A Match Made in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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      “No big secret there. We’re probably made of fried eggs and pancakes by now,” Curt said as he turned one of six eggs on the same griddle he’d used a little earlier to make pancakes. Fried eggs and pancakes were about as advanced as the cooking got at the farm, although Curt could make a good bowl of chili as well.

      “If I remember right you made some fancy French toast one Mother’s Day. What was it you put in it?”

      Curt grinned. “I put cinnamon on top of it. I thought I was really the gourmet chef.”

      Charley smiled. “And you had some real maple syrup. Your mother talked about that syrup for days. She couldn’t figure out where you’d gotten a bottle of the stuff.”

      “Billings,” Curt said as he turned another egg with a flourish. “I bribed Mr. Dennison and he brought it out for me when he did the mail route.”

      “How come we never have French toast?” Ben grumbled as he pulled his own chair out. He’d just washed his hands and he wiped some of the dampness on his jeans before he sat down on the chair and pulled it close to the table.

      “I only made it that one time for Mom,” Curt said as he reached up into the cupboard and grabbed a platter.

      “I wish I’d been there,” Ben said quietly.

      Charley had never seen a more wistful boy than Ben. Charley had thought Ben would outgrow it when he was on the farm, but he hadn’t yet. The boy always looked like he was missing something. And he was too quiet. He didn’t yell and shout like most teenagers, not even at basketball games.

      “I wish you’d been there too, son,” Curt said as he put the turner under a couple of eggs and slid them onto the platter. The pancakes were keeping warm in the oven. “I wish it more so you could have met your grandmother than because my French toast was anything special.”

      “Your grandmother was real tickled when you were born,” Charley added. One of the sad facts of his life was that his wife had died a few months after Ben was born and, due to her sickness, had never seen Ben. If the boy’s grandmother had lived, she would have known what to do to make Ben feel he had whatever it was he was missing.

      “I always like to think Grandma would have been something like Mrs. Hargrove,” Ben said.

      Curt set the platter of eggs and pancakes in the middle of the table and pulled out his own chair. “Your grandmother was not quite as opinionated as Mrs. Hargrove.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with a woman having opinions,” Charley said. He knew Curt still had hard feelings for all of the Hargroves, but he kept hoping someday Curt would soften his views on Mrs. Hargrove. Charley counted the woman as one of his best friends and it rankled that his son didn’t respect her as he should.

      Curt grunted. “She can have opinions as long as she keeps them to things she knows about.”

      “I can’t imagine that there’s much that Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t know about,” Charley said. She had tended his broken leg and made him a salve that killed the pain better than the pills the doctor had given him. She didn’t just have book learning, either; she was a woman who knew her Bible. That had to count for something.

      Curt snorted. “I can think of a thing or two she doesn’t know.” Curt stopped and looked over at his son. Curt swallowed and his voice was milder when he spoke again. “Of course, we all respect her for what she does for the community.”

      Charley nodded. He was glad Curt could rein in his annoyance. “Mrs. Hargrove has a way with children.”

      “She’s always nice to me,” Ben said. “I like her.”

      Ben was looking at his father with a big question in his eyes and Charley could see that Curt was holding his tongue. Charley was glad that he and Mrs. Hargrove had decided to do something to try and fix the hard feelings they had caused all those years ago. If Curt’s feelings about Mrs. Hargrove were anything to go by, there were still some unresolved issues.

      “The Hargroves were always our best and closest neighbors,” Charley finally said.

      Curt clenched his jaw briefly before relaxing it. “And Mrs. Hargrove always charges me a fair price for leasing her land.”

      Charley nodded. “She’d rather rent that land to you than anyone.”

      “It’s good land.”

      Charley thought he’d begun his conversation satisfactorily. He didn’t want to force Curt in any direction; he just wanted to give him time to think. “We have a lot to be grateful for—including these eggs.”

      Curt looked at his father and took the cue. “Well, let’s pray then so Ben isn’t late catching the school bus.”

      After taking a moment to let his irritation quiet down, Curt began to pray. Curt figured God knew his heart when it came to the Hargroves and that would have to do for now. There were other things to think about. “Lord, thank you for all you give us today and every day. For food, for work, for family and friends—we thank you. Keep us safe and help Ben in school. Amen.”

      Curt decided he would eat his pancakes and forget about the Hargroves. There was a minute’s worth of silence when he thought his strategy was working.

      “I bet Mrs. Hargrove can make French toast,” Ben said as he slipped a second pancake onto his plate. “She’s probably got a recipe and everything.”

      “I’m sure she does,” Curt said as he took the platter that Ben passed his way and looked up at the clock. “You’re going to have to get ready for the bus soon.”

      “I’ve got time,” Ben muttered. “I’d even have time to eat French toast for breakfast if we ever had it.”

      “Well, Mrs. Hargrove has offered to cook us dinner when we help her with those Mother’s Day baskets,” Charley said from the other side of the table. “If we wanted to make it French toast, I’m sure that would be fine.”

      “We don’t want to waste one of Mrs. Hargrove’s dinners on something I can make myself with a few pointers,” Curt said as he cut into the pancake on his plate. “I still remember the lasagna she used to make.”

      Curt wasn’t sure exactly when he had agreed to help Mrs. Hargrove plant her pansies, but he wasn’t sorry that he was doing it as long as he could do it without having to spend too much time in her presence. He had plowed the plot for her six weeks ago and covered the whole thing with a heavy plastic that kept the warmth inside.

      Mrs. Hargrove had some solar lights out there and the whole thing made a low-lying greenhouse. He’d been skeptical that it would work until he remembered that Mrs. Hargrove had found a way to grow her pansies years ago in the old days when she didn’t even have the solar lights.

      “She’d have to drive into Billings to find the ingredients for her lasagna,” Charley said. “And you know her car’s been having some trouble so she’s not driving it that far these days.”

      “Well, I could drive her into Billings.”

      Charley looked down at his pancake. Things were working out better than he had hoped. “Wouldn’t hurt to make the trip count twice. СКАЧАТЬ