Springwater Wedding

by Linda Lael Miller

  4

  “Please tell me you like that bed right where it is,” Maggie’s younger brother, Wes, said, with a winsome grin. A colleague of Daphne’s at Springwater Elementary, he was a charmer, always had been, and one of the most popular teachers in the school district into the bargain. He and Reece had lugged the enormous antique into the Station while Maggie was out, and had set it up between the two long, narrow windows in Jacob and June-bug’s old room. Reece stood by, looking hopeful and a little wan; strong as he was, the problems between him and Kathleen were taking a visible toll.

  Maggie gave her brother a one-armed squeeze and smiled. “It’s perfect,” she said. She could hardly wait to add crisp cotton sheets, one of June-bug’s own quilts, retrieved from a chest at her parents’ house, and the crocheted ecru pillow shams she’d purchased at the estate auction she’d attended with Daphne. Everything was back from the cleaners and ready to use; in the morning she would make up the beds in the guest rooms. “Thank you.” She kissed her dad’s cheek. “Both of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Reece said, in his deep, somber voice. “I’d better be headin’ out, though. There’s a meeting of the Founder’s Day committee tonight, down at the Brimstone.” The Brimstone Saloon, opened in Springwater’s early days by Trey Hargreaves, an ancestor of Daphne’s, was one of the oldest continuously operated bars in Montana, and only minor changes had been made in the intervening century. The plank floors, an admitted improvement over the previous sawdust, had been put in at the turn of the twentieth century, and the bar, mirror, and many of the tables were original. The back room had been the gathering place for various community groups from the beginning.

  Wes, fair-haired and blue-eyed, a born heartbreaker who was madly in love with his wife, Franny, and dedicated to their two small children, chuckled and gave his father a mock slug to the shoulder. “You’d better not have anything stronger than coffee,” he teased, “or Mom will hang your hide on the barn door.”

  Reece’s answering smile was wistful and fleeting. “Fortunately,” he said, “we don’t have a barn.” The look in his eyes said Your mother doesn’t care what I do.

  Maggie was eager to change the subject. “How about you?” she asked Wes, giving him a nudge. “Can you stay and have supper with me?”

  Wes looked regretful. “Can’t do it, sis,” he said. “Franny’s ‘morning sickness’ has been lasting most of the day lately. I’ve got to get home and help with the kids.”

  Maggie smiled at the thought of Wes and Franny’s three-year-old twins, Jodi and Loren. They were beautiful, healthy children, a girl and a boy, respectively, and Maggie adored them, as she did Simon’s kids. “I’d be glad to keep them once in a while, Wes. Just call when you need a babysitter. And tell Franny I’ll be by to see her when she feels up to a visit.”

  Wes nodded, already headed toward the door. As a kid he’d been something of a handful, and Reece and Kathleen had attributed many a gray hair to him. As a man, he was an amazing teacher, husband, and father. Although Maggie certainly loved Simon, she was closer to her younger brother. “She’s been wanting to see what you’re doing with the Station,” he said in parting. “I’m sure she’ll drop by once she feels better.”

  Maggie smiled and waved and watched her brother disappear through the open door. Then she turned to Reece. “Things are pretty rocky between you and Mom, I take it,” she said softly.

  Reece shrugged those powerful McCaffrey shoulders. “I reckon you could say that,” he allowed, then bent to kiss Maggie’s forehead. “Don’t be worrying about your mother and me, now. We haven’t quite given up yet.”

  Maggie embraced him. “Good,” she said, and the word came out on a raspy breath, sounding a little like a sob.

  Reece kissed her forehead once more, and then took his leave. Since the McCaffrey house was right around the corner, and the Brimstone stood just a block down the street, he was on foot. Maggie watched him from the Station’s porch, then called Sadie inside. After making up the bed, she and the dog crossed the old, tumbledown corral area and entered Reece and Kathleen’s yard through a creaky back gate. Maggie intended to make a light supper for herself and Sadie, pack a few things, and head back for her first night in her new home.

  Kathleen was near the gazebo, watering fat pink-and-white peonies with a hose, and Maggie stopped to admire her. Kathleen was tall and slender, and her auburn hair gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight like that of some mythic Celtic goddess. Maggie might have stood there for a long time, just watching her, if Sadie hadn’t yipped a greeting and given away their presence.

  Kathleen smiled, the water from her hose gleaming like an arch of diamonds. “Hello, darling,” she said to Maggie, and at the same time, bent to ruffle Sadie’s ears with her free hand.

  Maggie drew in the fragrances of old-fashioned roses and fresh-cut grass and clean, rural air, drew in also the still comforting presence of her mother. “Hi,” she said, and kissed Kathleen’s apricot-and-cream cheek. “Your garden looks great, Mom. Just like always.”

  “Thank you,” Kathleen replied, with quiet warmth. “I’ve made a lovely salad for supper. Would you like to join me?” Her proud chin wobbled, almost imperceptibly, and she fixed her fierce green gaze on the peonies, her favorite flowers of all time. “I believe your father is otherwise occupied.”

  “He’s at the Founder’s Day meeting,” Maggie said, and then felt silly. Her parents were grown-ups, even if they didn’t always behave accordingly, and perfectly capable of managing their private lives without her nudging things along.

  “Hmmph,” Kathleen said. Maggie had no idea what she meant and didn’t try to find out.

  “Salad sounds good,” she said. “Is it your famous feta cheese and tomato concoction?”

  Kathleen beamed. “Yes,” she said. “I know that’s your favorite. There’s garlic bread, too.” She carried the hose over to the wall and turned off the faucet. “How about you, Sadie?” she asked, as the dog bounced around her in beagle celebration. “Would you like some salad, too, or would you prefer leftover meatloaf?”

  Sadie yowled with delight and streaked toward the backdoor of the house, leaving both Kathleen and Maggie laughing.

  “Simon called today,” Kathleen said lightly a few minutes later, as Maggie set the table and she put out the salad and bread. “He and Penny have decided to take the boys to Europe on vacation this year, instead of coming to Springwater. I do hope they don’t run into some terrorist over there.”

  Maggie thought it imprudent to mention that terrorists could turn up anywhere, even in places like Springwater. “They’ll be okay, Mom,” she said. “Maybe they’ll come here for Christmas.”

  Kathleen sighed. “It won’t be the same,” she said, and stared off through the window above the sink for a long moment. “Without your father, I mean.”

  Maggie didn’t know what to say, and so held her tongue. In fact, she went still, feeling stricken.

  Kathleen mustered up one of her brave, dazzling smiles, and while it faltered a little, she managed to hold it up. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “There I go again, getting ahead of myself, dreading things before they happen.”

  Maggie crossed the gleaming linoleum floor to face her mother and laid her hands on those proud, straight shoulders. “Is it really so bad, Mom?” she asked, very softly. “Surely the two of you can compromise—”

  Tears sprang to Kathleen’s eyes; she blinked them away. “I know you think it’s about my painting pears, and that wretched trailer your father bought, but it’s more complicated than that.”

  “But you’ve been so close for so long—”

  Kathleen stroked Maggie’s hair once, with a light pass of her right hand—the hand that had tested Maggie’s, Simon’s, and Wes’s foreheads for a thousand potential fevers, signed their report cards, directed the placement of Christmas trees. “Sweetheart, people change. You know that.”

  Maggie had to look away. She thought of Connor, of J.T., of herself.
“Yes,” she agreed. “And they also stay the same.”

  Kathleen hugged her. “Let’s have our supper,” she said gently and, after dishing up cold meatloaf for an ecstatic Sadie, she took her customary place at the round table in the breakfast nook. Maggie joined her.

  “I saw Daphne at the post office this afternoon,” Kathleen said, “and she told me you’d hired Odell Hough’s girl. Isn’t she expecting a baby?”

  “Yes,” Maggie replied thoughtfully. “That’s her. Tell me: What does the local rumor mill have to say about Billy and Cindy Raynor?”

  Gossip was alive and well in Springwater, as in most small towns, though Kathleen generally didn’t have a taste for it. She sighed. “Where do I begin?”

  Purvis was on his way to Flo’s, all spiffed up in the new jeans and western shirt he’d bought special at the Maple Creek Walmart store, before he realized he didn’t know his date’s first name. He’d always called her by her screen name, Cowgirl, and she’d known him as Lawman.

  As he parked his mother’s 1992 Escort in front of the diner, he let out a long sigh. Since he drove Springwater’s one and only police car most of the time, he’d never seen the need to get a rig of his own. His mom lived just a few blocks from his place, and she stayed home most Thursday nights to watch her programs on TV. Besides, she was getting past the age when she ought to be driving, though he hadn’t figured out how to tell her so just yet.

  He glanced at his watch. It was 8:15, and across the street, in the First Presbyterian Church, the basement lights were on. He wondered what kind of meeting Cowgirl was attending, and decided it was probably one of those reading groups where women got together to talk about some Oprah book.

  Purvis sat, arms folded, motor running, drawing deep, slow breaths. A part of him wanted to slam that Ford right into reverse and scream out of there, headed straight for the relative safety of Springwater, but he was determined to give this first encounter with Cowgirl a fair chance. They’d been talking on-line for just over a week, and he knew the important stuff, even if he hadn’t a clue what her name was. She liked fireplaces, old movies, rainy days, pizza with pineapple and ham. She believed in God, voted, enjoyed going to garage sales and potluck dinners, and loved horses, which was probably why she called herself “Cowgirl.” She’d grown up in California and moved to Maple Creek a few months before, looking to start fresh, live a simpler, quieter life.

  The pit of Purvis’s stomach began to twitch a little as his mind turned inevitably to his own situation. He’d never been married— never had more than a few dates, in fact, in all his life. He just wasn’t the type women gravitated to, though he didn’t reckon he was repulsive or anything like that; more like invisible. Fact was, the ladies didn’t seem to notice him at all.

  Somebody rapped at the window of Purvis’s borrowed Escort and startled him half out of his hide. He jumped high enough to squash the crown of his hat against the roof, and probably would have, too, if it hadn’t been made of hard straw. He turned and saw Odell Hough looming on the other side of the glass.

  Unsmiling, Purvis rolled down the window. “Hello, Odell,” he said, mostly because he didn’t have any choice. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen the guy, after all.

  Odell was a big bugger, usually dressed like an old-time railroad man, in overalls that resembled mattress ticking and one of those silly beanie caps put out by chewing-tobacco companies. He had been good-looking once, Odell had, but years of low living had left him loose-fleshed and red-eyed. His teeth, once as good as any movie star’s, had gone to hell, and most of his hair had fallen out. Purvis figured that was why he always wore the hat. “Well, now, Purvis,” Odell boomed, in exuberant greeting. “What brings you to Maple Creek?”

  Purvis was damned if he was going to tell Odell Hough, of all people, about his Internet flirtation with a woman called Cowgirl. Hell, he hadn’t even said anything to his mother, and he was close to her. “Just out takin’ the air,” he lied. “What about you?”

  Odell was chewing on a toothpick—Purvis hated that habit almost as much as smoking—and Hough’s little pig eyes narrowed as he assessed his captive audience. His breath made Purvis wish he’d brought along the oxygen tank he carried in the squad car. “Hear J.T. Wainwright’s joined the force,” he said, ignoring Purvis’s question and lending a mocking note to the word “force.” “What’s that all about?”

  “Everybody needs time off once in a while,” Purvis said lightly. “I been running the show by myself for a long time.”

  Odell weighed that reply and, from his expression, found it wanting. “It ain’t like Springwater is a hotbed of crime,” he said.

  Purvis sighed. “It’s getting that way, what with all that’s been going on lately.”

  “That so,” Odell responded. It wasn’t a question; everybody knew there had been some rustling and other trouble around Springwater the last few months. “He’ll go back to New York soon enough,” Hough added, chewing away. That toothpick of his must have been mere wood pulp by then. “Wainwright, I mean. Not much left of the old family place.”

  Purvis scraped up a smile and hoped it looked cordial. “J.T.’s planning to stay on,” he said. “Says he’s going to make that ranch pay again.”

  Odell made a skeptical, huffing sound. Like he was some kind of authority on running any kind of profitable operation. Except for the occasional stint pulling green chain at Reece McCaffrey’s lumber mill whenever the commodity cheese, beans, and wieners ran out, he’d never held down a real job in his life. “City boy,” he scoffed.

  Purvis was offended on J.T.’s behalf. “That’s a load of sheep dip,” he said, glancing up at the rearview mirror. He saw, to his alarm, that Cowgirl’s meeting was letting out across the street; everybody in the group was carrying the same book, a thick paperback. Quickly, he shifted his gaze back to Odell. “J.T. was born in Springwater County, and his great-great-granddaddy was one of the first settlers.”

  Odell scoffed again, but then he straightened up to go. “Got to get down to the Grange Hall and hook up with my boy Randy,” he said. “He has to go to them AA meetin’s for ninety days straight, thanks to you.”

  Purvis’s grin was steady. He’d arrested Randy Hough for drunken driving two weeks before and brought him to Maple Creek to turn him over to the sheriff’s department. Apparently the judge had sent the kid to AA, as well as giving him thirty days suspended and jerking his license. “Well now, Odell,” he said, and glanced at the rearview mirror again, wondering which one of the women crossing the road was Cowgirl, “I know you’re grateful, but it was my job. All I can say is, you’re welcome.”

  Odell’s coarse face went crimson, and his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. For a moment Purvis thought he was going to swallow the toothpick. Instead, he muttered a four-letter word, thrust himself away from the car door upon which he’d been leaning, and ambled off down the lumpy sidewalk in the direction of the Grange Hall.

  Purvis stayed in the car until he saw Odell turn the corner. Then, with a resolute sigh, he set his hat aside on the passenger side, opened the door of the Escort, and got out. When he turned toward the road, he found Nelly Underwood standing right there, looking up at him. I’ll be the one wearing the badge, he recalled writing, in his most recent email message.

  “Purvis?” she asked. She had a disbelieving look on her face. Nelly might live in Maple Creek, but she worked at the library in Springwater. Purvis had met her at a church get-together a few weeks back, put on especially for singles. He’d liked her, too. She was a peppery little critter, though way too young for him, with lots of freckles and brown hair that fell to her chin in a spill of curls. Her dark eyes were large with uncertainty and surprise.

  “Evening, Nelly,” he said, and looked over her shoulder toward the Presbyterian Church. The lights were out and most everybody was gone. Maybe his cyber friend had decided to take a hike after getting a look at him. Either that, or Odell had scared her off.

  Nelly held the book again
st her scrawny chest. She was wearing old jeans and a white tank top that had seen its share of washings, plus a few extra. “Lawman?” she persisted softly, as if dreading the answer.

  Purvis felt his eyes go wide, and he swallowed so hard he thought he’d be digesting his Adam’s apple in short order. “Cowgirl?” he countered.

  Nelly’s smile was sudden and bright, and it fair knocked Purvis back on his heels. She began to laugh. “I should have known,” she said, between gasps.

  Purvis flushed red, torn between running like a rabbit and flat-out loosing his temper. One thing was for sure—he was not amused. “Damn it, why didn’t you tell me you were Nelly Underwood?” he asked.

  She put one hand on a narrow hip, holding the book in the curve of her other arm, schoolgirl style. Her eyes, laughing a moment before, were snapping with temper. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Purvis Digg?” she shot back.

  He heaved a big sigh and made a motion like he was going to run his fingers through his hair before he remembered that he couldn’t because it was skinned down tight against his head and bound back with the usual bootlace. “You didn’t ask me,” he pointed out.

  She stomped one small foot. She was wearing scuffed cowboy boots. “Well, you didn’t ask me, either. I thought you were a state patrolman or maybe a sheriff’s deputy.”

  Purvis sighed. “Well, I ain’t.” He realized, too late, that his response came out sounding more angry than any of the hundred other emotions he was feeling just them.

  She turned on one heel, ready to stride away, leaving a trail of dust behind her. Purvis caught hold of her elbow, just gently, and stopped her.

  “Wait a second,” he said, knowing he ought to just let her go. “Wait.”

  She looked up at him, blinking, and he realized, to his horror, that she was trying not to break down and cry. “What?”

  He heaved a sigh. “We agreed to have coffee together, if I recall correctly,” he said. “Come on. I’ll buy you a jolt of caffeine and a piece of pie.” Flo built a good pie, and as far as he was concerned, Nelly Underwood could stand a few extra calories.