The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Read online

  Mac slept, her face innocent and lovely, so much like Martha’s. She had to stop worrying Mac would turn out like her mother.

  “Mac,” Birdie called. The girl didn’t wake up, and she hated to disturb her. In a heap on the floor beside the bed were the clothes Mac had worn the night before. If the child’s sloppiness didn’t shout trouble, nothing did.

  She didn’t want to have this conversation. She wasn’t the best person to console anyone, much less this child she loved so much.

  “You’re a coward, Birdie MacDowell,” she muttered, having decided to let the girl sleep. She turned and attempted to tiptoe out. Unfortunately, tiptoeing across linoleum plus rubber soles didn’t equal silence. As she squeaked across the floor, Mac woke up.

  “Good morning, Grandma.” She stretched and yawned.

  “How are you?” Birdie turned and walked back toward her granddaughter’s bed. “About last night, at the game?” Birdie settled on the side of the bed.

  Before Birdie realized what her granddaughter had in mind, Mac sat up and put her arms around her.

  “It’s okay, Grandma.” She squeezed Birdie. “Thanks for asking,” she mumbled against Birdie’s shoulder.

  Birdie had no idea what to do, how to react to a sign of affection since they were very seldom shared. For a moment, tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back before she patted her granddaughter on the back and whispered, “There, there.” As if that helped.

  Letting go of her grandmother, Mac said. “Hey, it really is okay. I was mortified, but I talked to Pastor Adam for a while last night at the Fifth Quarter. He helped me a lot.”

  “He did?”

  “Why are you surprised?” Mac tilted her head. “He is our minister.”

  Birdie hadn’t meant to sound amazed although the fact had astonished her. Why? He’d visited Sam Peterson and helped with Missy. She hadn’t seen him chat with Mac, but that could’ve been when she’d gone to the kitchen to make more punch. Maybe she’d have to admit he did have some good material in that tall, skinny body. After all, he’d gotten a haircut like she’d told him.

  “He said we all have to accept the fact we aren’t perfect, that we all make mistakes. He said I’ll be famous for years to come, that people will say, ‘Do you remember the night Mac MacDowell marched the junior high band all the way down the field?’”

  “That’s good?” Birdie attempted to figure this out.

  “We decided it’s good. We’ll all laugh together and I’ll be a legend. He told me he’d once scored a basket for the other team in seventh grade. When he goes back, everyone still kids him about it.”

  Birdie nodded. “It’s okay.”

  If Mac felt okay, her grandmother was fine. “I need to get off to work.” She stood.

  “Thanks, Grandma. I’m going to get up in a while.” Within seconds she was asleep.

  So, Birdie guessed, Mac’s jeans on the floor didn’t reveal a meltdown, only a tired teenager. She picked up the clothes and tossed them into the hamper because, as much as she didn’t mind clearing up a little bit for an exhausted child, darned if she’d do her wash.

  She had something more important ahead. If this wasn’t a time to call a meeting of the new and expanded Widows, Birdie didn’t know when would be. The information the minister had given her about the arrival of Sam’s father constituted an emergency. The entire matchmaking enterprise faced complete failure.

  Oh, the preacher was a lost cause, she mused as she headed over to the diner. No need to even discuss him. Maybe later they’d try to get him married. If the preacher didn’t approve of their machinations—sadly stalled at the moment—he could get busy finding a wife on his own.

  For now, they’d have to write Pastor Adam off unless a new, single woman turned up, which seldom happened in a town this size, out here fifty miles from Austin. In fact, the appearance of two single women within a few months of each other constituted a minor miracle.

  They could count on no help from the Methodist Church. It was too late for a female minister to show up there this year. They’d had that little musical-chairs dance the Methodists did when all their ministers changed churches a few months ago. Now the Methodists were stuck with a man with a solid marriage and three darling children.

  They had to marshal their forces on only one front. The captain and Willow Thomas—that was the relationship they needed to work on. If she weren’t so tired, Birdie’d come up with a really good scheme. Although she hated to admit defeat, she had to admit her usually top-notch matchmaking skills had stopped functioning. She hoped Winnie or Mercedes would have an idea.

  Winnie sat so straight, it looked as if she’d had recent back surgery. She also beamed, obviously delighted to be sitting with the Widows in public although only the three of them remained in the diner. Guess it had been a good idea to include her. New blood, fresh ideas, and she seemed proud to be part of the group, as she should be.

  “I believe the preacher is a lost cause,” Birdie said. The other Widows nodded. “I’ve tried, goodness knows, we’ve all tried. He’s not interested. But”—she paused to emphasize her disappointment—“that Sam Peterson.” She shook her head. “He seemed to be smitten with Willow Thomas. Don’t know what changed. What do we do about him?”

  “You’re sure there was something between Willow and the captain?” Winnie asked.

  For a moment, Birdie bristled. How dare anyone question her?

  Mercedes put her hand on Birdie’s arm. “Winnie wasn’t here when we discussed this before, Bird,” Mercedes interjected. “She’s asking for confirmation and information. That’s all.”

  “All right.” Birdie nodded. “Oh, yes, I saw it. He fell in love with her right away, at first sight.”

  “Although Bird doesn’t look very sensitive,” Mercedes explained to Winnie, “she’s very good about recognizing all sorts of emotions.”

  “I haven’t seen that look in weeks,” Birdie moaned.

  “Then we have to bring them together somehow.” Winnie nodded, as if she were the boss of the Widows.

  If Winnie’s only contribution was to state the obvious, what good was she? They needed ideas.

  “Perhaps we could invite them someplace, then leave them alone,” Winnie suggested.

  Hmmm, that idea had possibilities.

  “Where?” Mercedes asked. “You mean like a meeting?”

  “Don’t think we could get Sam to attend a meeting or even drag him out of his house,” Birdie said. “He’s a real hermit.”

  “Not even the church?” Mercedes asked.

  “Don’t think so. He hasn’t been to church since he got here,” Winnie said.

  “Then they’ll have to meet at Sam’s house,” Birdie stated with a decisive nod. All of her nods were decisive, but she put greater resolve into this one.

  “We’ll have to set something up there. How do we get the two of them together, alone, at Sam’s house? Any thoughts?” Winnie asked.

  Maybe Winnie would work out, but she had to stop acting like she was in charge.

  Winnie opened her purse and pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “We have logistics to work out.” She uncapped the pen, ready to write.

  “We’ll have to do that before his father arrives on Wednesday,” Birdie said, proud to know something the others didn’t.

  “His father’s coming Wednesday?” Mercedes asked. At Birdie’s nod, she added, “We don’t have much time.”

  “We’ll have to get rid of the two boys somehow.” Winnie noted that on her page.

  “I’ll ask my granddaughters to take care of them,” Birdie volunteered. “But Bree has a volleyball game Monday night so it will have to be Sunday or Tuesday.”

  “Tomorrow’s too soon to get everything together,” Mercedes added.

  “All right, Tuesday evening.” Winnie wrote “Tuesday” on her pad. “What are we going to do?”

  By the time they’d finished planning, they’d decided to invite Willow and the boys to dinner at Sam’
s house. They’d tell Sam they were bringing dinner for him, then—after the guests he didn’t know about arrived—have Bree and Mac whisk the boys and Missy away. Once everyone else left, the Widows would serve the food, then take off, leaving Willow and Sam alone.

  “I don’t know what more we can do,” Birdie said. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll wash my hands of those two.” But she knew she wouldn’t.

  She glanced at the clock. “Now I need to pick up Missy. We’ve got a good plan. Should work. Let’s meet in front of the captain’s house at seven fifteen.”

  No matter how carefully events were planned they didn’t always succeed, Birdie reflected on Tuesday evening.

  Winnie had scrupulously charted out the entire time. She’d brought a boom box and romantic CDs by Barry White. Mercedes had chosen a lovely wine and made her delicious gazpacho while Birdie had brought a dobos torte and great vegetable dish. Winnie also contributed two lovely steaks, seasoned and ready to grill, and baked potatoes.

  But when they rang the doorbell, a tall man with white hair opened the front door.

  The three women nearly dropped their bundles.

  “Hello, ladies. I’m Sam’s father, Mitchell.” He spoke in a voice filled with authority.

  As if she couldn’t have guessed that. The man looked exactly like Captain Peterson with twenty years added, the posture of a general, and an air of command.

  “What are you doing here?” Birdie blurted sounding ruder than usual. Probably should have welcomed him but the words had jumped from her mouth because, doggone it, the man really upset their plans. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  “Come in, ladies.” He stepped back and gestured them inside. “I got here about an hour ago. The drive took less time than I anticipated. Sam tells me you’re bringing dinner. Hope you don’t mind an extra.”

  He smiled, a nice, friendly expression. Didn’t look much like a general except for his straight back.

  “My son says you’re the best cooks in the state.”

  He included all the women in the compliment but seemed to pick Winnie out for special attention. Winnie must have noticed that, too. At the age of sixty-something, the woman’s cheeks turned pink. Didn’t that beat all?

  When the three women bustled inside followed by Bree and Mac and little Missy, they caught sight of Sam and Willow in the living room with the two boys sitting on the floor.

  “Look, we have more guests,” Mitchell Peterson said, waving toward the Thomases.

  It was that stupid corn pudding. It wouldn’t set and had slowed them down. And finding Missy’s bear. The child had refused to leave the house without it. Otherwise, they would have been here before the Thomas family arrived. What a fiasco—well, maybe not. Everyone was settled. If they could get rid of the general…

  Willow stood and smiled at each Widow. “I must have made a mistake. Sam”—she gestured toward the captain—“seemed surprised when the boys and I showed up.”

  Sam gazed at Birdie. She hoped that was laughter in his eyes but didn’t know. Surely he didn’t mind seeing Willow, did he?

  “Wish you’d have mentioned the Thomases would be here,” he said. “I’d have been less confused and more welcoming.”

  Birdie turned toward Winnie and Mercedes. “Didn’t you tell the captain what we had planned?”

  “Oh, dear,” Winnie mumbled as she attempted to cover. “I thought I had.”

  “But we weren’t supposed to do that,” Mercedes said. “You told me…”

  Poor dear, she always told the truth, as inconvenient as it often was.

  “I thought we’d told you,” Birdie spoke over Mercedes’s attempt to explain.

  “I didn’t realize there’d be eleven of us,” Willow said. “Hope you have plenty of food.”

  Birdie hadn’t realized that, either. Unless they planned to act out the miracle of the fishes and the loaves, they hadn’t brought nearly enough food. Of course, they had plenty considering that five—the boys, Missy, and her granddaughters—would be leaving and the Widows weren’t eating. The food would stretch to include the general, but they didn’t want him here. How could they get rid of him?

  “Hi, Mrs. Thomas,” Bree said. “We thought the boys might not want to eat with the old folks.”

  Birdie glared at her granddaughter.

  “With the adults,” Bree corrected herself. “We thought we’d grab a hamburger, then go to the carnival at the middle school.”

  “Carnval,” Missy added with a big smile.

  “How nice,” Willow said.

  The boys looked disappointed, glancing at Sam with adoration. Then their eyes turned toward Sam’s father and the three Widows and glazed over as if they realized what the evening with all these adults might be like.

  “Okay,” the older one said as the other nodded.

  “Is that all right with you?” Bree asked Willow.

  “Of course. I’m sure they’ll enjoy that. Thank you.” Willow waved at the boys as they ran out the door.

  “Bye-bye.” Missy followed the others outside.

  As the door slammed shut, Birdie looked at the six still left. What in the world would they do with Sam’s father?

  “Dad, I want you to meet these nice ladies from the church.” Sam introduced each. “Ladies, this is my father, General Mitchell Peterson.”

  “We met at the door,” Birdie said. “And I remember you. Everyone called you Petey back then, when you were a kid.”

  “Back when you visited Effie, years ago,” Mercedes added. “Before you were a marine.”

  “Of course, ladies. Good to see you again.” His gaze returned to Winnie, who didn’t say a word.

  “We call ourselves the Widows. We like to serve people in the church, and”—she raised her voice to speak loudly and clearly—“none of us is married.” She glanced at the general, then moved her gaze to Winnie. “No, we’re all single ladies, all three of us.

  “Ladies, let’s go to the kitchen and put this meal together.” With that, her chest held as high and proud as a woman as thin as she could manage, Birdie led the Widows through the swinging door and into the kitchen.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Winnie whispered.

  “It’s what you are going to do, Winnie,” Birdie said. “Not us.”

  Winnie frowned as she placed her dishes on the counter. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re going to take the general off our hands,” Mercedes said.

  Winnie whirled around. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re going to have to lure him away,” Birdie attempted to clarify.

  With a gasp, Winnie said, “I can’t… what do you mean? I don’t have any experience in luring.”

  “Did you see how Sam’s father watched you?” Birdie took a step closer when Winnie shook her head vigorously. “Did you?”

  “You’re going to have to flirt with him,” Mercedes said.

  “I’m a single woman, an old maid. I don’t know how to flirt,” Winnie protested. “I never learned.”

  “You’re going to have to do it,” Birdie commanded. “For the cause.”

  “You’re going to get him to take you out to dinner so Sam and Willow can be alone.” Mercedes spoke very slowly and clearly to get her point across.

  Still Winnie shook her head.

  “Okay, listen.” Birdie pulled a chair out from the table and guided Winnie toward it. Once she shoved Winnie into the seat, she sat across from her and glared. “Do you remember the plan? Your plan? We get rid of the children, we serve Sam and Willow, then we leave them alone. Right?”

  Winnie gulped, then nodded.

  “What should we do with the general?” Mercedes asked.

  “I don’t know.” Winnie shrugged.

  Birdie stood and leaned over the newest Widow, who didn’t look a bit happy to be part of the group at this precise moment. “The general’s interested in you.”

  “He can’t be. Men have never been interested in me.”r />
  “Well, the general is,” Mercedes stated.

  “As I said, I don’t know how to flirt. I haven’t tried since I was twenty and was not notably successful back then.” Winnie glared at the others. “You may have noticed I’m not married. I’m not good or comfortable with single men.” She paused. “Is he single?”

  “Yes, his wife died years ago.”

  “Why doesn’t one of you do it?”

  “Because Mercedes is keeping company with Bill Jones down at the bank.”

  “Okay, but what about you?” Winnie glared at Birdie.

  “I’m an old skinny woman who looks like a strip of beef jerky. He didn’t even notice me, but you’re pretty and feminine.”

  Winnie opened her mouth to object.

  “And he likes you,” Birdie added before the other woman could say a word. “He thinks you’re attractive.”

  With a frown, Winnie considered this. “He does?” She looked from Mercedes to Birdie. “Do you really think he finds me attractive?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Birdie tugged the reluctant seductress to her feet and pulled her toward the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room. “Go get him.” She shoved Winnie out.

  For a moment, Winnie froze as the other Widows stared through the little glass slit on the door a few inches below eye level. When the general looked up and smiled, Winnie started forward, walking in a bent-leg style, her hips swinging.

  “She was right.” Mercedes groaned. “She has no idea how to seduce a man.”

  “She’s going to break something,” Birdie whispered. “Her hip or her ankle.”

  When the three in the living room saw Winnie’s posture, three mouths dropped open and six eyes opened wide.

  “She’s going to ruin our plan,” Birdie whispered.