The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (10 page)

Then a light came on in the house two doors to the left, and a few seconds later light flickered through blinds on a house down the street. Little by little, lights twinkled on in most of the houses in the neighborhood.

“If you don’t think that lots of people saw me get on one knee in front of you and haven’t called the Widows yet, you don’t know Butternut Creek very well.”

“Of course. I should have remembered that about small towns. In a few minutes, everyone will know.” She nodded. “And probably most of Roundville.”

“You’ve made me very happy, Gussie.” He brushed a light kiss across her lips. “You’ve made the Widows happy, too.”

Then they heard the sound of a phone ringing inside the house. Gussie pulled on Adam’s hand. “Guess we’d better go inside and tell your folks before Miss Birdie and everyone else in town does.”

“I think there’s one more thing the community would like.” He pulled her close and kissed her deeply and with every bit of his love.

Aah, the joy of being engaged.

“I’ll meet you in Austin next week and we’ll shop for a ring,” he said as they stood with their foreheads touching.

“Adam.” She stepped back and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want a ring. You can’t afford one, not with two children to raise.”

“I’ll work it out.”

“But I don’t want one. Really.” She held her hand up when he started to argue. “I don’t want to insult you about your finances or ability to work things out, but I don’t want an engagement ring. Have you noticed Mom and Dad’s rings?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t very observant about jewelry.

“They have plain gold bands. They’ve been married for nearly fifty years and those rings symbolize their love and commitment. All I want is a plain gold wedding band like theirs.”

What a relief.

“Gussie?” Yvonne’s voice interrupted the delightful experience. “What’s happening?”

Adam lifted his head to see Gussie’s mother standing in the doorway in her robe.

“We’re engaged, Mom.” Gussie, her face shining with joy, turned toward her mother.

“Oh, my.” Yvonne took a quick step back and crashed into Henry, lurking behind her. She ignored his “whoof” and said, “Have you set a date? Come in and tell us all about it.” She reached forward to take Gussie’s hand. “No ring yet?”

“He didn’t buy one because he didn’t plan to ask me.” With a grin at Adam, she followed her mother into the house. “And I don’t really want one.”

“Did you hear?” Mercedes asked Birdie.

Birdie held the phone and struggled to wake up. Why did people call this late at night? She glanced at the clock. Ten fifteen.

Okay, not all that late. Not dark thirty yet, but still—she was a working woman. Had to open the diner tomorrow morning.

“Bird? You there?”

“Mrph.”

“Have you heard? I tried to call a few minutes ago but no one answered,” Mercedes continued.

One of the girls must have been on the phone and ignored the incoming call. They weren’t supposed to be on the phone that late, but it happened. Birdie rolled to the side of the bed and pushed herself up, exactly as the physical therapist had told her, to keep the pressure off that bad shoulder. “What happened?” she asked, still groggy.

“The preacher and Gussie are engaged.”

Birdie dropped the phone. For a moment, she stared at it. The preacher and Gussie were engaged and she’d slept through the excitement? Probably the last to know. When she reached down to pick up the receiver, she heard, “Bird? Bird? Are you there?” softly echoing.

“Yes, I’m here. Just surprised. When did this happen?”

“About twenty minutes ago. Everyone knows.”

Everyone knew but Birdie. Mortifying. “Did you talk to Blossom?”

“Called her when I couldn’t get you. She’d already heard.”

Even Blossom knew before she did. The fabric of the universe was unraveling.

“And Winnie?”

“She called me. Bet she’s been trying to call you, too.”

Birdie heard the buzzing tone of an incoming call and ignored it.

“Everybody knows,” Mercedes repeated.

All right, she had to accept everyone knew before she did, but she didn’t have to broadcast her failure. Nothing to do but pick up and move on. That had always been her motto. Just do it. That darned company had stolen the words from her.

“Bird?”

“Sorry. I’m thinking this all through. Do you know anything more?”

“No. He proposed on the porch of Sam Peterson’s old house. Got down on one knee according to Marcella Perry.”

“Marcella’s a strong Episcopalian. Lives right across from that house.” Birdie nodded decisively. A reliable source of gossip counted as extremely important, a necessity. “We can believe her.”

“Then the preacher kissed her…”

“Oh, my. Right there on the porch in front of God and everyone, he kissed her?”

“Then they went inside. Must be talking to her parents.”

“Mercedes, you realize what this means? We succeeded.”

“And it means babies,” Mercedes added. “Babies to fill the parsonage, babies to grow up and fill the Sunday school classes.”

“How long should we give them before we start mentioning that it’s about time they get busy procreating?”

“I don’t know.” Mercedes paused. “You know, Gussie’s not young. What is she? Thirty? Thirty-one? Might be hard for her to get pregnant. Old eggs, you know, and fewer.”

“All they need are a couple of good eggs. Half a dozen or so.” She considered the idea. “But you’re right. We don’t want to butt into their private lives yet. We’ll give them six months after the wedding before we start encouraging them.”

“Yes, encouraging them, not nagging. But I’d really like to see a few babies before I pass on.”

Birdie blinked. “Before you pass on? Is there something I should know? Are you sick?”

“No, nothing, only becoming aware of my mortality.” Mercedes sighed.

“Well, we’re all mortal. When did you think you weren’t?”

“Bird, we’re nearly seventy.”

“Mercedes, we
are
seventy. We’ve been seventy for a while. Why do you sound so gloomy when the preacher just got engaged?” She yawned. “Let’s meet tomorrow at the diner. You call the others.” With that, she switched off the phone and set it on the nightstand.

She’d never get back to sleep. The Widows had a wedding to plan, whether the preacher wanted it or not. Probably wouldn’t want their input. Too bad. He’d have to accept their suggestions, give in to their instructions. Surely he knew that.

Between the wedding and the additional task of finding a wife for the coach, they had their hands full. Maybe they needed to split into two groups: She and Mercedes could work on matchmaking and Winnie and Blossom could handle the wedding.

No, Birdie had worked and pushed and prodded and planned too hard and too long to get the preacher married. She had to savor the victory by being part of the wedding. She’d have to schedule her time.

With that, she got up, went to her tiny desk in the corner, picked up a couple of sheets of paper and a pen, and began to make notes.

G
ussie watched her parents, her mother fussing in the kitchen, determined to celebrate the proposal with food while her father just dithered. First he’d grabbed Adam’s hand and shaken it, then he’d gone to her mother and hugged her, then hugged Gussie before he shook Adam’s hand again. She hadn’t seen either of them this excited in a long time.

Happy
didn’t begin to describe how she felt. The reason for her happiness and the excitement of her parents had his arm around her shoulder.

Was she crazy to trust this man? To share the rest of her life with him?

No, not a bit. She’d allowed Lennie’s actions to live inside her, chipping away at her life. She shouldn’t have let that one act of violence control her for all these years.

She knew she could trust Adam. She leaned against him and could feel his strength. This was a good man, and she loved him deeply.

“Now, let’s go into the dining room and you tell us everything,” Mom said. “Henry, you bring the cake.”

Before they even sat down, the music of “Ode to Joy” sounded from her mother’s cell on the kitchen counter. She looked at the ID, then said, “I need to take this,” and turned away.

“Can’t talk now, Birdie,” Mom whispered.

The area was very small. Even if she went into the living room or the kitchen, they could hear her end of the conversation.

In an effort to give her privacy, Adam said with a glance into the living room, “The place hasn’t changed much since I used to visit Sam,” he said.

“Lots of pink,” Gussie added.

“Odd color for a marine,” Henry said.

They all nodded at each other as bits of words reached them from the phone. Not that the subject or words mattered much. They all knew exactly what she was talking about.

“His aunt chose the colors when she lived here,” Adam said.

They all nodded.

“I’ll come to the diner tomorrow afternoon.” With that, Mom shut off the phone and dropped it into her pocket.

Always the perfect hostess, even dressed for bed, she calmly and carefully placed each piece of cake on a plate and handed them around with napkins and forks. “Wait for them to thaw. They just came out of the freezer.”

After she saw everyone had a plate and a napkin and a fork, Mom said, “Now, what are your plans?”

“We don’t have any yet. We’ve only been engaged five minutes.”

“We’re getting married,” Adam added. “Sometime.”

“Oh, oh,” Yvonne cooed. “Henry, what do you think.”

“Young man, she’s a great girl but”—he spoke directly to Adam—“she can be stubborn.”

“Dad,” Gussie gasped.

“Henry,” her mother chimed in.

“I know.” Adam nodded. “That’s one of the things I love about Gussie.” He took her hand and held on to it when she attempted to pull it away after that remark.

Her father shook his head. “Then you must really love her because she can be a real…” He stopped and smiled at them.

“Yes, I love her very much,” Adam said, answering Henry’s question.

“We expect you to take good care of her.”

Before Gussie could say she could take care of herself, Adam said, “Yes, sir.”

With those words, her father leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes for a moment, and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”

Until she saw that, Gussie hadn’t realized how deeply her father had worried about her.

His prayer finished, Dad opened his eyes and smiled at Adam. “Let loose of her for a few seconds, Adam. This is Yvonne’s Chocolate Guilt Cake, best chocolate cake you’ve ever had. Eat up.”

“We’re looking forward to meeting your parents,” Mom said.

“Gussie tells us your father’s name is Clive and they live in London,” Henry said between bites. “Why London? Will they be able to come to the wedding?”

“Dad grew up in London. Graduated from Cambridge. Came to Philadelphia to work on a master’s and met my mother there, at Wharton. Her name is Lily. She grew up in Kentucky. When they got married, Dad started a business in Cincinnati but we lived in a little town in Kentucky. He got rich but always wanted to retire to London, so they did.”

“So you’re marrying into money, Gus. That’s good news,” Henry said.

“Shush, Henry,” her mother said, as Gussie knew she would.

Saturday noon, Birdie leaned against a counter and closed her eyes.
Lord, give me strength
, she prayed.

You know I’ve got this bad shoulder and a wedding to plan but my feet are killing me and I’ve got those two girls to raise so I took the Saturday shift. Dear Lord, help me remember never to work six days a week again.

For a few seconds, she lifted her right foot and squinched her toes up inside the old shoes. She really needed a new pair, but where would that money come from?

“Birdie.”

Farley Masterson’s voice cut across her moment of meditation. The man ate breakfast and now had returned for lunch, still trying to flirt with her. How did he get his lovely wife—may she rest in peace—when he had no idea how to talk to a woman?

Not that she had a bit of interest in him. As the former sheriff of Creek County, he’d picked up her prodigal daughter and brought her home under the influence of something illegal more times than Birdie wanted to remember. Oh, Birdie hated to admit it but she’d almost felt relief when Martha had taken off and, after that, Birdie didn’t need to see Farley standing on her porch in the middle of the night.

Birdie put her foot down, took a deep breath, and picked up the fresh carafe of coffee. “Here you go.” She filled his cup, then looked around at her other tables. All needed something. Lunchtime on Saturday had been a bad time for Birdie to stop and meditate on her life and health and aching feet. She needed a quiet moment, but she needed tips more.

Before she could take a step away from his table, Farley said, “Birdie?” in an unusually uncertain voice for the former chief of police.

“Got to check on my other customers.” She headed toward the tables and filled cups, then set the coffeepot on the burner to remove dishes, bring more condiments, and take orders for dessert.

Surely after all that time, Farley had left. With a lightning-fast glance over her shoulder, she saw he still sat at his table. He’d piled his dishes up—to make them easier for her to bus?—and held his coffee cup up.

The old coot must have the biggest bladder in town. All he did was sit there and drink coffee. They should charge him extra but she couldn’t ignore him. Farley was a good tipper.

“Here you go.” She filled his cup again and picked up a few dishes with her other hand. Not the entire stack. Her shoulder wouldn’t handle that, but a couple of small plates felt okay.

“Birdie,” he repeated, still in that odd and almost vulnerable tone of voice. He looked up at her. She guessed he could see her fatigue because he said, “You work too hard.”

She snorted.

“I mean, you’re too old to…”

“Farley, don’t you tell me what I can do and what I shouldn’t do.” She turned away and dropped the dishes in the plastic bin.

“Birdie,” he called after her. “Shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

She looked back at him. He did look contrite.

He’d aged well. Handsome man. Didn’t look older than her although she knew he was. Four or five years. Nice head of thick, white hair and dressed nicely.

“Birdie, would you just come here and talk to me for a minute?”

He used the voice of a cop telling a criminal to come out with his hands up. Everyone in the diner turned in their direction. She had to scuttle over there or gossip would spread around town.

“What is it?” she said as softly as she could, which she knew was only a mini decibel lower than Farley’s voice.

“You know there’s a new James Bond movie playing in Marble Falls.”

She shook her head. “Didn’t know that.” Why did the man think that bit of information would interest her? She took a step away.

“Want to see it with me next week?”

All the customers heard those words loud and clear. The men who liked to think of themselves as the town movers and shakers and who met here every day for lunch stopped their discussion and turned to watch. So did the ranchers sitting at the counter sucking down coffee and the group of women from the Presbyterian Church who met for lunch on Saturday. Even the two or three families of tourists who must have gotten lost to end up in Butternut Creek studied her and that old coot.

She moved back toward him and leaned down close to his ear. “What’s the matter with you?” She lifted her eyes to see if everyone was still watching them. They were. “Why did you ask that? And why here?” she whispered.

“Birdie, you have the loudest whisper in the world.” He shook his head. “If you don’t want everyone to know our business, then hush.”

“How can I tell you
no
if I can’t talk?”

“You’re turning me down?”

For a second, he looked wounded. She almost felt sorry for him. Had no idea she could break a man’s heart. Hadn’t at sixteen and she was a lot skinnier and grumpier now, but the look on his face made her feel bad, almost sorry for her harsh words.

Then his hurt expression disappeared. “Have it your way.” His voice sounded hard and chilled. “Thought we could keep each other company.”

Didn’t that beat all? Birdie MacDowell had become a vamp at seventy.

He stood, tossed some bills on the table, and stalked out. She watched him go.

The memory of his uncertain voice when he asked her and the stricken look forced her to realize she’d behaved badly. Surprise and that darned shoulder pain had forced a grouchy answer.

No, she couldn’t blame pain for those harsh words. She had to admit she’d behaved poorly, almost cruelly. She could have handled it better. Should have handled his request better. From the way he stomped out of here, she knew he wouldn’t be asking her out again, knew he might even stop sitting at her tables, which meant no more nice tips. But that wasn’t the worst part. She hadn’t behaved like a Christian.

And maybe she’d miss him.

“You could be nicer to the man,” Mercedes told her as the Widows gathered at their usual table after the lunch crowd had left.

Obviously the story had already spread through the entire town, as she’d known it would.

“Wouldn’t hurt to accept his invitation. It’s nice to have someone to go to dinner or a movie with. You know Bill Jones down at the bank and I have been keeping company for years.”

“That’s not what we’re here to discuss,” Birdie said clearly.

Usually, the Widows came together after a crisis or to head one off. Today they met to discuss the preacher’s recent engagement and his future wedding. Before this she’d had little confidence in Adam’s ability to hold on to a woman like Gussie, not that he’d gotten her to the altar yet. A huge chore faced them. For that reason, they’d added a guest, the mother of the bride.

“You could have…,” Mercedes began.

“What do you know so far?” Birdie asked Yvonne, effectively cutting off her friend’s words.

“Nothing.” Gussie’s mother looked back and forth between Birdie and Mercedes apprehensively. “They just got engaged.” She held out her hand. “Gussie didn’t want an engagement ring, only a gold band like mine.”

Good thing because he can’t afford a fancy ring
, Birdie thought, but even she wasn’t rude enough to mention the preacher’s financial situation or the inability of the church to give him much of a raise.

“Perhaps there’s more information you can share with us,” Blossom said.

As a Southerner, she always phrased her questions so much better than Birdie. Blossom spoke so softly and gently, no one ever noticed that she demanded information, too, in her own very effective way.

“For example, what are Gussie’s favorite colors?” Blossom asked.

“She hates pink,” Yvonne said.

Blossom looked disappointed. “Pink is such a pretty color for a spring wedding.”

“Doubt if it will be a spring wedding,” Winnie said. “Not enough time to plan that unless we wait a year.”

“They aren’t planning to wait that long, are they?” Birdie asked.

Yvonne shrugged.

“Maybe a summer wedding?” Mercedes asked.

“Still cutting it close,” Winnie said.

“Or late this year or next year,” Blossom said. “We have a lot of planning to do but we could put together a lovely wedding for Christmas.”

“Busy time for a minister,” Winnie said. “Let’s go ahead and plan for this autumn. We can always reconsider.”

All five women nodded.

“We’ll tell them September or October.” Winnie wrote that down.

Blossom looked around the group. “What are good colors for a fall wedding?”

“Gussie loves orange,” Yvonne said.

For a moment they all considered that. “No, I don’t believe orange is a good color,” Blossom said. “Maybe a very pale orange, a pastel. Maybe peach.”

“Gussie doesn’t like pastels,” Yvonne said.

“Doesn’t really matter,” Birdie said dismissively.

“Peach would be pretty. Maybe even a pale blue or an apple green,” Blossom mused.

“Pastels. Nice colors for spring,” Mercedes said. “But would they work in October?”

“But Gussie doesn’t really like…,” Yvonne attempted to explain.

Rushing right past that bit of information, the Widows began brainstorming while Winnie took notes. After twenty minutes and lots of ideas, Birdie turned to Yvonne. “You can go now. We have other things to discuss.”

Startled for a moment, Yvonne stood.

As she watched Gussie’s mother walk away, Mercedes said, “That wasn’t very polite, Bird. Couldn’t you think of another way to say that?”

“We’ve known each other for years. Yvonne’s used to me. Besides, we need to discuss the coach and she barely knows him.” She paused to look around at the three remaining women. “Any ideas for getting the coach and the preacher’s sister together?”

“Do you think we might be taking on too much?” Mercedes said. “Shouldn’t we wait until after the wedding?”

Birdie snorted. “Who knows what women will be around in September?”

“New teachers will be coming in,” Winnie said. “And I hear the Episcopalians have called an associate, a young woman.”