A Perfect Stranger, page 9
“No, not at all,” said Peter. “I just wanted a quick word with him.”
Arlene looked relieved and smiled. “Well, you can go back to his parish quarters, the door is usually open. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take a minute. People do that sometimes. He doesn’t mind.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely,” Arlene said light heartedly. “In fact, from what I’ve observed, he enjoys seeing the parishioners. He’s glad when they come by.”
Peter was pleased to hear it, though he didn’t exactly consider himself a parishioner. He went to church once in a while, on special occasions. Still, he liked Nelson Halding, and wanted to talk to him.
“Thanks,” Peter said, getting up to go to the little cottage behind the back garden, where the Pastor and his wife lived.
The back garden of the church was soothing. There was a cobblestone path, over which hung a trellis of winding, ivy leaves. Flowers and small bushes were carefully planted along the sides and the cottage at the end of the garden had a wooden door with an old wrought iron latch. When Peter arrived at the cottage, as Arlene had said, the door was unlatched. That didn’t surprise Peter, either, was in keeping with who the Pastor seemed to be.
Peter pulled the latch back slowly, leaned inside, and to his amazement heard raised voices, going back and forth inside, echoing against the walls.
“You have to listen to me,” the Pastor sounded overwrought.”
“Why do I?” a woman’s voice responded. She was mad and insolent.
“Abigail,” he said again, more loudly.
“Nelson,” she repeated back, a petulant child.
How dare she talk to him this way? thought Peter.
“People are talking about you,” the Pastor said heatedly. “That can’t be good for anyone.”
“People are always talking. I don’t care,” she said definitively.
“You’re a Pastor’s wife now, you have to,” he demanded.
She grew quieter then. “I wasn’t born a Pastor’s wife. I was a dancer before I met you, Nelson, a free spirit. That’s what you loved about me, remember?”
“You were hurting when you came to me, Abigail. I lifted you up and now you are a Pastor’s wife. People look to us for an example.”
“Do you remember what you loved about me?” she wouldn’t let go.
“Stop it, Abigail,” he sounded helpless, at his wit’s end.
“You’re changing, you’re different,” her voice sounded bitter, and then sad. “These are small minded people here. It’s not the right place for us.”
“It’s the perfect place, a beautiful congregation. We’re not moving again.”
Peter was surprised. How often had they moved?
“How beautiful can the people be if they’re always talking about what dress I’m wearing, how I do my hair, what I say to strangers?”
Peter heard him get up and walk back and forth.
“This is God’s work we’re doing, not just me, you too, Abigail.”
“I like to talk to strangers, I always have and I always will.”
“Talk to anyone you want,” the Pastor spoke slowly. “Just do it with decorum.”
“I never heard you use the word decorum, not in the five, long years since we’ve been married.”
“Those five years have been long for you?” he asked then, stung.
Peter didn’t realize that they’d only been married for five years. He suddenly wondered if this was a first marriage? Did the Pastor have a family with someone else?
“They were wonderful years, too,” she relented for a moment.
“Yes, they were,” he said mournfully.
“You used to be full of fire,” she kept going, “that’s what I loved about you.”
“I still am,” he said, his voice faltering.
“No, Nelson not anymore. Now everyone else comes before me. I’m just another member of your congregation.”
Peter’s stomach began to clench. He was overhearing an intimate conversation between a husband and a wife that he was having a hard time controlling. Peter didn’t feel good about listening in, but couldn’t pull himself away. His heart went out to the Pastor.
I’m still full of fire,” the Pastor kept defending himself.
“Not like the man I used to love.”
Now she was going too far. Jesus Christ, Peter wanted to rush in and save the guy then, get him out of her clutches. Who was she anyway, to ride him this way? What did she want? Sometimes women seemed like another breed to Peter. They were hard to figure, hard to handle. One minute they loved you, then it turned into something else. Who knew how to keep them happy? Right now, it even seemed beyond the Pastor himself.
Fortunately, at that very moment, the phone rang then, interrupting the turbulent discussion.
“Yes,” the Pastor said formally on the phone, “of course. Let her in. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“What is it now?” his wife broke in.
“A troubled teen has wandered into the church. Arlene has never seen her before, said she looks like a runaway – she needs my help.”
“Go, “she said. “It’s always like this.”
“I am going,” the Pastor said definitively.
Peter drew back from the door and stepped behind the side wall, so the Pastor wouldn’t see him waiting there. A runaway in Tom’s River? Most unusual. Peter was curious to know more about it, too.
The Pastor came out of the cottage then and walked swiftly down the pathway to the church.
After a few minutes of waiting, Peter followed along the same cobblestone path, back to the church entrance and walked in.
A slender young girl about eighteen, with long, dark, tangled hair, huge eyes and a beautiful but wan face, dressed in worn jeans and a tight blouse, leaned against the back of the wall. The Pastor was standing beside her, concerned. It was hard for Peter to hear what they were saying. She was looking at him terrified.
Peter saw the Pastor usher her to a seat, sit opposite her and continued to talk. Her frail body seemed to relax as he extended warmth and kindness. He was taking good care of the situation, but where was she from? What could the Pastor do for her, anyway?
Peter turned around and to his surprise, saw Arlene standing there. She hadn’t gone home yet.
“Didn’t get a chance to talk to the Pastor yet,” Peter said casually. “Looks like he’s got his hands full.”
“He can handle it,” Arlene said calmly. “The girl’s a runaway. Her name’s Holly, and she needs help badly, right now.”
“Jesus,” Peter murmured.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” said Arlene. “There’s room for people in emergency situations to stay upstairs for a few days. We have a couple of rooms, a bath and a shower.”
Peter was relieved. He hadn’t realized that the church could accommodate people like that. It made him feel good and proud of Tom’s River.
“That’s a relief,” he said.
“It is,” said Arlene. “Poor thing seemed terrified when she came in. It’s a terrible world out there. Thank God all that trouble hasn’t crept into Tom’s River yet.”
CHAPTER 13
Angela got to the beauty parlor at exactly five o’clock for her weekly shampoo, styling and manicure, as she always did. Every week she invited Megan to join her and Megan never wanted to come. Angela was pleased though that at least Megan had returned to work. It was long overdue. At least Megan would be busier now, more independent. Peter wouldn’t feel so obligated to tend to her anymore. That was a relief. Angela wondered a few times in passing why it bothered her so much that Peter paid all that attention to Megan, when nothing would come out of it for him.
She sat down at Rosa’s station in the beauty parlor. Rosa always did a great job and they enjoyed chatting and catching up on what happened during the week. Today the place was especially crowded, all the sinks were taken and there was a buzz going on. To Angela’s surprise, as she waited for Rosa, she saw Abigail, the Pastor’s wife come in. Angela had never seen her here before and found her presence jarring.
As Rosa came over to comb Angela’s hair, she started chatting.
“That’s the Pastor’s wife,” she said first thing, pointing to Abigail.
“I noticed,” said Angela. “What’s she doing here?”
“Who knows?” Rosa shrugged. “She comes in at different times during the week. Always fussing and primping with her long, wavy red hair. So proud of it.”
Angela looked at her for a moment with passing envy. Abigail’s hair was long, thick and wavy. It reminded her of Megan’s hair, only Megan’s was prettier, blonder, always shining. Megan didn’t make such a big deal about it either. She’d always been more natural, never recognizing what a truly stunning woman she was.
“Well, the Pastor’s wife’s something!” Rosa conceded.
Angela interrupted - “She shouldn’t wear her hair that way though.” There was no telling, Angela thought, how people would behave these days. It was a new era though. Angela didn’t like it, preferred it when everything stayed the same.
Abigail then sat down not far from her, tossing her wild hair over her shoulders, as if to make a point. First she smiled at Angela and then at two other women sitting next to her. They were chatting heatedly with one another though, didn’t even notice Abigail was there.
Angela nodded at Abigail and turned right back to Rosa. She had no desire at all to talk to this woman, couldn’t imagine what she could say.
“So, what’s all the excitement about here today?” Angela asked Rosa, focusing entirely only on her.
“You haven’t heard the news yet?” Rosa said with a sheepish grin. “This absolutely gorgeous guy moved to town a couple of weeks ago. He lives alone in the cabins near Crows Corner, and works at Grave’s End Lumber Yard.”
That had to be the guy Angela saw in the diner. She didn’t say a word.
“He’s single, available and the whole town’s a stir, even the married ladies,”Rosa continued. “They say he looks like he’s right out of a movie star.”
Chills went up and down Angela’s arms though her face remained passive.
Abigail smiled again at Angela then, obviously overhearing the conversation.
“Talking about the stranger in town?” Abigail leaned closer, “heard he’s not the usual fare for Tom’s River. Do you know anything more?”
Angela was horrified. How could the Pastor’s wife talk like this? What was it to her? Angela looked at Abigail coolly.
“What difference does it make?” she said.
“Well, I just love meeting new people,” said Abigail. “It brightens my day, widens my vistas.”
Angela felt ill at ease. There was definitely something odd about this woman. She didn’t fit in, that was for sure.
“By now I’ve met almost everyone in Tom’s River,” Abigail continued, seemingly glad to have someone to talk to. “I never thought I’d see a wandering man come along into town.”
“If they wander in, they’ll just wander out in the blink of an eye,” Angela said, coolly. Nothing about this even remotely interested her. If you’d asked her who she found worthy of attention, she would have said someone like Peter, someone grounded and stable, a person you could depend upon.
“But it’s fun anyway to meet all different kinds. Wouldn’t you say?” Abigail continued.
“Not really,” said Angela.
Abigail looked at Angela oddly. “Well, I like it, and I think I’m going to go down to the Lumber Yard to say hello myself.”
Angela shivered when she said that. “Why would you?” she asked her openly.
“Why not?” asked Abigail. “If he’s a stranger in town, he might be lonely, could appreciate having someone to share a few words with. It’s not fun to be new in a town where everybody has known each other their whole life long.”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t,” Angela remarked, having absolutely no inclination to be friends with this woman or even to make her feel welcome here.
“Some towns are easier to be in than others,” Abigail continued.
“Everyone always says that Tom’s River is one of the friendliest places they’ve ever been,” Angela felt protective of her home town and the people who lived in it.
“Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” Abigail remarked off handedly, in a voice that suddenly sounded lonely and sad.
Thankfully, a shampoo station opened then and Angela had to get up and go with Rosa to get washed. She was relieved to get away from Abigail, who she found to be overly familiar and strange. Why would she talk about her feelings that way? Didn’t she have any idea how off putting and peculiar it made her seem? Did she even care? And what did this say about the Pastor, that he chose to marry someone like her?
*
Hunter enjoyed working at the Lumber Yard. Even though he’d only been there a couple of weeks, he felt completely at home. Randy, was fair, and as he’d promised, gave him more to do day by day. He was pleased with Hunter’s work and had no problem telling him so. Hunter liked that. He liked being valued and respected, working hard and being given more responsibility each day.
The days had grown warmer and today he wore a plaid flannel shirt and jeans as he sorted the long beams of wood that had just come in with the most recent delivery. Randy had gone to see about a new client and had left Hunter here alone for the morning. That was fine. He could handle calls, complaints, new customers who dropped in. He could see to it that the inventory was stacked properly and later in the day, could cut the wood evenly with his own hands.
As he worked with the wood, he saw someone coming in the front door. Since he’d been here no one had come in this early, and he was surprised. He put the wood down and wiped his hands along his faded jeans. As he did so, he saw a woman with long red hair take it upon herself to walk to the back of the yard, where he was working.
“Morning,” she said brightly, tossing her long hair over her shoulders.
“How can I help you?” he said, taken aback.
She smiled right at him. “Looking for some wood,” she said.
“Well, you couldn’t have come to a better place,” Hunter smiled.
She smiled too, seemed warm and lively.
“New in town?” she asked.
Hunter didn’t like being questioned, just avoided answering.
“Building something for your home, Miss? Need an estimate?” he said, keeping the conversation right on track.
She had nothing more to say for a moment, just looked around. She was a pretty woman and knew it too, it was obvious by the way she moved. Most of the time Hunter could see through a woman in the flash of a second. He’d always been good at that. And the women knew it, too. Usually they came in with their husbands or home contractors. This place was mostly man’s territory, could be a little daunting for a woman alone. This was a bold one, though. Hunter wondered what she had in mind.
“I do wood carvings,” she finally said.
Despite himself, that interested him. “Really? What kind?”
“All kinds. I like old wood I can carve into little figures.” She was surveying the wood now carefully.
“Ever been here before?” Hunter asked.
She threw her head back a bit and looked at him oddly.
“I’m new in town,” she said, with a glance that was far more familiar than it should have been.
That gave Hunter pause. “Didn’t know there were too many new people in this town,” he remarked casually, not really wanting to get into a conversation.
She smiled broadly, however. “There aren’t,” she said, “that’s what I’m finding out. This place isn’t as friendly as it looks at first glance.”
“Okay,” Hunter paused. “So, what kind of wood are you thinking about?”
“I’ve been here a few months,” she continued, as if he had all day to stand here and talk. He didn’t, he had a job to do. And even if he had time, he didn’t want to stand here and talk to her. What was this woman doing here, he suddenly wondered, what did she really want?
The morning that had started sunny, suddenly began to grow cloudy and cool.
“Boy, look how it’s gotten dark so quickly,” Hunter remarked surprised.
“Heard the weather’s going to be strange for a few days. Warm and cool air coming, big winds,” she said.
“Okay,” said Hunter, “thanks for letting me know.”
She smiled, “It’s good to have someone to talk to,” she sat down on a big log then, looking up at him like a lost child.
Whoah, thought Hunter, trouble coming, and he turned his back to her then.
“I’m pretty busy right now, Miss,” he said, walking back to the wood he’d been working on. “If you find what you like, let me know, and I’ll give you a price for it.”
“Sure,” she said, “sure,” getting up from the stool and going to the other side of the yard where all kinds of pieces of old wood were stacked.
Hunter turned back to his work with fervor. Seemed like this woman had come in with ideas in her mind. He was definitely not interested in anything like that. He’d had it with women for a long, long time.
As he continued to unpack and pile the wood, Randy walked in.
“How’s it going?” he came over to Hunter right away.
“Great,” said Hunter. “There’s a customer in the front of the yard right now. She came in early and said she wants some old wood to carve.”
“Yeah, I saw her, on my way in,” said Randy. “She’s the Pastor’s wife, new in town.”
Hunter whistled through his teeth. “The Pastor’s wife? Brother.”
“Why?” asked Randy surprised.
“Seems like she wanted to sit here all day and talk,” said Hunter.
Randy nodded, patting Hunter on the shoulder, “Well, she’s having a hard time making friends, I’m told.” Then he laughed. “It’s okay, let’s not think the worst. She probably heard that someone else new had just come to town and needed a little company. She just wanted to talk with another stranger, too.”
Hunter’s brow wrinkled. “Funny, I don’t feel like a stranger,” he said.
_preview.jpg)
