by Janette Oke
“Now,” he said, straightening up, “care to tell me why you chose to make me look stupid?”
Christine’s mind scrambled to try to sort out his meaning.
“I don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t think you do.” He sounded so angry. She did not know what she had done.
“I called up to make the arrangements—just to save you the fuss—and got told in no uncertain terms that I didn’t know what I was talking about. That you weren’t planning to move out. Do you have any idea how stupid that made me feel?”
Christine shook her head, “I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean? Surely you can see how it would look. We’re to be married, and you make me look like—” He said words Christine had never heard from him before. Her cheeks burned with shame—for both of them.
“I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it. I don’t like looking stupid. Not even to that old hag.”
Christine’s head came up. “She’s not an old hag,” she declared, fire in her voice. “And she is right. I am not planning to move out. Not until I am married. It would not look right. It would not be right. My—”
Christine felt a sharp blow sting her cheek. He had struck her.
One hand went up to cover the shame and humiliation. In spite of her resolve, tears spilled out and her lips trembled.
“Now look what you’ve gone and made me do,” he accused, but his voice had softened. He reached over to pull her into his arms. “Let’s not fight,” he whispered. “We can straighten this all out.” He was kissing her forehead. Christine felt her body tense, stiffen in resistance. How could he strike her one minute and kiss her the next?
He seemed to be aware of her reluctance. “I’ll take you home. We’ll talk about this later.”
He did take her home. Soon after, a large bouquet of winter blossoms was delivered along with a card that read simply, I love you. Boyd Christine shook her head in confusion. Frustration.
She sat on her bed and stared at the bouquet on her dresser. An engagement was a tense time. She simply must forgive him. It would be different once they were married. She’d just need to be careful not to push him, not to make things awkward for him.
Elizabeth arrived when winter still clutched the town with icy fingers. Christine shivered on the train platform, thankful it was not windy.
She had not realized how wonderful it would be to see her mother. How much she had missed her. They clung together, mingling tears and exchanging little words of mother-daughter love.
“I told Boyd not to come over tonight,” Christine laughed and wiped her eyes. “I want this time just for us. He’s going to take us to dinner tomorrow.”
Elizabeth sounded pleased with the arrangement. “I want to spend the entire evening catching up on everything that’s happened over the past months,” she said.
They took a cab to the boardinghouse and settled in to talk. Christine could hardly get the words out about her Boyd quickly enough, displaying the diamond ring and gifts he had given. She so much wanted her mother to approve of him and love him too.
“You’ll meet him tomorrow. I can hardly wait,” Christine concluded, hugging her mother again.
They talked until late into the night. After Christine had finally exhausted all the. wonders of her betrothed, the conversation turned to Wynn and Henry and even Teeko.
“I still miss the North,” Christine sighed. “But I like it here too,” she quickly added.
Boyd picked them up sharply at six the next evening and took them to the nicest restaurant in town. He was a model suitor, attending to each need and desire of both ladies. Christine was proud of him. She could tell her mother was impressed.
The next night the three went out again. Then Boyd drove them to his home so Elizabeth could meet his father. Mr. Kingsley was more than polite. He was charming. Christine had never seen him so well-groomed, attentive, and courteous.
“It’s a shame you ladies have to stay at the boardinghouse with all these rooms going to waste. Certainly you both would be welcome to stay here while you are in town, Mrs. Delaney. I’m sure with our chaperoning there would be no raised eyebrows.”
No, Mom, Christine cried inwardly, don’t agree to this. I’d never escape again.
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth said graciously. “And I do thank you for your kindness, but we are rather enjoying the opportunity to share a room and woman-talk until the wee hours.” Elizabeth laughed softly. Much to Christine’s relief, Mr. Kingsley dropped the matter.
Saturday evening they all went out for dinner together. Mr. Kingsley was full of questions about the North and Wynn’s work with the RCMP “Fascinating! Most fascinating. You must have many stories to tell, Mrs. Delaney.”
When Boyd walked them to the door of the boardinghouse, he took Christine’s hand. “What time would you like to be picked up in the morning?” he asked.
“In the morning?” She tried to remember what had been said about plans for the next day.
“For the church sermon.”
“Oh—the church service.” Even as Christine thrilled at his words, she hoped her mother had not caught the slight misstatement.
“Ten-thirty,” she said, trying to keep her voice sounding natural. “I think that will give us plenty of time.”
“Fine.” He smiled and bent to kiss her cheek. Christine flushed at this first time he had kissed her in front of her mother.
“Thank you once again for a very pleasant evening,” Elizabeth said, extending her hand to the young man.
“My pleasure,” he replied, touching the brim of his hat.
Christine felt the entire week went well—and very quickly. Mr. Kingsley even gave Christine a few days off so they might shop together. In vain they searched the stores for the perfect wedding dress. At last they settled on material and a pattern. Elizabeth would sew the gown. Her deep pleasure was evident as she looked forward to fashioning the garment that her daughter would wear on the most exciting day of her life.
Again Boyd drove them to church and even managed not to squirm much through the service. At one point, Christine cast a glance his way and found he was actually listening to what the minister was saying. She smiled to herself. God was answering her prayers. Boyd was changing. Her heart swelled with happiness. She was so blessed.
Elizabeth left the next morning. With tears and promises, they bid each other good-bye. It would not be long until they saw one another again. Boyd was pressing for a June wedding, and the months would go by very quickly. Henry had already scheduled the time off so he could stand up for his little sister. Christine had chosen one of the young women from the church to be her attendant. Boyd was not happy with such a small wedding party, so he had asked that his friends be included. Christine had agreed, with a bit of reservation. She had heard little of his friends over the past months. She had secretly hoped Boyd was not seeing as much of them as he once did. But he did drop little comments now and then about what one or another of them was doing or had said. Christine knew he was still in touch.
I suppose it is only right that they be included. It’s his wedding too, she reasoned.
The next Sunday she dressed for church and took a seat in the hallway. She did not want to keep Boyd waiting. But the clock ticked on and on, and he did not come. At length she gave up and took the streetcar. She was quite late, which bothered her. As she neared the large oak doors, she knew she could not go in without drawing undue attention. She turned and walked to the trolley stop to catch the next streetcar back home. It was going to seem like a long Sunday without the comfort of the worship, without the pleasure of meeting her church friends. It seemed that Boyd’s interest in spiritual things had already waned.
Elizabeth carried home a good report. She and Wynn spent the evening in front of a crackling fire as she shared all of her adventures in the city.
“Our daughter sounds happy,” said Wynn.
“She appears to
be.”
Teeko stirred at Wynn’s feet, yawned, and lay back down.
“Boyd certainly sounds like a fine young man.”
“He was most polite and thoughtful.”
“The father seems to think well of Christine.”
“He rather dotes on her.”
A log snapped, sending sparklers dancing upward.
“So why do I still see that doubt in your eyes?” he asked frankly, reaching out for her hand.
She clung to his offered support and took a minute to answer. “I don’t know. I just ... feel that ... things might not be what they seemed. There was just some ... underlying current that ... I pray I’m wrong. But I feel more ... more uneasy now than I did before I went.”
Their prayers together that night for their Christine were even more fervent than usual.
CHAPTER Seventeen
“Oh boy,” Henry said, reading the latest dispatch as he stood in the office doorway.
“What’s up?” Rogers did not lift his head from the report he was completing.
“We’re going to have us a visitor.”
Rogers did look up then. “Good—or bad?”
“About as bad as you can get. Short of murder. Just completed a term in prison. Was released day before yesterday. Now he’s out, and they think he’s on his way back here.”
“You say ‘back.’ Is he from here?”
Henry sat down heavily and continued reading. “Has a shack along the creek someplace. This is already his third trip up with free room and board.”
“Why do they let a guy like that out?” Rogers was on his feet now, moving toward Henry’s chair. He leaned on the desk and looked over Henry’s shoulder. “Look at him. Look at that face. He even looks evil.” Rogers picked up the paper and peered at the mug shot.
“So that’s what we need to look out for?” Rogers said as he put the sheet back on the desk.
“Might be some changes. Beard—no beard. Different haircut. Those kinds of things. Even a dye job. There are lots of ways to change one’s looks. But study the eyes. Can’t change his eyes. Look at him. He looks—”
“Sinister,” Rogers filled in.
They both studied the picture.
“Look here,” said Henry. “He’s got a scar along his jawline. He could almost hide that under a beard. But it would likely still show a bit—right up here.”
“A scar. Left side. Yeah—he can’t very well hide that.”
The two perused the picture as though to memorize every line, every detail. Someone’s life might depend upon it.
Henry shook his head and eased back in his chair, running a finger over his mustache.
“Man—I hate this,” exclaimed Rogers, straightening. “I thought this was a nice safe little town for my wife and kids.”
“I’m afraid it might not be safe for anyone with him around—especially women who might be on their own.” Henry’s thoughts immediately jumped to Sam. How would they manage to protect her?
“Maybe he won’t show.”
“I hope and pray he won’t. We don’t have enough men to carry on with our regular duties plus keep a twenty-four-hour vigil on a guy like that.”
Rogers walked back to his desk, rubbing a hand vigorously over his head. “It would sure help if we could put folks on the alert.”
“You know we can’t.”
“Yeah, I know. But it seems stupid to me. Here’s a dangerous guy on the loose, and we have to cover for him.”
“We won’t cover for him. If he does show up, we’re going to watch him like a hawk. He steps out of line—anything, anything at all—we nail him.”
“He’s likely got plenty of crime savvy. He’ll take some watching.”
“Then he’s met his match.”
But for all his assurances to Rogers, Henry felt restless. Uncertain. How could the three of them keep an eye out on the whole town and the surrounding area? It wasn’t possible. He needed more detailed information on the guy. What were they up against?
His call to headquarters did not give him much additional background. Only caused him further concern. On previous occasions this man had gone after women he knew to be alone. Evening hours—between nine and midnight—seemed his pref erence. That was all they had to go on.
Henry could not settle back to work. He finally gave up and reached for his Stetson. “Keep an eye on things,” he said to Rogers. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He walked slowly to Sam’s, trying to get his foolish heart to stop hammering. If only there was some way—some legal way—to let her know about this possible threat to her safety.
He wasn’t sure if another haircut would be questioned. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had one. Could he cite warmer weather? No, his hair was never long enough to cause him any concern with heat.
Well—maybe he would think of something. Anything. Just to get a chance to talk with her. See if there was some way to alert her and make sure she remained secure.
He stepped up to the door just as it opened. Some other customer was just leaving. Henry stepped aside and nodded a greeting. The man was just putting on his hat—abeat-up, wide-brimmed black Stetson. He returned Henry’s nod. Henry noted intense dark eyes just before the hat hid them from view. Immediately Henry looked at the man’s cheek covered with a light growth of dark beard. There, just below the sideburn, was the ragged tail of a scar.
Henry felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Their worst fear. had just been realized. And the felon had already been in to pay a visit to Sam.
Henry dropped the haircut idea, turned, and headed back to the office.
Henry supposed that none of them were getting much sleep. The police cars were kept on the move, especially in the evening hours. Up and down streets they cruised, back and forth, over and over, watching for shadows, jumping at newspapers flying in the wind or a cat tipping over a trashcan. And not a soul in town knew of their churning stomachs, the intense fear, the wearing down of stamina.
Twice they saw the man on the streets. Twice they followed him when he left, making sure he was heading back to his place in the hills.
He drove an old beat-up, once-blue pickup, with a license plate hanging haphazardly from baling wire. A mangy dog always rode in the front seat beside him and growled deeply when anyone came anywhere near the vehicle.
“You think I could provoke that dog into an attack?” Laray wondered.
“Don’t try anything that might get you hurt,” warned Henry. Truth was, he had thought of it himself. “He wouldn’t have to do anything more than have the dog destroyed. That wouldn’t solve our problem.”
The next time the convict was in town, Laray entered the office out of breath. “I just saw that there fella jaywalking. Want me to bring him in?”
Henry shook his head. Everyone in town jaywalked at one time or another. “No—they’d never hold him on that. He might have to pay a twenty-dollar fine. That’s all. Just keep an eye on him. He’ll trip up one of these days.”
Henry wanted to believe his own words, but he was getting more and more nervous about it.
It didn’t help Henry any when the next time he went for his regular haircut, he again met the fellow just coming out. This time he was grinning, and he tipped his hat to Henry.
There was little sleep after that. The three patrolled with a passion, paying particular attention to any house where they knew a woman lived alone. Jessie was offered rides home in a police cruiser if she had to close shop very late.
The officers forgot about the roster, putting in as many hours as they could manage and still function. Henry worried about Rogers’s family. Those little girls must have wondered why their daddy had to be gone so much. Possibly the officer had confided in his wife. Henry thought he would have been tempted to give some kind of warning if he had a wife and baby girls at home.
Henry decided the squad car was a bit too obvious and took to walking the streets. He didn’t want the whole town speculating about why they
were out prowling around the neighborhood.
His circuit took him past Sam’s bungalow several times a night. Always he stood on the other side of the street, hidden by a growth of caraganas, and watched and waited. His eyes looked for movement, shadows, anything that didn’t belong to the night.
I’m getting downright jumpy, he accused as a night bird’s call startled him.
He was about to move on when he thought he saw movement at the screen door. His stomach did some kind of a nasty flip. His heart pounding wildly, he made his way across the street and silently onto the porch. The screen door was gently rocking back and forth in the light breeze. Henry reached for the wooden door’s brass knob, praying it would resist his hand. It didn’t. With a soft squeak that sickened him, it turned and opened.
The house was dark and silent. But he had to know. Had to. Should he call? Should he turn on a light? No, if there was indeed an intruder in the house, he did not want to spook him. But what if the fellow already had been there and left? That thought drove Henry onward. He stumbled over some piece of furniture, chiding himself for the scraping noise it created. One hand outstretched, he groped his way forward. He had no idea what rooms were where.
He was about to enter another door when he saw a movement to his left. He stopped absolutely still, readying himself to spring forward. A curtain shivered in the breeze at the window, letting in a splash of light from the streetlamp in front of the house. Sam stood there, arm upraised, prepared to do battle with the intruder. Before he could say a word, she flung whatever it was she had in her hand with all her might. He had just enough forewarning to lift his other arm, diverting the blow from the piece of firewood that came hurtling at him. The end of the stick grazed his cheek. He could feel the sting of it even as he called out, “It’s me. Delaney.”
He heard her intake of breath. In the next instant the room was flooded with light. She stood there, breathing heavily from fright and exertion. Her face was as pale as her worn robe, framed by hair hanging down around her shoulders.
