by Lori Wick
“Yes,” Casey answered with a beaming smile. “I’m just fine. Tell your mom I’ll call her later.”
Corrie was relieved when she saw that smile, and not having noticed Hunter, went off without a care. Casey then approached Hunter quite slowly and stopped.
“Hello.” Hunter’s voice was just as she remembered, deep and soft, and his eyes were just as warm.
“Hello, Hunter.”
An awkward moment passed.
“Is there someplace we can talk?”
“We could go back to my apartment,” Casey suggested.
Hunter nodded, and they moved to the door. Casey knew that the few remaining people watched her exit, but she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Once in the parking lot, Hunter followed her to her little yellow car.
“Did you drive?”
“Not to church.”
“Oh, well.” Again she felt at a loss. “Hop in.”
Suddenly Casey couldn’t remember how to drive. She fumbled with the clutch and nearly stalled the car twice before gaining the street. The ride to her apartment was a blur, and as soon as she let herself in the door, she crossed the room from Hunter and stood like a scared rabbit.
“Sit down,” she offered, her voice breathless as she tried to control the pounding of her heart. However, Hunter remained standing. After a moment he said, “Casey, would you rather I hadn’t come?”
“No, Hunter, no! I’m glad you’re here.”
“Then why are you so far away?” His gentle voice was nearly Casey’s undoing, but she spoke with feigned calm.
“Because I think we need to talk before we touch.” Where this had come from Casey couldn’t have said. In reality she wanted to throw her arms around him, but in her heart she knew this was best.
Hunter nodded, thinking that her level head was one of the things he loved about her. He’d have laughed if he could have heard her thoughts.
When Hunter sat, Casey did also. Another small silence passed, but this one wasn’t awkward. Hunter glanced around her apartment and commented on the lovely decor.
“I like it,” Casey admitted. “It’s not very big, but it’s home.”
“I’ve missed you, Casey,” Hunter suddenly interjected.
Casey smiled, feeling more at ease by the moment. “I’ve missed you too. You took rather a long time to contact me.”
Now Hunter smiled. “I’m sorry about that. Almost as soon as I got home I removed the ring, but I’d promised myself that our next meeting would be in person, not by phone or letter. Then life went nuts with tour wrap-up. I couldn’t get away to come to you.”
“But you’re here now.”
“Yes.” Hunter smiled again. “I want to tell you that I’m here so we can get to know each other, and that would be true, but I’ve got to tell you right up front: My feelings for you are serious.”
Casey stared at him for a moment and then looked away. She was silent for so long that Hunter shifted to see her face better and spoke again.
“What are you thinking, Casey?”
She took a big breath and admitted, “I’ve never felt for a man as I feel for you, Hunter, and it scares me.” She turned her head to see him now. “I loved Nathan, but I was so young, and I see now what a selfish type of love it was. Now I’m feeling things I never thought I’d feel. No, that isn’t true,” Casey corrected herself. “I’m feeling things I didn’t even know existed, and it’s all a bit overwhelming.”
Hunter lovingly held her gaze. “Since we’re being totally up-front, I’ll tell you that I’m head-over-heels where you are concerned.”
Casey bit her lip.
“I’m not here to ask for your hand,” he went on, “because you’re not ready for that. But as I said before, my feelings are serious. Since your feelings are rather frightening to you, would you rather I stay, or would it be better if I left now?”
Casey’s heart slowed to normal at that point, and things became very clear.
“I would like you to stay, but I will ask you the same thing I did before: Please be careful with my heart.”
“That I can gladly do.”
He spoke tenderly before he moved to the other end of the sofa, the one near her chair, and reached for her hand. Casey gave it gladly.
They talked for the next three hours until Hunter calmly announced to Casey that he was starving. With much laughter they raided Casey’s refrigerator. Twenty minutes had passed when Hunter used a napkin to wipe whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. Casey knew in an instant that Hunter had refrained from kissing it off, and this restraint, more than anything he had said or done, told her that something wonderful was happening between them.
“It’s not every brother who would come home early from his honeymoon for his sister,” Hunter teased Janelle as she lay in the hospital bed.
Janelle smiled at him but didn’t apologize. “Did you see her?”
“Yes,” Casey told her. “And she’s beautiful.”
“She’s awfully small, but the doctor says she’s going to be all right.”
“It’s really your fault, Casey,” Dan interjected.
“My fault?” She said with a laugh.
“That’s right. If you had married Hunter on the first weekend he came into town, as I’m sure he wanted,” Dan stressed, “early as she was, you’d have been back long before Deana was born.”
“Can you believe that logic?” Casey asked her husband of eight days.
“Well, now,” Hunter had caught Dan’s teasing eye as he slipped an arm around Casey, “I think he might be right.”
“Hopeless,” Casey commented to Janelle and earned a wonderful smile, but she was teasing as well.
Dan leaned close to his wife just then, and Hunter took advantage of the time to kiss Casey. Casey melted in his arms and for the hundredth time thought about how she’d asked him to care for her heart, and how he’d done just that.
A Note from Lori: When I was a teen, I had the opportunity to attend summer camp in northern California. On two different occasions I met singing groups from a Bible school in Michigan. I remembered the wonder I felt over the way the group sang and the fun they had together. Although “Be Careful With My Heart” does not strictly focus on the camp and singing groups, it was with those fond memories in mind that I wrote this story. By the way, I eventually attended the Bible school in Michigan, and that is where I met, fell in love, and became engaged to my husband, Bob Wick.
The Haircut
Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.
Ephesians 6:1
The last day of school, usually so exciting for Bobby, was tempered a bit by a trip to the barber. The weeks between Easter vacation and the end of school had stretched on endlessly for Bobby as his older siblings went off to school each day, but now his brothers and sisters would be home for the rest of the summer, and he would have full-time playmates. If only his mother hadn’t spoiled the excitement just after breakfast.
“The kids will be home at half past eleven,” she had said, “so we’d better get downtown. I need to pick up the mail, get milk and bread, and stop at the hardware store. Although,” she paused a moment, “you need to get to the barber, so we’ll do that first.”
“The barber?” he’d asked in dismay, but his mother was poring over her list and didn’t reply.
Less than an hour later, Bobby’s mother’s words came to fruition, and he found himself in the barber’s chair, cranked high into the air, the sound of the clippers assailing his small ears.
It’s best for everyone reading Bobby’s story to understand something about Wisconsin in the early 1960’s—little boys had butch haircuts. A butch was short and fuzzy. There was nothing left to brush or style, since all the hairs of the head were the same short length.
Bobby didn’t care for this style, but as a five-year-old, his opinion on the matter counted for little. His brother Johnny was three years older, but he could not sway his mother’s beliefs either. If Bobby’s guess was right, Johnny w
ould be downtown the next morning for his own shearing.
At the moment, however, Bobby sat pragmatically before the huge mirror as Les and his electric clippers did their job. The result was much the same as all the haircuts before, and no one noticed the small sigh that lifted the red-striped cover swathing Bobby’s small form.
Weeks later the family left the state for their traditional summer vacation. Bobby smiled secretly to himself as his hand reached surreptitiously for the hair at the back of his head. In all the bustle and rush of vacation plans and packing, no one had taken time to get the younger boys to the barber for a late summer haircut. Bobby knew very well that the barber shop would be their first stop when they arrived back home, but in the meantime, he had more hair on his head than he’d had in a long time.
Bobby’s joy, however, was short-lived. After they’d settled their travel trailer into a campground in Georgia, Mother told Bobby’s older sister Jane to walk the boys into town for haircuts. Bobby was quiet as they ambled along, hoping in his heart that the town wouldn’t have a barber.
Once on the short city streets, some of Bobby’s chagrin deserted him. Fascinated, he took in the clapboard storefronts of an unfamiliar town. He saw a five-and-tencent store, a bank, two small grocery stores, a small hardware store, a clothing emporium, a real estate office—and a barber shop.
Bobby spotted this last establishment without much enthusiasm, but he marched obediently across the threshold when Jane held the door. The barber was friendly enough, and the change in shops was interesting, but Bobby still felt a bit cheated.
“Well, now,” the barber offered as he put down the weekly paper and stood. “What can I do for you today?”
“My brothers need haircuts,” Jane told him with calm efficiency.
“Well, who’ll be first?”
With that question, Bobby climbed into the chair and lifted his chin for the drape. He stared at himself in the mirror and just barely heard the conversation between the barber and his sister.
“Just a trim today?”
“The barber at home always gives them a butch.”
“A butch?” the barber asked with some confusion.
Jane’s hands gestured around her own head. “It’s just cut short all over.”
“With the clippers?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The barber nodded and switched the clippers on. His first sweep, straight back from the front of Bobby’s head, made Bobby’s little heart sink with dread. In the seconds that followed, a boy appeared in the mirror that Bobby had never seen before: He was nearly bald.
The contrast between his tan face and white scalp was startling. Bobby’s mind went back to a picture he’d seen once in National Geographic. The photo had accompanied a story covering the last world war and depicted a group of pathetic-looking refugees, their hair as short as his own.
It was a somber five-year-old who climbed down from the barber’s chair. Bobby knew he should thank the barber, but the words would not come. It didn’t help to look over at Jane and see her eyes wide with shock.
Within minutes Johnny looked as much like a war victim as Bobby, and after Jane paid the man, they went on their way. Bobby never would have believed that one-quarter of an inch could make such a difference, but he felt so bare that he was tempted to run all the way back to camp.
Bobby’s mother had little to say when they came back but hugged each boy, thanked Jane, and gave all five of her children some lunch. Bobby stuck his tongue out at his other sister, Margaret, when he caught her staring at him. He simply ignored his oldest brother, Jeff. However, the afternoon passed in good fun. They swam and played, and for a time Bobby forgot about his bald head.
That evening over supper at the big picnic table outside their trailer, Bobby’s dad was quieter than usual. Bobby caught him watching him from time to time, and he frantically searched his mind to see if he might be in trouble over something.
The meal ended, and while his mother was doing the dishes inside, his father entered the trailer. Bobby sat on the rear bed coloring in a book.
“Helen, it’s about time those boys had some hair on their heads,” he said without preamble.
“It is awfully short, John,” she agreed. “But you know Les never cuts it that close.” Mother’s hands dripped with soapy water as she shifted to face him.
“No matter,” he spoke decisively. “No more butches.”
Mother agreed without an argument, and after a moment, without looking in the direction of the little boy at the rear of the trailer, they both laughed softly. Father then made his way back outside.
Bobby watched him go from his place back on the bed. He moved to the edge of the double mattress and leaned out precariously into what would have been considered the hallway to the rear of the trailer. On the back of the bathroom door was a mirror, one that would have been over his head if his feet had been on the floor. By stretching just so, he was able to see himself in that mirror.
Staring back at him was the same bald-headed little boy he’d seen in the barber shop. This time, however, there was something different: This time was to be the last.
Bobby grinned at himself in the glass before going back to his coloring book, thinking as he did, I should have thanked the barber after all.
A Note from Lori: I married the little boy in this story, and even though “Bobby” still goes for haircuts, there is now far less to cut. It was a fun story to hear, and also fun to write about my husband’s immediate family. I will admit that I took some literary license. I did not, however, change names to protect the innocent.
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The Princess
Enjoy this special selection from Lori Wick’s popular full-length novel, The Princess.
One
Faraday, Wainwright
June 1994
The Palace
Toby Newbury walked into the palace with comfortable familiarity, knowing he would be welcome but not certain he would find the monarch available. He wasn’t against talking to the queen alone, but the purpose of his visit made him hope he would find Pendaran’s king and queen together.
“Mr. Newbury,” a voice greeted with utmost respect. Toby turned to find Wallace headed his way. Wallace was the king and queen’s house minister, a man of indistinguishable years who kept the east quadrant of the palace moving on well-oiled wheels.
“Hello, Wallace. May I go up?”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll just ring through and let the queen know you’re coming.”
Now knowing the king was not available, Toby crossed the black-and-white-tiled foyer and started up the wide staircase that led to the second floor and the palace’s private chambers. The queen, he knew, would be in one of the salons, and because there was always someone hovering in the hallway nearby, finding her would be no effort. “Someone” turned out to be the queen herself. Having received the call, she was waiting just outside the double doors of her favorite salon. Dressed in a beautiful blue pantsuit that matched her eyes, she looked delighted to see him.
“Hello, Toby,” she greeted, smiling as they embraced.
“Good morning, Erica.” His own smile was warm as he kissed her cheek. “Alone this morning, are you?” he wasted no time in asking.
“For another 15 minutes,” she said as she led the way to the plush yellow davenports that sat in a half circle and allowed a lovely view of the inner courtyard.
“Good.”
“Why is that good?” her eyes twinkled as she asked.
“I have something to tell both of you. Do you think Rafe will have time?”
“Yes. Unless something has come up, he’s free until this afternoon.”
“Good,” Toby repeated, but Erica fell silent, watching as her guest’s gaze went to the windows. She had learned from childhood when to ask questions and when to keep silent. Toby clearly had something on his mind, but it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to explain it twice.
“Did you have a speaking engagement last night?” the queen, remembering suddenly, asked.
“As a matter of fact, I was at a banquet, but I didn’t address the group.”
“I’m surprised you’re here so early.”
“It wasn’t a late night. The dinner was right here in Faraday.” His voice had grown rather soft while speaking, his eyes moving back to the windows, and for this reason Erica fell silent again.
Without invitation the years fell away in her mind, back to the time she had met both Rafael Markham and Toby Newbury. Having grown up together, the two had been best friends for years. Not for a moment had Rafe seen a future as Pendaran’s king, but that was before meeting King Anton’s daughter, Erica. His view of a place in the palace had changed a great deal after that introduction, and with Toby’s encouragement, Rafe had courted Erica with an interest that turned her head. Very impressed with the young man who seemed ready to lay his life down on her behalf, King Anton and Queen Ketra, now King Regent and Queen Regent, had given the couple their blessing. In a month Rafe and Erica would celebrate their thirty-second wedding anniversary.
“Wallace told me you were here,” the king said as he entered the room. “Hello, Toby.”
“Good morning, Rafe.”
Although he greeted his friend, the king made a beeline for his wife and bent to kiss her. “Hello, love,” he said softly before turning back to Toby. The men shook hands but didn’t exchange words. Rafe sat down and stared at Toby for a long moment. The other man looked back.
“I think you have something on your mind, Toby.”
“You’re right, I do, and since I hate beating about the bush, I’ll come right to it. It’s about our conversation two weeks ago concerning Nick.”
Both men noticed the way Erica tensed, and Rafe, who had taken a seat on the davenport beside her, reached for her hand.
“I’ve been praying about the situation, as I told you I would,” Toby explained, “but then last night I met a young woman whom you need to know about.”
