The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (9 page)

“Janey, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I promise, I will never do anything to hurt you.”

She said nothing but looked a little more relaxed.

“I’d love to hear another song.”

After a short pause, she shook her head.

He didn’t want to push. “Miss Blossom left some cookies, those big lemon cookies her cook makes. Do you want one?”

She nodded.

“Let’s get a few. Then we could watch something on television. What do you think?”

After they were both settled, each with a glass of milk and the plate of goodies on the coffee table between them, Adam watched Janey as she nibbled and watched the program, some reality show with singing. She had lovely dark skin. Her hair was in those intricate braids, today with yellow barrettes on the ends, a skill he knew he’d never master.

“Would you like to sing at church sometime?”

“No.” She didn’t look up from the television.

Okay. “Thanks for keeping me company,” he said.

After a few minutes, she said, “But I’ll sing for you sometime, if you’d like me to. And for Chewy.”

“I really would. Thank you,” he said.

And she smiled.

At nine on the morning of Palm Sunday, Hector pointed from the porch of the parsonage toward the church parking lot. “Look, she’s here. A real donkey.”

Adam and Janey followed him toward the horse trailer as Jesse led the small animal out.

Hector stroked Maisie’s soft muzzle. “I’ve never touched one.”

Maisie lifted her head to glance at Hector as he petted her dark gray and slightly curled coat.

“She’s pretty,” Janey said looking up at the donkey.

“And she’s a stubborn creature,” Jesse said. “Hector, you’re going to have to keep a tight hold of her and don’t put up with any prancing around.”

“Yes, sir. Bobby’ll be here in a few minutes to help me with her,” Hector said. “We’ll keep her in line.”

“Sure you will, son,” Jesse said. “I’m going to tie her to the back of the trailer and stay with her until you’re ready for her.”

When Adam entered the church, he saw Bree and Mac counting out palm branches on the receptionist’s desk.

“We’ve got this under control,” Bree said. “We’ll go to the Sunday school classrooms and explain it all.”

By the time Adam went back outside at ten thirty, a crowd had begun to gather. The children, each carrying a palm branch, hopped out of the Sunday school wing and stood around Maisie as she snacked on the grass at the edge of the lot. Hector and Bobby wore robes and sandals and stood on either side of Maisie, both holding her reins.

Leo and Nick stood a few feet from them, fascinated. A few yards behind the boys, Willow in a pale pink suit with matching flowered hat and high-heeled shoes leaned on Sam and grinned at her boys.

“Doesn’t she look great?” Sam asked. “I have the most beautiful wife in the world.”

Winnie and Sam’s father stood a few feet away chatting with Blossom. Mercedes and Miss Birdie came out of the building, probably just finished putting the final touches on the cookies for the special coffee hour after the service, while Janey, Bree, and Mac finished handing out palms to the adults.

Ouida stood between her daughters as they swished their branches through the air. “They said I had to come see the donkey,” she explained to Adam. “They’re very excited about the whole deal.”

On the edge of the lot, the bluish purple of bluebonnets shimmered. A beautiful morning, a calm, peaceful moment as the people Adam loved joined together under the light filtering through the live oaks.

Adam took pictures of the crowd, starting with one of Hector holding Maisie’s reins while he grinned at his little sister. He snapped another of Bobby and Bree, laughing. A perfect day.

Then through the lens, Adam made out the head of someone with red hair climbing on Maisie’s back. Before he could put the camera down and react, chaos broke out.

The donkey brayed and pulled the reins from Bobby’s and Hector’s hands.

“Help,” Nick shouted from the back of the animal at the same moment Adam realized the red hair belonged to Sam and Willow’s youngest son.

With a mighty and joyful hee-haw, the donkey took off, bucking and jumping. Maisie headed across the lawn, around the building, and toward the highway with Nick clinging to her back and Hector and Bobby chasing after them.

For a moment, everyone else watched, too startled to move. Leo stood close to where the donkey had been, his eyes wide. Then Willow started running in the direction the donkey had fled; Sam and Adam were behind her, followed by nearly everyone in the church. With a quick look behind him, Adam could see Miss Birdie sprinting toward the front of the pack with Bree and Mac only a few feet ahead of her. The general, Sam’s father and Nick’s grandfather, was closing in on the leading peloton. Jesse attempted to keep up but fell behind, huffing and puffing. And all of them carried their palms.

Adam glanced ahead. Nick was holding on for dear life, his arms around the donkey’s neck, his bottom flopping up and down, his legs flying up beside him. How did the kid avoid being thrown off?

The pursuers hadn’t gained a yard on the bucking burro. Then Adam saw Hector trip over his sandals, not the greatest shoes for running. When he stumbled, Bobby tripped over him. Both ended up lying flat on the street, watching the animal take off as they attempted to untangle their long limbs.

Willow had tossed the pretty hat to the side and kicked her shoes off. Pulling her skirt up, she leaped over Hector’s legs and continued to race after her son. Although he fell behind, Sam didn’t slow down.

“Go rest, son,” the general shouted at Sam. “I’ll get him.”

The man should have known Sam wouldn’t leave the chase. Although he fell back, he still followed the creature escaping with Nick on her back.

Clearly Maisie felt the thrill of independence as she ran on. When she turned her head to look back, Adam thought he saw her smile at the group before she picked up the pace. She brayed ecstatically, a sound he translated as, “Born free.”

“Help!” Nick yelled again.

“We’re coming,” Adam shouted. He saw a sign of hope. Maisie seemed to be slowing down, winded after more exercise than she might have been used to, all while carrying a load.

Then a flash passed them: Bobby, running fast and smoothly. Maisie turned to check behind her again, saw Bobby, but couldn’t find another gear. Inexorably, Bobby closed in.

Only a few steps behind him flew Hector, shoeless. “You get the kid,” he shouted. “I’ll stop the donkey.”

That’s exactly what happened. Bobby pulled up and ran in stride with Maisie, then reached for Nick—who threw his arms around the young man’s neck and was dragged to safety while Hector grabbed a rein and pulled the panting animal to a stop.

Shouts and the toots of car horns came from both sides of the highway. Adam hadn’t noticed the crowd until the rescue was completed. Had they stopped to watch the show or because they decided it would be better not to hit a runaway donkey with a kid on its back?

When Willow reached the four—Nick, Bobby, Hector, and Maisie—she grabbed her son and held him in a strong hug before she placed him on the street. “Wait till I get you home,” she threatened but kept squeezing Nick’s hand.

Nick looked shaky, his face pale and legs trembling. He attempted to look tough, chin out and lips firm, but he did not let go of his mother’s hand.

“That was so cool.”

Adam looked down to see Leo standing next to him, “Preacher, wasn’t that cool?” Leo asked. “But I’d hate to be in his shoes. Nick’s going to be in so much trouble.”

“Think we’ll skip church this morning,” Sam said as he reached Adam’s side and put his hand on Leo’s shoulder. “We need to take care of this at home. Sorry we messed up your service.”

“Not your fault,” Adam said. “You do what you need to do.” He looked behind him to see that the congregation had gathered on the sidewalk gasping for air. They watched the Peterson family head around the church and back to the car while Hector led a now docile Maisie by the rope.

“Hector, take the donkey back to the garden,” Adam said. “When you take her to the other churches, stay with her and tell everyone she doesn’t like riders.” He took a step toward the church and began to sing the processional hymn, his thin, wavering voice leading the way. “Hosanna, loud hosanna,” he sang, and the congregation followed him back to the church waving their palms. Janey glanced up at him. Obviously feeling sorry for his pitiable efforts, she joined in. Once there, the disheveled congregation went inside and threw themselves on the pews, fanning flushed faces with the palms and breathing deeply.

That morning would long be remembered in the lore of Butternut Creek.

G
ussie hurried home from church after the Easter service. Her parents refused to skip that Sunday. “I haven’t missed an Easter service in over sixty years,” her father had said. “Not going to let a little allergy problem stop me now.”

Gussie had learned years earlier not to challenge any pronouncement by her father that had a number of years in it.
I’ve been doing this for [fill in this blank with a number] years
always meant she’d better give in and give up.

But was that cough merely the symptom of allergies?

Oh, she worried too much.

“You’ve become a mother hen,” her mother often said. “Silly for a daughter to turn into a mother hen.” Then her mother would laugh.

However, the daughter didn’t find it amusing. Her parents were in their seventies, which meant both that she had every right to cluck over them and worry
and
that she probably had no reason to believe they would change in the least because they had arrived at this age on their own and were as stubborn as…as…well, as Gussie was.

Gussie pulled into the drive at exactly the same time her father went into a paroxysm of coughs. She glanced in the rearview mirror and asked, “Are you all right?” She wanted to take him to the hospital right now, but he waved at her and nodded because he couldn’t speak.

Mom turned. “Henry?”

“I’m fine,” he said between coughs. “I’ll get a peppermint to suck on.”

Of course, once they got inside, her father didn’t stop coughing but took a Benadryl, flipped on the television, and settled into the recliner to watch sports and nap.

“I breathe better sitting up,” he explained. Within minutes, he was asleep and the coughing had calmed.

Looked as if he was right. It had been allergies.

Adam’s first Easter in Butternut Creek. The men pulled out the huge wooden cross they’d made years ago to put in front of the sanctuary. Everyone brought flowers and put them in the holes drilled in the cross. Really pretty.

The service began with a processional to bring in the cross and candlesticks they’d removed from the altar for Maundy Thursday. Miss Birdie thought that seemed high church, but that didn’t deter Adam.

He looked around the sanctuary at a good crowd gathered to celebrate. Maybe one hundred, which still left empty pews in the big sanctuary. To begin the service, Mac played an introit on her trumpet, the clear notes sounding around them and calling them to celebrate.

The joy of Easter, the thought of Christians all over the world celebrating this triumphant day, overwhelmed him. Surrounded by flowers and faith and the family of believers, they came together as God’s people and rejoiced.

“Hallelujah,” he proclaimed to begin the service.

“George,” Ouida called from her dressing table in the master bedroom.

“Yes?” George’s slightly muffled voice came from his walk-in closet.

In the mirror, Ouida watched herself brushing her hair. “What would you think if I grew my hair longer?” she asked. “Do you think I’d look glamorous?”

She could hear his firm tread cross the carpet until she saw his reflection behind her, studying her. “No, I wouldn’t like it long. Keep it like this. I don’t want you to be glamorous.”

That firmly put her in her place as dowdy hausfrau. Oh, he didn’t mean it as an insult. George just didn’t like change.

She could see from his reflection that he held a pair of boxers in his hand. She’d have preferred to discuss those boxers another day, any other day, or perhaps never. She’d hoped he wouldn’t realize she hadn’t ironed them.

“I’ve noticed something.” He held that blasted undergarment up. “Yesterday, I felt very uncomfortable in my…you know, the part of the body where I wear my boxers.”

Poor George didn’t like to discuss anatomy, his or anyone else’s.

“Oh?” Ouida stopped rubbing cream onto her nose. Why she did that, she didn’t know. The freckles would never go away. Probably magical thinking, that if she stopped, more would pop out. Maybe she could add rubbing cream on her nose to the list of things she didn’t need to do. After all, George didn’t want her to be glamorous. She wiped her fingers off, then turned on the bench to study her husband.

“You didn’t iron my underwear.” He held up the slightly wrinkled but clean undergarment, one of the dozen she’d washed, smoothed out, and folded before placing them in his drawer yesterday.

“And the dresser scarves?” He reached out to place his hand on the exposed surface of the chest of drawers. “The pretty set my mother made for you. Where are they?”

“I decided we didn’t really need them. Who needs a newly washed, ironed, and starched runner nowadays?”

“I didn’t say we needed them, but they are pretty and my mother made them. I’d like them back.” He used the calm voice that expressed his need for her to do exactly what he wanted, as if explaining to someone with little understanding. He always seemed certain that if he expressed his wish logically and in everyday words, she’d comprehend the situation and change.

She hated it. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she hated that tone.

For a moment, she considered her options. George stood before her, tall and handsome and urbane even holding up a pair of his shorts. The man of her dreams, the man she’d loved for so long, but also the man who expected her to do exactly what he wanted.

When had she become a drudge with so little backbone? Ouida took a deep breath.

“George, with the girls and this big house, I had to cut back some. I can’t do everything.”

He raised an eyebrow, which made him more good-looking but twice as condescending.

She steeled herself. “I can’t do everything,” she repeated slowly in the same tone he used with her. “I’ve decided not to mop the kitchen floor every time someone enters, and not to iron your undershorts. I believe we can also get by without the dresser scarves.”

He took a few steps toward her, sat next to her on the bench, and took her hand. “Ouida, I work long hours.”

She nodded.

“We have a service to take care of the lawn. I work to pay all the bills. All I ask is for you to do your job inside the house. How much trouble can it be to take care of two little girls and to iron my boxers?” He handed her the garment, stood, and walked toward the bed.

She stifled a scream.

Adam woke up and glanced at the clock. Five fifteen. Still dark outside.

What had awakened him? He listened but heard nothing. He shoved the sheet over Chewy, who took up most of the bed, and got up to check on the kids. After he looked in on both and assured himself they were safe and still asleep, he went back to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Within seconds, he realized what had interfered with his sleep. Actually, who.

The Widows.

Yes, the Widows had appeared in a dream. No, in a nightmare. They’d all worn black Stetsons and toted .45s. Their appearance was probably an outlet for his anxiety about the looming crisis of Gussie’s coming to town and what the Widows had in mind for that afternoon.

For weeks he’d attempted to convince himself the Widows would limit themselves to serving refreshments at the youth meeting. He’d hoped they’d ignore their calling as matchmakers but he knew they wouldn’t. Matchmaking was in their blood, was their prime directive.

He’d call Sam tomorrow because if he’d ever needed a marine on his side, it would be this Sunday. He hadn’t seen much of Sam recently. His friend had married, become a father to two active sons, and was going to school. Not much time for more than watching a few basketball games together or meeting for pie, but
now
Sam needed to step up to the plate. Adam refused to face the Widows alone, and Sam owed him.

Gussie kept her eyes on the road. It was the Sunday after Easter and there weren’t huge numbers of cars roaring along. There were also no runaway trucks coming up behind to crash into her. No danger lurked behind the hills and fences that, if not studiously watched and carefully avoided, might leap ahead of her and wreak destruction.

No, it wasn’t the traffic or lack of it or the possible perils on the road that forced her to focus on her driving.

It was what awaited her in Butternut Creek. Not really a
what
but a
who.
A perfectly nice man, a minister who cared for his congregation. He’d built a youth program, taken in Hector and his sister, and seemed to be getting along with Miss Birdie. From what she’d heard, that was a feat few other ministers had managed.

Yes, a nice, tall, skinny minister awaited her arrival with, from what he had emailed, the four young people she knew from the church and ten or twelve of their friends who didn’t go to church regularly. Those kids were important. Involvement in church camp and retreats could change their lives.

Right now she didn’t care about a single one of those young people. Right now she wanted to turn around, go back home, and hide in her room.

But she’d been hiding for years and it hadn’t solved a single problem. Oh, yes, at first it had helped. She’d healed in solitude with her parents around to feed her and care for her, to soothe and love her. But after a few weeks, they’d forced her out of that cocoon. The right thing to do, of course, but she’d felt safer back then. Today she felt vulnerable and just plain scared.

Oh, she knew perfectly well she and Adam would be surrounded by fifteen youths, which would cut down on any frightening experiences. But the Widows would be there also. From what everyone said, they could make life incredibly embarrassing.

Thank goodness the Widows didn’t know about the flash of attraction she’d felt for Adam. Gussie usually succeeded very well in hiding from her emotions since…since back then, over a decade ago. She had a terrible feeling that if she accepted the fact she was attracted to Adam, all those other feelings that hovered barely below the surface of her mind would flood back, engulfing and destroying her.

At one forty-five, she pulled into the church parking lot. Two or three cars were parked by the entrance to the fellowship hall. Could be there were so few because she was early. Could be some of the young people hadn’t driven.

Could be she was stalling and didn’t want to go inside.

Most merciful God…
But she didn’t finish. She refused to pray that Adam had a slight fever that would go away as soon as the meeting was over. He’d have to miss the gathering so he wouldn’t infect the kids and she wouldn’t have to face him.

No, praying for the illness of others to make her life more comfortable did not constitute an acceptable petition, certainly not one made to a merciful and loving God. In fact, the only option was a quick
Dear God, grant me wisdom and courage.
With that, she opened the door, grabbed her purse and tote, and got out of the car.

“Hi!” Bree came running out of the church and waved. “We’re so glad to see you. Let me help you.” She grabbed Gussie’s tote.

The loss of that bag pretty much cut off Gussie’s plan to escape. The tote held her brain: all the information she needed about youth work in Central Texas, her calendars and schedules. Yes, her brain. It held records of all those things she did to make up for not having a real life. With no other option, she followed Bree and her brain into the fellowship hall.

A dozen kids milled around inside. No sign of Adam. She hoped he really wasn’t sick. Maybe an emergency had come up. But, no, she couldn’t wish a disaster, not even a small one of short duration, on others for her own well-being.

On the other side of the kitchen counter were Miss Birdie, Mercedes, and two women she hadn’t met before, both with nicely coiffed hair. All four women smiled at her. She was used to a friendly Mercedes, but the curve that might pass as a smile on Miss Birdie’s thin lips frightened her. Why, she couldn’t explain, but it contained enough glee that Gussie wanted to run back to her car.

“Hello, Gussie!”

She turned to see Adam. He looked friendly and glad to see her but nothing more.

Was that reaction good news or bad news? If he didn’t feel anything for her, she should rejoice. She didn’t want a relationship. They could become messy. On the other hand, what kind of social incompetent did it make her that she was attracted to him and he liked her only as a person, as a friend, as a colleague?

Ugh. She refused to consider either of those choices, not now. She had a meeting to lead.

Unfortunately, she glanced into the kitchen and saw the intense scrutiny of the four women there. A chill invaded every cell of her body. She resolved not to show fear but she knew she wouldn’t get out of here unscathed.

“Hey, Gussie,” Hector said. He and Bobby walked over, each clutching the arm of a friend. “Want you to meet a couple of my friends.” He nodded toward them. “This is Junior Rodriguez, and Bobby’s friend is Mark Scroggins.”

She shook their hands, then asked, “Do you play basketball, too?” After a few minutes of chatting about sports, the visitors looked a lot more relaxed. They probably thought because they were inside a church, she’d force them to confess their sins and repent publicly. The conversation ended when Bree called out, “Let’s come together. It’s nearly two o’clock.”

Gussie spoke for ten minutes, then the four who’d been to the retreat gave a quick talk about their experiences. Bobby’s comments were short and precise: “It was fun but we had to take out trash and wipe down tables.”

At two thirty, they broke for refreshments and the fun began. Or, the mortification. The description pretty much depended on which side one favored.

“Gussie, I want you to meet our two newest Widows.” Mercedes approached and introduced Winnie and Blossom.

“Aren’t you the prettiest thing,” Blossom said in a soft voice.

Gussie knew she wasn’t all that pretty but didn’t mind the compliment. Then the platinum-blond Widow took Gussie’s right hand in what seemed at first a gentle clasp but turned into an iron grip with which she led Gussie toward the sofa where—not surprisingly—Miss Birdie had shoved Adam down on the cushions and now sat next to him.