Wife Wanted in Dry Creek (11 page)

Her old vow that she’d never set foot in a church was complicated for her now. Her nephews would be inside the church; they certainly had nothing against God. Suddenly, she wondered if it was wise to keep her vow. In all the years she’d avoided churches, God hadn’t seemed to suffer. Instead it was her who felt left out, not Him.

“Oh, you’ll need money for the collection plate,” she suddenly remembered and looked at her nephews. She used to love giving her dimes as the plate was passed around. “I’ll get some for you.”

Katrina stood up and walked over to the table where she’d put her purse. She opened up her wallet and
brought out two dollar bills. She walked back and gave one each to her nephews.

“Usually, the kids only give quarters in Sunday school,” Edith said.

“That’s okay,” Katrina said. She wanted her nephews to feel as if they belonged.

Katrina glanced over at Conrad and saw he was looking at her with approval. She didn’t want him to misinterpret her actions, though. “It’s just a few dollars. They probably use it to buy materials anyway.”

“The Sunday school offering is going to Africa this month,” Edith said proudly and then she realized. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.” She looked at Katrina. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s all right,” Katrina said, even though it wasn’t.

“Maybe the boys should save their dollars for next month. It’s camp then,” Edith said in a rush. “In the foothills of the Tetons. It’s a lovely place for children.”

“The money can go to Africa,” Katrina assured her. “The boys didn’t even know my parents.”

Which, she realized, was an added bitterness. Her parents would have loved to know their grandchildren. But no sooner had that thought hit her than she realized that her parents would not only have wanted them to go to Sunday school, but they would have wanted the boys to give all they could to African missions as well.

K
atrina was embarrassed. She might as well be sitting beside the fold-out table on the church porch with a scarlet H branded on her forehead for ‘heathen.’ The fact that she was wearing the only pair of shoes she had with her, these muddy high heels, didn’t make it any easier. All of the other women were wearing boots or tennis shoes. She even saw some old-fashioned galoshes.

“Everybody’s asking why we’re sitting out here instead of inside,” Katrina whispered to Conrad as they sat beside a fold-out table on the church porch.

“It’s a great gimmick, isn’t it?” Conrad said cheerfully. “Aunt Edith is going to be pleased. Everyone is stopping by to sign up for their directory photos.”

“They’re not stopping by. We’re blocking the door and you won’t let them through until they pick a time to have their picture taken.”

Conrad grinned. “Works like a charm.”

“And,” she continued indignantly, “one woman
whispered in my ear that I should leave my shoes at the altar. What does she think I’m going to walk in?”

“I could always carry you where you need to go.”

“Oh, that would work,” Katrina muttered. “Then she’d tell me to leave you on the altar.”

She finally heard what she said and the realization sucked the air out of her. She wondered if people still did that? Take the thing they wanted the most in the world and set it before God? Well, she sure wasn’t going to wait around to find out. She had agreed to help with the appointments for the church directory because she’d already said she would help. But that was a business decision. It had nothing to do with altars and giving everything up. Besides, most altars were not real anymore; it was just a place up front where people stood to pray.

With another stab of memory, she recalled when her parents had gone up to the altar before they went on their missionary trip. They’d said they’d give everything to God, holding nothing back. They’d had tears of happiness on their faces. She’d been happy, too, that night. It had all seemed like a great adventure.

“Could we have our pictures taken with Clarence?” an older woman asked. She and an older man had just arrived at the table and were out of breath from climbing the steps. She had a little black hat on her head with a puff of netting that hung over her lined face. “He’s not a member of the church, of course, but he’s a member of our family and—”

“I don’t—” Conrad started.

“Most churches include children,” Katrina protested.
They looked like such a sweet couple. A woman who still wore hats had to have class. “Is he your grandson?”

“He’s a snake,” Conrad said. “Garden variety.”

“Oh.”

“We keep him around to remind us of the Great Temptation,” the older man said. He’d had a bit of a struggle to stop wheezing, but he was back to normal. He didn’t wear a hat, but his shoes had been recently polished.

“Clarence is quite well behaved,” the woman assured them. “He’d be no problem in a picture.”

Katrina looked at Conrad, but he deferred to her.

“I’m sorry, but I think we need to limit the photos to humans,” Katrina said with her best smile. “I know you’re very fond of Clarence and I’m sure he—ah—has a certain amount of affection for you, too, but—”

“He’ll be very disappointed,” the woman said as she looked at the schedule Conrad had lifted up to her. “We’ll take Tuesday at ten in the morning. He’s sleeping then so he won’t miss us as much.”

Conrad nodded. “Come here to the church,” he said, writing their names on his schedule.

“On the steps,” Katrina said. “We’ll take the pictures on the steps.”

“The light is better outside,” Conrad added when they looked puzzled.

“And wear color.” Katrina smiled as the couple opened the door to go inside the church.

“I can tell you already, we’re going to have too many white shirts,” Katrina said as they waited for someone else to walk by and sign up. “All of the men
here are wearing white shirts. Or plaid flannel ones in navy or forest green. I hope that doesn’t mean that’s all they have in their closets.”

Conrad nodded. “It probably is. Everyone has both, but the guys wearing flannel now are the ones who think winter is going to hang around for a while. The white cotton guys believe spring has to be here somewhere so they’re dressing for it whether they freeze doing it or not. It’s a sign of hope.”

Conrad looked down at his own white shirt and patted his sleeves. “Some guys buy the snapped kind, but I go with the old-fashioned buttons.”

“The weather doesn’t go by a shirt,” Katrina said as she shook her head. “Besides, the best color for photographs is usually blue.”

Another couple was walking up the steps so they both focused their attention on them.

“Photos for the church directory,” Conrad said as he lifted up the scheduling sheet. “What time works for you?”

Conrad signed them up and let them go on their way.

She and Conrad had spent twenty minutes here on the porch so far and, according to him, church was going to start in ten minutes.

“I can sit out here and get the latecomers,” she whispered to him. “You go in and enjoy the service.”

“No, I’ve got it figured out. Besides, we want everyone in that directory,” he said.

Just then a bell rang. It was the kind of sound a librarian’s bell would make.

“Sunday school is over,” Conrad announced. “I could go get you a cup of coffee if you’d like. They probably have those little doughnuts, too.”

“I don’t need a doughnut, but I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

Conrad nodded and stood up from his folding chair. “Just have people fill in the time slot they want. I’ll be back so quick you won’t know I was gone.”

Of course, Katrina told herself five minutes later, that wasn’t true at all. She was flooded with questions and she didn’t know half of the answers. She knew Conrad was gone all right.

“I’m pretty sure the restrooms are inside the building somewhere.” Katrina figured she’d start with the easiest questions first. “About the toupee—I would say that if you normally wear it, then use it in the picture. If you don’t, then don’t. The rest of the questions will have to wait for Conrad to get back.”

Katrina told herself the seven old men who’d gathered around her table would have to be content with those answers to their questions.

“What I want to know,” a wrinkled old man with a baseball cap on his head and tennis shoes on his feet said, “is whether or not you’re Conrad’s wife. The one we’ve been praying for.”

“Conrad isn’t married,” she said gently. She wondered if the old man was generally confused.

“Well, of course not yet—” the man said before he was interrupted.

“Don’t mind Harry,” one of the old men apologized.

“He’s—” Yet another one of them searched for words. “He talks too much.”

It wasn’t until they were all gone that Katrina realized none of them had signed up to get their picture taken for the church directory. Well, Conrad would have to chase them down. Maybe his uncle could help.

A piano was playing some of the old hymns Katrina remembered before Conrad opened the door. He held out a cup of coffee to her. “People inside had questions about their pictures.”

Katrina took the cup. “I meant it when I said I’d sit here if you want to go. I know you won’t want to miss the sermon.”

Conrad grinned. “I have a plan.”

With that he opened the door slightly. “We’ll be able to hear just fine out here.”

The people inside the church were standing to sing “Amazing Grace.”

Conrad stood, so she did as well. She had to admit it was strange to be going to church without being in the actual room with everyone else. It was sort of freeing in a way. She could be a spectator instead of a participant.

For such a small group of people, they managed to sing together pretty well. Conrad had a nice deep voice, too, and he sang with feeling.

Going to church this way wasn’t going to be too bad, she decided.

Fifteen minutes later she was sitting in her folding chair and sobbing. She had just bullied Conrad into
going back inside to get her more coffee so she could cry without him seeing her. He would take the tears all the wrong way and she didn’t want him to be disappointed. She wasn’t weeping about God; her tears were coming because she had so much wrong with her life and He wasn’t any comfort to her at all.

If she was going to design a perfect God, He certainly wasn’t it. He didn’t seem to understand that He owed her. He had taken her parents; He should have some special something for her. And yet here she sat, wondering if she’d be forced to go back to a job she hated or if she was going to die from cancer or if she’d see her sister happy again.

The door that Conrad had opened slightly before now swung wider.

Katrina put her head down. Her hair was long enough to hide her face. She just needed to get her breathing under control. She put her one elbow on the foldout table and, with the other arm, pushed the scheduling sheets to the corner so she didn’t smear any names.

Conrad set down a cup of coffee in front of her. A second later he set down a box of tissues with tiny yellow flowers. She recognized the box.

“What? Do you carry them around with you?” she asked incredulously, her voice still thick with the tears.

Conrad shook his head. “I buy them wholesale and give a few boxes to the church. I thought you might want some. I need to order soon again anyway.”

“My life’s a mess,” she said as she reached for one. “I need more than a tissue.”

He nodded. “You need God. But I figure you’re realizing that in your own way.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then it just came out. “I could be dying, you know.”

“What?” The smile froze on Conrad’s face and it was still there even though his eyes were shocked. “You don’t mean—”

She nodded her head. “I might die.”

“But—” he protested.

“I figured you should know,” she said and then she took another tissue. “I’ll know for sure in four months, two weeks and four days. That’s my next appointment with the oncologist.”

“Cancer?” he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “That’s why I can’t seem to stop crying. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I had surgery, but the doctor won’t give me an all-clear yet.”

“I just can’t believe it,” he finally said.

“Welcome to the club,” she said and with that she stood up and began to walk down the steps. She had to go slowly because her tears kept making her vision blurry and she didn’t want to stumble in her heels.

“I’m going to go sit in Leanne’s car,” she said loud enough for him to hear if he wanted. She didn’t turn around, though.

It wasn’t until she was almost to the gas station that she remembered everything there was locked up tight so she couldn’t get inside to sit in the car. Oh, well, she thought as she took the final steps and sat down on the
concrete slab by the gas pumps. At least that overhang gave her a covering in case the clouds in the sky turned to rain. The way she felt now, she didn’t care if she got soaked. She was miserable anyway.

Conrad watched his future walk away from him and he didn’t know what to do to get it back. If Katrina had given him some ordinary reasons why she didn’t think they could be together, he could have reasoned with her point by point.

But what could he say to cancer?

He had known when he saw Katrina tear up a few minutes ago, after the pastor made those remarks about hope, that she was close to forging a truce with God. It might take her some time to admit that He loved her, but she knew. In her heart, she knew.

Conrad had been happy because she would be happier someday.

But this—he couldn’t keep falling in love with her if she was going to die. He wouldn’t put himself through what his father had endured. He needed to pull his heart back from the brink.

He had watched Katrina as she walked down the street to the gas station. He should have given her the key to her sister’s car. It was right here in his pocket.

When he saw her reach his gas station and sit down on the concrete, leaning against one of his pumps, he felt his misery deepen. This must have been why she said she couldn’t date him. Why hadn’t he left well enough alone?

It was that prayer request of his uncle’s that had started it all. It had made Conrad long for things he shouldn’t.

The congregation was standing to sing the last hymn of the day and Conrad stood with them. It was habit. He didn’t join in the singing; he didn’t even hear the words.

Katrina counted two cracks in the concrete slab that fronted Conrad’s gas station. The slab was fairly new so she guessed the icy weather had caused them. She had her leather jacket pulled tight to her shoulders, but she wasn’t cold. She was afraid. She was like that concrete. The words of the sermon had started a crack in her and she didn’t know how to stop it. She’d known she should avoid thinking about God. The tears had slowed to a drip, but she still felt the emotions rushing out of some deep place inside her. She’d been able to contain them until now. Maybe this was why she didn’t like those strong feelings in her photos. She couldn’t control them in her life, not if she let them free.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in the circle her arms created. She stayed that way for a long time. Then she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps coming toward her. She didn’t want anyone to see the tear streaks on her face so she didn’t raise her head. Whoever it was would go away, she figured.

Then she felt a hand caress her head. She could see enough through the tangle of her elbows and knees to see a pair of white orthopedic shoes.

“Edith,” Katrina said. Her throat was raw and she needed a tissue. “I can’t talk.”

“I’ll just sit with you then,” Edith said, her voice warm with love.

Katrina didn’t say anything for a bit and then she realized Edith couldn’t sit here. It was enough to make her look up.

“But this is concrete,” she protested. “You could break something trying to—” She saw her friend begin her descent anyway.

“Oh, here.” Katrina put her arms up to help the older woman finish coming down.