Her writing flowed for the first three pages and then she made the mistake of glancing toward the front of the classroom. Seated behind his desk, with an elbow on top, Quinn appeared relaxed, if not tired. Their eyes locked. Harp and string music began to play, and Katherine felt herself smile as she strolled down memory lane.
Someone kicked her in the shin.
Wide-eyed, she returned her attention to her paper. Do not look toward the man upfront. Angel knows.
Despite the distractions, Katherine’s thoughts flowed, with plenty of analysis. Her conclusion thoroughly supported her argument that yes, the Civil War was inevitable.
“One minute remaining,” Professor Benton informed the class.
Katherine glanced down at her open backpack. Her Quinn List was tucked inside the pocket of her three-ring binder. She pulled out the yellow lined paper and peeked at her laundry list type writing. Should she tuck it inside her exam? Students began to file out.
Her pulse picked up its pace. Still seated, Benton rolled a kink out of his neck. Katherine slid the Quinn List inside her light blue booklet and on her way out, slid her essay into the middle of the pile on his desk.
Halfway to Lewis and Clark, she paused in the wide corridor to glance behind her. What had she just done? If anyone else found it, there might be awful consequences. Lord, help it not to end up in the Argonaut.
Ж
After Katherine’s research class on Tuesday, she ran into Cindy in front of the Admin. They strolled down the elm-lined walkway.
“Do you feel ready for the midterm on Friday?” Cindy asked.
“Yes. Shame on Evans and you for putting it off till then.”
Cindy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “We wanted to give our students plenty of time to prepare.”
“For some of us, you’re prolonging the agony.” Katherine smiled as they resumed their stroll. “How are you and Evans?”
“Good. Though we had a little spat recently.”
“Oh . . . what about?”
“At Friday night’s get-together, he talked about setting Quinn up with a friend of Mashburn’s, a graduate student. If Quinn took time off from his blind dating, he might figure out what’s going on between the two of you.”
“Ohhhh.” Another matchmaking friend, another blind date, and this time, a master’s student in history. If Quinn accepted it, Katherine would throw in the towel. Gone were any assumptions that Evans might be matchmaking her with Quinn. It hurt, how she’d misjudged him.
“Saturday we’re going antiquing in Pullman; would you like to join us?” Cindy asked.
“Sure. Who’s going?”
“So far Evans, Benton, and me.”
“I’m thinking of going to Potlatch today and going swimming at the Palouse River later this afternoon.” Over her shoulder, Katherine regarded Cindy. “There’s a nice swimming hole that Grandma and I used to go to when I was growing up.”
“That sounds heavenly, but I better not; I have a pressure washer guy coming at two.” At the end of the elm-lined walkway, they said their good-byes and Cindy headed in the direction of faculty parking.
In full sun and the heat of the day, Katherine walked the straight stretch of Sweet Avenue home. How would Benton feel about her going antiquing with them? What if his time with Nurse Kitty Princeton was pleasant? It was so easy to worry too far in advance.
“Lord,” she whispered, “help me with my feelings. Give me peace instead of this turmoil. He’ll probably have read my Quinn List by Saturday. He’ll have met Miss Princeton by then, too. Antiquing may or may not come together. No matter what happens, give my heart peace.”
Though a floor fan blew in the living room, only the rev of the machine, not its comfort, reached the kitchen. With only one midterm left to take, Katherine wanted to celebrate. She took a sip of homemade iced tea and set an elbow on the table.
“Grandma, what do you think about going to Potlatch to our old swimming hole today?”
“I can’t, honey; Gladys and I are meeting the girls for a senior potluck tonight at church, and then afterward we’re going to Sharon’s for Scrabble. You can take Granddad’s truck if you want.”
Grandma had never allowed any of the grandkids to drive the old Ford that was parked in the garage. “Are you sure?”
“Your granddad would approve of the idea.” Grandma popped a potato chip into her mouth. “Who else is going with you?”
“Just me.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed. “What about one of your girlfriends?”
“They had plans.” That is, Cindy and Angel both had plans. It was late in the day to ask Ronnie or Brenda.
“I don’t like the idea of your going alone.” From her wide eyes, Grandma’s imagination appeared to soar.
“I plan to park by the old grain silo and walk downstream to that cozy little bend where you used to take us kids. I’m almost twenty-nine—”
“Please don’t give me your ‘when you were my age’ speech.” Grandma said. “I can speak my mind, but I know you don’t listen.”
Had Benton told Grandma about seeing her on Joe’s motorcycle? Grandma’s knickers were in a knot over something.
“I know exactly when you’re hiding something.” Grandma monkeyed with the corner of her glasses. “Your eyes get all wide and . . . I know you’ve been riding around town.”
“I knew he’d tell you.” Benton! He’d probably told Grandma and Miss Palouse about the kiss, too. The heavy cave door to her heart slowly slid closed.
“No, you dummy. Quinn hasn’t told me a thing.” Grandma’s head turned as Katherine rose from the table. “Gladys has called twice—two different times—to tell me that she’s seen you gallivanting around town on the back of some fella’s motorcycle. And I think Quinn has too, but he won’t tell me. I tried to bribe the truth out of him with a batch of cinnamon rolls, but he wouldn’t fall for it. I think he’d marry you for your cinnamon rolls, but he won’t even answer a little question in exchange for mine.”
Trying to maintain her composure, Katherine returned to the table.
“What do you mean by that?” She inhaled deeply.
Grandma eyed the Latah County Credit Union calendar above Katherine’s head. “You know I don’t want to get your hopes up, honey, but the cinnamon rolls you made that day were awfully special. But, the look on Quinn’s face when he was enjoying them was even more special.”
Katherine’s heart wanted to do cartwheels. “If you want me to believe that all I have to do is make Benton cinnamon rolls to win his affection, then he’s more of a simpleton than I thought.”
“Maybe you can hide your heart from you, but you can’t hide it from me. I have a new sticky note for you.” She rose from the table and disappeared into the living room.
“Wonderful,” Katherine whispered.
“When I was praying and reading the Bible this morning, you were heavy on my heart, and I knew the verse that I stumbled on was another sticky note from God . . . just for you.” Grandma’s voice carried from the other room.
Dear Lord, not another verse pointing out my faults. Please. Usually I have a reserve, but not today.
“I was going to wait until tomorrow and stick it to the door again.” Grandma returned to the table and sat down. “But I’d rather give it to you now.”
The yellow sticky note from God and Grandma read: When you are brokenhearted, I am close to you. Psalm 34:18. Warm tears lapped at her eyes.
“You’re hurting and . . .” Grandma patted her hand, “Quinn only has two blind dates on the calendar. I pencil them in now instead of using a Sharpie.”
“Maybe three. Evans is trying to set him up with a Miss Wazzu, a graduate student.”
“He blind dates as often as some people mow their lawns.” Grandma shook her head.
“Next Friday when he meets Miss Palouse,” she swallowed and looked at Grandma, “I can’t go to the professors’ get-together. What if she’s the one? I can’t just sit there and pretend t
hat my heart’s not breaking.”
“Honey—”
“I know what you’re going to say and, I have, I have been praying. He hasn’t even stopped by. He completely took Evans’s advice.”
“I’m sure Miss Palouse is not as wonderful as she’s led him to believe she is.” Grandma patted her hand.
“I bet she is.” Stifling a sob, Katherine covered her mouth. Marci was adorable, and she wouldn’t even send a picture.
“Oh, I wish I could mend your heart.” Grandma pushed her chair back from the table. “Come help me figure out what I’m wearing to the potluck.”
Katherine sniffled and followed her through the living room. Grandma closed her bedroom door behind them and slid open her closet. “Which one should I wear?” She held up two hangers, an apricot-colored T-shirt and a solid pink T-shirt, one in each hand.
“The pink one.” It brought out the rosy color in Grandma’s cheeks.
“Quinn kissed me, Grandma.” It felt good to tell another soul.
Wide-eyed, her grandmother nodded.
“Afterward, he apologized and told me it should never have happened.” Tears dribbled down her cheek.
“He didn’t really mean that, honey.” Grandma returned the apricot-colored T-shirt to her closet. “He probably meant it as a professor, not as a man.”
Could she possibly be right? Katherine sniffled. “And then he missed the first step and fell into your rhododendron and rolled right into your bed of marigolds.”
“Oh, poor Quinn.” Grandma giggled. “Has he ever said another word?”
“No, not really, not about the kiss.” Katherine inhaled deeply.
“Oh no.” Grandma bit her lower lip. “I thought Fritz had been the one in my marigolds. Poor, deaf Fritz. I thought he’d dug another hole beneath the fence.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to apologize.”
“When you do, please don’t tell the Hamiltons all the details.”
Grandma waved a hand. “You kissed the night you went for a walk. Didn’t you?” Wide-eyed, Grandma nudged her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.
Katherine nodded.
“I haven’t said a word to anyone. Not your mother or Quinn.”
Grandma had known. Katherine waited for her to continue.
“I heard a commotion at the door. I thought it might be the paperboy. But, when I looked through the peep-hole, I saw you and Quinn instead.” Grandma pointed to each lens of her glasses.
Grandma had witnessed the kiss that would haunt Katherine the rest of her days.
“I wasn’t spying on you.”
Katherine stared at the puff painted pansies on the front of Grandma’s shirt. Tim, her cousin who had lived with Grandma before her, had said something about the front porch. Due to the peephole, the front porch was not a place for privacy.
Katherine shook her head. “I don’t know if I can wait for him, Grandma.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t just sit around here waiting for him. It’s soooo painful.”
“Just bury yourself in your books again.” Grandma’s gaze narrowed, like how could she of all people have forgotten the ultimate cure for a broken heart?
Chapter Forty
Katherine wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt over her one-piece teal-green swimsuit. She packed a hat, her textbooks, and a Mason jar of homemade iced tea. As she drove her grandfather’s old red-and-white Ford Ranchero out of the detached garage, Grandma stepped out the back door. Waving back and forth, she hurried down the walkway toward her. Through the open driver’s side window, she handed Katherine a sticky note.
“I was wrong, honey. Don’t hide your heart behind your books.” Tears shone in Grandma’s eyes. “Fix your eyes on Jesus. He’s our Comforter, our Counselor, our great Redeemer. If anyone understands your pain, it’s Him.” She patted Katherine’s bare forearm.
“I love you, Grandma.”
Grandma blew her a kiss and waved.
On a yellow sticky note, Grandma had written: Fix your eyes on Jesus.
Katherine stuck the sticky note to the front of the dash and then drove north toward Potlatch, Idaho. She’d needed an escape from Moscow, and being a predictable filler for Quinn Benton.
“Lord, forgive me for my impenitent heart. Help me to be more thankful. Grant me patient endurance through the next couple of weeks. It’s not easy loving Quinn. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t stopped by.” Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she whispered all her cares. “I know . . . I know . . . Your sacrifice exemplifies that love is not an easy burden.”
With the driver’s side window down, the warm summer wind rippled her loose hair and helped to ease her spirit. At the summit of Moscow Mountain, the gently rolling wheat fields of the Palouse looked like brocaded quilt blocks of deep and pale greens. Against the open blue sky, the hills were a canvas of poetry, the drive a purging of the soul.
“Lord, when he reads the list—help him to take it lightly. Help him to have peace. You know I’m disillusioned, and I often lack patience, and I’m very bad at long-suffering and run-on sentences. But You know my heart, and You know his. Your will be done.”
Before the downtown area of the small logging town of Potlatch, Katherine took a right and drove down a dirt road past a grain silo. She parked where the road ended, and a knee-high green meadow began. Fifty yards downstream, their old swimming hole hadn’t changed much. Tall grass bordered this windy, narrow section of the river, curving toward a sandy beach before funneling into another bend. Katherine unfolded her lawn chair and set her book bag in the sand. After kicking off her flip-flops, she waded into the cool, refreshing water and made a shallow dive.
She breaststroked toward shore and walked the last ten feet before reclining in her beach chair in the sand. From beneath a wide-brimmed hat, she embraced the joys of summer that had been long delayed.
A half hour passed, she set her textbook aside and waded into the water once more. She floated on her back, content with the world. When she lifted her head and swam toward shore, another beach chair sat on the bank next to hers. She swam closer and stood up, searching the water around her.
A head bobbed up, twenty feet away.
“Hello, girlfriend.” Cindy waved. “Cute suit.”
Chapter Forty-One
“I ended up paying the pressure washer guy and leaving,” Cindy said as they lounged in beach chairs. Her green-and-white striped tankini was modest and brought out the emerald in her eyes.
“Did you have to call my grandma for directions?” Katherine studied her pale pink toenail polish.
“No, Quinn was in Evans’s office when your grandmother called his cell phone.”
“Oh, and so were you?”
“Yes, we were enjoying madeleines and tea.” Cindy cleared her throat. “Quinn was surprised that you’d ventured here alone. Ethel gave me directions, and here I am. I thought we could stop at Ireland’s on the way home and split one of their cinnamon rolls.”
“I’d love to.” Ireland’s Café, located on the edge of Potlatch, was renowned for their dinner-plate-sized cinnamon rolls, served warm with a slather of butter.
“I must admit your timing’s perfect.” Cindy sighed and tipped her head back against the top of her beach chair. “Midterms. Students have no idea what we professors go through to deliver the best exams possible.” Cindy cleared her throat again. Her mascara had left dark smudges, and her usual perky hairdo lay flat against her head.
Opening one eye, Katherine peeked at her. “That’s the second time you’ve cleared your throat.”
“I know.” Cindy tilted her head, playfully. “Quinn found your list today.”
A steep dirt wall lined the opposite bank. “It took him longer than I expected.”
“Leaving it in the essay was perfect.”
“That’s why he was in Evans’s office.”
“You know how he is.” Cindy slid on a pair of large sunglasses. The green, white, and red frames resembled watermelon r
ind. “He was adamant that we read it.”
“And . . . ?”
“He doesn’t think you have many valid reasons to write him off.” Cindy lifted her sunglasses to study her. “But, I suppose, if there’s no chemistry.”
Katherine sighed. “I’m sure he’ll talk to me about it.”
“Yes. I’m certain he will. I need another dip.”
Cindy slowly waded in while Katherine made a shallow dive and surfaced several yards from shore. Immediately refreshed, she glanced at her books on the beach chair. She should spend a little more time on Cindy’s material. She swam closer toward the bank and stood up, the water waist deep. Something brushed against her leg, giving her the willies. In her strides toward shore, she stepped on something excruciatingly sharp and, fell knee first into the shallow water. A ring of red surrounded her like a large rock had been dropped into the water close by.
“Cindy!” she yelled, searching the stream’s languid surface.
Several yards away, Cindy’s head bobbed up.
“Cindy!”
Cindy pushed her hair back off her forehead. “What?”
“I’m hurt. There’s glass in the water. Don’t stand up.”
Ж
“Hurt!” Cindy panicked. “Oh, Lord, where’s my phone?”
“In your purse by your lawn chair.”
“Oh, Lord.” Cindy ran toward the trail instead of her purse and then rerouted herself. “Help me to remain calm.” She found her phone in the front pocket of her purse. Hands shaking, Cindy dropped her phone on her beach towel and crouched down to pick it back up.
“9-1-1. Yes, I can do this.” With jerky movements, Cindy lifted the phone to her ear. “Operator, this is Cindy Fancy. I need an ambulance. We’re at the Palouse River in Potlatch, Idaho. Our cars are parked behind the grain elevator before and just south of Main Street. My friend Katherine King’s badly cut her foot in the river on something. Bloods everywhere. I can’t look.”
“Check for glass before applying direct pressure.” Cindy flipped the phone closed. “Direct pressure. Crud, I wasn’t supposed to hang up. 9-1-1,” she said, redialing. “Hello, this is Cindy Fancy, are you the same sweet woman I was speaking with?—Praise God!”
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 26
