A Wife and a River - A Christian romance

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “Who is it?” She turned from the sink.

  “Ruby. She wants to speak with you in private on the porch.”

  “Me?”

  Isabelle nodded. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  It was only too coincidental that Henry and Ruby’d had some sort of fight earlier in the week. Mae rinsed and dried her hands and made her way through the entry. Outside, her father was seated to the left of the door with a cup of coffee and an Oregonian newspaper. On the opposite side of the porch, Ruby sat in a bent alder wood chair.

  “Hi, Ruby,” Mae said.

  Ruby nodded. She had on a new pair of Wrangler jeans that had never had any of the blue washed out of them and a yellow short-sleeved sweater.

  “Sit down, and I’ll tell you why I’m here.” Ruby’s chest rose when she spoke, so did her chin.

  Mae eased herself into the nearest chair, five feet away from her.

  “I s’pose you’ve heard Henry and I had a little tiff.”

  “Little wasn’t the word I heard.”

  “Well, you know how Gleinbroch men are. Proud. Stubborn. Can never say they’re sorry.”

  “It’s also easy to dwell on their positive qualities, too,” Mae said in defense of the three men who were like family to her.

  “Not right now.” Ruby’s eyes glazed with tears. “Henry’s always wanted me to try fishing, to be more like you. That’s why I’m here. I want you to show me.”

  “Show you what? Mae didn’t quite follow her.

  “Show me how to fish.” Ruby stared at her like she was a dolt and then she added, “You need a manicure, lipstick and the way I see it… help with one particular fella.”

  Mae curled her fingers under and stewed. She’d confided in Henry briefly and only once, about her feelings for Trevor and he’d sworn he’d never tell another living soul.

  Worse, than that he’d told Ruby.

  Mae thought about the one secret that he’d shared recently with her. It would serve him right if she didn’t keep it.

  “And the way I figure it is, even if a girl’s only going fishing, she still ought to look and smell her best because you never know who you might run into.”

  “All the times I’ve been fishing, I’ve only seen Fletcher… and one other angler.” Mae suppressed a smile as she recalled learning to fly cast in the crook of Trevor’s arm.

  “The way I see it is, we have to become friends, because I’m going to marry Henry. And we’re going to end up living out here at Wilhoit, and you and I will have to learn to get along.”

  Before that ever happened, she’d get a place of her own.

  “Do you have a fishing license?” Mae asked.

  “No.”

  Mae chewed on the inside of her cheeks. She’d been praying and praying, and Ruby was proof that God had a sense of humor.

  “I brought you a present.” Ruby opened up her purse and held a wand of apricot-colored lipstick toward her. “You see, we’re not fishing just to fish; we’re fishing to be seen.”

  Mae almost handed the lipstick back. “Do you have a fishing rod in your car?” She nodded to the pale green sedan parked in the gravel drive.

  “Yes, my brother’s.” Hope filled Ruby’s hazel-colored eyes.

  Though Ruby Melton was exactly the type of woman that Trevor didn’t want in his store, they’d stop in and buy her license. Then Mae would interview for the cashier position, that is if he hadn’t already hired Fletcher.

  »»»

  At the front counter, Trevor priced Ford Fenders—a popular lake troll that had originally been crafted from the headlights of a model A Ford.

  The bell jingled.

  In walked a beautiful, dark-haired young woman, wearing Wrangler jeans with stiletto heels.

  What in the world?

  The bell jingled again and next came Mae, wearing a cotton plaid shirt over old Levis.

  “Hello, Miss Bucknell.” He grinned. She was finally here for her interview.

  Miss Stiletto Heels set her red leather purse on the glass countertop. Mae’s companion wore flowery perfume and bauble earrings that could easily be mistaken for a cluster of salmon eggs.

  “Looks like you’re recruiting.” He nodded toward Mae. Was she here for an interview?

  “Ruby, Henry’s . . .” Mae smirked and wobbled a flat hand back and forth, “girlfriend, needs a fishing license.”

  The young woman gasped lightly under her breath.

  “Did you bring boots?” Mae asked.

  “Of course; they’re behind the seat.” Ruby flicked a delicate hand.

  Trevor set the three-part licensing form on the counter and aligned the carbon. “Your full legal name?” He glanced at the dark-haired beauty.

  Over her shoulder, she watched as Mae retreated down the lure aisle. “Georgia Eleanor Melton,” she whispered.

  Without assistance, he spelled it on the top line.

  “My initials are an acronym for GEM. Ruby is a gem.”

  He wondered if Henry knew her real name. Not that anything was wrong with her real name; it was just that her nickname was so far from it.

  “A person doesn’t always have to go by their given name. I never call Mae… Mabel.”

  The woman across the counter from him was a prime example of how men and women are different.

  “So your relationship with Henry is on the rocks.” Trevor got straight to the point.

  “Yes, as of a few days ago.” She lowered her gaze.

  “And now you’re taking up fishing?”

  “You could say Mae’s inspired me.” She fingered the fringe of her dark, shoulder-length curls. “Henry wants me to be more like her, so I’m trying.”

  “Like Mae?”

  “Yes, like Mae.” Her cheeks burned pink.

  There was nothing Trevor liked less than a woman fishing for a man. “Mae’s one in a million. Good luck.”

  “What do you mean?” Her pencil thin brows lifted.

  “Her sincere interest in fishing makes her one in a million. Your sudden interest is merely bait to catch a man.”

  “My, you are bitterly honest.” She unwrapped a piece of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum, folded it in half, and popped it into her mouth.

  He’d never seen a woman more dolled up to go fishing. While he was determining that it was useless to argue with a woman like Georgia Eleanor Melton, her eyes went from misty to clear, and a faint smile teased her lips.

  “Sign here, Georgia.” He spun the form to face her.

  She signed and then studied him as if they were allies. He tucked the license inside a plastic holder and slid it across the counter toward her. “That’ll be four dollars.”

  She pulled a five out of her red leather wallet.

  “Is there anything else you need while you’re here?” He handed her back a dollar in change.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Needing a change of scenery, Trevor rounded the side of the counter and paused at the end of the lure aisle. Crouched down with her knees touching the lower shelf, Mae held a packaged spinner angled above her and peered closely at her reflection in the silver blade. She lifted the tail of her untucked flannel shirt and rubbed it across her mouth.

  Trevor cleared his throat.

  Crimson stained her profile as she rose and slowly slid the spinner back on the peg. He stepped close enough to see that a faint smear of apricot-colored lipstick ran across her cheek.

  “Are you headed to Butte?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, all you needed was a fishing license and a mirror?”

  She shrugged and bit her lower lip. “It was a mistake to let Ruby talk me into wearing lipstick fishing.”

  “Henry probably won’t hear about how great you girls looked on the creek; but if one of your names makes it on the derby board, that’ll be news.”

  “We need a carton of worms, and I didn’t bring my purse.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re here?” He’d waited all day yesterday and half o
f today, hoping she’d stop by, call or . . .

  She turned to face him and visibly inhaled. “I’d like to interview, and I’m sorry about my attire. I couldn’t very well leave the house in a dress to go fishing. Fletcher wants the job something fierce.”

  “I know. He was here this morning, and the interview went surprisingly well.”

  “Did you hire him?” She gulped.

  “No, not yet.” He smiled. Mae still wanted the job, really wanted it.

  “It’ll break his heart if I get it and not him.”

  He felt her dilemma deep in his gut.

  “I’d still like for you to interview.”

  Wide-eyed, she nodded. “I thought you were against leaving me in the store.”

  “I’ve figured a few ways around it.”

  “Okay.” Mae strode past him. “There’s free coffee, Ruby, over there,” she pointed toward the coffee counter. “I’ll be ten minutes or so. I’m going to interview for Trevor’s cashier position.”

  “I’ll just make myself at home.” Ruby sounded chipper enough.

  Trevor set seven black swivels, nine baitholder hooks, an Ambassadeur 5000, a carton of night crawlers, and a Colorado spinner in a baking tray. After he hired her, he’d take her to the backroom for a little chat out of Ruby’s ear range. Maybe he’d even kiss her.

  He set the last of the items on the counter. “Pretend I’m a customer. Pretend to ring these up.”

  “You already know I can pass your math test.” She studied him in an unblinking, steady way like she didn’t want to miss one detail.

  “Maybe I’m the one who wants another chance.” He kept his voice low so Ruby wouldn’t overhear.

  Mae started with the Ambassadeur reel because it would fit perfectly in the bottom of the bag, and she was thinking ahead. “The Ambassadeur 5000 is regularly priced twenty dollars and today it’s…?” Brows raised; she regarded him.

  “Thirty percent off.”

  “It’s on special today for $14.00, a six-dollar savings.” She tapped her fingers in the air above the register keys.

  Trevor grinned. “The hooks are twenty cents a dozen, and the swivels are eighteen.” He found the flush in her cheeks very encouraging.

  She handled the coin-sized manila envelopes like a pro and the percentage problems with ease. Next, she reached for the carton of night crawlers. “I should have done this after the reel,” she apologized. She lifted the lid off the container before running her forefinger through the worm bedding. “They’re alive.” She refastened the lid. “Funny how you didn’t have Kevin go through this step.” Lastly, she wiped her hand on a nearby rag. “But you’ve probably seen him thread a worm onto a hook firsthand.”

  “I have.”

  He was in love.

  “You have the job, Mae, if you want it.”

  She inhaled. “What about Fletcher? Did he tell you that he wants the job so bad that he deserted me back at Wilhoit this morning? They were on their way to Henry’s truck, and Fletcher asked me to run back and grab his coat. When I was halfway up the porch steps, they drove off.”

  He wasn’t the only one with stories.

  “If you’ll work for me”—he paused, weighing his words—“I’ll hire him, too. Same hours, same days. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. There’s plenty to do around here. Part of my offer is, I’ll pay for three new tires and have you work them off, plus include a stipend for gas.”

  “That works.” Bright-eyed, she nodded.

  She strolled from behind the counter toward the front. Outside on the walk, she faced the windows and unfastened the sign from the glass. In her fishing tucker and pretty as all get out, she strolled back toward him.

  “Can I throw this away?” She set the sign down on the counter.

  “No, I’ll hang it in the backroom.” He nodded toward the rear of the store, but her blank look told him that she had no clue about what he was proposing.

  “Uh, let’s call Fletcher right now.” He wasn’t ready for her to leave.

  “Okay.” She stood beside him while he dialed Wilhoit’s number.

  “Wilhoit Springs,” Fletcher’s voice came on the line.

  “Fletcher, it’s Trevor. Mae just interviewed here.” He purposefully paused for a few seconds to let him sweat. “I wanted to call and let you know that I’m going to hire Mae for the job.” He paused, grinning at her. “And you, that is if you still want to work here.”

  “Course I do. I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life. You’re hiring us both? Is she there?”

  “Yes, she’s here.” As he said it, Mae smiled up at him. Honest, sweet emotion sparkled in her eyes. It was too bad he’d chosen to call Fletcher instead of hanging the sign up in the backroom. But then again, there was always tomorrow.

  Chapter 13

  “Trevor asked a couple of questions about you.” Ruby held up her pointer finger as she drove toward the park. “‘Is Mae gonna show you how to fish?’ And, ‘How do you know Mae?’ He’s interested.” Ruby smiled brightly. “He has interested written all over his face.”

  “He’s interested in me working for him.” Mae peered out her side of the cab, suppressing a smile.

  “You wanna know what I told him?”

  Mae wasn’t sure if she did.

  “I told him, Henry wants me to be more like Mae, and I’m trying.” Ruby found a parking space at Butte Creek Park near a tall cedar tree and turned off the engine. “And, Trevor’s response was, ‘Mae is one in a million. Good luck.’”

  She shouldn’t take Ruby to any deep holes, or she might push her in.

  About fifty yards upstream from the park, they sat together on a large boulder. Mae explained to her, in less detail than Fletcher would have, the mechanics of a spin reel and the basics of casting. And then, anxious to start fishing, she walked upstream.

  Right away Ruby began hollering.

  Mae reeled in and walking across the rocks, held her forefinger in front of her mouth. “You’re going to scare the fish away, and remember you’re not the only angler on this creek.”

  “I already hate fishing.” Ruby scowled. “My worm fell off, and I’m not gonna put another one on.”

  “It might have been bitten off.” She handed her a fresh, lively worm. “I’m not putting any more on for you. If you want to catch Henry, you have to learn to do this yourself.”

  Ruby pouted. “You’re giving me hope. Hope that I can win him back.” Slowly, and with disgust, she pierced the skin of the worm and inched it up the curve of the hook as Mae had shown. Afterward, she swished her slimy fingers around in the shallow water and then wiped her hands on Mae’s pant leg instead of on her own jeans.

  “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “Well, the stuff doesn’t wash off. I had to wipe it off, and these are new Wranglers.” Ruby looked over her shoulder before casting and ended up high on her left toe.

  “You have a style all your own.” Mae shook her head.

  “Where are all of the fishermen?”

  “I told you: All the times I’ve been fishing, I’ve only seen Fletcher and one other angler.”

  “Sometimes when we’ve driven over the Molalla bridge, we’ve seen fishermen everywhere, only a couple feet apart.”

  “Must have been peak fishing.”

  Ruby quickly reeled in. “I have one more thing I wanted to show you.” She set her rod right down on the rocks and walked over to the log where she’d left her purse. “A good perfume leaves memories. After we’d left Trevor’s store, the hint of my perfume stayed behind, reminding him that I was there.” Ruby held up a decorative, little bottle with a round mister near the top.

  “Don’t waste it on me. I know it’s expensive, and I’m not a perfume-wearing type of gal.”

  “Mae . . .” Ruby rolled her eyes. “You have so much to learn.” Then she bent low and misted some on Mae’s pant leg. “Sometimes when you spray it on clothes, it lasts even longer than when you spray it on your skin.”

&
nbsp; Mae stepped away from her. Now, when she got home, the smell of perfume on her pant leg would remind Henry of her.

  “Try a little on your neck, too.” Ruby held out the bottle. “Right here,” she said. Tipping her head back slightly, she patted below her jaw.

  Annoyed with Ruby, Mae toted the bottle over to her own fishing rod and, pulling up the end of her line, misted the expensive perfume on her worm. “This is what I think of your perfume, Ruby Melton! You think I’m dumb. You sprayed that perfume on me so I’ll go home and remind Henry of you.”

  “Don’t you want Henry to think of me?”

  “You could have asked me first before you went ahead and sprayed me.” Mae picked up her rod and cast the perfume-tainted worm across the creek. “Get your line in the water. Trevor has a fishing derby. If you catch one, he’ll weigh it in, and write your name on the board. Henry will hear that you were fishing from everyone he knows who shops at Trevor’s store.”

  “I’m starting to like you.” Ruby cast toward the opposite bank with her tip toe finale.

  There was a nice tug on the end of Mae’s line. “I have a bite,” she whispered.

  “I can always weigh in yours!”

  “Absolutely not. You’re catching your own!” Mae walked upstream, away from her, playing the fish. A flash of muted green crested the water. Butte Creek had blessed her with another beauty. Fletcher would never believe her luck. After a minute or two of playing the nice-sized cutthroat trout, she netted it near shore and strung it on a stick. In the shallow water, she surrounded it with rocks so it wouldn’t float away.

  An hour passed. Had there been a chance the perfume on the worm hadn’t served as a type of attractant?

  “Why can’t I just weigh in yours?” Ruby asked.

  “You’re catching your own. What’s the name of that spray of yours?”

  “Chanel Number Five.” Ruby reeled in and eyed her pale worm.

  “Get a fresh worm on, and let’s try something.” Mae handed her another wiggler and bit the inside of her cheeks as Ruby gingerly eased the old worm off and threaded on a wiggly one.

  “Now, spray your perfume on the worm.” Mae handed her the mister.

  “Do you know how much this little bottle costs?” Ruby ‘s mouth bunched up tightly.