Stowaway Angel

by Cheryl St. John

  “Shall we listen to the carolers for a while?” Charlie pulled up his coat sleeve and glanced at his watch. “We have time before we need to get ready for the program.”

  Meredith surprised Starla by taking her hand as they walked toward the library. Starla glanced back at Marian and Del who followed, and Marian gave her a friendly smile.

  A young woman in a long black coat and red hat met them on the sidewalk.

  “Miss Fenton!” Meredith tugged on Starla’s hand and pulled her forward. “You gots to meet Miss Fenton.”

  “Hi, Meredith.” The woman’s cheeks were pink from the cold.

  Charlie and his parents greeted her, too.

  “This is our town librarian,” Marian said, introducing her. “Clarey, this is Starla Richards.”

  “Hi,” Clarey Fenton said. “I was just coming to hear the singers.”

  “That’s where we’re headed,” Marian said. “Come join us.” Charlie’s mom had a way of including everyone and setting people at ease.

  At least twenty singers stood on risers, their voices blending as though they had practiced “Silent Night” well.

  “They’re so good,” Starla said.

  “Most of them are the church choir members,” Charlie offered.

  Their director used a pitch pipe to get them on key for the next song, and those standing around joined in the singing of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” When Charlie sang along unselfconsciously in a fluid baritone, Starla found it easy to participate. Meredith held her hand on one side and Charlie stood on her other. Starla experienced something she’d never known before—a feeling of belonging and of being a part of something important.

  Her restaurant plans were rewarding and she’d enjoyed the challenge and the work. She was anticipating favorable recognition from patrons and reviewers, but somehow this was different. This was community. Families sharing the holiday with tradition and heartfelt emotion.

  The sudden sadness that swept over her seemed out of place at such a time, and she worked to tamp it down. She would only make herself miserable if she let thoughts of isolation take hold.

  A week ago she’d been content with her own Christmas plans. Now they seemed empty. Lonely. Superficial.

  But she had tonight. And tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE CAROLERS FINISHED with “Adeste Fidelis,” and Starla joined the crowd in applauding and calling out Merry Christmas. The carolers broke apart, and Clarey joined a few who were chatting.

  “Let’s get to the church,” Charlie said.

  Charlie’s parents gave them a ride on their way home to change. Charlie found their bags, and Starla and Meredith joined several other females using classrooms and the rest room as dressing areas.

  Once Meredith was ready and her hair brushed and braided, she said, “Is it okay if I go with my friend now? Do you need me to help you?”

  “No, sweetie, I don’t need any help. You go ahead and see your friend. Just make sure your dad knows where you are.”

  “Okay.” Meredith danced away, her red velvet dress swirling around her knees.

  Starla washed her face and brushed out her hair, then applied makeup, taking special care to conceal the bruising, then changed into her black pants, short jacket and black pumps. She made it a habit to pack for an unexpected occasion, and this outfit was appropriate for dinner or business, so it was her standby ensemble.

  The door to the rest room opened as she was packing her jeans and sweatshirt into her bag and Ryanne entered, dressed in a stylish crème-colored dress and flat shoes. She was a lovely young woman, and pregnancy seemed to agree with her. Her gaze took in Starla’s appearance. “Oh, my.”

  Starla glanced down at her clothing, then in the mirror. “Am I dressed all right?”

  “You’re dressed perfectly. I’m just—well, you’re so striking. I feel like the Goodyear blimp next to you.”

  Starla laughed. “I was thinking how pretty you looked.”

  “Thanks. But right now I have to take care of something for about the hundredth time today.” She headed quickly for a stall.

  “I’ll see you later,” Starla called and picked up her things.

  She stored them where Charlie had before and made her way along a corridor and into a foyer filled with mingling townspeople. Heads turned immediately.

  Charlie had been watching for her, but he wouldn’t have needed to. He knew the instant Starla appeared, because a hush fell over the gathering, and attention shifted.

  So he wasn’t crazy and it wasn’t only he who thought she was the most incredible-looking woman who’d ever graced the state of Iowa with her presence. He hurried toward her, knowing she’d feel uncomfortable at the attention.

  She wore a black pantsuit that made her look even taller and slimmer than ever. Her skin and hair seemed to glow, and the effect of the makeup she wore made her extraordinary eyes even more striking. He couldn’t shake the impression that she looked like a supermodel who’d just stepped off a runway.

  As lovely as those eyes were, uncertainty and hesitation filled them when he reached her. He didn’t touch her, because he didn’t want to cast speculation on the two of them, but he stood close and gestured for her to walk beside him.

  “This is Starla Richards,” he said to the nearest bystanders. And, one by one, he introduced her to the people of Elmwood, hoping to put her at ease.

  Leta Ruby worked at Three B’s Bar waiting tables evenings and weekends, but she never missed Sunday service or a social event. She was somewhere in her forties with a teenage son who occasionally accompanied her.

  Charlie had introduced her to Starla, and Leta was extolling Charlie’s virtues. “This is a good man,” she told Starla while patting Charlie’s arm, “and believe me I can spot ’em. Some of ’em waste their evenings drinkin’ and playin’ pool and you gotta wonder what their homelife is like. Well, you can usually figure that. I don’t see Charlie here, ’cept at church, and he always has that sweet little girl with him.”

  Starla smiled and nodded.

  “Such a shame, losing Kendra that way,” she said. “The whole town was just in shock over her death and we still feel so bad for Charlie.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Your life has never been the same, has it, sweetie? She was always your special girl.”

  Charlie didn’t have a reply, but his reaction was anger at Leta for expressing words and feelings on his behalf. How did the meddling busybody know how he felt? Typical of the assumptions that ran rampant in this town.

  Music began playing in the sanctuary, and the crowd slowly dispersed and took seats. Charlie let Leta’s words go. She only meant well, no matter how off the mark her assumptions were. His own guilt and frustration were beneath the anger, and those weren’t her fault. Leta assumed the best of him. That was her mistake.

  He had taken Meredith to the Sunday school room where the teacher was organizing the children, so it was just him and Starla beside his folks in the pew.

  He carefully held his expressions in check when he looked at her and had made a point not to touch her in front of people. The last thing he wanted to encourage was a tidal wave of gossip, though just having her at his side was probably enough to have started the floodwaters flowing.

  The program began with a song, then the robed choir moved in procession down the aisle to the back to give the stage to the children. The students put on their production of the first Christmas and the smaller kids sang. Meredith proudly held up her cardboard M, which helped spell Merry Christmas, and Charlie’s mom reached over to squeeze his hand.

  She had tears on her cheeks, tears of pride in her granddaughter, tears of hurt and loss at not having her daughter there to share. He held her hand and swallowed his own disappointments, reburied feelings of guilt and inadequacy.

  A
fter the program, coffee and cookies were served in the fellowship hall. Meredith ran to wrap her arms around his knees. “Did you see me, Daddy?”

  “I saw you.” She let go and he knelt to wrap her in his arms for a hug. “I love you with my whole heart.”

  “I love you with my whole heart, too, Daddy.”

  Charlie kissed her cheek and picked her up.

  “Starla, did you see me?” she asked.

  “I sure did. You were great. And you knew all the words to the songs, too.”

  Marian approached them then. “Grandpa is ready to go, sweetie. I have your bag and your coat all ready.”

  Meredith gave Charlie a quick kiss. “Bye, Daddy. I got to go with Gramma now.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, setting her on her feet. “You be a good girl.”

  Marian took her hand and they headed for the hall leading to the foyer.

  “I suppose I should be seeing about our ride,” Charlie said. “Russ will have several people to take home and we need to get on the schedule.”

  Starla nodded. “Go ahead. I’m enjoying the coffee.”

  A few minutes later he returned to find her chatting with Ryanne and Birdy Nichols. “Russ has the sleigh ready to go. He was just pulling up when I went to look for him. I’ll get your things.”

  “It was great to meet you,” Starla said to the two women and followed him.

  This time the other passengers for the sleigh ride were the Spaulding sisters, twins in their thirties who ran the local greenhouse and lived in town. “We just made Russel take us for a ride for the fun of it,” Ashton told Charlie.

  He introduced Starla to Ashton and

  Elyssa.

  Moonlight sparkled on the snow, bathing the countryside in an ethereal glow. The bells on the horses’ harnesses rang out, and the Spaulding sisters sang “Here Comes Santa Claus” in an off-key duet. Laughing, Starla joined in.

  Charlie found himself looking at her more than the scenery. She was the most fascinating and fun woman he’d had the pleasure to know. She had her little insecurities, which he’d picked up on and which he couldn’t quite comprehend at first because of her extraordinary looks. However, a measure of understanding had dawned that day. Her beauty was part of her hang-up.

  He’d seen the way some of the women looked at her as though she was a threat or a competitor. And he’d definitely noticed the way men looked at her. All of them had shown appreciation, but a couple had worn downright lecherous expressions. What was it she’d said when he’d called her beautiful? Beauty is relative. And superficial. And sometimes an affliction. Affliction. At the time, he’d thought it was an odd thing to say, but he understood more clearly now.

  Charlie’s house came into view, and it wasn’t long until Russel reined in the horse in the yard.

  “Thanks, Russ,” Charlie said. “Thanks to you we didn’t miss the celebration.”

  “Glad to do it,” he replied.

  The Spaulding sisters waved and everyone called out a Merry Christmas.

  They trudged through the snow to the door and once in the house shed their coats and boots. Starla still wore her black pantsuit.

  “I’ll start a fire,” Charlie said.

  “Want coffee?” she asked.

  He noticed her shiver. “Cold?”

  She rubbed her arms. “The air went right through my coat on the ride home.”

  “I have an idea. To warm up.”

  “What is it?”

  “Go use the Whirlpool. We can enjoy the fire later.”

  “Sounds...delicious.”

  Charlie headed toward the hallway. “I’ll start the water for you.”

  She hurried up the stairs. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She soaked in the tub for thirty minutes before heading back to join Charlie. She laid her palm along his cheek and gazed into his eyes before tenderly kissing him. “I don’t know what it is about you, Charlie.”

  “I don’t, either...but I’m grateful for it.”

  She gave him a tender smile, then kissed him.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your bath. I’ll go and get us a drink,” Charlie said against her mouth.

  She smiled and moved to settle back comfortably beside him.

  “I’ll bet I’m the only person who attended the program tonight who got to hop in a Whirlpool tub to warm up,” she said with a grin.

  “You might be right,” he agreed. “My folks have Meredith, so they couldn’t.”

  She smiled. “I liked Ryanne and Nick. They seemed pretty stuck on each other.”

  “Definitely.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Can pregnant women sit in a Whirlpool?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Did your wife?”

  “No.”

  Starla sipped her iced tea. “Does it hurt that much to talk about her?” she asked.

  He studied her and thought about her question. “Not really.”

  “But you don’t. Talk about her, I mean. And you’re uncomfortable when others do.”

  “That’s a better word,” he agreed. “Uncomfortable.”

  She let the subject drop.

  Charlie refilled their glasses from the pitcher he’d set on the table.

  “You have the perfect home here. It’s like a secluded getaway. As you intended, I’m sure. And on a night like this...” She smiled. “The weather outside is frightful and all that.”

  “You’d like it here the other seasons, too. There’s all kinds of wildlife and a creek that runs across the land to the west. Spring is alive with so many shades of green that you can’t count ’em. I’ve been planting perennials every year and I have a garden with fresh vegetables. In the summer, there’s a bank of clover as pretty as anything you’ve ever seen, and from down by the creek, you can hear the frogs clacking at night....”

  Charlie paused, thinking about what he was saying. He’d been rattling on, describing things he loved about his place—things she probably didn’t care about—things she wouldn’t see.

  “Clacking?” she questioned.

  He felt numb inside. “It’s not a croak really. More of a clacking sound when there are so many.”

  She wouldn’t hear them. She wouldn’t be here.

  In another day or so, Starla would be gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WRAPPED IN HER robe and nestled in a fleece throw, Starla relaxed on the plump pillows and thick comforter Charlie had arranged before the fireplace. At the moment she was content to lie there forever.

  “Are you hungry?” Dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he hunkered in front of the fire, using the brass poker to arrange a log he’d added.

  She turned an appreciative gaze on him, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the play of firelight on his hair. “Will you cook for me if I am?”

  After reaching to put the tool away, he brushed his palms together and sat. “I was thinking along the lines of cheese and fruit. No cooking required.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He draped his wrists over his knees. “Want to come along tomorrow when I go into town and deliver the orders? I figured we could pick up a few groceries.”

  “Sure. Will you be going to your folks for Christmas dinner since the roads will be cleared?”

  “No reason not to.”

  Of course there wasn’t. Charlie and his daughter would want to be with their family. Starla couldn’t help a little disappointment that the original plan to bake a ham for the three of them wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Mom invited you.”

  She nodded. “She’s a great lady.”

  “Yeah. No complaints about my folks.” He rubbed her feet through the blanket. “Warm enough?”


  She nodded.

  He looked as though he wanted to say more. Instead, he leaned toward her, kissed her and stood, heading for the kitchen. Warm and content, she closed her eyes and tucked away memories.

  “Want to watch anything?” he called a few minutes later. “Or listen to music?”

  Enjoying the crackling sound and heat of the fire, she’d dozed for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t mind if you do, though.”

  She heard him approach and set something on the floor. Opening her eyes, she discovered a tray of cubed cheese and apple slices. A few crackers lined a plate.

  Rolling to a sitting position, she reached for a square of cheese. Charlie stacked food on a small plate and handed it to her. She thanked him and leaned back against an overstuffed chair.

  He bit into an apple slice and chewed thoughtfully. “So, how did you get interested in cooking school?”

  “I don’t know. When I was a kid, I enjoyed time in the kitchen with my aunt. It was a treat to have all the ingredients on hand to bake and create recipes. I was used to eating on the road and occasionally being in an apartment long enough to buy groceries to last a day or two.

  “It probably had a lot to do with...” She paused after taking a bite of apple. “With the permanence of a kitchen and pantry and a freezer. Those things were luxuries, and even as a teen I felt secure when I was cooking.” She raised a questioning brow. “Think that’s weird?”

  “No, no, not at all. I get what you’re saying.”

  “Who knows what draws us to the things we like to do? Like you and your carpentry. Was that a childhood dream?”

  “Not as exciting as aspiring to be a policeman or a fireman or an astronaut, was it?” He grinned. “In high school, I took to woodshop like a fish to water. It’s creative and solitary, two things I liked.”

  “So your class yearbook says Most Likely To Build A House under your picture?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can I see it?”