Читать книгу Shepherds Abiding in Dry Creek - Janet Tronstad - Страница 7

Marla moved the hanging blanket slightly so she could look out the window of her new living room. The sun would be coming up any minute, but the small town of Dry Creek was still dark and quiet. Snow had fallen during the night and there was just enough light in the small circle from the one street lamp to see that there were no fresh tire tracks on the road going through town.

That didn’t mean she could relax and remove the blankets, though. Down the street there was a glow in the window of the café and she could see several figures through the big window. People had obviously come into town from the other direction and any one of them could decide at any minute to drive down the road toward her. If they did, they would soon be able to see inside her front window if she moved the blanket, and she didn’t want anyone to look into her place until she was ready.

The words of her neighbor back in Los Angeles were never far from her mind.

Marla had cleaned her windows with vinegar yesterday and she could still smell the cleaning solution as it mingled with the scent of the mothballs from the blanket. The panes in the windows rattled because the putty was all worn away, but at least they were finally clean.

Today Marla planned to wash the walls. The paint was peeling away and she’d feel better if she knew the walls were brushed down and ready to go when she could afford to buy paint.

In a strange way, she was grateful for the necessity of scrubbing this old house. If it had been less filthy when she arrived here with her children, she might still be brooding over the change she’d made. She’d been nervous the whole trip up here, but now the peeling paint and thick dust called her to action and she had no time to fret.

She had not given any thought to the house until she arrived. If she had not been desperate, she would have turned around and driven away after she first looked inside the door. The house was set back from the street a little and there was a nice white picket fence around it. That part was how her husband had described the house to her. Marla had been okay with the idea of that white picket fence, but nothing Jorge had said had prepared her for the inside of the house.

Of course, her husband’s memories of the house had been from thirty years ago. Jorge wouldn’t have recognized the house today, either. Even in their cheap apartment in Los Angeles, the paint had managed to stay on the walls.

Marla didn’t want anyone from this small town to look past the fence and into her windows until she was ready. There wasn’t much inside her house and, what was there was shabby. On the long drive up, she’d promised herself she would make a proper life for her children in Dry Creek, and she didn’t want her relationship with the town to start off with the people here pitying them.

Somewhere around Utah, she’d realized that the ethnic difference was only part of what she needed to worry about. After all, her parents had raised her to be more Anglo than Hispanic, anyway. They’d even given her an Anglo name. She and the children might be able to fit in that way eventually. The fact that they were also poor was another problem. She knew that from the welfare days of her childhood. A lack of money would be harder to hide than anything.

Marla planned to get the house in shape before she did more than say a quiet hello to anyone. She didn’t want her children to feel shame for either their heritage or their lack of possessions. First impressions were important.

That’s one reason she had hung the plain khaki-colored blankets over the windows and left the Mexican striped blankets as coverings for the sleeping bags.

Maybe if Sammy had had neighbors who expected good things from him back in Los Angeles, he wouldn’t have been drawn to the 19th Street gang. Of course, the neighbors were only part of it. She knew she hadn’t given him what he needed, either. She had been so preoccupied with taking care of Jorge that she hadn’t paid enough attention to Sammy.

It was Sammy who most needed a new start.

Marla took a deep breath of the cool winter air. Despite the fact that the air was tinged with the scent of vinegar and mothballs, it still smelled clean and fresh when she compared it to what she’d breathed down south.

Dry Creek promised a new life for all of them and Marla intended it to go well. Even though she’d had car problems on the way up and hadn’t had much money left after she’d paid for the repairs, she was determined she and her children were not going to be charity cases. Charity was never free; one always paid the price by enduring the giver’s pity. She didn’t want that.

She wanted her children to feel proud of who they were.

Besides, they didn’t need charity. Any day Marla expected to get a check in the mail refunding the deposit on their apartment. Her rental agreement gave the landlord twenty days to refund the money and he’d probably take all that time. Once she had that check, she would have enough money to buy paint for the walls and a good used sofa. And that was after she put aside enough money to support her family for a few months while she looked for a job. She knew she needed to spend some time with her children before she started a new job, though. Too much had happened too fast in the past year for all of them. They needed time to be together.

At first Marla had worried that she would not have enough money to support her and the children for those few months. It seemed as if the cost of heating the house would take what little money she had, but then she had discovered that the fireplace in the living room worked and that there was a seven-foot-high woodpile half-hidden in the trees behind the house.

At last, something was going her way.

It looked as if, during the years when the house had stood empty, the trees had grown up around the towering stack of log chunks back there. She hadn’t paid any attention to the stack until the children told her about it one day and she had gone out to look it over. The pile had good-sized logs meant for long winter fires. If need be, on the coldest nights, she and the children could camp in front of the fireplace to sleep.

At least heat was one thing that wouldn’t require money for now.

Which was a good thing, because the refund check was going to total only around a thousand dollars. There wouldn’t be much money left for extras. Christmas this year would be lean. She’d explained the situation to Sammy and Becky and they seemed to understand. Wall paint and a used sofa might not look like exciting Christmas presents, but it would make their house more of a home. She was letting each child pick out the color of the paint for their bedroom and she was hoping that would be enough of a Christmas present.

Besides, they could make some simple gifts for each other this year. That could be fun for all of them. And she’d make the sweet pork tamales that were the children’s favorite. It was her mother’s special recipe and that, along with the traditional lighted luminaries, always meant Christmas to Marla.

Marla had brought dozens of corn husks, dried peppers and bags of the cornmeal-like masa with her when she moved to Montana. She remembered the words of the neighbor who had bought her lamp and she didn’t want to take any chances. Christmas without tamales was unthinkable, and not just because of the children.

By the time Christmas was here, she hoped to be able to take the blankets off the front windows of her house and welcome any visitors inside. By then, she might even be comfortable offering visitors a tamale and explaining that she and the children had a Hispanic heritage.

Marla saw movement and stopped daydreaming about the future. The door of the café had opened and a man had stepped out. She had recognized the pickup parked next to the café when she first looked out the window, and so she figured the man standing on the café porch was Reserve Deputy Sheriff Les Wilkerson. He was probably getting ready to patrol through Dry Creek and had stopped at the café for coffee. Marla had seen the deputy walk down the street of Dry Creek every morning since she’d moved here and it made her nervous.

She hadn’t heard of any criminal activity around, but she kept the children close to the house just in case. She’d called the school when they’d first arrived in Dry Creek and they had agreed, since it had been almost time for the holiday break, that Sammy could start his classes after Christmas. Becky was even more flexible. When she’d first noticed the sheriff patrolling the town, Marla had been glad she’d arranged to have Sammy close by for a few weeks, but maybe if the children were in school she’d at least know more about what was going on.

There must be something happening if a lawman was doing foot patrol. In Los Angeles that happened only in high crime areas. She hadn’t heard any gunshots at night, so she doubted robberies were the problem. The deputy must be worried about drugs.

Marla had briefly met the man last Friday when she was at the hardware store looking for paint, and she had wanted to ask him about any local drug problems. But he had stayed only long enough to scowl at everyone and do something with an ashtray.

The two older men sitting beside the woodstove talked about Les after he left. They made it sound as if he was somebody special. She supposed the older men wanted to reassure her that her children were safe here in Dry Creek with a lawman around, but, truth be told, the reserve deputy didn’t make her feel better about the isolation of the small town.

She was used to lawmen, even reserve volunteer lawmen, who had a certain amount of swagger to them. Les didn’t strut around at all. He looked strong enough, but he wasn’t exactly brawling material. Not only that, he didn’t even carry a gun.

She doubted there were any lawmen in Los Angeles who didn’t carry a gun. There were certainly none the few times she’d visited her aunts and uncles in Mexico. Marla supposed Les would have to talk a criminal down, but when she’d been introduced to him, he hadn’t seemed to be much of a talker. He’d only nodded and mumbled hello to her that day. He was even quieter than she was, and she was perfectly able to carry on a conversation. She’d do fine with talking when she had her house ready for visiting.

Of course, no one else seemed to be worried about Les’s lack of conversational skills, and they knew the town and him much better than she did. Maybe he was one of those people who shone in emergency situations, but who didn’t appear to be of much use at other times.

Les wasn’t even wearing a uniform that day. He’d had cowboy boots on his feet and a plaid flannel shirt on his back. The only thing that had marked him as a reserve deputy sheriff was a vest and, from what the other men said, he didn’t even always wear that. Of course, everyone must just know he was the lawman on duty; it was such a small town.

Marla watched Les step off the café porch and start walking down the street. He must be making his usual morning patrol. Fortunately, the sun was starting to lighten up the day, so he might even be able to see while he did it.

Les felt the snow crunch beneath his boots as he moved down the one street in Dry Creek. Usually he thought it was an advantage to have only one street in town. Today, though, he would have liked a million other directions to turn.

He stopped when he got to the church. The Nativity set was still all lit up even though the sun was beginning to rise. The wise men stood to one side with their hands overflowing with gold baubles. The blond angel was hanging from a wire attached to the rain gutters of the church. Les took a minute to look closely at the rain gutters and note that whoever had written the note was right. Someone did need to add another wire or the angel would eventually fall.

Les looked back at the wise men and wondered why one of them hadn’t been taken instead of the lone shepherd. They certainly looked more exciting than the missing figure. Everyone he knew, except himself, would pick flash over something drab any day. Strangely, it didn’t make him feel any easier in his mind about the theft.

When he could delay no longer, Les walked farther down the street and then started up the path to the Gossett house. Until Marla and her children moved to town, the house had been closed up. Old man Gossett had spent some time in prison before he died and no one had taken care of the house. Someone had enough civic pride to paint part of the picket fence that faced the street so the property looked somewhat cared for if an outsider happened to look at it on a casual drive through town. None of the people in Dry Creek liked to see the town buildings look neglected and Les couldn’t blame them.

As he walked up the path, Les saw how the weather had started to flake the white paint off the house until there were large sections of exposed gray boards. Even the snowdrifts couldn’t disguise the fact that the yard had gone to seed. Only the pine trees in the back of the house had flourished, growing together in thick clumps of muted green.

Les was halfway up the walk when someone turned off the light inside the house. For the first time, Les thought maybe the little girl really had stolen the shepherd. What else but guilt would make someone turn off the lights when a visitor was coming to the door? Usually people turned a light on when someone was walking toward their house.

When Les stepped on the porch, the door opened a crack. It was just enough for Les to see a small portion of a woman’s face. There was one brown eye and a hand holding the side of the door. The hand covered up most of what face would have shown in the crack. The room behind the face was in darkness. Les wouldn’t have recognized the woman even though he had met her that day in the hardware store.

“Mrs. Gossett?”

The woman nodded.

Les wished she would open the door wider. Regardless of what he’d told himself, he was looking forward to seeing more of the woman’s face. He hadn’t taken a very good look at her the other day in the hardware store and he’d like to see her better. There was no particular reason to ask her to open the door wider, though. Especially because it was cold out and she was probably just keeping her heat inside like any wise Montana housewife would do.

“I brought something to eat,” Les said as he held up the white bag. “For the kids. And you, of course.”

He had a feeling he could express himself a lot better if the woman didn’t keep eyeing him as if she was going to slam the door in his face any minute now.

At his words, her face stiffened even more. “We have enough to eat. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Les had coaxed frightened kittens out of their hiding places many times and he reminded himself that patience usually won out over fear.

“It’s only a few doughnuts,” Les forced his voice to be softer. “Linda, at the café, thought the kids might like them.”

The woman’s face relaxed some. “Well, I guess doughnuts are different.”

The woman opened the door and Les gave her the bag. He waited a minute in hopes she was going to ask him inside. It would be easier to talk to her if she was relaxed and not looking at him through the crack in the door. But once she took the bag, she closed the door so it was back in its original position.

“Please tell the woman—Linda—thank you for us. We haven’t had a chance to get over to the café yet, but it’s a very nice gesture.”

Les was afraid the woman was going to think he had just come by to bring her the doughnuts, so he said his piece. “I’m doing a search of houses. We’ve had some property stolen from the church.”

The woman frowned. “We don’t go to church.”

The woman turned a little as if she heard something inside the house.

“You don’t need to go to church to take something.”

The woman snapped back to look at him. “Are you accusing me of stealing? From a church?”

“No, ma’am.” Les ran his finger around his shirt collar. “It’s just that I did think that maybe your daughter—well, do you know where your daughter was last night?”

The woman turned again to look inside the house.

Les figured it was one of the children who had been distracting the woman, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard her whisper to someone. “Just be patient. Mommy will be right there.”

The woman turned back to look at Les. In all of the turning, the door had opened a little farther. “Becky was here with me last night.”

The woman was wearing an old beige robe that was zipped up to her neck and she didn’t have any makeup on her face. She had strong bones, Les noticed. And a weariness to her that made him think she’d come through a long patch of hard times. He couldn’t let his sudden sympathy for her change what he needed to do, though.

“Was your daughter with you for the entire night?” Les could see into the rest of the large room behind the woman. The windows were all covered so the room was in shadows, but he could make out most of it. Not that there was much to see. Except for a wooden sitting chair, there was nothing there. Maybe the family’s furniture was still coming on a moving truck.

“Of course, all night. Where else would she be?” The woman was looking straight at him now. “I don’t even know why you’re asking me these questions. You came straight to my door. I saw you. You’re not asking everybody. Just because we don’t have blond hair and blue eyes like everyone else around here, it doesn’t mean we stole something.”

“No, of course not.” Les was bewildered. Did everyone around here have blond hair? He hadn’t noticed. Still, he’d come to do a job and he might as well get it done. “I’m talking to people because someone stole one of the Nativity figures from the set in front of the church.”

“That has nothing to do with us.”

Les nodded. “I just wondered, because whoever took the figure wanted to trade it back to the church for a Suzy bake set.”

A little girl’s squeal came from behind the door. Les couldn’t see the girl, but he could hear her as she said, “A Suzy bake set! The one with the cupcakes?”

“No, dear, I don’t think so,” the woman said with her face turned to the inside of the room.

Why was it that the line of a woman’s neck, when she turned to look over her shoulder, always reminded him of a ballet dancer? Les asked himself. Marla—well, Mrs. Gossett—had a beautiful neck.

The woman turned back to look at Les. She even gave him a small smile, which made the knot in his stomach relax. No one who was guilty would smile. But then, maybe the mother didn’t know what the daughter had done.

The woman continued, “I’m sorry. I think every little girl everywhere wants that Suzy bake set in the cupcake edition. It’s quite the thing. I don’t know if you can even find it in the stores anymore.”

Les nodded. Maybe that’s why someone had written the demand note. Maybe they thought the church would have extra pull with a store. “Whoever took the shepherd left a note.” He held the paper out to her. “I think a girl might have written it.”

The woman didn’t even look up to read the note. She just shook her head. “If that’s where you’re headed, you should know my daughter is only four. She can’t even write her name.”

“Oh.” Les had not known the girl was so young. He didn’t think a girl that age could even lift the shepherd figure. The thing was plastic, but it was heavy enough. And it was bulky.

“She’s going to learn to write her name,” the woman continued, as if she was making a point. “We believe in schooling. She’ll go to preschool a couple of days a week in Miles City after the holidays. Most kids here probably already know how to write their names, but Becky didn’t get a chance to go to preschool in Los Angeles. If she’s behind, she’ll catch up.”

“I’m sure she’ll learn to write in no time,” Les said just to put the woman at ease, since her daughter’s schooling seemed important to her. “Kids learn fast.”

Les hoped he was speaking the truth. What did he know about kids? He knew he should forget about the kids and say goodbye, but he found he didn’t want to rush off. Not now that, with the sun fully up and spreading its sunshine all over, Les noticed that some of the shadows were gone from the woman’s face.

He wondered if she would go out to dinner with him after all. Now that they were talking about education instead of crime, she seemed a little friendlier.

“I—ah—” Les swallowed. “We have a good school in Miles City. You don’t need to worry about that.”

The woman smiled. “I’m glad to know that.”

Les wasn’t prepared for the woman’s full smile.

He swallowed again. “Thanks for talking to me. Let me know if you see anything suspicious. It’s probably just some kids playing a prank. Wanting to see if I can figure out that XIX clue they left. I wonder if it’s part of a math equation.”

Les had been ready to turn and walk away when the smile fell from Mrs. Gossett’s face and something in her eyes shifted. She’d suddenly gone tense.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.

She shook her head. The weariness was back on her face. “The XIX. Where was that?”

“At the end of the note.”

The woman bit her lip nervously. “Are you going to be in town for a little while?”

Les didn’t flatter himself that she wanted to see him again, but he nodded. “I’ll be at the café for another half hour or so. If you think of something that might help, let me know.”

She nodded.

There wasn’t anything more to say, so Les gave her a goodbye nod. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, ma’am. And welcome to Dry Creek.”

Les turned and left. He hoped Mrs. Hargrove would be happy with his little welcome speech at the end. He’d even meant it.

Marla barely waited for the man to step off her porch before she closed the door and locked it. Of course, turning the lock was just habit. She had nothing to fear from the reserve deputy sheriff. Although, if her suspicions were right, she might not want to hear what he had to say to her and her children if she had to take her son over to the café in a few minutes.

“Sammy,” she called.

Becky was happily walking around with her bunny slippers and frog pajamas on. But it was almost seven o’clock and Marla hadn’t heard from her son yet this morning. Usually he was up by now even though it wasn’t a school day. She’d thought earlier that he was sleeping in. Now she knew he was just hiding out.

“Sammy, come out here.”

Marla leaned back against the locked door and looked around. For the first time she wondered how she could have fooled herself so completely. She could paint the rooms in her house with gold leaf and the people here wouldn’t respect them. Not if Sammy had stolen the Nativity shepherd from the church and tagged that note with the 19th Street gang symbol. Her family would be marked as troublemakers regardless of how their house looked or what their ethnic background was. People were scared of gangs, and rightfully so. If they figured out Sammy had wanted to be in a gang, there would be no new start for them. The whole move up here would have been pointless.

“Sammy!”

Her son stepped into the living room. He was wearing a long white T-shirt and baggy pants. It was typical gang clothes for south central L.A.

“I thought you were going to throw those clothes away,” Marla said. They didn’t have many clothes, but Sammy did have some jeans that fit better. And why did he need to spike his hair?

“I’ve got to wear something.” Sammy glared at her. “I can’t go around naked.”

Marla felt that sometimes she didn’t recognize her son. “You have those jeans I got for you to wear when you start school here—”

“They don’t fit.” Sammy shrugged. “I’m saving them for when we paint the house.”

Marla forced herself to relax. She supposed that clothes were the least of her worries, although people did form opinions about young people because of the way they were dressed. “I just want to be proud of you.”

Sammy grunted. “What’s in the bag?”

Marla looked down. Becky was sitting on the floor and had already opened the white bag Les had left with them. She hadn’t taken anything out, although she had a grin on her face.

There were so few smiling moments for Becky these days that Marla didn’t want to spoil this one by questioning Sammy right now. The sheriff would be in town for another half hour. They had time to eat a bite.

“The woman at the café sent us over doughnuts for breakfast.” Marla said. “Wasn’t that nice of her?”

Becky nodded and beamed up at her. “Yes, Mommy.”

Sammy grunted.

Marla didn’t react to Sammy. Gratitude wasn’t the big problem of the day, either. “Let’s go sit at the table when we eat them. We don’t want to get everything sticky.”

Sammy had already walked over and looked in the sack Becky held. For the first time this morning he reminded Marla of the little boy he had been. “Hey, there’s jelly doughnuts. Cool. I can see the raspberry filling coming out of one of them.”

“Let’s take them to the table,” Marla repeated for Becky’s ears.

“I am, Mommy,” Becky said as she stood up and then reached down and grabbed the bag.

Marla watched her children walk into the kitchen together. Becky was holding the bag of doughnuts, but Marla could see that Sammy was guarding them as he walked with his sister. What was she to do? Marla asked herself as she leaned back against the door. Sammy’s heart was good. Look how careful he was to help Becky without taking the sack from her. An aggressive child would just grab the bag. But not Sammy. He had always had a warm place in his heart for his little sister.

She was surprised it hadn’t all clicked together for her earlier when she was standing there talking to the deputy sheriff. Becky might not have written that note asking for a Suzy bake set, but Sammy had. He knew what Becky wanted for Christmas. Becky had been talking about that bake set for weeks. Marla had even wondered if she might be able to squeeze the money out of her budget for one. She hadn’t been sure if she could do it, so she hadn’t said anything to either of the children. She’d just let her suggestion of handmade gifts stand.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Marla realized that if she had told Sammy she was buying a few presents after all, maybe he wouldn’t have taken that shepherd. Somewhere in all of this, she was partially at fault.

She couldn’t help but think that Jorge would have known what to do for Sammy. Maybe Sammy felt free to misbehave because he knew she wasn’t as sure of herself as Jorge had been in disciplining him. She wasn’t used to flying solo as a parent and she wasn’t sure she could do a good job of it. Sometimes a growing boy needed a father.

Marla listened to the voices of her children in the dining room for a minute, then started forward to join them. She was going to have to do her best to give Sammy what a father would.

Marla was glad the card table and folding chairs had fit in the luggage carrier on top of the car when she moved up here. Her children were sitting at the table now. It might not be as sturdy as the table she would eventually buy for them, but it was important for them to have a place to sit down and eat together. For all of Sammy’s sullen ways, he’d never protested eating dinner with the family.

Sammy had put white paper plates and plastic cups on the table. He’d even brought out the gallon of milk. Marla was pleased that they had waited for her.

Marla let everyone finish their doughnuts before she cleared her throat.

“Becky, will you go to your room and get dressed, please?”

Becky didn’t always end up with a matching outfit, but she liked to dress herself and Marla encouraged her to be independent.

After Becky left, Marla turned to Sammy. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Nah,” Sammy muttered, his face flushing.

Marla counted to three. “Did you take a shepherd from the church’s Nativity scene?”

Sammy’s face got redder. “It’s just a stupid shepherd. They don’t even exist anymore. At least, not anywhere except in Mexico. I mean, who needs them? We’re through with that life. We’re turning white.”

Marla kept her voice even. “Just because we moved up here, it doesn’t mean that we’re not still part Hispanic.”

Sammy grunted. “I haven’t seen any amigos around.”

No one would know Sammy was Hispanic by looking at him. She knew he identified himself with his old amigos, but maybe it was time for them all to step away from their background a little bit.

“You’ll meet some new friends when you go to school.”

“Yeah, right.”

“We’re not ashamed of being Hispanic.” Marla tried again. “We’re just getting to know people slow and easy. We don’t need to be any particular ethnic group for a while.”

Sammy grunted.

Marla decided she couldn’t talk about their heritage all morning.

“You know it’s wrong to take things that don’t belong to you. We’ll go over to the café and talk to the deputy who was here asking about the shepherd. Then you’ll give the shepherd back and we’ll talk about what your punishment will be.”

Marla was hoping that if Sammy confessed to what he had done and returned the shepherd, no charges would be filed. She didn’t know how much the Nativity figure was worth, but she doubted it had a high enough value to make this anything but a misdemeanor. Once they figured that out, she’d talk more with Sammy about his other feelings.

“I could give up Christmas,” Sammy offered. “Not that it’s going to be anything, anyway.”

“I’m hoping to make sweet pork tamales,” Marla said.

Sammy looked up. “With the green chilies?”

Marla nodded. “If I can find a nice pork roast to use in the filling.”

“Well, maybe I could give up Christmas after the tamales are all gone.”

Marla smiled. “We’ll talk.”

Marla wondered how she could make Sammy feel more at home in Dry Creek. She knew he missed his friends. Even though those friends were not good for him, he was still entitled to miss them. A few days ago he’d gotten a letter from a boy back in Los Angeles. Sammy had protested, but eventually he’d agreed to let her read the note about some baseball, his lucky baseball, that he’d left behind and how the boy was going to get it to him soon.

At least Sammy had one friend there who didn’t sound like a gang member. She hoped baseball wasn’t gang code for something else. She couldn’t forbid Sammy to have contact with everybody, though. A boy needed some friends, and the note sounded fine. Maybe she had been wrong to postpone school for him by the few weeks that she had. Of course, it was too late to change that now. The classes would be on Christmas break next week, anyway.

“Let’s see if Becky is ready,” Marla said. “We want to go over while the sheriff is at the café.”

“He’s not a regular lawman, is he?” Sammy asked with a frown. “He doesn’t look like the police or anything.”

“I suspect he’s close enough to the real thing.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Sammy announced.

Marla figured her son was lying about not being afraid when he took Becky’s hand to hold while they walked down the street to the café. He shrugged off the hand Marla tried to rest on his shoulder, but she was glad he had Becky’s hand at least.

They had to pass the church to reach the café and Marla looked over at the Nativity set. Since the church was on the same side of the road as her house, she couldn’t see the lighted figures from her windows. It was nice just knowing they were there, though. She’d heard someone say that the whole town of Dry Creek planned to sing carols around the Nativity set on Christmas Eve.