The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (11 page)

“That’s what church growth is all about,” the professor explained. “Call on your visitors, invite others to come, whatever it takes to keep the worms warm.”

And that pretty much described what Adam planned to do about Gussie. With every email, he could stay in touch while he worked up the courage to be more active and to figure out what to do next. He could never tell her that, of course, because he felt pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a mouthful of worms.

As hysterical as the afternoon had been, Gussie realized one important fact: The Widows would cause great havoc if they continued to play matchmakers. She had little doubt that they’d keep trying. Adam had said the Widows felt flush with victory. Perhaps that explained it. Their success with Sam and his wife primed them for more efforts toward getting their minister married. After all, they had much more invested in getting Adam married than they had in finding Sam a wife.

Although the afternoon had amused her, she felt mortified that she and Adam had been placed in this situation. If he were at all interested in her, he’d have made a move, called her, asked her out. The fact that he hadn’t but Miss Birdie and her co-conspirators had forced them together embarrassed her deeply. It showed so obviously that the chemistry was one-sided.

Had anyone noticed how much Adam attracted her?

And yet, if not, why had the Widows chosen her for Adam? Had they seen her longing? No, impossible. They’d never seen her and Adam together. They were operating on hope, nothing more. Her usual good humor kicked in and she laughed so hard she nearly drove off the highway.

That evening as Adam watched Janey do her homework in the kitchen, Hector threw himself onto a chair.

“I don’t have enough money to take anyone to prom.”

Mentally, Adam replaced the word
anyone
with
Bree
.

“A girl expects all sorts of stuff like flowers,” Hector complained. “Some of the guys are going together, pooling their money for a limo. With my friends, fifty of us would have to pool our money.”

Guess he’d better start giving Hector an allowance. With basketball and school on top of taking care of Janey and the work he did around the church, which didn’t pay much, Hector didn’t have time to get another job and keep his grades up, too.

“Wish I could help more.”

“Hey Pops, I understand.”

The kid needed some spending money, some—what had his friends called it?—walking-around money. For a few seconds, Adam considered the trust fund money his own father had put aside for him. He’d decided against living on it, but couldn’t he share a little with Hector? No, he couldn’t. It went against Adam’s principles. He didn’t mind tapping a parent for a worthy project here and there, but not that trust fund money. He’d never wanted to be a person who lived on someone else’s wealth. If he started to accept a little here and a couple of hundred there, he might end up buying more stuff, like a new car that didn’t have things falling off it and couldn’t make the trip to Austin without constant prayer and Rex’s laying on of hands. No, he aimed to support himself on his own money.

“Bobby thought he’d get the family car, but his father has to go in for a late shift.”

Bobby’s father worked as an aide at the hospital and always tried to take on extra shifts.

“We thought about walking to the civic center but that’s not cool.” He grinned. “Of course, driving your car to the prom isn’t too cool, either, but if we park it down the street, no one will see it.”

“You going to meet up with anyone there?” Adam asked casually.

“Maybe. I asked Bree to save me a couple of dances.” Hector grinned. “Pops, how’re you going to get to the prom. You’re a chaperone again, right?”

Adam nodded. “The Episcopal priest’s picking me up. Ministers are very popular chaperones. We seem to exude morality and serve as examples of honor and virtue.”
And
, he added to himself,
celibacy
.

Friday before prom, Adam dropped by the diner, sat at the counter, and ordered a cup of coffee. “Prom tomorrow,” he said to Miss Birdie.

“None of the girls are in school today,” she said as she filled a cup and placed it in front of him. “The juniors spent the morning decorating the civic center. This afternoon the girls get their hair done.”

“They skip school to get ready for a dance?”

“Preacher, this is the
prom
we’re talking about.” She leaned forward to scrutinize him as if he were an alien being. “Tradition. Elmer took me. Our first date. It’s a special evening. Missing one day of school won’t hurt.”

Adam nodded. Probably not something a man could understand, especially an outlander like him.

“Bree’s so excited. She got a new dress and sparkly shoes. Problem is, the heels are so tall and thin that she walks like she’s got a basketball between her knees. I’m afraid she’s going to fall on her face. Tonight she’s going to practice dancing and moving in them.” She shook her head and smiled. “She tried everything on yesterday. Looked real pretty when she wasn’t walking.”

“She have a date?”

“No, she’s going with a bunch of friends. They do that.” She picked up a fresh pot of coffee and topped off his cup before she headed toward her other patrons. Going table-to-table, she freshened everyone’s coffee until she arrived at one where Farley Masterson sat. Adam had met the man a few weeks ago when Farley visited the Christian Church. Adam didn’t know why he’d showed up; he usually attended the Methodist Church.

Just as she had when she’d spotted Farley in church, the pillar carefully headed away, pretending not to see the man. If she hadn’t been so obvious, she could have carried it off. But she had and she didn’t.

Farley grinned and shouted, “I’m gettin’ to you, aren’t I, Bird?”

Miss Birdie mumbled something and kept her eyes away from him while she served another table.

Did the pillar have an admirer? Looked to Adam as if Farley fancied Miss Birdie.

Well, don’t that beat all
, he thought. He almost patted himself on the back as he noticed how much he’d improved his use of Texas phrases. He understood Texan a lot better, too. Now, if only he could use
fixin’
without thinking about it, he’d sound like a true citizen of the Hill Country.

While Adam was congratulating himself, Farley looked up at the ceiling and said, “That fan pulls right smart through here, don’t it?”

Adam had no idea what the man had said. Obviously his vocabulary hadn’t grown as much as he’d hoped.

Along with most of the ministers in town and dozens of parents, Adam chaperoned the prom. The adults circling the walls, at the refreshments table, and guarding every door made sure that, at least until midnight arrived and the kids adjourned to post-prom activities, no one had the slightest opportunity to misbehave. If they did, punishment would follow immediately, administered by a throng of the righteous.

When he first entered, Adam glanced toward the photographer, hoping to see Gussie. Silly because she’d have let him know if she were coming, but still he hoped. No, a man set up the equipment in front of a large sketch of the Eiffel Tower under an
EVENING IN PARIS
banner.

The kids were having a great time. Hector and Bree danced in a distant corner, as far away from Adam as they could find. None of the kids knew how to slow-dance. They embraced and moved around the floor like Siamese twins joined at the shoulders. They performed the fast dances with jerky and repetitive movements. He shouldn’t laugh because, all long arms and legs, he bet he’d looked goofier at his prom.

“Hey, you’re looking good.” His friend Mattie, the minister of the Presbyterian Church, stood next to him and put her arm through his.

Had he changed in any way? Yes, he had to admit he had, a little. He’d bought some new shirts at Bealls to replace the old ones that were so tight around the neck. Tonight he’d worn a daring light blue one instead of the usual white. With it, he had on one of the ties Blossom had given him when she cleaned out her husband’s closet, black with light blue swirls. Far more exciting than the three ties he already possessed.

Mattie looked nice in a dressy dress that showed more leg and décolletage than he’d ever seen a minister display. Not that she looked cheap or showed too much, but she didn’t look much like a lady preacher tonight.

He knew well enough not to tell her she looked
nice
. “Great dress,” he said. “I like your hair.” She’d piled it on top of her head with little curls dangling down. “You look different tonight.” At her frown, he added, “In a good way.”

She studied him for a moment, “You know, you are getting better looking. Not as scrawny as you were when I first met you. Maybe you’ve finally stopped growing and reached the age you can put on a little muscle.”

Had she really said something nice about him, in which case he should thank her? Or had she merely moved him up the scale one step, from scrawny to just plain skinny. That didn’t feel at all like a compliment.

Then she smiled and squeezed his arm. For a moment, he panicked. She’d looked at him as if he were a man instead of the eunuch who served the Christian Church.

Fortunately, one of the junior girls pulled Mattie’s arm. “I need you to help me. My dress ripped a little.”

Mattie hurried off and Adam, perfectly content not to wonder about Mattie’s message, watched the dancers with less of an eagle eye than the pillar expected him to use.

“Hey, Preacher,” Gabe Borden said. He’d been a hotshot guard five or six years earlier at UT, where he’d been nicknamed “Flash.” Adam had heard of Flash and followed his career. After a couple of years in the NBA, Gabe retired. No known injuries, simply stopped playing and went back to school for a master’s degree and worked as an assistant at UT. He’d landed the job of head basketball coach at Butternut Creek High School nearly a year earlier.

“How’re you doing, Coach?”

“Okay. Having fun?” Gabe looked across the crowd of students.

Adam sometimes questioned the evenhandedness of whoever dispensed physical gifts. Gabe had everything. He looked like…well, like a former NBA player. Handsome, confident, and charismatic. From what Adam heard, the man had invested well, had piles of money, and sponsored several charities. However, Adam had two inches on him, which evened things out a bit.

Here in Butternut Creek, Gabe attempted to look like a normal guy but he wasn’t. He could wear jeans from Walmart, cheap T-shirts, and knockoff athletic shoes and still look like an ad for men’s cologne. But Adam couldn’t help but like him. That charisma.

“How did you get dragged in?” Adam asked.

“I’m a junior class sponsor, one of the joys of teaching here. We spent most of the day setting up. Fortunately, I like being around high school kids. I’m not as fond of wrapping flowers around poles or covering the ceiling with dark blue crepe paper.”

“Lovely. Looks just like Paris.”

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

“Yes, but this is still pretty good for a makeover of the community center.” Then Adam tossed out the words, “Coach, do you have a church home?”

Gabe didn’t respond. Instead he seemed busy ignoring a willowy blond chaperone who had her eye on him.

“English teacher, recent divorcée,” Gabe explained. “She’s aggressive, but not quite as pushy as a minister who asks if you have a church home when he’s chaperoning the prom. No, not nearly as pushy, but close.”

After a few seconds of silence during which Adam felt warned not to ask again but pleased that he had made an effort to reach out, the coach said, “I want to talk to you about Hector.” Gabe’s eyes searched the crowd for the young man.

“Is there a problem?” Adam hoped not. Next to Janey, basketball was Hector’s life.

“Not really. I wanted to pick your brain, get your opinion. I’m thinking about changing his position from a three to a two, from small forward to shooting guard or maybe what they call a point forward, a combination.”

“You know I’m not his guardian, right? That he’s an emancipated minor. He lives with me, but I don’t tell him what to do. Much.”

“I don’t expect you to, but you know something about basketball so I thought I’d talk this over with you.” He paused. “You know, Hector’s too thin and too short to play forward in college. He’s not a wide body, which is what everyone looks for.”

Adam nodded.

“He’s a smart kid and a great shooter, good passer. To play guard, he has to improve his ball-handling skills. With my background, I can work with him, coach him to be a guard.”

Oh, yeah, Flash would be a great teacher for Hector. “Makes sense. You think more schools would be interested in him as a guard?”

“I think he’ll add more to the team and attract more attention as a guard than a forward. What is he? Six-three? Six-four? But he needs to bulk up a lot to play as a wide body.”

“Do you know how much that kid eats? If I didn’t have the same problem putting on weight, I’d wonder where all that food goes.”

“Yeah, he works out in the weight room for hours but can’t build muscle. Too young.”

For a minute or so, the two men watched the young people dance and listened to the music.

“I’d like to have him dribble the ball everywhere he goes to make him more comfortable with it. Are you on board with this?”

“Sure,” Adam started but before he could say more, a student looking very sophisticated in a long red dress took Gabe’s arm and pulled him into the crowd to dance.

Adam laughed at Gabe’s discomfort until another young woman grabbed him.

M
ay whirled past. After prom, Adam attended the spring sports award ceremony, the choir concert at the high school and one at Janey’s elementary school, track meets, and everything else that crowded the last days of the school year. In no time, summer church camp loomed ahead. He’d see Gussie for almost a week.

Here was his chance: the promise of six days together, nearly a week to pursue…no, to court…no, to woo…Oh, forget what verb he should use. He wanted to get to know her better and to find out if she felt anything for him. He’d accept the tiniest spark in the hope he could fan it into a great passion; he’d even settle for a warm ember of interest.

He and Gussie had kept up their emails for six weeks, most of them professional about the coming events and also sent to the other adults who’d attend.

But every now and then, he thought of something that happened at church or a particularly Miss Birdie moment he wanted to share with her or news about the youth group. From time to time, she’d answer. They fell into a comfortable and, sadly, friendly rhythm.

Senior high camp started June 8. In addition to the five who’d gone to the retreat, three more kids from the high school were joining them. For that reason, the elders had rented them a larger but utilitarian van.

So much went on the first day and evening, Adam had no chance to put his plan to woo Gussie into action. Crowds of people surrounded Gussie at every moment, asking questions, seeking direction, or just plain talking to her because she was so much fun to talk to.

Adam waved and smiled at her, and she returned a harried grin. He couldn’t get close to her.

He glanced down at the sheaf of papers she’d shoved at him in passing. She’d prepared the list of patrols, and they were not together. He’d ended up with Mrs. Hayes, who taught high school French in Liberty Hill. Gussie had paired herself with the minister from San Antonio. Maybe he could switch with Jimmy. No, that would call too much attention to his interest.

Monday morning, he got a call that Jesse’s brother had died and he needed to get back for funeral arrangements.

“I hate to leave,” he told Gussie.

“I understand.” She didn’t look unhappy about his departure.

Had he hoped she’d cry? Throw herself at his feet and beg him to stay because she couldn’t stand to spend the week without him? Or, maybe more realistically, look a tiny bit disappointed? Would’ve been nice.

“You’ll be short a male counselor,” he said.

She shrugged. “Nothing we can do about that. Your church member needs you.” She placed her hand on his arm, then pulled it away quickly.

What was that about?

“I’ll be back after the funeral.”

But when he got back to Butternut Creek, every emergency possible hit. The mother of a member had gone into hospice and the family asked for his visits. The niece of a friend of Mercedes needed to get married. Maggie scheduled the wedding for Thursday evening as well as sessions with the bride and groom Tuesday and Wednesday.

On Wednesday, he called Gussie to tell her he wouldn’t be back and that he’d pick up the youth on Friday at noon.

So much for wooing or courting or even speaking to Gussie.

Adam said a quick word to Gussie when he picked up the kids but nothing more. The place was chaos, and after driving to the hospice in Lubbock twice to spend time with ailing members and their families, he’d worn himself out.

The kids squeezed into the van, stowing the luggage under their seats and in the aisle. Most fell asleep almost as soon as Adam turned on the ignition.

As he drove out, Adam saw Gussie in the middle of a group of kids, laughing and attempting to point them toward the waiting cars.

“Sorry you had to miss camp, Pops,” Hector said from the passenger seat.

Adam pulled out on the highway and sped up. He enjoyed a vehicle with acceleration.

“Yeah, wish I could have been there.” Adam looked in the rearview mirror to see Bree sleeping in a seat next to her sister. “Why aren’t you sitting with Bree?”

“Haven’t seen you for a while. Wanted to catch up. Too bad you weren’t able to see more of Gussie.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Hector grinned. “Don’t make me spell it out. You gotta know Mac can’t keep a secret for long.”

Adam groaned.

“We’re gonna keep it quiet. Don’t worry.” He slid his hat over his eyes. “But, you know, I’m beginning to think God doesn’t want you and Gussie together.” Then he pretended to fall asleep.

At least, Adam believed the sleep to be feigned. He bet Hector had been warned by junior matchmaker Mac not to push.

Hector did bring up a good point. Why did he have such bad luck around Gussie? Before the week of camp, he’d had such high hopes. Seemed like he was snakebit. Nothing worked out as planned.

Maybe the kid was right. God didn’t want him and Gussie together. Maybe God was doing everything a deity could do to keep them apart because He had different plans for them.

Of all the stupid ideas. Like God would kill Jesse’s brother or have a teenager get pregnant and ask for a quick wedding—all just so Adam didn’t have a chance to court Gussie.

Adam always thought God was busy enough with the universe that He didn’t mess in people’s lives or favor certain football teams despite the fact that in Texas, a majority believed He was a rabid fan of the Cowboys. Adam preferred to think God was more concerned with opening hearts so the hungry could be fed and the naked clothed and wars stopped.

The sort of thinking that made people believe God was the mighty micromanager who did petty things to mess people up or solve the small problems they could take care of themselves always astounded him. Reminded him of his aunt Hazel who believed God had nearly killed her in a car wreck and put her in a coma to get her to stop smoking. Surely, Adam had always thought, the creator of the heavens and the earth, omniscient and omnipotent, could have come up with a better plan than almost killing the woman now to save her from dying of lung cancer later.

If a Gussie-and-Adam combination truly didn’t suit God’s plans, then God could make this far easier by putting a lovely single young woman in Butternut Creek to distract him from Gussie. However, he truly didn’t—couldn’t—believe God worked that way, like a great matchmaker in the sky.

For a moment, Adam considered the idea that God had franchised that arm of the business to the Widows. If they had a divine covenant for their efforts, he might as well give in, accept the inevitable, and marry whoever they found.

Gussie watched the packed van drive off and bemoaned the fact she hadn’t seen much of Adam.

“He’s a hottie, isn’t he?”

Oh, my Lord. Had she said those words out loud?

Gussie looked to her left to see Marcy Swenson, one of the college students who had come to camp as an assistant counselor.

“Who?” Gussie glanced at the girl.

“Reverend Jordan,” Marcy said.

“Adam?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Marcy whistled. “How could you not see that?”

“He’s a very nice young man. The young people from his church really like him.”

Marcy’s mouth dropped open. “You haven’t noticed?” She jabbed Gussie in the side with her elbow. “Why don’t you ask him out? You’re about the same age. You’re both single. He’s hot and you’re hot, for your age.”

With those depressing words, Marcy took off to help her campers load their cars.

Hot for her age? Gussie had no idea how to respond to that statement. Probably better to dismiss it and concentrate on getting camp cleared.

Adam hated middle-of-the-night phone calls. He always hoped they were wrong numbers or drunks who couldn’t dial, but most often they came from a church member in trouble. Last month it had been a heart attack and a quick trip to Austin.

By the third ring, he was sufficiently awake to grab the phone. “Adam Jordan,” he said.

“Ouida fell. She wants you to come over.”

“I’ll be right there,” Adam said before he realized George had already hung up.

It took only minutes to dress, comb his hair, and push his feet into Nikes before he ran out of the house to the Kowalskis’ front door.

Before he could knock, George opened the door and pulled Adam inside. “She’s right there.”

He pointed with a shaking finger as if Adam couldn’t see Ouida lying motionless at the bottom of the steps, a small pool of blood growing where her hand lay close to a few shards of glass.

For a moment Adam could only stare. Was she dead? “Did you call nine-one-one? What happened?”

George nodded. “Called them right before I called you.” For a moment, he struggled to speak. “She fell.”

Ouida moaned. Adam strode toward her and knelt.

“Hey, Preacher,” she whispered.

At least she was coherent and awake. Good. But she didn’t move, her leg bent at an odd angle, and she was so pale she was the same color as her light blue nightgown now liberally spotted with red.

Shock. He tried to remember the first-aid course he’d had years ago. Treatment for shock: Cover the patient, keep her warm, and raise her head. Or maybe raise her feet. He couldn’t remember which but that didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to touch her. EMS would do that.

“Cold,” she whispered.

“Get some blankets,” Adam said. “Or coats. Something to cover her.”

When George didn’t move, Adam stood and, in two steps, reached the front closet. He opened it and pulled the winter coats out. None felt very heavy—in Texas, no one had thick, warm coats—until he found a tan topcoat, which he lay across Ouida.

“That’s my best coat,” George protested. When Adam glared at him, he added, “But, of course, that’s fine.”

With Ouida covered, Adam carefully picked the largest shards of glass off the floor before anyone could get cut. He stood to toss them in a decorative thingy in the entrance hall, then turned to study George. How was he doing? As he’d have guessed, George wore silk pajamas and nice leather slippers. Other than the man’s pallor, George looked like his usual, well-turned-out self: great haircut with minimal bed head, immaculately clothed for the occasion, and in charge. Except, of course, George’s bewildered expression showed he wasn’t in charge and had no idea what to do next except to pace at a safe distance from the puddle of blood.

With a glance around the hallway and upstairs—no sign of Carol or Gretchen yet—Adam pulled out his cell and hit speed dial. After a few rings, Bree answered. Or maybe it was Mac.

“Hey, I need you at the Kowalskis’. Ouida fell. Can you two and your grandmother come over? ASAP?”

“Who is this?” the young woman mumbled.

“Adam Jordan.”

“Oh, yeah, Preacher.” She yawned. “This is Bree.”

“Bring your grandmother, too. Okay?” When Bree didn’t say anything—had she fallen back to sleep?—Adam said, “We need you now, for Carol and Gretchen.”

“Of course,” she said, immediately awake. “Be right there.”

As sirens sounded from a few blocks away, Adam knelt next to Ouida. Still pale. Still cold.

He glanced up the stairs to see a floppy slipper on the sixth step up. Didn’t take a genius to see what happened: Ouida had slipped, fallen, and landed here, probably broken her leg. Cut her hand on something. Those were the obvious injuries.

George had stopped pacing and hovered about five feet away. “Should we get her on the sofa?” George asked. “Make her comfortable?”

“No, the paramedics need to decide that.”

“I fell,” she whispered. “Hurts.” Then she started to gag.

“George,” Adam motioned toward him. “Why don’t you come hold Ouida’s hand.”

“He doesn’t like blood or vomit,” she whispered.

Who did? Neither was among Adam’s favorite fluids.

“Thirsty.”

“I’ll get water.” George grabbed the reason to escape and ran toward the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints behind him.

They wouldn’t give Ouida anything to drink, that was a decision for the paramedics, but the errand got George out of the way and doing something purposeful. Maybe that would either calm him down or rouse him. Adam had no idea which George needed.

Ouida attempted to move, then stopped and groaned.

Thrashing and anxiety, those meant something but darned if he could remember what. He’d take another first-aid course as soon as possible.

When the sirens stopped outside the house, Adam jumped to his feet to open the door. The paramedics ran up the walk and into the house, then took in the scene.

“I’m Shelley,” the lead paramedic said. “That’s Aaron.” Within seconds both she and the stocky EMT knelt next to Ouida, threw the overcoat on the floor, and examined her.

“Mommy.”

Adam glanced up the stairs to see Carol and Gretchen sobbing and holding hands.

“Mommy,” Carol shouted over and over. And all this time, George stood to the side of the action holding the tumbler of water.

“George.” Adam pointed toward the girls. “Take care of them.”

George didn’t move. If his color hadn’t looked fairly normal, Adam might have guessed he suffered from shock.

He did. Of course he did. Finding his wife at the bottom of the steps bleeding must have frightened him deeply, but his daughters needed him now.

“How long ago did this happen?” Shelley asked.

George shook his head.

“George called me about ten minutes ago,” Adam said. A stupid comment because they probably had the time of the 911 call, but George didn’t seem able to give more information.

Ouida was getting great care from the paramedics, but they needed information and the girls needed to be comforted.

In the movies, the hero slapped the hysterical heroine, which always seemed to work. Adam had always wondered why that wasn’t considered abusive. He couldn’t imagine that slapping George would have the desired effect—and the man might slap him back. Instead he shouted sharply, “George.”