An Angel for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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his eyes closed. “Thank you, God, for this day and for this food and for our comp—” Josh stumbled “—comp-any. Amen.”
“Thank you, Josh,” Glory said when he looked up again. “I’m honored to be your company.”
“If there’s anything you need…” Matthew offered again.
The only thing she needed, she thought later that evening, was some more paint. The twins had been put to bed and she was sitting on the sofa reading her magazine and talking with Matthew as he sewed a button on Josh’s winter coat. The light from the two lamps made round circles on the ceiling and bathed Matthew in a yellow glow. She hated to tell the twins, but it was their father who looked like the angel. His chestnut hair waved and curled all over his head and down to his collar. Forceful cheekbones sloped down to a square chin. He was the most manly-looking man she’d seen in a long time. Not that, of course, she assured herself, there was anything personal in her admiration.
“I best get the fire banked for the night,” Matthew said.
“Let me do it,” Glory said as she set aside the magazine. “Rest your leg. Just tell me how and it won’t take a minute.”
Matthew pulled himself up by holding on to the bookshelf and then put one crutch under his arm. “No need, I can do it.”
“But I’d like to help,” Glory protested as she rose. “You’re in no condition to be banking a fire.”
“I’m fine,” Matthew said. “It takes more than a sprained knee to stop me.”
Glory looked at him. A thin sheen of sweat was showing on his forehead and it was definitely not hot in the room. “You’ve got more pride than sense.”
“Pride?” Matthew said as he hobbled over to the woodstove. “It’s not pride. It’s learning to take care of yourself. I’ve learned not to rely on others. I can do whatever I need to do to take care of me and my boys.”
“Without help from anyone,” Glory said dryly. Relying on others was the key to trust. Trust in others. Trust in God.
“We don’t need any help,” Matthew said as he lifted the grate on the stove. “It’s best not to count on anyone else. I can do what needs doing.”
“Can you?” Glory said softly as she watched Matthew reach down and pick up several pieces of wood. The fire wrapped golden shadows around his face. His frown burrowed itself farther into his forehead. She had no doubt Matthew could do everything that needed to be done in raising his sons—everything, that is, except teach them how to have faith. For how can you have faith in God if you can’t trust anyone, not even Him? No wonder the boys clung to the belief she was an angel. It would take an angel to bring healing to their little family.
The Bullet folded his socks and put them in an old duffel bag that was carefully nondescript. No logos. No fancy stripes. Just brown.
“My uncle…” the Bullet said as he added a sweater. “He’s sick. Spokane.”
Millie nodded. She’d just come back from her job at Ruby’s Coffee Shop and sat on the edge of the bed with her back straight and her eyes carefully not looking at the socks. She always looked so fragile with her wispy blond hair and slender body.
“I—ah—I’ll be back soon,” the Bullet continued. She knows where I’m going. Oh, not the location. But she knows the why. “A week or so is all.”
Millie nodded again and stood up. “Better take another sweater. It’s cold in Spokane.” She walked to the closet.
“No, let me.” The Bullet intercepted her. He didn’t want Millie to be part of any of this, not even the packing.
“Don’t go. You don’t have to go.” Millie turned to him and spoke fiercely.
“I already told my uncle I was coming,” the Bullet said slowly. It was too late to change his mind.
Chapter Three
Matthew stared at the glass coffeepot in his hand. He’d come to the hardware store at eight o’clock just like any other regular working day. But never before had the coffeepot been so sparkling clean and never before had a can of gourmet hazelnut coffee stood beside it. Old Henry was fussy about his coffee, and he always made it plain and strong. “Nothing fancy,” he’d often say. “My customers are ranchers, not ballet dancers.”
Glory and Matthew had shared a ride to the store after dropping the twins off at the church’s nursery. “I think your customers might like some of these coffee flavors,” Glory said.
“Coffee flavors?” Matthew hadn’t slept well last night and he wanted his coffee thick and black with no frills. It wasn’t the sofa that had kept him awake or even the pain in his knee. No matter how many times he turned over on the old sofa, his mind kept wandering back to dreams of Glory. Now he needed a good kick of coffee to keep him awake.
“You know, orange, raspberry, chocolate,” Glory replied as she pulled the three bottles out of her purse. She hadn’t slept well last night. She assured herself it was the creaking of the old house that had kept her awake and not the picture that stayed in her mind of Matthew adding more wood to the fire last night. She had gotten up this morning determined to make good progress on her painting today. That meant coffee.
“That’s nice,” Matthew said as he tried to hide as much of the white doily under the sugar bowl as he could. He’d have to tell Elmer and Jacob that the doily was a Christmas decoration. He expected they’d tolerate the concept of a few holiday decorations more kindly than the idea that their domain was being citified. Citified wasn’t popular here. As it was, the two old men spent half their time here arguing about the dude ranch over on the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch. Anything that smacked of change and city people was suspect. And coffee flavors. The next thing you knew she’d want a…
“Cappuccino machine—that’s what we need,” Elmer said a half hour later. He was sipping his orange-flavored coffee most politely and beaming at Glory as she set up her easel. “I’ve always had a hankering to have one of those coffees.”
“I don’t even know if they have a cappuccino machine in Miles City. We’d have to send to Billings to buy one,” Matthew protested.
What was wrong with Elmer? Once he’d complained because Henry put a different kind of toilet paper in the bathroom. And yet, here he was, wearing a new white shirt, the kind he only wore to funerals. “And no one’s complained before. You’ve always liked the usual.”
“But sometimes it’s good to have a change,” Glory said from her place by the window.
“Yeah, don’t be such an old stick-in-the mud,” Jacob said as he peered into his coffee cup suspiciously. Apparently Jacob didn’t find anything too alarming in his cup, because he took a hot, scalding gulp. “Ahh, none of us are too old to try something new.”
“I thought I’d set Susie’s sketch up in the display window, too,” Glory said. It had occurred to her last night that most gas stations wouldn’t take checks. She could use some cash. “I might get another order for a portrait.”
Matthew swallowed. He’d prefer to rearrange these receipts and dust the merchandise all morning. Anything to put off looking at the picture of Susie.
“I’ve got the sketch ready,” Glory said. She’d placed the drawing of Susie on her easel. She’d drawn Susie smiling and holding a plate of oatmeal cookies almost level with her chin.
“I see that,” Matthew said as he stood and hobbled over to the sketch. He took a deep breath. He felt the rubber band squeeze his heart. He’d been unable to cry at Susie’s funeral. He’d just sat there with that rubber band squeezing the life out of him. This time he’d take a quick look and be done with it. He felt as if he’d been called upon to identify someone in the morgue. It wasn’t a duty he wanted to prolong.
“That’s her,” Matthew said in surprise.