Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  “There must be four whole potatoes here. You’ll have to share them with me.” He pushed the basket toward her.”

  “Are you kidding? They must super-size everything. Look at this soup!” She picked up her spoon and dipped it in the bowl—the tureen—of chicken dumpling soup. “I hope they have take-home containers.”

  “Would you mind if I say grace?”

  Eleanor let go of her spoon, and it slid to the bottom of her bowl. So much for impressing him with good table manners. She used her fork to fish it out. “Sure. That would be nice.”

  She hesitated, uncertain of the protocol, but he started without ceremony. She caught up quickly—chin tucked into her chest, eyes closed, and hands clasped like a child’s, on the edge of the table.

  “Oh, Lord our God, how great you are.”

  Eleanor’s eyes flew open. She hadn’t expected such… volume. David looked relaxed. At least his eyes were closed, so he hadn’t seen her reaction. She closed her own again, squeezing them shut, hoping he prayed fast. What was wrong with “Come, Lord Jesus”? She knew that one.

  “Thank you, God, for this food, an abundant provision for us. You are so good to us. Thank you for this time Eleanor and I can spend together, getting to know each other.”

  What was he doing? Eleanor peeked at him. He still looked calm. Comfortable.

  “We know that your hand is on this situation, Lord, and you knew that we would meet like this. It’s a part of your plan, and our heart’s desire is to live out that plan according to your will and glorify you. Help us to see what your will is, God. Show us what we should do and help us stay on that path. Be close to us and guide us, moment by moment, every step of the way, into the relationship you want us to have.”

  Why was he talking about this now, out loud, praying in front of everyone in the restaurant? She rubbed her fingers, numb from being clenched so tightly.

  “Be with us this evening, God. Help us to keep the words of our mouth and the meditations of our hearts clean and acceptable in your sight, Oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer. In the name of Jesus, we pray, Amen.”

  “Amen.” She untangled her fingers and flexed her hands under the table. How was she supposed to respond to that?

  “Here. Take my spoon.” He reached across the table and set it down. “I’ll get another one after I finish this amazing hamburger.” He turned the plate, admiring it from every angle. “I feel like I should take a picture and post it on Instagram.”

  “You use Instagram?” Eleanor laughed. “Really?”

  “No, but my sister and cousins do. At our family meals, they’re allowed to have their phones out long enough to take pictures of the food and post them on Instagram.”

  “Every meal?”

  “It seems like it. I don’t know how it started, but now it’s a bona fide Reid family tradition—at least for the girls. The guys just want to eat.”

  “Oh, my goodness -” Eleanor broke off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but this soup is delicious. The dumplings are perfect, and look!” She scooped up a spoonful of soup. “It has real chicken and carrots in it. They must have made it from scratch. Get a spoon and try it.”

  “Not yet.” David handed her a french fry. “These are great.” She watched him, enjoying his happiness. Her mother would have pursed her lips and looked away as he made happy, appreciative noises as he chewed. Good manners meant ignoring other people’s bad manners. Eleanor liked it.

  David wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. “This burger is incredible. How’s yours?”

  She set down her soup spoon, carefully, and bit into the burger. Perfect. She swallowed and wiped sauce from her chin before opening her mouth to comment.

  David didn’t wait for her response. He waved both arms in the air. “Hey, Susan!”

  The waitress’s name was Susan? Eleanor remembered a name tag, but she hadn’t read it.

  “What do you need?” The waitress approached, surveying their table. She frowned at David. “Something wrong with your soup?”

  “I took his spoon,” Eleanor said. “He needs a new one. The soup is delicious. I love chicken and dumpling soup, and this is the best I’ve ever had. Ever.”

  The waitress lit up, transformed by a broad smile. “Thanks! It’s my dad’s recipe. I usually just chop things, but he let me make the dumplings this time. I can’t wait to tell him!”

  “The burger is awesome. The fries, too.” David took another one. “Do you make them, too?”

  She shook her head, laughing. “I’m nearly forty years old, and Dad still won’t let me near the grill or fryer. People do like my pies, though. I’ll get you a spoon.”

  Eleanor stared after her. David returned to his burger.

  “That was really nice of you.”

  “What was?” David raised his eyebrows. “Complimenting her on the food? It’s true.”

  “It… it made her so happy.”

  “It’s true,” he repeated. “‘Pleasant words are a honeycomb, Sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.’ Another version says ‘Kind words are like honey—they cheer you up and make you feel strong.’ “

  “It did cheer her up.” Bible verses and praying. She didn’t really mind the praying. She just hadn’t been expecting it. Otherwise, he was easy to be around. She liked him.

  Eleanor set her hamburger on the plate. She wasn’t here for a relationship. David was kind, open, friendly, caring enough to stay with an injured deer—and in search of a real relationship. A wife. Instead, he got a selfish woman who only wanted a temporary fix. God hadn’t made their match. This wasn’t His plan. It was Eleanor’s plan. She was using him.

  “I had a good time tonight. Thanks.” David glanced at his truck. “At least, dinner was good. I’m glad we didn’t go to Dairy Queen or Subway.”

  Eleanor held up her stack of Styrofoam boxes. “I’ll be eating leftovers for a while. I can’t believe you actually finished yours and ate the pie, too.”

  “I didn’t have much choice, when she gave it to us for free, and it was excellent pie.”

  She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but she heard the smile in his voice.

  “You know,” he said, “we really should talk about this Betwixt Two Hearts business.”

  Yes, they should. “Would you like to have lunch together one day this week?”

  “That would be great. How about tomorrow?”

  She chuckled. “How about Friday? Uncle Gary has me booked solid for the next two days. I’m getting a crash course in mechanical contracting.”

  “We’ll have a lot in common. I can imagine it, and you can make it happen! A match made in heaven.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  Eleanor wiped sweaty palms on her jeans and breathed deeply, trying to get air into her depleted lungs. She couldn’t do anything about the drumming in her chest, but she had to remember to breathe steadily.

  She scooted forward in the chair, positioned the fabric under the presser foot, and carefully lowered the foot. The fabric slid away. She caught it before it fell to the floor this time. Wordlessly, Aunt Violet handed her another pair of perfectly-aligned strips.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t pin it? Just one or two pins? Even if I can get them started, I’m afraid they’re going to slip apart while I’m sewing.”

  The older woman leaned over her. “Your left hand goes here, holding these threads.” She hooked the threads and laid them across Eleanor’s fingers. “Hold on to those, but don’t pull too hard. You just want to get the seam started smoothly and not get the threads tangled underneath. Once it’s going, you’ll use your left hand to hold the strips loosely together here and your right hand to steer them through the machine.”

  “And I just sew the whole thing without stopping? The whole strip?” Impossible.

  “When you get to the end of the first pair of strips,” Violet said, “you’ll start the next one without breaking your threads. I’ll help you when you get there.”

  “O
kay.” Eleanor tried to position her hands, but it felt like she had too many of them—or not enough.

  “Stop.”

  She lifted her foot from the pedal and looked at her aunt. “What did I do wrong?”

  “You’re getting off your quarter inch.”

  Eleanor looked at the fabric. She’d practiced on scrap fabric, but maintaining a straight seam allowance was harder on the real thing. “Okay,” she repeated. “Should I take it out or can I just sew over it?”

  “Sew over it. Start from the beginning.”

  Great. She’d sewn six inches and had to start over. The cutting had been bad enough, especially after Penny took her aside and said that under no circumstances should she leave Aunt Violet alone with a rotary cutter. Apparently, Violet did just fine with cutting as long as she had good lighting, wasn’t tired, took frequent breaks and had someone nearby to apply tourniquets if necessary.

  “Stop now.”

  She only had an inch left. Eleanor slumped back in the chair. “Did I mess it up?”

  “You’re doing fine. You need to start a new set now. Just like this.” Aunt Violet set another pair of strips behind the ones she just sewn. “You’re chain-piecing, one piece after another, without cutting the threads in between, so you’ll end up with one long chain of them. Just keep going.”

  “Got it.” Eleanor embarked on the second set of strips. As soon as the first was clear, Aunt Violet cut the threads between them.

  Eleanor stopped. “Why did you cut them?”

  “I’m going to press while you sew. If you were alone, you’d just keep going and press when you were done with that sewing step.” Violet carried the strips to the ironing board and spoke over her shoulder. “Keep going.”

  Eleanor: I hate quilting.

  Eleanor typed out the text and deleted it. Brittany wouldn’t understand unless she went into detail, and it wasn’t nearly as scary in the telling as it had been in the doing. Besides, Brittany was probably tired of hearing about the perils of Eleanor.

  She flopped back against the stack of pillows. How could quilting be so exhausting? Maybe it wasn’t, once you got used to it, or if you didn’t have such an exacting teacher, but this was definitely not a relaxing hobby. She’d never finish before the anniversary party. Maybe she should have taken out a loan to buy her parents a new car.

  Or perhaps she should just pray harder for a blizzard. Maybe if she could pray like David did, God would answer her prayers. He didn’t, usually, or maybe she just didn’t usually pray. She didn’t even think about God, most of the time, so how could she go running to him when she had a problem? You couldn’t just ignore people for months at a time and then start asking for favors.

  “Dear God, I really don’t want to go to this party alone, but I will, if you want me to.” She thought about mentioning the blizzard and decided not to. “I don’t want to hurt David. I don’t want to lose him, either. Or rather, lose the chance to get to know him, or something like that. Mostly, I don’t want to hurt him. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  Nothing happened. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillows. She couldn’t just rush right in and tell him she’d only joined the agency to get one date. She didn’t want him to despise her.

  “Well, here we are again.” Eleanor smiled as she slid into the booth opposite David. “I meant to ask you. Have you heard from that matchmaking agency at all? Are we supposed to report in or anything? I didn’t know if there was any kind of follow-up.”

  Her vivid eyes reflected the blue sky and white snow outside the window. Not denim today—she was pure Scandinavian. David brought his attention back to her question. “Not that I know of. It sounds like it’s up to us to initiate contact if we have questions or want a new match or to cancel.”

  “A new match?” Eleanor raised her brows. “You know, this is a lot more awkward than I thought it would be. I thought meeting a stranger would be the awkward part, but this ‘what now?’ stage is worse. I mean, what if one of us didn’t like the other person?”

  “Or what if you wanted to date a few different guys before making a commitment to the first one?” asked David. “Or what if you had different objectives in signing up for the service in the first place?” If their relationship was going to end, he’d rather have it happen now than later.

  “Right.” She toyed with her straw. “Why did you sign up for it, David?”

  That was blunt. David suddenly wished he hadn’t brought it up. He’d tried to formulate this explanation, muttering under his breath as he practiced it, but there didn’t seem to be any easy way to explain he didn’t want to keep looking for a woman who might not show up—and then have a long courtship and engagement before getting married and having a bunch of kids.

  Eleanor sat, watching his face.

  “What about you?” He asked. “What made you decide to sign up?” Her gaze dropped to her hands, and he went on. “Are you looking for an exclusive relationship? A long-term relationship?” He took a deep breath and used the M word. “The goal of the agency is traditional marriage. That’s what I want.”

  At her continued silence, he pressed. “Is that why you signed up?”

  She hunched her shoulders in a shrug and then relaxed. Instead of answering, she repeated, “But why the agency? Why not a nice girl from your church or a friend of a friend?”

  “You’re a good volleyball player.” She looked up, startled, and he continued. “You keep throwing the ball back into my court.”

  She smiled. “My next question was going to be about the church. How do they feel about internet dating?”

  “That would be spiking the ball.” David smiled back at her. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I prayed about it, though, and I think it’s a fine thing to do. Some people might object to it, I guess, but it’s becoming pretty mainstream. The difference with Betwixt is that it’s not a dating website. It’s a matchmaking service.”

  “But why use the agency instead of finding someone local? Waiting for God to send the right woman?”

  Eleanor’s persistence and his conscience forced him into the truth. “I’m nearly thirty years old. When my parents were this age, they’d already had all their kids. Now, in their early 50’s they’re enjoying life without us. They should have grandchildren while they’re still young enough to enjoy them.”

  “You’re worried that your parents will be too old to enjoy your children?”

  He sounded like an idiot. “No, I’m worried that I will be too old to enjoy mine.”

  She shook her head as if to clear it. “You… Are you saying that you think you’re getting old and you want to get married and have children right away, before you get too old to enjoy them? So, they’ll grow up and leave home, so you can have an empty nest and then grandchildren right away after that?”

  “Um…”

  “That requires the cooperation of a lot of people, David, starting with your wife and then your children and their spouses—all so you can dandle grandchildren on your still-functional knee?”

  Was she outraged or laughing at him? He couldn’t tell. David opened his mouth, hoping something good would come out.

  “A hundred years ago, you could have sent for a mail-order bride.”

  Definitely laughter. He felt the heat in his face and knew he was turning red.

  Eleanor sobered and reached across the table to touch his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you. You’re doing exactly what the website offered. Exactly.”

  He relaxed his grip on the water glass. “That’s what I said, when Larry showed me the ad: mail-order brides. He reminded me that Abraham sent his servants out to bring back a wife for his son. Not exactly the same thing, but similar.” David grinned. “My mom has a bookcase full of historical romance, and I’m pretty sure there are some mail-order bride books in there.”

  “I wonder what she’d think if she knew you sent for a mail-order bride,” Eleanor took a sip of her water. “Personally, I think it’s a practical idea.”r />
  “Personally, you sent for a mail-order husband.” David looked at her. “Or why did you sign up?”

  She set down her cup. “I wanted a date for Valentine’s Day.”

  He waited, but she didn’t continue. “And?”

  Silent, she picked at her cuticles, glancing at him from under her lashes.

  “A date for Valentine’s Day?” David asked, incredulous. Eleanor had signed up for a matchmaking agency for just one date? “That’s all? Just a date for Valentine’s Day? Why?” His voice was too loud. Angry. “That’s… I’m sure you could get a date for one night without having to sign up for a matchmaking agency!” He stopped and moderated his tone. “I feel like that’s deceptive.” He felt hurt and angry and humiliated, too. “Betwixt Two Hearts isn’t an escort service.”

  “Yeah.” The word was a sigh. “I realized that the first time we talked, at the hospital. Then, at dinner, I just… it was nice. Fun. I shouldn’t have signed up.” She kept her gaze on her hands. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Why?” he asked again. How could a girl like Eleanor be that desperate for a Valentine’s Day date? Had he completely misjudged her?

  She rubbed her eyebrows with her fingertips, covering her face. “It’s in Minneapolis. An anniversary party for my parents, and they’re expecting me to bring a date. I didn’t want to go without a date.” She lowered her hands and finally looked at him. Clouds had drifted over the sun, and her eyes were denim again, and worried. “I’ve already decided to go alone. I wasn’t going to ask you. It was a stupid idea.”

  “Yeah, it was.” David heard the roughness in his voice. He hadn’t expected her to be looking for an instant husband, but she should have been looking for a relationship, at least, open to romance. That’s what the agency was for.

  She slumped. “I am sorry.” Eleanor pulled her purse onto her lap and dug through it. She laid a twenty-dollar bill next to her plate, smoothing it carefully, not meeting his eyes. “I’m truly sorry, David. You’re a really nice guy and I hope you find a wonderful wife.”