So Alone Part 12

"The pastor's always welcome, dear."

"Afternoon, Maddie," Peter greeted her cheerfully. "You're looking lovely as ever." He went right to her bed and sat down on the side, taking her hand in his.

"Go on with you," Maddie chided. "I don't imagine for one minute that you came to see me, young man."

"Young man am I now? I'll be thirty-two this fall, Maddie. That's not exactly young."

"Tish tosh. You've still got plenty of time to raise a bunch of kids of your own, your know. They would fill up those Sunday school cla.s.ses." Maddie chuckled at her joke that left Carrie feeling unaccountably sad.

"And who do you think would marry me, Maddie? Besides putting up with me around the house, being a preacher's wife isn't a duty that I've found myself willing to burden a woman with yet. It would take a very special woman."

"You'll find one, Peter. Maybe you'll find one as good as Carrie would be."

Carrie felt the heat rise to color her cheeks. "I... I'll go get us all some lemonade." She ducked into the kitchen, but she could still hear part of the conversation in the next room.

"I'd consider myself lucky if I found one exactly like Carrie. Very lucky. She'd make a very compa.s.sionate and loving pastor's wife."

Carrie couldn't hear Maddie's response. Maybe there wasn't one. Heaven knew, she'd said enough already, too much. Carrie made noise getting ice and dropping it into the gla.s.ses so she wouldn't have to listen anymore. She lifted out the pitcher from the refrigerator and filled the gla.s.ses.

"We were married right there in the church," Maddie was saying when Carrie returned with the tray of drinks. "We moved into this house right after our honeymoon in Detroit Lakes. Lived here ever since. I love this old house. Carrie does, too. Remember when you used to tell me you were going to raise a family here like I did, Carrie?"

"That was a long time ago when I was a child and not worth bringing up now," Carrie insisted. Especially not with Peter here listening, she added to herself. "Here's something cool to drink, Grandma."

Peter took a gla.s.s from the small tray before she took her own. "Thanks. I thought I smelled freshly squeezed lemons," he said before taking several swallows and smiling. "Mmmm."

"Carrie makes delicious old-fas.h.i.+oned lemonade from real lemons," Maddie told him proudly. "That's the best kind."

"Not the easiest kind though, Grandma, but I think it tastes the best."

Peter agreed. "Maddie was just telling me about this house. It's such a n.o.ble old structure. The really strong ones that are cared for lovingly last through the test of time." Maddie looked up at Carrie. "Dear, why don't you show Peter around the house?" She turned to Peter with a smile. "Would you like to see the rest?"

"That's a great idea. I'd love to see it. You don't mind if we leave you alone for a few minutes?"

"Not at all. John may be here soon to keep me company."

Carrie frowned and glanced at Peter. He nodded. "If you need anything, just call out, Grandma," Carrie said.

Peter and Carrie set their gla.s.ses back on the tray Carrie had placed on the end of the dresser.

"No fair drinking our lemonade while we're gone, now Maddie," Peter teased.

"Oh, go on!" Maddie smiled easily and waved them away.

Carrie could see no way to get out of taking him on a tour. "You've already seen most of the house."

They walked into the living room and Peter went to the fireplace. He looked at the eight-by-ten, framed family portraits lined up on the mantle. He pointed to the one of her grandparents. "This is her husband, John, she talks about?"

Carrie nodded and he moved on to the next photo. "Before my folks died, they used to live up by the new consolidated grade school. That's where I was raised, but we came here to Grandma's house every Sunday for dinner after church."

"Sounds like an ideal childhood. I think this would be a great place to raise kids."

Carrie sighed as a feeling of sadness washed over her. Not noticing the slump in her shoulders, Peter leaned over to see the faces in the last photo. "And that's your sister?"

"Yes. Don't her girls look just like her?" Carrie asked proudly. Peter nodded.

They strolled into the foyer and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Peter rubbed his hand over the smooth newel post. "Do I get to see the rest of upstairs?" Peter asked with a mischievous grin. "Or didn't you make your bed?"

Carrie responded with a chastising raised eyebrow and she led the way up the stairs. She couldn't stop the smile that managed to sneak onto her face before she turned away from him.

Her hand wouldn't slide along the hand rail as it usually did. She was surprised to discover that the reason was that her palms her damp. Inhaling deeply, she quickened her steps. She wanted to get the tour over quickly.

"I can't get over the carved-wood panels here in the hall and back in the dining room," Peter remarked, running his fingers over the decorative wood panels covering the wall beside the stairs. "It gives the house such a warm and wonderful feeling." His hands slid over the smooth surface of the railing.

"I don't think you can find craftsmans.h.i.+p like that any more."

"Not that any of us could afford."

At the top of the stairway, he surveyed the hall and pointed toward the smaller set of stairs going up at the far end. "Another floor above this one?"

She nodded. "An attic. It's tall enough to stand up across the middle. Grandma used it for storage. My sister and I used to play up there as kids when it was too cold to go outside which happens a lot in the winter. I used to look out the windows, across town to the fields beyond and wish I could fly away from Sunville with the wind."

"You've wanted to leave town since you were that young?"

She nodded. "That's how I got my start at writing. I used to write stories about the adventures of a girl very much like me. She traveled and got to do everything I wanted to do."

Peter turned away, but Carrie caught a glimpse of a frown as they strolled a few feet down the hall. He looked at doorways. "Six bedrooms?" he asked. The frown had disappeared.

"Um, there were six, but Grandpa converted one in the middle into two big modern bathrooms. You enter one from the master bedroom and the other from the hall here. The sixth room is a little one off the master bedroom that doesn't have a door to the hall. I think it was supposed to be a nursery," she finished weakly, wis.h.i.+ng she hadn't mentioned it at all. She took a few steps, hoping the fluttery feeling she felt thinking about the nursery would pa.s.s.

He stepped into each room, including the one Carrie was obviously occupying. "I see you made your bed," he teased.

"Whew! Are you lucky," she jested dramatically as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Peter laughed.

"Grandma made that quilted bedspread." Carrie noticed her gardening clothes dumped on the chair and quickly ushered him down the hall. "She made all of these except the one on her own bed."

Peter had already seen one of the guest bedrooms when he helped move the dresser from there downstairs for Maddie to use along with the rented hospital bed. They went on into the master bedroom.

The tall, elegant four-poster bed dominated the room. The matching dressers of rich polished mahogany shone beautifully. She could smell the lilac-scented talc that Maddie used. She ran her fingers over the handmade quilt that served as the spread on the bed. "This quilt had been here as long as I can remember. My great-grandmother made this one."

"It's beautiful, the st.i.tches so tiny and even," Peter said, examining it from the foot of the bed.

Carrie's lips curled into a sad smile. "I love this room. Grandma must have hated to give it up to move downstairs." The swirled post at the foot of the bed felt cool beneath her fingertips. "The metal bed I rented must be disappointing after sleeping in this beauty."

Peter walked through the open door into the little adjacent room. "If not a nursery, this would make a great study. A person could work late while their spouse slept."

"I suppose you're right," Carrie replied absently. Her thumb slid along the groove that circled down the bed post. Looking down at the quilt, she thought about what a life here might have been like if her early childhood dreams of raising her own family here had come true.

When Peter put his hand over hers on the post, her head jerked up and her gaze darted to meet his.

"Your grandmother's lucky to have someone like you to look after her," he said softly. "You're quite special, Carolyn."

She shook her head to deny his conclusion. "No," she whispered. "Not at all. I'm just doing what I have to do because I love her."

Peter nodded and raised his free hand to caress her cheek. His hand felt warm and strong.

"And may I do what I have to do, Carolyn?" He looked at her mouth and then back to her eyes.

Her brows wrinkled. This is Peter, Maddie's pastor. No. I'm kidding myself. This is Peter, the man I'm falling in love with, she finally admitted to herself, all the while wis.h.i.+ng it weren't true.

"I do have to kiss you," he said.

Carrie looked at his lips. She remembered how they had felt when they had rested on hers for those few seconds the week before. They moved closer as she watched them.

Was he moving toward her or was she leaning toward him? She couldn't keep her eyes open. He disappeared from sight as the warmth of his lips touched hers.

After just a few moments, Carrie felt the gentle weight lift from her lips. Her eyelids felt too heavy to open. She wanted to remain in the dark, blindly trusting him as she had trusted no other man.

"Carolyn," he whispered. His fingers threaded back into her hair and cradled her head. His quickened breaths puffed against her cheek. Lemons. Carrie could smell the scent of the tangy fruit from their lemonade.

Her eyes flickered open to gaze into his for a few seconds before his mouth once again covered hers.

Suddenly he tore his lips from hers and stepped away. His hand dropped from her cheek, taking the warmth with it. He turned away and stood with his back to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I kissed you, Carolyn."

Carrie smothered her gasp with her hand. How could he feel sorry about something so sweet as his kiss?

Peter ran his hands through his hair. "I shouldn't have done that. I want you to know I didn't ask for the tour of this beautiful house to get you alone up here to kiss you." He spun back to face her and held out his hand palm up in a pleading motion. It fell to his side with a slap. "I'm truly sorry."

Carrie felt as if he'd slapped her. He was sorry he kissed her. His kiss had been so lovely that Carrie hadn't wanted him to stop. No one had ever kissed her like that or made her feel that way, not even Ralph. Why was Peter sorry? He must not have liked it. She probably had done it wrong. How was she supposed to know it was going terribly wrong when it had felt so wonderful?

"Forgive me?" he asked.

Carrie shook her head and dropped her hand from the bed post to her side. "No, there's no need," she managed. "You've done nothing that needs forgiving."

She stepped beyond him out into the hall. Still feeling shaken, she leaned her hand on the banister railing to a.s.sure herself a safe decent. She didn't look back, but she could hear Peter coming after her. Once downstairs, a quick peek told her Maddie was asleep again. She turned back to see Peter standing by the front door, staring through the screen. She walked back into the hall, but stood well behind him.

Peter pushed off from the door frame and stepped over to face her. Carrie felt too embarra.s.sed at what had happened to look up. She looked at her hands, knotted at her waist.

"When does Maddie's new housekeeper begin?"

"Housekeeper?" She looked up in surprise. "Ah... Thursday. She's moving in late Wednesday night."

Peter nodded. "We have a rehearsal Thursday after school for the puppet show. The kids are performing on Sunday morning for the whole church and the following weekend they have a command performance at the hospital. Can you come help them get ready?"

"After what happened at the nursing home, I don't think that's a good idea."

"That's been cleared up. The group talked about it after the youth dinner Monday. Susan lashed out and you happened to catch her wrath."

Carrie shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just can't. My helping is just not a good idea."

"Believe me, it would be a great idea. You're a big help. The kids are lucky to have you."

If only that were true, Carrie wished. She would love helping the children with their play again. She liked being active in the friendly fellows.h.i.+p of a church instead of being an invisible visitor who slipped into the back pew and slipped out again at the close of the service, never meeting anyone, never establis.h.i.+ng any ties that would draw her back the following week. Being a part of a church like this might fill the giant void that she'd felt in her life since Ralph died, but she couldn't fill that void here, and she couldn't encourage Peter to want her to.

"No, Peter. I'm sorry. I can't." And I must stay away from you, she thought.

"What if I can prove to you that your coming to help is a good idea, that the kids really want your help? Will you come then?"

"There's no way to prove that."

He reached to take her hands in his. He swept his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. "But if I could prove the kids want and need you?"

Wanting him to stop trying to wear her down, she finally agreed. "Okay, okay. If you can prove that the young people want me there, then I'll come."

"Great. See you Thursday," he said before he left.

Chapter Eleven.

"Excuse me," Carrie said as she approached the counter at the doctor's office to talk to the nurse. "I've come to pick up the menus for the care-giver to use as a guide for Maddie Whitmore's meals."

"Be right with you," the nurse responded.

"Say. Aren't you the lady who was with the kids who did the puppet show at the nursing home?" the middle-aged woman in a seat across from Carrie asked. She lowered her magazine to her lap when Carrie nodded. "I was there visiting my mother and watched the show," the woman continued. "I don't know if Mom understood it, but she always seems to be happier when groups come in to perform like that. I just wanted to say thank you."

Carrie smiled. "The kids were happy to do it. They had a lot of... of fun," she responded.

"The kids are lucky to have you to help them out. So many people just don't care about old people nowadays. If they only knew the wonderful good that even a little of their time visiting a nursing home would do."

"I'll tell the kids that you said thanks." She smiled and turned back to the nurse's desk to take the menus.

She certainly hadn't meant to, but she'd told the woman an untruth. She wouldn't be able to pa.s.s on her thanks for the puppet show because she wouldn't be seeing the kids again. She tamped down her wishful thinking and concentrated on driving to the next place on her list.

The stop at the in-home-aide service didn't take long. She signed the contracts for the workers that would come in every other weekend and stay with Maddie on Joyce's time off. This arrangement would not be easy to manage from Fargo, but Carrie was determined to make it work. She wanted Maddie to be able to live at home as long as possible. And Joyce was very dependable, Carrie felt. That went a long way to making this whole arrangement acceptable and workable.

During the drive back to Maddie's house, Carrie went over and over every eventuality that she could think of in arranging things for Maddie's care. Groceries and medications were to be delivered.

The Food Transit was a grocery delivery service run by one of the older and smaller grocery stores that was losing business to the big new and brightly-lit store on the edge of town. To keep their customers, they offered in-town delivery for not much more than the cost of the food, plus what the delivery people could earn in tips for their fast and friendly service.

The ladies from church offered to come over to help, but Carrie wanted to set things up to save their kind offer as a backup for emergencies rather than for tasks that had to be done often.

It has to work. It will work, she told herself as she pulled in Maddie's driveway. She braked hard beside the porch instead of going to the back where she could unload the groceries more easily. She turned off the ignition and stared at the big wrap-around porch.

Eight teenagers sat in the chairs, on the swing, and draped over the railing or sitting on the steps. Maddie sat in her favorite, green-padded chair with the wide arms. Joyce, who'd arrived as promised the evening before, sat next to her on the matching-style chair in a rust pattern.