Beauty for Ashes Page 0,56
be happy. You’re not sure whether one precludes the other.”
Carrie didn’t try to hide her surprise. How could this woman see past her troubled heart to her very soul? She nodded.
“Our Lord delights in our joy. You say your life is a mess, and maybe it is, but he can bring order out of chaos and turn the worst suffering to his good. But you must be willing to surrender everything into his safekeeping.”
The bony spot on Carrie’s wrist throbbed. Her head pounded. She stood. “I must go.”
“Because the thought of complete surrender frightens you.”
“Because I’m late. I was due back at the hotel an hour ago.”
Deborah clasped Carrie’s hand. “Stay a moment longer. I want to tell you something.”
The headache worsened. “You’ve given me quite a bit to ponder, Mrs. Patterson.”
“Please call me Deborah. After all, I’m not much older than you.”
“But the reverend is—”
“Ancient?” Deborah laughed. “Everyone remarks upon the difference in our ages, but we have a very good marriage, Daniel and I.” Her expression softened. “He saved my life.”
Deborah patted the bench and Carrie sat down again, one eye on the lengthening shadows. If she didn’t get back to the hotel soon, supper would be delayed. She couldn’t afford to anger Mrs. Whitcomb, whose various ailments had put her in a bad mood lately.
“It’s no secret my arm doesn’t work,” Deborah began. “And I walk with a limp. But I—”
“Yes. And I’m so sorry. But—”
“Another time then.” Deborah patted her arm. “Don’t be late on my account.”
Leaving Deborah sitting on the bench, Carrie hurried toward the Verandah and tried to put the unsettling conversation out of her mind. Was Mrs. Patterson right? Was she afraid of turning everything over to God? Afraid of praying, “Thy will be done”?
She reached the main street just as Mariah got into her rig outside the mercantile. Carrie hurried over. “I’m glad I caught you. I volunteered to bake for the Christmas celebration but Eugenie didn’t see me.”
Mariah sighed. “Listen, Carrie, I am very sorry for this rift between us. Eugenie cares for you, truly she does. And so do I. But the way you’re mooning over a stranger, a gambler we hardly even know . . . well, it’s destroying some people’s good opinion of you. And you seem not to care in the least.”
“But you welcomed Rosaleen Dupree with open arms, and you don’t know her either.”
Mariah picked up the reins. “Not exactly open arms. We all know the kind of woman she is . . . was. And she’s too flashy by half. But we must try to forgive her past and encourage her nobler impulses. For Nate’s sake.”
“If she’s respectable enough for him, then she’s acceptable to everyone else. Is that it?”
“Carrie, keep your voice down.” Mariah glanced around. “I wish you’d married Nate when you had the chance, instead of thinking you were too good for him.”
“I never thought I was too good for him. I only wanted to be happy.”
Mariah hesitated, then reached into her leather pouch and pulled out one of the Race Day fliers. “All right. Why don’t you make some fliers for now, and we’ll see what happens after Race Day.” She sighed. “Perhaps by then you’ll come to your senses.”
Carrie stuffed the flier into her pocket and watched Mariah drive away. Was Mariah right? Was she throwing away her life, ruining her good name, when nothing lasting could come of it?
A blob of black ink mushroomed over the Race Day flier she’d just finished. Crumpling the ruined page, Carrie tossed it onto the table, capped her inkwell, and stared out the window. On the corner, Mariah and Eugenie were deep in conversation, the brims of their fall hats shadowing their faces. Moments earlier, Rosaleen, clutching a handful of papers, had sashayed by in her pink wedding costume on her way to the train station. Clearly the new Mrs. Chastain cared not one whit for Molly Scott’s opinion.
Carrie rose and went to the kitchen to check on the bread dough she’d left rising on the counter. Everyone else had a role to play for Race Day, and she was relegated to the sidelines because of her friendship with Griff. She hated being at cross purposes with Mariah and Eugenie, and yet she could not walk away from Griff even if she wanted to. She didn’t understand it, really. Why did she always want the thing she could never have? She returned to the parlor and flopped onto the dusty sofa.
Here lately, she’d