New Man in Town Read online

  “Who was it?” Thea asked.

  “Thad. He wanted to tell me…” Cynda smiled and looked coy. “He had a great time.” She giggled.

  God, give me patience, Peter shouted inside. Didn’t the girl understand the significance of what had happened?

  Thea asked, “Had the storm passed by then, Cynda?”

  “Yeah, we stayed inside at The Café till the rain was almost over. Then he had to bring me right home so he didn’t get his mom mad.”

  Peter counted silently to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to worry his mom any further.

  The sheriff spoke up, “I’ll come and look again by daylight, but I doubt I’ll find anything.”

  Thea looked up. “Have you called Mrs. Chiverton?”

  Seeing Thea sitting calmly sipping tea as though nothing had happened didn’t surprise Peter. She had that gift of an even temper. But anger at his helplessness churned inside him. He wanted to shout aloud his sense of outrage. God, why are You letting this happen? We needed those canoes! Why aren’t Your angels standing guard over us?

  “I’ll call her.” The sheriff walked over to the phone on the table beside Thea. He dialed quickly. “Hello, ma’am, this is Sheriff Swenson. Yes, I’m at the boys’ camp. Did you hear or see anything unusual before I came?”

  Pause.

  “Yes, we heard Thea’s dog barking.”

  Pause.

  “Canoes were vandalized here.”

  Slumping in defeat on the couch beside his mom, Peter pressed his fingertips to his pounding temples.

  “Well, thank you. I must finish up here and get on with my duties. Goodbye.” The sheriff hung up and shook his head indicating no new information.

  “What should we do, Sheriff?” Mom asked.

  Peter hated the question. It said so plainly he was helpless against this invisible enemy.

  “Not much you can do. Things here are stirred up. Crandon and…” The sheriff halted with a pointed glance at Thea.

  “Mr. Crandon and my grandmother,” Thea interjected sounding grim. “They keep stoking people’s fear.”

  “What are people afraid of?” Cynda asked. “What’s the big deal about poor kids coming here?”

  A good question, Peter said silently.

  A moment of silence passed. Thea spoke up. “They’re afraid of new people. Afraid of their hometown changing.”

  “But I don’t get it.” Cynda hopped up. “How could a few kids at a camp wreck a town?”

  Peter wanted to echo her words. Why couldn’t he make the opposition see how wrong they were?

  Irene replied, “People here—some people—are afraid. I’ve heard them say the boys will see how good it is up here and they’ll come back when they grow up.”

  Aldo nodded sadly. “People here read about the crimes and trouble down in Milwaukee and Chicago. They think the distance will protect them.”

  Cynda looked disgusted. “That’s silly. Duluth is farther away than Lake Lowell. Distance doesn’t mean anything.”

  “They’re afraid, Cynda,” Thea said quietly. “When you’re afraid, you don’t think clearly.”

  “So what are you going to do, Peter?” Cynda asked. Everyone looked to him.

  Peter’s urge to explode had passed. All the work facing him at daylight weighed him down. He gave a labored sigh. “Well, I had planned to patch that last roof, but I guess I’ll be patching some canoes.”

  “Can you do that?” Cynda asked.

  “I’ll find out. We can’t afford new ones.” Peter stood up. Sadness filtered through him. “Thank you, Sheriff. I hope you won’t have to keep coming out like this.”

  “Yes, we’d like you to come to dinner sometime, Sheriff.” Irene smiled. “I have a new recipe for ziti. I’d like to meet your wife and we don’t want you to have a bad opinion of us and our camp.”

  “No chance of that. My opinion of this camp gets better each time I drop by. Just sorry I keep coming in the line of duty.” The sheriff nodded to everyone and left.

  Irene threw her arms around Peter. “Honey, are you all right?”

  Trying to reassure her, Peter returned her hug. “I’m really fine.”

  “Not really fine, Pete.” His dad put an arm around his shoulder. “You’re really mad.”

  “I was shocked, Dad. Then I was mad. But now I’m just sad.”

  Irene hugged him tightly. “I know what you mean, dear. Sometimes I just have to cry when I think how mean people can be.”

  Aldo patted Peter’s back and kissed Irene’s cheek. “Just remember who you were named for, son. Saint Peter didn’t back down from the good fight.”

  Irene chuckled. “As I remember it, Saint Peter started out just like you did, dear, too ready for a fight.”

  Peter smiled ruefully. “But I didn’t plan on having to fight. It’s so frustrating.”

  “Are you going to make me say it?” Irene prompted wryly.

  “Anything worth wanting is worth fighting for,” Peter said as though reciting a family motto.

  “But let’s not forget to include God in this fight. This is God’s camp. Always has been,” his dad said.

  Under Thea’s surprised gaze, Aldo gathered his son and his wife close to him.

  Aldo began, “Father, you know who is doing this vandalism. You know his heart. We ask You to deal with this person, deal with the pain that is causing him to do these destructive things. Open his heart. Heal his heart.”

  Tears started in Thea’s eyes.

  Irene spoke, “Father, Peter is the son You gave us. We love him. He is so precious to us. He’s worked for nearly twenty years to make his dream, this camp, come true.”

  Peter joined in, “But it’s not just for me, God. You’ve given me everything I’ve ever needed or wanted. Your love has been sufficient for me. Let me share Your love with the boys who will soon come. Now let Your love be sufficient for this camp.”

  “Amen,” Aldo concluded.

  Thea brushed away her tears. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Cynda also looked sobered. Putting down her cup and saucer, Thea stood up. “Peter, I think it’s time Cynda and I went home. It’s been a long evening.” She needed time to process the latest event and this unexpected finale.

  “I’ll walk you home.” Peter grinned at her.

  She wanted to ask, How can you smile? But she knew he could smile because of what she’d just witnessed. He had the love of two warm and supportive parents and a deep belief in God. How she envied him his loving and easygoing parents and their close relationship with God. God always seemed so far from her.

  Thea’s heart felt as if it would crumble inward at her aloneness. Even after years of burying her own feelings, she had difficulty now holding her emotions in check.

  Aldo and Irene hugged Cynda and her and walked them to the door. Thea wished she could linger within the embrace of these loving people. How long had it been since someone had hugged her? In the room full of friends, loneliness nearly choked her.

  With Peter on one side and Cynda on the other, Thea walked over the wet, rough camp lawn. Peter held her hand.

  Again Peter’s confident touch made all her ingrained reserve dissolve. He swung her up into his arms and set her on the top of the low rail-fence. Unable to resist, she put her arms around his neck. For a few seconds, he let his arms encircle her. She wanted to stay within his embrace, but she pulled away. Cynda scooted over the fence without help.

  Fleetingly Thea wondered if he would have kissed her good-night if Cynda hadn’t been with them. The thought caused her heart to jerk once before beating regularly again. She squeezed his hand, then slid onto her side of the fence. She walked side by side with Cynda to the door.

  Peter called over the fence, “Good night, ladies.”

  Cynda stepped inside the kitchen, then paused to look back. “See you tomorrow, Peter. Tell Irene I’ll be over bright and early.”

  Thea didn’t trust her voice yet. Besides, she realized this might be the momen
t she’d been waiting for in regards to her stepsister.

  Her stepsister’s words sounded perfectly normal, but Thea still detected a touch of underlying emotion. In spite of Thea’s own unsettled feelings, maybe this would be a good time to talk to Cynda about her mother. Thea closed and locked the door behind them.

  Cynda yawned. “I guess I’ll get to bed. I got to get up early and I’m bushed.” Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Cynda stretched like a cat.

  “Cynda.” Thea sat down at the table. “Let’s talk.”

  “About what?”

  “This evening. A lot happened.”

  “That’s for sure.” Cynda paused, then gave Thea a pensive look. “Can I ask you something?”

  Thea nodded.

  Cynda perched on the kitchen counter facing Thea. “Did you ever see anyone pray like that before? I mean, the three of them all hugging?”

  “No, I haven’t. It was quite moving.” Thea felt the memory tug at her again. Peter’s family’s closeness in prayer had been impressive. In contrast, an image came to her of herself as a child beside her bed. Grandmother stood nearby while Thea had recited, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” Praying bonded the Dellas to each other and God, but with her grandmother it had been forcing down bitter medicine.

  Cynda continued, “Yeah, it wasn’t like an act or anything.”

  Thea cleared her throat. “Irene and Aldo are very open, very sweet people and it’s obvious they love God.” If one wasn’t used to such openhearted love, it could be intimidating. Thea could imagine what a shock they had been to Peter when he came to them as a child.

  “When I was there today helping Irene in the kitchen, two of their daughters called. Irene spoke so happily to them.”

  The note of longing in Cynda’s voice touched Thea. “Yes, but we don’t get to choose our parents.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately.”

  “But they’re still our parents,” Thea said quietly.

  Cynda counterattacked, “You can’t tell me you haven’t wished you had a different grandmother plenty of times.”

  Thea felt convicted, guilty as charged. “Cynda, I’m not talking about my grandmother right now. You and I share your mother and my father. Together they are our parents.”

  Cynda perked up. “Gee, I hadn’t thought about that before. We share parents. Cool.”

  Thea smiled at Cynda’s enthusiasm, but she had something she wanted to make clear to her stepsister. “I’ve been thinking about your mother a lot this week.”

  As the moment to talk about a topic Thea rarely spoke of came, she grew serious. “My mother died when I was ten years old. I can’t describe to you what that felt like. It was like I kept feeling doors slam inside me. I felt dead, too, but I was still living.”

  “Thea.” Cynda’s voice became subdued again. “You don’t know what it feels like to have a dad just walk out on you.”

  “No, but I know what it’s like to be ignored by a dad. That’s not the point. We could sit here all night trying to decide who’s had it worse.”

  “What is your point, Sis?” Cynda eyed her warily.

  “It’s time you called your mother.”

  Cynda erupted, “But—”

  Holding up her hands to forestall Cynda, Thea persevered, “How would you feel if something happened to your mother before you could call her?”

  “That’s low.” Cynda looked away.

  “It’s just the truth. Please, Cynda.” Thea pointed to the phone, which hung beside her. “Call her. Now.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Cynda slid off the counter. “What do I say? Can’t you do it?”

  “I’m not Myra’s daughter. You ran away. You broke faith with your mother. You must call her. Cynda, she never ran out on you. Your dad did. Don’t take it out on her.”

  Hesitating beside Thea, Cynda tucked in her chin. “What if she says I have to come home?”

  “I don’t think she will. I’ll help you convince her that it’s all right if you stay.” As Thea nodded toward the phone again, she prayed Myra had had a change of heart. Cynda followed through this time. Thea listened to the one-sided conversation, pleased to hear Cynda begin to speak more and more easily to her mother.

  Finally Cynda turned to Thea. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

  Thea took the receiver and reassured her stepmother that she’d be happy to have Cynda stay.

  Myra said, “Thea, I appreciate this. After I thought things over, I’m glad she and I will have a time-out.”

  “Sure. Myra, when my father comes home, why don’t you and he come for a weekend with us?” Cynda had talked to her mother, now Thea needed to talk to her father about Cynda whenever he had time.

  After hanging up, Thea faced her stepsister. “Do you feel better?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Impulsively Cynda threw her arms around Thea. “I’m so glad I came. Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.” Thea hugged her back. Thank you for Cynda, God, and for letting me get to know her. And please keep us and Peter’s camp safe.

  “Good morning!” Peter called in Thea’s kitchen windows. “Anybody up?”

  Thea, wearing her terry-cloth robe over her pajamas, yawned as she opened the door. Seeing Peter unexpectedly made prickles race down her spine. She masked it with a playful grimace. “How can you sound so cheerful so early?”

  “Hey, it’s almost 7:30 a.m.” He walked in and offered Thea a plastic-wrapped plate with a toasted bagel and sliced ripe cantaloupe on it. Thea longed to reach out and take his hand. She’d learned the joy that just touching his strong hand could bring.

  “Hi, Peter!” Cynda came out freshly showered and dressed for work in jeans and bright pink T-shirt. “Is Irene baking today?”

  Thea set the plate on the kitchen counter and covered her unsettled feelings by getting out coffee, then began running water at the sink.

  Peter grinned. “Oh, Mom’s got a lot planned for you. First she’s got fresh fruit and bagels for breakfast and she’s expecting you to come and eat!”

  “Great! I can hardly wait to tell her I talked to my mom last night and she said I can stay for the summer. Thea, I’ll be at the camp most of the day. And Thad’s taking me waterskiing this evening. Bye!”

  Thea pushed away her feeling of disquiet over Thad dating Cynda. Just because Thad and his mother don’t get along has nothing to do with Cynda.

  Waving farewell, Thea watched Cynda go, then turned to Peter. Hiding the buoyant lift just being near Peter brought her, she asked placidly, “I suppose you’ve already had your coffee?”

  “Yes, I just wanted to see how you were this morning.”

  She filled the coffeepot with cold water. “You mean after last night?”

  “It was an evening of surprises.” His tone was intimate.

  She knew he was remembering their closeness as he’d held her hand in The End of the Road Inn booth, then on the way home. Longing for his touch, she concentrated on spooning fragrant coffee into the coffee maker. “Pleasant or unpleasant ones?” she asked tentatively.

  “Pleasant. I will always remember our waffle fries and burgers and outdoor shower at The End of the Road.”

  “Me, too.” She grinned. Last night’s date would be an evening she’d treasure. Then she grew sober as she recalled seeing the sheriff’s car outside the lodge for the second time.

  Silence. Peter gazed at her.

  She wanted to say something supportive to him. But he didn’t seem to need any encouragement from her. He plainly didn’t have a whipped-dog look. His usual confidence had reasserted itself. How did he do it?

  Peter said, “I’m off to town in a few minutes. Dad’s been on the phone and he’s already found someone who knows how to patch those old wood canoes.”

  “Mr. Willoughby?” She turned on the coffee maker and imagined Peter drawing her into his arms..

  “You know him?”

  Listening to the coffee begin to drip down, Thea nodded pensively. She wished she had thought of Mr. Willough
by earlier, so she could have suggested him to Peter.

  But she spoke up in an imitation of Cynda’s pert style. “Peter, I know everyone in Lake Lowell! I was going to call you this morning and tell you about him. You Dellas are too fast for me.”

  Peter caught her eye. “You’re okay, then? You looked pretty shaken last night.”

  She let herself look at him fully. “You did, too.”

  “Senseless violence always shatters peace. I wish we could find out who is doing this.”

  “Yes, I keep going over and over in my mind, trying to think of who it might be.” She shook her head in dismay. “Because Mr. Crandon is the most obvious person doesn’t—”

  “I know. Though my mom says grief makes people do strange things sometimes.”

  “Yes, bitterness only destroys.” She’d begun to realize bitterness had been the main motivation in her grandmother’s life. All the history she’d shared with Peter pointed toward this. Grandmother Lowell was bitter over the loss of the family fortune, about who Thea’s mother had married—if Franny was to be trusted.

  Peter reached for her hand.

  His warmth came to Thea through their clasped hands. Oh, Peter.

  He said, “I’ve got to go and pick up Willoughby, then I’ll be busy all day.”

  “Me, too.” A sinking feeling snaked through her as she thought about visiting her grandmother and the organ committee meeting this morning. She held on to Peter’s hand for a few seconds longer, drawing strength from his firm honest grip, then let go. She wanted to say, I support your camp. But something, maybe fear, held her back.

  With a cheerful wave, Peter left her.

  Taking a deep breath, Thea sighed. What would it be like to be that confident? She envied Peter his resilience.

  From the start, she’d made a point of declaring her neutrality over the camp because no one had ever much cared about her opinions. Certainly Grandmother Lowell had never cared. But now that she had taken the first stand of her adult life, counter to Grandmother, how could she switch to supporting Peter?

  If she openly supported the camp, everyone especially her grandmother, would sneer and say she’d just fallen for Peter’s good looks. She’d been strong enough to declare neutrality, but was she strong enough to stand against Grandmother?