Debbie Macomber - Heart of Texas Volume 2 - Caroline's Child

Dressed in bright yellow nylon running shorts and a matching tank top, she started out at an easy nine-minute-mile pace. She jogged from her living quarters next to the health clinic down the tree-lined streets of Promise. The community itself wasn’t so bad. Actually it was a pretty little town with traditional values and interesting people. Ranchers mostly. Down-to-earth folk, hardworking, family-oriented. That was what made her situation so difficult to understand. The people were friendly and welcoming, it seemed, to everyone but her.

Jane turned the corner onto Maple Street. At the post office she took another turn and headed up Main. A couple of cars were parked in front of the bowling alley, which kept the longest hours in town; it was open twenty-four hours on Saturdays and Sundays. It wasn’t the bowling that lured folks at all hours, but the café, which served good solid meals and great coffee at 1970s prices.

Jane’s feet pounded the pavement and sweat rolled down the sides of her face. She’d barely gone a mile and already her body was suggesting that she hadn’t been exercising enough. She knew she’d ache later but didn’t care; she was already feeling more optimistic.

She rounded the corner off Main and onto Baxter, running past the antique store owned and operated by Dovie Boyd. Dovie lived in a brick home just around the corner. Despite the early hour, she was standing in the middle of her huge vegetable garden with her watering can in hand.

Jane had often admired the older woman’s lush garden. The pole beans were six feet high, the tomatoes bursting with ripeness and the zucchini abundant. Jane marveled at how one woman could possibly coax this much produce from a few plants.

“Morning,” Jane called.

Dovie smiled and raised her hand in response.

Jane continued down the street, full steam ahead. She’d gone perhaps twenty yards when she realized it’d happened to her again. She’d never been a quitter in her life and she wasn’t going to start now. She did an abrupt about-face and headed back.

Dovie looked surprised to see her.

Jane stopped and, breathing heavily, leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “Hello again,” she said when she’d caught her breath.

Without a pause Dovie continued watering. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Jane agreed. Slowly she straightened and watched Dovie expertly weave her way through the garden, pausing now and again to finger a plant or pull a weed.

“Do you have a minute, Mrs. Boyd?” she asked, gathering her nerve. She rested her hands against the white picket fence.

Widening her eyes, Dovie turned. “What can I do for you, Dr. Dickinson?”

“First, I’d like it if you called me Jane.”

“Then Jane it is.”

The older woman’s tone was friendly, but Jane sensed the same reserve in her she’d felt in others.

“What am I doing wrong?” She hadn’t intended to blurt out the question like that, but couldn’t help herself.

“Wrong?” Dovie set the watering can aside.

“What’s wrong with me?” she amended.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.” The other woman was clearly puzzled by the question. “What makes you assume such a thing?”

Attitudes were so difficult to describe. How could she explain how she felt without sounding snobbish or self-pitying? But she had to try.

“Why am I standing on this side of the fence while you’re on that side?” Jane asked as she paced the cement walkway. “Why do I have to be the one to greet others first? People don’t like me, and I want to know why.”

Dovie lifted one finger to her lips and frowned, apparently deep in thought. “You did greet me first, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it isn’t only you. It’s everyone.” Jane paused, struggling with her composure. “I want to know why.”

“My goodness, I’m not sure. I never realized.” Dovie walked toward the short white gate and unlatched it, swinging it open. “Come inside, dear, and we’ll sit down and reason this out.”

Now that Jane had made her point, it would have been rude and unfair to refuse, but to her embarrassment she discovered she was close to tears.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Dovie said and gestured toward the white wrought-iron patio set. “I’ll get a pot of tea brewing. I don’t know about you, but I tend to think more clearly if I have something hot to drink.”

“I… Thank you,” Jane said, feeling humble and grateful at once. The few moments Dovie was in the kitchen gave her time to collect herself.

Soon Dovie reappeared carrying a tray with a pot of steaming tea and two delicate china cups, as well as a plate of scones. She set it down on the table and poured the tea, handing Jane the first cup.

Jane felt a bit conspicuous in her tank top, sipping tea from a Spode cup, but she was too thankful for Dovie’s kindness to worry about it.

“All right now,” Dovie said when she’d finished pouring. “Let’s talk.” She sat down and leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Tell me some other things that have bothered you about Promise.”

Jane wasn’t sure where to start. “I have this…this sense that people don’t like me.”

“Nonsense,” Dovie countered. “We don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you.”

“You’re right. No one knows me,” Jane murmured. “I need a friend,” she said with a shrug, offering the one solution that had come to her.

“We all need friends, but perhaps you need to make more of an effort to give people a chance to know you.”

“But I have tried to meet people,” she said in her own defense.

Dovie frowned. “Give me an example.”

Jane had a list of those. An inventory of failures cataloged from the day she’d first arrived. “The party for Richard Weston,” she said. It was the first social event she’d attended in the area. Richard had been warm and friendly, stopping her on the street and issuing a personal invitation. Jane had been excited about it, had even told her family she was attending the party. But when she got there, she’d ended up standing around by herself. The evening had been uncomfortable from the start.

As the new doctor in town Jane appeared to be a topic of speculation and curiosity. The short newspaper article published about her earlier in the week had added to the attention she’d garnered. People stared at her, a few had greeted her, asked her a question or two, then drifted away. Richard had been the star of his own party, and the one time he’d noticed her, she was sure he’d forgotten who she was. For a while she’d wandered around, feeling awkward and out of place. Mostly she’d felt like a party crasher and left soon after she’d arrived.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Dovie murmured with a thoughtful look.

“Yes.” Not that it’d done Jane any good.

“You came in a suit and high heels, as I recall,” Dovie added.

“I realized as soon as I arrived the suit was a mistake,” Jane said. At the time she’d felt it was important to maintain a professional image. She was new in town and attempting to make a good impression.

“And then jeans and a cotton top to the Grange dance.”

“I didn’t realize it was a more formal affair.” She hadn’t lasted long there, either. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Jane confessed. She’d come overdressed for one event and underdressed for the other. “But,” she said hopelessly, “I had no way of knowing.”

Dovie nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I showed up for the Willie Nelson Fourth of July picnic, too, but no one bothered to tell me Willie Nelson wouldn’t be there.” That had been a major disappointment, as well.