“I’ll have to come out and see for myself when I have time,” he promised, and he hung up a few minutes later. He didn’t bother telling his brother or father. He knew they wouldn’t understand. He had had a hard enough time understanding Bill himself over the years, but he was beginning to get glimpses of the kind of man he was, and how different he was from them. He wasn’t a misfit, as Tom had suspected for so long. He was a much, much better man than any of them. It had taken him all thirty-five years of Bill’s life to figure that out.
Bill rode Clay Roberts’s horse, Navajo, for his home visits over rough terrain, and Clay had told him to keep the horse for as long as he wanted. He was reliable and solid, and Bill enjoyed the rides. There was a small horse stall behind the house, and he was coming back from feeding Navajo one morning, before going out on some visits, when he saw a young boy standing outside the house, afraid to go in. He was wearing jeans and a cowboy hat, and well-worn cowboy boots. He had come on foot, and he had the gangly look of a fourteen-year-old, as he looked nervously at Bill. And there was a Lab puppy sitting patiently at his feet, gnawing on the toes of his boots as the boy shooed him away.
“Hi there,” Bill said with a broad smile, as the boy looked at him with wide eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Tim Whitman,” the boy said cautiously. “People call me Timmie. My aunt wanted me to bring you a cake, but I brought you something else,” the boy said. He had wheat-colored hair, green eyes, and freckles.
“Do you live nearby?” Bill asked pleasantly. It was early for a visit, and the boy had surprised him. The Lab was the same wheat color as his hair, and he could tell the boy was shy.
“Just over that hill,” he waved vaguely.
“It was nice of you to come by for a visit. Would you like something to eat?”
Timmie shook his head. “I just had breakfast. Thank you, Reverend.”
“You can call me Bill.” He didn’t want to be formal with a boy that age, and wanted to put him at ease.
“I liked your sermon last Sunday,” the boy said with a serious expression, as the puppy scampered around his feet. “The one about forgiveness. Sometimes it’s hard to forgive people who do bad things.”
“Yeah, I know. And sometimes it takes a long time, but it’s nice if you can do it. It kind of lightens the load,” Bill said, leaning against the fence, and then he bent down to play with the puppy. “How old is your puppy?”
“He’s three months old. My dog had three of them. One died. I’m keeping the other one. My aunt says three dogs is too many … so I thought maybe … I wondered if … you know, I wondered if you’d like to have Gus,” he said, pointing at the puppy, who was running circles around Bill by then, barking and wagging his tail.
“You mean to keep him?” Bill looked shocked. He hadn’t had a dog since high school. It had been too much trouble to keep one in New York, because he and Jenny were too busy.
“Yeah, if you like dogs and all. He’s a good dog. I’ve been training him a little myself. His mother is really smart. I bred him to our neighbor’s dog, who’s a Lab too, so he’s purebred, not a mutt or anything.” Bill looked at the boy with gentle eyes filled with gratitude for the generous gesture. “My aunt said you might not want a dog.”
“I’d love him,” Bill said, picking the dog up. He was all gangly legs and his tongue was hanging out from running. “Are you sure you don’t want him?”
“No, I’m fine with the two I’ve got.” The boy smiled at him then, and Bill could see sadness in his eyes.
“You live with your aunt?”
Timmie nodded. “Yeah, my mom’s sister. My parents were killed in a car accident last year, going to Cheyenne.” Bill wondered if that was what Timmie had meant about forgiveness. If so, he had a lot to forgive, if he had lost his parents at thirteen. “It was hit and run,” Timmie explained. “No one knows who did it. Probably just someone driving through the state. My little sister was with them, but she’s okay. She was in the hospital for a long time. She hurt her legs. But she’s walking fine again.” And then he rolled his eyes, appropriately to his age. “She’s kind of a pest. She’s seven. But I’m glad she’s okay now.”
“Me too,” Bill said warmly. “Can I give you a ride back to your place?” He thought it might be a good opportunity to meet his aunt and sister, and to know where Timmie lived. Timmie hesitated and then nodded.
“Sure.”
Bill put the new puppy in the house and closed it in the kitchen, still amazed by the kindness of his gift. He couldn’t wait to tell Jenny. And he came back out with the keys to the truck, and waved to Timmie to get in.
“I’m sure I could use some help around here sometimes, giving me a hand to fix things or get ready for church. If you ever want to come over and hang out, or do some chores, feel free to drop by anytime. And I’m sure Gus would love to see you.”
“Okay.” Timmie smiled brightly, and Bill had the distinct impression that Timmie was hungry for male companionship, particularly if he’d lost his father the year before. There had been no mention of an uncle, just an aunt.
He followed Timmie’s directions, to a slightly battered-looking ranch house with a barn behind it. Bill could smell horses and hear them in the distance. There were several in a corral, and there was a little girl in pigtails playing out front. When they got out, and she smiled at them, Bill saw she had no front teeth. She was wearing overalls, a pink T-shirt, and sneakers, and her hair was the same color as her brother’s. And a few minutes later a small thin woman came out of the house in jeans and an apron looking to see who was there. She looked nervous when she saw Timmie with a strange man, and Bill was quick to introduce himself and explain who he was, and to thank her as well for the gift of the Lab puppy. She relaxed as soon as he said it.
“I told him you might not want a dog. You can give him back if you want,” she said, smiling. “By the way, my name is Annie Jones. Timmie is my nephew.” She looked about thirty years old, young to be bringing up two kids, one of them Timmie’s age.
“I know. He told me.”
“We’re not big churchgoers, but we came to see you last week. Your sermon was pretty good,” she said, and then told her niece to get down off the fence. Her name was Amy. She got into mischief while they were chatting, and then she ran up and tackled her brother, who pushed her away with a groan. Bill couldn’t help laughing at her antics. She found a small pail by the water trough and put it on her head like a hat.
“Thank you.” Bill was pleased at the compliment about his sermon. “That young lady must keep you busy,” he said as Annie laughed.
“Yeah, she does, but it’s nice to see her running around again. She was in a body cast all last year, after …” Her voice trailed off, and Bill nodded.
“Timmie told me. My wife will be here in a week or so. Come by and visit us sometime at the house.” He had a feeling they would have a lot of visitors once Jenny was there. The locals were friendly people, and curious about them. “And thank you again for the puppy,” he said, and then he left them, and got back in his truck and drove home. When he got there, Gus was happily gnawing one of the kitchen cabinets and had eaten a small rug Bill had put in front of the sink, and he had unsuccessfully tried to overturn the garbage.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” he said, patting the dog and straightening up the kitchen. He hoped Jenny would like the puppy. He thought it was an awesome gift. And as he looked at the chaos in the kitchen, he decided to surprise Jenny with it and not tell her till she came out and saw him. He didn’t want her to make him give the puppy back, which made him feel like a kid, and he laughed as Gus barked and wagged his tail.
Five days later Jenny boarded a plane, after leaving Azaya a ream of instructions, and calling her clients to say goodbye the day before. She had given them her phone number in Wyoming, and their address. Their address for Federal Express was “Fifteen miles north of Moose, Wyoming.” Her clients laughed when she told them.
Sh
e closed the apartment, and their cleaning lady said she would come once a week to check everything, dust, and make sure that there were no problems. The post office was forwarding their mail. Everything was done.
She followed the same route Bill had, with a flight to Salt Lake City, and a second one to Jackson Hole, and instead of Clay Roberts, Bill was waiting for her at the airport, wearing a cowboy hat and a heavy coat. And he had a hat for her, which he put on her head after he hugged her. He was thrilled to see her after nearly a month. She noticed that he looked relaxed and happy, and he said he had a surprise for her at the house. He pointed out things along the way and seemed totally at home, and she laughed watching him drive his new truck.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked her. There was still an aura of New York about her, in black slacks, alligator loafers, and a fancy black down coat.
“You look like a cowboy.” She chuckled. “You went native pretty quickly.”
“I like it here,” he said honestly. “It feels like home.”
She was impressed when she saw the church, and pleasantly surprised by the house. He had added some more furniture and it was cozy and warm when they walked in. And as soon as they did, the puppy leaped at them, put his paws on Jenny’s legs, barked, and wagged his tail in greeting as she stared at him in surprise.
“What’s that?”
“That’s Gus. He was a gift from one of our neighbors. Can we keep him?” he asked, sounding like a little kid, as she put her arms around Bill and kissed him.
“Looks like he got here first,” she said, smiling. “Will he let you keep me?”
“He’d better,” Bill said tenderly. “Welcome home, Jenny,” he said softly, and then took her upstairs to see their bedroom, her office, and her dressing room. And a minute later they were in their new bed, making love, and feeling as though they’d always been there. And Jenny knew, as she looked at him, that this was exactly where they were meant to be.
Chapter 7
Jenny spent her first day in Wyoming unpacking and settling in. Bill had created the perfect dressing room for her, although she had brought and sent ahead far too many things. Warm sweaters, ski clothes, down coats and parkas from Eddie Bauer, fur jackets, and an absurd number of high-heeled shoes. Having seen the place, she realized now that she would never wear them here. She was wearing slim black slacks and a simple black cashmere sweater and ballerina flats, her favorite work outfit, while she unpacked. Her shining straight dark hair brushed her shoulders and had been freshly trimmed before she left New York. She wore hardly any makeup but had had her nails done, and she was wearing a big gold cuff, designed by David Fieldston for his last runway show, and he had given it to her. She stood in their kitchen, watching Bill play with the puppy before he went out, and he smiled as he gazed at her. She looked straight out of New York, still. Even the cowboy hat would have made no difference. She was chic to the core, and even in flats, black pants, and a black sweater, she looked like what she was, someone who had lived and worked in fashion for all of her working life. Bill loved everything about her, including her casual, sexy chic appearance. She was so sleek and elegant, in a totally natural, unaffected way.
“What are you looking at?” She noticed him staring at her as he stood up.
“You. I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” she said, and gave him a hug. She wanted to hang the pictures she had sent out, for their half-empty living room. Bill had done well with his purchases before she got there, but she wanted to get a few more things. She called her mother with the measurements for the windows and told her the kind of curtains they needed. She wanted to keep everything simple, bright, and clean. They both favored light colors, and she thought it would keep the house looking cheerful in the dark of winter. The few things she set around made the house look stylish and cozy. She had a great eye and a light touch and was as talented with decorating as she was with fashion. And she made Bill promise to take her to the mall later that day. He had three people to see first and went outside to saddle Navajo. Jenny followed him and fed the gentle horse an apple. She wanted to ride him when Bill didn’t need him for work.
Jenny waved goodbye at Bill from the kitchen door as he rode away, then went back inside to organize the kitchen a little differently, and she was hanging one of the photographs in the living room when she heard a knock on the front door. She set the photograph down, and the hammer she’d been using, and went to open the door. She found herself looking at a woman who appeared to be ten years older than she was, wearing a heavy plaid jacket, jeans, and battered cowboy boots. She was slightly overweight and had dyed blond hair. She was wearing turquoise eyeshadow at ten o’clock in the morning, and she was holding a pan of brownies and a perfectly iced chocolate cake that said “Welcome” on it, as Jenny gazed at her in surprise.
“Hi, won’t you come in.” Jenny wanted to be welcoming to all of Bill’s congregation, and he said they had been dropping by, mostly with gifts of food, for weeks. He hadn’t had to cook since he’d been there. Jenny led the woman into the kitchen, and she set her offerings down on the kitchen table. The brownies smelled delicious, and the cake looked like something in a cookbook or a magazine. “Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea?” she offered, as the woman glanced around and then smiled at Jenny, noticing how slim and stylish she was.
“You sure don’t look like Wyoming,” the woman said, grinning from ear to ear. “We need to get you some cowboy boots. You won’t get far in those shoes around here.”
“I usually wear them to work,” Jenny said, embarrassed. She thought she was a mess by New York standards, as she realized how “done up” she looked here. The woman took off her plaid jacket and seemed like she was getting ready to stay.
“What kind of work do you do? Are you a dancer?” She had met Bill the previous three Sundays and enjoyed his sermons, but she didn’t know much about Jenny yet. Others had asked Bill about his wife, but she had only heard garbled things about Jenny. Some said she was a dancer, others thought she was an actress. Someone said she was a model. She looked like one to her.
“I’m a stylist, in fashion. I advise dress designers about what they do, and organize fashion shows for them,” Jenny explained, and then introduced herself to her guest. “Actually, I guess I’m a minister’s wife now. That’s new for me.”
“I’m Gretchen Marcus,” the woman said, as Jenny poured her a mug of coffee and handed it to her, and then put some of her brownies on a plate. “You must not eat a lot of cake,” Gretchen said, laughing. “We have hard winters, and sit around and eat too much when it’s cold outside. And I have five kids. I’ve never lost the weight.”
“How old are they?” Jenny asked with interest, wondering how many of these visits she would get. Gretchen seemed friendly and warm. And the brownies were so good that Jenny had a second one.
“My youngest is five,” Gretchen answered. “My oldest turned fourteen in June. He just started high school, and he’s driving me insane.” Both women laughed, and Jenny would have been shocked to know that she and Gretchen were exactly the same age. But the dyed blond hair and turquoise eyeshadow aged her, as well as the excess weight. She had worn makeup just to impress Jenny, since she was from New York. But Jenny looked surprisingly plain to her.
They sat in the kitchen and talked for a while, about people in the community, whose names meant nothing to Jenny, about their children, and Moose itself. Gretchen’s husband Eddy was a car mechanic and owned a garage in Moose that did all the local repairs. She managed to fill Jenny in on all the local dirt, faster than she could absorb it. The librarian who was having an affair with the owner of the coffee shop. The woman from Laramie who had come through town and stolen someone’s husband. Clay Roberts, who was the local catch, and everyone thought was secretly in love with a married woman in Cheyenne, although no one had ever seen her, but they’d heard about her. She told Jenny about the women whose husbands were drunks, and the women who drank too much. And two teachers
at the high school who everyone thought were gay but didn’t know for sure.
“Wow, it sounds like a busy place,” Jenny said, more than slightly overwhelmed. It struck her how many husbands Gretchen said were alcoholics, although she spoke in glowing terms of Eddy, who sounded like a saint, and who Gretchen said helped her with the kids when he wasn’t working. “Is there an AA group here?”
Gretchen shook her head. “There’s one in Jackson Hole. No one ever bothered to start one here.”
“Maybe someone should,” Jenny said, helping herself to another brownie, and Gretchen looked pleased. She had been looking forward to meeting Jenny, and she liked her a lot. She seemed honest and open and funny, and she wasn’t stuck up because she came from New York. And Gretchen said something to that effect.
“I’m actually from Philadelphia. I went to design school in New York, to study fashion, and I just stayed. I was born in a little mining town in Pennsylvania called Pittston. My father died when I was five, in a mine accident, and my mother moved away.”
“Your father was a miner?” Gretchen looked impressed. She had thought Jenny would be some fancy debutante from New York, but instead she was a simple, unpretentious person. It was Bill who had the fancy background, which Jenny didn’t say, and Gretchen didn’t know.
“Yes, he was. And my mom is French. She and my grandmother made beautiful clothes for society ladies in Philadelphia, which is how I got interested in fashion. I wanted to be a designer, but I didn’t have the talent. I’m actually much better as a stylist.”
Until the End of Time: A Novel Page 9
