The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Read online

  “No, I can’t imagine, but I care.”

  “Yeah, Pops, I know you do.” He tossed a handful of crackers in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Why aren’t you in London with them?”

  “They like it. They travel a lot, go to Paris or Italy for a week or two. Mom likes the shopping. My father likes the theater.” He shrugged. “I don’t. I like Texas and the church and roundball.”

  “Man,” Hector said through a mouthful of crackers, then chewed for a minute and swallowed. “Man, they’re rich and you aren’t? They live in London and you live here? You’re really nuts, you know.”

  Adam grinned and sort of agreed. “But I’m happy.”

  “They ever coming to visit you?”

  “Christmas, maybe.”

  “They’re coming from London to Butternut Creek, Texas? How are they going to feel about that?”

  They’d hate it. Adam knew that but wasn’t about to tell Hector, who’d lived here all his life. Instead, he began to separate the goodies by category at the same time Hector attempted to sample one of everything.

  “Hey, Pops, want to shoot some hoops?” Hector asked around a mouthful of shortbread.

  “You’re getting so good, I can’t compete.”

  The kid grinned. Adam could still play him fairly even but not for much longer. By next year, when he was a senior, he’d beat Adam nine out of ten times. But there was still that tenth time to look forward to. When he got to college, Adam would be no match. Surely he’d have pity on an old man.

  “We have a game Tuesday at Dripping Spring. You coming?” he asked.

  “Where else would I be? If I didn’t take your sister to watch you play, she’d hitch a ride.” The change in Janey when she attended Hector’s games amazed Adam. She shouted and cheered and jumped up and down for the entire time. When the final buzzer sounded, she again became the sweet but melancholy child.

  But she seemed more comfortable with Adam, smiled at him a few times a week, allowed him to help her with her homework, and demanded to attend her brother’s games.

  “I know that’s right,” Hector mumbled as he savored a bite of candy. “Save a couple of these bars for her. Janey loves chocolate.”

  Monday morning, Adam finished his morning meditation seated under the big oak with Chewy curled up at his side, his huge head on Adam’s leg. The minister looked toward the parsonage. The lights in Hector’s and Janey’s rooms on the second floor glowed through the shades as the two got ready for school.

  On the first floor, lights from the kitchen and the front hall reflected on the trees on the south side of the house and shone from the parlor where Deanne, Eleanor, and Missy had spent the last two and a half weeks.

  That morning they had an event to celebrate. The three were going home.

  As Adam walked toward the parsonage with Chewy prancing at his side, he watched Jesse make a trip between the parsonage and his truck, packing all they’d accumulated. Adam dropped Chewy’s leash—the dog wouldn’t run off—and hurried over to the porch to pick up a box filled with Missy’s toys and clothing.

  Deanne and Eleanor stood at the window, both smiling, but Deanne’s lips quivered. Adam put the box down, went inside, and asked, “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “We’re happy to be going home, to get back to our little house in our little town. I’ll be able to start teaching in a week or two.”

  “That means you’re happy?”

  “Yes, but we’ll miss you. You’ve been so good for us, so wonderful to care for Missy. If it hadn’t been for your taking me in, I don’t think I would have healed nearly as quickly. And I couldn’t have cared for Missy, as sick as I was. The burden of the two of us—well, I know that would have worn my mother out. Thank you.”

  “Ready to go,” Jesse shouted.

  Adam picked up the box and took it to the truck. With that, the Smiths got into their car and took off while Jesse backed out. Adam waved until they turned onto the highway and disappeared.

  When he could see them no longer, Adam heard the sound of someone running down the sidewalk. Turned out to be Miss Birdie.

  “She’s gone?” she asked.

  “They just pulled out.”

  “Doggone, I thought I’d have enough time but we had a big crowd this morning and I couldn’t leave.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and took out a tissue to surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

  He pretended not to notice. “How ’bout a cup of coffee?”

  He and the pillar sat at the table and drank coffee in silence for a few minutes before she said, “Taking care of Missy was a nice experience for me. Sweet little girl, but I’m old to watch a little one.” She reached in another pocket and pulled out a box. “I brought her a little present, seeing she’s been brought up in the church. It’s a cross, one my mother gave me when I was her age. I’d like her to have it.”

  “You could mail it. Or you could take it there.”

  She nodded. “Of course I could.” Then she stopped absolutely still, as if something clicked in her head. “Mrs. Smith.” She stopped to think about her words. “She’s not married, is she?”

  “You never give up, do you?” Adam shook his head. “You lost your chance. If you wanted to play matchmaker, you should have done that during the weeks Deanne was staying here.”

  “I can’t believe I blew that opportunity.” She looked at her cup then glanced up. “I’m losing my edge.”

  “Miss Birdie, a woman recovering from a terrible accident, who’s in pain and worried about the future, is hardly the best candidate for a matchmaker.” She looked so deflated, Adam added, “Besides, you’ll never lose your edge. You’ll remain sharp until you whip me into shape. I have faith you can do that.”

  For a moment, she grinned before becoming the pillar again. “Have to get back to work. No use diddle-daddling here.” She stood. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  Adam had just finished putting the last touches on the bulletin for Sunday when the phone rang. Because Maggie had left an hour earlier, he answered.

  “Christian Church.”

  “Reverend Jordan, please.”

  “This is Reverend Jordan.” A wave of pride washed over Adam every time he said that. Perhaps someday, answering the phone in the church he served would feel commonplace or even a bother. But not yet, not after only five months.

  “This is Gussie Milton from the church in Roundville. I don’t believe we’ve met. I coordinate youth events in the district.”

  Before he could answer, she continued in a voice filled with so much enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. “In February, the district high school kids have a winter retreat at the campground in Gonzales. Nice lodge, lots of fun. Great spiritual growth.”

  He remembered winter retreats from his youth—about ten years ago. They’d probably influenced his later decision to be a minister greatly, plus they’d been a lot of fun. “I…”

  She kept on as if he hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t really, just one syllable, so he listened. “We have about fifty to seventy-five kids from all over Central Texas. Mac and Bree usually come, but we haven’t received any registrations from Butternut Creek.”

  He glanced at the pile in his IN box. It neared a foot high and teetered. If he searched through the papers on the bottom, the entire structure would fall onto the floor, knocking over several other stacks.

  Filing was his downfall. Maybe Maggie or Winnie would help. For a moment, he regretted not heeding Miss Birdie’s advice about cleaning up the mess.

  However, vowing to correct the deficiencies didn’t help at this moment. “I don’t know…”

  “If you don’t have them handy, I can email more,” she said.

  Aha! Not in a pile on the desk or the floor. In a very long list of unread email.

  “Just a minute. Let me look—”

  “My email is [email protected].” She chattered on as Adam opened his email queue. “We have such a great time…”

  “You sent it
September fifteenth,” he said once he’d located the folder. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.”

  “That’s okay.” She sounded as if his ignoring her email for seven weeks and her having to call him were not an inconvenience. “Hope you’ll be able to bring some of the kids.”

  “I’ll check with them.”

  “Great. Now, what will you volunteer to do here? We need leaders for small groups, song leaders, and a recreation chair.”

  Talking to Gussie Milton reminded Adam of being caught up in a tsunami. She made every opportunity sound exciting, like exactly what he wanted to join in on.

  “Why don’t we get together and discuss this? Meet me in Marble Falls for coffee?” she said. “It’s halfway between Roundville and Butternut Creek. I’d like to meet you and discuss some ideas and get you signed up to help.”

  “Son, I’m going to the vets’ group meeting at church tonight.” Wednesday evening, the general paused at the door and eyed Sam, who sat on the sofa with the remote in his hand. “Want to come with me?”

  The general kept asking and Sam kept refusing, usually by telling the general he didn’t need to be fixed.

  But he did. Oh, maybe not like an outside force vacuuming out the old crap and forcing new crap on him, tightening the bolts, and whatever else fixed consisted of. But since he’d last seen Willow, his brokenness had become more and more obvious to him. He missed her. Not having her around was nearly as painful and incapacitating as not having his leg.

  No, that was a bunch of bull. It wasn’t nearly as bad, but she made him feel the loss less.

  The boys came by once or twice a week. He liked that. But they’d looked so hopeful back when he and Willow had gone out, when they’d thought he and their mother would be together. Guess it was a good thing they hadn’t raised the boys’ hopes. Now they knew he’d never become their new father.

  The realization of the lonely life ahead of him without those three would’ve about broken his heart if he weren’t a marine. Marines didn’t suffer from broken hearts and marines didn’t give in to emotions.

  Still, over the last few weeks the certainty had grown that he needed Leo and Nick and Willow in his life. Yet he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

  “Son?” the general repeated.

  How long had he been waiting for an answer while Sam’s brain had wandered off?

  “Not tonight,” Sam said.

  When his father left without another word, Sam flicked the set off, tossed the remote on the sofa, and glared at the dark screen.

  Communication, that’s what Willow had said. Get rid of the anger inside. Bring it into the open and face it, share it, stop allowing it to run and ruin his life.

  He pushed himself to his feet, walked into the dining room, picked up a pen and several sheets of paper from the computer area his father had created in the corner, and sat down. For a few minutes, he just stared at the paper and drummed the pen on the table. Then he started to write.

  Within minutes, the floor was covered with balls of wadded-up paper. On the table he’d amassed a pile of napkins he’d used to wipe his cheeks because every effort to write what had happened hurt so much tears ran down his face.

  But he didn’t stop. When he had one page pretty much the way he wanted it, he started on the next. It took fewer attempts to get this right because once he got going, the story flowed from him with the tears.

  An hour later, the four-page letter completed, he wiped his face one last time. He’d discovered there were times a marine needed to expose all the anger and pain, reaching down deep to haul it to the surface and expose it. Doing that wasn’t a bit wimpy, especially the page about Morty. Unlike Morty, Sam had lived through the battle, had survived to relive and write about every bloody moment of it.

  Finished, he folded the pages and stuck them in an envelope, not sure what he’d do with them. Probably should share everything with the general. Now that he’d started reliving the past, he probably should go to the meeting with him, maybe next week. If his father had made an effort to change, Sam could, too. He pushed up from the table and wandered into the living room with the envelope in his hand.

  But he hadn’t written the letter for the general, although he would give it to him to read later. It wasn’t for the other vets, even though he knew he needed to attend a session or two, maybe more, as well as the AA meetings. No, he’d written the account of his experiences in Afghanistan for Willow, but he didn’t know if he had the guts to share it with her. In fact, at this moment, he knew he didn’t. He couldn’t. Writing about the event had about killed him.

  He tossed himself on the sofa and leaned back. If he didn’t share with her, he’d lose her. He couldn’t take that. He had to admit: He was in love with the woman, had been from the first time he saw her.

  He loved her.

  Holding the envelope in front of him, he studied it. Did he love her enough? Opening up to her would hurt both of them. He didn’t know if he could bear to watch her read his words, but he did know he couldn’t mail something like this to the woman he loved, couldn’t expect her to read it alone.

  “Preacher, it’s four o’clock Friday afternoon. What are you still doing here?”

  Without looking up from the surface of his desk, Adam knew who had entered, and not just from her voice. If he glanced up, he’d see the pillar standing at the door, tapping her foot.

  He looked up. She was.

  “Working on my sermon,” he explained, knowing it would make no difference what he said. When Miss Birdie made the trip to the church and had fire in her eyes, Adam knew she owned him for the next hour.

  “You can do that later.” She attempted to stomp into the office, impossible to do in her rubber-soled shoes but she made a pretty good attempt.

  “It’s four o’clock,” she said. Then, more loudly, she repeated, “Four o’clock on Friday.”

  What was she talking about?

  “The parade.” Her tone suggested he had the brain of a gnat.

  When he heard the words, Adam realized he did have the brain of a gnat.

  “The parade,” he said as he jumped to his feet, grabbed a jacket, and struggled to stick his arms in the sleeves while running after the pillar. She moved faster than he’d thought she could, across the highway, down the block, and onto the square.

  The square and Adam had a transitory relationship. Because he wasn’t a tearoom-and-antiques sort of guy, his visits had been limited to renewing his driver’s license at the courthouse annex and occasionally joining Mattie for lunch at Tea Time, a restaurant that served the quiche and sweet persimmon tea she loved, or grabbing a meal at the diner.

  Now he was running through a mob of crazy football fans. Like there was another kind. As he joggled through them to the other side of the square, Adam greeted people he recognized from church and from games. He spied Mercedes about fifty feet away. Finally, Miss Birdie stopped on the edge of the curb next to her friend and motioned Adam to a place behind them.

  “I saved your places,” Mercedes said.

  “This is the best side to view the parade from. That’s the reviewing stand.” The pillar pointed to a table only a few feet to the right. “The kids really strut their stuff as they pass here.”

  “Every high school class and some of the classes from the middle schools build a float.” Mercedes stood on her toes to look across the square. “Should start any minute.”

  “The bands march and the teams and clubs ride on the back of trucks.”

  That riding in the bed of a pickup seemed dangerous to Adam but appeared to be an old Texas custom. Not that they’d be speeding through; the students should be safe.

  Across the street, he spotted Willow and Nick and waved. Where was Leo? Maybe in the parade. Sam stood at the corner maybe twenty feet from Willow, keeping his eyes off her so carefully Adam guessed the romance wasn’t going well. He needed to drop by with pizza soon because he knew Sam wouldn’t call him.

  “Can you hear
them?” the pillar asked. “Look, you can see them.”

  Adam followed her pointing finger toward the first float of the parade and heard the bands as the trucks moved forward. Leo marched with a group of kids behind a banner that proclaimed, YOUTH FOOTBALL. As the group went by, Nick kept up a relay, running to Sam then back to his mother at least five times since Adam had been watching, as well as jumping up and down and pointing toward his brother.

  Sam waved at Leo, then looked past Nick to stare at Willow. His eyes showed so much longing Adam felt sorry for him but wanted to kick him at the same time. He guessed Sam was the problem in the relationship—but if he was so unhappy, why didn’t he do something?

  Nick did. He grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged, not enough to make Sam lose his balance but enough to get him moving. The boy kept hold of Sam’s hand and moved slowly but—as the cliché went—inexorably toward his mother. Expressions of panic and hope alternated across Sam’s face, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t pull his hand from Nick’s.

  When the two reached Willow’s side, she turned to look at Sam with a polite nod before she looked back to watch the parade.

  Sam watched her profile for nearly a minute, yearning raw on his face. At least, that’s what Adam thought it was. As with most facial expressions and body language, he wasn’t always sure what they expressed, but even an illiterate like him could read Sam.

  Fortunately, Miss Birdie had a master’s degree. “Those two look miserable,” the pillar said.

  Sadly, they did agree on this one basic fact.

  “Bird, we can’t do anything more.” Mercedes glanced across the street. “We’ve done everything we can to bring them together. The rest is up to them.”

  “Hrmph.” Miss Birdie shook her head. “I know, I know, but someone ought to…” She stopped speaking as the notes of the “Lion Fight Song” filled the air. “That’s Mac.” Miss Birdie pointed toward the band, waved at her granddaughter, and began to sing along, “Go, Lions, win this game…”

  Adam wouldn’t have recognized Mac in her band uniform; the visor on the huge hat covered every recognizable feature. The chin straps made the faces of all the members look alike: chinless wonders with huge fuzzy heads and no other identifiable features.