The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Page 12

  Her smile was friendly but not particularly inviting, the expression of a mother asking the boys’ little friend to join them.

  Nevertheless, he wanted to kiss those gorgeous lips and pull her next to him, to cover himself with her long hair, to touch her and… He refused to complete the thought. After all, her sons were only a few feet away.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  “Oh, please, sir,” Nick begged.

  This time, he didn’t give in to their expressions. And Willow Thomas was much more inviting than chocolate cake and one hundred times more delicious.

  “Good exercise,” Leo said.

  “You guys give me more than enough exercise,” he said.

  She smiled, almost in relief he thought. “Don’t forget your next appointments,” she said. Then the three left, the boys hopping down the porch steps and along the sidewalk with her.

  He longed to join them, be a part of that group. To be carefree as he’d been when he visited Aunt Effie, back when he ran along the sidewalk with his friends looking for a pickup game of basketball or riding bikes to the lake.

  Instead, he watched her walk away.

  They were getting too close, Sam realized as he got ready for bed that night. He hit the counter in the bathroom with his fist.

  It hurt.

  He remembered the laughter of the three as they walked away from the house. He smashed his hand against the counter again. Hurt even more.

  He could feel the town and the people and the boys and their mother all sneaking inside his carefully constructed barrier. He didn’t want them inside. He did not want to care about anyone or anything. All he wanted was to be left alone in this mess of a house. He couldn’t take feeling again, didn’t want to, refused to.

  Now the house was clean and people walked in and out.

  He cursed as he hit the counter again but not as hard because, although depressed, he wasn’t stupid.

  What should he do if she and her sons and the insufferably friendly people of Butternut Creek persisted in trying to tear his defenses down? These people needed to leave him alone, stop bringing food and tortes and dropping in. He wanted to be dead inside. He wanted to stay that way, had no desire to join the happy throng parading through his house. Why had he let them inside? He should’ve guessed the cheerful name of the town described exactly the positive attitude of the people who inhabited it.

  He cursed Butternut Creek.

  For a moment, tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to let go. He had to be tough, had to remember who he was and what he’d left behind, the parts of himself he’d abandoned in Afghanistan, one visible from the outside, the other losses hidden inside.

  He lifted his gaze to the mirror. A useless man looked back at him. If he forgot Afghanistan, he’d forget Morty and the others who’d died there and those who still fought. He’d start agreeing with people who said he was lucky to get out alive, even if he had lost a leg, and he couldn’t do that. Morty had died on an isolated mountainside, killed by an enemy they hadn’t even seen. Losing his best friend while he still lived didn’t feel a bit lucky.

  He scrubbed any trace of grief away, then hardened his expression. He was a marine, not a pansy. Not a rainbow of peace and light.

  Once the sanctuary emptied on Sunday morning, Adam wandered back down the central aisle, unzipping his robe as he walked. Hot to wear on an August morning with the air-​conditioning spitting very little cool air into the sanctuary. Another repair. The crack in the wall from the corner of the baptistery to the ceiling and the peeling paint on the windowsills also needed to be fixed. He and the church members could repair and paint the walls themselves, but the air-​conditioning would cost.

  The bank had turned down their loan request. Where would the money come from?

  Adam hadn’t seen Captain Peterson in church. Not that he’d expected to. He’d gone by Sam’s house two more times, left notes in the door, and telephoned twice, but no one answered. So he’d written a letter.

  “Dear Lord,” Adam whispered. “Please help me reach him.”

  It was the first Sunday of the month, which meant it was time for the fellowship dinner. As in all churches and as he’d learned with dishes people dropped off at the parsonage, the food was great. He hurried to his study, hung up the robe, and studied the jacket that lay across a chair. Too hot. He checked his tie in the mirror and wished he could leave that in the office as well, but a new minister without his suit coat and his tie would probably cause Miss Birdie to hyperventilate. At least his hair was not “too long” anymore. It had grown a little, enough so his scalp didn’t show around his ears quite as much. Nearly enough that people didn’t stop on the sidewalks and snicker, although Hector and his buddies hadn’t let Adam forget.

  Once in the fellowship hall, Adam said grace. He’d learned the minister’s trick of saying the blessing only a foot away from the serving table. When he said “Amen,” he moved quickly into the head of the line and arrived at the counter spread with dishes of so many kinds he hardly knew where to start. He piled on the sauerkraut and sausage, the pickled beets—which he seldom had—the chicken and dumplings, the beans, and more.

  “We’ll fix you a plate to take home,” Pansy said. “You can make a couple more meals out of it.”

  Adam was beginning to enjoy being spoiled.

  After about two months here, he knew almost half of the people gathered by name. Willow Thomas sat with two kids. He waved but steered clear of her. If he sat next to her, tongues would wag. He chose a chair across from two couples—all four with white hair—he barely knew and talked with them for a few minutes.

  At least until Ralph approached, dragging a young blond woman behind him. Adam wanted to slip under the table, but people found such behavior by ministers unseemly. Unfortunately. Because she looked nearly as uncomfortable as he felt, Adam smiled and hoped someone would take the chair next to him before she got there.

  No one did.

  “Hey, Preacher. Want you to meet my niece Nancy from San Saba.” Ralph pulled out the chair and shoved the reluctant young woman in it. “She’s visiting today.”

  Nancy glared at Adam, uncomfortable and rebellious, as if her presence were his fault. He smiled but had no idea what to say to a female who obviously wished she were anyplace other than sitting next to him.

  “That’s not the way to handle it.” Birdie watched from the long serving counter between the fellowship hall and the kitchen as the preacher politely attempted to engage Ralph’s relative in conversation. “Too obvious.”

  “Neither of them looks happy,” Mercedes observed. “How old is Nancy?”

  “Don’t know. Hear she has a boyfriend the family doesn’t like, but forcing her on the preacher isn’t going to work.” Birdie could hear a note of satisfaction in her own voice. Why? Shouldn’t she rejoice if anyone found a good match for the preacher? Of course, but this woman didn’t look like “the one.”

  “We have to keep looking,” Mercedes said.

  With a nod, Birdie checked out the crowd in the fellowship hall. About half of the diners had filled their plates and another half stood in line. Of all those people, she couldn’t see another single woman in the place younger than sixty. Well, except Willow Thomas, but Birdie had plans for her.

  “We have a problem,” Winnie whispered, pointing toward a platter on the counter.

  “Heavens preserve us,” Birdie whispered. They were out of fried chicken. How could such a thing have happened? Distracted by the preacher’s love life, she hadn’t noticed. How could she have acted so irresponsibly?

  “What do we do now?” Mercedes picked up an empty plate while Birdie shoved a casserole of Pansy’s delicious chicken spaghetti into the space left on the counter.

  “I’ll run down to the H-E-B and pick up more,” Winnie suggested. She pulled her keys from her purse and studied Birdie, a question so obvious in her eyes even Birdie couldn’t ignore it.

  Mercedes watched both women and waited.
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  Birdie knew what Winnie’s words and actions meant: a test of Birdie’s leadership, a day of reckoning, Armageddon in the kitchen of the Christian Church. If she took Winnie up on her offer, there was no retreat, no going back. Winnie would be a Widow against all the rules of widowdom.

  Birdie sensed that everyone in the fellowship hall froze, as if time had stopped. Every eye in the hall lifted to the two women. Those in line stared, their gazes hopping back and forth between Birdie and Winnie as if they were watching a tennis match. Birdie saw that the preacher—poor young man, he should be spared a scene like this—had been attempting to chat with the blond visitor. His efforts at conversation stopped as his glance leaped toward the Widows and the wannabe.

  The moment immobilized those at the tables with their forks halfway to their mouths, but their stares glued to Birdie’s face.

  The time had come.

  How should she answer the challenge?

  Not a sound came from the room, but it seemed as if Winnie’s words and the jingling of her keys still echoed around them.

  Then Birdie nodded. “Get two large buckets.”

  With that, everyone went back to eating or talking or picking up food from the dishes scattered across the counter while Winnie hurried out the side door and into the parking lot.

  Mercedes said, “She did a good job in rounding up and delivering the food to Sam Peterson.”

  Birdie knew exactly what her friend meant. She’d done the right thing to add one more Widow to the group, but she had needed an excuse, like fried chicken.

  “Hey, Grandma.” Bree stood in front of her, piling her plate with more food than a girl should have been able to put away without gaining at least a pound or two—no matter how tall and thin she was. Bree had her mother’s eyes but her height came from her father. Dad gum man.

  “Hello, dear.” Birdie patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Where’s your sister?”

  “Over there with Willy Marti, Jesse’s grandson.” Bree rolled her eyes. “Grandma, she’s too young to have a boyfriend.”

  Before Birdie could answer—she agreed but now wasn’t the time to discuss the fact—Bree hurried over to the dessert table and grabbed the last piece of Pansy’s better-than-sex cake.

  “They’re good kids.” Mercedes picked up a pile of empty dishes and put them in the sink to soak. “You know they are. You worry too much.”

  “Their mother was into drugs at fifteen. That could happen to them also. No one’s immune.” Birdie joined her friend to clear the counter as the last few members filled their plates. “Could end up like their mother.” She hated to even consider that, but they could, either one. The possibility broke her heart.

  “Do you see any signs they’re doing drugs?”

  No, she hadn’t, and she knew what to look for. She’d watched her daughter’s slide and been powerless to stop it. Even now, tears clouded her eyes as she thought of that precious child and how she’d destroyed her own life.

  When Birdie didn’t answer, Mercedes said, “I haven’t heard anything bad about them, and you know I hear everything. They’re good kids. They make good grades.”

  “Lots of things to worry about with kids today.” Birdie picked up a sponge and wrung it out in the sink. “Pregnancy. You know how many girls don’t finish school.” She’d spoken to each granddaughter often to warn them of the dangers of unprotected sex, to beg them to abstain until they were old enough to handle the responsibility involved. How likely was it they’d remember that when one of them was out in a car with a pushy teenage boy whose testosterone levels were through the roof—the usual status for a high school boy—and the moon shone romantically and love songs played on the radio?

  Just then, Winnie hurried in with the chicken, which started a rush on the counter.

  “They’re good girls,” Mercedes said as she picked up a few serving spoons.

  Yes, they were good girls, Mac and Bree, but a lot of unknowns awaited them outside the walls of this church and the little house they shared, temptations that could lead them astray, exactly as they had dear Martha. She had no idea how to keep the girls safe without tying them to the sofa.

  And she didn’t know any knots that would keep them there.

  Chapter Ten

  Hey, Captain,” Nick shouted. “Did you realize there’s a chocolate cake all wrapped up in foil in the freezer?”

  Sam eyed the bundle as he spread mustard on three pieces of bread. “How do you know it’s chocolate cake?”

  “I peeked.” Nick paused. “You know, only to make sure it… umm… wasn’t something that might spoil.” He fingered the foil. “I think if we unwrap it while it’s still frozen, the frosting won’t come off.” Nick put the lumpy package on the counter and carefully stripped off the covering.

  “Looks good.” Leo snapped off a small chunk of frozen icing and chewed, his head to the side as if considering the flavor. “And it tastes good. No freezer burn.”

  Sam picked up the note wrapped inside and read it. “It’s from Farley Masterson.”

  “He doesn’t like us,” Nick mumbled from a mouth full of frozen cake.

  “You know Farley Masterson?” Sam asked.

  Sam did. Deputy Masterson had given him a hard time when he visited his aunt. Not that he didn’t deserve some of it, but Masterson was a hard man who didn’t like boys. The guy must have mellowed a bit. Nice of him to bake Sam a cake.

  “Yeah.” Leo nodded. “He doesn’t like us.”

  “He said we’re loud and have bad manners. He upset Mom.” He shook his head. “We hate it when that happens.”

  “He’s the reason we started playing in your yard. We didn’t think anyone lived here, not at first. ’Cause you didn’t yet, not when we first came around.”

  “It worked out okay.” Sam glanced at both boys, who looked at him with wide, admiring eyes. He was getting deeper into the lives of these kids than he should, liked them more than was wise, but he couldn’t ignore them the way that jerk of a father did. “You might want to let it thaw.”

  Before he finished the sentence, the boys had used a sharp knife and a lot of force to cut the cake into large slices, placed them on napkins, and began to wrap it up in foil again.

  “Don’t forget your mother, men.”

  Looking guilty, they cut a small piece for their mother.

  “Mom’s not a big eater,” Leo said. “Always watching her weight.”

  “Eat your sandwiches first,” Sam warned with a grin. He figured these two devoured everything that wasn’t locked away before she had a chance.

  He picked up the small piece of cake, covered it with foil, and handed it to Nick. “Put this in the refrigerator. Don’t eat it.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  After they finished lunch, including the still-icy cake, Sam picked up the clipboard and totaled the boys’ hours. “That does it,” he said. “You guys are finished. You’ve paid off the four hundred dollars.” He glanced up expecting to see smiles. Instead, the boys studied him with the sad, puppy-dog expressions that broke the small section of his heart he allowed the brothers to touch. The part that expanded every day, whether he liked it or not.

  “Don’t you have more work we can do?” Nick asked.

  “You guys are good workers. I can’t think of anything more and I don’t have the money right now to pay you.”

  “You don’t have to. Maybe… maybe we could just hang out with you.” Leo stood and came to attention. “For free, sir.”

  “Hang out?” Sam said.

  “You know. Do stuff together.” Nick followed his brother’s example and stood. “Sir.”

  “I know what hang out means, Nick. You guys want to hang out here?”

  The surprise in his voice must have wounded the boys. Did they think he didn’t want them around? They nodded, their expressions even more vulnerable. Crap. He couldn’t hurt them. “Okay, but doing what?”

  “Well,” Nick said in an uncertain voice. “Could you…​could you�
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  “What?”

  “He wants you to take him to the first day of school. He’s afraid to go alone,” Leo said. “Sir.”

  Double crap.

  “Am not afraid.” Nick glared at his brother but knew better than to punch him, not in Sam’s house. Instead, he thrust his lower lip out as if daring him to disagree. “I’m not afraid.” Then he turned to Sam. “Sir, Mom wants to take me, but I’m too old for my mother to take me to school.”

  “Are you enrolled?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Leo said. “I’d like you to go with me, too. We’re both at the elementary school, so you’d only have to go one place.”

  “Won’t your mother want to take you and meet your teachers?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Nick made a disgusted face by stretching his lips out and frowning. “But we’re not little kids. We don’t want the other guys to make fun of us.”

  “How does your mother feel about this?” Sam guessed she’d be hurt, but what did he know about this woman’s feelings?

  “She won’t care,” Nick said.

  “It’s going to hurt her,” Leo corrected. “But we’re men now. Gyrenes.”

  “Gyrenes honor all women and care about their mothers,” Sam said. “Gyrenes don’t hurt their mothers’ feelings. That’s not being a man. That’s being a grunt. Do you want to be a grunt?”

  “Sir! No, sir,” they shouted in unison as they stood at attention.

  “And I don’t have a way to get you to school. Have you noticed that, marines?”

  Nick said, “Sir, no, sir,” at the same time Leo said, “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Sir,” said Nick, his thin shoulders held straight and high, his narrow chest thrust forward. “My mother can pick you up. You could go with us.”

  “Why would I want to do that, marine?”

  Neither boy had an answer. Their silence and the solemn entreaty in their eyes made him feel like a heartless, selfish jerk. They were kids, just kids.

  “What day?” Sam asked.

  “Tuesday after Labor Day, sir,” the boys said in unison.