The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (7 page)

Either they couldn’t or they didn’t.

She glanced toward the corner where their mother sat.

“Smile, sweeties,” Mrs. Scheltzbaum said.

When the children’s lips curled a little but no joy filled their eyes, Gussie sighed. She’d snapped a few good portraits of serious siblings but knew their mother expected sparkling as well. Good thing Gussie had curly, floppy hair, which usually amused children. She bobbed her head back and forth, up and down, to allow her curls to bounce. Tammy grinned a little and almost laughed, but Timmy frowned, already too grown-up and macho to smile. She bet he was also too old to find the hand puppet amusing.

So she went with funny voices. Not imitations, but voices that ranged from thin and high to growling with odd accents.

“Hey, Timmy,” she said with her voice sliding up and down the scale. “Gimme a smile?” As she kept up the schtick, the children relaxed and Tammy gave her an almost-smile.

Through the years, she’d discovered what worked. Impersonating a witch scared children, of course. Pretending to be a dog embarrassed even her and she was nearly impervious to humiliation. Not everyone liked clowns. She’d tried roller skates but discovered the difficulty of taking a picture as she flew by.

The final option? “The Lord said to Noah,” she sang. By the time she finished the chorus, the twins were clapping and laughing and she got a great bunch of pictures.

That evening, Gussie sat at her computer while her parents watched television downstairs. She read and reread the note Adam had sent with his evaluation. “Hey,” he’d written. “Had a great time at the retreat. Meet for coffee?”

Pleasant but no matter how many times she read it, she could not find a great deal of passionate interest in those eleven words. Actually, she could detect only
friendly
interest, perhaps rote politeness for the old lady from Roundville.

All for the best, of course. She had no interest in romance, certainly not. But companionship would be nice. Talking to a man who sparked excitement within her could be very pleasant.

But maybe not.

Had she felt lust for Lennie? Probably so. He’d been tall and handsome and flashy, but she couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to remember.

A
dam headed home from the Butternut Creek skilled nursing facility. He’d walked over to see the father of a church member while his car kept Rex company. He breathed in a lungful of fragrant Central Texas air. It was a great day, the kind of spring day everyone waited for. Warm and sunny and the exercise felt great.

Out on the highway west of town, reports of the arrival of bluebonnets had been coming in for nearly a week. When he got the car back, he’d take the kids for a ride to see them. Watching the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush and what Lady Bird had called “those damn little yellow flowers” was a Hill Country tradition he aimed to join soon.

He missed the spring flowers of Kentucky: a purple crocus poking through still-cold ground followed by lawns covered with sunny daffodils. Add to that forsythia that bloomed bright yellow and redbuds and dogwood trees. Oh, he’d seen those trees in Texas, but in Kentucky their appearance signaled a transition from winter to spring. The seasons had little separation here.

Mercedes had told him to look forward to the sweet-smelling mountain laurels and the glorious magnolia trees, which couldn’t survive winters farther north. And tulips, Ouida had told him. She had a plot in her garden, but he always thought of them at Churchill Downs for the Derby. Add the fragile azaleas and hearty crepe myrtle and spring displayed itself in colorful splendor here, too.

As he walked, he thought about Hector’s visit with his father in prison last Saturday, a trip he made by bus every month or two. Each time, he returned solemn and remained quiet for a few days, withdrawn and worried.

He never took his sister, and Janey never asked to go. She’d had a rough life with her mother dying when she was a toddler and her father’s addiction. Hector said his father had never laid a hand on Janey because he knew Hector would hurt him if he did. Nevertheless, Janey was afraid of the man, afraid of the kind of people who’d come to the house, of the shouting and the fights and the occasional gunfire.

Adam couldn’t blame her. He’d be traumatized, too. He’d attempted to get her into counseling but she’d curled up in the corner of the office and refused to talk to the psychologist he’d found who worked with kids. She found her safe place with Hector. She seemed fine in the parsonage and did okay at school. Neither Adam nor Hector could figure out why, as much time as she spent studying, she didn’t make better grades. Due to trauma as well? Until he could find someone she’d talk to, they wouldn’t know.

Adam strolled down the highway, then turned on Church Street. As he headed toward the church, he could see six or seven cars in the parking lot. The women getting ready for the bazaar, he guessed. On the front porch of the parsonage, he saw two people on the swing with their heads together. After a few more steps, he realized the two were Hector and Bree. Janey sat in the rattan chair and read.

Well, well.

“Hey, guys,” Adam said. “What’s going on?”

“Just hangin’ out.” Hector’s glare warned Adam not to tease him about Bree’s presence. “Knew you wouldn’t like us inside without you around.”

When Janey glanced up at Adam, a smile flickered across her face. Her smile gave him hope that, little by little, she was healing.

“Pops, we need, we really need, a goal on the parking lot.” Hector pointed toward the exact place he envisioned it. “We could have been playing ball while we waited for you.”

“And, Pops, we”—Bree indicated herself and Hector—“emailed Gussie Milton and invited her to speak to the youth group the Sunday after Easter.”

Adam blinked. Gussie? Here?

“She didn’t want to come at first,” Hector said.

“Something about her parents,” Bree said. “And work and the church and other stuff.”

“She has a busy life.” Adam sat on the wicker chair.

“But when Bree told her we needed her to talk about summer camp so we can bring more kids, she agreed,” Hector said.

Bree must have learned that from her grandmother, using guilt as the ultimate motivator.

“Where’d you get this idea?” Adam asked.

“Mac suggested it,” Bree said.

Aah, Mac. Matchmaker-in-training, taking after her grandmother. At least she hadn’t told the pillar about his attraction to Gussie, and she’d behaved far more subtly than any of the Widows.

“We’re all going to ask friends who don’t go to church to come, try to get them interested in church camp this summer,” Hector said. “We should have that basketball goal up by then, Pops. That’ll bring the guys out.”

“Not enough time. First, I have to take that up with the property committee and the board.”

Hector shook his head. “Churches. The hoops you have to go through just to get a hoop.”

He and Bree laughed at that, but Adam was still trying to get his mind around the idea of Gussie’s visit here in a couple of weeks.

“The Widows are going to serve refreshments,” Bree said. “Food always attracts people, especially high school people.”

“What time?” Adam attempted to mentally picture his calendar, but Gussie’s smiling face popped up in the little squares.

“She’s going to leave Roundville after church and get here about one thirty. We’ll start at two,” Bree said. “Grandma said after the meeting the Widows will put together a light supper for you at the parsonage so Gussie doesn’t have to drive home hungry.”

Oh, yeah, that driving while starving, always hazardous, but not nearly as terrifying as a matchmaking Widow.

But why worry? Spending a few hours with Gussie was great, even if she hadn’t wanted to come. The idea of spending a few hours with Gussie under the eye of the Widows didn’t count as a positive, but he didn’t care. She’d be here.

Of course, they wouldn’t be alone, so he couldn’t put a move on Gussie. Actually, he’d never put a move on Gussie at any time, surrounded by people or not. The realization would have depressed him greatly if he allowed himself to dwell on the fact. Instead, he grinned in anticipation of Gussie’s imminent appearance.

“Why’re you smiling, Pops?” Hector asked.

“Sounds like fun,” Adam answered.

“Yeah, a lot of kids will be here and Gussie’s great,” Bree said.

“You two should get together,” Hector said. “You and Gussie. She’d make you laugh more.”

“That’s right. You two would be great together,” Bree agreed. “Why don’t you ask her out?”

Exactly what he needed. Dating advice from teenagers.

Gussie stared at the screen of her computer, perusing the email she’d sent to Bree. What had she done? She’d agreed to visit the church in Butternut Creek, to talk to kids about camp and the youth program. The event didn’t present a problem; she did that all the time.

The problem was, she hadn’t done it before with Adam Jordan around.

Too late to back out. Not that she could. This was her ministry, what she did, how she served. She’d remember who she was—an old maid who’d substituted the young people for her children—and who he was—the minister of Butternut Creek. With those identities firmly in mind, she’d be able to be professional and not see Basketball Adam when she looked at Reverend Adam, at least not when she was close to him.

Oh, sure. Someday she’d have to stop lying to herself.

Adam had finally found a donkey for Palm Sunday. With a sigh of relief, he sat back in the desk chair in his office, folded his arms behind his head, and grinned. Victory! He felt like singing loud hosannas but he knew he couldn’t carry it off; he would only upset Maggie and it would serve no real purpose.

Jesse Hardin had actually found it. Thank goodness for Jesse. Last year, he’d given Sam Peterson horseback rides to build up the muscles in Sam’s thigh as part of his physical therapy. And now he’d tracked down a donkey for Hector to ride on Palm Sunday. Jesse would go to the ranch early Sunday morning, load Maisie into his horse trailer, and bring her to church. The Methodists planned to use the donkey fifteen minutes later and the Catholics after that.

When he’d finished savoring that victory, Adam scrutinized the outline on his computer. As usual, when he had no ideas and the sermon had no oomph, he stared into space, searching for inspiration. None came. He stood and looked out the window. Still nothing.

The silence was broken by a bloodcurdling shriek from the reception office. He turned, ran to the door, and threw it open to see Maggie, his secretary, leaping from chair to chair, moving faster and jumping higher than he’d ever thought she could. Finally, she clambered onto the corner file cabinet, pulled her legs up beneath her, and continued to scream.

Standing by her desk were two redheaded boys: Leo and Nick Thomas. When the paperwork was done, they’d be Leo and Nick Peterson. Their mother Willow had married Sam Peterson in February.

As Adam moved farther into the office, Maggie kept screaming. The kids looked at him, eyes wide, their faces covered with shame, surprise, and a thin overlay of machismo.

After a few more steps, Adam saw the open box on the floor with a stiff, dead animal inside.

“In there, Preacher.” Maggie pointed at the container. “The dirty, filthy creature’s in there.”

“What is it, boys?” Adam asked.

“It’s a squirrel, sir,” Leo said.

“It’s dead, sir,” Nick added. “I don’t know why it would scare her. It can’t attack.”

“Women are like that,” Adam said. “They don’t like dead things.” He turned and pointed toward his office. “You two need to explain this to me.”

“No,” Maggie shouted. “Preacher, you are not leaving me alone with that…that thing.” She pointed toward the box with a shaking finger.

“Guys, you know this could be dangerous,” Adam said.

“But it’s dead,” Leo said before he added, “sir.”

“Rabies, other diseases.” Adam pulled a ragged jacket from the lost-and-found, wrapped the box up, and stuffed it into a plastic bag. “I’m going to take this outside, put it in the trash, and call animal control. You boys, go to the restroom and wash up carefully. Maggie, go on home and try to forget this happened.”

She slid off the cabinet onto a chair, leaped from that, grabbed her purse, and ran.

By the time Adam had washed his hands in the tiny private bathroom off his study and explained the situation to animal control, the boys stood in the front office. “I’m going to call your parents,” he told them.

“Oh, no, sir. Please don’t.” Leo cleared his throat. “We’ll do anything if you won’t tell them.”

“Mom gets sad and
really
disappointed in us.” Nick’s lips trembled. “And Sam, he expects better of us.”

“You know Sam’s my friend. I can’t keep this from him. Is he home?”

They nodded.

Adam suddenly realized it was a weekday. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Teacher in-service day,” Leo said. “Sam was supposed to watch us, but he’s studying. You know he’s taking a lot of math classes from Tech so he can get certified as a teacher.”

“He was real busy studying and didn’t notice when we left,” Nick said. “He thinks we’re in the backyard, but Leo remembered he saw a dead animal over in that lot next to the church Sunday. He made me come with him.”

“Did not,” Leo said. “You wanted to come.”

“Did not,” Nick contradicted. “Your idea.”

“Listen, shorty, you—”

“Okay, guys.” Sam held his hand up. “So you both sneaked out of your backyard…”

“It wasn’t really sneaking,” Leo said.

“We’ve never completely fixed the fence at Sam’s house.” Nick smiled. “At
our
house. He says we’ll get around to that someday.”

“Okay, I’m going to call Sam.” He picked up the phone and punched the number in.

“Please don’t.”

“When he gets here, you’re going to explain how that creature ended up on the floor of Maggie’s office and scared her to death.” He frowned at them. “You know Sam expects you to respect women.”

Both nodded. Their eyes spoke of coming doom, but that didn’t deter Adam. Great kids, but they were also very active and imaginative.

Only a few minutes later, Adam stood at the window in the reception office and watched Sam’s yellow Mustang pull into the lot. The captain got out. An amputee from Afghanistan, Sam still limped a little, but today he strode with confidence.

Once they were all seated in Adam’s office, Sam said, “Okay, guys, explain.”

“I saw a dead animal in the back after church last Sunday so we came back to look at it,” Leo said.

“You told me you were going to stay in the backyard. I trusted you and you lied to me,” Sam said in a tone that reminded Adam that the captain had commanded marines.

“We didn’t,” Nick began.

“Man up, son,” Sam said.

Both boys nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” in unison. Probably, Adam thought, the entire conversation would be more suitable if they both stood at attention while Sam interrogated them.

“We lied to you and sneaked out to get the animal,” Leo said. “Sir.”

“But we didn’t plan to pick up the squirrel.” Nick added, “Sir.”

“Then why did you bring a box with you, Gyrenes?” Sam asked.

Both boys looked so crestfallen that Adam almost felt sorry for them—until he remembered Maggie’s terror.

“We wanted to bring it in here and show the preacher. We thought he’d want to see it,” Leo said.

“’Cause he’s a guy,” Nick added.

“Yes,” Adam spoke solemnly. “Dead squirrels count as a particular favorite of mine.”

Sam’s lips quivered for only a moment before he became serious again.

“After that, we were going to come home and show you, Dad,” Nick finished.

“How did that box get on the floor and the secretary end up on top of the file cabinet?” Adam asked.

“Nick dropped it.”

“Did not. You pushed me.”

“Did not…”

Sam held his hand up. “Enough. I don’t care how it happened or who pushed who. You both handled a dead animal, which could have made you very sick. You both brought it in here and scared the secretary. You both knew she’d be frightened by a dead animal. Your actions may also have contaminated the offices.”