hands to his mouth and blew warmth onto her numb fingers. “This will help. After you get warmed up you can put them back on.”

She could only nod. How could she do or say anything when this moment wrapped around her, stealing her breath, her thoughts and maybe even her heart.

“I should help do something.” She backed away from him, immediately missing his warmth. Her hands wanted to be back in his. She wanted his arms around her again.

But moving away from him was the right thing to do. Even if it left her cold from the inside out.

She turned to Wilma, who was warming something in a pan and pretending she hadn't witnessed a moment of weakness between the two of them. Penelope justified it in her mind, telling herself that it was natural in this environment, in their circumstances. Of course they would be drawn to one another in this situation.

“What can I do to help?” She glanced back at Tucker and then she faced Wilma with a smile. She heard Tucker walk away and she breathed easier.

“Get our four mugs from the pack that Clark carried.
Tucker said no coffeepot. He didn't say a thing about the soup pan I brought. Or the bag of instant coffee.”

“Oh, Wilma, you're a blessing.”

“I think so.” Wilma smiled up at her. “Rehydrated soup and instant coffee. Not exactly a gourmet meal….”

“It'll be the best meal I've ever had.” Penelope rushed the words.

 

She watched Tucker carry sleeping bags into the tent. Three of them. He kept his outside. She started to ask why, but then she thought better of it. Two more days and they'd part ways. She wouldn't have to think about Tucker. He wouldn't have to think about her.

That would be better,
she thought.

“Hold those mugs out, I'll pour our coffee.” Wilma brought her back to planet Earth.

The aroma of the coffee, even instant, was wonderful. Penelope held the cups and Wilma poured from the saucepan. Clark appeared and he took the first cup with a smile.

“My wife is always up to a challenge.” He winked at Wilma.

“Stop that, you crazy man.” Wilma blushed in the soft light of the fire. Her eyes lit up, though. Penelope wondered what that was like, to have someone who loved her that much. She wondered if she would ever know.

She thought about her mother, the way her mom's eyes looked when Penelope's dad entered a room. She shuddered to think about that being her life. She wanted someone like Clark, someone who held her tight and went through the hard things at her side.

Tucker took the cup of coffee she held out to him and she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to being held tight just five minutes earlier. Their gazes met and she thought he was thinking the same thing.

Tucker wasn't too upset with Wilma for packing the instant coffee. By midnight, with everyone sleeping in the tent and him parked next to the fire, he'd be real glad for a cup of coffee. He'd never been fond of the instant stuff, but when the temperature dropped to well below freezing, instant coffee wasn't so bad.

Mud heated up in water wouldn't have been bad.

He pulled his blanket around his shoulders and hunched down, with his back against an upturned log. One of his last nights of solitude. He wasn't sure how long he'd stay in Treasure Creek, once he got back to town. Maybe a few days.

He had to go back to Seattle. The thought settled in the pit of his stomach and stayed there. For the first time in years, he wasn't excited about his job. He had always loved the challenge, the arguments, learning how people ticked, and what would make them say what he needed them to say.

Each time he closed his eyes he thought about an unknown girl, a family grieving. His grief.

The zipper on the tent ripped the stillness of the night. He turned, watching the dark figure hurry across the open area to the fire. She had wrapped her sleeping bag around herself and pulled on the boots he'd made her wear. She hadn't liked leaving the other boots behind.

He smiled, but quickly pushed that reaction down. This wasn't a friendship he wanted to pursue. Instead
he stared up at her, wishing that look would send her running back to the tent.

The one thing he'd learned about Ms. Lear was that she didn't back down easily. Instead of cowering, she hunkered down next to him.

“I'm sorry I fell apart earlier,” she whispered without looking up at him.

“No big deal.” But it had been kind of a big deal, mainly because he still remembered holding her.

“I think I might have had a touch of hypothermia. The symptoms include confusion.”

He laughed, at first loud and then softer. He didn't want to wake the Johnsons. If they could sleep, they should. Someone should get rest for the trip tomorrow.

“You think that was from hypothermia?”

She pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and moved so that her arm didn't touch his. “Of course. It isn't as if I'm prone to falling apart, or even to throwing myself into a man's arms.”