The Matchmakers (5 page)

“There are those times when God expects us to move forward,” the teacher was saying. “We cannot always sit back and expect Him to do everything on our behalf. Sometimes God needs to almost push us from the nest. Make us test our wings. Grow up and take charge of our life.”

Is this one of those times?
Cynthia asked herself.
Is God pushing me forward? Making me grow?

“But we must be careful to be prayerful and obedient to His leading.”

Ah—there was the catch. Had she been prayerful? Obedient? Or was she simply taking matters into her own hands?

Cynthia bowed her head and closed her eyes tightly. A heartfelt little prayer rose heavenward. With humility she asked her Father to help her to use wisdom—to stay in step, to accept His will. Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes. She would meddle no more. Unless, of course, she really felt God directing her—no, that was silly. God didn’t need her meddling. He was quite able to work things out in His own way.

But Judith? Judith already had things in motion. There was no way for Cynthia to back out now. Was there? No, it wouldn’t be fair to Judith.

She would go to dinner next Sunday as promised. But she would do nothing—
nothing
to push her father into any kind of a relationship with the widow woman.

“So what did you think of her?”

Judith’s question did not come until the following Saturday when they met for coffee. This time Cynthia understood exactly who she meant. The woman had been on her mind all week. Still, she did not have an answer. “What do you mean? I won’t even meet her until tomorrow.”

“But what’s your impression?”

“You mean—?”

“How did you think she looked? Oh, I know we’re not to judge by … by appearance, but you can tell something.”

“I didn’t see her.”

“Didn’t see her? She was right there with  … with P.C.”

“I didn’t look.”

“You didn’t! You mean you didn’t even look to see what—?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But how could you resist? I mean—”

“Look, Jude, I’ve  … I’ve decided not to get involved. I mean if—”

“You promised. The kids are all pumped up about having your boys there for dinner. I’ve made the frozen dessert. Cal has—”

“I’ll still come for dinner.”

Judith’s face showed her relief, but then she frowned. “Just what are you saying?”

“I will come for dinner. I will bring Daddy with me. You may introduce him to  … to the Westons. But I will not try to manipulate things so  … so they will—you know.”

“I didn’t think the intention was ever to do any manipulating. You said yourself that your father would never be pushed into anything.”

“I know. But—”

“Then I don’t see how you can call inviting people for dinner manipulation or anything like it.” Judith’s voice held some indignation.

“Well, it’s not really—maybe. It’s not what we’ve—what I’ve done. It’s what I
wanted
to do—that’s the manipulation.”

“And what did you want to do?”

Cynthia blushed. “Cut it out. You know as well as I do.”

“Marry off your father so you could have a life,” Judith stated simply.

It sounded absolutely awful.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be in charge of your own life,” Judith continued.

“Yes. Yes, there is. That’s just the whole point. God is in charge of my life. I’m not to be taking things into my own hands and trying to work them out to suit my whims.”

“This is hardly a whim, Cynthie.”

“Well, it is. Really. It’s easy to think that I know what’s best for me. But only God really knows that. I need to … to just trust Him to work things out.”

Judith nodded in agreement. “But the dinner is still on?”

Cynthia nodded back. “The dinner—yes. But no funny stuff. No trying to get the two of them off by themselves or—”

“We’re not dealing with teenagers here,” retorted Judith impatiently. “Nobody’s going to try to shove these two mature adults at each other.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just this  … this whole thing has me sort of on edge. I don’t want to jump in and interfere where I have no business. We need God’s will in this.”

“Listened closely last Sunday, did we?” said Judith, breaking off a section of her orange muffin.

Cynthia could not help but smile. She shrugged. “Okay. So I listened. I think the lesson might have been meant just for me.”

“Oh, I needed it a bit too. Cal reminded me of that on the way home.”

They looked at each other and shared a grin.

“We’ll do the dinner thing—” began Judith.

“And we won’t manipulate,” added Cynthia.

“And we’ll just see what happens with it.”

Cynthia nodded. “Deal!”

They turned to their morning pastries and ordered cups of fresh coffee. But it wasn’t long until Cynthia noticed an impish smile playing about her friend’s mouth.

“What’s with you?”

Judith tossed her head. “Nothing.”

“There is too. I can see it brewing.”

“I was just thinking, wouldn’t it be fun if it happened anyway? Without us. Well … maybe not totally without us. Maybe we’ll need to—you know—give just a wee nudge in the right direction.”

“Jude!”

“What? You know perfectly well that sometimes God expects us to do our part.”

Judith’s eyes were twinkling again. Cynthia knew she was teasing. At least she hoped so.

Chapter Three

Introductions All Around

Cynthia was so uptight that her hands felt clammy. The little glances she kept casting toward her father all the way to the Wrights’ house didn’t help, even though he seemed perfectly calm. He looked serene, relaxed.
How can he feel so totally at ease with what lies ahead?
she wondered rather illogically. Because, of course, he didn’t know. It was only Judith who shared her secret. Maybe Cal. Cal had advised caution. He must know a little about what was being schemed.

In the backseat Todd and Justin were fairly bouncing with excitement. Then Cynthia realized how long it had been since the boys had enjoyed such an outing. That was one more thing she missed because Roger was gone. They were no longer invited out to visit with other families. Not like they used to be when exchanging Sunday dinner invitations was a common occurrence.

Cynthia was wise enough to realize that her father’s marriage, should he ever decide to take the plunge sometime in the future, would not change that circumstance. She and her boys still would not be seen as a whole family. Acknowledging the reality made her feel almost panicky. Would she give up her father, only to be even worse off than before? Maybe she should try once more to get out of today’s dinner date.

But her father was already easing his Chevy into the Wrights’ driveway. A sleek black Olds already occupied the left. The other guests obviously were already being entertained.

Cynthia felt her stomach knot. But already the boys were clambering out of the car. The Wright boys were jumping up and down on the front steps, calling words of boisterous welcome to their friends. There was no turning back now. Cynthia steeled herself and opened her car door.

Cal Wright was standing behind his excited offspring. He opened the door with a broad smile to welcome his new guests. Cynthia entered the home to which she had been admitted so many times over the years, feeling uncomfortably like a stranger.

Judith had outdone herself, Cynthia noticed. Never had she seen the homey place so polished. No magazines carelessly tossed on the coffee table. No kids’ toys under the skirt of the sofa or peeking out from between the cushions. Every piece of furniture was gleaming. Cynthia could still smell the lemon of the furniture polish. And the carpet showed only a few indentations where visitors’ feet had made their way to easy chairs.

She must have worked all Saturday,
Cynthia told herself and then remembered that Judith had Cal to help her. He was good with the vacuum, Judith had often boasted. Their eldest, Erin, was old enough now to be a real help to her mother with household chores also.

Still, Cynthia knew enough about family life to know that it took effort and organization to get the room so spotless, and even more effort to keep it that way from Saturday to Sunday afternoon. Judith likely had banned her family from the room.

Cynthia felt herself being gently nudged forward. Aware of her father’s hand in the small of her back, she moved into the room. Already Cal was saying, “This is Cynthia Longley,” and the man occupying the plaid chair by the fireplace was rising to his feet. Cynthia let her eyes meet those of the attorney and wondered if he could read her mind. Did he know that she had been part of a plot to pair his widowed mother with her father? She felt her face warm as she reached to accept the offered hand.

Her father’s turn to give the masculine hand a hearty shake meant that Cynthia, relieved, was able to turn away.

A slight rustle to her left brought her head around. A lively looking woman stepped through the door from the kitchen, a big apron wrapped around her small frame. Her face was flushed a rosy pink and her forehead looked slightly moist. But the honey-blond hair was perfectly coifed and a warm twinkle lit her blue eyes.

“And this is Mrs. Weston,” Cal was saying, indicating the bustling figure. Cynthia blinked. What was Mrs. Weston doing in Judith’s kitchen—looking like she belonged? Looking very motherly.

The woman came forward, indicating the big apron with a good-natured sweep of her hand. “Judith was kind enough to find me one of her mother’s aprons,” she explained, still with that twinkle. “Dinner smells delicious. I never could stay out of kitchens.”

She laughed, the sound soft and musical.

She wiped a hand on her apron before she extended it. “I do hope there’s no gravy on it,” she said with another chuckle. “You must be Cynthia, Judith’s friend. I’m so happy to meet you.”

Cynthia’s head was spinning. Had she been able to paint a picture of the perfect woman for her father, it would have looked just like Mrs. Weston.

She accepted the hand and managed to mumble something she hoped made some kind of sense.

“And this is Paul Standard, Cynthia’s father,” Cal continued. She watched in awed silence as her father acknowledged the introduction and exchanged easy pleasantries with the widow lady.

“If you’ll excuse me, Judith can use my help,” the woman said with a warm smile that included them all, and she disappeared again through the kitchen door.

Cynthia managed to find her senses. “I’ll … I’ll give a hand too,” she murmured to no one in particular and followed Mrs. Weston to Judith’s kitchen.

She was afraid to look directly at Judith. Surely her own eyes would betray her secret. Her astonishment. Her desire. She had promised not to meddle, and she had every intention of keeping that promise. Yet—it would be so hard. Not to encourage. Not to nudge a bit. Not to pry enough to find out just what her father was thinking about this new member of their congregation.

Cynthia found a small task and busied herself. The two ladies working beside her chatted as though they were old friends. From the living room came the rumble of male voices, punctuated often by hearty laughter. Somewhere in the dim distance, children’s voices called to one another. Cynthia knew they were in the basement family room, but she paid little attention to the rise and fall of childish chatter.

Before Cynthia had fully gathered her thoughts, Judith was asking Cal to call the children. The meal was ready to be served.

There was a good deal of commotion as the children, all five of them, scampered up from the basement and washed their hands at the bathroom sink as instructed. As the eldest and the only girl, Erin seemed to automatically take over. Soon she had her charges lined up, still-damp hands tucked behind their backs or fidgeting impatiently at their sides as they waited for grown-up instructions about where to sit.

Judith had managed to get eleven chairs around her dining room table. Cal announced the seating arrangements, and with a minimum of bustle and noise under the circumstances, they all found their places.

“This is so nice,” spoke Mrs. Weston warmly after the grace was said, looking around with her bright smile. “I always wanted a big family. God didn’t choose to bless us with one, but this  … this is next best. Sharing with others.”

“You have just the one son?” asked Cynthia’s father, who sat next to her, thanks to Judith’s arrangements.

“Just the one. But I couldn’t ask for a better one.” She gave her son a warm smile.

What else could a mother say?
thought Cynthia.
I’d say the same thing myself under similar circumstances.

“And I have just the one daughter,” her father continued the conversation.

Cynthia prayed fervently that he wouldn’t say she was the best he could possibly have. He didn’t.

“And two grandsons,” went on her father, proudly gracing Todd and Justin with a broad smile.

“Two grandsons,” the woman repeated. “Well, you certainly are one up on me there. I can’t wait for grandchildren. Must be so much fun.”

“Oh, it is. Keeps me young. And busy.” Cynthia’s father was still smiling as he looked at his boys.