Thanksgiving Groom

by Brenda Minton

  He closed his eyes and tried to remember the first time he’d prayed, and the last. He could remember the first, when Mrs. Parker had asked him to pray at the end of a Sunday school class. The last? He couldn’t remember, but he thought it was the day he came home from school and found the note from his mother, telling them she’d found someone else, someone who could give her the life she’d always dreamed of.

  He opened his eyes, angry with himself for going back to that moment, to feeling like that kid again. He walked off the porch and breathed in the ice-cold air, letting it settle in his lungs and hoping it would clear his mind.

  He wasn’t that kid.

  And people inside the house were expecting him to help get them to Treasure Creek. He peered into the woods, knowing that he wouldn’t see anything, or anyone. Maybe they were gone by now. Maybe they’d been looking for something other than Penelope Lear.

  That didn’t add up, though. There wasn’t much else to find in these woods. And if a person was lost, they’d ask for help. Someone lost would ask for shelter.

  The door opened. He turned and it was Penelope. She hobbled across the porch, silent for a moment, staring up at the now dark night sky.

  “The stars don’t shine like this in the city.” She sounded breathless, a little amazed.

  “No, they don’t.” He walked up the steps and stood next to her.

  He looked up at the clear night sky and the millions of stars that glittered like diamonds in the velvety darkness. He’d missed this, missed the silence and the peacefulness of Alaska.

  He grew up just a short distance from Treasure Creek. He didn’t want to let the memories in—of his dad, fishing, and sometimes Jake showing up, to go on the boat with them. He’d been all too glad to leave it behind, to leave his dad behind. He’d been glad to leave hard times behind.

  And yet here he was, back at home. He could have gone back to Seattle after the funeral. He could have buried himself in work. He’d picked the Alaskan wilderness. Maybe because it reminded him of his dad.

  “Are you going to eat?”

  “In a few minutes. I was just enjoying…” The peace and quiet, by himself.

  “Being alone.” She turned, looking up at him. Blond hair catching the silver moonlight.

  Tucker took a smart step away from her, away from temptation.

  “Being alone is nice,” he admitted, smiling a little because she had read him so easily.

  “But I crashed your alone party?” She leaned against the post and looked out at the woods, away from him.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Sorry.” She glanced his way with a smile that he didn’t think showed remorse. “Or maybe I’m not. I love it here.”

  “I hope you’re feeling up to a little bit of a journey and a real chance to prove what you’re made of.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “In the next few days, as soon as your ankle is ready for travel, we’re heading out.”

  “Walking?” Her eyes were wide, dark orbs in a pale face.

  “How else?”

  “We could find the Jeep?”

  “Which is where?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice raised a little, got a little higher in pitch.

  “Well, I have an idea, why don’t you let Clark and me take care of the travel arrangements.”

  “That’s the problem, your plan includes walking for days in the cold. It’s Alaska and it’s November. Or has that little detail been forgotten?”

  “Rather self-righteous for a person who went off by herself after a treasure no one is positive exists.”

  “I was trying to help people.”

  “Now I’m trying to help you.” And ignore the way her lips pursed and her eyes sparked like dark blue fire. Redirect, Your Honor. If he’d been in court, he would have redirected—his thoughts, her words, her look. “Weren’t you the person who wanted to prove herself?”

  The wind picked up, cold and out of the north. She shivered and huddled down into what he thought was probably very little warmth. They’d have to find her more suitable clothing for the trip out.

  “So we’ll walk out. Fine.”

  “I thought you’d be thrilled at the prospect of getting back to civilization.”

  “I think I’m doing just fine here. I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m not weak or a sissy.”

  “So you don’t have any desire to get back to town, to electricity and to running water?”

  Her chin came up at a stubborn angle. “No, I’m not in a hurry to get back. I could live off the land if I had to.”

  He laughed. “You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”

  “That isn’t true. I caught more fish than you. I could learn to shoot a gun and cook…game, or whatever.”

  His laughter faded because he couldn’t laugh in the face of such an outrageous and obstinate protest from a woman wearing fuzzy boots.

  She quickly looked away, but not before he saw shadows. He felt bad for baiting her. She was just as on the run as he was. Maybe more so. At least he was making his own decisions.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be there for a few days. I promise that after three days of pretty serious roughing it on the trail, you’ll have proven yourself. And you’ll be ready for Treasure Creek. You’ll probably be ready to climb in your dad’s jet and fly back to Anchorage.”

  “Thanks for thinking so highly of me.” She turned and walked away, still limping, but her back was stiff and unyielding.

  He was arrogant, and every other word he’d ever been called. He could have told her, had she waited to hear it, that he didn’t even think highly of himself.

  It wouldn’t have hurt him to tell her that he admired her, that she was brave. He figured she’d been testing herself on that for years, just to prove it to a world that never noticed. No one noticed but herself.

  And probably him. But he didn’t want to notice.

  He stalked off the porch and across the rough yard of the cabin. Ten minutes alone. He needed those ten minutes to tell God why he was still angry and why he wasn’t ready to leave this cabin and the isolation of the Alaskan wilderness. He resented being forced to return to Treasure Creek, and he resented the intrusion of a woman who was determined to poke her nose into his life.

  He glanced up at the dark sky, and to the north. Wisps of white and lavender light swirled in the night sky. The northern lights.

  Where was God? When his mom walked out; when his dad held onto faith and Tucker couldn’t; when his dad was dying and stubbornness kept the two of them from talking. Where was God?

  When Anne died.

  He let out a deep breath, and he wanted to hurt someone. He hadn’t known her, but her death had changed his life. Because if it hadn’t been for him, she would still be alive. Her parents would still have her.

  If he wanted, he could make a big, long list of why he didn’t need God. And he ignored the push, the voice that told him to write down a list of reasons he needed God.

  The front door of the cabin opened again. He expected Clark. It was Penelope again. She stood in the lamplight, her hair brushed gold by the flame of the lantern she held.

  It wasn’t Christmas yet, but she reminded him of Christmas. She reminded him of twinkling lights, candy canes, the first snow. And annoying music. The kind that started out okay, but after a while it got under your skin.

  He added the last as a final grasp at sanity. Fortunately, she turned and went back inside. Maybe she hadn’t seen him. Maybe she decided to leave well enough alone. Either way, he was grateful the door closed.

  Penelope helped Wilma wash the dishes. Clark had eaten and gone off by himself. Penelope thought he spent time each evening in prayer. Tucker still hadn’t come inside. Or if he had, he hadn’t shown his face to claim the plate of food left warming on the stove for him.

  The water in the bowl was lukewarm and even the rinse water was a little sudsy and gray. She dipped the clean plate that Wilma handed
her, and then dried it and set it on the counter. Her mind slipped back to Treasure Creek and the small community church that she’d attended. She thought back to Amazing Grace and how it had felt to find faith, to fill the emptiness in her life with something that had seemed to be missing for as long as she could remember. Faith. That missing ingredient. She thought it was missing in Tucker’s life, too.

  “He’s stubborn.” She whispered as she dried the next plate.

  She hadn’t meant to think out loud. Wilma glanced her way with a curious smile and went back to the dishes. The older woman washed a coffee cup and handed it to Penelope to be rinsed.

  “Are you grumbling about Tucker?”

  “Yes.” Penelope dried the cup. “Yes, I am. He’s stubborn. He’s like my father, my brother and all of the other men that I know. He’s obsessed with control and with work. He’s driven by his need to succeed. He thinks he can make decisions for everyone around him.”

  Wilma clucked a little. “He’s driven, but he’s good at heart. He’s finding himself, finding that part that he lost a long time ago.”

  “He’d better hurry.”

  “We all need time, Penelope. We need time to adjust, to find ourselves, to find faith and to find our path in life.”

  “But you and Clark, you have faith. You know where you’re going.”

  Wilma smiled, soft and a little sad. “We’ve struggled, too. It happens to all of us.”

  “What happened?” Penelope let the question rush out. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. A few days of knowing you doesn’t give me the right to barge into your life.”

  “It isn’t something we’re hiding from.” Wilma squeezed water from the dish rag and draped it over the now empty bowl. She sighed. “I guess we’re not hiding from it. We were trying to outrun our sadness. Let’s have cocoa.”

  “I’ll heat the water.” Penelope picked up the pitcher of water on the counter and filled the teapot.

  “You’re getting very good at this.”

  “I have to admit, it isn’t second nature. Second nature would be turning on the faucet and heating water up in the microwave.” Or having someone else do it for her.

  “Yes, but there’s something about this life, about doing things in a way that isn’t easy, that makes a person grow.”

  Penelope put the teapot on the stove. She had watched Clark tend the fire inside the stove and she opened the door now to see if it needed more wood. It didn’t.

  “I hope I’m growing.” She turned, staying next to the stove, leaning against the counter. The room smelled of wood smoke and the fish they had fried.

  “You are. This is a good place to test your mettle, see what you’re made of.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m made of much.”

  Wilma sat down at the table. “You’re made of the best our good Lord has to offer. You’re the finest metal and you’re being tested now. He’s put you in the fire and you’ll come out better for it. We’ve been there, girl. We’ve been there.”

  The teapot whistled. Penelope poured water over cocoa in the cups, stirred the contents and moved to sit at the table with Wilma. They sat across from one another in that simple kitchen lit by candles and lanterns, cocoa in front of them.

  “We lost our son.” Wilma’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and then a few of those tears dripped down her cheeks. “We were in Germany, he was in New York working. When we learned that he’d been hurt, we prayed and prayed. He was the child God had given us when we thought we would never have children.”

  “He must have been very special.”

  “He was.” Wilma smiled a little, but her pain was evident in her eyes.

  Penelope breathed in past the tightness in her chest. She was new at faith and didn’t know how to say it easily, that she’d pray, or even that she understood. She’d never gone through anything that tore her heart out.

  Her life felt shallow. She squeezed her eyes closed and thought back to all of the things she’d done to try to make her life matter—the charity work, the foundations, and then traipsing off to Treasure Creek, as though an adventure could fix it.

  And the Johnsons had been giving up everything for God.

  “I’m so sorry.” She reached to cover Wilma’s hand with her own.

  “Thank you, Penelope.” Wilma wrapped her fingers around Penelope’s hand that still covered hers. “Aiden lived until we got to New York, and then he left us. Our only child. It’s amazing, our story and Tucker’s. God brought us together here, all three of us running from something.”

  “And then I showed up.”

  “And you’re running, too, aren’t you?”

  Penelope sipped the cocoa and she didn’t know how to answer. She thought about Tucker losing his father and the Johnsons losing their son. They had real problems to run from and real needs for God to meet. She was running from life and from marriage. She was running to find herself.

  “I’m running, but I feel selfish now, because my life has been so easy.”

  “Honey, when it is our pain, it counts. Whatever we’re going through, we’re the ones going through it, and if it hurts, it hurts.”

  “Then it hurts.” Penelope set her cup down. “But I’m praying that God has an answer.”

  “He always does. You don’t pray that He has an answer. You pray that you’ll recognize and accept the answer. That’s the real hard part of faith.”

  Footsteps in the hallway ended their conversation. Penelope looked up as Tucker entered the room. He captured her gaze and held it, and she couldn’t look away.

  She watched as he picked up the plate that Wilma had set on the wood stove. He grabbed a fork out of the drainer on the counter and stirred his potatoes, tasting them before adding more salt.

  Penelope focused on her cocoa. She took a sip, pretending he didn’t matter and his opinion of her didn’t matter. He carried his plate and sat down next to her.

  It was definitely time to head out away from Tucker. She didn’t want him to be her problem. And he’d fixed that for her. In a few days they’d leave. And a few days after that, they’d be in Treasure Creek. That meant getting away from him. She told herself she looked forward to parting ways with him.

  She was more than positive he’d be ready to rid himself of her. She had crashed into his seclusion and she was the reason he had to return to Treasure Creek.

  Chapter Six

  They left at dawn three days later. Tucker looked back at the cabin that had been his refuge for the last few months. He’d been running from life. He looked at the three people following him. He hadn’t escaped. Instead, he’d been pushed into three other lives, with no possible escape in sight.

  Life had definitely found him.

  The biggest problem was that the time away hadn’t solved a thing for him. It had given him time to rest up and to enjoy nature, but it hadn’t solved problems he left Treasure Creek with.

  He still felt guilty. He still felt like the worst excuse for a son and a person.

  The pack on his shoulders was a heavy weight, but nothing like the one he was heading back to Treasure Creek with. His attention landed on Penelope Lear and he came pretty close to smiling.

  Wilma had found clothes in a closet. So Penelope had gone from fashion plate to homeless chic.

  She was using a walking stick that Clark had made for her. Her feet were shoved into heavy snow boots and she was wrapped in an ancient parka that smelled of mothballs and musty closet.

  At least she was warm.

  He pushed on, refusing to look back. They had a long way to go. They also had company. He had seen the footprints again that morning. He’d tried to convince himself they were his footprints, but he didn’t have shoes with that tread on the sole.

  “How far will we walk today?” Penelope asked, and he shrugged. He figured this would be an adventure, with her asking “how much farther” on a regular basis. It would be worse than traveling with a five-year-old.

  “Penelope, we’ll walk as
far as we possibly can.” He looked up at blue skies. “This weather might not last. I want to make the most of it.”

  “You don’t have to snap.” She trudged on, her nose and cheeks pink and her eyes watery from the cold.

  “I wasn’t snapping.” He sighed, because he had snapped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She walked faster, catching up with him.

  She walked by his side, her breathing soft and her steps quick to keep up with his. He looked down and shook his head. No wonder her dad wanted to marry her off. Herman Lear wanted her out of his home so he could have peace and quiet.

  “Excited to be going back?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t look up, but kept her gaze on the trail and on her feet as she walked.

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  She looked up and then back down, careful over the rocky path. There were slick spots and the best going was next to the stream. He just hoped none of them fell in. That would be a little more adventure than any of them needed.

  “I’m not excited. I mean, I’ll be glad to get back, but this hasn’t been terrible.”

  No, she had something there. It hadn’t been terrible.

  “You’re right, it hasn’t been bad.”

  “You’re probably not happy to be going back.” She slid a little on ice and he grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were content to hide out there, away from your life and problems. You lectured me about staying put when you’re lost, and yet you walked away from the plane.”

  The kitten had some pretty sharp claws. He would have smiled, but her words stung a little. She was insinuating that he ran from his problems. He’d never run from anything, never. Until June.

  “I didn’t run.” He half attempted a denial and then he sighed. “I’m not excited.”

  Anything but excited. He would have to face Jake and Gage, who appeared to be about the only real friends he had in the world. He glanced back and the Johnsons were trudging a short distance behind, hand in hand. He had friends.