The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Page 27

  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 h
igh 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.”

  “I’ll be here all day,” Deanne said.

  “I’ll get home…” Hector stopped and grinned when he said the word home. “I’ll be back about seven.” He picked up his bowl and began to clear the table.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Deanne said. “I’ll take care of cleanup.”

  Before he left the dining room, Hector said, “You need to get a hoop, Pops. Right on the edge of the parking lot would work.”

  Hector and Janey grabbed their books and headed off to school. Eleanor washed and dressed Missy to take her to day care while Deanne cleaned up. Shortly after that, Chewy let Adam know he wanted inside, his deep, loud barks echoing through the neighborhood. As Adam let the dog in and started upstairs for a shower, he wondered: What in the world was he doing? He wasn’t that much older than Hector, and certainly no wiser, and he had absolutely no experience with kids.

  There hadn’t seemed to be much of a choice. He’d do his best, try his hardest. Surely he’d do better than a drug-​addicted criminal, right?

  That afternoon Adam hadn’t left himself enough time—not unusual—to visit the nursing homes and still get home to welcome Janey at four. While Deanne slept and her mother read in his television room, Janey sat at the kitchen table, copying words from a book. Still so serious for a child her age, she looked up and nodded before returning to her work.

  The next night, Adam carefully closed his door, then tugged on the knob to make sure it was completely shut, that Chewy wouldn’t be able to visit him. Satisfied, he turned off the light and got into bed. Before he could pull the sheet over him, he heard the click, click, click of dog paws. The sound stopped by his door. Then began what he guessed was the sound of a dog’s muzzle hitting the door.

  He smiled. Tonight he’d get a good night’s sleep.

  Of course, he didn’t know Chewy well. After several thuds on the door, Adam heard the thud of Chewy’s bottom against the floor. Before Adam could close his eyes, the sound of shrill howling filled the air.

  Hound. There had to be hound somewhere in Chewy’s genetic background, because the baying filled the parsonage.

  “Shut up, Chewy,” Hector yelled.

  Didn’t do a bit of good.

  If he wanted to sleep, if he wanted the children to sleep, if he hoped Ouida and her family slept, Adam had to do something. He got up, walked to the door, and opened it. A thoroughly delighted Chewy pranced into the room and leaped onto the bed.

  By the time Adam got back, Chewy had shoved the quilt into a gigantic lump and settled on it, smiling.

  Adam studied the situation. Putting Chewy outside wasn’t a solution, but he could prepare a pallet on the floor for the dog. Except he had a pretty good idea who’d end up sleeping there.

  A few days later, the phone rang in Adam’s study. Maggie had left, so he picked up.

  “Pastor Adam,” Mercedes said when he answered. “I wonder if you could drop by the diner after lunch, about three thirty. I have a problem I’d like to discuss.”

  “At the diner?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you rather meet at the church?”

  “No, n-no,” Mercedes stammered.

  Why not? As usual with the Widows, he suspected something, something he didn’t look forward to. The suspicion scared him. In fact, the tone of Mercedes’s voice frightened him. But he couldn’t turn her down; the Widows were, after all, members of the church.

  “I’d like to meet there because…​um…​I like their…​um…​chocolate pie. And raspberry tea. Delicious.” She sounded pleased to have come up with not just one but two reasons.

  After Adam agreed and hung up, he considered what had just happened. He didn’t trust the invitation but couldn’t figure out how to get out of it or why it had been tendered. He only knew the reason was much deeper and more devious than chocolate pie and raspberry tea.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. “Adam Jordan,” he said as he picked up.

  “Reverend Jordan, this is Pattie Malone calling from the high school. We have a faculty meeting so I won’t be able to meet you this afternoon.”

  Won’t be able to meet? Adam considered the words. Aha. Now he knew why Mercedes had called.

  “Ms. Malone, I’m going to ask you some odd questions.”

  “Oh?” Her voice held a note of confusion and an entire concerto of apprehension.

  “I’m assuming Mrs. MacDowell set this meeting up?”

  “Yes. I’m Bree’s volleyball coach. Her grandmother said you wanted to meet about Bree’s going to a church-related school like Texas Christian, maybe getting a scholarship for athletics because she belongs to a Christian church.”

  “Great idea,” Adam said. “Are you married?”

  “What?”

  He could tell from her voice she thought he was nuts or scary. Didn’t blame her. He did sound crazy, but Ms. Malone would understand if she really knew Miss Birdie. “Coach, I’m a bachelor… ,” Adam began.

  “I can assure you… ,” she sputtered.

  “Let me finish. Mrs. MacDowell wants to introduce me to unmarried women. She believes a minister should be married. I’m sorry she…”

  But he couldn’t finish because the coach started laughing. When she was done, she said, “My divorce was final only a few days ago. Almost no one knows that. How did she?”

  Adam groaned. This was not the time to tell the coach about the Widows and their grapevine, which infiltrated every corner of Butternut Creek. Instead he said, “I’d be happy to meet with you about Bree. Maybe at the high school whenever it’s convenient for you. And don’t worry about being set up anymore. I’ll take care of Mrs. MacDowell.”

  A promise he wasn’t all that sure he could keep, but he’d try. Maybe having a wingman would help.

  He called Sam.

  “Do you know about the Widows and their reputation as matchmakers?” Adam asked.

  “Do I! They’ve been trying to get Willow and me together since I got into town. Why?”

  “I’m meeting them at three thirty at the diner. I don’t want to face them alone. Want to join me? I’ll pick you up a few minutes before then.”

  “I’m not
convinced I want them to stop working on Willow,” Sam said. “But I’ll cover your back.”

  When the two men strode—Sam had much improved his striding technique—into the diner at exactly three thirty, Miss Birdie looked up from the table she was clearing. Her eyes opened wide when she saw both of them, then she searched behind them. Looking for the coach?

  For a moment he and Sam stood at the door, hands at their sides, and stared at her. Adam felt like Gary Cooper in High Noon but wasn’t sure if he was the good guy or the bad. He almost expected Miss Birdie to say, Draw, you dirty varmints.

  Of course, she didn’t.

  Instead she demanded, “Sam Peterson, what are you doing here?”

  Both men took a few steps inside. In his head, Adam could hear the click of boots across a rough wood floor. In reality, his athletic shoes made almost no sound on the vinyl tile.

  “Coach Malone isn’t coming,” he drawled.

  She blinked. “Oh,” she said in a voice filled with studied surprise. “Was she coming? Here? Today?”

  Had he caught her off guard? If so, not for long.

  “I asked you a question, Preacher.” She put her hands on her hips and glared. Miss Birdie didn’t need a gun. She could disarm dirty varmints by glowering at them.

  “The preacher wants to talk to you about something,” Sam said as he took a couple of steps backward.

  “Lily-livered coward,” Adam whispered to his friend, then turned to stare at the Matchmaker, a name that struck terror in his heart.

  “Miss Birdie.” He stood his ground and cleared his throat. Refusing to give in to fear, he said more loudly, “Miss Birdie, you have to stop pushing me together with women.”

  “It’s for your own good, Pastor Adam. You’re not doing anything to find yourself a wife.” She nodded decisively. “Someone’s got to step in.”

  “You don’t. And Mercedes and Winnie don’t. When”—he paused to underline the word—“when I’m ready to get married, I’ll take care of finding the bride myself.”

  “But… ,” she started.

  His imaginary spurs jingling, Adam took a step forward and looked deeply into her eyes. She stopped talking.