The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Page 26

  Within minutes, they had beds set up in the previously unused parlor on the first floor. As they finished, the Widows bustled in with armloads of linens. Within a few more minutes, the parlor had been turned into a bedroom for Missy and her mother and grandmother. After another load arrived from the thrift shop, they put a bed in each of the two empty bedrooms on the second floor. The women made all the beds, tossing a colorful quilt on each.

  Finished, Jesse, the Widows and the preacher stood in the hallway and looked into the larger parlor, admiring their work. Wall-to-wall beds, but the family didn’t want to be separated.

  “We fixed up the upstairs bedrooms,” Mercedes said. “Just in case Hector and his sister do need a place to stay. And who knows? Maybe others will need a temporary shelter.”

  “It’s truly a service to the community, Pastor,” Winnie added.

  Then Miss Birdie made a noise Adam hadn’t heard before and couldn’t describe. It suggested possible agreement and maybe a bit of pleasure in the thought.

  The pillar looked around the parlor and nodded. “Nicely done.” She straightened the quilt a bit. She might have meant the remark as a compliment for her minister, but Adam wasn’t sure. It could have meant she admired the pattern of the cover.

  “I’ll be back in a little bit, Pastor,” Winnie said as she hustled out. “Have a few more errands to run.”

  “I have to get back to work.” Miss Birdie took off after Winnie, and Jesse followed.

  The departures left Adam alone with Mercedes, with whom he always felt comfortable.

  “Preacher,” she said. “I talked to my grandniece—she’s a social worker for the state—about Hector. She made three suggestions. First, he could petition to be an emancipated minor and he’d be Janey’s guardian. Second, she could be placed in foster care with you—or, third, both Firestones could be in foster care with you. If you plan to board youngsters here, you should be licensed as a provider, just to make sure it’s all legal.” She handed him some papers. “Fill these out and I’ll take care of that.”

  Adam nodded. “Thanks for doing all this.”

  “You know, Deanne couldn’t have taken care of herself in San Saba,” Mercedes said. “Even with her mother there, she wouldn’t have received the physical therapy and nursing care she needs. Taking care of both of them would have exhausted Mrs. Peppers. We’ve done a good thing, Preacher. I’m glad you and Winnie talked us into this.”

  Once she left, Adam put the laptop on the dining room table and started to work. He finished the bulletin and sent it to Maggie, filling the service with Miss Birdie’s favorite hymns. She deserved a reward.

  By noon, Winnie had returned with Sam’s father and a dozen grocery sacks. The two stocked the cabinets and refrigerator with enough food to last if nuclear war broke out.

  After they left, Howard pulled into the parking lot and helped Deanne inside. Missy and Eleanor followed her. Pale and tired, Deanne fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed. Missy curled up on the toddler-size bed and slept. Adam tugged the quilt over her as Howard brought in several plastic sacks of what Deanne had accumulated in the hospital.

  “I have the key to my daughter’s house,” Eleanor said. “Howard’s going to drive me to San Saba. I’ll pick up some clothing and Deanne’s car. Be back in a few hours.” She glanced at the two sleepers.

  “I’ll stay here. Don’t wear yourself out.” As he watched them move down the sidewalk, Adam allowed pleasure to flood him and remembered his favorite verse from Micah: “… what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”

  The church was doing the Lord’s work, reaching out in kindness. He was blessed to reap the bonus of having company in the huge and previously echoingly lonely parsonage.

  Sam glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. In the morning.

  How was he supposed to sleep with the general whistling—yes, whistling!—in the kitchen? The man had never whistled, at least not in the span of Sam’s memory. Of course, for a lot of that time, the general hadn’t been at home. He’d been overseas or transferred so Sam didn’t know that the general never whistled, but whistling suggested happiness. The general had seldom showed any emotion, much less happiness.

  Wondering why in the world he was considering this when all he wanted to do was fall back to sleep, Sam pulled the pillow over his head. He hadn’t noticed this before, but whistling has a particular pitch that is not at all moderated by the placement of a pillow over one’s ear.

  “What are you doing out there?” he shouted toward the kitchen. “Somebody’s trying to sleep in here.”

  The whistling stopped abruptly, a realization that bothered Sam. The general had finally showed a positive emotion and Sam had told him to shut up. Amazingly, he had. Now Sam felt guilty.

  He rolled to the edge of the bed, attached the prosthesis, and pushed himself up. By the time he reached the kitchen and could see the general standing at the stove with that stupid pink towel protecting his camo shorts, Sam regretted his outburst. He’d acted like a grunt.

  “Sorry I woke you up, son.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” The word and the apology slipped from his mouth without passing through the censor he usually kept on his statements to the general. Sam hoped maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  He noticed. His smile reached his eyes. “Oo-rah,” he said.

  Who says “Oo-rah” at seven thirty in the morning while preparing breakfast?

  The general put the eggs and bacon on a plate and set it on the table. “Sit down, son. Have some breakfast.”

  “You didn’t know I’d be up now.” Sam scrutinized him. The general was smart, always prepared, but, “This is your breakfast, right?”

  “Hey.” He held his hand up. “I can always fix more. Why don’t you sit down and enjoy?”

  Rude to refuse. Besides, the stubborn man wouldn’t eat the food after he’d offered it to Sam. It’d be stupid to turn it down. If he did, no one would eat it. Sam sat, pulled the plate and fork in front of him, and dug in while the general put bread in the toaster and tossed a couple more slices of bacon in the pan.

  “Winnie says I should cut down on bacon.” The general looked into the skillet longingly before picking up the slices with a spatula and wrapping them back in the package, uncooked.

  How serious was this relationship? The general had known her for only a few weeks and was giving up his beloved bacon? Sounded very serious.

  “So,” Sam said casually. “Are you going out with Miss Jenkins again?”

  The general grabbed the toast when it popped up, smeared margarine and jelly on it, and brought it to the table. He placed one slice on Sam’s plate, then sat down and tore the other piece in half. After he’d taken several bites, he swallowed and looked at Sam.

  “You know how much I loved your mother.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know, I know. Maureen was very special. After she died, I never found another woman I liked to be with, one who was interesting and attractive. I enjoy being with Winnie.”

  Sam had always suspected the general had mourned his wife’s death as much as Sam had grieved for his mother, but he’d never showed it. He’d stood stiff and emotionless at the cemetery during the interment. Sam had done exactly the same, a perfect little image of his father but feeling like a scared little boy inside. Not that he’d ever told the general that.

  In fact, much of the problem was that neither of them knew how to share his feelings. He’d believed they still didn’t, but the general sure seemed bent on trying.

  “I didn’t date much, even years after Maureen died. After all, I was trying to bring up a young son…”

  “I was ten,” Sam corrected.

  “Yes, but that seemed really young to me. I had no experience with any kids but recruits.” He shook his head. “Son, I apologize for my failures. I had no idea what to do with you.”

  So you sent me to stay with relatives or to boarding schoo
l during the academic year and to Texas or Ohio in the summer, Sam wanted to say, but he held the words back. For years he and the general had argued about the man’s lack of interest and what Sam considered to be abandonment, but they’d never discussed emotion. Maybe Sam had grown and changed a little, because he didn’t want to cover the same ground again.

  Or maybe his tours of duty had made him realize how hard it would be for an officer to raise a child by himself.

  “You and my career were my only priorities for years. You don’t have any idea how much I regret not getting to see you grow up.”

  “You never told me.” Sam attempted to control his reaction and not sound judgmental.

  The general shook his head again. “Really messed up with you, son. Don’t ever think I’ll forgive myself for that but…” He caught Sam’s eyes. “But I’d like to make up for it. I tried to be a good father but had no idea what to do. I treated you like a recruit because I didn’t know how else to relate to a kid. It’s what my father did.”

  “Hereditary?” Sam couldn’t resist getting that dig in.

  “Hope not. Hope you’ll treat your sons differently. You’ve done well with Willow’s boys. They respect and love you. Wish I’d done that well.”

  Hadn’t he treated Nick and Leo like marines? Maybe it was a congenital problem. Not that they were his sons.

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. After all, I don’t see them every day…” The general hadn’t seen him every day, either, but Sam had to let go of that offense for now. “I’m not the one who has to take care of them or build their character. Being their friend is a lot easier.”

  “Maybe, but, son…” The general paused and seemed to search for words. “Son, please give me another chance. You’re my only child. I miss you. I know your mother would’ve wanted us to get along, to be family.”

  “Hard for me to guess what a woman who’s been dead nearly twenty years wants.”

  The old man’s face hardened as if he were hurt that his son had rejected him. But what was Sam supposed to say? Or do? A lifetime of disappointment and anger, and the walls he’d built to contain it, would not evaporate because the general called him “son” and said “please.” Even if Sam wanted to just let it all go, he still felt it, all of it. And he didn’t know if he could survive without that core of fury.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, pretty sure the general would pick up on the sarcasm. “Maybe we could go fishing sometime. Isn’t that what fathers and sons do?”

  “I’m not giving up,” the general said.

  Sam knew he wouldn’t. The man never did. Unfortunately the general sounded wistful, an emotion much harder to ignore than his command voice.

  “Changing the subject a little.” The general stood and poured himself and Sam each a cup of hot coffee. “About Winnie. I think she’s an attractive and intelligent woman. I enjoy being with her and see no reason to be alone the rest of my life.”

  Sam almost spilled his coffee on his lap. “Are you getting married?”

  “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?

  Chapter Twenty

  Failure 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.”