So Alone Part 6

The girl ran her hand over the lacy hand work. "This is beautiful."

"Took her a long time to make. It was part of her hope chest."

"What's a hope chest?" a young man asked.

"Well," Carrie said hesitantly, glancing back at Peter who'd just reentered the room. "It's a chest that young women used to get before they were married. They would make things for their future homes and store them in the Hope Chest until they were married."

One of the boys elbowed Susan. "No sense you getting a hope chest, squirt. You've got no hope!" He laughed with the other boys.

"Shhh! You'll wake Mrs. Whitmore," Peter said in a loud whisper. "Let's get the rest of this downstairs."

The youths each carried a drawer down the stairs with no more conversation. When the drawers were all returned to their rightful spots, they surveyed the results.

"The bed will go there and this should work wonderfully," Carrie told them. "Thank you all so much. I've made some cookies and lemonade. Would you like to go on into the living room while I get the tray? You can enjoy them while I write the check to pay you for your trouble."

Peter let the kids take the lead into the front room. She headed in the opposite direction to the kitchen. When he spoke close behind her, she was startled. "Need some help carrying anything? I'll be happy to play waiter."

Her back stiffened as she resisted feeling his voice flow over her like a hot fudge on ice cream. This was Peter, her grandmother's pastor. There was no reason to react this way to just the sound of his voice, she told herself.

"Thanks." She put the large pitcher of lemonade on the tray she had ready with the plate of cookies. "You can carry this in if you like. Just let me add a couple gla.s.ses. I wasn't expecting so many helpers."

"Say. My secretary told me you found someone to stay with Maddie."

"How did she know? I just hired her yesterday. No, don't tell me," she ordered, shaking her head. "I don't want to even think about how much people in this town talk about me," she added sharply. "But now you see why I'm glad I got out of this town."

Chapter Six.

"Carolyn, I can't believe anyone in this town would want to talk about you in any way you'd need to be concerned about," Peter said softly after her uncharacteristic outburst. Carrie ignored his comment and puzzled expression. She didn't want to discuss the rumors about her, and she didn't want to be here alone in the kitchen with him any longer than she had to be. "There," she said as she put the last gla.s.s on the tray. "That's enough gla.s.ses now."

Thinking about the tragedy again had made her angry--an easier emotion to deal with than the complicated ones she'd been feeling lately since she met Peter. She marched around him through Maddie's new bedroom-to-be and into the living room.

The kids had made themselves comfortable, leaving the couch vacant for her and Peter. She sat on the edge of the cushion at one end and turned her thighs toward the center. Peter sat beside her, put the tray down on the coffee table, and reached for the pitcher.

Susan who appeared to be the younger of the two girls, jumped up. "I'll help," she said. She pa.s.sed out the gla.s.ses of lemonade after Peter poured each one.

"Hey, did you really mean it, about helping us with this play thing?" Marc asked.

Carrie concentrated on relaxing her tense muscles. She leaned back a little on the arm at the end of the couch. "Sure. Tell me what the problem is."

The kids obliged her with more details about the puppet show than she probably needed to know. The basic problem was that different kids showed up for each rehearsal. There was no continuity.

"When's your next rehearsal?" Carrie asked of Marc, careful not to direct her comments to Peter at all.

"Tomorrow night at six-thirty again. Then we skip until Sat.u.r.day morning," Susan announced eagerly.

"Well, the time wouldn't be a problem, but rehearsing at the church would be. Until the care-giver I've hired moves in next week, I have to stay here with my grandmother."

There were multiple groans that appeared to be their universal reaction to disappointing news.

"Whoa. What about Mrs. Baker?" Marc asked. "She's the lady who gave you my name for the furniture

moving. My mom says she's a good friend of your grandmother. I know she's old, but couldn't she stay with her for an hour and a half?" "That would be all right with me," Carrie responded. "I'll call and ask her. Maybe she wouldn't mind a couple of times." "That would be great," Marc told her. The other kids agreed in general statements of their approval. "Shh! Keep it at a lower decibel. Mrs. Whitmore is asleep upstairs," Peter reminded them.

"Probably not any more," one of them offered and was rewarded by general laughter and a few feigned punches.

"Time you all got home anyway. We're past our eight-thirty cut-off time and I don't want your parents to worry." Peter urged them to bring their gla.s.ses to the kitchen, and he carried in the tray with the empty pitcher and plate. Not a cookie remained.

"I can't thank you all enough for moving the furniture," Carrie called out as they headed for the back door. "I want to pay you for all your work."

"Hey, like between the great cookies and the help with the play, I'd say she's paid us enough," Marc concluded. "You guys agree?"

Carrie didn't give the others a chance to reply. "Well, I think you could add this to your car wash proceeds," she said as she wrote out a check and handed it to Marc.

There were thank yous and good nights all around. Everyone, including Peter, filed out the back door. "See you at rehearsal," a couple of them called.

They seemed genuinely pleased with the prospect of getting Carrie's help with their play and that, oddly, pleased her. She felt good about having made a donation to their puppet stage fund, too. Actually, having kids in the big, old house had been fun. A place this size would make a wonderful home for a family with a lot of kids.

During high school in Sunville, Carrie had often fantasied that this house would be her own home some day. That was before she started going steady with Ralph. The daydreams she used to have even included children in each of the many bedrooms.

Wanting to erase those images, both of Ralph and of living here with a family of her own, Carrie ran upstairs to see that Maddie was still asleep. She turned off the continuous-play tape deck and switched the light so that only the base was illuminated as a night light.

Returning to the kitchen, she was done cleaning up and about ready to switch off the light when she heard a soft knock at the back door. She knew before she looked that Peter had come back.

Wordlessly, she walked over to unhook the screen. She tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach, but couldn't. He stepped in to stand too close.

She stepped back around a few steps to the counter and didn't look back at him. "Did you forget something?

"Might say that," Peter allowed. "Ah... I came back to personally thank you for what you're doing for the kids and their puppet show."

"It's the least I could do. They helped me out a lot. If you all hadn't come over, I would have had to hire a moving company. Thank you for your part."

"You're welcome."

She hadn't heard him move. Suddenly he was so close behind her that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. When he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him, she stiffened. Her long skirt fluttered in waves against her legs as she turned and then again as gravity straightened it. She couldn't remember being aware of it brushing across her skin like that before.

She didn't want to look up at him because all sorts of crazy ideas were swimming around in her head. Her hands were tightly clasped together at her waist. "Please," she pleaded and wasn't sure if with him or with herself. She closed her eyes and tipped her head away.

"Can't bear to look at me?" he asked softly. She could hear his smile in his voice.

Carrie didn't want to smile back. She didn't want to grant him even that small reaction that might encourage him, but a finger on her chin for a few seconds turned it back.

"It isn't that," she whispered, turning her head away again. He left it there and dropped his hand. She squeezed her eyes more tightly, wishing he'd go.

"Go ahead and keep your eyes closed. That could be good," he responded just as softly. "Yeah. Not needing to see me is good because that... that must means you trust me... I think that's what it means anyway. I hope it does."

Carrie listened to his warm chuckle. This was getting silly. She opened her eyes and looked up into his intense blue ones inches away.

"Are you wishing I'd disappeared while your eyes were shut?"

How had he known? Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She could hear the rustle of his shirt and knew his arm was moving, but she wasn't prepared when he raised his hand high enough to gently cradle the side of her jaw. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Carrie's brow wrinkled and she bit down on her lower lip. Her movement caused her cheek to press against his palm. She gasped. His hand felt so warm.

She repeated her litany. This is Peter, Maddie's pastor. There's no reason to react this way to him, she added, hoping it would work.

"You make me worry you're trying to hide from something, or running from something. You said at dinner here that you had written something once that resulted in a great deal of pain for you. Is that it? Is it anything I can help you with, Carolyn?" he whispered.

Carolyn. She had always loved the name, but no one but Peter ever used it. He'd used the name she loved, and he was digging too deeply into what hurt her the most. He had to be stopped. "No, I... It's nothing you need to be worried about."

His breaths were brief, warm puffs on her face. He was so close. She struggled to get air into her lungs, but that only meant she inhaled his scent that she knew she would never forget.

A warm smile lit his face. His hand still caressed her cheek. She swallowed hard. This is only Peter, Maddie's pastor. He's just being nice, she told herself.

Peter looked down at her mouth and she panicked. She felt the blood drain from her face as fast as her determination was flying out the window. Was he going to kiss her? She would never have the strength to stop him.

Heavens! She didn't want to stop him!

The mere thought of him kissing her lips made her feel light-headed. She looked at his mouth and then back at his eyes. This is crazy!

"You're certain there's nothing I can do?" Peter asked.

She tried to shake her head, but the movement made her cheek rub against the palm of his warm hand. She stopped. "Yes, I... I..." she stammered. "There's nothing."

He seemed to study the look on her face a few moments longer before he slid his hand along her jaw until his finger tips were beneath her chin. "Let me know if you change your mind," he said simply. His hand fell to his side as she watched him step back from her. He was truly moving away. He was not going to kiss her.

Carrie released the breath she'd been holding and inhaled another, deeply. All she could smell now was the fragrance of the cookies she'd baked. Funny, her relief somehow felt a lot like disappointment.

"We'll have more chances to talk," he added, reinforcing his offer of aide.

"I... I don't know. I'll only be here a short time until I leave to go home."

He frowned and then his face brightened. "We'll have more chances to talk," he rea.s.serted confidently. "Good night, Carolyn."

In the face of such determination, Carrie couldn't speak. Unable to even wish him a good night, she watched him walk out the door and into the darkness beyond the circle of backyard light.

Somehow in the next few minutes, she checked all the door locks on the house and climbed up the stairs to her room. Originally intending to read in bed for a while, she abandoned the idea and climbed between the sheets to curl up on her side.

Peter had only caressed her face and yet he had left such a wonderful feeling. Why did he have to be the one to do that? Why here in Sunville? Why couldn't she find someone to care for in Fargo? Or, better yet, Minneapolis?

What was she doing wrong? Why couldn't her life move smoothly in the direction she wanted it to? Why couldn't her past be exactly that--her past and not her present?

"Those roses on the trellis next door are so beautiful. I've always loved roses," Maddie said from her new bed that the rental company had installed.

Carrie agreed, doubly glad to have moved Maddie's bed down to where she could see outdoors. "Bette's here to visit, Grandma. Would you like to sit outside on the porch?"

Maddie's face beamed with a broad smile. She always appeared happy to have Bette come to visit, and now it meant Carrie was free to spend the time helping the teenagers at church. She was looking forward to it.

"You go on to church and don't worry a minute about us," Bette told her once they were settled.

The two ladies sat in the wooden tall-backed chairs, looking very much like the grand old dames they were, despite Bette's socks trimmed in lime green to match the scarf she'd tied on as a band for her white straw sun hat.

"You're sure you'll be okay out here while I'm gone?" Carrie asked as she handed the two women their gla.s.ses of lemonade.

"We'll be just fine," Bette a.s.sured her.

"I'll just be an hour and a half or so, like I was Thursday evening. If you need me, I'll be next door. Grandma, now that your bed's down here, you can go in and lie down if you get tired before I get home."

"Go on. Scoot," Bette insisted when Maddie didn't respond. "We'll be fine."

Carrie kissed Maddie's corrugated brow and took off at a run across the lawn to the church.

The puppet stage was set up downstairs in the social hall, a large tiled room where the church suppers and special programs were held. The kids had mentioned that the Sunday School cla.s.ses and the daycare that sometimes used the room weekdays would also benefit from being able to use the stage. The young people had done a good job in its construction, making a stage that was st.u.r.dy and yet portable.

Peter unfolded two metal chairs for Carrie and himself during the delay as they waited for the last of the cast members to arrive. After a false start that ended in a sea of giggles, the show finally began in earnest.

Rehearsal was rough, but Carrie urged the cast members to work on switching rolls. "Then when key players don't show up for one reason or another, the show can go on with the understudies," she explained.

"I ain't playing no girl," the new boy stated firmly.

Marc sidled up to him with his hips waving as he walked. "Why not?" he asked, his voice raised in the falsetto he had just practiced playing the girl the last time through. "Too much of a challenge for ya?"

The boy glared at him a few moments, then accepted the challenge and grabbed the puppet from Marc. "Nothing's too much for me. After you," he said in a high strained voice.

"Ladies first," Marc joked.

The boy tugged at the skirt on his puppet's costume and fluffed it's hair. "If you insist." He led the way backstage amidst a chorus of laughs.

Carrie sincerely hoped he would never be forced into playing a female voice again. She wasn't sure his vocal chords could take the exertion.

The other kids couldn't stop their giggling behind the stage, but at least they understood the problem. They realized they had to learn roles other than the ones they played most often.

Carrie's heart went out to all those Sunday School teachers who somehow managed to produce performances for the congregation without knowing from one week to the next which children would come on Sunday. The parents, who made little effort to get their kids there each week, would have to be a teacher or a project leader only once to learn how important steady partic.i.p.ation was to the program and to the child as well.