The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (24 page)

Nothing would work.

On top of that, the heat smothered him, felt hotter than mid-July when the air conditioner struggled to cool the offices. He reached up and couldn’t feel any air circulating from the vent over his desk. The ceiling fan didn’t move.

Adam glanced down at his computer for the time. Of course, it didn’t appear on the dark screen or on the electric clock plugged into the wall. He looked at his wrist: one thirty. The men had probably knocked off for lunch. He’d work at home, get out of their way until they finished.

When Adam arrived the next morning, the electricity was still off. The wires still dangled from the ceiling. Of course, with the electricity off, the offices had no phone, no computers, and no air-conditioning.

“Might want to move your things to the fellowship hall,” Maggie said. “That’s what the ministers usually do after Ralph has messed with the wiring.” Even in the dim light, Adam could make out her expression. It said,
I told you so
.

He flipped out his cell and dialed Ralph.

“Oh, Preacher,” his wife Annabella said. “He’s up in Waco. You know, he was in the army. Has his physical today at the VA.”

“Do you know when he’ll be home?”

“Oh, not until eight or nine at the earliest. He likes to shop, get a nice meal before heading back.”

“What about tomorrow? He left some wires hanging and the electricity’s off.”

“Oh, dear. We’re headed out in the morning to visit our kids up in Corsicana. He said they ran into some problems with that installation in the church and he needs to pick up a few parts. He’ll probably finish up next week.”

“Would you mention I called and ask if he would stop by as soon as possible? We do have church Sunday.”

“Oh, I’m sure he left the electricity on in the sanctuary.”

“Great.” Realizing the sarcasm that came from his frustration probably wasn’t the right tone, he added, “I’d really appreciate his calling me ASAP.”

“Of course.”

After Annabella hung up, Adam called Jesse. “Hey, Jesse,” he said before he realized the answering machine had picked up. “Please give me a call on my cell as soon as possible.”

About all he could do. He headed to the fellowship hall.

Unfortunately, wires hung from the ceiling and the lights didn’t go on there, either.

Maggie stood in the door, barely hiding her smile. “How hard could installing an intercom system be?”

“I should call an electrician.”

“Not a good idea. You’d hurt their feelings.”

“But look at this mess. We won’t be able to use the fellowship hall, either.” He paced and mulled his options. Few came to mind.

“Shove everyone outside after church to keep them away from the wires,” Maggie suggested. “Have the ladies come up with refreshments. Make it like an outside reception, a special occasion.”

He headed down to the diner to talk to Miss Birdie. After he explained the situation, she said, “Sure, Preacher. We can take care of that.”

Then she laughed, a sound Adam had heard only a handful of times. It always startled him with the pure delight it expressed.

“I know you can’t stop them from making repairs to the church, but the past minister limited Jesse and Ralph to maintenance that didn’t require the opening of walls or ceilings. He made another rule. They had to make all repairs on Monday so normalcy could be restored by Sunday.” She cackled. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson.”

“How was your weekend?” Gussie smiled at him, completely comfortable as if she’d never written him that email, as if he didn’t know about the rape.

Denial? Or did she feel as if telling him closed the discussion? Had she dealt with this problem from her past and it no longer haunted her? No, if she had she never would have leaped away from his touch nor told him she was broken. His best guess was not only denial but
I don’t want to talk about this
as well.

He hadn’t expected that response but should have. Gussie was always happy and smiling, always up except for the few minutes she’d allowed him past her facade. No, not a facade. Gussie truly was upbeat, most of the time, but he’d caught a glimpse of that other part of her. Now she’d made it off limits again. Okay, he’d accept that. For now.

Gussie rubbed the handle of the coffee cup before she glanced up at Adam, who also rubbed the handle of his coffee cup. For the first time ever, conversation between the two lapsed once they’d discussed Ralph’s and Jesse’s repairs and her parents’ health.

“I’m going to order a piece of pie,” she said.

Scintillating, that’s what she and her conversational gambits were.

“What kind?” Adam asked.

Poor man. He couldn’t think of what to say, and she felt sure he wouldn’t bring up the topic of her email. She certainly didn’t want to. Even writing it had been painful. Sending the short message had taken every bit of courage she possessed.

“I like the rhubarb but I’m going to be adventurous and try lemon meringue.”

“Aah,” he said. “Risky. I’ll try apple.”

They placed their orders and, once the waitress walked off, stared at each other.

“How’s Hector?”

They discussed the Firestones for a few minutes.

What else could they talk about? She’d thought she and Adam could discuss nearly everything but that one topic, the unspeakable, hung between them like a scrim in a theater. They could both see it but both refused to acknowledge it, pretended it didn’t exist even as it separated them.

She’d been very clear about her privacy. She knew if they wanted to move on, to speak about what she always called “the event,” she’d have to bring it up. The waitress set their pieces of pie in front of them. She took another gulp of coffee and fed herself several forkfuls she couldn’t even taste.

Adam took a few bites then stopped and watched the ice cream melt down the slice and puddle on his plate. “I’m not very hungry,” he said.

Okay. If Adam not eating his pie didn’t signal his mood, nothing would.

“What did you think…” She stopped because the words stuck in her throat. After a quick drink of water and an internal repetition of the Serenity Prayer, Gussie said, “What did you think about my email?”

“I appreciate that you shared that with me.” He smiled gently, then picked up his fork and took another bite of the now soggy pie.

Was that it? Had he returned to his dessert because she’d relieved him of the necessity of bringing up the subject of her email or because he didn’t want to discuss it anymore?

When would she stop trying to figure people out? A bite of pie could simply be a bite of pie.

Sometimes her brain kept going and working as she attempted to figure life out. Even with that, she couldn’t make sense of the situation between Adam and her, couldn’t seem to figure out what to do next. Like him, she kept cutting off little parts of the pie, chewing and swallowing. She concentrated very hard on the fork as if she feared jabbing herself in the eye instead of putting it in her mouth.

“Gussie, if you want to discuss what happened or need anything from me, tell me,” he said. “I’m willing. I care about you.”

With several bites of that delicious pie left, she put down her fork, pulled together every particle of her courage, and said, “I’d been dating Lennie for about a month. We met in freshman composition and I trusted him.”

She glanced at Adam. “I’d never been drunk before. And I’ve never been drunk since.”

He put down his fork and listened.

“I thought,
What kind of college student has never even had a drink of anything?
Isn’t that the college experience? Drinking and carousing and experimenting?”

“Gussie, you don’t have to tell me this, not now, not here, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“If I don’t tell you now, I may not have the nerve another time.” She took in a deep breath. “Lennie said he’d take care of me, make sure I didn’t drink too much or get in trouble. I believed him. We went to a fraternity party and I drank a couple of glasses of something fruity they were serving. Illegal because I was eighteen, but no one cared. It was good. I couldn’t even taste the alcohol but it packed a punch.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, holding on so tightly her fingers hurt.

She didn’t like talking about this, not a bit. But as she turned to scan the other patrons of the restaurant, she realized this could be a good place to talk about the event. Here, as emotion burbled inside her, she couldn’t allow herself to lose control surrounded by all these people.

“The alcohol hit me hard. I don’t know why. Could be because I’m not a drinker or I drank it too fast or that fruit juice tasted so sweet—anyway, I got woozy and sick. I could barely stand up and had to lean against something—a wall or a chair—to walk.” She blinked tears back. “I’m so ashamed.”

He squeezed her hand. “You can stop now. You don’t have to say more.”

“Yes, I do.” The words poured. “Lennie took me back to his apartment. He said I could sleep it off there. I didn’t want to go back to the dorm in that condition. When I woke up—I don’t know how much later—he was on top of me.” She pulled her hand back, picked up her glass and drained it. “I never reported him. At first, I wanted to forget everything, then, as time went on…well, too much time had passed. The police would wonder why I hadn’t reported it and Lennie had witnesses I’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t handle that. I wanted to forget, pretend it never happened.” She glanced at him with wide eyes. “I still do.”

She stood quickly, nearly knocking the table over. “I have to go now,” she said and tossed a bill on the table.

Before she fled, she noticed Adam’s pale face and his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t interpret at the moment. Feeling like the stupidest of idiots for opening up
here
, she forced herself not to flee from the restaurant but stopped at the door. A mistake because Adam caught up with her before she could leave.

Okay, what now, Miss I’ll-tell-the-story-my-way?
Hadn’t she learned this wasn’t about someone else at another time? “The event” was that
she
, Gussie Milton, had been raped by a man she’d trusted, a man she’d thought she could fall in love with.

She heard Adam tell the waitress the money was on the table, then he held the door for her.

Once outside, he took her hand. “Gussie.” He stopped speaking as if he didn’t have any more idea what to do next than she did. They could not stand in the middle of Marble Falls only a few yards from the heavy traffic on Highway 281 with cars and trucks whizzing past them. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Gussie fumbled through her purse looking for her keys. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, I’m going to let you drive home now.”

When had she given him permission to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? Well, back when she’d told him about “the event.” And probably when she’d run out of the restaurant and now, when she was standing in the parking lot quivering.

“I know I can’t.” She closed her purse and looked at him for a few seconds before she leaned against him. How odd that she’d do that, but how great that he stood there, warm and trustworthy. “I know, but I’ve always run home for comfort.”
And to hide
, she added to herself. She didn’t say the words aloud because she’d already given up more of herself to Adam than she had to anyone other than her parents.

“We need to find a place that’s more private,” he said.

From the movement of his body, she could tell he was looking around for inspiration, but she didn’t want to lift her head or step away from him.

“I won’t leave you to face this alone.” He handed her a Kleenex. He’d learned to carry a pocketful, one of his ministerial tools and necessities.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not crying.” But she was, she realized when she felt her cheeks, and she was having trouble breathing. Odd when she felt like a huge burden had been lifted from her by sharing. “It may not look like it but I feel better than I have for years.” She stepped back. “Let’s take a walk.”

Gussie had leaned against him for comfort and support. In the restaurant, she’d put her hand on his while she told him what had happened to her. A much-abridged story, he guessed, but nonetheless a step forward.

They didn’t speak as they walked down to a park overlooking the lake. “Gussie, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you, Adam. For listening and not turning away.”

He wanted to question her, find out more. But not now. They found a bench looking over the lake and sat down. She even touched his hand again. Yes, he’d like more but, for now, having Gussie next to him felt like more than enough.

Someday they’d have to talk about what happened next, after the rape, but not now. He didn’t believe she could take it. Instead of speaking, they watched the water. Together.

A
dam had a spring in his step. A stupid phrase he’d never thought he’d use, a saying that went back generations. He also had a song in his heart and smile on his face. He walked like the conqueror of the world and wished he could tell Miss Birdie that he thought the Widows’ matchmaking efforts could stop, be called completed and successful.

He didn’t, of course. In the first place, Miss Birdie would act obnoxious in her victory. Secondly, he didn’t want to talk about him and Gussie possibly becoming an “us” because what had seemed like a bridge crossed now felt like only a minor change. He’d hoped the confession signaled that she was falling or had fallen or perhaps anticipated falling in love with him. Now it seemed more like a tiny step, that maybe the idea of falling in love no longer nauseated her.

And, third, there were those other old expressions his grandmother had repeated: “Many a slip ’twixt the tongue and the lip” and “Don’t count your chickens.” Et cetera.

Two or three times a day, he and Gussie emailed or texted. They set up a date for Friday, the format to be decided later. Once she’d called to say she was headed toward San Saba and would he meet her for lunch in Butternut Creek? The sight of them together had made Miss Birdie glow as she bustled around them, filling nearly full glasses of tea and forcing dessert on them. After that, they’d wandered around the courthouse, sat for a while on a bench in the square, and chatted. One of his best afternoons ever.

Life hadn’t changed much in Butternut Creek. Ouida continued to improve. He’d officiated at the wedding of Winnie and the general, Sam’s father. They’d gone off somewhere for a honeymoon.

Wires no longer dangled from ceilings all over the church. Some of the men—not Jesse and Ralph, who’d admitted defeat—had coiled them up and capped them off, then turned the power back on. He and Maggie still had to shout at each other, but they had phones and lights as well as large holes in the ceilings of the offices and the fellowship hall.

Through the window, Adam could see the new basketball hoop in the parking lot. Great idea. Used at night and weekends, and no doubt would be a busy place this coming summer. As the coach had decreed, Hector dribbled everywhere except the church. He’d decided that wouldn’t be respectful—but he dribbled the ball right up to the front door. After several accidents, Adam had banished it from the parsonage as well.

He’d emailed stories about Butternut Creek to his sister as he did every Friday. In one he told another story about Chewy and a backpack, finishing it with, “He’s become one of the church’s best evangelistic tools.” She seldom answered, but she needed his support. He hoped the funny stories cheered her up. He couldn’t imagine anything more different from his life here and hers over there. How did she do it?

His parents wrote they’d visited Paris. The Chunnel had become a shortcut to Europe for them. They loved Europe and planned to send him a ticket so he could visit soon.

Life was good. Today he was going to wallow in being happy.

He began by looking at a computer file of church members he needed to call and chose one he hadn’t seen in church.

“Hello, Mrs. Gibson,” he said. “This is Adam Jordan, minister at the Christian Church.”

Silence.

“How are you doing this morning?”

“Fine.” Her voice sounded begrudging, as if she hated to give out even this small bit of information.

“I’m sorry I haven’t gotten in touch with you sooner. The chair of the elders tells me you’re a member of the church but haven’t been able to attend for a while.”

“That’s right.” Another pause followed. “What’s your name again?”

“Adam. Adam Jordan, I don’t believe I’ve met you.”

“Reverend Jordan, nice of you to call.” Her quiet voice quivered. “The problem is that it’s hard for me to make it on Sunday morning. I have a lot of trouble with my joints—arthritis, you know—and I don’t get moving until about noon. Then a migraine hits and puts me in bed, in the dark.”

“Sounds as if you have a lot of physical problems. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you. On top of that…well, you don’t want to hear an old lady complaining about her aches and pains.”

How to answer that? “If you want to talk about them, please tell me.”

For another few minutes, she gave what his uncle Bob, a physician, had called “an organ recital,” describing the appalling condition of her heart and her liver and various other ailments he didn’t catch. He stopped taking notes after several repetitions of the phrase, “None of the doctors thought I’d live.”

“You know, our elders take communion to people who can’t make it to church. Could they drop by this Sunday? Would that be convenient?”

Again silence. Had they been disconnected? No, there was no dial tone. He glanced at the phone to see that the
in use
button glowed red. “Mrs. Gibson?” he asked.

“I am not,” she said testily, obviously insulted, “I am
not
a shut-in. I shop for myself. I play Bunco with my friends. I drive. I go to the beauty parlor. I am not a shut-in and don’t need the elders to bring me anything or for you to visit.”

With that, she disconnected. He knew for sure when the dial tone beeped from the speaker. Adam turned the phone off and laughed.

Although too weak to go to church, it seemed Mrs. Gibson could do anything else she wanted.

An imp inside him wanted to turn her name over to the elders, but that would only cause those leaders trouble. Instead he wrote, “Call next year. Don’t treat as shut-in,” on Mrs. Gibson’s card and filed it.

Birdie listened to the sounds of Carlos the Cat coming from the bathroom:
Whap! Whap! Whap!

Mac had put Ping-Pong balls in the tub and the silly animal loved to bat them around. Mac said they’d given him new life. Instead of sleeping twenty-three hours a day, now Carlos slept twenty-two hours and fifty minutes and played in the bathtub for a few minutes several times a day.

She hated it when the cat wanted to continue chasing those balls and Birdie wanted to settle down for a nice soak. Whose joints were more important? The breadwinner’s or those of a skinny, elderly cat? Didn’t Birdie work to put food in his bowl? Nevertheless, she never bothered him.

Oh, my, had she gotten soft. Allowing a cat to inconvenience her because the girls adored him and he scratched people who tried to move him.

She stood up from Bree’s bed where she’d been contemplating a far more difficult problem.

Fashion or style or just plain pornography?

School had been in session for almost a month. Still hot here in Texas, would be through part of October. Wasn’t the heat that bothered Birdie. It was the clothing, those doggone tiny tops the girls liked to wear. Said it was too hot to wear regular T-shirts. So why was the district spending taxpayer money for air-conditioning if the girls had to wear those bits of nothing to stay cool?

Not that Birdie accepted that excuse. She’d been young once.

Bree told her grandmother that everyone—well, all the girls—​wore tops with straps so narrow their bra straps showed. Just plain slutty, Birdie told her granddaughters that, but she couldn’t make any headway. School dress code allowed it. The other girls wore it. Some even tried to get by with sheer tops, but the principal gave those girls a hoodie to wear or sent them home.

Didn’t Bree understand what happened when a girl wore clothes like that? Elmer had allowed Martha Patricia to get away with anything. He spoiled her terribly and look what had happened. After Elmer died, Martha Patricia had left town with that no-good father of both her girls and it had all started when Elmer allowed her to wear tight shorts.

Mercedes had passed on a story about a woman who dressed like the daughter to show her how terrible she looked. Said the woman had put on a tank top without a bra and that had gotten the message over to her daughter.

Might as well try it, but she refused to leave off underwear.

After opening Bree’s drawer and taking out a shirt with what she’d called spaghetti straps during her youth centuries ago, she shook it out. Then she took her blouse off and slipped the shirt on over her head. It settled across her shoulders and hung down to her hips, huge on her. The straps of her old-lady bra showed white under the coral top. She studied her image for nearly a minute, aghast at what and who stared back at her. She couldn’t carry this off. She’d feel mortified to show anyone else, even her own granddaughters, her desiccated torso, ropy arms, and saggy neck, much less the thick straps of her bra. She looked like the scrawny old woman she was.

When had she gotten so old? She still felt like that girl who planned to start college to be an English teacher. Then she and Elmer had fallen in love at the prom, and her life had changed because Elmer had to stay in town to take over his father’s carpentry business. Years later, she ended up here, looking at her elderly self in the mirror.

Not that she’d change anything, except what happened with Martha Patricia, but she would have slowed down those years. They’d flown by much too fast.

Yes, here she stood, looking like a skinny old lady and wishing she had a few of those pretty curves Blossom had. She couldn’t allow anyone to see her like this. She’d have to think of some other way to teach the lesson.

Bree was a good girl. Everyone said that, but everyone wasn’t thinking about the effects of hormones on a teenager’s ability to reason or resist temptation. Could be one soft, lovely evening with the moon hitting the right angle, romantic music on the radio, and a sweetly scented breeze calling out thoughts of love and lust, two young people could get carried away. Goodness knows, it had happened to enough people.

Birdie guessed she’d have to trust Bree. She sure as anything wouldn’t leave the bedroom in this outfit.

Adam had bought a new tie, dark blue with a gold pattern. Didn’t go with his suit, but he’d borrowed Hector’s prom-and-homecoming slacks. A little short but they fit well otherwise. With dark socks, no one would notice.

At last, he and Gussie were going out with Willow and Sam. Adam had issued a stern “no-joking” order to Sam and could only hope the former marine would behave. If not, Willow would put the kibosh on her husband. She handled him effortlessly. Sam was so much in love with his wife, he’d do whatever she said.

They’d take Willow’s car into Roundville, because none of them trusted Adam’s car enough to make it both ways, despite the fact that Adam made the trip weekly. Willow and Sam would drop him off at the Miltons’, and Adam and Gussie would go to Austin and back in her car.

After greeting Mr. and Mrs. Milton—Yvonne and Henry—he escorted Gussie to the car and reached for her keys.

“Oh,” she said. “Are you driving?”

He nodded, hand still out.

“Don’t you trust my driving?”

“It’s not that.” He didn’t understand this odd streak of machismo he hadn’t realized he had. But he couldn’t seem to tamp it down. He needed to drive. The thought of not doing so, sitting in the passenger seat while Gussie drove, made him anxious.

“Are you afraid I’ll get lost? Or have an accident?”

“I can’t explain it. I’m sorry.” He took the keys from her hand. “I have to drive.”

“Men,” she groaned.

“Besides, if you drove, I wouldn’t be able to open your car door.” He performed that. “And help you in.”

“Delicate flower that I am.” She laughed as she allowed him to assist her.

Sam had made reservations at a nice place on Red River for a celebration. Sam would finish his class work and student teaching in December and had a teaching job at the middle school starting in January.

“At least I no longer have to live off my rich wife,” Sam said after they’d settled at the table. “But, you know, I like being a kept man.” He glanced at his wife and grinned before he turned back to Adam. “Let me give you some advice. Marry a woman who makes more money than you and can keep you in style.”

Across from Adam, Willow laughed. “Oh, yes, we live in such style.”

Next to him, Adam could feel Gussie tense.

“Sam and I live in the house Sam’s aunt left him,” Willow explained. “It’s a little small but it’s free.”

“And we’re together,” Sam said.

To change the subject because the waves of adoration between Sam and Willow had become stifling, Adam asked Gussie, “What looks good to you?” as she perused the menu.

Maybe this double date hadn’t been the best idea in the world. He could almost see little hearts floating between Sam and Willow and cherubs strumming harps over their heads.

And yet, he thought as he glanced at Gussie, as nauseating as it was to see such affection at close quarters, wouldn’t it be nice to take part in it? To care for someone that much and show it? Through a touch? A kiss? Or a besotted glance? Because the Petersons did nothing unacceptable. They were deeply in love and showed it.

Yes, as obnoxious as he found the display between Willow and Sam, he probably felt that way because he envied them.

“Congratulations on the job,” Gussie said to Sam after they’d ordered.

“We have more news,” Sam said. “We’re pregnant.” He smiled so broadly, the corners of his lips nearly reached mid-cheek.

“How wonderful,” Gussie said.

“When?” Adam reached across to take Willow’s hand.

“March. You’re the first people we’ve told, except for family.”

“Boy or girl?” Gussie asked.

“We don’t care. The general is hoping for a granddaughter.” Sam put his arm around the back of Willow’s chair. “Winnie’s just excited to have another grandchild. She never expected to have any.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He really wants a girl.” Willow gestured toward her husband. “He has big plans to spoil his little princess.”

“We’re going to have to find a bigger house, because there’s no way we can fit another person in.”

After dinner, they strolled toward one of Gussie’s favorite music venues, Sam and Willow in front. Sam held Willow’s hand and, again, Adam noticed how they listed toward each other, drawn together.