The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (16 page)

“One more question, Missy Sweetheart. Where did you sleep last night?”

“Outside,” she whispered. Her voice shook.

Birdie shut her mouth. The questions didn’t help any and drove the child to tears.

“Okay, let’s go.” Birdie took the girl’s tiny, grubby hand and led her toward the restroom. She tried to wipe away whatever grime she could, including washing Missy’s face and hands with paper towels. All the task accomplished was to make the child look a bit less like a hobo and more like a girl. Birdie then took Missy back into the dining area and settled her at a booth facing the front window. Her mother could see Missy through the window if she was looking for her. Why wouldn’t she be?

In the light, she could see Missy’s freckles across pale skin and her dark eyes filled with sadness. “You look outside and tell me if your mother comes by.” Missy nodded.

Birdie set a glass of milk and another of orange juice on the table before she went back to making sure they were ready for the morning crowd. Another waitress and the cashier arrived a few minutes before six. They each asked for an explanation of the waif at the front table as they prepared for their jobs. The cook arrived just as Birdie opened the front door and the early customers crowded in.

When Birdie picked up Missy’s breakfast ten minutes later and took it to the booth, both glasses were empty but the child lay on the red plastic seat and slept. Birdie was a sucker for a sleeping child. She watched her for a few seconds before she took off her sweater and placed it over the girl. After that, she took a few steps and placed Missy’s breakfast in front of Howard Crampton.

“Not what I ordered,” he objected.

“That’s okay. You’ll like it. It’s hot.”

By nine, the breakfast bunch had mostly left and Birdie had time to check on Missy again. The child was waking up.

“Hungry?”

When Missy nodded, Birdie put another order in. “More milk?” she asked.

Missy used her fists to wipe the sleep from her eyes and nodded.

What was she going to do with the child now? She didn’t want to turn her over to foster care, not when the girl looked so pitiful and small and sad and lonely. Why had Birdie allowed herself to get caught up in the situation when she already had plenty on her plate? She couldn’t take on the care of a four-year-old.

Of course, the mother would probably show up soon, probably in a few minutes, explain what had happened, and everything would be fine. No problem. For that reason, Birdie went to the door and looked up and down the street again. All she saw was a normal morning in Butternut Creek: stores opening, people parking and walking toward the courthouse, a few men playing chess under the branches of the live oaks around the square. She recognized almost everyone, and those she didn’t know didn’t look a bit like a hysterical mom searching for her lost daughter.

So where in the world—or in the state of Texas—was the girl’s mother? Why had she left her daughter alone for so long? A mother doesn’t just misplace her child. Even the worst mother would certainly realize she was gone by now.

Birdie had a lot of questions about Missy she needed answers to but didn’t feel many answers would be forthcoming from Missy. She took out her cell phone, punched a number, and waited for Mercedes to answer. “Meet me at the church ASAP,” she said and hung up without waiting for a response. Mercedes would be there.

“Judy, cover for me. I’ll be back for lunch,” Birdie told the other waitress. “Come on, Missy.” She held out her hand.

On the way to the church, Birdie used her key to open the door of the thrift shop run by many of the churches. Not all the churches because there were some groups that refused to cooperate, not even to feed the hungry or to help a pitiful, lost little girl. She pulled out a change of clothes and underwear for the child, taped a note to the cash register—“Please charge $10.58 to the account of the Christian Church”—and headed over to the church office.

Adam looked up from his notes to see Miss Birdie stride into the study holding the hand of a very dirty child.

“Didn’t expect you to be here,” the pillar said as she stopped and glared at him for being in his own office. He guessed he’d never please her.

“Awfully early for you,” she added.

Glancing at the clock, he nodded. “I had some things to finish up. I could leave if it’s inconvenient to have me here.”

She didn’t, of course, get the joke. Instead she said, “You can stay. You might have some ideas.” Her voice suggested she doubted that.

He stood and walked around the desk to kneel in front of the little girl. “I’m Adam. Who are you?”

“This is the Reverend Jordan,” the pillar explained with a glare toward him. “Sometimes you’re too informal, Preacher.”

“I’m Missy,” the child said. “I lost my mommy.”

“When was that?”

She shook her head.

“Losing your mother can’t feel good. Where did you put her?”

Missy shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her voice quivered.

“Do you live in Butternut Creek?”

The girl smiled. “What a funny name.”

“Guess not,” he said to Miss Birdie. He picked Missy up and sat on one of the cleared chairs with her on his lap. The child patted him on the cheek.

“What do you know about this lovely young lady?” he asked the pillar while bouncing Missy up and down.

“Nothing. She was alone outside the diner when I opened up this morning.” The pillar went on to tell the story. “When her mother didn’t show up, I brought her over here to give her a shower and talk to Mercedes about what to do now.”

“How nice of you,” he said. “Most people would have left her there, ignored her, decided she was someone else’s problem.”

The pillar said nothing, embarrassed to be called a good person.

Adam smiled at Missy again. “Missy, do you know where your daddy is?”

“Away,” she said with no particular emotion.

“Your grandmother or grandfather?”

“Grandpa’s with Jesus.” Missy nodded confidently.

“Someone’s taken her to church.” He glanced up at Birdie before looking back at Missy.

“And your grandmother?”

“Virginia,” she said which didn’t help a whole lot. Was that a name or a location?

Before he could seek clarification, the child said, “I want my mommy.” Tears clouded her eyes.

“Of course you do, and we’re having people look all over for her.” Adam reached to the desk and got a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Can you tell me anything you remember?”

“I was cold.” She shivered. “And scared.” She began to sob.

“Why don’t we take a walk and see if you remember anyplace,” Adam said.

But a fifteen-minute walk during which Adam carried Missy didn’t jog her memory.

Once they got back to the church and his study, Adam joggled Missy on his lap.

Miss Birdie said, “I called DPS—protective services. They’re sending a social worker.”

Adam felt a great sense of relief. Someone who knew how to handle this would take over.

“Sweetheart, a nice lady will be coming to take you someplace to wait for your mommy.”

“Take me someplace?” Fear tinged Missy’s voice. “What nice lady?” She looked at the pillar, her eyes wide again. “Are you the nice lady?”

“No, another lady will find a place for you to stay,” he said. “A very nice lady. She’ll be here soon.”

Missy hopped off his lap, ran the short distance to Miss Birdie, and grasped the pillar’s hand. “Want to stay with you.”

Because she’d taken in her two granddaughters, Adam knew a soft place for abandoned little girls existed in the pillar’s heart, as much as she attempted to hide it. From her expression, he could also tell the conflicting emotions that raged inside her: fear and consternation but also duty and compassion. Miss Birdie possessed an easy-to-read face, though usually it showed only frustration with her pastor. The range of her feelings at this moment intrigued him.

“She won’t be lost very long,” Miss Birdie said as if considering the addition of one more to her family. “The police should find her mother right away. I bet she’s looking for Missy as we speak. But she really needs a shower.”

“Why don’t you take her to the gym and wash her up.” Years ago, the church had had an active recreation program with great facilities. Someday, he hoped to start that again, but the entire area needed a lot of work and the church barely had enough money to keep the main building functioning. “I’ll wait for Mercedes and children’s services and call the police.”

When they returned twenty minutes later, he’d finished the calls. Missy’s brown hair stood up in wisps from being towel-dried and her freckles showed against clean, pale skin.

“I got her a change of clothes at the thrift shop but put the dirty clothes in this.” She held up a plastic sack. “Too dirty and ragged to wear again, but I thought maybe the police could find something on them if it comes to that. Nothing in her pockets, no identification. Of course, I’m sure someone is looking for her.”

Adam nodded but added nothing to the conversation Miss Birdie carried on with herself.

“You know, I have two girls I’m already taking care of,” she said. “You know my plate is full now.”

Yes, he did, but he didn’t dare insult her by suggesting she couldn’t do everything.

When he didn’t say a word, the pillar said to the little girl, “Missy, when the nice lady gets here, she’ll find you a place to stay until they find your mother.”

“Please,” Missy said in a trembling voice and with a beseeching expression only the hardest of hearts could resist, then she climbed on to Miss Birdie’s lap and put her arms around the elder’s neck.

A sudden rush of tenderness covered Miss Birdie’s face before she again donned her no-nonsense, pillar-of-the-church expression. “All right.” She nodded. “Bree and Mac will help and she’ll be with us for such a short time.”

“You can use the Presbyterians’ day care,” Adam suggested. “The ministerial benevolence fund can cover that.”

Seconds later Mercedes walked into the room. “Sorry, I got held up at the library.” After listening to how Missy had ended up in the pillar’s lap, the Widow made more calls to check on legalities with her various relatives and make sure Miss Birdie would be immediately approved for foster care if necessary.

Twenty minutes later, the police arrived. They found out little from Missy but took her picture, clothes, and fingerprints. They also noticed smudges on the child’s shoes they thought might be her mother’s fingerprints. Or maybe not, but they’d send them to the lab in Austin. They’d check the hospitals in Austin and the morgue and put out a bulletin about the girl covering a hundred-mile radius. With so little to go on, they couldn’t do more.

The two Widows left with a little girl between them.

“I’m sure she won’t be with me for long,” Miss Birdie said as she closed the door. She’d looked more worried and uncertain than Adam had seen her during their short acquaintance.

He vowed to help her as much as possible, but he wouldn’t insult her by letting her know he was looking out for her as much as for Missy.

Sam would never have opened the door if he hadn’t looked out the window and seen two horses standing in his front lawn. A man stood with them, a man he recognized. Sam’s mind associated the man with horses, but how hard was that connection when the man stood with two horses? Still, Sam thought it was an important link, something from those years he’d visited here.

Oddly, today he was up, showered, and dressed earlier than usual, but after fixing his own breakfast, he had no idea what to do next. Probably the reason he didn’t usually get up so early.

“You don’t remember me,” the man began as Sam stepped out on the porch.

Not true. Sam could remember him, but he couldn’t remember how.

“I’m Jesse Hardin from the Christian Church.”

Sam took the man’s callused hand and shook it before a memory surfaced. “Hey, I do remember you. You’re the horse man. Aunt Effie used to take me to your place to ride.” Sam grinned. “Those are some of the best memories of my life.”

But he still didn’t understand why these two horses—the gray with a saddle and the Appaloosa with only a blanket across her back—stood there, munching on the sparse grass of what he and the boys laughingly referred to as the front lawn.