The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (30 page)

“Don’t know.”

Sam stared at the general. “You’re serious?”

“Sure am.”

“But you haven’t known her for very long.”

“You fell in love with Willow pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

“We’re not talking about me, sir.”

“No, but there are times a man has to take action.” The general smiled. “Of course, you have a lot of years ahead of you. I’m sixty-two and had a health scare. It hit me that I’m not going to live forever, and I have to take fast action to get what I want. You never know what’s going to happen.”

Sam could have died with Morty in Afghanistan. The sentence hung in the air between them as if the general had actually uttered the words.

Sam considered the general’s statement as he finished breakfast. Did he want to spend the rest of his life alone because he didn’t take action or plan or make decisions? But he didn’t want to consider that now. Too intense. Too threatening.

“Were you serious about going fishing?” the general asked.

Stupid for Sam to have said that. He knew the general well enough to know that if he was determined to go fishing, they’d end up in a boat on the lake this afternoon.

When he scrutinized the general, though, Sam realized he’d spoken hesitantly, as if he were afraid of Sam’s reaction. He didn’t want his father, a respected officer and a proud, courageous man, to fear the reaction of his own son. What could Sam say to convey that?

“You know, there’s a vets’ group that meets at one of the churches on Wednesday evenings. I’m planning to go next week. Want to join me?” the general asked. 

The suggestion shattered the tenuous communication. “Don’t try to fix me, sir.”

“I’m not, son.” The general stopped and blinked. “But maybe when you’re ready, we could go together.” He glanced at the coffee cup then back up. “I attended a veterans’ support group weekly in Ohio. Started…” He stopped and swallowed before continuing. “Started when you got hurt. I couldn’t handle it.”

Sam couldn’t think of a sentence more unlikely to come from the general’s mouth. “There’s one at the Christian Church. Would you come with me?” he asked again as if Sam hadn’t just shot down the request.
Dogged
, that word described the general perfectly.

“Why?” He’d never asked the general “Why” about anything. A strict do-as-I-say man, the general had never allowed it.

“Because I need it. Because I think you might, too.”

“I’m not a wimp. I can handle this.”

“I know you’re not a wimp,” the general stated. “But I’ve learned I can’t handle what happens in battle alone. I found out I do a lot better in life when I can talk about what happened with vets who’ve been through the same thing.” He scrutinized Sam’s features. “I don’t sound like the man you grew up with, do I? When you were wounded in Afghanistan, I felt so guilty I could barely function. Going to the group saved me. I discovered I can’t do everything on my own.”

Those words dropped inside Sam and burned. He had no idea what to say and, so filled with emotion, wasn’t sure he could speak. The idea his father had been devastated by Sam’s injury, that the amputation had changed the general’s life, was something he’d never guessed and couldn’t digest now.

He fell back to his default emotion: anger. “I thought you’d come down here to bully me into rehabbing.”

“To bully you,” the general repeated. “I’m sorry you expected that.”

Who was this man who looked so much like the general but spoke like a concerned and loving father? Sam never could have imagined the words or the soft voice.

“Go ahead and get dressed.” The general stood. “I’ll clean up. If you want to, we can talk later.”

With those words and the ones his father had spoken in the last few minutes, guilt began to eat at Sam. The realization surprised him. Had his feelings defrosted enough for him to regret his actions? To accept the general’s concern? Must be all the warm bacon fat melting the cockles—whatever cockles were—of his heart.

There he went with his normal habit of defusing an emotion by making fun of it. Sometimes Sam was full of it. He just didn’t know what to do about it. Change? Maybe. But how?

F
ailure was not an option for Miss Birdie. She never fell short in anything if she could help it. And yet the minister stood there behind the pulpit and preached, looking almost handsome and much more confident than he had before she’d taken him in hand. Preached a pretty fair sermon now. Did good work, the evidence on display right there in the congregation.

Eleanor and Missy sat next to Bree. Mrs. Smith improved every day what with Mike, the PT from the hospital, dropping by every few days for exercises, the visiting nurse helping with medication, and the aide who came by to give Mrs. Smith baths.

Winnie and the general had arrived together and settled in a front pew, an unexpected and serendipitous success for the Widows that she and Mercedes didn’t mind crowing about.

But the preacher stood up there alone. He deserved a woman, a wife, a soul mate. If they didn’t find him someone, he’d probably go along happily playing basketball three or four times a week, welcoming people who needed a place to stay into the parsonage, going to football games, but never finding love.

Birdie studied the sanctuary. Attendance had grown some. A new couple—white-haired like the rest of the adults—sat on the side aisle. The Kowalski girls came with the preacher and went to children’s church. But other than Willow, no single woman sat in the congregation, waiting for Birdie to introduce her to the preacher, waiting to fall in love with him and marry him.

Birdie closed her eyes and prayed for the Lord to get involved because she thought only through holy intervention would a mate be found for the preacher.

“Pops?”

Adam looked up from the bench next to the basketball court where he sat to tie his shoes. Bobby Franklin, one of Hector’s teammates on the high school team, stood next to him, silhouetted against the lights.

“What is it, Bobby? Sit down.”

“You know about the problems Hector’s having with the rent and all?”

Adam nodded.

“Him and his sister are sleeping in the park now.”

“What?” He looked up at Hector, dribbling and shooting, then looked around the thick trees surrounding the court. “He and his sister are sleeping here? For how long?”

“She’s waiting for him over there.” He nodded toward a thin girl in pink overalls huddled on the bench next to the court. “Two nights. This will be the third.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I’d have done something.”

“He’s ashamed. He figures he should be able to take care of the family. He’s a man.”

“Even men need help sometimes.” Adam stood. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll talk to him.” When the young man started to say more, the minister said, “Don’t worry. I won’t mention you told me anything.”

Adam picked up a ball and dribbled toward the basket where Hector practiced. “How’s your sister? You guys still okay?”

Hector didn’t turn toward him, just kept shooting.

“You want to play horse?” Adam asked. “Loser has to answer a question from the winner.” Not subtle but he felt certain Hector wouldn’t fill Adam in on his life without cover.

Hector glared at the minister, then nodded.

After a hard-fought game, which Adam won—actually, it was possible Hector threw it—the minister took the ball and held it. “How are you and your sister?” he repeated. “Where are you sleeping?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Okay, where are you sleeping?”

Hector didn’t make eye contact, just jerked his head toward the trees.

“You’re sleeping here? Out in the open? Is that good for you? Safe for your sister?”

The kid studied his feet. Finally, he looked at Adam and said, “I don’t know what to do. We got evicted even though I had a week left on the lease.”

Unbelievable anyone could do that to a couple of kids. “What now?” Adam asked. “What are your plans?”

Hector shrugged.

That was enough. “Go get your stuff. You’re coming with me now. I have plenty of room at the parsonage.”

He scowled. “We don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. We have room. You may not think you need help, but Janey needs a safe place to live.”

“Janey can go with you. I’ll make my way.”

“Buddy, your sister needs you.”

“I’ll visit her. I’ll walk her to school.”

When it became obvious that argument wasn’t going to work, Adam came up with another one. “I don’t know anything about taking care of a little girl.” Adam pointed toward Janey. “All those cute little braids and barrettes in your sister’s hair? I don’t know how to do those.”

“Yeah, that takes practice,” Hector agreed.

“There are two empty bedrooms on the second floor. Right now, we have another family living in the parsonage, on the ground floor. She’s just out of the hospital. I think…”

“You have other people living in that big, ugly house?” Hector interrupted.

The minister nodded.

“Oh.” Hector considered that. “Then it would be okay. It wouldn’t be like we were charity cases, right? Other people stay there, too.”

“That’s what churches are for.”

“Not always, Pops. Not always.” He glanced toward his sister. “I talked to the counselor at school. I want to be a legally emancipated minor and take care of Janey myself.”

“Fine.”

He examined Adam’s expression for a few seconds, as if searching for clues about his feelings, as if Adam might have deeper motives for moving him and his sister into the parsonage. How sad he had to be suspicious, but Adam respected his caution.

“Okay, we’ll come. Let me go get our stuff.” He turned and took a step.

“I have a couple of rules,” Adam said before Hector could move away.

He turned back and glared. “Yeah?” The kid’s body stiffened, and his voice held a note of suspicion.

“First, you have to stay in school.”

Hector nodded. “Plan to.”

“And you have to be home by eleven on school nights. No drinking.”

“No problem.”

“And I’d like you to come to church on Sunday morning.”

Hector’s lips tightened.

“I’m not going to force you, don’t plan to convert you, but I’d like you there. The parsonage belongs to the church. This would be giving back, thanking the congregation.”

Hector nodded. “Okay, sure.” He waved toward his sister. “Janey, come here. We’re going to have beds tonight.”

Adam watched them walk toward their campsite before realizing he should give them a hand. He ran behind the two. When he reached the clearing, Adam heard a low growling and something—a bear? a lion?—rushed toward him and leaped into the air. Before he could move, it landed on Adam’s chest and knocked him to the ground. He looked into the face of a creature of some kind. It was enormous with a head the size of a pumpkin. A tongue lolled from its mouth, which made Adam believe the creature was friendly—just very drooly. His face got wetter with each passing second. The rhythmic pounding of the creature’s tail against the ground implied the monster liked the minister.

“Chewy, come here,” Janey said in a soft, high voice. The animal, who really did look like a Wookiee, pushed himself up and romped toward the girl, wagging its tail.

Adam stood slowly.

“That’s Janey’s dog Chewy,” Hector said. “I didn’t tell you about him, afraid you’d change your mind. Janey loves him.”

Once on his feet, Adam could see exactly how massive the canine was. With the tawny coat, it resembled a lion, but the plumy tail and the darker patches on the side revealed that this dog had a long and varied ancestry. Afghan hound? Sheepdog of some sort? Perhaps even a little elephant in its genetic makeup?

“I have a fenced-in yard. He’ll be fine.”

“He won’t like being out there all the time. He sleeps with her,” Hector said. “She says he makes her feel safe.”

This was not the time to debate Chewy’s living conditions. Adam had to get these kids to the parsonage and security. “We’ll work it out,” he said to Janey, whom he could barely see over the huge dog. “Don’t worry. But first, let’s get you to bed, in a real bed.”

Adam picked up a couple of sleeping bags and headed to the parsonage. Behind him, he could hear the dog crashing down the path. He sped up.

Adam dreamed he was with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed’nego in the fiery furnace. When he woke up, sweat poured down his body. He lay there wondering if the Hill Country had been hit by a heat wave overnight or if someone had, for some reason, turned up the parsonage furnace to one hundred.

As his brain slowly cleared, he realized a huge lump—a hot, breathing lump—lay next to him. Adam sat up. Chewy lifted his head and grinned. He hadn’t known a dog could smile, but this one did, pleased to be here in bed next to Adam. Not that the bed belonged to the minister anymore, other than the narrow sliver he occupied. Chewy owned the rest. His tail hit the mattress as if he were a canine Ringo Starr.

How did he get in here? Adam took a few tissues from the box on the night table to wipe his face as he rolled off the bed and stood. The bedroom door was open. He knew he’d closed it; either Chewy could open doors or the catch hadn’t held. He guessed the latter. Chewy didn’t seem all that smart.

“Pops, breakfast,” Hector shouted up the stairs.

Breakfast? Hector had prepared breakfast?

Knowing he’d have to shower later but also mindful that he now lived with five other people, Adam pulled on jeans and a T-shirt before heading quietly down the back stairs to the kitchen. Chewy bounced down behind him, occasionally nudging the back of his legs to hurry him along.

Although the signs of cooking lay all over the counter, no one was in the kitchen. He let Chewy out before searching.

“Pops, we’re in here,” Hector shouted from the dining room.

Adam had never used the dining room. Actually, with the furniture repositioned to accommodate the downstairs visitors, the table had ended up shoved in the smallest parlor, the one he used as an at-home office.

“Good morning.” Deanne still wore her robe, but seeing her up and at the table pleased the minister. Hector sat at the end of the table, looking like the father of the family. Missy sat on a chair atop multiple pillows next to Eleanor.

In a bright pink shirt and overalls, her hair arranged in thirty or forty braids, Janey walked across the cramped space as carefully as if she were on a tightrope, balancing a cup of coffee for Adam.

Besides the necessities—plates, napkins, sugar, and milk—on the table were bowls of oatmeal, glasses of orange juice, and one plate piled high with toast. Hector grinned at Adam’s surprise.

“Breakfast is my specialty.”

“Great! Good morning.” He settled in one of the heavy, formal chairs.

“Morning,” Missy said through a mouthful of toast.

Hector pointed at an empty chair. “Sit down, sis, and eat fast. We need to get going.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Janey.”

She looked at Adam with eyes so big and dark and filled with uncertainty, it almost broke his heart. No child should look that lonely and scared.

“Thanks for breakfast, Hector,” Deanne said. “It tastes really good. I love being up for breakfast.”

“How are you two going to get to school? Do I need to drive you?” Adam hadn’t thought about that before. Hadn’t thought of a lot of stuff before he brought the kids home, but they could figure things out as they went.

“I can walk. Janey’s school’s on the way. I’ll take her,” Hector said.

“What about lunch?” Deanne asked. “Should I fix sack lunches for you?”

“It’s okay.” Hector swallowed hard as if he didn’t want to say more.

Adam bet they had free lunch and he didn’t want to admit it. The minister was glad they did, glad that during the tough times they’d had at least one good meal a day.

“What time do you eat dinner?” Adam shoved the bowl away and took half a piece of toast.

“Practice is over at six thirty, but I’m always ready to eat,” Hector said. “Janey’ll get home about four and likes a snack.”

He turned to the child. “Janey, can you walk home all right?”

She nodded.

“It’s only a few blocks,” Hector said. “She can probably see the steeple from her school.”

“The door’s always open,” Adam told her. “If I’m not here, come over to the church.”