The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek

by Jane Myers Perrine

  “I don’t know why we bother to send you off on these weekend excursions,” Winnie said, “if you aren’t going to take advantage of them.”

  Adam could explain that his finding a wife had not been the purpose of the retreat but he’d said it so often and the explanation did so little good, he didn’t.

  “Bree did say that you and Gussie patrolled the grounds Friday night,” the pillar said.

  “Alone,” Mercedes added. “Only the two of you.”

  “Did anything happen?” Winnie asked. “Did you make a move?”

  “Yes,” Adam said.

  Three of the women scooted forward in their chairs and watched him like a boggle of weasels eyeing a terrified rabbit. Blossom moved forward a few beats later, which made him think the newest and possibly temporary Widow didn’t realize exactly what was going on.

  “I…” But he couldn’t say any more, because he’d started laughing so hard at their hopeful expressions. Three of them looked at him as if his response had exceeded the bounds of decorum. Blossom still looked confused and uncertain. Their expressions made him laugh harder.

  When he could finally speak, he said, “Do you really believe that if anything happened between me and any woman, I’d tell you about it?”

  When the comment made them look both confused and exasperated, he added, “Not that anything has happened between me and a woman recently, but I do have a private life. You may deny that, but I do deserve a little space of my own.”

  “I guess you do,” Winnie said grudgingly. She turned toward Miss Birdie and said, “He does have that right. He doesn’t have to tell us everything.”

  The pillar narrowed her eyes and said, “We still expect you to do something about…”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” He grinned. “Thank you, ladies, for your concern. It’s good to see you. Now, tell me about plans for the spring bazaar and chicken spaghetti dinner.”

  “We’re meeting every afternoon, the ladies of the church, to start on crafts,” Mercedes said. “Blossom’s a real hand with colors and painting.”

  Miss Birdie counted on her fingers as she said, “Pansy’s getting the food organized, Winnie’s getting donations from the businesses, I’m working with the community center on the setup, and Mercedes is in charge of publicity.”

  “Sounds as if everything is well in hand.” Not that Adam doubted that. He hurried to introduce another topic before they were tempted to return to their own. “I’ve heard Jesse’s brother still needs care. Can you tell me anything about him?”

  * * *

  Sunday evening, Ouida stood on the porch and drew in the beauty of Butternut Creek. She loved the town at this time, as the day wound down. The sun had set and the sky had paled to gray. The girls were in bed, sweet smelling from their baths, and she had a moment of quiet.

  “Ouida, would you get me a newspaper?” George called. As she went back inside and crossed the living room, she picked up the newspaper and headed toward the kitchen.

  When George placed his shoe-shine box on the kitchen table, she handed him a section. He placed his shoes on top of it. His best pair. Oh, he had other pairs, but this was his favorite: Italian and expensive but, he always said, very comfortable. They were gorgeous. A little flashy for George, Ouida had always thought, with the narrow silhouette and the midnight-gray trim a little lighter—only a tiny bit—than the glossy black leather.

  He sat down and, using a special rag, began his favorite Sunday chore by gently cleaning any dust or dirt that dared to settle on the glossy leather surface.

  For a moment, she wondered if George loved those shoes. He took such good care of them. Cleaned and shined them every week, never wore them on a rainy day, never two days in a row. The consideration made her blurt out an unexpected question.

  “George, do you love me?”

  He stopped wiping the shoes for a second before he said, “Of course.” Then he put the rag down, opened the box, and took out the brush and polish he used only on these shoes.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Keeping his eyes on his work, he carefully and evenly spread the polish and rubbed it in. After inspecting the right one to make sure he’d covered every millimeter of surface with polish, he set it down and picked up the left to repeat the process.

  As if realizing that Ouida’s minute of silence meant he hadn’t answered correctly, he said, “You’re my wife.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And you take good care of me?” His statement became a question, as if they were on some kind of marital Jeopardy!

  She didn’t answer. Darned if she’d help him out on this. She really needed to know how George felt, not how she hoped he felt, but he didn’t speak, either. Finally she said, “How?”

  He shrugged, still focused on the shoes. “You always have dinner for me when I come home and you iron my clothes.”

  “So you could hire a cook and a laundress and I’d be de trop?”

  After he finished precisely covering the left shoe with polish, he put it down, looked up at her, and blinked as if he couldn’t understand why she’d brought this up. This conversation did not appear on his schedule.

  Poor man, he had no idea what to say, but she had to know. Did he keep her around to take care of this huge house because she cost less than a maid? Had she accepted being banished to this small town with their two little girls—a town she loved and girls whom, heavens knew, she adored—anyway, had she done this for a man who’d pretty much abandoned his family for his office in Austin?

  With another blink, George shook his head. “You take care of the children, too.”

  “So add a nanny to the staff.”

  “And…” George’s cheeks actually turned pink before he looked down at his shoes. He took a few seconds to test how dry the polish was before he mumbled, “And I like you in bed.”

  “Aha! So you could hire a…”

  “Ouida, don’t say that.” This time he spoke sharply and looked her in the eyes. “You know what we have is special.”

  “How?” She took a step toward him. For once in her life, she felt powerful, intimidating. Hard for a round woman with lots of freckles to do, but she did. George watched her looking, well, intimidated.

  “Because…it’s you and me. We’ve always been together.”

  “But you’re never home, George. I’d like to see you sometimes. The girls would like to get to know you.”

  He stood as if that change of position would place him in control of the situation. “I’ve just started a business.”

  “Years ago. But if it were new, would that make up for nearly abandoning us?”

  “I haven’t abandoned you. I make a good living for this family. As the owner of a business, I hire people who depend on the company to support their families. That’s important.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. She hadn’t reached him. She still couldn’t make him understand. She sighed. “And your family isn’t,” she whispered.

  “Of course you are. You…” He fumbled for words. “Ouida, my shoes are dry. I have to finish up.” He sat back down and picked up a brush.

  She stopped trying. She knew George’s priorities. Work first, family, distant second. Now she had to figure out what was best for Carol and Gretchen and for her. The girls needed a father, she knew that, but they didn’t have one now and she didn’t have a husband except for those treasured moments at night. That wasn’t enough any longer.

  * * *

  In their usual places at the diner at two o’clock Monday afternoon, the Widows awaited the appearance of Blossom Brown. Winnie Jenkins, still bursting with pride at being a real Widow for six months, stirred sweetener into her tea. Mercedes had arrived from the library mere seconds earlier and settled in a chair while Birdie placed cups of coffee in front of the other Widows, then put another on the table in front of Blossom’s empty chair.

  “When are you getting married?” Birdie asked Winnie.

&n
bsp; Winnie blushed. Silly for a woman their age to blush, but she did. Birdie couldn’t criticize. Well, she could, but that would sound spiteful.

  “Oh, we don’t know. Mitchell wanted to wait until Sam got married. He says his son’s wedding should have first priority.”

  “That was weeks ago,” Birdie said. “When are you getting married?”

  Winnie smiled. “I don’t mind the wait. After all, I’ve been waiting my whole life for the right man.”

  Sentimental dribble, Birdie thought, but she wouldn’t call Winnie out for those emotions. After all, Birdie had had her dear Elmer for nearly thirty years. Winnie deserved a good man, too.

  Okay, Birdie accepted that, but she didn’t need to hear about all that sweetness and light.

  “Did you see Sam and Willow in church the other Sunday? With the boys?” As usual, Mercedes changed the subject when she saw conflict ahead.

  “They looked happy. A great success for the Widows.” Birdie smiled for a second, only until Blossom hurried in, her short hair perfectly coiffed and a pink jacket covering a matching pink sweater. She held a quilted basket, which she set on the table.

  “You’re late,” Birdie said. “One of the tenets of the Widows is that we don’t keep other people waiting.”

  “Oh.” Blossom’s round face flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  She had such a soft sweet voice. Birdie didn’t like soft, sweet voices, not a bit.

  “I didn’t realize there were rules,” Blossom explained. “I thought the Widows only went around doing good.”

  “Well, of course that’s our main principle,” Mercedes said gently. “But we have to plan our good deeds,” she continued. “And we don’t keep the others waiting.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” Blossom settled into the fourth chair. “I’m a little late because my cook just finished making this.” She opened the basket, pulled out a plastic container, and opened it to show a coffee cake. “Doesn’t that look delicious? It’s still warm.”

  Mercedes had a look on her face that said, Don’t you know you don’t bring food to a restaurant? But she’d never express that thought aloud.

  “Don’t you know you don’t bring food to a restaurant?” Birdie said.

  “They sell food here,” Winnie added.

  “We all take turns paying for our treat,” Mercedes said.

  Blossom’s little pink mouth formed an O. “I…I didn’t think. I wanted to bring you all something special, to show how much I appreciate your inviting me to be a Widow.”

  “You haven’t been accepted as a Widow yet, not completely,” Birdie said. “There are steps.”

  “I haven’t?” Blossom blinked. “There are?”

  “I had to go through a provisional period before I became a real Widow,” Winnie added.

  “I didn’t understand.” Blossom reached for the pastry. “I’ll put this away.”

  “No, no,” Birdie protested. “As long as it’s here, we might as well enjoy it.” She reached out to break off a piece, took a small bite and chewed. “It is really good.” She cut herself a large piece and pushed the plate toward the others. “Try a little.”

  Winnie frowned. “Shouldn’t we be getting down to business instead of eating?” She pulled out a notebook and pen.

  Bossiest woman Birdie had ever met, but she also noticed that Winnie served herself nearly a quarter of the coffee cake.

  “We need to discuss the preacher…,” Birdie said.

  “I think we need to leave him alone for a while.” Mercedes daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  With the addition of Blossom, Birdie became more aware that nearly everything her friend did was dainty and lady-like. She could only hope the two would not join forces and attempt to change Birdie, to make her softer and nicer. That dog wouldn’t hunt.

  “Why do you think we need to leave the preacher alone?” Birdie demanded. “One of our missions is to get the man married.”

  “I know, but maybe we’ve pushed too hard, Bird.”

  “Pushed too hard? We’ve left him alone for days.”

  “Yes, and we need to leave him alone for a while longer.”

  “Can’t believe you’d say that, Mercedes. Can’t believe you believe it. The man is not making the slightest effort to find himself a wife. If we don’t try to find him a woman to marry…”

  “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Mercedes said. “There aren’t many women around. Who’s left to fix him up with? Pretty soon, any unmarried woman is going to run if she sees us.” She sighed. “And the preacher is beginning to ignore our efforts. Was he the least bit thankful when we mentioned Gussie Milton? No.”

  “Oh, tell me.” Blossom clapped. “Are we trying to find a wife for Reverend Jordan?”

  That woman didn’t understand a thing about being a Widow. How could she become one if she didn’t comprehend who they were and what they did?

  “Didn’t you figure that out when we were in his office Monday?” Birdie asked.

  “Oh.” Blossom blinked. “That’s what we were doing. I thought we were discussing the youth retreat.”

  “Dear,” Mercedes explained patiently. “As well as doing good, we attempt to match people up, to get them married.”

  “Back when we had more young, unmarried people in town, we were extremely successful.” Mercedes sighed. “With websites and singles bars in Austin and all the young people leaving town after they graduate, matchmaking has become quite a challenge.”

  “We matched Sam and Willow, and, if you look at the faculty in the schools, you’ll see a number of our successes,” Birdie said. “The track coach and that third-grade teacher have been married for ten years. And the assistant principal and the school nurse are expecting their second child. But it is much harder now.”

  “The process has become more difficult since all my children married,” Mercedes added. “We found mates for two of them.”

  “I don’t know many young people, but I’ll help in any way I can.” Blossom paused and thought for a few seconds. “Maybe we could invite all the singles in Butternut Creek to my house for a party.”

  The woman did have a lovely house.

  “Problem is, that would be Pastor Adam and the minister from the Presbyterian Church,” Winnie said. “We’ve already tried to get them together.”

  “I talked to a couple of divorced teachers at the middle school but they weren’t at all receptive to our efforts,” Birdie said. “Very rude, in fact.”

  “But that’s a good idea, Blossom.” Winnie wrote that down. “Maybe we’ll try that later, after a few more divorces.”

  The four women considered the suggestion for nearly a minute while they each took another piece of the coffee cake.

  “Well, enough of that,” Winnie said. “What else do we need to discuss?”

  Bossiest woman Birdie had ever met, but she did have a point. Unless more had happened between Gussie and Adam at the retreat than her granddaughters had told her, the matchmaking had hit a dead end.

  “Cleanup at the thrift shop Friday, nine o’clock,” Birdie said. “Bring brooms and cleaning material and hangers. With the big sale on Saturday, we have to sort everything, get it ready to set up in the parking lot.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hello, Mrs. Boucher. I’m Adam Jordan, the minister of the Christian Church,” Adam said as a smiling brunette opened her front door.

  When she heard those words, her smile disappeared and she stepped back to close the door. “Thank you. Not interested.”

  “No, I’m not here for that. I have Aaron’s backpack.” He held it up.

  “Oh.” She shoved the screen door open and took it. “Thank you. He leaves everything he owns all over the neighborhood.”

  “Maybe it’s not Aaron’s fault.” He gestured toward Chewy. “My dog has a bad habit of running off with stuff.” Then he showed her a hoodie. “Is this Aaron’s?”

  She shook her head. “Try across the street. That may belong to April Higgin
s.”

  Mrs. Higgins was delighted to get the hoodie back. As he left, Adam said, “If you don’t have a church home, we’d love for you to visit.”

  Had Chewy become their best tool for membership growth?

  * * *

  When he got to the office, Adam wondered where the Widows were. Not that he missed them, but it was over a week since their last visit and they hadn’t descended on him again. The lack of a second visit made him realize Mac hadn’t squealed. He felt safe.

  He’d worked for nearly fifteen minutes when Chewy leaped to his feet, woofed, and danced.

  Ouida stood in his door, a plate in one hand and Gretchen dangling from the other, as usual.

  “Exactly what I need,” Adam said. “I don’t know how I’d get along without you.”

  “You’d probably starve to death.” She shook her head. “It’s my mission to fatten you up.”

  She scrutinized his chest and shoulders, which made Adam more than a little uncomfortable. “You’ve gained weight.” She nodded decisively. “Makes you seem older, better looking.” She nodded again. “Not that you weren’t a good-lookin’ guy before, for a minister.” She snapped her mouth closed. “I’d better stop before I insult you any more. I came to talk to you.”

  In the same way she’d studied him, Adam scrutinized Ouida—but only her face—for a hint of a hidden motive. Surely she wasn’t in cahoots with the Widows, was she? Was fatten you up code for “get you married”?

  As Gretchen broke loose and ran to pet Chewy, Ouida glanced toward her daughter before she looked at Adam. “It’s about George. My husband.”

  “Yes, I know who George is.” He shouldn’t have said that. If his professors in counseling had told him anything, it was not to stop communication with a smart answer. “I’m sorry. What about George?”

  His reply had put Ouida off. She hesitated and studied him without saying a word.

  “I really am sorry, Ouida. Sometimes I say the wrong thing.”

  “We all do.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve been married for ten years.” She seemed to consider her words. “He wasn’t always like he is now, so very sober and driven and focused on work. I wouldn’t have married him if he had been.”