The Carpenter & the Queen (12 page)

He didn’t think of Claire until he was back
in bed. Would she be all right?

Of course she would. People lived without
power for years in some countries, and they were just fine.

But Sam was sick, and she didn’t know
anybody close by.

No, Claire had said they would be fine. She
didn’t want help.

But did she? Was this one of those female
tricks when they said one thing but meant another? He was never
very good at those.

Trick or no, being without power wasn’t any
fun. And if she were on well water . . .

She probably had a generator.

He tossed and turned for several seconds
before sitting up again. He should call her. It was the right thing
to do, just to make sure she was okay. As he picked up the phone,
he glanced at the clock by his bed. Because of the battery backup,
the time was still accurate. One eighteen. No man in his right mind
would call a woman at one eighteen and expect her to be pleased
about it.

He would call her in the morning . . . after
it was light . . . after she had had time to eat breakfast . . .
when he was sure she was awake.

14

At ten o’clock that morning, three hours
after her fall, Claire put on her coat and boots. Sam sat on the
couch, dressed and wrapped in a blanket, playing his DS. Claire had
warned him the battery would run out soon, but Sam said he didn’t
care.

“You’ll be listening for me, right?” Claire
asked, her hand on the door knob. “Sam?”

“Yeah.” The boy didn’t look up from the
game.

“Sam, I’m serious. You’ll be listening for
me if I call you, right?”

Sam looked up to meet his mother’s eyes.
“Right.”

She didn’t expect Sam to be any help if she
fell again, but she couldn’t stand the idea of going outside
without someone knowing where she was.

“Okay.” Claire took a deep breath. “I’m
heading out for firewood.”

After opening the door, Claire went to her
hands and knees. She was not going to fall again. Having lost the
plastic cup for the ice melting compound in her previous fall,
Claire gripped another one with her teeth so she could crawl with
all four limbs firmly planted on the ground. With some care she
could sprinkle the steps, let the ice melt, chip it off with the
shovel resting by the front door, then go out after the firewood.
Her hip burned and ached, making her feel sick to her stomach, but
she pushed on.

Getting out the door while crawling was more
difficult than she had thought it would be. When she heard a
vehicle driving slowly up the road, she didn’t give it much
thought. She was more concerned with how to get her bootlace free
of the storm door.

“Claire?”

Paul sat in his truck with the window rolled
down. He had pulled just far enough into her driveway to be off the
road, and now he was looking at her with an expression that held a
mix of concern and amusement.

Yanking the cup out of her teeth, Claire
plastered on a smile and waved. “Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”

“I was a little worried about you. I tried
to call you this morning, but you didn’t pick up.”

“All my phones are cordless.”

She yanked to tug her boot free of the door.
When it didn’t come loose, she sat down and put her hands in her
lap, trying to look casual although she was sitting on her porch
with her feet spread out in front of her and one of them propping
the storm door open.

“Need any help?”

Claire’s impulse was to tell him no, she was
fine so that he would leave her alone to her embarrassment. But
common sense spoke louder. If this was the state she was in after
just a few hours, what might happen later? And there was Sam to
think about it.

“Actually, yes.” She laughed nervously.
“It’s been the comedy of errors at my place this morning.”

Paul got out of the truck, making sure each
foot was firmly planted before he stepped.

“The sidewalk is pretty icy,” Claire warned,
“so be careful.”

Paul stuck his gloved hand into a bucket in
the back of his truck, pulling out a handful of salt which he
scattered onto the icy walk. Almost immediately, the ice began to
crackle. He repeated the action several times, then walked on the
grass to the porch where he surveyed Claire’s situation.

She blushed.

“The whole front edge of the porch is icy,”
she said. “The stairs are really slippery, too. I found that out
the hard way.”

She didn’t know why she said it, except that
she was tired of suffering alone. Hadn’t that always been her beef
with Will? She still remembered doing laundry one day to discover
his socks were caked in blood. He had broken off a toenail in
physical training but hadn’t done anything about it or told anyone.
She had been so angry. “How can you expect me to take care of you
when you won’t take care of yourself?” she had demanded. Well, now
she was on the other side of the situation and needed to follow her
own advice.

Paul glanced at her sharply, his eyes
narrowing. “You okay?”

“I took a bit of a fall. Bruised myself up a
bit. But it’s nothing an ice pack and some painkillers won’t
fix.”

While she was speaking, Paul sat on the
porch and slid himself back until he was at Claire’s feet. Removing
his gloves, he untangled her boot lace from the door.

“Thanks.”

He smiled, and Claire felt her heart beat
faster.

“You sure you didn’t break anything?”

“Just my pride. I landed on a well padded
area.” She patted her butt.

Paul looked at her intently for a few
seconds. “Do you need to go to the ER?”

“I’m fine. Just bruises.”

He stood, taking care with his right leg,
and reached out a hand to pull her up. Once standing, she dusted
off her snow pants and avoided his gaze.

“I don’t have any water.” Claire bit her
lip. “Electricity took out the well. The house is getting cold, and
I need help starting a fire. I’m very much a damsel in distress
today.”

Paul frowned. “Half the state is covered in
this stuff. The radio said power may not be back for three
days.”

Claire groaned. She knew she couldn’t last
that long.

“Are there any places that do have power?
Sam’s not well yet. Maybe I could get a hotel room.”

“There’s another option. My place is on a
generator right now. I’ve got water, heat, and a spare bedroom. You
and Sam can have it if you want.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Claire
protested.

“You won’t.”

Claire considered the offer. While she felt
strange about saying yes, she knew she needed the help. Back before
the move, she would have called Garrett. But her brother wasn’t
nearby, and that was her choice. So, she would either have to
accept help from someone else or try to make her way alone—a method
she had already proven ineffective this morning.

“If you’re sure we won’t be in your
way.”

“Of course you will,” Paul teased. “The
place is so small there’s barely room for me.”

“All right, then.” Claire moved toward the
door. “I’ll get our stuff together.”

“Take your time. I’ll work on the steps. We
don’t want any more falls.”

* * * * *

Once the ice had started to melt, Paul was
able to chip it off the sidewalk a bit at a time. He had brought an
ice scraper with him and so far was making good progress. He hadn’t
known exactly what he would find when he came to Claire’s this
morning. He half expected her to be angry and send him on his way
for infringing on her independence. But that had more to do with
his fears than with any messages Claire had given him. She actually
looked relieved to see him. She needed him right now.

Paul did enjoy being useful. It was a
feeling he had not experienced since he left carpentry. As much as
he liked making chess sets, he knew they were trinkets, something
nice to sit on the table but nothing anybody really needed.
Certainly as a carpenter he had built things people really didn’t
need, but this was different. Just being here, helping Claire and
Sam, made him feel as though he was making a valuable contribution
to society again.

As he approached the steps, he had no
trouble finding the spot where Claire had fallen. Her cup of
chemicals had scattered over a patch of ice and completely
disintegrated it. The glazed grass blades were broken, too, in a
way that suggested something heavy had landed there. She must have
fallen hard. He wondered if she was being honest about how badly
she had been hurt.

He tossed the cup into the bucket on the
porch, then set to work on the steps, scraping off the ice but
careful not to remove the paint. He didn’t want to cause Claire any
more trouble than she already had.

Once he was sure the porch, steps, and
sidewalk were clear, Paul tossed the scraper into the back of his
truck. He shifted some of the sandbags he kept in the back for
traction to make room for Claire and Sam’s things. He had not come
this morning intending to invite them to his place. Truth be told,
he was downright nervous about it, but it was the right thing to
do. Plus, having Claire and Sam in his space for a day or two would
either push him to act or obliterate any chance he ever had with
her.

He knocked lightly on the door as he
entered. By the front door, Claire had already put a plastic
garbage bag probably stuffed with pillows. The living room was
empty, but he could hear her and Sam moving about.

“Do you want me to take this out?” Paul
called.

Claire popped her head out of Sam’s
room.

“Yes, please. We’re almost ready, I
think.”

“Take your time.”

When he returned from the truck, a small
case was waiting for him. Sam sat on the couch, surrounded by his
snow gear, pouting.

“Ready to go?” Paul asked.

Sam shrugged. “What is there to do at your
place?”

“I’ve got a lot of tools.”

“To make stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“Depends.”

Claire lugged a suitcase into the living
room. Paul noticed she was limping and her face was paler than
usual. She must be in more pain from her fall than she was letting
on.

“Sam!” she exclaimed. “I told you to be
ready.”

She sighed heavily before going to Sam and
helping him into his snow pants.

“Is this everything?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Paul was almost out the door, when Claire
exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot my cell phone charger!”

Setting down the suitcase, Paul walked back
in. “Want me to get it for you?”

“Sure.” Claire fastened the Velcro on Sam’s
boots. “I think it’s upstairs in the office by my desk.”

Paul made his way up the stairs, noting that
he hadn’t been up there before. The office, its door slightly ajar,
was right off the landing and difficult to miss. Making a cursory
glance of the room Paul located the desk, but before he could
examine it more closely, the painting in the center of the room
grabbed his attention.

Resting on an easel, the canvas depicted a
candle-lit cathedral with high ceilings. A blond woman in a blue
dress was in the act of collapsing before a dead knight. The
knight’s face was covered by a helmet. The woman’s face was covered
by her hair, but her body language evoked such anguish, despair and
grief, that Paul felt tears come to his eyes. The scene spoke of
deep pain that he had experienced. He had felt just that way after
the accident and then later when Linda said they were through. He
had been both the mourner and the dead. Claire’s painting could
have been done expressly for him.

He stared as long as he dared, feeling a few
tears run down his cheeks. More than anything, he wanted to take
the woman in his arms. No one should mourn like that alone,
although he knew he had, and Claire had, too, or she wouldn’t have
been able to create this scene.

He rubbed his hands across his eyes. He
wouldn’t tell her he had seen it. He couldn’t without making a fool
of himself. He saw the cell phone charger on the desk. He stuck it
in his pocket, then looked back at the painting one last time
before pulling the door closed.

When he returned to the living room, both
Claire and Sam were ready.

“Did you find it?” Claire asked.

Paul pulled it out of his pocket and handed
it to her.

“Thanks. My battery is totally dead, and my
brother has probably tried to call a hundred times this
morning.”

When Paul gave her a questioning look,
Claire added, “He’s a bit of a helicopter. He hovers.”

Paul grinned. But as he picked up Claire’s
suitcase and led the way to the pickup, he thought of what he had
just seen upstairs and understood the desire to hover over someone
he cared about who was in trouble. He was still full of emotion,
but he needed a little distance before he could analyze his
feelings properly.

The three of them squeezed into the pickup
cab, Paul noting with some disappointment that Sam was between him
and Claire, although it was the arrangement that made the most
sense.

“I’m not supposed to ride in the front
seat,” Sam told Paul.

“Would you rather ride back there with the
luggage?”

“Can I?”

Paul chuckled. “No.”

“Aw, man.”

Claire rubbed Sam’s knee and grinned at
Paul. He put the truck in gear and started off slowly on the icy
road.

“It’s a little hard to leave,” Claire
finally admitted, glancing sideways at Paul to see how he reacted.
“Feels like I’m giving up.”

“That house has stood up to a lot in the
last hundred years,” Paul said. “But people are a little more
fragile.” He cut his eyes at her, wondering if she caught his
meaning. She bit her lip and looked away.

No one talked much on the drive back to
Paul’s. Sam was sulking. Paul was concentrating on driving, a
difficult task given the road condition and the number of trees
down across the road. Claire was lost in thought, her shoulders
slumped. Her posture so reminded him of the painting that Paul
opened his mouth to speak then closed it just as quickly. Words
were incapable of conveying the level of understanding he felt. He
had to find a way to show her he understood.