The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (27 page)

That evening, when Miss Birdie and Adam took Missy to see her mother, Mrs. Smith was again sitting up. Her face had lost the gray cast and her eyes held a hint of sparkle. Next to her sat an older but frailer version of Deanne.

“Grandma,” Missy shouted and ran to the woman.

“This is my mother, Eleanor Peppers,” Deanne said. “If you couldn’t guess that.”

He watched Mrs. Peppers cuddle Missy, then glanced over at Miss Birdie, who smiled broadly.

“We weren’t expecting you for a few days,” Adam said.

“My other daughter and the baby are doing fine, and I was so worried about Deanne and Missy that I jumped on an earlier plane.” She turned to smile at her daughter. “She’s doing well.”

Yes, she was, but even with as much improvement as she showed, Deanne had a lot of recuperating ahead.

“I’ve been walking in the hallway to build up strength, but I’m still weak,” Deanne said. “They say I may be able to go home soon, after a little more PT.”

“Perhaps to a nursing facility,” Mrs. Peppers said. “We don’t know what’s available in San Saba or what her insurance will cover.”

“Where are you staying, Mrs. Peppers? Do you have a car?”

“I flew in this morning and grabbed a cab here. I’ll be staying at the hotel next door.” She glanced at her granddaughter. “I’ll keep Missy with me at least overnight.” Eleanor rubbed her granddaughter’s back. “We’ll go shopping this afternoon and to the park. We have a conference with Deanne’s doctor tomorrow to work out a time line.”

“If you need us to pitch in,” Miss Birdie said, “let us know.”

Deanne held out her hand and took Miss Birdie’s. “Thank you so much. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

After a few more minutes, Miss Birdie and Adam walked out. Odd to have only the two of them.

“I’m going to miss her,” the pillar said. “But I’m so glad she has family.” She sighed. “I’m even happier that I can get a good night’s sleep.”

After they got in the car, Miss Birdie said, “I was thinking about that parlor next to the front door. Maybe if we put a couple of beds there for Eleanor and her family. They can use the guest bathroom down there. You know, that’s what a church does.”

Then she fell asleep, her head against the headrest, soft snores escaping her mouth. Adam wouldn’t mention that to her later, of course. He didn’t dare. He’d never tease a snoring pillar.

Wednesday morning, Adam checked his calendar. Winnie, the church treasurer, wanted to meet about the stewardship drive, and Howard had left a message about the next board meeting.

As he considered those appointments, the phone rang. He fought the urge to answer, because Maggie worked until eleven. As she’d often reminded him,
she
answered the phone when she was in the office.

After a few seconds, she knocked on the study door and came in.

A problem with her answering the phone was that the church had no intercom. Maggie had to come into the study to give him messages or tell him to pick up. Sometimes she just shouted. However, that was the way she wanted to do this, so Adam accepted.

“That was Rita Mae Parsons. She said Charley hasn’t returned her calls.”

Charley was the town handyman, a plumber and a good one. When business was slow, he did about anything anyone needed done.

“I let him in the parsonage about eight thirty and showed him the leak in that upstairs bathroom.”

“Well, you know how Rita Mae worries,” Maggie said.

She should. Charley was a good Presbyterian and the father of three small children. An enormous, woolly mammoth of a man, he stood six-three and weighed well over three hundred pounds. Everyone in town loved him and feared he’d have a heart attack before he was forty.

“His truck’s in front of your house.”

“Still? He got there two hours ago.”

“Yes and Rita Mae wonders if you’d go over and check on him.”

“Sure.” Adam stood and headed off toward the parsonage.

Once inside the front door, he wandered through the first story, searching for a body. None there. He couldn’t have missed Charley’s body lying on the floor.

He called, “Charley?” No answer but he thought he heard a soft pounding from above. Adam moved toward the stairs, still looking around as if Charley could hide under the few furnishings gracing the house. As he climbed the steps, the pounding grew louder.

“Charley?” he shouted.

The sound increased and Adam heard a muffled “Help.” He ran into the guest bedroom, through it, and to the bathroom. Charley’s enormous denim-covered butt stuck out of the cabinet under the sink.

“I’m stuck,” he said.

That much was obvious. Less clear was how to get him out. Adam started to ask, “How did this happen?” but that, too, seemed obvious. The cabinet had a sink on the top and, beneath that, two doors separated by a vertical strip of wood. Charley must have reached in the right side to check the leaking pipe, pulled himself too far in, and now, as far as the preacher could tell, couldn’t get out.

“You’re not laughing, are you?” Charley shouted, his voice slightly muffled.

“No, Charley.” Although it was hard not to, Charley was such a nice guy that he couldn’t. “Push,” Adam suggested.

“I have been pushing.” He gave a deep sigh, which made the cabinet vibrate.

“Okay.” Adam studied the situation. “You push and I’ll pull.” The minister reached for the tool loops on Charley’s overalls and attempted to tug him straight back. The plumber didn’t move.

“Let’s try again,” Adam said. “On the count of three.” He took a firmer hold of the loops, braced his feet, and counted, “One, two, three.” Unfortunately, when he jerked back, the stitching didn’t hold. The loops ripped off in his fingers and he stumbled backward. After a clumsy attempt to catch himself, Adam landed in the bathtub, his legs straight up. His head had narrowly missed hitting the hard enamel. Wouldn’t that be great to have someone find them up there like this? Adam unconscious in the tub and Charley stuck?

By the time he figured out what had happened and got out of the tub, Adam realized Charley was laughing.

“You okay, Preacher?” he shouted between guffaws. The entire cabinet shook with his laughter.

Adam scrutinized Charley’s position and that enormous rear end again. “Have you tried pushing against the back of the cabinet to work yourself out?” he asked.

“No, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet so much I decided to stay here the rest of the day and meditate,” he said with a sarcasm Adam hadn’t heard from him before. Of course, the preacher had never seen him in this… um… position before.

“Yes, Preacher, I’ve tried pushing myself out twenty different ways,” Charley added long-sufferingly. “I’m scratched up and bruised but nothing’s worked.”

The idea of slathering the plumber with soap to pop him out didn’t seem pleasant and probably wouldn’t work because Adam couldn’t reach the stuck areas. He bet Charley wouldn’t cotton to the idea, either.

“Don’t try to lather me up with butter,” the plumber warned like a veteran of situations like this.

Adam didn’t ask for details.

“What do you suggest?” They both paused to think. “Let’s try that again, my pulling again and you pushing.” This time Adam reached for the utility belt the plumber wore, which was firmly stuck between his body and the sides of the cabinet. It had the advantage that it wouldn’t rip off. Probably.

“Okay.”

“I’ll count to three, then you push.” Adam grabbed the belt and said, “One… two… three.”

The minister could hear Charley straining inside the cabinet, using his knees—which were on the tile floor—to push against the wood surround as Adam pulled hard. For a moment, he thought they’d done it, that the plumber was free.

Instead, the shaking of the cabinet caused the toilet-paper holder on the side of the cabinet to pop off. It also made the pretty bowl of soaps the ladies had left next to the sink leap into the air. The yellow rose-shaped soaps scattered all over the room as the dish crashed to the floor and broke.

And when Adam’s hands slipped off the utility belt, he flew back into the tub, banged his right arm against the spigot, and turned the shower on. For a moment, Adam sat there, a little dazed, attempting to figure out what had happened as cold water rained down on him. By the time he turned off the faucet, he was soaked.

“Pastor, you okay?”

Dripping, he struggled from the tub and surveyed the wreckage. “Fine. A little wet.” Carefully Adam picked up the pieces of china on the floor because, the way this was going, he figured one of them would cut off an appendage if he didn’t.

“I can’t think of anything else to do.” The minister studied the situation and shook his head. “Maybe I should call someone.”

“No, Pastor, please don’t,” Charley begged. “I know I need to lose weight, but everyone will laugh if they know I got stuck here. Please keep this quiet.”

“Okay,” Adam agreed, guessing how mortified the plumber must feel. “But I can’t think of anything unless I cut you out of there.”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s going to take.”

Adam could tell from the shaking of the vanity that Charley had sighed.

“I’ve got a saw in my tool kit and I’ve got a chain saw in the truck,” he said.

“Charley, you don’t want me using a chain saw anywhere near your body. I’d probably disembowel you or cut off some really important equipment.” Adam pulled a small trimming saw from the plumber’s toolbox. “Where should I start?” He studied the situation. “I’m not very good with tools.”

“Start at the top.”

From the empty left side of the cabinet, Adam glanced inside and discovered a good amount of room in there. He probably wouldn’t take off Charley’s ears. Kneeling, he started sawing. Fortunately, the piece was narrow. Unfortunately, it was made of some kind of wood harder than steel.

“Probably white oak,” Charley mused as Adam sawed. “Used a lot in these older houses. You don’t see it today on bathroom fixtures. Usually just laminate or veneer surfaces. This piece was made to last forever. Good craftsmanship.”

Great. He was ripping up good craftsmanship with this saw. Of course if he didn’t, Charley’d be stuck in this guest bathroom until he lost enough weight to extract himself. It reminded Adam of a story from Winnie-the-Pooh, one of his childhood favorites.

When at last Adam cut through the wood, he put the saw down, pulled on the work gloves he’d found in the toolbox, grabbed the lathe of wood, and pulled. It didn’t break, but slowly the piece bent back against the nails that held it in place and came loose in his hands.

With that, Adam moved out of the way and Charley pushed himself from the opening. Once on his feet, the plumber took a deep breath and punched his body, looking for wounds. “I’ll probably have a few good bruises,” he said before scrutinizing the mangled cabinet. “I’ll fix this. I’ll use one big door so anyone can easily get in here to make repairs.”

“Sounds good,” Adam agreed.

Charley leaned down to study the plumbing inside. “The pipe’s an easy fix. I need to replace this fitting here.” He pointed. “See where that leak’s coming from?” Then he looked at Adam. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?” Perspiration and supplication covered his round face.

“This is between a pastor and one of the flock,” Adam responded.

“You’re not going to tell Reverend Patillo, are you?”

“No, Charley—between you and me. No one else.”

“Thanks. I’ll call my wife then get right back to this. She worries.” He pulled out his cell. “I’m going to tell her it was a bigger job than I thought.” He looked at Adam, his eyes and voice filled with sincerity. “And I’ll go on a diet tonight, I promise.”

W
e’re making cookies, Captain,” Leo said.

“For Mr. Masterson,” Nick added.

Sam gazed around the kitchen. He hadn’t been gone for an hour, only enough time for a short walk and a visit to the library to pick up a couple of paperbacks. What did he find when he got home? The general sitting at the table while Winnie and Leo added ingredients to a bowl and Nick greased a cookie sheet.

Not being much of a cook, Sam knew he didn’t have a single cookie sheet in the house. He didn’t have a bowl or measuring cups or flour. He possessed nothing to use in baking because he and the boys had packed it up and Willow had taken it to the thrift shop. What he
did
have was a mess in his kitchen and two interfering busybodies—the general and Miss Winnie—who didn’t know the difference between meddling and helping.

But he also had Leo and Nick there. That was good. That felt right. “Hey, guys, how are you?” Then he realized what Nick and Leo had said. “Cookies? For Mr. Masterson?”

“Yes, sir.” Nick waved a napkin covered with shortening. “Your father, the general—” His voice filled with awe. “The general,” he repeated and seemed to savor the words, “said a marine helps others.”

“He said since Mr. Masterson baked that cake for you, we should return the favor,” Leo said.

“Gosh, General.” Sam infused every syllable with sarcasm. “What a nice thing to do. How are you helping in the effort?”

“I’m sampling.”

“He’s telling us what to do,” Winnie said, but her words contained a spark of humor.

“He’s good at that,” Sam said. “He can command and
I’ll
sample.” Sam sat and placed his books on the table. “What kind are you making?”

“Snickerdoodles. Already in the oven.” Nick nodded in that direction.

Aah, yes, the aroma of cinnamon filled the kitchen.

“And chocolate chip because the general likes those best.” Leo attempted a surreptitious swipe of dough but Winnie spanked his hand.

“They’ll be done soon,” she warned.

“Then what?” Sam glanced back and forth among the four, certain something else was going on. He bet two of them had planned this and two of them were innocent pawns in the duplicitous scheme. But if so—he glanced around the kitchen—where was Willow?

“Mom’s picking us up at five,” Leo said.

Aha, the pieces were falling into place.

Leo glanced at the clock.

“The general says we’re all—you, the four of us cooks, and Mom—going over to Mr. Masterson’s house to give him the cookies.”

“
Most
of the cookies, ’cause we want to eat a few, too,” Nick said.

Sam glared at the general. “You’ve got to stop butting in.”

The man smiled. Not an answer Sam trusted. Actually, not a response he’d ever seen before except way back when he’d been a little kid, before the general had become
the general
.

“Might as well give up on that,” Winnie said. “I think that’s how he got to be a general: butting in and ordering people around.”

At five fifteen, before Willow even reached the porch, the boys had waylaid her and explained the plan. As they did, she glanced up as if looking for him. Then the boys came back inside for the wrapped cookies and hurried outside as the general grabbed Sam and hustled him out. Not that Sam really minded or protested too much.

“This isn’t my idea,” Sam said. Somehow—although Sam knew it had been part of the general’s plan—he and Willow had ended up together several yards behind the others.

“You’re moving well.” Willow studied him professionally. “How’s the pain?”

“Can’t we just talk? I mean about something other than my leg or the pain?”

“Sure.” She glanced up at him. “I left the hospital only a few minutes ago. I’m still in physical therapist mode. Let me switch that off.” She blinked then smiled up at him. “There, I’m in person mode. What would you like to talk about?”

He had no idea because he’d been so distracted by that smile he’d barely heard what she said. He only knew what he didn’t want to discuss: his leg and going to a movie with Winnie and the general and Willow and the boys, just the six of them. Instead he asked, “Would you go to a movie? With me?”

She stopped. “And your father and the boys in Winnie’s car?”

He quit walking and stood next to her. “No, only the two of us.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d handle that. He would be able to drive his car, but he hadn’t tried yet and he bet a Mustang wouldn’t be the best vehicle for him now. Great car for a single man to show off his machismo. Horrible car for an amputee to try to get in and out of.

“I don’ t think that’s a good idea, Captain.”

He held up his hand. “Please call me Sam. You’re in person mode now.”

“Okay, Sam, but I told you I’m not interested in a relationship and you said you weren’t, so why?”

“I don’t believe I said exactly that. I think I said I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing with my life so probably I’m not in a place where I could pursue a relationship.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what you said. I would have remembered that.”

He hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong with going to a movie? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Winnie and the others are trying to get us together. It’s not going to stop. If you think ‘making cookies to repay Mr. Masterson’s kindness’ is the real reason for this outing, you’re wrong. We’ve been set up.”

She tilted her head and scrutinized him. “Are you saying we should give in without a fight?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I want to take you to a movie. Why’s that such a big thing? I haven’t asked you to marry me or to sleep with me or to have a relationship
of any kind
. It’s only a stupid movie.”

She blinked but didn’t say anything, only stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

Because she hadn’t objected yet, he kept going. “I’m tired of staying home with the general. He’s not a great deal of fun. And, yes, you attract me. And, yes, I want to kiss you again, but it’s only a movie, not a commitment for eternity.” He stopped when he realized he’d shouted the last few words. He took a deep breath before glancing ahead. The others had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk about twenty feet ahead of him to watch his tantrum with great interest.

“Oh,” she said calmly. “Well, if it’s only a stupid movie, fine. I’ll get a sitter for tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

“I can…” Well, no, he couldn’t drive but he hated that she assumed that.

“Don’t get all macho on me.” She glared at him. “I have your records. I know you haven’t driven yet. Forgive my self-interest, but I prefer to get there and home alive. If we go out again, after you’ve practiced, you can drive.”

He nodded and stayed on the sidewalk as she walked toward her sons. He watched her, thinking that that had gone a lot easier than he’d expected. On top of that, she’d said he could drive the next time they went out. Maybe not exactly those words, but that’s how he interpreted them. They would go out again.

Of course, he still had no idea what to expect or what he wanted in the future, but one thing was sure. He felt good being with Willow. Cheerful. Even optimistic, a little, as much as he allowed himself to be.

The shouting had felt good, too. It had opened something inside he’d kept closed up. It had loosened his frustration. Maybe he should yell more often.

He watched Willow and her sons as the whole crowd went up the steps, rang the bell, and handed the box to Mr. Masterson. After a minute of chatting, the do-gooders turned and started back.

“Mr. Masterson really appreciated that.” Nick hopped toward Sam. “He said we could come over and make a pie with him sometime.”

“He said thank you and didn’t even mention the time we were in his backyard,” Leo said.

“Yeah, I know how he felt. I remember the time I found two short, redheaded, very noisy marines in
my
backyard.”

“Captain.” Nick ducked his head and laughed.

“But you like having us around and you
were
glad to see us,” Leo said. “Once you got used to us and stopped drinking.”

These were great kids. He hated that they knew, that they’d witnessed his worst traits. Maybe if he behaved really well, they’d forget that drinking-too-much part.

Maybe they could even accept him and their mother being together. He bet they’d like that. In fact, he knew they’d be on Sam’s side.

Could he get them to influence her? He didn’t think that would work. She didn’t look ready for more, and she wouldn’t like him using her sons to further a romance.

But at least he and Willow were going to that stupid movie together.

“I need you to do two things for me.” Sam hated to ask the general for help. Wouldn’t have a few years ago.

The general stood by the stove, turning the bacon. With that idiotic pink towel hanging from his belt, he didn’t look as imposing and inaccessible as Sam remembered him.

“What do you need, son?”

He’d never called him that, “son,” when he’d wanted to hear it. Not in high school when he’d won letters in football, track, and baseball and had gone to state in the hundred-meter. Not even when he’d gone to A&M on a football scholarship. The general hadn’t paid him much notice at all until Sam had gotten his leg blown off, the biggest foul-up of his life.

“I need to practice driving my car. Would you help me?” The request hadn’t hurt at all. “I’d thought about getting hand controls,” Sam explained as if the general had asked that. “But they told me at Walter Reed I should be able to drive once I got used to this new prosthesis.”

“Fine. When?”

“In an hour?”

The general nodded as he put a plate in front of Sam, and the few words of conversation ceased.

As he was shaving after breakfast, Sam considered his reflection. He looked a lot healthier. His face had filled out some, possibly due to the good cooking of the Widows and the big breakfasts the general served.

But his hair took more time to wash and dry than he wanted to spend. It took hours to groom the mess and a fortune on what they called “product” to tame it, but if his long hair didn’t bug the general, what fun was that? It looked as if the general had won this fight without even fielding a platoon.

When they arrived at the high school parking lot, the general took out some books he’d stowed in the trunk and placed them on end to mark a course for Sam to maneuver through.

“You’re doing fine, son,” the general called out as Sam knocked down six books in a row. “Be patient. Give yourself time.”

It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t steer; that was easy. It was controlling the speed that caused him problems. Alternating between the brake and accelerator felt as if he had to pull his foot from thick mud. He didn’t have the motion down well, which meant he didn’t slow as quickly as he’d like.

“You’re getting better.” Although he had paled when his son nearly mowed down a post near the entrance, he didn’t cringe when Sam barely missed the chain-link fence surrounding the area. Of course the man had faced bombs, mortar, and grenades in battle.

The two near wrecks had taken place only moments after Sam had taken control of the car—or
not
taken control, because the vehicle had taken off on its own. After fifteen minutes of intense effort, Sam seldom headed toward total destruction of the Mustang or the fence or the general, who occasionally had to leap out of the way. Yes, his driving had improved but the pressure on his knee and the stress of attempting to drive perfectly had worn him out. Not that he’d tell his fa… Not that he’d tell the general. He stopped the car, got out, and walked around to settle into the passenger seat.

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” the general said as he strapped himself in the driver’s side.

Sam nodded. “I want to get my hair cut.”

Did he detect a grin on the general’s face? A quick shimmer of gloating in his eyes? But all the man said was, “Okay, let’s get to the barbershop.”

“
Not
the barbershop. Aunt Effie used to take me there when I was a kid. They shaved me. Head for the strip mall on the highway east of town. I saw a place there.”