But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy Henry’s company. He made no demands on her, and they had good, light-hearted times together. No deep emotions.
Of course, she and JoAnne enjoyed being together too, but even an independent woman knew that talking with a man was different. “Not better, just different,” was how she explained it to JoAnne, who always seemed jealous when Carrie mentioned Henry.
Not better—just different. A tiny ripple of pleasure moved inside her as she thought about Henry, and she wiggled her shoulders in response to the feeling, even as she wondered what caused it and warned herself not to give in to that type of pleasure. Anyway, it was silly. They didn’t know each other that well. Their talk was always light and very carefully neutral.
So, later this afternoon, she’d call him, and they could go to town together. He wouldn’t mind stopping at the grocery and the tourist center. Maybe he’d like to go to the new catfish restaurant that had opened about a mile from the center. She’d been wanting to try it out. In fact, she and JoAnne had talked about going there this weekend.
The memory chilled her, and she sat still, coffee cup held stiffly, half-way to her mouth. Last night JoAnne had suggested they eat there together... tonight.
And JoAnne never missed a chance to eat out.
Well, what more could she do than keep calling JoAnne? If there was no answer by 3:30, she’d ask Henry if he had a Kansas City phone book and could help her find Susan’s number. Carrie didn’t remember Susan’s husband’s real name. She’d never heard him called anything but “Putt.” Surely there’d be only one Burke-Williams anyway.
In the meantime, she’d have to deal with Evan.
She was sure he didn’t want to talk business. Over his strong protests, she’d transferred her few investments from his office to a broker in Bonny when she moved. She wanted everything close to her new home and, she admitted now, to be finished with Evan.
He answered the phone immediately. “Oh, Carrie, hi, thanks for calling. Um, I was hoping you might be planning a trip to Tulsa soon. I’ve, uh, wanted to see you... ”
Carrie knew better than to ask him to make the two-hour drive to visit her, even if she’d wanted him to come. He hadn’t been near Blackberry Hollow since Amos died.
“I really hadn’t intended to come any time soon, Evan. It’s getting into the time of year when there might be ice or snow. I’ve told you about the stone quarry they’re planning to put in our valley, and we’re busy organizing the fight against it. It may be a while... ”
“Oh, Carrie, you can’t be that busy. How about next Saturday? We’ll, uh, meet, talk over good times here in the city, even go to a show at the Performing Arts Center, or whatever you want. You must miss being able to attend city events.”
When she said nothing, he changed the subject. “Um... in the meantime, tell me what’s new from Rob. Has he been over?”
Now she could talk with honest enthusiasm. “Not recently. He’s busy with his new job at the university. He likes his department head and class assignments. Says there are good research opportunities too. He’ll be here for Thanksgiving.”
“Any daughter-in-law in sight? Is he seeing anyone special?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. He has a very good friend in the art department at the university. He seems to spend a lot of time with her, but I haven’t met her yet.”
“Carrie, I feel I have a part in this. Um... do you remember that I first met you and Amos when you came to see me about opening an investment account for Rob’s college back when he was six?”
Good heavens, how could Evan think she’d forgotten that? She kept her voice light. “Well, he put his college money to good use, didn’t he? We’ll be calling him Dr. Robert Amos McCrite by next spring. We both have a lot to be proud of, Evan.”
“Amos should be here to see it.”
“Well, yes, but he’s not, and Rob’s fine, and I’m doing fine.” She heard her words tumbling out and stopped, changing the subject. “Evan, as you can tell, I really avoid coming to the city. It has nothing to do with you. I’ve turned into a real country girl.”
“Uh... so you’re doing all right then? Are your investments doing well? Satisfied with our office there?”
“Yes, Evan, and you know I have a good job, so I’m fine.”
“At your age you shouldn’t have to work. You should be enjoying playing bridge, and trips, and whatever you want. You should have a man... um... take care of you. Huh-hunh.”
His laugh sounded really strange, and now she was losing patience. “Evan, we’re not that old. I like my job, and you know I don’t play bridge! Some day I might travel, maybe take one of those senior citizen bus trips, but not now. I’m too busy helping other travelers find their way around Arkansas.”
“Yes, yes, the bus trip would be a good idea. I’m glad you’re thinking of that. Perhaps we’ll plan to go together.”
She was too shocked to answer and, after an awkward silence, he said, “Well, tell me more about what’s going on with that quarry.”
She talked a few more minutes, filling the time, then stopped, anxious to get off the phone.
When Evan realized she wasn’t going to say more, he finally told her goodbye, finishing with, “You’ll call me soon?” Then, at last, he hung up.
Good heavens, why did Evan have to be so interested in her? And the man had taken her seriously when she mentioned the bus trip. Senior citizen bus trip indeed—the last thing she wanted to do was go on any kind of bus trip, let alone with Evan!
Still, the folks who came to the center in tour buses always seemed to be having a good time, like they were members of some special club.
But, she reminded herself, she had never wanted to join any club, either. Too many people, too close together.
Carrie put her coffee cup in the sink, then made a cheese sandwich, piled carrot sticks beside it on a plate, and poured a glass of orange juice. She took the food to her office, setting the glass in the copper coaster Rob made for her when he was in eighth grade metal working class.
The coaster was ugly. Rob had never been any cleverer at making or repairing things than Amos. Being a teacher suited him.
She began sorting brochures, stopping every few minutes to punch re-dial and listen to the phone ring at JoAnne’s house. She wished she’d left JoAnne a note asking her to call when she returned. She hadn’t done it because she hated to admit she’d been in the house, but then, JoAnne knew she might be expected to check on the cat under the circumstances.
An hour and a half later, the brochures were all sorted, she had made the notes she needed, and also finished all the food, including the carrot sticks. She couldn’t think of anything more she wanted to do in her office. It was nearly 3:30.
After one more call to JoAnne’s still-empty house, she punched in Henry’s phone number.
His familiar rumble sounded a bit breathless. “Oh, hi, Carrie. I was getting more firewood in, supposed to be very cold tonight. Heard anything from JoAnne yet?”
“No, but Henry, I thought I might call her niece if she’s not back soon. Do you have a Kansas City phone book? I’d like to have Susan’s phone number. The name is spelled B-u-r-k-e. Burke-hyphen-Williams.”
Carrie suddenly felt very awkward. She didn’t want to tell Henry about searching JoAnne’s house and finding an unlocked door and a blank address book.
“Hey, she’ll surely be back this evening. I wouldn’t worry, you know how she is. Do we have a date for supper?”
His quick dismissal of JoAnne’s absence made Carrie feel once more that she was overreacting. After all, under some circumstances, she might not even know JoAnne was gone, and there could be a perfectly logical explanation for both the unlocked door and the missing address book.
“Yes, that’s great, Henry, at least if you don’t mind if we stop by the center to leave my brochure boxes, and also take time to go to the grocery. I need some things I can’t get in Guilford. I should drive this time. My t
urn.”
“Nope, I’ll drive, and I need to get milk myself. Guess you’re bringing your cool chest? Where do you want to eat?”
“Have you tried the new catfish place? It’s just a mile south of the center. How about that?”
“Sounds good. I’ll pick you and your boxes up in an hour. Don’t forget your cool chest. Mine still smells like fish from last summer.”
Carrie didn’t realize until after Henry hung up that he hadn’t answered her question about whether or not he could help her locate Susan’s phone number. Well, of course, he wouldn’t think it was that important anyway.
CHAPTER V
Henry’s old Volkswagen Rabbit came bouncing down the drive at exactly 4:30 by Carrie’s clock. One might never worry if JoAnne was late, but it was time to worry if Henry was late for anything.
Carrie was prepared. She’d had the brochure boxes, cool chest, and her coat ready at the door by 4:15, and her teal blue knitted cap was already on her head.
She always wore sensible hats when it was cold. This one didn’t exactly go with her outfit, but it was fuzzy and warm, and she liked the color.
As a matter of fact, just two weeks ago Henry happened to mention—quite casually, of course—that the cap matched her eyes. Most people called her eyes hazel, and Amos always said they were green. The color had been more noticeable when it was accompanied by the red hair she’d once had. “An Orphan Annie mop” was what her mother once called her hair. Now the red ringlets had been replaced by coarser grey curls, and her eyes, too, were a quieter color. But it was nice Henry noticed the color and had perhaps seen something of youth there.
Carrie was out on the porch with the first box in her arms by the time Henry circled around in the drive and got out to open the hatchback. He didn’t rush to take the box from her or act like she wasn’t capable of carrying it, but simply went to get the next one from the stack.
When they were both securely belted in, he reached over to squeeze her hand and smile before he put the car in gear. She stiffened and then, embarrassed, looked out her window as the little car joggled its way up the hill.
When Henry’s full attention had turned to maneuvering the rutted county road, she faced forward, then, turning her head as little as possible, glanced at him. He was such a big man, with a strong square face and black hair going grey. He made quite a contrast to her own short, round body and wide oval face. Like Hercules and—she almost laughed aloud when she thought of how she might look to others—an ancient cherub in clothes!
Oh, well. She felt, what was it, giddy? No, not that exactly, but she did feel surprisingly light-hearted. Did a smile and a hand squeeze from a man do all that?
She relaxed, settling into the contours of the seat. Without willing it, she found her thoughts lifting above the problems of the day. She was really looking forward to the evening with Henry. This was fun, almost like going on a date when she was sixteen. She hadn’t forgotten!
They didn’t talk until they were on the paved highway since the rocky road made for noisy travel in almost any car.
Hoping to keep conversation away from the quarry for a while, Carrie asked Henry how well he knew Jack Bruner.
“Oh, not well, but we always seem to end up in the barber shop at the same time. We talk some.” He looked over at her. “I think men talk to each other in the barber shop even more than women do in a beauty shop. Too bad the old barber shops are disappearing. They don’t have those dryers making noise to interrupt conversation.”
She grinned. “Gossip!”
“Well... ”
“What do you talk about?”
“Oh, most of what Jack says is about his farm—chickens and cattle—and also taking care of his land. He seems pretty big on following guidelines for spreading chicken litter on pastures, avoiding run-off into the creek, things like that. I guess he’s a good farmer. Maybe it’s all PR, but he seems sincere.”
“Surprising. I wouldn’t have expected that from him. I smell their chicken houses sometimes when the wind is from the south, don’t you?”
“Yep, live in the country, smell the country.”
“Maybe, but I’d just as soon live a million miles from any confinement hog or chicken houses, denuded forests, human pollution, or too-close neighbors.”
“Carrie, you don’t mean all that. Besides, you put manure on your garden. As for neighbors, don’t forget your house is less than a mile from mine if you walk through the woods. And... there’s JoAnne, close enough.”
She was silent for a moment. “I guess I like my privacy too much, hm?”
“I like privacy too, but, well, people need people sometimes.”
The tone of his voice had changed. She glanced over to see such sadness in his face that she turned away involuntarily, then bowed her head when he spoke again.
“Carrie, you’ve probably never needed someone like I did once. You’ve probably never had someone turn on you when you needed them most.”
After a silence, she said softly, still not looking at him, “I do know, Henry. Even if Amos was still here, he wouldn’t be the kind of person who could offer understanding, or comfort, or support. I’ve had to stand on my own pretty much all my life. I don’t know how it was with you, so maybe it isn’t the same, but... ”
“Amos never turned against you, never lied, never tried to make you suffer!” His words were full of pain.
Now she turned toward him again. “No, no, he didn’t. I’m sorry. You mean it was Irena? Irena did that?”
Carrie knew very little about Henry’s marriage except that his wife had left him five years ago, about the same time Amos died. That was one reason the two of them were drawn together in the beginning. They had each been alone for about the same length of time, and in most ways both of them were comfortable with their single lives. That added to companionable understanding in a relationship without commitments. But other than saying he had been married, his wife had left, and there were no children, Henry had offered nothing, and Carrie hadn’t wanted to ask.
JoAnne, who seemed to know a lot about Irena’s family—probably from reading the society pages of the Kansas City papers—had reported to Carrie that the family had lots of “old” money. JoAnne said that when Irena’s last relative died, she inherited all the remaining wealth. At least Henry didn’t need to worry about supporting his missing wife. Maybe Irena was supposed to be sending him alimony! Surely that wasn’t what he meant.
“This is a depressing conversation, isn’t it, Carrie? Let’s change the subject.”
But she couldn’t help asking. “Did you get a divorce?”
Henry’s smile returned, though he didn’t look at her. “Yup, no attachments!”
Now why did I have to ask that, Carrie thought. She’d opened her mouth before thinking!
* * *
The grocery wasn’t busy, and she walked beside Henry as he pushed her cart through the almost empty aisles.
“Ah, Kitty-Kat Krunchies,” he said, enunciating each “k” and “t” sharply and rolling the “r.” She started to laugh as she put the box of food for FatCat in the cart, and, with that encouragement, he began reading more product names aloud. Even though most of the brands were known to her, somehow Henry’s sonorous voice rolling out, “toe-MAH-toe bits,” and, “Be-a-nie-We-e-enie” made the names sound ridiculous—and hilarious.
No one could mistake us for an old married couple, she thought. We’re acting too silly.
After the sacks of groceries were safely stowed in the back seat of the car and the milk and meat put in the cool chest, they headed toward the highway. “Shall we eat or go to the center first?” he asked.
She looked at her watch. “Eat,” she said. “The center will be closed now anyway, and I’m starving.”
“Ah, and you’re a fine woman, Carrie McCrite,” said Henry.
* * *
He became pompously chivalrous when they arrived at the restaurant, and they were laughing again by the time he bowed over
her hand and helped her onto one of the rough-hewn wooden benches. Staring at them, the young hostess in cap and apron laid brown paper menus on the trestle table.
When she was out of earshot, Carrie said, “She can’t wait to get back to the kitchen and tell everyone about the strange old folks with odd manners.”
“Should have stayed,” Henry said, “might have learned something.”
The overall-clad waiter who came to take their order couldn’t be a day over sixteen, Carrie decided, as she began by asking for separate checks. She and Henry always went dutch.
Henry looked up at the boy and winked. “I can’t stand independent women, can you? No, suh, this lady goes on my ticket.”
Carrie, thinking she should be angry about his reference to her independence as well as more mindful of JoAnne’s admonitions, responded by holding the menu over the lower part of her face and batting her eyes at the confused boy. Then she looked at Henry and said, “Why, thank you, Colonel. You are most kind.”
My goodness, oh, my goodness, what was wrong with her?
“Was that supposed to be Scarlett O’Hara?” Henry asked when the boy left.
After that beginning, thought Carrie while they ate, I probably could have eaten the box of Kitty-Kat Krunchies and not known it.
The meal, however, was delicious. Henry obviously enjoyed it too, and even ordered extra hushpuppies as soon as he and Carrie finished a lengthy discussion about who was going to eat the last one on the platter.
“You just ordered more,” Carrie told him as they got up to leave, “because I ate the last one! But,” she said firmly, “I counted. They brought us eight, and we each had four. Fair is fair, and I no longer care a twit about a girlish figure.”
“Hm,” Henry said, keeping his eyes on her face as he held her coat, “I like a bit of roundness here and there myself.”
Oh, my, Carrie thought, oh, my.
When they went outside, the cold air was sharp against their faces though the wind had died. Stars sparkled, even in the city-lit sky. “Sure is cold,” Henry said unnecessarily as they got in the car.
A Valley to Die For Page 5
