The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (9 page)

She hadn’t spoken to or even accepted God in months. Why had she breathed this prayer? Adam clearly exerted a terrible influence on her.

“Here’s what we’re doing, Hannah.” Wearing a large-brimmed hat much like the one Janey had on, Yvonne waved toward the fence and the pile of dirt parallel to it with a gloved hand. “I want to plant flowers and rosebushes close to the fence and”—she gestured to a dug-up corner of the yard—“vegetables over there. We’ll leave that area open.” She pointed toward a section of fence between the parsonage and the parking lot split by a double gate. “Guess some previous minister had a camper and needed that entrance. Might could plant rosebushes to hide it, but not this summer.”

Hannah nodded but wondered. Certainly it was too early to plant, wasn’t it? Of course, she’d never lived in Texas. In Kentucky, they didn’t plant anything until after the Derby, the first Saturday in May, when the danger of a frost had passed.

“We can’t plant until after Easter.” Yvonne sighed. “This soil is Texas red clay.”

Yes, Hannah reflected, it was red and they were in Texas, so that made sense. She’d accept Yvonne’s statement about the texture of the soil.

“Hector tilled it this spring,” Janey said proudly.

“Not optimal conditions. Tilling should be done in the fall, when the soil is dry, but in the fall, I didn’t realize how serious Gussie and Adam were. Didn’t have the slightest idea we’d sell the house and move to Butternut Creek.” She smiled at Janey. “We’re glad we did.”

“A surprise to the entire family,” Hannah said, the politest response she’d used in weeks.

“Will we get to meet your parents?” Yvonne spoke as if she didn’t really care about that, but Hannah imagined she probably did.

“They’re holding off to see if there’s going to be a wedding,” Hannah said. “They want to be here for that. Long trip to make two or three times a year.” With that explained, and with the exertion of all this chatting and courtesy wearing her out, Hannah asked, “What do we have to do here?” Then she added, “In the garden,” simply to make sure Yvonne didn’t want to talk more about their family. Oh, Hannah loved them all, but she’d fled to Texas because her mother treated her like a rare and precious porcelain figurine with fragile parts that would break off at the slightest touch. Her father acted hearty and jolly as if Hannah’s illness and expulsion from the refugee camp had never happened.

Yvonne nodded and began to point. “When he tilled, Hector worked in garden soil, but we’re behind. No compost. Henry refused to allow me to move my compost pile here.”

Sounded reasonable to Hannah. In her experience, compost was smelly, crawled with worms, and attracted vermin. Of course, she had limited experience, but Yvonne seemed to regret the lack of the odoriferous and pest-filled muck greatly.

“We have to work plant material in, let it sit until mid-April when we can plant. Still gets cold up here.”

She handed Hannah gardening gloves and a trowel, then pointed at several bags scattered around the yard. “Garden soil is there. Work it in as deeply as you can.” Yvonne glanced at Hannah. “You don’t have anything to keep the sun off.” She took her sun-repelling hat off and handed it to Hannah. “Wear mine.”

Hannah waved it away. “I won’t be out here all that long.”

“All right, but I’ll find you one for next time.”

As if Hannah would come back to the garden again. Tomorrow Janey would be in school and couldn’t make her feel guilty for five days. By next Saturday, she’d have come up with a good excuse.

“Any questions?” Yvonne asked. When Hannah couldn’t come up with one, Yvonne and Janey took off to opposite corners of the fence and left Hannah to prepare her square for vegetables. She slipped on the gloves, opened the bag, dumped half of it on the garden, and knelt down.

Work it in deeply
, Yvonne had said.

For ten minutes, Hannah was aware of the discomfort of kneeling, the itch on her nose she could only scratch with her forearm, and a trickle of sweat rolling down her neck. Then that changed. As she worked, the earth seemed to become a living, breathing organism filled with potential. The sun that warmed the earth felt like a partner in the miracle, part of the circle of growth and renewal. Here she worked in the midst of creation, no longer a co-worker of death. The dazzling revelation caused tears to roll down her cheeks, moisture she couldn’t scrub because her sleeve had become so damp from perspiration. She allowed them to flow and mix with the sweat and trickle down her chin.

She could have taken the sweater off, but that would mean she’d have to stop and she didn’t want to. She did put down the trowel and tug her gloves off, though, so that as she continued to dig and mix the soil, she could better feel and absorb the vital life-giving force bubbling up from the soil and roiling through her.

After an hour, Yvonne called a halt. Hannah turned around. Janey had disappeared, and Yvonne was pulling off her gloves.

“Probably enough for today,” Yvonne said. “Don’t want to wear you out.” She walked toward Hannah’s corner of the yard. “You’ve done a great job.”

Satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment filled Hannah. What an idiot. She felt proud about mixing a few square feet of red clay with garden soil? Anyone could do that.

Yes, anyone could, but
she
had. It felt good. She had accomplished something positive and life affirming.

The euphoria didn’t last. While she showered, most of it washed off with the soap, drained away with the water. She could feel herself rinsing off that last bit as she scrubbed away the dirt embedded in her nails and skin.

If Hannah had learned anything about feeling good, it was that it was fleeting.

But maybe it wouldn’t be this time, here in Butternut Creek, the haven of hope and small-town happiness. If she gardened every day, maybe the feeling of harmony and joy would return.

Friday, the best evening of the week. His sermon almost finished except for a few hours tomorrow morning plus the late-Saturday-night and Sunday-morning repetitions, Adam had worry-free time to spend with Gussie.

He glanced down at her as they strolled from the parsonage to Sam’s old house. Feeling his gaze on her, she looked up and smiled.

“I love Butternut Creek,” she said. “The people, the houses, the breeze. It’s a great place to be.”

“Better than Roundville?”

“Based on name only, who wouldn’t prefer to live in Butternut Creek than in Roundville? I love Sam’s little house. It’s cozy.”

“Too cozy for three people?”

She grinned. “Maybe, but I’m not going to complain. I’m having too much fun here.”

They turned up the sidewalk and onto the porch. A light shone from the living room and another from the front bedroom. He could hear the drone of a television.

“Have I told you about the first time I met Sam?” he asked. “It was on this swing.” He held the swing for Gussie, then sat next to her.

“Don’t think so.” She pushed against the floor to move the swing back and forth. “Go ahead.”

“You know Sam came home from Afghanistan as an amputee and suffering from PTSD.”

She nodded. “It’s no secret that he was depressed. Sam told me he’d become a hermit.”

“He didn’t like people, didn’t want anyone intruding on him. Miss Birdie tried to talk to him, even invited him to church, but he didn’t come. Didn’t answer the phone or the door.” Adam shook his head. “A tough case.” He put his arm around Gussie. “I dropped by one afternoon and knocked for about a minute. No answer. So I sat here before I headed back to the church.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “The whole thing came down, pulled right out of the ceiling. Huge crash. Dropped me on the floor.”

“Oh,” she responded.

He could tell Gussie was attempting to keep her face straight.

“Go ahead. Laugh. It was funny. It dumped me on the porch with my knees up to my chin and broken pieces of the swing all around me.” He laughed with Gussie. “Sam opened the door and glared at me. He complained that we incredibly nosy church people would stop at nothing to get him to talk.” He allowed the swing to go back and forth before he said, “Then he let me in. We had pizza and have been friends ever since.”

Smiling, Gussie took his hand. “Wonderful story.”

He pushed his feet on the floor to keep the swing going. “How’s your parents’ house hunt going?”

“Mom said she got a call from the Baptist Retirement Center in Roundville. No opening in the foreseeable future.”

“I like having them around,” he said. “Your mom is great with Janey and they’ve teamed up on Hannah to go out to the garden. No one has ever forced my sister to do anything, but your mother and Janey can.”

“And Mom’s a great cook.”

“Always a plus.” He took Gussie’s hand. “Your father’s a good guy. He watches basketball with Hector and me and walks Chewy. Hope they stay in town for a long time.”

“They said they’re waiting to know what my plans are before they make a decision. They may return to Roundville or move into Austin or San Antonio. They love the River Walk and Austin is close to friends, but it depends on my future.”

“They’re putting off a decision based on you? Where you’re going to live?”

She nodded. “They’ve grown fond of me over the years.”

For a moment, they swung while Adam thought.

“Then why don’t all of you stay here?” The words had popped out without thought, but they sounded good so he repeated them. “Why don’t you stay here? In Butternut Creek?”

“Stay here?” She waved around her.

“Yes, here in Butternut Creek?”

Gussie tilted her head, a sure sign of confusion. Wasn’t a difficult concept, but Gussie seemed to have a great deal of trouble grasping his suggestion, so he said. “Why don’t you marry me and stay here?”

Her reaction was not an expression of undying love or a quick acceptance. No, she blinked. Then she put her feet firmly on the floor, stopped the swing, and studied the far railing of the porch as if letting the words sink in, as if attempting to understand them. Finally, she turned toward him and said, “What?”

“You can’t be surprised. Didn’t we both think your move here meant marriage was a fairly obvious possibility?”

“I…I…I…” She swallowed and started over. “I didn’t expect a proposal tonight.”

“I didn’t expect to ask.” Adam realized immediately he hadn’t made the situation any better but, nonetheless, he continued a few words farther down the path to destruction. “I didn’t
want
to propose.”

“You didn’t?” She frowned, then studied his face, possibly in an effort to figure out his meaning.

She leaned forward. Her proximity only rattled him more.

“I don’t want you to marry me,” he said. What an idiot. “I mean, I do, but not if you feel pushed or overwhelmed or confused.”

“Confused,” she answered, as if this were a multiple choice question.

He felt the same but he shouldn’t. He was the one proposing. “I thought it would be handy, you know. For us to get married.”

“Handy?”

He couldn’t seem to stop the stupid words and suggestions pouring from his mouth. “You said your parents were waiting until they knew where you’d be before they bought a house. I thought, maybe, if we got married, you know, they could make that decision more easily. With more information.”

When comprehension showed in her eyes, she began to laugh until she had to hold on to the arm of the swing to steady herself. He loved her laugh, joyful and free and filled with delight, but Adam had never had a woman laugh at his marriage proposal before. Oh, he’d only proposed to one other woman, but Laurel had smiled and accepted his proposal demurely and with a kiss.

Didn’t look as if Gussie would react like that. In fact, for nearly a minute, he didn’t think she’d answer at all.

When she could finally speak, Gussie said, “You’re asking me to marry you because it’s handy? Because that would make my parents’ choice of a place to live easier?” She shook her head but still smiled. “I’d always dreamed of something a little more romantic when a man asked me to marry him. Maybe a mention of eternal, undying love.”

“It should be more romantic,” he agreed. “But the words just popped out.”

Gussie leaned away from him. Not a good sign. She coolly raised her right eyebrow. “Oh?”

“That’s…that’s not what I meant. Not at all,” he sputtered. “I’ve wanted to ask you to marry me for a long time.”

She nodded encouragingly.

“But I wanted to give you time. You know, to get to know me. To feel comfortable here.” There, that sounded good, and she’d stopped glaring.

“How long do you think I need?”

Her voice was steady and emotionless. He could not interpret it. “A few months?” he asked.

“Is that a question?”

Not going well. He preferred her laughter to the frigid thud of her last words. Couldn’t blame her. She’d like a romantic proposal. She deserved one. The Widows were right. He was hopeless. He needed direction. He had botched up asking Gussie to marry him.

Only one way to rectify those mistakes. With his future riding on this, Adam stood, turned, and dropped to one knee in front of Gussie.

Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth.

He took the other hand and held it. “Gussie Milton, I pledge my undying and eternal love to you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, she froze, eyes still huge, right hand in his. Then she dropped her left hand and grasped his and smiled, the brilliant, beautiful, adorable, joyful expression he loved.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, Adam. I will marry you.”

With that, Adam stood and tugged her to her feet. Then he put his arm around her shoulder to pull her close. “When?”

“I don’t know. I feel a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“I don’t know.” She didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Don’t tell anyone, not yet. I know what’s going to happen when Miss Birdie finds out, and my mother will be nearly as bad. Right now I want to hug my happiness close.”

“Don’t tell anyone?” He turned her so they faced the other side of the street. As they watched, a light flickered on in the house immediately across from the porch of Sam’s house.