The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek

by Jane Myers Perrine

  A few minutes later, Bree walked across the lawn. After greeting the two men and Janey, she shouted at Hector, “I heard what you did last night, you idiot.”

  Hector, covered with sweat and probably aching in every joint of his body as well as both eyes and his head, put down the shovel and squinted. He didn’t say a word. From Bree’s posture, tone, and words, he must have figured nothing he said would make a bit of difference and that Bree probably wasn’t even close to finished with him.

  “You got drunk and the preacher had to come get you?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you were so stupid.” She took a step closer and leaned toward him, just in case he couldn’t hear her shouts.

  Adam bet he wished he’d taken a few more aspirin.

  “Why did you do that?” Bree demanded. “Does the coach know?” She looked up at the porch. “Coach, do you know what this idiot did last night?”

  Gabe nodded. “I plan to talk to him after he finishes digging that hole.”

  “I can talk now, Coach.” Hector dropped the shovel.

  “No, you keep digging. Preacher and I’ll tell you when you’re done.”

  “I shouldn’t talk to you ever again,” Bree said. “I thought you were smarter.”

  “Okay. I did something dumb. I’m sorry. I apologized to Pops and I’m apologizing to you, and pretty soon, I’m going to apologize to Coach and he’s going to get really mad at me. On top of that, I still have to dig this hole.”

  “Serves you right.” Bree turned and strode away.

  “Want to go to homecoming with me?” Hector asked.

  “That kid has a terrible sense of timing,” Coach mumbled.

  “What?” She turned back to face him. “You go out and get drunk with the guys, you get in trouble, and I’m yelling at you and the coach is going to suspend you and the preacher has you digging a big hole. Isn’t that enough for one day? How could you ask me to go to the dance with you when all this stuff is going on?”

  Hector shrugged and picked up the shovel. “Okay. If you don’t want to go.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go with you.” Bree stalked toward him and glared. “Are you serious?” she demanded. “After what you did? I have my reputation to think of.”

  “I’m not proud of what I did.” Hector glanced at the men on the porch then back to Bree. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. I disappointed myself, too.” He cleared his throat. “Of course I’m serious about homecoming. Wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t.” He started to dig again. “Want to go? Pops and I are figuring things out like cars and flowers.”

  She considered his words. “Okay, then. Yes, I’ll go with you, but no drinking.”

  “Okay.” He pulled out a shovel load of dirt and tossed it in the growing heap. “I’ll call you later.”

  As Bree walked off, Hector glanced at Adam with a victorious smile before he went back to shoveling.

  “Don’t you think that’s pretty big for a base for a basketball hoop?” Gabe asked.

  “Could be, but he can always fill it in. It’ll be the strongest post in town. Come inside and cool down. I’ll have him dig for another half hour and tell him to stop.”

  As he entered the room Adam used for everything except cooking and sleeping, Gabe stopped at the family pictures on the bookcase. “Who’s this?” he asked casually and pointed.

  “My sister.”

  “Guess she got the good looks in the family.”

  “Thanks.” Adam looked at Hannah, laughing with their parents, looking carefree and very young. The backdrop was the giant Ferris wheel in London. “She doesn’t look like that anymore.”

  “When was this taken?” Gabe turned toward Adam with a frown.

  “Three years ago.”

  “She’s changed?”

  “When I saw her a year ago, she’d changed. She’s a doctor. Travels around Africa caring for people in refugee camps.” Adam shook his head. “She says she loves it, that she’s doing God’s work, but it wears on her. I worry but she doesn’t listen.”

  As he moved toward the kitchen, Adam saw Gabe take the photo from the bookcase and study it.

  * * *

  Hector and Adam made the trip to Cogansville Federal Prison in a car borrowed from Winnie. They didn’t talk much. Even when Adam made an occasional comment to show his support, Hector answered in a short but polite sentence, then returned to his thoughts.

  As they approached the town, Hector said, “Someday you’re going to have to get a better car. You can’t keep borrowing them.”

  “I know, but people don’t seem to mind.”

  Hector nodded. “Nice bunch of people in Butternut Creek.”

  On the return trip, Hector said, “My father’s doing okay. He wants to come back home when his sentence is up, but I don’t know if that’s best for him. You know, same old crowd.”

  “How would you feel about his being in town?”

  “By the time he gets out, I’m going to be old enough he wouldn’t bother me. But Janey, I worry about her.” He glanced at Adam. “She’ll be in high school. Tough to be in high school when your father’s been in prison. The kids don’t let you forget it. And he could bother her, make her remember what life was like when the three of us lived together and his druggie friends slept there.”

  “Hector, we’ll work on this together. If your father comes back to Butternut Creek, you and I and Janey will face that together. Until then, we’ll go visit him as often as you need to.”

  “Thanks,” Hector mumbled, then turned away and stared out the window for a few minutes. Then he asked, “Pops, did you ever drink?”

  “Yeah, I had a couple of beers in high school and college, even got drunk a few times, but that’s it. I stopped drinking anything when I started seminary.”

  “You did? I mean, you got drunk and you stopped drinking.” Hector shook his head. “I’ve never known anyone who stopped drinking.”

  “I figured a minister shouldn’t drink. Not because of morality but because of example.” He searched his brain for the Bible verse he wanted to toss in here. “I can’t remember this exactly, but Paul wrote that just because I can do something that doesn’t hurt me, my example could lead another astray. There are some recovering alcoholics in the congregation.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Can’t tell you. Confidential, you know. But suppose they see me drink a beer and that would have them start drinking again? Or a teenager saw me with a beer and started to drink. What kind of an example would I be?”

  “That’s a little far-fetched, Pops.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is, but I don’t need a beer that much.”

  “Could put a little weight on you.” A flicker of a smile appeared on Hector’s face. “You’re still too skinny.”

  “Yeah, so will chocolate. I’ll stick to cake and donuts and Ouida’s muffins.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Adam looked forward to seeing Gussie. Of course he did. Her presence always brightened his day.

  But at this moment, it didn’t. Actually, he’d begun to wonder about him and Gussie a few days back when he’d asked her to meet him for dinner instead of coffee and she’d turned him down. And there had been a special musical program at the old theater on the square where Mac would be playing in an ensemble, but Gussie said she couldn’t attend that, either.

  Yesterday he’d paid particular attention to Willow and Sam in church. They really loved each other, showed it in everything they did. Not that they made out on the pew or acted in any way inappropriate, but they held hands. Sam looked at her with such love. When they stood for the hymns, they sort of tilted toward each other, as if gravity, or another force, pulled them together. That was what he wanted.

  And Gussie jumped when he touched her.

  Suck it up, Adam lectured himself. He and Gussie had only been together a few weeks. There was time. He’d told her he wouldn’t push. Patience.

  But were they together? Really? They weren’t even dating. For an
hour every week, if she didn’t have something else to do, they chatted over coffee and pie. The only variety came in which kind of pie they ordered. Frustrated as he felt, knowing he’d expected a little more than emailing two or three times a week or the occasional coffee in Marble Falls, he wasn’t ready to give it up.

  He didn’t believe she was stringing him along. It was that “broken” thing. If he could get through that, find out what the problem was, maybe they could fix it. If not, at some time he might think of giving up.

  But having faith and hope didn’t mean he didn’t notice the deeper problems that surfaced every time they met. He couldn’t get through to her. She was always lovely and charming, but she’d completely closed off the part of her life that haunted her, displaying only the glorious and glossy exterior. Oh, he bet he knew more than most people about her. She’d talked, briefly, about her problem, but almost immediately she erected that barrier again.

  So why did she even bother to drive to Marble Falls to meet him? And why did she continue to answer his emails in a breezy, friendly way that didn’t give him any insight into who Gussie Milton was?

  For this reason, once they were seated in a booth inside, each with a cup of coffee in front of them, he said, “Gussie, I want to see you more. I want to take you on a date, go out for dinner, head into Austin for a play, spend more time together.”

  Her smile disappeared quickly when he said those words. “But…but we are dating,” she said.

  “No, Gussie, we are not,” he stated firmly. He hated that flutter of fear in her expression but had to finish. “We meet for coffee and discuss church, that’s what we do. Today we’re going to discuss a tubing trip for the youth.”

  “I told you…” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I asked you to be patient.”

  “Gussie, I’m not pushing. Okay, I am, but I need to understand. I want to date you, I want to see you more often, to get to know you better. I’d like to know what’s happening, to share whatever hurt you so much.”

  “I can’t talk about it. Not here.”

  “Okay.” He reached out and took her hand. She didn’t pull away. “Can we talk about whatever it is soon?”

  “I’ll email you the details.”

  He blinked. “Email?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Can we discuss whatever this is in person, after you send the email?”

  “You may not want to, once you know.”

  “Can we get together when I know what happened?”

  Surprisingly, she put her other hand over his before she pulled both away. All the glow that was Gussie had disappeared. She looked at him from somber eyes in a serious face. “It’s not only my opinion. You know I’m broken, too. You recognize that. You just said you wonder why I can’t give you more. Maybe we need to decide—either now or after you read my email—if we want to see each other more.”

  “Can I heat up your coffee?” A waitress reached between them to fill their cups. “Everything all right here?”

  Everything was obviously not all right but both he and Gussie said, “Fine,” and smiled at the waitress as she topped off their cups.

  “This isn’t the right place or time,” she said after the waitress took off.

  He’d lost this round.

  * * *

  “Someday I’m going to shoot your father,” Gussie’s mother said from the kitchen.

  Having just walked in from the disastrous meeting with Adam, Gussie would’ve preferred time alone. However, with her father’s life at stake, she probably should talk her mother down. She placed her purse on the sofa and went into the kitchen to stand next to her mom, who was looking out the back window at the yard.

  “He has no sense, none at all.”

  Gussie’s father pruned bushes behind the house.

  “It’s hot this afternoon and he’s not well.” Her mother turned around to glare at Gussie as if the whole thing were her fault. “He still has that cough although he tries to hide it, and he’s no spring chicken. He says he’s over the pneumonia.”

  Gussie put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, he’s seventy-four years old. You’ve been married over fifty years. He’s not going to change. We both know that.”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I’m so frustrated. And I’m not about to change, either, you know. I’ll always fuss at him.” She closed the curtain as if not seeing her husband would allow her to stop worrying about him. “Oh, enough about your father. Tell me about your young man. Did you have a nice afternoon?”

  “Very nice,” she lied. No reason to upset her mother even more. “He’s not really my young man.”

  Her mother considered the statement. “You said he was. Has that changed? Are you having second thoughts?” She took a deep breath before asking, “Gussie, does he know what happened to you? Have you told him?”

  “Oh, that took place so long ago—”

  “Gussie,” she interrupted. “Does he know what happened to you?”

  “Mom, don’t bug me about this. It’s my life.”

  “Yes, dear, I know, but…”

  Because her mother didn’t seem likely to let the subject go and she didn’t want to upset her, Gussie forced a smile. “I’m fine, really. I’m going to go out and help Dad,” she said as she turned and left the kitchen.

  That evening, Gussie sat in front of her computer and studied the screen. The problem with writing about personal matters with a word processor was that she didn’t have the sensual pleasure of wadding up a bad draft and throwing it on the floor.

  She began to type until she had an email that covered three screens. Too much information. She clicked it into MAIL WAITING TO BE SENT and started over until she had the few words that explained what had happened. If he didn’t turn away from her—and she truly believed Adam wouldn’t—he could ask her more. Maybe she would answer.

  She placed that one in her TO BE SENT folder because she needed to consider, to ponder, to decide her course.

  * * *

  Monday evening, Adam and Hector had played a hard game of one-on-one at the new hoop, the inaugural game. After that, about fifteen players—male and female—chose sides and played until nearly ten o’clock.

  “Gets really dark back here,” Bobby said.

  True. The lights had been placed in the parking lot to provide security, not luminosity.

  When they could no longer see the ball and Bobby had hit Hector in the back with a fast, hard pass, the game disbanded and the players wandered off. After a shower, Adam sat in front of his computer. Would he find a message from Gussie? He had no idea what to expect, what she would say, but he hoped.

  Nothing there.

  Because the email didn’t arrive until late Tuesday evening and he’d been too busy to check earlier, Adam didn’t find it until noon on Wednesday on his office computer. He’d waited impatiently but now that he had it, he didn’t want to open it.

  The subject glared at him from the email queue: “Hello.” Innocuous and non-threatening. He kept staring at it.

  Maggie had left by then so he had complete solitude. Probably no one would interrupt unless one of the retired men showed up. They often stopped in because they had plenty of time. No one figured a minister did anything from Monday through Saturday, so they felt they should keep him company for hours. He always stopped whatever he was doing to talk because he considered those minutes to be ministry. Usually, he attempted to run them off after twenty or thirty minutes so he could get some work done.

  Well aware he was allowing his thoughts to wander because he did not want to open that email, his finger hovered over the OPEN button. Would he find a way to be with Gussie after he read this? Would she permit him to see her again? He believed that as soon as he clicked that button, their lives would change. Maybe it had been better to ignore the barrier and accept what Gussie had to give.

  Coward. She’d been brave enough to write him. He should have enough courage to read it.

  He ope
ned the email.

  “I was raped when I was eighteen by my boyfriend.”

  That was all.

  Oh, Lord. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. “God, please grant Gussie your healing love and bless me with understanding,” he prayed.

  He read the few words again. How should he answer? He had so little to go on. Finally he wrote, “I’m sorry that happened. May I come to Austin or Roundville to see you?”

  That evening, he had the reply. “No, let’s meet in Marble Falls for coffee Monday. As usual.”

  So he sent flowers, yellow and orange roses.

  The next day, he sent more.

  On the third day, he found an email from Gussie with the subject “STOP!” He opened it to read, “Thank you. I appreciate the flowers but save your money for something you really need.”

  As if he didn’t really need Gussie.

  * * *

  Adam couldn’t get used to how early school started in Texas. It was the first Friday of September and the kids had been back in school for two weeks, football would start shortly, and life had settled into a steady flow.

  Yes, life had become fairly peaceful, leaving him plenty of time to worry about Gussie until Jesse and Ralph came into his office, Ralph carrying a large tool satchel and Jesse a small carton.

  “Hear you don’t have an intercom in here,” Jesse said. “You know Ralph used to work for the phone company.” He nodded toward Ralph, who looked like a lineman in his white shirt, gray slacks, and heavy boots. “I’m only the gofer.” Jesse wore his usual jeans, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. “But I can do a lot of stuff. We’re going to install one.”

  Oh, please, Lord, no. Adam had heard tales about the havoc retired men could wreak on church wiring. At a lunch meeting with the ministerial alliance, Mattie described the time she couldn’t use the computer without turning on the light in the bathroom. With that, all the other ministers had chimed in with horror stories. Adam bet he’d have one to tell in a few days.

  He should have more faith. “I didn’t realize you worked for the phone company, Ralph,” Adam said. “When was that?”