The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (8 page)

“We didn’t mean to,” Nick said, his eyes wide and round.

“Doesn’t matter,” Leo said. “Actions have consequences.” He sounded exactly like Sam.

“Yes, actions have consequences,” Sam said. “We’ll work those out when your mother gets home tonight.”

“Do you have to tell her?” Nick asked.

All Sam had to do was raise his eyebrow. Both boys nodded.

“Of course you do,” Nick said.

“She’s our mother and she loves us and she has to know,” Leo said.

Words they must have heard from Sam several times.

“I don’t keep secrets from my wife.” Sam grinned when he said the word
wife
. “I don’t lie to my wife and you don’t lie to your mother.”

“Sir, no, sir,” the boys said.

“Thanks, Adam.” Sam stood. “We’ll handle this at home. Can you think of a service these two could perform at the church?”

“They could write an apology to Maggie.”

“They will,” Sam said. “What else? We don’t have a lot left to do at the house.”

“We could finish that fence, sir,” Nick suggested as the three left the office.

Adam smiled. Yes, great kids, but he was glad he hadn’t inherited them.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Sam said. “Wait for me by my car. I need to talk to the preacher.”

“Is it about us?” Nick asked.

Sam raised his brow again and the boys shouted, “Sir, yes, sir,” and ran out.

“Don’t find another dead animal or break a window or anything else while you’re out there,” Sam shouted at their backs, then he turned toward Adam and grinned. “They might kill me yet.”

“You love them. You’re happy.”

“Never thought I would be again, Preacher, but I am.” He paused and glanced at the wall over Adam’s head before he said, “Umm…I hear Gussie Milton’s coming to town in a couple of weeks.”

Adam nodded. He didn’t bother to ask how Sam knew that. He’d either heard it from Winnie Jenkins, the Widow who was engaged to his father, or he’d heard it the small-town way: Everyone knew everyone’s business and everyone talked with everyone else about it, over and over, with embellishments. Actually, didn’t much matter which.

“Yes,” Adam said in a neutral voice. “She’s going to talk to some of the kids about camp this summer. Bree invited her.”

“So,” Sam said in an equally neutral voice, keeping his gaze on the wall. “How do you feel about that?”

“Pretty angry that everyone in this town is determined to find me a wife.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Sam made eye contact with Adam. “The Widows hooked me up with Willow and that turned out great.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, but you would’ve worked things out with her by yourself.”

“Maybe, but if the Widows are determined to match you up with someone, you’ve got about as much chance of escaping as a gnat in a hailstorm.”

“Is that why you’re here? The Widows told you to talk to me?”

Sam shook his head. “Willow did. I can’t refuse anything she asks.”

Adam laughed. “Big, tough marine.”

As he finished the sentence, they heard a crash from the parking lot.

“Better go.” Sam ran out of the office.

No telling what the boys were up to. Great kids, and he owed them for distracting their father.

At dinner that evening, when Adam shared the news of the donkey with Hector and asked him to ride Maisie, Hector shook his head.

“Can’t do that,” he said.

“Why not? Afraid of donkeys?”

“Don’t know, Pops. Never seen a donkey up close. But I think…” He paused and studied Adam seriously. “But I don’t think people want a half-black, half-Mexican kid on that animal. They’ll want someone more…well, more like Jesus. Same color.”

“Don’t agree with you. The church people like you. But, if they do complain, tough. I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Besides, you’re probably closer to the color of Jesus’s skin than anyone else in town. He was born in the Middle East, in Bethlehem, not Dallas.”

“You know what I like about you?” Hector said. “You don’t go through all that junk about all being God’s children, even though we are. You give it to me straight. Thanks.”

“You’re going to be Jesus?” Janey asked.

“Yeah.” Hector smiled at his sister. “Who’d’ve thought I’d be Jesus in a church procession?”

Birdie balanced a couple of plates on her arm. It was Friday, always a busy day at the diner. But this Friday was different. She could feel Farley’s gaze on her as she delivered the order to the corner booth.

Why did the man keep watching her?

Did he hope she’d drop the dishes so he’d get a good laugh? Not out of the question because when she carried so many, her left shoulder complained, and more loudly every day. No doubt about it, if she wanted to last here until Mac got through college, she’d have to start carrying fewer plates. But that meant she’d have to make more trips, and her feet had started to ache.

When she finished placing the order on the table, she turned. The old coot—no, the a-few-years-older-than-she-was coot—still kept an eye on her. A stalker? No, not in Butternut Creek, and not Farley Masterson. He’d been the police chief for years. No history of lawlessness in his background. Besides, he was probably too old and too slow to be a stalker. Maybe he could be a shuffler or a limper, but being a stalker seemed beyond his physical capabilities at his age.

Five years older than Birdie.

For a man his age, he looked pretty good. For a man his age, he stood straight and had only a small belly that protruded over his belt buckle. Good hair, thick and white. Not bad looking. Not that she felt a speck of interest in the man.

“Okay,” she demanded as she strode toward his table after she’d picked up her favorite weapon, the coffeepot. “What do you want?”

“A hot cup of joe would be nice.” He pushed the mug toward her.

“I mean, why are you here?”

“Breakfast?” He sounded confused. “I mean, isn’t that what everyone else is here for?” Then he smiled.

And she knew. With those words and that expression, she knew he was fooling with her and was pleased he’d upset her, gotten her attention.

“Why else would I be here, Birdie?” He winked.

She turned and stalked off.

Old coot.

Pshaah. What foolishness. She did not have to act so polite. The man was a coot. A seventy-plus coot counted as an old coot. No use trying to wrap Farley Masterson up in pretty words to hide his age.

After tossing her shoulders back in pride, she grunted in pain, then started one more round with coffee. She ignored Farley’s wave but knew she’d have to fill up his coffee and bus the table. The vibration of her cell gave her an excuse not to. She wasn’t supposed to check it when she was working, but she’d told her boss that if one of the girls called, she’d answer even if she had to drop a tray in the middle of the diner. There was a text message from Bree. “Coach from Hwrd Col calld. Vball.”

Bree and Mac used few abbreviations in their texts because, doggone, it took so long for their grandmother to translate them. This one was easy. A coach from Howard College had called about volleyball. It was a two-year school, but a good start not too far away and might offer a good financial package. Heaven knew, Birdie couldn’t afford much. The high school counselor had told her it was a good thing Birdie’s income was so low because that would help with scholarships and aid. Who knew eking out a living could be a blessing? Well, other than in the Beatitudes.

She snapped the phone shut and attempted to ignore the realization that her granddaughters were growing up, that they’d both leave for college someday and she’d be alone, exactly as Mercedes had said.

She should rejoice, be happy to have the house back to herself, to order her life around her needs not the schedules of teenagers. But she knew the quiet of the empty house would be oppressive with only the meows of Carlos the Cat to break the silence. She’d miss the clattering of the girls’ feet up and down the steps and the slamming of the front door, those things she always nagged them about.

“Coffee,” shouted Farley.

She glanced at him. Not even when the girls were gone and she was lonely would she have the least interest in the man.

As Adam listened to the music coming from the AME Church on the street behind the parsonage, he heard Hector come out the back door. Easy to recognize Hector’s arrival because doors slammed behind him and he took huge strides that thumped across the dry yard. On the basketball court, he moved like a ballerina—not that Adam would ever tell him that—but he clumped along like a buffalo in real life.

“Hey, Pops.” He sat next to Adam. “I’d…” Hector glanced at Adam, uncertain. “Pops, that’s the church music I grew up with, when I was a kid, when our mother took us to church. I miss it.” He shook his head. “I like your church, but it isn’t my church, not yet.”

For a moment, Adam felt incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to attend the Christian Church.”

“Hey, no, Pops. I like being there. I like the people and I owe them a lot, but…but I’d like to go there”—he gestured to the source of the music—“now and then.”

“Want to go tonight?” Adam glanced at his watch. “The service started a couple of minutes ago. We could run over there.”

“You’d come, too?”

“Why not? I’ll enjoy it. Get Janey.”

Within five minutes, they’d hurried across the backyard of the parsonage, through the gate, and crossed the street to stand at the door of the AME Church.

“Welcome.” After a start at seeing Adam, a smile creased the face of the greeter. “Find yourself a place to sit.” He gestured to a nearly filled sanctuary.

After they found a pew all three of them could squeeze onto, Adam stood with the congregation and listened. Hard to believe, but the music was better inside the building.

He marveled at the skill of the pianist who seemed to use every key, added notes and trills and beats that he’d never heard, and still pounded out the melody. Adam couldn’t help but clap with the congregation and move with the rhythm.

For a few minutes, he drank it in, then turned to look at the kids. Hector swayed with the beat and Janey listened intently, her body moving side to side.

When the pianist started “Oh, Happy Day,” Adam joined in. Not that he could sing well, but he knew the words and could feel the spirit moving through him. It took him a few seconds to realize the congregation split into parts, one side singing the line and the other echoing it. “Oh, happy day,” his side sang. The other section sang, “Oh, happy day…”

He understood why Hector needed this, why he thought the service at the Christian Church was boring. Joy, this service was filled with joy.

When the pianist segued into “There Is a Balm in Gilead,” Adam heard a lovely, pure voice coming from beside him. Everyone looked around but Adam looked down. Janey, her eyes closed and head lifted, allowed music to flow from her. The notes filled and swirled around the church. She sang for nearly a minute before she noticed the others had stopped. At the realization, Janey opened her eyes, closed her mouth, and dropped onto the pew, her head down. Immediately the other worshippers picked up the tune and sang on. Hector and Adam sat down, one on each side of her and each took one of her hands. He felt he’d witnessed a miracle.

As the congregation sat at the end of that hymn, the minister asked, “Do we have any visitors with us tonight?”

Adam looked around. The only white person in the sanctuary, he stuck out like a daisy in a bed of pansies. Certainly it was obvious he was a visitor, and so was the little girl with the golden voice. But the minister waited politely, his eyes moving across the congregation until falling—as if surprised—on Adam.

“Yes, brother, we’re glad to have you here. Would you introduce yourself?”

Adam stood. “I’m Adam Jordan, minister of the Christian Church.” He pointed in that direction. “And your neighbor. Hector and Janey,” he gestured toward the kids, “heard the music and came over to join in.”

“We’re glad you did.”

With those words, the entire congregation stood, made a line around the sanctuary, and came by the pew to shake his hand and Hector’s while Janey sat with her head still down.

After a rousing sermon during which Adam had been moved to say a loud, “Amen,” the minister pronounced the benediction and they all rose to leave.

“You’re right. This is more fun,” Adam said.

“I can’t see Miss Birdie joining in,” Hector said. “Or any of the rest of the congregation. But they are good folks, the people at the Christian Church.”

“Janey,” Adam said as they walked back to the parsonage. “I didn’t know you could sing. Thank you.”

She glanced at him and gave that tiny smile again. “I like to sing.”

“She hasn’t sung in years,” Hector said. “It felt good to hear her.”

Maybe it was a sign of progress.

That night, as he perused a Bible commentary, Chewy, curled up by Adam’s feet, lifted his head and cocked an ear. Above them, Janey sang “Wade in the Water.” After a few measures, Chewy began to howl along with her. For a moment, only silence came from upstairs, then Adam heard Janey rushing down the stairs. She looked at the dog, put her arms around his neck, and laughed with genuine delight.

Adam had never seen Janey like this, had never known the solemn child could sing or show such happiness. He savored the moment. Inviting the Firestone children to live here had been the right thing to do. Now he was reaping the reward. He was the one truly blessed.

“I love to hear you sing,” he said.

She froze when she heard his voice, then lifted her eyes toward him. All the happiness had gone, vanished.

In a second Adam was overcome by a wave of anger deeper than he realized he possessed. As a peaceful man, the emotion frightened him because, more than anything, he wanted to beat up the person who’d put that fear in her eyes. He forced the rage away and took a deep breath before he said gently, “You have a lovely voice.”

“Thank you,” Janey said with that tiny grin.