So Alone Part 11

The following night at the church youth appreciation dinner in the fellows.h.i.+p hall, one of the parents of a puppet player stopped him after the dish-to-pa.s.s dinner.

"I'm hesitant to ask, but I wanted to find out just what is going on with the Whitmore woman and the youth group. I had a hard time getting the story of what happened yesterday at the puppet show out of my son after he got home, but I gather from all the shouting that was going on, something's not right here. Are you sure she's the type of woman who should be setting an example for the kids?"

"I'm glad you asked," Peter began, responding to the parent. "We need to clear this up before the lies are believed and it gets blown out of proportion."

"I think you're right," another parent who came up to the small conversation circle said. "Knowing what was going on would be a lot better than the conjecturing my son is doing."

Peter glanced around at the parents and teens who were gathering their bowls and platters in preparation to going home.

"I think we should talk about this tonight. It won't take more than a few minutes," he promised.

Enlisting the aid of the parents beside him, they spread the word that there was a brief meeting for the parents of the puppet troupe. Five minutes later, they sat scattered around the front corner of the sanctuary.

Susan sat beside her mother, her facial expression saying she didn't want to be there. The boys sat together and the other parents who'd been able to stay longer for the meeting sat in small cl.u.s.ters.

The soft-soled loafers Peter wore m.u.f.fled his steps as he walked toward the alter in the front of the church. He looked up at the huge cross that hung against the stone wall behind the choir loft. "Give me a hand here," he muttered in a brief prayer, and then he turned to face the young adults and their parents. He stepped into the second pew and sat on the back of the first, raising a foot to the edge of the seat.

"I want to thank you all for staying tonight," Peter began. "I promise not to take a lot of your time, but I felt we needed to talk. We're a small church in a small community, and we've always talked things over when any problems have come up."

The parents and youths nodded their agreement.

"I... I hate rumors and gossip. They hurt the person that the rumors are about, and they hurt each and every person who spreads the gossip."

He stepped into the aisle and looked around at each person there. "I've was asked earlier about a rumor that was repeated about an incident after the puppet show yesterday. What happened caused pain to someone I hold dear, a woman I am proud to call a friend, Carolyn Whitmore."

Peter slid his hands into his trouser pockets and took a deep breath. "Because of that rumor, a few of you have expressed doubt in my judgement when I asked Carolyn to a.s.sist the youth group with their puppet play. I want to make it clear that thanks in part to her help that the show was a roaring success and the nursing home wants us back with the next show."

There were several cheers and whistles from the boys at hearing the news, but they quieted down quickly.

"Carolyn had a great deal to do with that success," Peter continued.

"Right on," Wayne shouted as he cast a dark glance toward Susan.

"I want to straighten out the misconception and stop the rumor here and now." Peter slowly started down the aisle.

Sitting beside her mother way in the back, Susan looked away when Peter's gaze met hers. Her mother poked her side with her elbow.

Peter looked at Marc, sitting with his parents. "Carolyn is a kind and loving person," Marc said.

Marc leaned forward in his pew and turned to face the others. "She came to Sunville to take care of her grandmother. She's real nice."

"She is generous and giving," Peter added as he walked by a few more rows.

The new boy at the back stood up. "You know, she said she'd help with the puppet show with no strings attached. I mean, like, she just helped us 'cause she wanted to. And she gave us money for our stage fund, too. I mean, how many people do you know who'd take so much time and effort, just to be helpful? You know?" He sat down again shaking his head. Peter imagined no one ever did that where the boy had lived before.

"Carolyn has never conducted herself with anything but the utmost decorum. Carolyn is an honest, caring, and decent woman," Peter concluded forcefully as he stood beside Susan's pew.

"Then what's this all about?" Susan's mother asked. "Why'd Susan come home so upset yesterday?"

Susan didn't wait to be asked. She turned in an accusing gaze toward her mother. "I just told them what I heard you say on the telephone. You said Carolyn was a murderer... that she didn't belong here. And... and everything."

Her mother gasped and covered her open mouth with her hand. Susan slumped down into the seat and wiped off the tears that were gathering in her eyes with the back of her s.h.i.+rt sleeve. Her mother looked from Susan to Peter and back to Susan again. "I never said any such thing. I heard in the beauty shop that Ms. Whitmore was back in town. I did mention it to a friend on the phone. I merely said it was an awful shame that she couldn't stay and care for Maddie herself, but she belongs in Fargo where her job is. And I know I never said anything about her being a murderer." She glared at her daughter.

Susan's sobs began in earnest. "You said that... that Marilyn told you Carolyn made her boyfriend kill himself. You said that was the same as killing him herself!" she cried.

Peter's eyes opened wide at that statement. "You can't possibly believe that Carolyn was responsible for his death," he insisted. "You've got to understand that suicide is a complicated act that if often caused by a lot of things. I can't believe for a minute that Carolyn could have been the cause."

"All I know is that the boy died shortly after a car accident that left him bedridden," Susan's mother explained. "The papers said he killed himself in the nursing home after a big argument there with Carolyn. But it was years ago and they never charged her with anything." She turned to her daughter. "Why would you even bring that up now?"

Peter shook his head. He was beginning to understand why Carolyn had looked so pale when they entered the nursing home. She'd even told him she didn't want to go because of something that had happened the last time she was there. Why hadn't he listened? How could he have been so inconsiderate? But he'd deal with what he'd done later. Now he had these kids to consider.

"Do you see how repeating what you thought you heard twists and changes the words into lies?" he asked Susan, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Those lies that you put into the heads of everyone who heard you, have got to stop growing right here. Right now."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Susan mumbled. Her face fell into her hands.

"You and I are going to have a long talk tonight, young lady," her mother insisted. "And don't count on going out on weekend nights for a long time."

Susan's mother faced Peter at the end of the pew. "I'm sorry, too, Reverend. I just don't know what gets into her. I have with no husband anymore to help with the bills, and I work long hours just to pay the rent. Maybe I'm a bad mother, but I do the best I can." "We're not judging you. You obviously love your daughter very much or you wouldn't care what she did, and you wouldn't be here at this meeting," Peter said gently. Marc's mother stood up. "Believe me, there isn't a parent here tonight that doesn't empathize with you.

They've all been there at one time or other. The teen years are hard years to get through for most parents." "It's no picnic for us either," Marc offered with a grin. The other kids laughed, but they all agreed with him. "Maybe what we need is a support group for parents of teens," Peter suggested. "Hey! You could call it POTS, Parents Of Teens Support," one of the quicker boys suggested brightly. "We may have to work on the name, but the idea is good," one of the fathers added. "What about the rest of you?" Peter took an informal count and most of the parents were interested in such a group. "Then what we need is a chairperson to organize it and call the first meeting," he concluded with a smile. "My mom could do that," Marc announced. "She's great at getting me to do stuff." "Thanks a lot," his mom teased with a gentle shove sideways in the pew. "No prob, Mom. Anytime," Marc offered with a c.o.c.ky grin.

"What about it?" Peter queried her.

"Me? Well, sure. I think the group would be good. There are lots of times I wished I had someone to talk about to make sure I'm still in touch with reality."

"Good, and I think that one of the many things we should discuss is suicide," Peter continued. "I think

we can all benefit by learning more." He ran up the aisle to the pulpit where he grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil from the shelf and came back. "Everyone write down your names, address and phone numbers to make it easy for our new chairperson. You'd better add your work numbers if you can take calls there. Let me know when you set your first meeting."

He handed the pad to the nearest parent to start filling out. "Thank you all for staying tonight."

Everyone rose and a few of the boys circled Peter in the aisle. The problem of the rumor solved, their agile minds had already shot on to the next item. "Hey, man, my mom works at the hospital. She's in pedes. That's pediatrics for you dummies," Tim added, looking around at his friends. "Thanks, dummy," the friends chorused back.

"Anyway, ya know, she says it would be great if we could do our puppet show up there in the ward. They have this big playroom and the kids that are up there, the ones with cancer and stuff, and they would really enjoy the play."

"That's 'cause we're such fine puppeteers," the new boy bragged.

"Oh, give me a break," another demanded.

"Tell you what, I'll call her and see what she has in mind," Peter offered.

"I'll tell her you're going to. She couldn't come tonight, by the way, 'cause she had to work. I didn't tell her nothing about what happened after the puppet show. She gets enough grief nursing really sick kids every day."

Peter patted Tim on the back, and the boys walked toward their parents. General laughter and individual conversations echoed in the emptying church as the gathering broke up.

After they had all left, Peter switched off the lights and locked up the church. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so tired. Now he knew what "bone weary" meant because that's how deep it went.

Before climbing into his car, he looked over at Maddie's house. The faint glow on the first floor must be a night light for Maddie, he concluded. Upstairs there was only one lighted window, the corner room on the back of the house. No wonder his mowing had awakened her.

He thought about her feeling so miserable and wanted to go tell her everything would be all right. He wanted to see her looking happy again, smiling her beautiful smile just for him.

Instead, he ducked into his car and headed home.

Chapter Ten.

The next morning just after breakfast, Maddie's lawn service workers came to cut the fast-growing turf and trim the bushes. At the first sounds of their mower, Carrie's thoughts were of Peter and how she had mistaken him for a gardener. How could she have known otherwise? She'd never realized that ministers could have so many muscles, such a gorgeous smile, or such intense eyes.

This wasn't the first time since she'd climbed out of his car Sunday afternoon that she'd thought about him. In fact, try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Even busying herself with Maddie's housekeeping duties didn't keep her mind from creating his image. It would be more difficult that she imagined to stop thinking about him. She knew she would never forget him--even when she was long gone.

More than that, Carrie had to admit that she cared a great deal for him, but she could never let him know. She couldn't stay and take the chance of hurting his reputation any further. Some day soon, she was certain, he would find a woman to marry and live happily with here in Sunville.

The phone ringing brought her out of her reverie. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi. It's Joyce Barret. I'm calling to ask if I can start the job there earlier than we planned? My son's kids have the chicken pox and instead of going there Thursday for a couple days, I could come to Sunville Wednesday--tomorrow evening."

"Yes. That's wonderful. Oh, no. I mean, I'm sorry to hear about your grandkids being sick, but I'd love you to start earlier than we planned. I could get back to my job sooner--while I still have one to get back to." And I can get out of Peter's life, she added silently.

Carrie hadn't gotten ten feet from the phone after Joyce's call when it rang again. Her "h.e.l.lo" was greeted this time with a "Good morning" from that baritone voice she was so certain she would never forget.

"Hi, Peter," she responded weakly.

"Are you feeling okay this morning?"

"Yes. Thanks," she said in a voice she hoped sounded stronger so he wouldn't worry any more on her

account. "I'm just not used to working with teenagers. Their raging hormones are very volatile. Susan

was just letting off steam Sunday." "You're right on that score," he said brightly. "Say, if Don helped, I know he'd be glad. He's a nice guy to get to know so don't ever hesitate if you want to call him. He'd like it if you went back to see him."

"Sure," she responded, wanting to change the subject but not knowing what to say. "Thanks."

"So. What do you have planned for this afternoon?"

"You mean besides making gelatin for Maddie?" Carrie responded.

"Likes the stuff that much, does she?" Peter asked.

"Can't seem to get enough," Carrie answered with a laugh.

"Good. You're laughing again."

The smile flew from her face as fast as he had been able to put it there in the first place. "Um. What was

it you called about, Peter?" "I want to see you. Will you go for a swing ride with me on your front porch while Maddie takes her nap this afternoon?" "Peter, I'm leaving town as soon as I can. I... I don't think your coming over is such a good idea." She had to stay away from him, but she hadn't realized how hard it would be. "No, I think it's a great idea. I'll be there at three," he said quickly before he hung up.

Carrie stared at the receiver in her hand as the dial tone clicked on. She dropped it back into its cradle and s.n.a.t.c.hed back her hand quickly as if it had burned her fingers.

Peter was coming in four and a half hours. No, four hours and twenty minutes, but who was counting? Not Carrie. In fact, she tried not to think at all about him coming. In the following two hours, she got several day's work done at the house. At least that's what working so hard felt like when she finally slowed down.

By two-thirty, Maddie had stopped crocheting and was napping in bed with a calming Strauss waltz on the stereo to keep sounds from outdoors or the phone from waking her.

Carrie ran up the stairs two at a time, determined to squeeze in a shower in the time she had left. Crescents of dirt decorated the ends of her fingernails from pulling weeds along the porch. Her hair had wilted under her hat in the hot sun.

She smiled thinking how Maddie had enjoyed sitting in the shade of the porch. The fresh air made Maddie want to rest early, but then, she seemed to nap more each day.

Tearing off her dirty jeans and blouse, Carrie tossed them on a chair and took a quick shower and washed her hair. She ran into her bedroom, deciding to skip makeup as she had most days since returning to Sunville.

She dressed in pleated cotton slacks and a light blouse. Over that she layered a long lacy vest. She slipped into her sandals and was leaving to go downstairs when she realized she had forgotten her belt. With that on, she decided she'd better do a final check in the mirror.

Her hair. Still wet from the shower, she'd completely forgotten to dry or even brush it!

Minutes later in the kitchen, Carrie leaned against the refrigerator, waiting for her breathing rate to approach normal. Usually very efficient, she couldn't understand her loss of concentration lately. What was the matter with her? At work her boss piled on dozens of detailed jobs and she handled them all without a problem. Now she was so distracted she couldn't remember simple everyday tasks like brus.h.i.+ng her hair after she washed it.

She opened the refrigerator and stared into it, suddenly unable to remember why she'd opened it. She slammed the door and whirled around to lean against the counter, her hands clutching the edge.

"Stop doing this to me, Peter! G.o.d, make him stop!" she ordered aloud. She shook her head. Now what was she doing? G.o.d didn't have the time to worry about such a small thing as her problem in the face of everything else going on in the world. He'd already proved that by deserting her and letting Ralph die.

Carrie tamped down the memories that began to flood her consciousness. "I'm not going over that again," she vowed.

Eventually she remembered she'd wanted to make lemonade. She went back to the refrigerator a second time for the ingredients. The cook drinks were almost ready when she heard his car pull in the driveway. She met him at the door. Just as she was about to ask if he wanted to come in or sit on the porch, Maddie called out asking who was at the door.

"It's Reverend Newhouse, Grandma," Carrie answered as she opened the door and invited Peter in with a wave of her arm. "Are you up to company?" she asked as they entered the refurnished dining c.u.m bedroom.