The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (37 page)

“I have something I want you to read.” He handed her the envelope.

She glanced at it before she lifted her eyes toward him and frowned. “What’s this? You want me to read it?”

“Yes.”

“Now?” She took it from him.

“That would be good. If you don’t mind.” He leaned on the arm of the sofa to lower himself in the seat.

“Okay.” She sat across from him on a rocking chair and opened the envelope. She lifted her gaze toward him, then began to read.

After a paragraph, she stopped and looked at him again. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, afraid to speak but also too choked up to say a word.

As she read, she began to cry. Reaching for tissues from the box on the end table next to her, she cried into them. As she read through the pages, she sobbed. “Oh, Sam,” she said once. On the section about Morty, he thought.

By the time she finished the letter, he’d reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a handful of tissues and wiped his own face.

For a moment, she stared at the end of the letter, then up at him before she stood, walked to the sofa, and sat on his lap. She put her head on his chest, pulling him close to sob against him. “Oh, Sam,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He put his arms around her and enjoyed the moment, keeping her close and soft against him, feeling her concern and tenderness seep in and begin to warm those cold places inside, to heal the bleeding holes. After a minute or so, she turned and pulled his lips toward hers for a kiss that lasted for a more than satisfactory time, filled with much more than satisfactory emotion.

Then she scooted off his lap to sit next to him and took his hand. He’d prefer to have her in his arms, but this was okay.

“What does this mean, Sam? Is this a commitment?”

“I still want to sleep with you,” he said. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

She stilled for a moment, looking at him apprehensively. “I thought we’d…”

“But that’s not all.” He cleared his throat. “I also want to wake up with you every morning. I want to eat breakfast with you and Nick and Leo, to take the boys to school and to play football with them when they get home. I want to watch them grow up and visit them in college and hold their children, our grandchildren. But most of all—” Sam took his hand from her grasp and tilted her chin up so she had to look into his eyes. “Most of all, I want to sleep with you every night for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh, Sam.” She wiped her eyes again, then gave him a kiss that erased any doubt about how much the prospect of that future pleased her.

They’d just gotten to a really good part when she heard a key in the lock.

“Oh, dear.” She attempted to arrange her hair while he smoothed her shirt.

The boys shoved into the apartment, laughing and pushing each other. When they saw Sam with his arm around their mother, they both stopped, stood completely still, and gawked at them. Then they shouted, “Sam!” and ran to him.

Juggling the boys, one on each arm, Sam grinned. How had life become so good?

But before he completed the thought, Leo stepped back, grabbing his brother’s arm to pull him away as well.

“What are you doing with my mother?” Leo asked. Concern laced his voice as if he needed to protect her.

Sam grinned. “We were kissing.” He glanced from Nick and Leo’s scrutiny toward Willow, who looked as if she wanted to throw herself over the back of the sofa and hide from the questions she read in Leo’s eyes.

Her older son glowered at Sam and put his thumbs in his belt. “What does this”—he pointed at his mother and Sam—“mean?”

Nick mimicked his brother’s stance and facial expression although his glare came nowhere near the antagonism in Leo’s.

“Nothing, boys,” Willow said. “Sam and I were just talking about… oh, things.”

He could read their expressions. Nick accepted her words. Leo didn’t.

“My intentions are…”

Sam stumbled on the last word. He couldn’t say
pure
because his intentions were hardly that. Still, he couldn’t laugh, he had to complete the sentence, because Leo looked so serious.

“You hurt my mother,” Leo said. “I hear her crying at night.”

Sam closed his eyes and thought
Crap
, then turned toward Willow. “I’m sorry. I… I guess I knew, but I had to work this through, put my life in order.”

She put her hand on his. “I know.”

Both boys watched the two grown-ups. “Leo,” she said to her very solemn son. “Don’t worry. We’re okay, Sam and I.”

Sam nodded and stood to take a step toward what he hoped, if all went well, were his sons-to-be, the greatest kids in the world.

“Are you going to be our father?” Nick asked, cutting through the adult obfuscation.

Sam grinned and said, “Yes,” before Willow could answer. “If we can convince your mother.”

“Mom?” Nick’s voice rose. “Mom, can we keep him? Please?”

“You make him sound like a puppy.” Willow stood and grinned at all of them. “Give us a little time, guys. Okay? This is pretty new.”

With that, Leo and Nick launched themselves toward Sam again. Careful not to knock him down, they stood one on each side and threw their arms around him. He reached out to Willow, put his arm on her shoulders to pull her into the group hug as the boys peppered them with questions.

“When are you getting married?” Leo tossed out.

“We haven’t… ,” Willow began as Sam said, “As soon as we can talk her into it.”

But the boys didn’t hear either because Nick spoke over the words. “Are you going to have more kids?”

“Hope so,” Sam said at the same time Willow said, “We have to discuss that.”

“We probably should get married first,” Sam added.

“Where are we going to live?” Nick jumped up and down as he threw the questions. “Are you going to paint the house in marine colors? Can we have a dog?”

For a moment, Sam felt as if he stood a few feet away from the group. From that distance, he could see himself with one arm around Willow and the other hand resting on Nick’s shoulder and smiling like a fool.

But he wasn’t a few feet away. He was inside the circle, part of the family. He could smell the apple scent of Willow’s hair and the sweaty odor of the boys and feel the damp perspiration on Nick’s neck.

And joy exploded around Sam Peterson.

At twelve thirty, the fellowship hall of the Presbyterian Church looked full, wall-to-wall tables filled with the good citizens, and probably a liberal sprinkling of the sinners, of Butternut Creek. The churches had joined together for the community Thanksgiving dinner, free to everyone.

Behind Adam, the women of several churches prepared vegetables and mashed and sweet potatoes while men pulled turkeys from the ovens, set them on the woodblock counters, and carved them into huge slabs.

With the help of Ouida, his sweet next-door neighbor, Adam had contributed one. She’d prepared the dressing, stuffed the cavity, basted the bird, then put it in the oven of the parsonage. All he’d had to do was watch it and baste it and warm up gravy from a jar. In her solemn way, Janey had been a great help keeping him on schedule. The bird had turned out great. Amazing how his cooking skills had improved with Ouida living next door.

Adam stood third in the serving line, dropping globs of potatoes on a plate before handing it to Hector to pour gravy on everything. In the South, hard-boiled eggs were put in the gravy, an addition Adam neither understood nor enjoyed. Last Sunday at the church Thanksgiving dinner, he’d attempted to pick the pieces from the otherwise delicious dish. The pillar saw it and gave him her death glare, which always shriveled the recipient. Today he’d have to hide someplace in the back of the kitchen, maybe in a pantry, to pluck the rubbery egg whites out.

But that would come later, after they’d served everyone who dropped in for the meal. Across the counter, Mattie cleared and wiped tables. Janey, with her hair decorated in orange barrettes, stood by the desserts and smiled every now and then.

“She’s a lot happier. Thanks, Preacher,” Hector whispered. “She’s feeling safe.”

The high school basketball season had begun nearly six weeks earlier. Hector had a great start, leading the team in rebounds. A few scouts from small colleges had come to look over the senior center and had been impressed by Hector, only a junior. What would they do with Janey while he was in college? She could stay at the parsonage. Both she and Hector could call that home.

But Adam didn’t need to consider that now. People were waiting for mashed potatoes.

“Pick up that nearly empty pan so I can exchange it.” Mac shoved him aside. Sweat rolled down her forehead. The temperature today had reached eighty by noon and seemed about one hundred with the heat from the ovens. Finally, at two, the line closed and the servers fixed themselves plates.

After the volunteers cleaned up, Hector and Janey headed to the basketball coach’s house for a get-together, so Adam was on his own. He wandered through town reflecting on how thankful he felt, how blessed he’d been to end up here. For a moment, Adam considered heading to Sam’s house, but he was spending the day at Winnie’s with his father and Willow and the boys. Nice for all of them.

After a few more blocks, he realized he was only a football field away from the pillar’s house. She’d done so much today. With the bad shoulder she attempted to hide from everyone, Adam wondered how she felt. As her minister, he should check and thank her for her service. Adam wouldn’t tell her he was concerned about her. She’d hate that.

Once in front of her neat little cottage, he took the steps to the porch with a leap and knocked at the front door.

“Have you swept off that porch?” Miss Birdie shouted from inside.

He looked around. A broom leaned against the wall next to the front door with a dustpan hooked onto it.

“I…” Adam attempted to speak, to identify himself and explain why he was on her porch.

“Don’t backtalk me,” she said firmly. “Get your south-forty in motion and sweep that porch.”

What was a south-forty?

“And don’t even try to get inside,” the pillar continued, “until you complete that chore or I’ll tan your hide.”

Mystified but obedient, the minister picked up the broom and walked to the end of the porch. Maybe her shoulder was acting up and she felt grumpy and she couldn’t do the task herself. More likely, she didn’t realize it was him.

How carefully did this need to be done? Should Adam sweep between the rail supports? Knowing Miss Birdie, she’d expect that. If he didn’t do it right, and she did know it was him, he bet she wouldn’t really tan his hide—but he also knew how her words could take off a few inches of skin. Besides, he had nothing better to do.

Fortunately, the porch was small, maybe six by eight. He went over it once, grinning as he imagined her reaction. He swept the leaves and trash into the dustpan and scrutinized the area. A plastic bag was tied to the rail. He pulled it off and dumped the contents of the dustpan inside. After checking the porch again, Adam concluded that if he wanted to get inside the house, he’d better give it another sweep.

Finally satisfied, he tied the plastic sack, shook the broom over the railing to get rid of the dust, and turned toward the door.

“I’m finished,” he shouted.

No response came from the house for nearly a minute. Absolute silence. Then the curtain across the window in the door was pushed aside. Miss Birdie stared out. She blinked and stood as if transfixed, her eyes still on Adam’s face.

Suddenly the curtains dropped and the door opened.

“Oh, Preacher.” Bright red suffused her face and covered her neck. “Oh, Preacher, I’m so sorry.”

He glanced around the porch. “Did I miss a spot?”

“Come in, come in.” She waved her hands toward the living room. “Please sit. Let me have that broom and the bag and the dustpan.” As Adam entered, she pulled the items away and stood there, holding them, silent, in the middle of the room, her mouth a perfect O.

He hadn’t thought a woman as commanding as the pillar could look mortified.

Adam smiled amicably, as if sweeping her porch was the exact thing he’d hoped to do that day. “I was in the area and stopped by to see if you’ve recovered from the dinner.”

“Oh.” She tossed the broom and other stuff in a corner. “Oh, Preacher, I’m so sorry. I thought you were Bree.”

He didn’t answer but felt sure confusion showed on his face as well as the desire for an explanation.

“She was supposed to help at the community dinner but didn’t show up. For punishment, I planned to make her sweep the porch.” She dropped in a chair. “I thought she’d knocked instead of coming right inside because she knew I’d be angry.” Then she leaped to her feet. “Let me get you a slice of pie and some coffee.” With a twirl, she left the room.

Having filled up on more pie at the dinner than one person should, he really didn’t want more. His caffeine intake had reached a new high, so more would probably result in jitters. But he could not turn this down. He’d embarrassed the pillar and doubted her deep humiliation and sincere expressions of regret would be offered again. If she wanted to apologize, ply him with sweets and coffee, why should he refuse? Seemed the least a preacher could do. For her spiritual growth, of course.