The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (35 page)

“In Roundville?”

“Oh, no. In Austin. But my parents live in Roundville and I want to be close to them.” For a moment, she lost the smile. “They’re getting older. And I love the church there. I grew up in it. It’s a short commute to town and worth it so I can live at home with my folks. I’m an only child.”

Adam felt her warmth and happiness flow over him from across the table. He took it in until he realized she was watching him, a little perplexed, as if she’d said something and he hadn’t responded.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“That’s okay. I often see that blank stare when I talk. Sometimes people can’t take in everything I say at once, but that’s how my brain works.” She laughed. “Where do you come from?”

He gave her some quick background before he asked her to tell him about herself, adding, “And your family. You mentioned your parents. What about your husband and children?” Adam knew he’d never be subtle and suave, but she didn’t seem to notice his stumbling curiosity.

“No husband. No children. No time.” She shook her head. “My job and the church and my parents are all I can commit to now.”

How had the Widows missed her? Had they thought she lived too far away? He couldn’t imagine a small thing like a distance of fifty miles slowing Miss Birdie down.

By the time Gussie leaped to her feet—he was quickly discovering she never did anything slowly or quietly—ten minutes later, he’d studied the schedule she’d worked up for the retreat weekend. He wrote his name in a few slots while she brought a pot of coffee over and poured them each another cup.

“Those servers are always too slow,” she explained as she sat down.

They chatted for a few more minutes. Once they concluded the business of the retreat, she grabbed her papers, stuffed them into the tote, waved, and dashed out the door. Her exit left Adam feeling as if a thoroughly enchanting hurricane had just passed through.

Feeling enchanted wasn’t his goal. First, it would be stupid to be attracted to a woman who worked in South Austin, who lived an hour’s drive away, a woman who cared for her parents and supervised the youth of her church in her bit of extra time. Second, if he didn’t want an entanglement, he shouldn’t be enchanted.

But Gussie was hard to resist.

A few days later, Sam called Adam. He said he was on the way over to the church. Adam was terrified. Was Sam coming for counseling? He had known a day like this would come but hadn’t expected it so soon.

Adam had taken courses about counseling in seminary, had even worked at a counseling center and as a hospital chaplain, but he’d never been on his own and certainly never with someone he knew. In all those sessions with strangers, there had always been someone—a faculty member or a psychologist or a supervising chaplain—looking over his shoulder, suggesting, helping, and telling him later both how to handle the situation and what to do as well as what not to do.

Today he’d be on his own.

What if he messed up?

What if he said the wrong thing and hurt the situation? Who in the world was he to help anyone else with their problems?

“Dear Lord, please help me.” After a few seconds, he added, “Give me wisdom and compassion and a lot of help. And toss in whatever else You think I may need.”

A knock interrupted the anxious prayer.

“Amen.” He leaped to his feet and shouted, “Come in.”

Leaning on his cane, Sam walked in.

“Bad day?” Adam asked, then kicked himself. Had that been the wrong response to the cane?

He nodded. “Sometimes I overdo, but I’m fine.” He came over to the desk without closing the door and lowered himself into the chair, leaning heavily on his left hand.

Should Adam close the door? Inside, he shook his head. He worried too much.

“How can I help you?” Were those the wrong words? “What can I do for you?” Again, had Adam insulted the marine and the handicap? This time his prayer consisted of,
Dear Lord, give me the right words and tell me when to shut up.
Then he moved a chair next to Sam’s and sat.

“I was wondering what I could do for the church.”

“What?”

“The church has been so good to me.” Sam smiled and shook his head. “I really can’t believe how good. The women have brought food. Howard Crampton came by the other day to fix the porch swing. You know, the one you broke.”

Adam nodded.

“Did you know Jesse brings a horse by and takes me riding once a week?” Sam asked.

“He told me that. He really enjoys it.”

“I appreciate all this. I’d like to do something in return, something that doesn’t require actually attending worship.”

“Sort of service in absentia?”

Sam nodded.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“I’m not a handyman so carpentry and plumbing are beyond me, but I’m open to about anything else.”

“A few of our people volunteer at the library, teaching English as a second language and literacy. They always need help.” Adam thought for a few seconds. “They can always use extra hands at the food pantry on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.”

“Teaching, huh?” He considered that. “I’ll go to the library and ask about it.”

Adam wrote a phone number on a piece of paper. “Call Ruth Cook. She’s in charge of scheduling.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

The minister silently breathed a sigh of relief. That had been easy. But why had Sam come by the church? To the study? He could have asked that on the phone.

“Guess I’ll head out.” Sam stood, but turned at the door, scrutinized Adam for a moment, then shut the door without leaving. “There’s something else I need to talk about.” He took a few steps toward the desk. “I don’t need a minister and I don’t need some easy religious words or simplistic clichés to pacify me. Right now, I need to talk to a friend. You’re the one I’ve chosen.” He put his hand on the back of the chair. “Actually, you’re my only friend in town other than two kids and the general, and he’s the problem.” He shrugged. “Are you willing?”

“Of course.” The feeling of inadequacy melted away, as if God answered his prayer. Why in the world did he find it so difficult to accept the fact that God endowed him with certain gifts as well as the ability to use them? Why did he find it hard to believe that God had already answered his prayers by blessing him with talents to serve? “What can I do for you?” Adam asked pastorally as Sam dropped into the chair again.

He leaned his head on the high back of the chair and closed his eyes. “Do you get along with your father?”

“You mean other than his telling me going into the ministry was the waste of a good mind and an expensive education?”

Sam leaned forward and smiled. “Yeah, like that.”

“My sister’s a doctor who goes from refugee camp to refugee camp in Africa. We’re both great disappointments to our father. Mom’s pretty much okay with us. Don’t know what he expected. We were raised in the church.”

As the men discussed how to get along with a stifling parent, Sam and Adam became better friends. They tossed out ideas, joked and shared, even discovered that, at different times in their lives, when business or the military had called their fathers away, both had been sent to boarding schools.

But Sam didn’t say a word about Willow.

“Thank for listening,” Sam said after thirty minutes. “I don’t think the general is a problem that can be solved.”

“Maybe if you didn’t call him ‘the general,’” Adam suggested. “Have you thought about calling him ‘Dad’?”

“Hey.” He glared at the minister. “Don’t try to…”

“I’m not trying to fix you.”

“All right.” Sam grinned and relaxed. “I’ve tried calling him ‘Dad’—both to his face once or twice and in here.” He tapped his head. “It doesn’t feel right. At least, not yet.”

“Maybe with practice.”

“The really weird thing is the man never spent time with me when I was a kid. Now I wake up and find him sitting next to my bed. Crying.” He shook his head. “Man, how am I supposed to deal with that?”

“Pastor, we need to get to the bottom of this,” the pillar said as she marched into the minister’s study a few days after the meeting with Sam. She stopped in front of the desk and put her hands on her hips.

Adam quaked at the ominous words. Miss Birdie was in full
the-​minister-​has-​done-​something-​so-​foolish-​I-​cannot-​believe-​it
mode. “The community center is holding its craft fair the same Saturday as our spring bazaar.” She bit the words off.

He relaxed. Not angry at her minister, at least not this time.

“Bird doesn’t like anyone competing with the Widows for good deeds,” Mercedes stated as she followed the pillar into the office.

“That’s not the reason at all, Mercedes.” She lifted her glare toward her friend. “You know that. It’s just that…” She sat and leaned toward Adam. “It’s just that we’ve always had our bazaar on that weekend. Everyone knows that. Competition won’t be good for either group.”

“Bird doesn’t like to be left out,” Mercedes stated. “She likes to know everything that’s going on.”

“No,” Miss Birdie protested. “ It’s just that…” She sighed. “All right. That’s true.” She smiled ruefully. “I don’t like to be left out. I do like to know who’s doing what. I hate to be blindsided.”

Adam nodded solemnly. “I understand, but sometimes things happen.”

“I know that very well, Preacher,” Miss Birdie snapped. “Pushiness and impatience may not be attractive traits, but that’s who I am and what I do best. I’m not fixin’ to change at this time in my life.”

“Bird’s very proud of that,” Mercedes stated.

“No, I’m not.” The pillar shook her head. “Well, maybe a little, but I also know there are times I should step back and leave things in the Lord’s hands.” She sighed. “I’m not good at that, Pastor.”

“Bird’s not patient.”

“Patience is a hard lesson to learn,” Adam agreed.

“Especially if you don’t want to.” After receiving a glare from the pillar, Mercedes added, “Like me. Hard lesson for me as well.”

“For all of us,” Adam agreed again.

Having exhausted that area of accord, the three glanced at one another, each waiting for someone else to begin a new topic. Adam hesitated because he had no idea why the women had come. They should have gone over to the community center to discuss the conflict.

But he’d learned it was never a good idea to make a suggestion to the pillar. If she liked it, she’d expect him to take care of it. If she didn’t, she’d tut-tut and tsk-tsk and hrmph, generally making him feel like an idiot.

However, Adam felt that there was something else going on now. Although she was angry about the usurping of the date of the spring bazaar, the conflict didn’t seem uppermost on the pillar’s mind.

She knew she could wear Adam down with her glare. He held out for nearly a minute of scrutiny before he blurted out, “Anything else?”

“It’s about the youth retreat,” Mercedes said. “Bird’s upset because you haven’t done a thing about it.”

“I can tell him—” the pillar began.

Before she could finish, Adam spoke quickly. The youth retreat seemed like a safe topic. “Yes, I have been late doing that. I have the forms. Gussie Milton called last week. I met her in Marble Falls to discuss scheduling.”

When he mentioned Gussie’s name, the two Widows glanced at each other, then—in unison—toward Adam and said, also in unison, “You met Gussie Milton?”

They beamed. Miss Birdie tilted her head up to look at the picture of Jesus knocking on a door, a gift from someone to a former minister that hung right behind the desk. “Dear Lord,” she said to the figure on the canvas. “You do answer prayer. Thank You.”

Adam recognized his error immediately. He should never have spoken Gussie’s name. It was like tossing M&M’s to a chocoholic. Forgetting anything else they might have wanted to say, both slid to the edges of their chairs, folded their hands in their laps, and watched Adam like cats watching a cricket, just waiting for it to move.

“What do you think of her?” Miss Birdie asked happily, as if she foresaw the restoration of her reputation as a matchmaker. Not that she’d introduced Adam to Gussie, but he bet she’d take credit for it.

“Very nice,” he said hastily and pulled open a drawer to snatch up the registration forms Maggie had copied. He tossed them across the desk to the Widows in the hope of forestalling any more questions or considerations. “Here are the forms for Mac and Bree. Does anyone else need them?”