“Sure is. Probably there’ll be frost flowers in the morning. We haven’t had them yet this year... hasn’t been cold enough. I plan to go for a walk tomorrow morning and see if I can find some.”
“Is that the curvy ice that comes out of the ground? Is that what you call them? I haven’t seen very many, but then I guess I’m not in the woods as often as you are. What makes them?” He glanced away from the traffic for a moment, and his brown eyes twinkled at her. “I’m willing to bet you know.”
“Fairy ice, frost flowers, they have lots of names. They happen when plants retain moisture in their roots after the tops die in the fall. When the air temperature is cold enough, the remaining moisture freezes and expands. Ice is pushed out through rows of tiny splits in the stems. That’s what makes the fantastic swirls. The ice swirls stop appearing as soon as all moisture inside the plant is gone. JoAnne told me those facts. I prefer to think it’s magic.
“Of course, they only occur in places where the weedy wildflowers are left alone, and most of society moves too fast to notice them when they do appear. Conditions have to be just right, and they don’t last long. They’re usually gone by ten o’clock, a transient beauty.”
“Yes, and I’d like to see more of them. Would it be all right if I went with you tomorrow? Besides, you probably shouldn’t go by yourself. Hunting season, you know. I saw trucks with gun racks along the road today.”
“You can come if you want to see the frost flowers, but I’ll be perfectly safe alone. I wear hunters’ orange, and tomorrow I plan to carry my radio and play loud music.
“We usually find the best display on the hill beyond the creek, which is about half-way between your house and mine, I guess. I want to go out early so I’ll have time to get home and dress for church. I’ll call you around eight, and we can meet on the hill if you like.”
“Whatever you say,” he agreed and was silent.
Maybe I should have asked him to go to church with me, Carrie thought. So far as she knew, Henry didn’t attend any local church, but he was always the first one to bow his head for a quiet table blessing when they ate out together.
Still, she was silent too and wondered if she wanted Henry to go to church for his good... or hers.
* * *
The Tourist Information Center parking lot was bright with mercury vapor light, and Carrie had no trouble finding her key to open the door while Henry followed with the first box. She didn’t turn on any inside lights. They could see quite well by light that came in through the windows. She showed him where to put the box and went back to get another. She was just putting it in the corner when he came in behind her with the last box, stacked it on top of the other two, then turned at the edge of the counter, blocking her exit. He leaned against the counter for a moment, studying her in silence.
She began to feel like she was floating in another time, clear back to her first year of high school. She was standing on the shadowy porch at her parents’ home with Christopher Kneeland, the first boy who had ever kissed her. But the big, powerful-looking man standing over her was not Christopher.
Nor was his kiss like Christopher’s.
Henry’s arms tightened around her, and without a thought of caution or regret, she welcomed the warm, strong body against hers. Carrie was almost beyond surprise when she recognized the stirring of feelings she barely remembered from long ago... long, lonely years before Amos died.
After several minutes she turned to put her cheek against Henry’s rough jacket, trying to calm her thoughts.
Then she looked up at him. “Oh, my,” was all she could say.
“Carrie,” he said, very softly, then shook his head. “Should I apologize? I don’t want to.”
“No,” she answered. “No, you don’t need to apologize.”
He picked the teal blue hat off the floor, handed it to her, then waited in silence while she locked the office door. She couldn’t think of anything to say except a rather formal thank you as he held the car door for her.
Henry turned the heater up as he headed the car down the highway, and Carrie, who was shivering now, welcomed the warmth. Had he expected this? Had he thought about it ahead of time? She certainly hadn’t.
And now she was scared. She didn’t know what she should think or say. She didn’t even know how she should feel. Passion was a word she never used, but was that it? Was remembering the warmth of Henry’s closeness wrong—the wrong feeling, the wrong time?
For the shortest moment, back there in the darkness, she had thought of the marriage ceremony, and two being one.
And she had felt so quiet, so safe, and so... unlonely.
True, it had been one heck of a day, but still, was she seeking escape from mental muddles over Evan and JoAnne and the quarry by responding to—no, welcoming, even encouraging—hilarity, and then... then... She’d certainly never acted like that in her whole life. She was going to have to think about Carrie as well as Henry. What was wrong with her? Or, what was wrong with this person in her body that really couldn’t be... had never been... her.
After they’d driven several miles, she backed away from her tumbling thoughts and struggled to make casual conversation, commenting on an early Christmas tree in a window they passed and wondering aloud how many times snow and ice would knock out their electric power this winter. Henry followed her lead, talking quietly, his earlier roles of comedian suitor and tender lover held back by what she supposed was either propriety or perhaps something akin to the shock she felt.
He helped carry her groceries into the kitchen, took his milk, and headed back toward the hall. He didn’t offer to stay, nor did she want to ask him. At the door he looked at her seriously for a moment, then smiled, brushed his gloved finger gently across her cheek, and bent to touch her mouth with his in the slightest whisper of a kiss.
She said thank you—meaning the dinner—then, after the door closed, realized he might not know just what she had thanked him for. Maybe she should have been more specific.
Awash in confusion, Carrie stood by her front door listening as the little car chugged up the lane toward the road, carrying Henry away into the night.
She put two logs in the wood stove before going to get ready for bed. She wrapped herself in the fuzzy robe Rob had given her last Christmas and sat in her chair by the stove for a long time, deciding she was almost as confused by Henry’s actions as she was her own. He had always been friendly, but that was it. He’d never touched her, unless it was to take her arm as they entered a restaurant or make some other polite gesture. His touch and kiss tonight had been rather more than polite.
Was this all wrong? Or could it be, somehow, all right? Why didn’t she, a sensible, independent, mature woman, know the answer to that? And how was she going to face tomorrow, and the next days, when she would see Henry, and other people would be there, and when she would look at him and know... know about tonight. What was she going to do?
Do? She didn’t even know what to think!
Well, one thing she must not do is be alone with Henry again. At least not for a while.
She’d come to no other conclusions when she closed down the damper on the stove and went to bed.
CHAPTER VI
Carrie awakened from the dream slowly. The images wavered, faded, and she let them go reluctantly.
Oh, my, just like the romantic movies of her childhood, and just as unreal. Silly.
She lay quietly under her down comforter, totally involved, for a brief dream-time, in memories.
Then, suddenly alert, she pushed memory away and sat up so quickly it made her dizzy. It was just a dream, but the man in the dream had been Henry, not Amos!
I’m carrying on as if I were a teenager instead of a mature woman, she thought. I must get this out of my head.
Carrie willed her thoughts into daylight and turned to look out the window. First light. The sun would come soon. Time to go see about JoAnne, and it would be a beautiful morning to share a woods walk with Henry.
No... oh, no, not now. That she could not do now, no matter what she’d promised last night. Besides, he undoubtedly regretted his actions, maybe was as embarrassed as she was and didn’t want to be alone with her either. That’s what he must be thinking. He would be wondering what had gotten into the both of them.
Several times before last night, they had talked about independence and agreed it was so important.
She turned from thoughts about Henry and began a prayer for JoAnne, then side-tracked, thinking that God must understand she hadn’t wanted Henry as anything but a good friend... someone who understood and was kind.
That person didn’t have to be a man, though Henry had seemed both understanding and kind. A real gentleman—if she overlooked his coming into her house without knocking yesterday. She hadn’t had the courage to ask about that.
Well, JoAnne was a good friend. She was intelligent, quick, loyal, and witty. But she was not gentle or kind.
The prayer, which strayed between Carrie’s own need for comfort and her concern for JoAnne, ended with, “Please let her be home, and thank you for taking care of all of us. Guide us... me... in doing Your will.”
Of course, JoAnne could be quite safe away from home. It might not have occurred to her that Carrie would worry.
She shook her head in frustration. Why hadn’t JoAnne confided in her? They were supposed to be good friends!
Well, she’d just left it in God’s hands. She should live up to her prayer.
Now it was time to check and see if JoAnne was home, then go look for frost flowers. Henry, remembering last night, would understand why she hadn’t called.
She pushed her comforter back, slid out of bed, put on her robe and furry slippers, and hurried into the living room to start a fire in the woodstove. As she got closer to the iron box, she could feel the tiny bit of friendly warmth that remained from last night’s fire and, when she swung the heavy latch and opened the iron door, saw there were healthy coals glowing beneath the ashes. She selected kindling and two split logs from her wood box, put them on the coals over sheets of crumpled newsprint, and watched to be sure the fire had a good start before she went to make her coffee.
While the water was heating, she punched in JoAnne’s number, thinking, “Please answer, please answer,” as if this incantation would somehow help.
There was no answer.
So. She’d have to go feed the cat before she went walking.
Suddenly Carrie felt anger replace her worry. JoAnne simply assumed she’d take care of FatCat! She hadn’t phoned because “Carry-on Carrie” would always take over. Well, if JoAnne wasn’t back when she got home from church, she’d bring FatCat and all the cat paraphernalia here. If it snowed, she wanted the cat at this end of the forest path until JoAnne came to claim her. Let JoAnne worry if the cat was missing when she returned!
Still, Susan should be notified. It was time someone else worried about JoAnne’s behavior.
Carrie decided she’d dress and eat first, then it wouldn’t be quite so early and seem so much like an emergency. Surely Kansas City Information could find the number. The name Burke-Williams wasn’t exactly common. She wasn’t going to bother Henry about the number again; he hadn’t acted like he wanted to talk about Kansas City. Probably something to do with the bad experience he’d hinted at last night.
She ate a bowl of cereal, then put on her jeans, a turtleneck, and a heavy sweat shirt.
Information in Kansas City did have a listing, and Carrie dialed the number. Susan answered and greeted her warmly. The baby was crying in the background, and Carrie remembered how Rob had sounded years ago.
She got right to the point. “Susan, have you talked with your aunt JoAnne recently? She left home yesterday morning and hasn’t returned or been in touch. I thought I’d better tell you.”
“We talked Thursday night. We were making plans for getting together there at Thanksgiving. She was fine then. Do you think something’s wrong?”
In the background the crying stopped. Probably Susan’s husband was tending to the baby. Nice. Amos wouldn’t have.
“Well, no,” Carrie said, “not exactly. You know how she is, but I am a bit worried. There’s the cat. She didn’t call to ask me to take care of FatCat.”
Silence. Carrie heard a man’s voice, then Susan’s, explaining. The man said something else.
“Carrie, Putt and I both think someone should be notified. I know Aunt JoAnne’s in good health and all, but, if it’s been a whole day and no word about taking care of FatCat... Who can you call there? Would there be a police department or missing persons?”
“No, out here it’s the county sheriff. I’ll call him. I’m really sorry to bother you, and I don’t want to make a big deal about this, but still... ”
“Yes, we both know Aunt JoAnne, but, as you say, there’s the cat. After you’ve talked to the sheriff, will you call me back?” Susan’s voice betrayed her worry.
“Right away. I’ll hang up and call now.”
Carrie wasn’t sure if she should call 911 or the regular number for the sheriff’s department. She didn’t want to make this sound like it was life-threatening or anything. She dialed the regular number.
The pleasant, low-key female voice that answered asked a few questions about JoAnne and her truck, then told Carrie that nothing sounding as though it might involve JoAnne had been reported. She took Carrie’s phone number, saying she’d re-check all the reports from deputies and from the hospitals and put out a description of JoAnne as well as the grey truck. Checking would take a little while. Would Ms. McCrite be at this number?
Thinking quickly, Carrie decided she’d better feed the cat now, and she really did want to go walking. She explained she had an answering machine, thanked the dispatcher, and hung up.
After calling Susan to report that the sheriff’s office had no reports of any problems involving JoAnne, Carrie put on her orange jacket and hat and, taking her portable radio and a plastic bag with cat food in it, went out into the bright morning.
She hurried along the path and let herself into the house. She emptied the bag of food into FatCat’s food bowl, re-filled the water bowl, then hesitated. Perhaps she’d better do another walk-through.
In the door of JoAnne’s bedroom, she stopped. Had she left the closet door open after she looked inside yesterday afternoon? Surely... But she must have. It was open now. JoAnne wouldn’t be happy if she found out. FatCat had once shown a lively interest in the sweaters on shelves at one side of the closet.
Carrie took a quick look. The sweaters seemed undisturbed. She shut the closet door, hearing the latch click. Odd, she remembered that sound from yesterday.
She re-checked the rest of the house. All was quiet, very normal, and empty of any movement except for a friendly cat.
Instead of heading back along the path to her house, Carrie decided to climb down the hill behind JoAnne’s, cross the creek, and make her way at an angle up the opposite hill to their favorite frost flower spot. There were several places where it was easy to step over the spring-fed creek that ran through the hollow, and the creek disappeared completely before it got to the end of JoAnne’s property, leaving the rocky bed dry except when there had been a heavy rain.
She and JoAnne often puzzled about where their water went after it sank out of sight through the rocks. They had imagined it must be busy underground, creating a beautiful cavern full of all kinds of exotic mineral deposits. There were small caves with such formations in the bluffs overlooking the valley and, of course, magnificent ones, large and small, in many other places throughout the Ozarks.
The two of them had talked about pouring a bottle of red food coloring into their creek, then walking along the big creek in the valley to see if any pink water showed up. Later this winter, they’d do just that.
She started up the hill and turned on her radio, tuning it to a program of gospel music. If any hunters were in the area, they’d sure know she was coming.
As she
climbed, she began scanning the forest floor for the magical ice formations. Nothing, yet conditions were right. JoAnne had mentioned that it was about time just a couple of days ago.
Then, suddenly, sunlight in the clearing ahead of her sparkled bits of diamond fire from the forest floor. She’d expected to find a few, but here were dozens of the fantastic twists of ribbony ice rising from the ground, creating the now familiar flower-like swirls, loops, and sugary folds. No matter that she understood how fairy ice was formed, she’d always think of these ice formations as magic. She stood still, savoring the beauty, and feeling sorry, for a moment, that she hadn’t called Henry. Maybe it was wrong to rob him of this pleasure.
Well, he was certainly capable of going on a walk by himself, and she had told him the best display was usually on this hillside.
The first fall after she’d moved here, JoAnne took her into these woods, promising a spectacle she’d never forget. As usual, JoAnne had been right.
Carrie turned the radio off, listened, and looked around to see if Henry had come out by himself. A person could see long distances in a winter forest, but now she saw nothing and heard only birds and squirrels.
Hunters might be here, but they were always quiet.
She turned the radio on again, then took off a glove and bent to touch one of the delicate ice formations, feeling it give under the light pressure of her finger.
The radio announcer said it was 9:15. She should head back toward her house and the phone.
It really was too bad Henry had missed this show.
She started downhill on her regular walking path, planning to cross the creek on the old earth dam at the pond and climb the gentle slope below her house.
This was the best time of year to be in the forest. Undergrowth had dried, and she could see so far. She paused and tilted her head up to look at tree branches making crisscross lacework against the sky. She was near home, almost to the old fallen tree and the creek. It would be safe to turn off the radio and listen for birds. Safe...
A Valley to Die For Page 6
