The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (32 page)

That was when Gussie lost it. “What’s the matter,” she shouted. “Don’t you care about hungry kids?”

Didn’t faze the woman. She probably didn’t hear her words, but Gussie was horrified by her own behavior.

“I can’t believe I said that.” Glancing at her hands, she realized they shook. She was supposed to be a Christian. She had shouted at a perfectly innocent stranger. Worse, she was going to do it again, verbally attack the next person who ran past her. She was suddenly, inexplicably furious. She’d never lost control like this and had no idea how to leash it. She had to get out, away from everyone.

She dropped the flyers in a checkout lane and nearly ran out of the store with the anger still burning through her and no idea what to do with it. Gussie Milton didn’t lose her temper this way, never. She forgave trespasses. She handled life evenly. Yet this fury filled her, so thick and caustic she could almost taste it. She ran to her car. The rage grew stronger and hotter until it finally overwhelmed her. In the middle of the packed parking lot, she dropped her purse and began to pound on the hood of her car.

“Damn you, Lennie Brewer. Damn you!” She kept pounding, bruising her fists but not caring. “Damn you.”

Oh, yes, it hurt but it also felt wonderful, invigorating, even liberating. Emotion flowed out and she felt powerful and in control even though it seemed obvious she was not. “I hate you for what you did to me,” she screamed.

She had no idea how long she yelled and pounded and felt that power. Fortunately, because the motto of the city was “Keep Austin Weird,” no one paid much attention to her. If she’d been bleeding or on fire or unconscious, they would have helped, but no one would interfere with a good hissy fit.

Then, as the anger slowly dissipated, every bit of strength flowed out with it. She became so weak she nearly fell down. Leaning on the side of the car, she grabbed the door handle and, with great effort, pulled it open and slid inside

“I’m fine.” She waved a good Samaritan away. “Thank you.”

As soon as she closed the door and found herself in near privacy from the shoppers who raced around the lot, she burst into deep, gulping sobs that felt as if they were torn from inside her. Pain and agony—as physical as it was mental—filled her. She clutched her stomach and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

She bawled and blubbered and wept and howled. Lifting her head, she allowed herself to beat on the steering wheel, each blow accompanied by a mental picture of what Lennie had done to her. With each wail and every punch, she felt better.

When she finally allowed herself to slump, she realized there was no way she could drive herself home. She felt completely wrung out. Her parents didn’t drive in Austin anymore, and she couldn’t let them see her like this. They’d be devastated.

She fumbled in her purse for her cell and hit a number on speed dial. When he answered, she said, “Adam, I need you. Can you come pick me up in the parking lot of the grocery store near my studio?”

G
ussie sounded terrible. Her voice quivered and she hadn’t said anything more after that one question, only clicked the phone off. Was she sick? Had she had an accident? What had happened?

Fortunately, he’d been in Austin to make hospital calls and to get a few supplies for the Christmas Eve service. Even through the terrible Austin traffic he drove like an idiot and arrived in fifteen minutes. He parked next to Gussie’s car.

But he didn’t see her. No one sat in the car waiting for him. Where was she? He jumped out of his car and ran to hers to look in the window on the passenger side. She lay across the backseat, quiet, her eyes closed.

Was she unconscious? Had she fainted?

“Gussie,” he shouted and pounded on the window. He tried the door and found it open. As he scooted in, he lifted her head to his lap.

She snored.

Not unconscious. Asleep. When he shook her gently, she blinked, then stretched.

“Adam?” She smiled, a true Gussie smile. “I’m so glad to see you.” She struggled to sit up.

“What happened? Why did you call? Are you all right?”

“I needed you,” she said simply.

Before he could react to those words, she burst into tears and threw herself against him. He had no choice but to put his arms around her and hold her while she cried, exactly what he wanted to do.

Oh, he knew this didn’t fix everything, but it was a beginning. He worried about her hysterical sobs and rubbed her back and whispered soothing promises, words of comfort. He’d do that for however long it took for her to pull herself together.

Within a few minutes, she stopped crying, wiped her tears with a couple of napkins from Wendy’s, and became quiet, her head still against his shoulder. Had she fallen asleep again?

No, she sat up and leaned away from him. “Guess you’d like an explanation.”

He nodded. “Considering the fact that last time I saw you, you waved merrily at me while tubing down the river, and today you called me sobbing, yes, I would.”

“Okay.” With one more swipe at her cheeks and nose, Gussie closed her eyes to gather herself. “First, do you know that the Widows visited my parents in October while I was at work?”

“What?” Oh, Lord. “When? What happened? How did the Widows keep this secret? They never can.”

“My parents negotiated a non-disclosure pact. They didn’t want anyone to know about this until I decided what to do.”

After that, Gussie filled him in on that afternoon, ending with, “I don’t know what they said because Blossom had a private chat with them. Somehow she got them to believe I’m using them as a shield to hide from life.” She paused and nibbled her lip before she forced out the words. “And love.”

He watched her, still confused. “Then what?”

“When I got home, my parents called me in for a little chat, to explain that I was not to hide behind them. Not a comfortable moment but necessary and very helpful. I realized I needed help, that I can’t heal myself. I went back into counseling. I’m ready to change.” She took his hand. “I have a reason to change.”

“What’s that reason?” He wasn’t about to act on the profound hope she meant him.

“You’re going to make me spell this out, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I have to know. I don’t want to misread anything.”

“You are the reason.” She paused before adding, “And I am the reason. I want to explore what’s between us.” She paused and seemed to struggle to express her thoughts. “I want more. I want what you want. I want to be with you and I want to be healthy.”

He should say something but couldn’t think of the right words. As a minister, he should be able to come up with something.

With that hesitation, she looked down at her hands. “I care about you deeply,” she murmured. “I probably am in love with you, but you know how pathetically wishy-washy I can be.”

“That’s one of the things I like about you.” He laced his fingers through hers.

Then she lifted her eyes to gaze into his. “I want to think about marriage.” She swallowed hard. “And I have thought about sharing your bed.”

He pulled her close to him and held her. She didn’t tug away, she didn’t push him, she didn’t scream. Not screaming always felt like a good first step.

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her beautiful hair. Then he lowered his lips and kissed her on the lips. A lovely sweet kiss, which became a promise.

After a pleasant interlude, he realized they were, after all, in the grocery store parking lot and fully visible to the growing throng of shoppers. He stopped kissing her, content to have his arm around her, her head against his shoulder.

Then she burst into laughter, that wonderful, joyful sound. He pulled back to look at her.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m irreverent. When I used to think about finding the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I pictured myself singing and dancing and laughing and incredibly happy.” She shook her head. “But look at me. I’m a mess. I’ve been crying. My eyes are red and swollen.”

“Not part of your dream?”

“No, but you are.” She snuggled against his chest again. “And I’m happy.”

“Why today?” he asked after nearly a minute. “What made you decide to call me today?”

She told him about the scene in the store, which made him laugh. She joined in when she realized how funny it was.

“And then the anger flowed out, really for the first time since Lennie raped me.” She spoke calmly and with quiet confidence, not glossing over the attack or blaming herself.

“Healing,” he said.

“I know I’m not completely okay.”

“None of us are.”

“I’ll still need counseling for a while and will always have an underlying resentment, but I have to accept it as part of my life. That event shaped and influenced who I am. Now I feel ready to move past it. Finally.”

“Have you forgiven Lennie?”

“I don’t know.” She paused. “No, that’s not right. I may someday but I haven’t yet. Facing what he did to me is a small step.” She struggled to explain. “I think there may be some acts that cannot be forgiven and that rape is one of them. I won’t hold a grudge or let the memory of him control my life anymore. I’d never seek revenge. But forgive him? I don’t think he deserves that.”

He could quote scripture and even Shakespeare about forgiveness, but this wasn’t the time. She was too raw. Maybe in the future she’d forgive him. Was she right that there were some sins the victim shouldn’t be forced to forgive?

She picked up his wrist and glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly seven! My parents will worry.”

“Call them. Tell them you and I are having dinner and you’ll be home later.”

“Guess who called me this morning?” It was three days before Christmas, and Blossom wore a grin of such deep satisfaction and secrecy, it made Birdie want to slap her silly. Not that she would, but her palm did itch. She looked at the other Widows around their usual table in the diner to gauge their reactions.

“Don’t play games with us,” Winnie warned.

Blossom, so pleased with herself, only smiled, an expression that said,
I know something you don’t know
.

“Come on, tell us,” Mercedes said, falling right into Blossom’s trap.

“Yvonne Milton called me.”

“Yvonne Milton called
you
?” Birdie couldn’t believe it.

Blossom nodded. “Yes, we’ve kept in touch often since our visit to Roundville.”

“Really?” Mercedes asked. “What did she say?”

Blossom preened for a few seconds before glancing at Birdie’s frown. “She said that the preacher and Gussie had dinner together Friday,
and
yesterday he came to Roundville for supper.”

“Oh,” the others breathed in unison.

“And the Miltons—all three of them—are coming to the Christmas Eve service.”

“Sounds like this is getting serious,” Mercedes said.

Suddenly peace filled Birdie and she didn’t care who took the honors for making the match. This would count as the highest achievement of the Widows’ career. She would shower gratitude on Blossom.

“Well done.” Birdie laughed.

“Yes, well done,” Mercedes echoed.

“In no time, they’ll be engaged, then married, then producing little Jordans.” Birdie drew herself up in pride. “And now, ladies,” she said with a confident nod, “we have a wedding to plan.”

Unfortunately, attempting to shield the small spindly tree from the friends who trooped through the parsonage became impossible. People streamed in with Christmas goodies and with small gifts for the kids they wanted to place under the tree. As they arrived, Janey led everyone back to the pitiful specimen of flora to leave the offerings.

By Christmas Eve, gifts were piled high around the little tree with the listing star on the top. Before they left for the eight o’clock church service, the two children stood in front of it, holding hands.

Hector shook his head. “Pops, I don’t know what we did to deserve this.”

“Don’t worry about that. Accept love with a generous heart.”

Janey took Adam’s hand, held on to it tightly, and began to sing, “‘Silent night, holy night…’”

A perfect moment. Adam could feel himself becoming a warm blob inside as joy and gratitude flooded him. Add to this the anticipation of celebrating Christmas Eve with Gussie and her parents, of all of them sharing cookies and opening presents together, and he felt incredibly blessed.

“‘…Sleep in heavenly peace,’” Janey finished.

For a moment, the three stood in front of the tree and drank in the moment of being a family.

Then the church bells began to ring. Almost eight. “Let’s go.” Adam let go of Janey’s hand and dashed out toward church. Without time to grab his robe, he entered the chancel as the last bell rang and stood before the worshippers gathered there to read the words from Luke that always filled him with awe: “To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

In the darkness of the sanctuary, the only sources of light came from the Christ candle on the communion table and a reading light on the lectern. Janey had volunteered to lead the congregation in the first stanzas of favorite carols interspersed with readings of the familiar Christmas stories from Luke and Matthew.

At the end of the service, Adam read from John: “Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the light of the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’” Then the congregation stood and began to file forward to take a candle from Adam and light it. Adam watched each pass: Bree and Mac with Hector and Bobby, followed by Miss Birdie, Mercedes, and Blossom; Sam and Willow, their boys each unusually solemn, the general and Winnie; Jesse and Howard and all the elders. Close to the end were Ouida and Carol with George holding a sleeping Gretchen.

All these people gathered here had become not only his congregation but his family; Butternut Creek, his home.

As he glanced to welcome the last few approaching the table, he smiled at the Miltons. Yvonne and Henry picked up their candles and said, “Blessings, Adam.”

Gussie reached forward and took a candle from him. She whispered, “Merry Christmas,” lit the candle, and moved past him to join the chain stretching around the sanctuary.

Then Adam lit his candle and joined the circle, watching each of the beloved faces glowing more brightly than the flames in front of them.

“‘Joy to the world,’” Janey began, and the congregation joined.

Next to him, Gussie’s strong voice took up the tune. When he looked down, she took his hand.

He leaned toward her, filled with the promise of her touch and her presence and her love.

When the congregation completed that verse, Adam repeated. “‘Rejoice! For to us this day is born a Savior, Christ the Lord.’”

The organist began to play “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” as the worshippers extinguished the candles and moved out of the sanctuary, into the beauty that was Butternut Creek. The sound of their murmured greetings mingled with the scent of pine as everyone headed home.

Ahead of them, Hector chatted with the Miltons and Janey skipped toward the parsonage.

And, as Adam followed, Gussie walked beside him.