The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (4 page)

“Do you remember the scripture I read before we share communion?” Adam said. “It invites people to the
Lord’s Supper
. Having crickets in the communion tray is a very serious spiritual breach.”

“Yes, sir.” Nick gulped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Preacher,” Willow said. “How would you like to punish him?”

“First, I want you to go through the entire church and find every cricket—alive or dead—and dispose of them all. Start in the sanctuary with the communion trays.”

“Yes, sir.” Nick lifted his green eyes filled with deep remorse.

“After that, I’m going to turn you over to your mother to discipline.”

“Not to Mom,” Nick whispered. “Please not. She’s tough.”

All three adults nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And Leo can help you,” Willow said.

“Me?” Leo gasped. “I didn’t…”

“But you knew about the lizard.”

Leo nodded.

“Didn’t you know that your little brother would do something like this to feed the creature?”

Leo nodded and followed his brother from the room.

“I’m sorry, Adam.” Willow shook her head. “I never know what those boys are going to do. Leo’s getting a little more mature, but crickets in the communion tray? And a lizard someplace in our home?”

“You might have Nick write an apology to the deacons and elders. They had quite a scare.”

When Adam headed down the corridor to his office, he saw Miss Birdie waiting for him and tapping her foot. His first reaction was to turn and march the other way. When Miss Birdie looked like that, he always wanted to turn and march the other way.

“Preacher,” she said.

Too late. “I took care of the crickets,” he said. “The boys are cleaning the sanctuary and disposing of every insect, living or dead, at this moment.”

“What about poor Pansy? And Mrs. Wade?”

“Nick will write them an apology.”

She walked off, which made Adam feel great relief.

He found Gussie waiting in his church study. After a quick kiss on her cheek, he said, “Go on back to the parsonage. I’ll be right over. I’m sure your mother has fixed a great Sunday dinner but I have to do something first. Won’t take long.”

As she left, he looked up and down the hall and in the reception room.

“Anyone here?” he shouted. No one answered. He was alone. He allowed himself to remember the moment Pansy had removed the top of the communion tray, the look on Mrs. Wade’s face, and Ralph’s escape to the chancel, and he burst out in laughter. A few minutes later, he attempted to stop, but the confusion and panic he recalled on the faces of the congregation members got him going again. He fell into one of the chairs and laughed so hard he could hardly breathe. Sometimes ministry was terribly difficult but at other times there was nothing like it.

After a snack supper Sunday evening, Gussie left town. She did that every weekend so she didn’t have to get up early Monday morning to leave Butternut Creek and hit Austin traffic. They walked to Sam’s house, and she went inside to grab her things.

As she stuffed a suitcase—which she refused to allow Adam to carry because she could handle it perfectly well, thank you—into the trunk, she turned to Adam. “Don’t think I got a chance to tell you this, but Winnie asked me this morning if I preferred diamonds, emeralds, or another gemstone.”

“Why?”

“You know, for a ring.”

He snorted. “I can’t believe them.” He paused. “Well, yes I can. Obviously attempting to push you into marriage.” But he might as well find out. “How did you answer her?”

“Ask her. I’m sure she’ll share it with you.” She squeezed his hand and headed around the car and got inside.

She started the car and Adam said, “Be careful.”

Why did people say that?
Be careful
.

Did he say those words because he worried Gussie would not be careful if he didn’t warn her?

Did he fear she’d take off at eighty miles an hour and gather speed from there? Or that she’d run every red light between the parsonage and Austin? Had he told her to be careful because he thought Gussie would pay no attention to one-way streets and no-left-turn signs. Did he really think a gigantic game of bumper cars or a demolition derby awaited her on the highway?

He grinned. Of course not. He hadn’t said
Be careful
to remind her not to drive like a crazy person, not completely.

No, those words were shorthand for
I love you
. Those words meant,
I care. Come back to me. Remember I’m waiting for you
. All that in two little words.

Gussie backed out of the drive.

“Be careful,” Adam shouted.

Gussie waved. She knew what he meant.

Monday morning a week later, Adam looked up at a soft knock on the door of his church office.

“Preacher?” Blossom peeked inside.

“Come on in,” Adam said. He stood and waited for the other Widows to follow her. None appeared. Actually, he should have guessed that, because Blossom had entered first and only the pillar was allowed to lead the group in.

“Please sit down.” Once they’d both settled in chairs in front of his desk, Adam asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” she said, then paused with her gaze falling on her nicely manicured nails.

French tips, Adam thought. He’d learned that from his former fiancée many years earlier.

“Well.” She glanced up at him. “It’s about your reticence.”

He blinked. “My reticence?”

“You know. Your stubbornness.”

“Yes, I know what the word means, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“The Widows asked me to talk to you about…you know.”

Comprehension dawned in amazing clarity. Poor Blossom. The alien nature of the pillar had entered her body and taken over her sweet nature and she didn’t feel a bit good about that.

“About your lack of action.” Her cheeks turned scarlet. “You know. With Gussie Milton.”

If it were any other Widow, he’d allow her to founder, but the pillar knew very well he would allow Blossom to badger him in her gentle way. It didn’t seem like harassment when Blossom spoke softly and slipped into her best drawl, and he couldn’t hurt her tender feelings.

On the other hand, he saw no need to help her interfere. “Could you be a little clearer?” he asked. “More specific?”

She opened a piece of paper she held in her palm and glanced at it before crumpling it. During all this, she didn’t meet his gaze but addressed the comments to her fingernails. “We know you’ve proposed to a woman before but you’re moseying along on this one. We’ve given you plenty of time to ask her.”

“The last time you brought this up was only a few weeks ago.”

“Plenty of time.”

When he didn’t answer, she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, looked into his face, and spoke. “Pastor, it is against my Southern upbringing to say this. I do not enjoy getting knee-deep and thigh-high into someone’s business, but we
do
have a wedding to plan.” She moved forward in her chair and placed her plump, dimpled hands on the desk. “We believe you may need a little help with this one.” With a deep sigh, she sat back. Her posture said
I’ve done my duty
.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your concern,” he said gently. “But I’ll handle this when the time is right. Thank you for stopping by.”

She didn’t move. Instead of standing and toddling toward the door as he expected, she remained in the chair but relaxed.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?” When she didn’t answer, he sorted through his brain in an effort to figure out what in the world she would want to discuss besides his stubbornness in not following the Widows’ time line.

“It’s about the air-conditioning,” she said. “The sanctuary gets really hot in the summer.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. We got some fans—you know, the kind you hold—from the funeral home.” They had a picture of Jesus in Gethsemane on one side and an ad for Sumner’s Eternal Rest on the other.

“They don’t help much.”

“I know. We don’t have the—”

“I’d like to contribute whatever is necessary to fix the air conditioner.”

He blinked.

“The church has been very good to me, Preacher. I’ve found a place I belong.” Tears formed in her eyes. “When my husband left me, I had no idea who I was or what I could do alone. Now I have purpose and an identity. I’m a Widow.”

Adam handed her a tissue. “You don’t have to do this.”

Why did he say that? Why couldn’t he have accepted graciously?

“I want to. In the last few months, I’ve learned to act when there is a need. I have the money for this project.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous.”

“Not completely. It’s for me, too. I don’t like heat.” She stood, and Adam did as well. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I want this to remain an anonymous gift.”

“If that’s what you want.” As if no one could figure out that, unless someone had robbed a bank or set up a counterfeiting ring, the only person in the congregation with the resources to pay for the air-conditioning was Blossom.

“One more thing.” She held her index finger up. “I want it to be a professional job.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Pastor, you know how much I dislike to criticize other people, but if Ralph and the men try to do this, it will end up a disaster. We’d probably have heat during the summer and air-conditioning in December.”

Didn’t Adam know that. Ralph had worked on the phone system last year and even now it didn’t work when it rained.

“I’ll call Charley. He’s a professional and will do a good job.” If he didn’t get stuck someplace.

“Have him send the bills to me.”

“Thank you. I’ve been worried about warm weather and having that air conditioner sputtering.” He walked around the desk and took Blossom’s hand. “And I will keep your earlier advice about proposing in mind.”

With a nod worthy of a true Southern belle, she turned and left the office.

As she left, Adam sat down. A catalog from a jewelry store lay open on his desk with a picture of a diamond ring circled and a note written in Blossom’s flowing script, “I think she’d like this one,” next to it.

When had she put that on his desk?

Blossom had become more of a Widow every day. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“You’ve got to love them,” he murmured. “And, Dear God, please help me do that.” As the week went on, he repeated that prayer to himself several times, because they never gave up.

One morning, he found a rose on his desk with a list of addresses for florists in the area. When he opened the mail the next day, he found a two-for-one coupon for dinner at Red John’s Country Barbeque and Used Car Mall—not an overly romantic spot, but five-star restaurants didn’t sit on every street corner in Butternut Creek. He studied the envelope: plain white, address in block letters, and postmarked
AUSTIN
. The postmark meant nothing because all mail from small-town Central Texas went into Austin first to be sorted, then was shuffled back and delivered.

On Thursday, Maggie, the church receptionist, shouted from the front office, “Pastor, it’s for you. Gussie’s calling.”

He grabbed the phone and turned it on. “Hey.”

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice that promised a number of pleasant actions would be forthcoming.

Problem was he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her gratitude and imagined the Widows had made a grand gesture on his behalf. He should probably ask Gussie what she believed he’d done and tell her he hadn’t, but he felt the Widows would not appreciate that. They’d expect him to use Gussie’s good mood for a purpose: to propose.

Sure. On the phone.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” She laughed. “I received a box of expensive chocolates from someone who signed himself as ‘Snuggles.’”

Snuggles? “Do you think I’d identify myself as ‘Snuggles’?”

“No, I didn’t, but you’re the only man I know who
might
send me a box of chocolates, well, other than the manager of the photo supply house I order from. I can’t imagine Big Bobby would ever sign a card ‘Snuggles.’” She paused. “Please thank the Widows for me.”

W
ednesday morning, Adam stopped by the hospital to visit a few church members. Afterward, when he opened the door of his clunker of a car, there was an odd sound like a rasp, then a pop followed by the agonizing screech of a wounded creature. He’d learned to ignore those sounds in the hope that if he pretended he didn’t hear them, the car would heal itself.

Besides, the noises that concerned him deeply came from the engine and usually required more money for repairs than he had. But a squeaking door did not foretell a crisis.

At least, that was his fervent hope. Until he got in the car and settled in the seat. He reached out to pull on the handle to shut the door.

The door didn’t move at all. When he tugged harder, the handle came off. He let go of the handle but, still attached to the door by fabric, it hung uselessly. He sat there, looking at the door handle, then toward the door, still wide open.

After much consideration, he turned on the ignition, put the window down, then turned off the ignition. At least that worked, even if he had to be outside the car to pull the window back up. However, right now his greatest concern was how to shut the door. He’d face the other problems the car presented after he completed that.

With the window down, he grabbed the door with his left hand and pulled with gigantic efforts. Didn’t move. Next, he faced the door, braced his feet on the floor, placed both hands on the door, and heaved. The hinge gave a soft pop and moved maybe an inch before an earsplitting shriek came from the mysterious nexus where the hinge disappeared into the car.

Using great effort to remember his high school physics, he realized pulling was not the best way to exert pressure. He slid out and considered how to exert irresistible force. No, that wasn’t physics. Newton’s Laws of Motion said something like he had to create a force or something to counteract…well, something. He didn’t really remember it, but he felt sure pushing would create more force than pulling.

He planted his feet, put his hands below the window, and pushed.

Nothing.

“Need help?”

He turned to see Brother Swanson from the Church of Christ. “Yes, can you give me a hand? Or a shoulder? My door won’t close.”

With that, the two men stood a foot away from the car, Adam facing the center of the door and Brother Swanson on his right for optimal force.

“One, two, three,” they counted together. On
three
, they leaned forward and heaved with every ounce of muscle as well as Brother Swanson’s considerable mass.

When the door didn’t move even a fraction of an inch, Adam thought the car must be snickering at him. After all the problems it had tossed at him, the car had finally outsmarted him.

He figured the mechanic who kept the car going could fix it, but he could hardly drive to the garage with the door sticking out.

“Think you’re going to have to call the tow truck.” Brother Swanson wiped his hands.

“Thanks.”

As the vehicular good Samaritan strolled off, Adam decided to try one more thing. First Law of Physics: Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. There, he’d thought of the entire law and realized he hadn’t applied enough external force.

Filled with frustration and refusing to be defeated or to spend money on something he could fix, Adam stepped back six feet and hunkered down like a charging football lineman, right shoulder forward. He took a deep breath and charged.

By his second step, he realized the idiocy of this maneuver and attempted to stop. However, by then the law of momentum took over and kept him moving inexorably to meet the hulking turtle.

Pain exploded in his shoulder. After being thrown backward in an arc, he fell on the ground moaning and holding his arm against him in an effort to relieve the pain shooting through him. Didn’t work.

He’d forgotten Newton’s Third Law of Motion: For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction. He lay there, a perfect example of that law.

Nevertheless, it seemed he’d exerted enough force to move the door because, when he glared at it, he realized it stood open only a couple of inches. Due to his own screams, he hadn’t heard the shrieking of the metal.

Immediately he looked around in the hope no one had seen or heard this. For once, his idiocy had not been witnessed by a crowd. He attempted to leap to his feet before someone came by and asked him why he lay writhing on the asphalt. However, leaping to his feet was out of the question. He cradled his arm against his body and rolled up to a sitting position. Rear end firmly on the pavement and both feet flat on the ground, he glanced around again hoping no one could see his duck-like stance. Little by little and using his knees, he levered himself to his feet.

Once standing, he opened the back door to reach inside for the bag of athletic supplies he kept there, took out an instant cold pack, and attempted to break the seal with one hand. Impossible. He stuck it in his mouth, careful to keep his teeth on the flat edge, and pulled with the good hand. It popped and immediately cooled. He stuck that under his shirt, squarely on his right shoulder, and waited until the cold began to numb the pain.

He flexed his shoulder a little. Didn’t kill him. Probably he was only bruised. No way he wanted to explain to anyone how this had happened. From the injury, it would be obvious he’d thrown himself against something and had lost.

He stared at the car, which still grinned at him although the vehicle would have to agree that Adam had done pretty well on that last battle.

If he’d dented the door, it wouldn’t be obvious—a ding would blend in with the chipped paint, the other dents, and the overall sad appearance of the poor broken turtle.

Before he could decide what to do next, his cell rang. He awkwardly fished it out of his right pocket with his left hand.

“Preacher,” Maggie said. “Abby Jenkins fell again.”

“How is she?” He held on to his shoulder and hoped she was doing better than he was.

“Just bruised, but she’d like to see you at the nursing home.”

“On my way.”

He could, of course, leave the car here and walk to the nursing home. He did that often to visit Abby and the other church members who lived in town. Then what? Walk home and pick up the car here tomorrow? Darned if he’d send Hector after it because he’d have to explain. He didn’t even want to contemplate the jostling a walk would do to his shoulder but, mostly, he didn’t want to have to explain why he’d left the car in the hospital parking lot and wandered all over town on foot.

He knew he couldn’t open the door on the driver’s side again, both because he figured he physically couldn’t and because then he’d have to close it again and he had only one healthy shoulder left, which he was
not
about to destroy. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door wide. After inspecting the interior and planning the best entrance, he sat on the seat, pulled his legs inside, and turned, still protecting his shoulder from contact with the seat. Once settled, he turned, let go of his right elbow to reach his left hand across his body, and pulled the door shut. Then he slowly scooted across the seat and over the console—not as easy a maneuver as one might think—until he arrived in front of the steering wheel. He propped his right arm on the steering wheel and considered the situation.

How in the world was he going to keep the door from flying open? He didn’t think it would, but it might could, as a final victory. If it did, it could cause an accident or hit someone. As a responsible driver, he couldn’t risk that.

What had he done to deserve this? Well, he’d forced the turtle beyond its limits for years. Poor old thing really was ready to give up.

The turtle was like an elderly horse who wanted to be left in the stable for the rest of its days. Sorry, he couldn’t do that. He had no replacement and no choice but to just keep pushing it.

He glanced at the place where the door handle hung. Could he reattach it? He studied the handle and checked the mechanism. No, that was beyond him with only one usable hand.

As he reached for the seat belt, he realized he couldn’t pull it down and buckle it. He’d have to hold the door shut through the window and drive with his right arm. That should work okay if he went very slowly and didn’t have to make any fast turns. Probably not the best and safest method, but he had to move on. When he got home, he could work on a solution because he preferred not to call Rex and spend more money. He had higher priorities: He planned to feed the kids.

He couldn’t put his key in the ignition with his right hand so he slid over the console, put the key in, and turned the engine on. Then he slid back behind the wheel and lifted his right arm on top of it before he realized he had to shift. Putting his foot on the brake, he reached the left hand way over and moved the gear into drive.

By this time, sweat was pouring down his face and entire body. Good thing the window was open to cool him down.

With that positive thought, he backed out of the spot. Out on the highway and going five miles an hour, he could see that traffic had backed up behind him. The good thing about living in a small town? Everyone recognized his car and waved as they passed him, figuring the turtle had fallen apart again. No honking, no impatience, because the town folks enjoyed the eccentricities of the residents of Butternut Creek. The tale of the minister and his junker would be told and embellished for years.

That evening, Adam rested his arm at the dining room table as Janey worked on a math assignment. Hector had headed out to pick up Bree.

Only seconds after he left, Hector opened the front door and stuck his head inside. “Hey, Pops, did you know the door on the driver’s side doesn’t close?”

Friday evening, Gussie watched Adam and Janey head home. Janey had joined Adam to walk her home because Hector was out with friends. The two crossed the tiny porch of Sam’s old house and leaped down the steps. When they reached the sidewalk, both turned to wave. She kept her eyes on them until they disappeared into the dark.

How could she have found a man so perfect for her? If this were a movie, she’d dance around the living room singing about his perfection and her adoration. If she still had the privacy of her upstairs room in the house her parents used to live in, she could have yodeled and no one would have heard her.

But three people lived in this house only a few square feet larger than her old bedroom, and she had to be sensitive. If she let loose of her joy, she’d wake up everyone on the block because Gussie could not sing quietly. And she was a terrible dancer. She approached the steps with great enthusiasm but little ability or grace.

Besides, her father was watching a game on television and probably wouldn’t appreciate her boisterous expressions of love and joy. Her parents had their schedules and she had hers. When they didn’t mesh, they tried to get along, but it did bring up conflict. Perhaps good practice for when she and Adam got married, except she’d move into that huge parsonage with two full bathrooms and two half-baths and lots of room in case she felt like yodeling or dancing or whooping.

She grinned inside, both amazed and delighted that marriage to Adam had become “when” not “if.” Made her feel like whooping and dancing all over again, at least until her mother opened the bedroom door and leaned out.

“Did you and Adam have a nice evening?” she asked. “Never mind, I can tell that you did.” She came out and hugged Gussie before she turned toward her husband. “Henry, are you coming to bed?”

Her father waved but didn’t take his eyes from the screen. “Game’s almost over. Just two minutes.”

Of course, two minutes in a basketball game could last for hours.

Then he said, “Hey, Gus,” but kept watching the game.

“I don’t know why I even attempt to communicate with him during any type of televised game.” Mom shook her head. “I should have learned over all these years.” She kissed Gussie’s cheek and headed back to the bedroom. “Good night, dear.”

“Night, Mom.” With the door closed, she asked her father, “Would you like a soda? I’m going to get something to drink.”

“No, thanks. Game’s almost over.”

Her parents had put everything in storage in Austin, bringing just their clothing, books, and coffeemaker with them. After the move from a two-story house with four televisions to a house with one, Gussie and her mother had given all television rights to Henry.

If Gussie really wanted to watch something, she could fight for the set at the parsonage or visit Ouida or Mattie, the minister of the Presbyterian Church. Usually, it was easier to miss her programs and keep Dad happy. Less friction.

The hardest part of the arrangement was sharing a bathroom. The three of them were on top of each other all the time, and with her father’s prostate problems…well, it was good she didn’t live here all week.

“I’m going to bed, Dad.” She picked up her glass and headed toward the smaller bedroom.