The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek

by Jane Myers Perrine

  “One summer when I was in high school.”

  Fifty-some years ago, Adam figured.

  “But things haven’t changed all that much,” Ralph said confidently. “And we’ve got instructions on the box.” He held it up. “Thought we’d put a line through to the fellowship hall, too.” He pointed in that direction. “Keep you from having to go down there to talk to people.”

  Ralph made it sound as if that area was hundreds of yards away and filled every hour with a whirl of activity and thousands of people who needed to be accessed. Adam wished it were, but at this time, AA met there twice a week, the vets’ group on Wednesday, and yoga at noon on Monday.

  But why object? If they wanted to set up an intercom, fine. Adam didn’t want to turn anyone away, and he bet their wives would be happy for them to be out of the house and useful.

  Besides, what could go wrong? Surely with wireless technology, installing an intercom was a simple matter of plugging it in.

  Without waiting for his approval, the two men put their burdens down and began opening the box. Even going after the carton with scissors, a knife, and a saw, they couldn’t get it open. That should have been a clue.

  As Adam watched the men from the door between offices, Maggie stood beside him and whispered, “You aren’t going to let them do this, are you? You do know that they’ll mess up the phone system, right?”

  “Have faith. How hard can this be? I probably could do this.” He patted Maggie’s shoulder before she huffed off. “Guys, I’m going to make some visits while you’re working to get out of your way.”

  But they didn’t hear him. They were celebrating the defeat of the cardboard box too loudly to notice.

  After dropping by the nursing home, stopping to chat with Ouida, and grabbing a sandwich at home, Adam headed back to the office to check in with Jesse and Ralph. When he walked into the reception office and flicked the light switch, nothing happened.

  From the silence, he realized the men had left. In the light from the door and the windows, he could see wires—telephone or electrical or both, he couldn’t tell—dangling from the ceiling. He picked up the phone. No dial tone.

  The light switch in his office didn’t work, either. Taking care not to fall over or bump into anything, Adam navigated to the window, opened the blinds, and looked around. On the corner of his desk sat a little box with two buttons on it. One of the buttons bore the label MAGGIE; the other, FELLOWSHIP HALL. To test the system, he pressed the one for the front office. Nothing. Didn’t seem to be hooked up yet. Even if it was, they’d turned the electricity off. He glanced at the dark, dead screen of his monitor. After checking that the machine was turned on, he flipped the control of the power strip off then back on.

  He glanced overhead at the dangling wires. They didn’t look live. No electrical charges zapped out the ends, but he wasn’t going to touch them to find out. He felt pretty sure Ralph and Jesse had cut off the electricity here before they began their work. With that thought, Adam picked up the flashlight he kept in his desk, went into the hall, and opened the fuse box to shine the light inside. Yes, two circuits had been shut off.

  Nothing would work.

  On top of that, the heat smothered him, felt hotter than mid-July when the air conditioner struggled to cool the offices. He reached up and couldn’t feel any air circulating from the vent over his desk. The ceiling fan didn’t move.

  Adam glanced down at his computer for the time. Of course, it didn’t appear on the dark screen or on the electric clock plugged into the wall. He looked at his wrist: one thirty. The men had probably knocked off for lunch. He’d work at home, get out of their way until they finished.

  * * *

  When Adam arrived the next morning, the electricity was still off. The wires still dangled from the ceiling. Of course, with the electricity off, the offices had no phone, no computers, and no air-conditioning.

  “Might want to move your things to the fellowship hall,” Maggie said. “That’s what the ministers usually do after Ralph has messed with the wiring.” Even in the dim light, Adam could make out her expression. It said, I told you so.

  He flipped out his cell and dialed Ralph.

  “Oh, Preacher,” his wife Annabella said. “He’s up in Waco. You know, he was in the army. Has his physical today at the VA.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be home?”

  “Oh, not until eight or nine at the earliest. He likes to shop, get a nice meal before heading back.”

  “What about tomorrow? He left some wires hanging and the electricity’s off.”

  “Oh, dear. We’re headed out in the morning to visit our kids up in Corsicana. He said they ran into some problems with that installation in the church and he needs to pick up a few parts. He’ll probably finish up next week.”

  “Would you mention I called and ask if he would stop by as soon as possible? We do have church Sunday.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he left the electricity on in the sanctuary.”

  “Great.” Realizing the sarcasm that came from his frustration probably wasn’t the right tone, he added, “I’d really appreciate his calling me ASAP.”

  “Of course.”

  After Annabella hung up, Adam called Jesse. “Hey, Jesse,” he said before he realized the answering machine had picked up. “Please give me a call on my cell as soon as possible.”

  About all he could do. He headed to the fellowship hall.

  Unfortunately, wires hung from the ceiling and the lights didn’t go on there, either.

  Maggie stood in the door, barely hiding her smile. “How hard could installing an intercom system be?”

  “I should call an electrician.”

  “Not a good idea. You’d hurt their feelings.”

  “But look at this mess. We won’t be able to use the fellowship hall, either.” He paced and mulled his options. Few came to mind.

  “Shove everyone outside after church to keep them away from the wires,” Maggie suggested. “Have the ladies come up with refreshments. Make it like an outside reception, a special occasion.”

  He headed down to the diner to talk to Miss Birdie. After he explained the situation, she said, “Sure, Preacher. We can take care of that.”

  Then she laughed, a sound Adam had heard only a handful of times. It always startled him with the pure delight it expressed.

  “I know you can’t stop them from making repairs to the church, but the past minister limited Jesse and Ralph to maintenance that didn’t require the opening of walls or ceilings. He made another rule. They had to make all repairs on Monday so normalcy could be restored by Sunday.” She cackled. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson.”

  * * *

  “How was your weekend?” Gussie smiled at him, completely comfortable as if she’d never written him that email, as if he didn’t know about the rape.

  Denial? Or did she feel as if telling him closed the discussion? Had she dealt with this problem from her past and it no longer haunted her? No, if she had she never would have leaped away from his touch nor told him she was broken. His best guess was not only denial but I don’t want to talk about this as well.

  He hadn’t expected that response but should have. Gussie was always happy and smiling, always up except for the few minutes she’d allowed him past her facade. No, not a facade. Gussie truly was upbeat, most of the time, but he’d caught a glimpse of that other part of her. Now she’d made it off limits again. Okay, he’d accept that. For now.

  * * *

  Gussie rubbed the handle of the coffee cup before she glanced up at Adam, who also rubbed the handle of his coffee cup. For the first time ever, conversation between the two lapsed once they’d discussed Ralph’s and Jesse’s repairs and her parents’ health.

  “I’m going to order a piece of pie,” she said.

  Scintillating, that’s what she and her conversational gambits were.

  “What kind?” Adam asked.

  Poor man. He couldn’t think of what to say, and she
felt sure he wouldn’t bring up the topic of her email. She certainly didn’t want to. Even writing it had been painful. Sending the short message had taken every bit of courage she possessed.

  “I like the rhubarb but I’m going to be adventurous and try lemon meringue.”

  “Aah,” he said. “Risky. I’ll try apple.”

  They placed their orders and, once the waitress walked off, stared at each other.

  “How’s Hector?”

  They discussed the Firestones for a few minutes.

  What else could they talk about? She’d thought she and Adam could discuss nearly everything but that one topic, the unspeakable, hung between them like a scrim in a theater. They could both see it but both refused to acknowledge it, pretended it didn’t exist even as it separated them.

  She’d been very clear about her privacy. She knew if they wanted to move on, to speak about what she always called “the event,” she’d have to bring it up. The waitress set their pieces of pie in front of them. She took another gulp of coffee and fed herself several forkfuls she couldn’t even taste.

  Adam took a few bites then stopped and watched the ice cream melt down the slice and puddle on his plate. “I’m not very hungry,” he said.

  Okay. If Adam not eating his pie didn’t signal his mood, nothing would.

  “What did you think…” She stopped because the words stuck in her throat. After a quick drink of water and an internal repetition of the Serenity Prayer, Gussie said, “What did you think about my email?”

  “I appreciate that you shared that with me.” He smiled gently, then picked up his fork and took another bite of the now soggy pie.

  Was that it? Had he returned to his dessert because she’d relieved him of the necessity of bringing up the subject of her email or because he didn’t want to discuss it anymore?

  When would she stop trying to figure people out? A bite of pie could simply be a bite of pie.

  Sometimes her brain kept going and working as she attempted to figure life out. Even with that, she couldn’t make sense of the situation between Adam and her, couldn’t seem to figure out what to do next. Like him, she kept cutting off little parts of the pie, chewing and swallowing. She concentrated very hard on the fork as if she feared jabbing herself in the eye instead of putting it in her mouth.

  “Gussie, if you want to discuss what happened or need anything from me, tell me,” he said. “I’m willing. I care about you.”

  With several bites of that delicious pie left, she put down her fork, pulled together every particle of her courage, and said, “I’d been dating Lennie for about a month. We met in freshman composition and I trusted him.”

  She glanced at Adam. “I’d never been drunk before. And I’ve never been drunk since.”

  He put down his fork and listened.

  “I thought, What kind of college student has never even had a drink of anything? Isn’t that the college experience? Drinking and carousing and experimenting?”

  “Gussie, you don’t have to tell me this, not now, not here, if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “If I don’t tell you now, I may not have the nerve another time.” She took in a deep breath. “Lennie said he’d take care of me, make sure I didn’t drink too much or get in trouble. I believed him. We went to a fraternity party and I drank a couple of glasses of something fruity they were serving. Illegal because I was eighteen, but no one cared. It was good. I couldn’t even taste the alcohol but it packed a punch.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, holding on so tightly her fingers hurt.

  She didn’t like talking about this, not a bit. But as she turned to scan the other patrons of the restaurant, she realized this could be a good place to talk about the event. Here, as emotion burbled inside her, she couldn’t allow herself to lose control surrounded by all these people.

  “The alcohol hit me hard. I don’t know why. Could be because I’m not a drinker or I drank it too fast or that fruit juice tasted so sweet—anyway, I got woozy and sick. I could barely stand up and had to lean against something—a wall or a chair—to walk.” She blinked tears back. “I’m so ashamed.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You can stop now. You don’t have to say more.”

  “Yes, I do.” The words poured. “Lennie took me back to his apartment. He said I could sleep it off there. I didn’t want to go back to the dorm in that condition. When I woke up—I don’t know how much later—he was on top of me.” She pulled her hand back, picked up her glass and drained it. “I never reported him. At first, I wanted to forget everything, then, as time went on…well, too much time had passed. The police would wonder why I hadn’t reported it and Lennie had witnesses I’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t handle that. I wanted to forget, pretend it never happened.” She glanced at him with wide eyes. “I still do.”

  She stood quickly, nearly knocking the table over. “I have to go now,” she said and tossed a bill on the table.

  Before she fled, she noticed Adam’s pale face and his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t interpret at the moment. Feeling like the stupidest of idiots for opening up here, she forced herself not to flee from the restaurant but stopped at the door. A mistake because Adam caught up with her before she could leave.

  Okay, what now, Miss I’ll-tell-the-story-my-way? Hadn’t she learned this wasn’t about someone else at another time? “The event” was that she, Gussie Milton, had been raped by a man she’d trusted, a man she’d thought she could fall in love with.

  She heard Adam tell the waitress the money was on the table, then he held the door for her.

  Once outside, he took her hand. “Gussie.” He stopped speaking as if he didn’t have any more idea what to do next than she did. They could not stand in the middle of Marble Falls only a few yards from the heavy traffic on Highway 281 with cars and trucks whizzing past them. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Gussie fumbled through her purse looking for her keys. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, sure, I’m going to let you drive home now.”

  When had she given him permission to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? Well, back when she’d told him about “the event.” And probably when she’d run out of the restaurant and now, when she was standing in the parking lot quivering.

  “I know I can’t.” She closed her purse and looked at him for a few seconds before she leaned against him. How odd that she’d do that, but how great that he stood there, warm and trustworthy. “I know, but I’ve always run home for comfort.” And to hide, she added to herself. She didn’t say the words aloud because she’d already given up more of herself to Adam than she had to anyone other than her parents.

  “We need to find a place that’s more private,” he said.

  From the movement of his body, she could tell he was looking around for inspiration, but she didn’t want to lift her head or step away from him.

  “I won’t leave you to face this alone.” He handed her a Kleenex. He’d learned to carry a pocketful, one of his ministerial tools and necessities.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m not crying.” But she was, she realized when she felt her cheeks, and she was having trouble breathing. Odd when she felt like a huge burden had been lifted from her by sharing. “It may not look like it but I feel better than I have for years.” She stepped back. “Let’s take a walk.”

  * * *

  Gussie had leaned against him for comfort and support. In the restaurant, she’d put her hand on his while she told him what had happened to her. A much-abridged story, he guessed, but nonetheless a step forward.

  They didn’t speak as they walked down to a park overlooking the lake. “Gussie, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Thank you, Adam. For listening and not turning away.”

  He wanted to question her, find out more. But not now. They found a bench looking over the lake and sat down. She even touched his hand again. Yes, he’d like more but, for now, having Gussie next to him felt like more than eno
ugh.

  Someday they’d have to talk about what happened next, after the rape, but not now. He didn’t believe she could take it. Instead of speaking, they watched the water. Together.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Adam had a spring in his step. A stupid phrase he’d never thought he’d use, a saying that went back generations. He also had a song in his heart and smile on his face. He walked like the conqueror of the world and wished he could tell Miss Birdie that he thought the Widows’ matchmaking efforts could stop, be called completed and successful.

  He didn’t, of course. In the first place, Miss Birdie would act obnoxious in her victory. Secondly, he didn’t want to talk about him and Gussie possibly becoming an “us” because what had seemed like a bridge crossed now felt like only a minor change. He’d hoped the confession signaled that she was falling or had fallen or perhaps anticipated falling in love with him. Now it seemed more like a tiny step, that maybe the idea of falling in love no longer nauseated her.

  And, third, there were those other old expressions his grandmother had repeated: “Many a slip ’twixt the tongue and the lip” and “Don’t count your chickens.” Et cetera.

  Two or three times a day, he and Gussie emailed or texted. They set up a date for Friday, the format to be decided later. Once she’d called to say she was headed toward San Saba and would he meet her for lunch in Butternut Creek? The sight of them together had made Miss Birdie glow as she bustled around them, filling nearly full glasses of tea and forcing dessert on them. After that, they’d wandered around the courthouse, sat for a while on a bench in the square, and chatted. One of his best afternoons ever.

  Life hadn’t changed much in Butternut Creek. Ouida continued to improve. He’d officiated at the wedding of Winnie and the general, Sam’s father. They’d gone off somewhere for a honeymoon.

  Wires no longer dangled from ceilings all over the church. Some of the men—not Jesse and Ralph, who’d admitted defeat—had coiled them up and capped them off, then turned the power back on. He and Maggie still had to shout at each other, but they had phones and lights as well as large holes in the ceilings of the offices and the fellowship hall.