[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (12 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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Christine managed a smile in spite of her fluttering heart. She wasn’t sure how she would fit in with Boyd’s crowd. She knew little about them, but she did know they were not drawn from the group of young people from her church.
He reached for her hand and steered down the road with one hand on the wheel. His speed had not slackened.
Christine gave a bit of a squeeze and pulled her hand back, hoping he would return to proper driving.
“You nervous?” he asked with an impish grin.
She nodded, but she couldn’t help but laugh. He always managed to bring her out of herself.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ve told them all about you.”
She wondered just what he had said. It didn’t make her feel any more at ease.
She grabbed for a handhold when Boyd cut the car sharply to the left and swung in under a grove of poplar trees. Feeling a bit shaky on her feet, she stepped from the car. She could see no one else around.
“Where is everyone?” she asked as Boyd lifted out the picnic basket.
“Actually,” he responded with another grin, “there isn’t anybody else. I just used that story to get you to come with me. I wanted you all to myself.”
Her hands went to her face and her knees went weak. He watched her reaction closely, then howled with mirth. He reached over to give her arm a playful punch.
“They’ll be here, little Miss Proper. Trudie is always late. She holds up everyone else. But it’s worth it. She’s a barrel of laughs.”
Boyd spread out the blanket, tucked the picnic basket up against the trunk of a tree, and held out his hand. “Come. Want to see the river?”
Christine allowed herself to be led down the bank. The river was a bit of a disappointment, not clear and sparkling like the streams of the North. Nor did it flow with the same energetic enthusiasm. Still, it was flowing water. She would like to have sat down on the bank and listened to its song.
Boyd kept walking. “So what do you think of my old man?” he asked.
Surprised at the question, she answered, “He’s ... he’s been a fine boss.” Beyond that she had given little thought to Mr. Kingsley.
“Ol’ Bones’s had her eye on him for years.”
Christine was very uncomfortable with his disrespectful familiarity with a woman old enough to be his mother.
“I’ve never been much excited about the prospect of that sour old woman as a new mother,” he went on as if he’d picked up on her thoughts.
“Miss Stout has been kind to me,” said Christine with stubborn loyalty.
He turned and pulled her close—too close—and whispered in her ear, “Who wouldn’t be kind to you?”
She pushed away as gently but as firmly as she could.
“Okay. Okay,” he laughed. “I get the message. Promise I won’t go too fast.”
A car horn from above them signaled the rest had arrived, and Boyd grabbed her hand to help her back up to the top. “Guess Trudie finally got her hair fluffed and her nails painted,” he laughed as they climbed the steep path.
Five young people, laughing raucously, were scrambling out of a crowded auto—three fellows and two young women. Christine wondered which one was Trudie. She had picked her out even before Boyd made the introduction. She had flaming red hair that swirled about her lightly freckled face. Christine was not accustomed to such dramatic makeup and found the effect theatrical. But she soon realized that Trudie was indeed always on stage. From the moment she arrived, she had the group roaring with laughter. Her words and manner were rather flamboyant and loud, but her friends seemed to greatly enjoy her humor.
A lanky youth with a wide grin and a shock of dark hair falling forward over his face seemed to be the redhead’s escort. They were about as different as rain and snow to Christine’s thinking. The boy rarely opened his mouth—except to cram it full of the contents of the various picnic baskets. She had never seen such a ravenous appetite, not even in her brother Henry when he was a teenager.
Christine was uncomfortable eating without first thanking the Lord for the food. She managed to bow her head for a quick prayer before beginning her own sandwich, but the chatter around her had not slackened, and she found it difficult to concentrate.
Even with everyone eating heartily, the talk and laughter still had not slowed down.
“What happened to Maude?” asked Boyd around a chicken drumstick.
“She has a toothache,” answered the young man in the blue-striped shirt. Christine thought his name was Jared.
“Can you imagine that?” chirped Trudie, holding her jaw in mock sympathy. “A toothache keeping her home. I’d never let a little thing like a toothache keep me from a party.”
“Speaking of a party—where are the drinks?” asked Stephen, a short fellow with eyeglasses.
Boyd leaped to his feet and proceeded to his car and opened the trunk. “Help yourself,” he called, and everyone but Christine hurried over to do so.
“What do you want, Christine?” he called to her. “Beer or wine?”
“I ... no, thank you,” she stammered as several pairs of eyes turned to stare. She felt embarrassed—and terribly disappointed. She had thought Boyd would know she would not drink alcohol.
“Christine’s father is a cop,” explained Boyd with a laugh, and all five broke into hilarious laughter. Christine did not understand the joke.
“So what
will
you drink?” Boyd asked as he threw himself back down on the blanket beside her.
“I’ll ... I’m fine,” she was quick to say.
“Next time we’ll bring some soda pop,” said Trudie in an affected way that drew another laugh.
“Lemonade,” someone else offered, and they laughed more loudly..
“Hey, you guys, lay off,” warned Boyd, and the laughter subsided.
Christine couldn’t help being thirsty. Had she been in the North, she would have gone to the stream for a refreshing drink. But the murky waters of the nearby river did not tempt her at all.
The afternoon dragged by. They really didn’t do anything. Just lolled about on the blankets, talking and laughing and at times sounding a bit vulgar. A few times Boyd warned them off with a look or a word. They continued to drain the bottles, and the more they drank, the louder and coarser they became. Christine ached to go home.
A rain cloud finally brought her release. They grabbed picnic baskets, blankets, and belongings and rushed to the cars. Christine breathed a prayer of thanks.
“You didn’t have too much fun today, did you?” Boyd asked seriously on the drive home. He was driving much more slowly, both hands on the wheel. The rain continued to fall, the modern miracle of an outer windshield wiper keeping their vision clear.
“I’m sorry,” said Christine honestly. “I guess I just don’t fit with your ... with your friends.”
He nodded as though agreeing.
Well, that’s the end of that,
thought Christine, feeling a strange combination of sadness and relief.
“I won’t ask you to do it again,” Boyd continued, and now he did take a hand off the steering wheel to reach out to her. “Come over here.” He smiled. “Please.”
She slowly slid across the seat. He lifted an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer yet.
“Next time we’ll do something on our own.”
Christine could not hide her surprise.
“You name it,” he went on.
She turned to him. “You mean it?”
“‘Course.”
Suddenly the day seemed brighter again. He did not plan to stop asking her out. He wasn’t asking her to join his crowd. She could scarcely believe it.
“So where will it be?” he asked.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Okay.” His arm tightened. “I’ll give you until we get home.”
She laughed in delight. She could laugh now. She’d not been able to laugh at the crude jokes on the picnic blankets, but now she laughed out of sheer joy.
They were soon pulling up in front of Christine’s boardinghouse. “You’re sure you have to go?” he asked her soberly.
“I’m sure. I have some things I need to do before tomorrow.
His arm tightened. “Have you thought about it?”
“I have.”
“And... ?” he prompted when she went no further.
“How ... how long do I have to wait for this date?” she asked, surprised at herself.
“An hour or two. Maybe less if you coax me.”
She laughed again. “In that case—what about tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning? That’s better than I dared hope.” His arm pulled her closer against his side. “So where do we get to go tomorrow morning?”
“To church,” she answered without hesitation.
“Church?”
She could hear the shock in his tone. It brought her a deep disappointment.
“You don’t have
to—if
you’d rather not,” she was quick to amend.
To her surprise he reached out to encircle her in his arms. “No,” he said, sounding as if he had recovered. “A promise is a promise. Just ... fill me in. What am I to do ... and when?”
True to his word, Boyd picked Christine up for church promptly at 9:45 the next morning. She could tell it was all very new to him. Very strange. She could feel him watching her closely to see how he should participate in the service. She smiled at him often and tried to make him feel at ease.
After the service several people greeted him, and she introduced him to any of those whose names she knew. But she could tell he was anxious to get away from the small congregation. He was edging toward the car, and she allowed herself to be led away as soon as she could do so without being rude.
“Well,” he said once he was behind the wheel. “That was a new experience.”
“Thank you,” said Christine. “For going with me, I mean.”
He merely nodded.
“Have you really never been to church before?” she dared ask.
“Never.”
“That’s sad. You’ve missed so much.”
He did not respond.
“Did your ... your mother attend church?” Christine knew she might be getting too personal, but she wanted to know.
“I don’t remember
Mother.”
It was said too sharply.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Look,” he said, angrily turning to her. “There’s not a thing you have done—or can do—about my mother. No sorrys. They don’t fix anything. So let’s just not bring it up, okay?”
Christine was shocked by his obvious emotional trauma. She wanted to say sorry again but didn’t dare. She just nodded.
The stormy interchange was over as quickly as it had come. He looked at her and smiled. Even reached out for her hand. “Where should we go for dinner?” he said as if nothing had happened.
There had been no arrangement made for dinner. Christine’s landlady would be expecting her at the boardinghouse table.
“Mrs. Green is expecting ...”
“Phooey on Mrs. Green,” he said dismissively. “She won’t even notice you’re gone. Besides, all she cares about is getting the money. As long as she has full pay, she’ll be glad she didn’t have to feed you.”
“You don’t know Mrs. Green. She doesn’t even serve anyone until all of us are at the table.”
“A cuff on the side of the head to Mrs. Green. She sounds like a spoilsport to me.”
She managed a light laugh. “Maybe next time.”
When they got to her place, he pulled over to the curb. Before she could thank him or open her door, he reached out and held her arm. His other hand raked through his hair with spread fingers.
“Look, Christine,” he said. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. About today.”
She swallowed nervously.
“I ... I don’t think I can handle going to your church again. It makes me feel creepy. All that singing and talking about a guy who’s been dead for nearly two thousand years. That’s really not where I’m at.”

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