What had awakened him? He listened but heard nothing. He shoved the sheet over Chewy, who took up most of the bed, and got up to check on the kids. After he looked in on both and assured himself they were safe and still asleep, he went back to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Within seconds, he realized what had interfered with his sleep. Actually, who.
The Widows.
Yes, the Widows had appeared in a dream. No, in a nightmare. They’d all worn black Stetsons and toted .45s. Their appearance was probably an outlet for his anxiety about the looming crisis of Gussie’s coming to town and what the Widows had in mind for that afternoon.
For weeks he’d attempted to convince himself the Widows would limit themselves to serving refreshments at the youth meeting. He’d hoped they’d ignore their calling as matchmakers but he knew they wouldn’t. Matchmaking was in their blood, was their prime directive.
He’d call Sam tomorrow because if he’d ever needed a marine on his side, it would be this Sunday. He hadn’t seen much of Sam recently. His friend had married, become a father to two active sons, and was going to school. Not much time for more than watching a few basketball games together or meeting for pie, but now Sam needed to step up to the plate. Adam refused to face the Widows alone, and Sam owed him.
* * *
Gussie kept her eyes on the road. It was the Sunday after Easter and there weren’t huge numbers of cars roaring along. There were also no runaway trucks coming up behind to crash into her. No danger lurked behind the hills and fences that, if not studiously watched and carefully avoided, might leap ahead of her and wreak destruction.
No, it wasn’t the traffic or lack of it or the possible perils on the road that forced her to focus on her driving.
It was what awaited her in Butternut Creek. Not really a what but a who. A perfectly nice man, a minister who cared for his congregation. He’d built a youth program, taken in Hector and his sister, and seemed to be getting along with Miss Birdie. From what she’d heard, that was a feat few other ministers had managed.
Yes, a nice, tall, skinny minister awaited her arrival with, from what he had emailed, the four young people she knew from the church and ten or twelve of their friends who didn’t go to church regularly. Those kids were important. Involvement in church camp and retreats could change their lives.
Right now she didn’t care about a single one of those young people. Right now she wanted to turn around, go back home, and hide in her room.
But she’d been hiding for years and it hadn’t solved a single problem. Oh, yes, at first it had helped. She’d healed in solitude with her parents around to feed her and care for her, to soothe and love her. But after a few weeks, they’d forced her out of that cocoon. The right thing to do, of course, but she’d felt safer back then. Today she felt vulnerable and just plain scared.
Oh, she knew perfectly well she and Adam would be surrounded by fifteen youths, which would cut down on any frightening experiences. But the Widows would be there also. From what everyone said, they could make life incredibly embarrassing.
Thank goodness the Widows didn’t know about the flash of attraction she’d felt for Adam. Gussie usually succeeded very well in hiding from her emotions since…since back then, over a decade ago. She had a terrible feeling that if she accepted the fact she was attracted to Adam, all those other feelings that hovered barely below the surface of her mind would flood back, engulfing and destroying her.
At one forty-five, she pulled into the church parking lot. Two or three cars were parked by the entrance to the fellowship hall. Could be there were so few because she was early. Could be some of the young people hadn’t driven.
Could be she was stalling and didn’t want to go inside.
Most merciful God…But she didn’t finish. She refused to pray that Adam had a slight fever that would go away as soon as the meeting was over. He’d have to miss the gathering so he wouldn’t infect the kids and she wouldn’t have to face him.
No, praying for the illness of others to make her life more comfortable did not constitute an acceptable petition, certainly not one made to a merciful and loving God. In fact, the only option was a quick Dear God, grant me wisdom and courage. With that, she opened the door, grabbed her purse and tote, and got out of the car.
“Hi!” Bree came running out of the church and waved. “We’re so glad to see you. Let me help you.” She grabbed Gussie’s tote.
The loss of that bag pretty much cut off Gussie’s plan to escape. The tote held her brain: all the information she needed about youth work in Central Texas, her calendars and schedules. Yes, her brain. It held records of all those things she did to make up for not having a real life. With no other option, she followed Bree and her brain into the fellowship hall.
A dozen kids milled around inside. No sign of Adam. She hoped he really wasn’t sick. Maybe an emergency had come up. But, no, she couldn’t wish a disaster, not even a small one of short duration, on others for her own well-being.
On the other side of the kitchen counter were Miss Birdie, Mercedes, and two women she hadn’t met before, both with nicely coiffed hair. All four women smiled at her. She was used to a friendly Mercedes, but the curve that might pass as a smile on Miss Birdie’s thin lips frightened her. Why, she couldn’t explain, but it contained enough glee that Gussie wanted to run back to her car.
“Hello, Gussie!”
She turned to see Adam. He looked friendly and glad to see her but nothing more.
Was that reaction good news or bad news? If he didn’t feel anything for her, she should rejoice. She didn’t want a relationship. They could become messy. On the other hand, what kind of social incompetent did it make her that she was attracted to him and he liked her only as a person, as a friend, as a colleague?
Ugh. She refused to consider either of those choices, not now. She had a meeting to lead.
Unfortunately, she glanced into the kitchen and saw the intense scrutiny of the four women there. A chill invaded every cell of her body. She resolved not to show fear but she knew she wouldn’t get out of here unscathed.
“Hey, Gussie,” Hector said. He and Bobby walked over, each clutching the arm of a friend. “Want you to meet a couple of my friends.” He nodded toward them. “This is Junior Rodriguez, and Bobby’s friend is Mark Scroggins.”
She shook their hands, then asked, “Do you play basketball, too?” After a few minutes of chatting about sports, the visitors looked a lot more relaxed. They probably thought because they were inside a church, she’d force them to confess their sins and repent publicly. The conversation ended when Bree called out, “Let’s come together. It’s nearly two o’clock.”
Gussie spoke for ten minutes, then the four who’d been to the retreat gave a quick talk about their experiences. Bobby’s comments were short and precise: “It was fun but we had to take out trash and wipe down tables.”
At two thirty, they broke for refreshments and the fun began. Or, the mortification. The description pretty much depended on which side one favored.
“Gussie, I want you to meet our two newest Widows.” Mercedes approached and introduced Winnie and Blossom.
“Aren’t you the prettiest thing,” Blossom said in a soft voice.
Gussie knew she wasn’t all that pretty but didn’t mind the compliment. Then the platinum-blond Widow took Gussie’s right hand in what seemed at first a gentle clasp but turned into an iron grip with which she led Gussie toward the sofa where—not surprisingly—Miss Birdie had shoved Adam down on the cushions and now sat next to him.
When Gussie attempted to pull away, the other Widow—Winnie? Was that her name?—took her left hand and dragged Gussie toward the preacher. She could not break away without causing a scene and possible injury. Not that they had any scruples about capturing her, but theirs had been a covert action and hers would be outright combat.
Besides they were at least twice her age. She couldn’t fight them without looking like a bully.
Adam glanced
up from his conversation with Miss Birdie. An I-should-have-guessed expression covered his face. He had the nerve to laugh. Did he have no idea what lay ahead?
Of course he did, but he could see the humor in the machinations of the Widows while she experienced only mind-numbing terror.
When she approached, Adam attempted to stand. With Miss Birdie holding one hand, the action was futile. He stood halfway up before she pulled him down. The landing caused the sofa to shiver and the cushion to fly up on the end as he made a resounding thud and an “Ooof.”
Which of course alerted the young people who had been talking and gathered along the counter for refreshments. They all turned to watch.
Oh, terrific. Gussie didn’t wonder what would happen next. She knew. With a final shove to Adam, Miss Birdie sprang to her feet.
“Why don’t you sit down here.” She waved to the place next to the preacher, the seat she’d just abandoned.
“I think—” Gussie could say no more before her effort to sit in a chair and her path to that chair were cut off by the two women, who were much stronger than anyone their age should be. Quickly and firmly, she’d been shoved forward, spun, and seated. The cushions were so soft, it felt as if she’d dropped into mud. She’d never get out without help. She’d been captured and imprisoned with no choice but to remain until assistance or a crane showed up.
“There you go,” the blonde said in a soft Southern accent, most confusing since the woman’s determination was made of iron. Before Gussie could say a word or move an inch, Blossom sat between her and the arm of the love seat so the three were packed together, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Blossom cooed.
It wasn’t.
“Now, you two stay there…,” Miss Birdie began.
As if they could move.
“…and I’ll get you some cookies.” The senior Widow bustled away.
However, her departure did not signal a reprieve. Winnie and Mercedes stood in front of the love seat as if they were playing “Red Rover” and were poised to capture anyone who attempted to “come over.”
Gussie whispered to Adam, “Get me out of this.”
“Relax,” he whispered back. “You can’t get away from the Widows. Submission is the only option. It makes the humiliation shorter and less painful.”
“Great,” Gussie moaned. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
Miss Birdie placed a plate of cookies in her lap and handed another to Adam, then brought each a cup of punch, which she put on the end tables. Not, of course, that Gussie could pick up her punch, because Blossom sat between her and the cup. Good thing she didn’t really want a drink during this odd little interlude. She attempted to shift position, but the lovely, smiling Widow held her arm securely, another reason she couldn’t sip the punch.
“Now,” Blossom said as Gussie bit into a lemon bar. “Why don’t we chat. Gussie, why don’t you tell Adam an interesting fact he doesn’t know about you?”
Could this get any worse? Well, yes, Gussie figured it could.
From the refreshment counter, thirty eyes, more or less, focused on the scene, taking in every nuance, every movement, every word.
Then there were six more eyes.
“Hey.” A handsome man with a slight limp entered from the parking lot with two redheaded boys. “Sorry I’m late…” He stopped speaking and moving when he saw Gussie and Adam shoved together on the love seat with Blossom. “I…um…” He swallowed, perhaps attempting not to laugh. “Willow’s on call this weekend and had to go to the hospital. I brought the boys with me. Guys,” he said to the two, “go get yourself some refreshments and bring me a glass of punch.” He sat at a table that faced the love seat. “I’m going to sit right here and enjoy the show.” He grinned.
“That’s my former friend, Sam Peterson.” Adam glared at the man. “Thanks, Sam,” he said with an edge to his voice that Gussie hadn’t heard before. In an instant her brain flashed back on the image she’d stored and attempted—unsuccessfully—to ignore of Adam playing basketball with sweat gluing his shirt onto his wiry but muscular body and macho determination on his face.
With that ill-timed image firmly seared into her mind, it took every ounce of her strength to focus on the visitor and wave. “I’m Gussie Milton,” she said.
“I know.” Sam waved at her, then toward the treat-covered counter. “Those are my sons, Leo and Nick.”
The two boys grinned at her with chocolate-covered lips.
Then everyone, every single person in the room, went back to watching the two on the love seat. Gussie ignored Blossom’s request to share information about herself. Instead she chewed on a bite of cookie that had long ago lost any flavor or structural integrity but kept her mouth occupied.
“Aren’t they the cutest couple in the world?” Winnie asked.
The young people looked at each other and shrugged.
“What’s going on, Pops?” Hector asked.
Adam didn’t answer. Probably no way to explain.
“Gussie.” Miss Birdie spoke as if she and the two captives were engaged in a private little chat. “Tell Adam something about you that he doesn’t know.”
Other than being rude, which the Widows didn’t mind doing although in such a pleasant way, Gussie couldn’t think of anything else to do but answer. She refused to behave poorly in front of her kids or that man facing them from the table—Sam?—who was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair.
“I used to play the clarinet,” Gussie said after she swallowed and before she took another bite of lemon bar.
“Were you in the band?” Adam asked, his voice filled with interest, as if that were the most scintillating bit of information he’d ever heard.
Exactly the right way to play this, Gussie realized. “Oh, yes,” she said with great enthusiasm. “I was in the marching band.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” Adam replied. “Miss Birdie’s granddaughter Mac is in the marching band.” He beckoned Mac over with two fingers. “Did you know Gussie played the clarinet in the marching band?”
With a grin, Mac approached them. “Isn’t that interesting?” she said. “Has Adam told you about the time I led the middle school band?”
After ten more minutes, the Widows gave up. By that time, Hector and Gussie had discussed being tall; she and Bobby had discussed being an only child; and she and Bree had discussed playing volleyball. Gussie had started to relax and enjoy herself.
Miss Birdie cut into the chats. “Well, I guess that’s finished.” She shoved Hector and Bree toward the door, saying, “Shoo, shoo.” The rest of the youths followed.
“Hey, Preacher,” Bobby said before he could be pushed outside. “You need a hoop out here so we can play ball.”
Miss Birdie closed the door before Adam could answer.
And they were alone, Adam and Gussie, with four Widows bent on…oh, she didn’t know what exactly. Something evil. She heard Sam and his boys in the kitchen, probably finishing up the cookies, but she could hardly expect help from them. Sam enjoyed their predicament too much to do anything but laugh, and the boys seemed devoted to chocolate. They wouldn’t notice her appeals as they stuffed down brownies.
“Preacher, why don’t you take Gussie for a tour around the town?” Winnie said.
“What a lovely suggestion, but I’ve visited Butternut Creek often. I had an aunt who lived here.”
“Oh, yes, Grace Carson, your father’s sister,” Mercedes said.
“Well, then, you two think of something to do for an hour or two. Together.” Although devious, Miss Birdie had never been able to hide her plans well. “Then come back and we’ll have a nice little supper for the two of you.”
“You won’t want to drive all the way to Roundville hungry,” Blossom said.
“You might have one of those dreaded hunger-related accidents,” Adam agreed sincerely.
“Thank you so much, ladies,” Gussie said. “I didn’t realize that you h
ad this planned. I need to get home. I hate to leave my parents alone…”
“Such a good daughter,” Mercedes said. “But sometime you’re going to have to think about yourself.” She paused dramatically. “And your future.”
“Your parents aren’t going to live forever,” the pillar said, a remark greeted by shoves and “shh” from the other Widows. “Not, of course, that I’m hoping they will die soon, but we all will. Someday.”
Not sure whether to laugh or scream or stare in amazement, Gussie decided to do none. Instead she said, “It’s not that long a drive.” She used every muscle she had to force herself up from the engulfing cushion. “If I get weak, I’ll grab something on the road.”
Gussie wished she had a camera to always remember the expressions on the Widows’ faces. Disappointment warred with disbelief that their plan had been scuttled.
“Didn’t Mac invite you?” Miss Birdie said. “For dinner?”
Gussie pulled her calendar from the tote and flipped it open. “Oh, yes, she did.” She couldn’t get Mac in trouble, but she had to get out of this place and away from Adam. “I…I’m really sorry. I forgot. Didn’t check the book.”
* * *
Adam shoved himself up from the deep cushions and watched Gussie for a second. She looked frantic. The Widows could do that to a person. “Don’t worry. Hector will eat your portion and more. If you need to get on the road, allow me to walk you to your car.”
He couldn’t believe he’d uttered that stupid phrase: “Allow me to walk you to your car.” Sounded as if he were from Victorian England, but having Gussie here and the Widows looking on scrambled his brain. Amazing he could still utter a sentence that actually made sense, even archaic nonsense.
To make matters worse, he held out his arm, crooked at the elbow, as if he were escorting a debutante. Gussie ignored it, maybe hadn’t seen it, but the Widows had and they smiled, possibly hoping he’d lure her into a compromising position over the ten yards across the parking lot to her car.
“Don’t worry, Preacher,” Miss Birdie said in what she considered a whisper but could be heard by everyone within twenty yards. “I won’t let them out”—she used her head to point out the other Widows—“until you’ve finished your courting.” Then she nearly shoved them from the building.
The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek Page 10
