The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (33 page)

Sam closed his eyes to consider the general’s words. The burden of sorrow lifted a little more.

As Sam reflected, the general stood. With that motion, he kicked the bottle Sam had shoved under the bed. He leaned down to pick it up. “Yours?”

Sam shook his head. “Take it back to the kitchen or pour it down the drain. I don’t need it.”

The general looked skeptical. “Not sure it’ll be that easy, son.”

“I know.” He wished it were. “But it’s a beginning, and I’m determined. I’ll start meetings as soon as I find one.”

The general looked almost victorious.

“I mean AA. I still won’t go to the vets’ group at the church,” Sam said. “Not yet.”

Once the general left, not quite closing the door behind him, Sam lay back against the headboard. He thought back twenty years, nearly twenty-five, to a memory of him and Morty shouting “Semper fi” and storming Guadalcanal or planting the flag on Iwo Jima. Even though they didn’t know what the words meant, they’d sing, “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores to Tripoli,” at the top of their lungs.

They’d been exactly like Leo and Nick, he realized. For the first time in over a year, he thought about Morty and smiled. Oh, not for long because it still hurt, but he felt hope. He closed his eyes as a tremendous burden began to fall from him. Maybe he’d started to heal.

S
aturday afternoon, Adam signed for the FedEx delivery and turned to carry the heavy box inside.

“Whatcha got, Pops?” Hector sat on the sofa and watched cartoons. The two males were alone. Five minutes earlier, Janey had run off to play with Carol in the Kowalski backyard and the Smiths had taken a trip to San Saba to get ready to move back home.

“A package from my mother.” He shook it as he walked to the kitchen. It sounded full. “She sends me stuff, mostly food, every now and then, to make up for the fact she and Dad live so far away.” He dropped the carton on the table, picked up a knife, and began cutting through the tape, then opened the box and dumped the contents.

Hector watched as a shower of candy bars and packages labeled
SHORTCAKE
and
BISCUITS
and
CRISPS
cascaded out. “Man, she must feel real guilty.”

“Can’t get these in the United States.” Adam held up one of the chocolate bars. “These are one of my favorites.” He handed Hector a package of Turkish delight. “You’re going to love these. Try one.”

Settling at the table, Hector opened the package and scrutinized the square candy. He grinned and said, “Where do these come from?” before he popped the rest of the piece in his mouth.

“British Isles. My folks live in London.”

“London?” He sat forward and took a box of cream crackers. “You mean, like, London in England?”

Adam nodded. Chewy sat next to them, his chin on the table.

“Don’t give any of this to the dog.” Adam reached to the counter for a box of doggy treats and tossed one into the other room.

“Why are your parents in England?”

“My dad sold his business a few years ago and they moved there.”

He shook his head. “You must be really rich.”

“My father is. I’m not.”

“Bet you don’t understand what it’s like to grow up poor.” He opened the box and took out a handful of crackers.

“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.