An Angel for Dry Creek (10 page)

 

Glory half listened throughout the afternoon to the plans for the pageant. Her attention was primarily on the front window of the hardware store, however, or rather, what was happening outside the window. The children did not care about the article in the
Gazette.
They had other thoughts on their minds. Every few minutes she would see a timid wave from a child, and Glory would go to the door. First a pink mitten. Then a blue mitten. Then a gray mitten. All of the children wore warm coats, but she noticed that some of the coat sleeves were too short, as though the coats were several years old and too small. Still, each mittened hand held the same thing: a painstakingly drawn picture of a toy.

Glory made sure each child told her what the toy was called and his or her full name. She was careful to write both on the slip of paper before she went back into the store. She wanted to be sure that each child had their individual present. She knew that any present would be appreciated, but she also knew that the feeling of having a present given especially to you was one that helped children develop self-esteem and the ability to trust.

Matthew knew what Glory was doing. She was making too many quick trips outside for him not to notice. Especially because each time she came back in her cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. He couldn't decide which he liked better—Glory with the cream-colored skin and freckles or Glory with the roses. She would make a beautiful angel. He was glad she'd been coaxed into staying. He and the twins hadn't had a really happy Christmas since Susie died. He'd barely had the energy to put a tree up this year, and it still wasn't fully decorated. But now this Christmas promised to be one they would never forget. He'd have to
get the rest of the Christmas bulbs down from the upstairs closet so the tree could sparkle the way it should.

 

“You're welcome to listen,” Glory said after she'd asked Matthew for the use of his phone again that evening. Her phone card guaranteed she could call from his phone with no charge to him, but she wanted him to know she was making arrangements for the presents. She accepted the fact that Mrs. Hargrove and the two older men didn't believe she could bring the children the presents they wanted, but she had hoped Matthew would believe her. He'd become important to her, and she wanted to know he trusted her.

“I have to set the things out for the twins' lunch tomorrow,” Matthew said as he pulled himself up from the sofa. He had no reason to keep sitting there, anyway. Glory had read the twins another Bible story, and they had had their good-night prayers. This time he'd listened from the doorway with a dish towel on his shoulder. He'd been tempted to give up all pretense of not listening and just go in and sit down with his sons. But he hadn't. Glory's voice reading from the Bible lulled him into thinking everything was all right with his soul, and he knew it wasn't. He didn't want a Band-Aid slapped on his relationship with God. He wanted to feel the pain of it until it healed from the inside out.

“Joey said he wants peanut butter,” Glory reminded him as she reached for the phone sitting on the coffee table.

“Joey always wants peanut butter,” Matthew said as he slipped the crutches under his arms and began to hobble toward the kitchen. “He likes the way it sticks to his mouth.”

Matthew limped into the kitchen and then turned and
closed the door between the kitchen and the living room. He wanted to give Glory privacy in his home. He particularly did not want to make her feel as if she had to lie to make him think she was really ordering presents. A gift, after all, came from the heart, and Glory's heart had opened wide to his sons. That was a more important gift than a laser light gun and a Lego machine set.

Glory dialed the number and said hello.

“Glory?” Sylvia's voice came through sounding breathless. “I'm so glad you called.”

“Why?” Prickles were running down Glory's spine again. Her friend's voice didn't sound relaxed.

“I've heard some disturbing news.” Sylvia paused. “I don't know if it's true—you know how kids are. I wasn't sure if I should say anything yet. I told the police, but I don't know for sure.”

“What is it, Sylvia?”

“Two of my kids—they're good kids, but they hang with a bad crowd.”

Glory started to breathe more easily. There were always kids in trouble at the youth center where Sylvia worked in Tacoma. Most of the teens were part of tough criminal gangs. “You'll help them go straight—remember the judge will work with you.”

“Oh, they didn't do anything—at least, it didn't turn out the way they planned.” Sylvia took a deep breath. “They told me there's a hit out on you. Two of the older boys in the gang had been contracted to do it. But then, last night, something happened. My two boys got scared and ended up at the mission. Even went forward for an altar call. I had mentioned your name with the presents you were buying and this morning they came back and told me. Said the hit hadn't gone
through, that the guy doing the shooting had missed you and hadn't found you again. No one seems to know who the contact was or if the hit's still on. My boys feel so bad about it they want to go find you and stand in front of you so no bullets can get through.”

A sliver of fear raced down Glory's back.

“Thank God you're in Montana,” Sylvia continued in a rush.

“Yes, I should be safe here,” Glory repeated in a daze. She slowly twisted the phone card around her finger. “These boys don't know where I am, do they?”

“No. Thank God I didn't mention where you were when I talked about the presents.”

“Good.”

Sylvia paused. “They did seem genuinely worried. I think they'd protect you if they could.”

“Yeah, well, if I stay out of sight I won't need any protection.”

Glory kept calm. She went over the list of presents with Sylvia. Glory was used to stress. She knew about shootings and crime. She would be fine. She kept repeating that phrase to herself. But when she hung up the phone she started to shake.

Matthew waited for the lull of voices to stop before he came back into the living room. He knew something was wrong. Glory's face was ashen. Even in the firelight, all warmth had left her face. No smile remained. Her hair still picked up the fire flecks and reflected them back, but all else about her was still.

“It's all right.” Matthew hobbled over and sat down on the edge of the sofa. He wanted to reach over and put his arm around her, but she looked too fragile. As though even that movement would snap her control. “No one really expects them.”

Glory looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The presents,” Matthew continued patiently. “No one really expected you to be able to deliver on the presents. It's enough that you wanted to.”

Glory started to laugh, even though she knew nothing was funny. Hysteria started this way. She knew that. But she couldn't stop. Matthew thought she couldn't deliver the presents. But the presents were all settled. Her problem was worse than that. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to walk the streets of Seattle again. Someone had been shooting at her. It wasn't a stray bullet. It was meant to hit her. She was the target.
Dear Lord, she was the target!

Matthew watched Glory's teeth start to chatter, and her laughter calm down to hiccups. Suddenly he didn't care if she pulled away from him. He moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder. She whimpered. He wrapped his arm more fully around her and gathered her to his shoulder. He stroked her head and hummed a lullaby in her ear. He hoped to calm her. But it didn't work. She started to cry in earnest.

“What's wrong?” Matthew had to know. He felt a vise squeezing his heart. Something was wrong.

“They're shooting at me,” Glory wailed.

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

It was the bullet. Matthew knew the bullet on Wednesday had been too close. “You'll stay in your room. You're not leaving this house unless I'm along. No, you're not leaving even then. You'll just stay here. I can bring you what you need.”

The determination in Matthew's voice quieted her. “Forever?”

“If necessary.” Matthew nodded grimly. “I'll lock you in.”

Glory smiled. She felt much better. “But that's kidnapping.”

“Whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Strangely enough, Glory decided, she did feel safe. She'd just learned that there might be a contract out on her life, and yet, she felt safe here in this house. She'd like to pretend that had nothing to do with the man sitting beside her on the sofa worrying about her. But it wasn't true. His fierce protection made her feel as if nothing could harm her, not while he still drew breath.

 

The Bullet set down his coffee cup.

He shouldn't have stayed, but his phone call last night with Millie had unnerved him. She'd heard Douglas's voice in the background and assumed Douglas was the uncle he visited.

“Yes, I'll invite him to visit,” the Bullet had told Millie last night after she kept insisting. “But he doesn't travel much. He won't come. No, not even for Christmas.”

If the Bullet had known Millie was making Christmas plans, he would have stalled her. He'd never thought about Christmas coming. Santa stockings and roasting chestnuts were not for a man like him. He usually celebrated Christmas at an all-night bar with a bottle of tequila. That's where a man like him spent Christmas.

“Y
ou're going to call?” Matthew was making pancakes for breakfast. He had been up early worrying and had decided to stir up some batter. Glory was in trouble and he needed to find a way to keep her safe. “They must know more at the precinct than they've told you. And they have the photos. They might offer a clue.”

“It's not even morning there,” Glory said. The small Franklin stove had a fire going in it, but the air inside the house was still cold enough to make foggy breath. She rubbed her hands together. She had pulled on her jeans and a heavy sweater when she heard Matthew moving around the kitchen. They had spent time last night talking about the shooting she'd seen inside Benson's Market. “I don't know for sure if they'll send me copies of the photos—it's not exactly regulation.”

“Forget regulation,” Matthew demanded as he poured more batter on the griddle and automatically made the batter into a snowman. “Someone's out to get you.”

“Only in Seattle.”

“That's bad enough.” Matthew reached up into the cupboard and found a small canister of raisins. He put eye, nose and button raisins on the snowman.

Glory nodded. Matthew wasn't even aware of what he was doing—making cute pancakes while talking about violence. He did everything a mother would do for his sons. “I'll ask them to send copies of the photos—but I don't know what good they'll do.”

“Henry's got a fax at the store. Fax copies of them there,” Matthew said as he poured another pancake snowman. He didn't know what good the photos would do, either. He just knew he needed to do something. “And don't talk to anyone but that guy Frank you say you can trust.”

“Nobody on the force would sell me out,” Glory said, and then thought a minute. She took some silverware from the drawer. The metal was cold to her touch. Maybe Matthew was right. How did she know for sure none of them would tell a hit man where she was if the price was right?

“And you'll work on those drawings? You must have seen something,” Matthew said.

Glory had agreed to draw the crime scene again. The captain and she had been over this already. But Matthew sounded a lot like the captain. Both men believed she must be a target because of her trained eyes.

“Someone's worried you're going to remember something.” Matthew repeated what he had said last night. “Our job is to find out what that is.”

“I've been over it hundreds of times in my mind.”

“Have you drawn out the sketches of everything?”

“Just the face of the guy doing the shooting.” Glory had thought about that, too. Surely there wouldn't be something in the grocery store itself. Who would leave
evidence of a crime in plain sight for dozens of shoppers to see?

“And he's in jail?”

Glory nodded. “And nothing to gain by killing me at this point. I did sketches, but it wasn't necessary. He was arrested at the scene. And there were ten witnesses.”

“Now, why would a guy shoot someone in front of ten witnesses?”

“Poor planning,” Glory joked as she gathered four cups from the cupboard.

“Or something was happening that required immediate action,” Matthew said as he flipped the first snowman pancake. “Something important enough to risk jail time.”

“But that's just it—nothing was happening. The butcher was just walking out of the meat department with a package of steak in his hands.”

“What kind of steaks?”

Glory looked at Matthew as if he was crazy. “What kind of steaks?”

“Yeah, T-bone, porterhouse, cube…”

“What difference does that make?”

Matthew flipped the other snowman pancake. “Who knows? My guess is it's that kind of little detail that we're looking for, something all of the other ten people have long forgotten. But with your eye, it's still in your head. If you draw it out, who knows? That's what someone is worried about.”

“Makes sense.” Glory walked toward the kitchen table and set down the cups. Matthew did make sense. If someone was out gunning for her, it was time to empty her mind of all the crime details and put them
out front on paper. Maybe then they'd know who—or what—they were up against.

Matthew looked up. He heard the sound of the twins coming down the stairs before Glory did. “Juice in the refrigerator. Apricot syrup, too. Maybe some maple, as well.”

Glory nodded and went back to the cupboard to collect plates.

“And butter,” Matthew said. “Joey won't eat pancakes without butter.”

Once the plates were on the table, Glory went to the refrigerator.

Glory turned when she heard the twins enter the kitchen. They were in slippers and pajamas with sweatshirts pulled over them. Their hair was mussed and their eyes were still sleepy. Joey, in particular, looked as if he was still dreaming.

“Hi, sport,” Glory said softly as she put the juice on the table and walked over to Joey, lifting him up. He looked as if he needed a little bit more time to wake up.

Joey snuggled into her shoulder with a sigh.

“Mommy.” Joey whispered the word so softly Glory wasn't sure she'd heard it right. But she knew by the look of pain on Matthew's face that he had.

“He's still dreaming,” she whispered to Matthew. “He doesn't know what he's saying.”

“I know,” Matthew said quietly. Some days he could convince himself he could give his sons everything they needed. Today, apparently, was not going to be one of those days.

“It's Glory, honey,” she whispered in Joey's ear.

His eyes opened, and he smiled contentedly.
“You're still here. You didn't go back to heaven. I dreamed you were still here.”

“I wouldn't go anywhere without saying goodbye.”

Joey nodded. “Not even to heaven?”

Glory shook her head. “Not even there.”

Joey put his head back on her shoulder and put his thin arms around her neck in a tight hug.

Glory wondered how she was ever going to say goodbye to the twins.

 

It was midmorning before Glory relaxed her fingers. She was holding her sketch pencil too tight, as though she could force some memory out through her fingers. At first her fingers had been too cold to sketch, but Matthew had taken a pair of women's knit gloves off the shelf and cut the fingers out of them. That kept her hands warm while letting her fingers be free.

“You remember the clock?” Elmer had walked over to where she sat with her sketch pad.

“I remember everything,” Glory said as she set her fifth sketch aside. Matthew had fixed up a table for her to work at. By now it was covered with sketches.

“Not quite everything,” Elmer said as he looked closely at the sketch she had made of the manager lying on the floor, a bullet through his stomach and the things in his hands scattered. The time card was halfway out of the dead man's pocket. The package of steaks was near his left shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“That.” Elmer pointed at the sketch. “On that package of steaks. That isn't packed right. A T-bone and a cube together. Who'd do that?”

Glory looked at the sketch. She must have made a mistake. Odd, though.

A harsh scraping sound from the storeroom distracted them.

“Matthew.” Glory had told Matthew she would help him move any stock he needed to relocate. Elmer had told him the same thing. Even Jacob had appeared eager to pitch in and help. “Stubborn man.”

“Found the garland,” Matthew announced triumphantly as he hobbled into the main part of the store. A trail of gold-and-white garland followed him and he had a cape of garland wrapped around his shoulders.

“You risked falling to get some garland?”

Matthew grinned. “I didn't know you cared if I fell.”

“Of course I care if you fall,” Glory said softly. The fool man. “I'm the one that has to pick you up and get you to the clinic.”

Matthew's grin disappeared. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

The bell over the door rang. Glory looked up in time to see the deputy sheriff, Carl Wall, walk into the store.

Glory bit back her groan.

“Expected everyone to be out working on the pageant,” the deputy said. He looked slowly around the store and his eyes rested on Glory's worktable. He walked over and picked up one of her sketches of the victim after the shooting. “Hmm, not exactly scenery.” He looked at Glory.

Glory was leaning against the counter. “I told you I worked for the police.”

The deputy grunted. “Maybe you do, at that.”

“Want some coffee?” Matthew offered. “You public officials never seem to take time for breaks.”

“Some folks say all we do is sit around drinking coffee and eating doughnuts.”

“Well, I'm not one of them,” Matthew said staunchly. “You have a lot to do making sure there are no undesirables coming into town.”

Carl Wall looked puzzled. “I thought you were on the side of the angel.”

“The angel—no, no, I don't mean her. I mean any undesirables asking about her.”

“Who'd be asking about her?”

“I don't know. Just keep an eye out, all right?”

The deputy shrugged. “Most folks have accepted her. They kind of like someone who might be an angel. Makes them think the Man upstairs cares.”

“God can care about Dry Creek without sending an angel,” Glory said as she walked back toward her worktable. “Maybe God sent you to Dry Creek instead.”

The deputy grunted and rolled his eyes. “Now don't go getting funny on me. I wasn't thinking of me. But at least I'd remember the Price boy.”

“Billy Price?” Elmer looked up from the checker game.

“Yeah, I got to thinking. No one would remember him, and he'd like a visit from the angel—maybe a sack of the candy I hear is coming.”

“Well, I'll add him to the list.”

 

Glory could hear the silence in Matthew's house. A clock ticked in the kitchen and the water heater gurgled in the distance. She was making her Christmas list and checking it twice. She'd decided to order six extra basketballs and ten extra painting sets plus a couple of additional teddy bears. She wanted to be sure there were enough presents to go around.

With her list in hand, Glory called Sylvia.

The phone rang five times before Sylvia's breathless voice came over the line. “Tacoma-Seattle Youth Center, Sylvia Bannister speaking.”

Glory could hear muffled laughter and cheers in the background. “Sounds like someone's happy there.”

“We should be. We just got a grant to set up that summer camp you've heard me talk about for two years now. The money's not much, but it's a big start.”

“Congratulations! I wish I could be there!”

“The volunteers are going wild. Pat Dawson is even dancing a jig on the table.”

“I'm surprised you're not up there with him.”

“I had to get down to answer the phone. Besides, I'm too old for that sort of thing.”

“Forty! That's not old!”

“Well, I do feel younger since I got the news.” Sylvia laughed. “If we can get some of these kids away from the gangs for a summer, I believe we can turn their lives around. Take them someplace where they don't need to worry about being jumped or shot.”

“Even with the gangs, you make a difference,” Glory reminded her. She herself had volunteered many weekends at the youth center, tutoring or just talking with teenage girls. “I've seen you change the most unlikely ones.”

“Ah, the power of prayer. It surprises me at times, too. I always remind myself that I never know what heart God is going to open up next.”

“If you have a few extra prayers, you could send them this way.” Glory knew of no heart that needed softening more than Matthew's.

“I've been worried about that, too.”

“What?” Glory was startled. How had Sylvia known about Matthew?

“I don't want you to worry about that contract, though,” Sylvia continued. “The two boys who told me about it are being very responsible today. I think they have made a sincere decision to follow Christ.”

“Oh, of course.” Glory relaxed. Sylvia was talking about the shooting.

Silence.

“Is there something else bothering you?” Sylvia asked. “Something else I should pray about?”

How did Sylvia always know? Glory wondered. It must be her years of talking with teenagers.

“Just a stubborn man who hasn't forgiven himself and holds it against God.”

“Ah, this would be the man you mentioned, the one you're staying with.” Sylvia's voice was rich with unspoken speculation. “The minister.”

“I'm not staying with him,” Glory clarified. “I'm really staying with his five-year-old sons. That's all.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so.”

Sylvia let the subject be changed to the gifts for the children of Dry Creek. Sylvia assured her there were thirty days to pay on the account, and Glory told her she would mail a check tomorrow to cover the presents and the overnight shipping. The total came to twelve hundred dollars.

“I called the shipping place and they said they can only guarantee next-day service to Miles City. They're short-staffed, since it's Christmas, and aren't taking next-day service to places like Dry Creek.”

“If they can deliver it to the clinic in Miles City that'll be fine,” Glory said. “I thought this might happen, and I called one of the nurses I met there. She said I can pick the boxes up anytime before five.” She
wanted to go to Miles City, anyway. She had some Christmas shopping to do that she didn't want to do in the toy store.

 

“You'll need a pickup truck.” Tavis from the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch smiled at Glory. He, unlike Jacob and Elmer, was not sitting in a chair. Instead he crouched, cowboy-style, in front of the stove. “I'd be happy to drive you in. I've got a half-ton pickup, a three-quarter ton or a cattle truck. Your choice.”