It wasn’t hard for Pam to picture this older frail woman when she was young, beautiful, and desperately in love with a soldier.
“I was twenty-nine years old. Almost thirty. Not that old by today’s standards, but back then I was an old maid in everyone’s eyes. Edgar was older than me by six years.” Abigail kept her focus straight ahead. “The war in Europe hadn’t truly started yet, but there were those carrying on about war being inevitable and our needing to be a part of it.” Miss Abigail turned to Pam. “That’s what brought my Edgar this way. He was doing a recruiting tour. Looking for good men.”
Pam inched forward in her seat, hanging on Miss Abigail’s every word.
“At first he’d come to speak with my brother Henry, but I knew from the start there was more to it. Edgar only called on the young men of Hope’s Corner once. My brother had many talents, but when Edgar came to our house calling every evening, it was pretty clear he was looking for more than good men to fight a war no one here really believed would happen.
“It wasn’t proper for us to be left alone. Either Henry or my little brother George had to stay in the room with us.” She sat back and waved a hand at Pam. “Oh, I know the times had changed in most places, but not Hope’s Corner. We hung on to the old ways as long as we could.” The mischievous twinkle returned to her eye. “Except maybe when it came to my Edgar. If Henry and my father had known what we’d done in the old root cellar, they’d have polished their shotguns.”
“Oh, dear.” Pam said softly.
“It didn’t matter none to me, but Edgar was a good man. He wanted to make an honest woman of me, but we couldn’t ask my father’s permission. You see, Edgar was Jewish.” Abigail pushed to her feet and rummaged through a drawer in her nightstand.
Pam waited, watching Miss Abigail’s back, wondering what the old woman was looking for. Wondering what it must have been like to be in love with a man who society said you couldn’t have. Wondering what she would have done if she couldn’t have married Travis.
The two years Travis went away to college and Pam stayed behind, waiting to graduate and turn eighteen so they could be married, were the longest and loneliest two years of her life. As soon as Travis came home, she’d been so desperate to be with him, they’d run off and gotten married without telling anyone. Neither of them could bear waiting months for her mom to plan a proper wedding. She could almost feel the heartache Miss Abigail must have endured knowing she and Edgar would never be together.
Aged unsteady hands presented Pam with a small silver-framed photograph. The edges of the picture were torn. A single crease ran down the length of one side, but she could still see the image of a man in uniform smiling up at her.
“This is Edgar?” she asked.
Miss Abigail nodded.
It wasn’t hard for Pam to see why Miss Abigail had fallen for him. In the small black and white photograph, she could see a confident, handsome man who probably got anything he wanted when he flashed that winning smile. “He’s very good-looking.”
“He was more than good-looking. He was strong, and kind, and generous.”
Pam handed the photograph back to her new friend. Miss Abigail ran her finger across the monochromatic image. Pam saw the old woman’s eyes grow moist before she blinked back the threatening tears and returned to her seat, keeping her eyes on the cherished frame in her lap.
“He didn’t like the idea people might think he was toying with my affections. As the summer passed, it bothered him more and more that folks might find out about our relationship, and I’d be branded a trollop.
“That September when Hitler invaded Poland and England declared war on Germany, Edgar was called back to camp. He had only two days to report for duty. I always knew he’d have to leave one day, but when the time came, I couldn’t stand it. Suddenly I didn’t care what Father, Henry, George, or anyone else in town thought. I wanted to be Edgar’s wife.
“We went to Poplar Springs to be married by the Justice of the Peace. Didn’t dare go to Judge Bernie here in town.”
Miss Abigail stopped talking, and Pam held her tongue until she couldn’t stand the wait any longer. “So you were married in Poplar Springs?”
“Didn’t make it that far.” Abigail tightened her grip on the old photo and closed her eyes. Blowing out a deep breath, she stood, slowly made her way back to the nightstand, and gently placed the frame inside the drawer. “I was waiting at the drugstore, having a soda, while Edgar went alone to make arrangements. I heard the screech and I knew. I just knew.
“They said he wasn’t looking where he was going. Just skipped onto the street like he owned it. The truck tried to stop, but it was no use. By the time I got outside, the crowd was so thick I almost couldn’t get through to him. Someone must have gone for the local doctor ’cause a man with a black bag was leaning over Edgar, murmuring something. I couldn’t hear. People were talking to me, and I couldn’t hear a word any of them said. All I saw was my Edgar, bent and bleeding, still clutching our marriage license in his hand.”
Pam’s heart stopped. Air seemed to seize in her lungs. She felt Abigail’s pain. Knew it intimately. The raw, stabbing agony of having your heart torn out.
Not wanting to cry, she blinked back her tears, wondering if this would be her in sixty years—old and alone and still grieving over the one love of her life.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for Mrs. Perkins.” Jeff held open the door to the café as Sandra stepped inside.
“It was my pleasure. She’s such a sweet woman. It’s a shame her children don’t live closer.”
“Pastor. What a pleasant surprise.” Redding Foster’s broad grin froze as his gaze slid over to Sandra.
The way his eyes momentarily seemed to bulge from their sockets made Jeff glance at Sandra to see if maybe she’d lost her skirt on the way up the front steps.
“Table for two?” Redding asked, his smile more relaxed and natural. “Or are we waiting for Pammy Sue to join you?”
Bingo. “Just the two of us for lunch, Redding.” Maybe now the town would believe there was nothing romantic about his and Pam’s relationship.
Placing his hand along the small of Sandra’s back, he gently turned her to follow Redding. When they reached the table, Redding pulled out a chair for Sandra, and his gaze zeroed in on Jeff’s hand still casually guiding Sandra along.
Settled at a small table near the kitchen, Jeff ignored the way Redding kept watch on them and instead focused on the menu the café owner was so proud of. “I’m so hungry I can’t make up my mind. Everything looks good.”
Sandra nodded. “The few times I’ve eaten here it’s always been delicious.”
“Mabel’s got a way in a kitchen. Have you tried her blueberry pie yet?”
“No, but her sweet potato pie was to die for.”
“Blueberry’s even better.” Jeff looked over the specials for the day again, his mind drifting to Pam and Miss Abigail’s lunch. The two women were probably chatting up a storm at this very minute.
“Ready to order?” Redding reappeared at the table, stiff, reserved.
“I think I’ll try the pot roast.” Sandra set her menu to the side.
“Same for me.”
Redding scribbled down their choice of dressing for salad, beverages, and with barely a nod, collected the menus and turned toward the kitchen.
“I love a good roast,” Sandra said, “but it’s no fun cooking for one.”
“Hmm. I know what you mean.” She was right. Living alone, you learned to cook single items, a pork chop, a chicken breast, a steak, a boxed frozen dinner. Maybe the next time his mom cooked a roast, she could invite Pam again. She probably got just as tired as he did of eating the single man’s diet.
Sandra unrolled her silverware from the napkin. “You know, I’m actually pretty good in the kitchen myself. How about you?”
“I get by. Mom made sure all of her kids could survive in a kitchen.”
“Your mo
ther is a lovely woman. I really enjoyed our lunch the other day.”
“Everyone loves Mom.” Probably because it was so obvious to everyone how much his mother cared about them. Look at how she’d taken to Pam. Quietly nurturing what she knew was a tortured soul.
“Your sister’s very nice too.”
“Yes.” Carol Ann. It was all her fault. She was the one with the bright idea of having dinner with Pam. You both have to eat, she’d said. Troublemaker. Though he couldn’t really blame her. After all, he was the one who had actually asked Pam to join him. He’d caved in to the inexplicable need to stay by her side, to see her smile again.
“Your family seems very close.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose.” If you didn’t consider the four years he had run amok at college and kept his distance from his family. Looking back now, he could admit it was a guilty conscience over partying hard that had stopped him from visiting home, but not then. He didn’t usually share that information with people. A blood-brother pact of silence. Except with Pam. Talking to her had been easy.
“To be honest”—Sandra picked up her fork, twirling it between her fingers—“I envy you.”
“Me?”
“It was just my mom and me growing up. No grandparents, aunts, or uncles. Just the two of us. I’d always thought it would be nice to have lots of brothers and sisters. Especially around Christmas and Thanksgiving.”
“I can agree with you now, but growing up, there were plenty of days when I would have been just as glad to have Mom and Dad sell my brothers and sister to the gypsies.”
“Really?” Sandra laughed. “I don’t believe it.”
He nodded. “Believe it.”
Redding reappeared with a small tray. Silently he set the two drinks on the table, then the salads. “Pot roast will be out in another minute.”
Jeff watched the man walk away. Redding’s behavior reminded him of the days when he had played Little League. As a coach Redding had always been warm and encouraging, like a father to the boys. When they’d disappointed him, Redding became distant, reserved. Whatever the player had done wrong, whether it had been breaking curfew, or getting caught with chewing tobacco, he didn’t do it again.
The man’s quiet reproof settled uncomfortably over Jeff like a sweltering day in August. This was a mistake. He was physically sitting here with Sandra, but his thoughts were with Pam. What had Pam and Miss Abigail eaten for lunch? Did they have a nice time? Would she be back at work soon? Did he dare stop at the church and check on her?
What the heck was he doing here? What had he been thinking?
And there was the problem. He wasn’t thinking clearly. When it came to Pam, everything became a jumble of confusion. He was her pastor. Her boss. She had issues. Serious issues. The kind he wasn’t able to fix. Shouldn’t try to fix. But Lord help him, he wanted to. He wanted to be her knight in shining armor. He wanted to protect her, take care of her, just be there.
No woman had ever made him feel this way. He’d wanted to help Jenny Buckner, save her. Like Jenny, Pam needed help, too. But never once had he thought about Jenny the way he thought of Pam. But then again he’d never been in love with Jenny.
In love? His insides suddenly felt as though a flock of angry geese had descended and were wildly flapping their wings. He couldn’t be in love with Pam. Could he?
CHAPTER NINE
Once it had struck Jeff that he might be in love with Pammy Sue, it was all he could do to eat his lunch and keep up his end of the conversation.
Thankfully Sandra didn’t seem to have any trouble finding things to talk about, and bless her, she didn’t seem to mind a bit when all Jeff could manage was to nod his head or mumble his assent. She’d smile sweetly at him and keep right on talking.
By the time he’d gotten home, Pammy Sue was all he could think about. No matter how much he tried to put her out of his mind, she wouldn’t leave. Her warm smile, her bright blue eyes, the slight sway to her step, the enticing tone of her voice, it all followed him.
Over and over he told himself he couldn’t possibly be in love with her. At lunch he’d allowed his imagination—his lonely, celibate imagination—to run away with him. The entire idea was impossible. He and Pam barely knew each other.
Going over the numbers on the fund-raiser budget he’d brought home with him had been a total waste of time. He moved on to busywork: put away laundry, vacuumed the living room. Trying everything to distract himself, he actually gave in and scrubbed at the scummy buildup in his shower that hadn’t bothered him until today.
No matter what he did, the walls of his tiny apartment seemed to close in on him. He was not in love with Pam. He wasn’t ready for that. His career, his life, was about to undergo some drastic changes. He didn’t have time for a woman. Wasn’t looking for a woman. And certainly not this woman, who didn’t want a relationship, not with him, not with anyone.
But he couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to know. To be sure. So here he was, pulling into the church parking lot on his day off, unable to wait until tomorrow to see Pam face-to-face. Only now that he was here, he was almost embarrassed to admit that he’d let himself, even for a brief moment, think he could be in love with her. Hitting the key fob to lock the car door, he walked slowly, deliberately, to the office entrance. It was almost laughable to think he’d fallen in love.
He’d just about convinced himself it was a waste of time to be here at all when he reached for the front doors. Locked. “Why would she keep the doors locked?”
It took a few seconds to find the right key. He’d unlocked this door every morning for almost four months, and now his fingers were suddenly all thumbs.
“Pam?” He called the moment he pushed open the door. “Why’s the door locked?”
No answer. With every step he took, another of those wild geese returned with wings flapping. Not sure what he’d find, he quickened his pace until he was almost running to Pam’s office. Locked. His eyes darted to the clock at the end of the hall. Almost three o’clock. She was supposed to meet the repairman at two. “Where could she be?”
An accident. There were a few nasty curves between the old Keller place and town. If she’d missed any of the turns, she could have gone off the road, and no one would know she was there. Maybe hurt, maybe dying. What little air was left in his lungs whooshed out in a panicked rush as he pulled out his phone and punched the familiar numbers.
“Sheriff’s office,” a scratchy voice that sounded too young to shave answered.
“Hey, Drew, it’s Jeff Parker,” he announced, feigning a calm he didn’t feel. “Is the sheriff in?”
Jeff drew in a deep breath and waited for Billy Ray to pick up the line.
“Billy Ray here.”
“Hey, Billy. Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if there’s been any calls for an accident on Old Town Road?”
“Nope. Nothing’s come in today. Why?”
“It’s probably nothing.” He hadn’t noticed he was pacing the lobby until he heard the glass door swing open behind him.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the streaming sunlight flooding the room. But there was no mistaking the golden locks reflected in the bright light. Like an angelic halo, the ray of sunshine framed her. She was beautiful.
“Jeff? You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” His eyes remained riveted on her as she closed the door behind her. “Never mind, Billy. Everything’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. Thanks.”
The drive back to work had been unsettling. Visions of herself at the old Keller place, retired and alone with nothing but memories to keep her company, and maybe a visit or two from a thoughtful church associate, peppered Pam’s thoughts.
Fumbling for the keys in her purse, she thought of the psychologist’s number neatly folded in her wallet. Life had been calm, steady, this past week. No more nightmares. She could wait to make that call, but one thing had nothing to do with the
other. Even if the nightmares never returned, if her mind had finally managed to put that night to sleep forever, she was a widow now and that would never change.
Sliding the key into place and rotating her wrist to the left, the latch didn’t turn. The door wasn’t locked. How could she have forgotten to lock the door? As anxious as she’d been for her lunch with Miss Abigail, that was no excuse for being careless.
Crime wasn’t a real concern in Hope’s Corner, but still she had a responsibility. Jeff trusted her alone with… “Oh!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jeff stood across the lobby, his back to the plate glass window. His right hand clutching his cell phone, his hair mussed from where his fingers had raked a ragged path, he seemed rigid with tension.
“Is something wrong? Did something happen?” Dropping her purse on a nearby counter, she scurried across the room. “It’s not Pastor Harlon, is it?”
Without any thought, she laid her hand on his arm, waiting for an answer. Jeff’s gaze dropped to her hand, and his silence lasted so long she thought something absolutely terrible must have happened while she was off having a fun lunch. “Oh, Jeff.”
“No.” He looked up and deep green eyes, filled with what she thought was fear, locked on hers. “Nothing’s wrong.”
In a few fleeting seconds she had seen a myriad of emotions play out in his eyes, and she hadn’t a hope of deciphering any of them. And yet there was something in those eyes she’d never seen before, an intensity in the green depths that made her nervous. He watched her as though he were trying to glimpse into her soul.
Uncomfortable with his lingering gaze, she took a quick step back and reached for her bag. “I’m sorry I’m so late. Fred called and said he was running behind, and I guess time just got away from me.”
“It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re with Miss Abigail. I gather y’all had a nice lunch?” Jeff’s gaze remained fixed on her.
Hope's Corner Page 10
