The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (10 page)

When Gussie attempted to pull away, the other Widow—Winnie? Was that her name?—took her left hand and dragged Gussie toward the preacher. She could not break away without causing a scene and possible injury. Not that they had any scruples about capturing her, but theirs had been a covert action and hers would be outright combat.

Besides they were at least twice her age. She couldn’t fight them without looking like a bully.

Adam glanced up from his conversation with Miss Birdie. An I-should-have-guessed expression covered his face. He had the nerve to laugh. Did he have no idea what lay ahead?

Of course he did, but he could see the humor in the machinations of the Widows while she experienced only mind-numbing terror.

When she approached, Adam attempted to stand. With Miss Birdie holding one hand, the action was futile. He stood halfway up before she pulled him down. The landing caused the sofa to shiver and the cushion to fly up on the end as he made a resounding thud and an “Ooof.”

Which of course alerted the young people who had been talking and gathered along the counter for refreshments. They all turned to watch.

Oh, terrific. Gussie didn’t wonder what would happen next. She knew. With a final shove to Adam, Miss Birdie sprang to her feet.

“Why don’t you sit down here.” She waved to the place next to the preacher, the seat she’d just abandoned.

“I think—” Gussie could say no more before her effort to sit in a chair and her path to that chair were cut off by the two women, who were much stronger than anyone their age should be. Quickly and firmly, she’d been shoved forward, spun, and seated. The cushions were so soft, it felt as if she’d dropped into mud. She’d never get out without help. She’d been captured and imprisoned with no choice but to remain until assistance or a crane showed up.

“There you go,” the blonde said in a soft Southern accent, most confusing since the woman’s determination was made of iron. Before Gussie could say a word or move an inch, Blossom sat between her and the arm of the love seat so the three were packed together, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip.

“Isn’t this cozy?” Blossom cooed.

It wasn’t.

“Now, you two stay there…,” Miss Birdie began.

As if they could move.

“…and I’ll get you some cookies.” The senior Widow bustled away.

However, her departure did not signal a reprieve. Winnie and Mercedes stood in front of the love seat as if they were playing “Red Rover” and were poised to capture anyone who attempted to “come over.”

Gussie whispered to Adam, “Get me out of this.”

“Relax,” he whispered back. “You can’t get away from the Widows. Submission is the only option. It makes the humiliation shorter and less painful.”

“Great,” Gussie moaned. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

Miss Birdie placed a plate of cookies in her lap and handed another to Adam, then brought each a cup of punch, which she put on the end tables. Not, of course, that Gussie could pick up her punch, because Blossom sat between her and the cup. Good thing she didn’t really want a drink during this odd little interlude. She attempted to shift position, but the lovely, smiling Widow held her arm securely, another reason she couldn’t sip the punch.

“Now,” Blossom said as Gussie bit into a lemon bar. “Why don’t we chat. Gussie, why don’t you tell Adam an interesting fact he doesn’t know about you?”

Could this get any worse? Well, yes, Gussie figured it could.

From the refreshment counter, thirty eyes, more or less, focused on the scene, taking in every nuance, every movement, every word.

Then there were six more eyes.

“Hey.” A handsome man with a slight limp entered from the parking lot with two redheaded boys. “Sorry I’m late…” He stopped speaking and moving when he saw Gussie and Adam shoved together on the love seat with Blossom. “I…​​um…” He swallowed, perhaps attempting not to laugh. “Willow’s on call this weekend and had to go to the hospital. I brought the boys with me. Guys,” he said to the two, “go get yourself some refreshments and bring me a glass of punch.” He sat at a table that faced the love seat. “I’m going to sit right here and enjoy the show.” He grinned.

“That’s my former friend, Sam Peterson.” Adam glared at the man. “Thanks, Sam,” he said with an edge to his voice that Gussie hadn’t heard before. In an instant her brain flashed back on the image she’d stored and attempted—unsuccessfully—to ignore of Adam playing basketball with sweat gluing his shirt onto his wiry but muscular body and macho determination on his face.

With that ill-timed image firmly seared into her mind, it took every ounce of her strength to focus on the visitor and wave. “I’m Gussie Milton,” she said.

“I know.” Sam waved at her, then toward the treat-covered counter. “Those are my sons, Leo and Nick.”

The two boys grinned at her with chocolate-covered lips.

Then everyone, every single person in the room, went back to watching the two on the love seat. Gussie ignored Blossom’s request to share information about herself. Instead she chewed on a bite of cookie that had long ago lost any flavor or structural integrity but kept her mouth occupied.

“Aren’t they the cutest couple in the world?” Winnie asked.

The young people looked at each other and shrugged.

“What’s going on, Pops?” Hector asked.

Adam didn’t answer. Probably no way to explain.

“Gussie.” Miss Birdie spoke as if she and the two captives were engaged in a private little chat. “Tell Adam something about you that he doesn’t know.”

Other than being rude, which the Widows didn’t mind doing although in such a pleasant way, Gussie couldn’t think of anything else to do but answer. She refused to behave poorly in front of her kids or that man facing them from the table—Sam?—who was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

“I used to play the clarinet,” Gussie said after she swallowed and before she took another bite of lemon bar.

“Were you in the band?” Adam asked, his voice filled with interest, as if that were the most scintillating bit of information he’d ever heard.

Exactly the right way to play this, Gussie realized. “Oh, yes,” she said with great enthusiasm. “I was in the marching band.”

“Isn’t that interesting,” Adam replied. “Miss Birdie’s granddaughter Mac is in the marching band.” He beckoned Mac over with two fingers. “Did you know Gussie played the clarinet in the marching band?”

With a grin, Mac approached them. “Isn’t that interesting?” she said. “Has Adam told you about the time I led the middle school band?”

After ten more minutes, the Widows gave up. By that time, Hector and Gussie had discussed being tall; she and Bobby had discussed being an only child; and she and Bree had discussed playing volleyball. Gussie had started to relax and enjoy herself.

Miss Birdie cut into the chats. “Well, I guess that’s finished.” She shoved Hector and Bree toward the door, saying, “Shoo, shoo.” The rest of the youths followed.

“Hey, Preacher,” Bobby said before he could be pushed outside. “You need a hoop out here so we can play ball.”

Miss Birdie closed the door before Adam could answer.

And they were alone, Adam and Gussie, with four Widows bent on…oh, she didn’t know what exactly. Something evil. She heard Sam and his boys in the kitchen, probably finishing up the cookies, but she could hardly expect help from them. Sam enjoyed their predicament too much to do anything but laugh, and the boys seemed devoted to chocolate. They wouldn’t notice her appeals as they stuffed down brownies.

“Preacher, why don’t you take Gussie for a tour around the town?” Winnie said.

“What a lovely suggestion, but I’ve visited Butternut Creek often. I had an aunt who lived here.”

“Oh, yes, Grace Carson, your father’s sister,” Mercedes said.

“Well, then, you two think of something to do for an hour or two. Together.” Although devious, Miss Birdie had never been able to hide her plans well. “Then come back and we’ll have a nice little supper for the two of you.”

“You won’t want to drive all the way to Roundville hungry,” Blossom said.

“You might have one of those dreaded hunger-related accidents,” Adam agreed sincerely.

“Thank you so much, ladies,” Gussie said. “I didn’t realize that you had this planned. I need to get home. I hate to leave my parents alone…”

“Such a good daughter,” Mercedes said. “But sometime you’re going to have to think about yourself.” She paused dramatically. “And your future.”

“Your parents aren’t going to live forever,” the pillar said, a remark greeted by shoves and “shh” from the other Widows. “Not, of course, that I’m hoping they will die soon, but we all will. Someday.”

Not sure whether to laugh or scream or stare in amazement, Gussie decided to do none. Instead she said, “It’s not that long a drive.” She used every muscle she had to force herself up from the engulfing cushion. “If I get weak, I’ll grab something on the road.”

Gussie wished she had a camera to always remember the expressions on the Widows’ faces. Disappointment warred with disbelief that their plan had been scuttled.

“Didn’t Mac invite you?” Miss Birdie said. “For dinner?”

Gussie pulled her calendar from the tote and flipped it open. “Oh, yes, she did.” She couldn’t get Mac in trouble, but she had to get out of this place and away from Adam. “I…I’m really sorry. I forgot. Didn’t check the book.”

Adam shoved himself up from the deep cushions and watched Gussie for a second. She looked frantic. The Widows could do that to a person. “Don’t worry. Hector will eat your portion and more. If you need to get on the road, allow me to walk you to your car.”

He couldn’t believe he’d uttered that stupid phrase: “Allow me to walk you to your car.” Sounded as if he were from Victorian England, but having Gussie here and the Widows looking on scrambled his brain. Amazing he could still utter a sentence that actually made sense, even archaic nonsense.

To make matters worse, he held out his arm, crooked at the elbow, as if he were escorting a debutante. Gussie ignored it, maybe hadn’t seen it, but the Widows had and they smiled, possibly hoping he’d lure her into a compromising position over the ten yards across the parking lot to her car.

“Don’t worry, Preacher,” Miss Birdie said in what she considered a whisper but could be heard by everyone within twenty yards. “I won’t let them out”—she used her head to point out the other Widows—“until you’ve finished your courting.” Then she nearly shoved them from the building.

Once outside, Gussie said, “Oh, that was horrific.” She started laughing so hard she leaned on his arm for support. “Horrific but absolutely hilarious.” She took a deep breath and attempted to control her mirth.

He loved to hear her laugh. Sometimes it sounded like bells, going up an octave then back down. Other times it was a hoot or just a burst of happiness, but she never held back. When Gussie laughed, everyone knew she meant it and joined in.

“Adam, I’m so sorry to bail on dinner, but I’ve never been so mortified and so terrified and so entertained in my entire life.” She pulled in a deep gulp of air and attempted to regain control. “I hardly know how to react except to laugh but I can’t take any more of this. I can’t stay for dinner. It’s too funny and too humiliating, and way too…oh I don’t know. Too everything.” She stopped once they reached her car and beeped the doors open. “They are so very careful about every detail of their scheme and so certain they are right that I couldn’t laugh in their faces, sweet ladies.”

“You might believe they’re sweet but they’re calculating and devious and darned near impossible to ignore.” He grinned to soften his words. “You don’t know that because you don’t have them bustling around, taking charge of your life and conniving every day to get you married.”

“How do you handle it? I couldn’t have kept from laughing if I’d stayed for a minute longer.”

They both turned toward the church when they heard the kitchen door open. Blossom rushed out with a large box. Gussie closed her mouth tightly, biting her bottom lip.

“Some cookies for you,” Blossom said. “In case you get hungry on the way home.”

The Widow stood right next to Gussie’s car with a broad smile on her face while Gussie nodded and struggled not to laugh. She managed a hurried, muffled “Thank you.”

Then Miss Birdie stuck her head out the door and shouted, “How did you get past me, Blossom Brown? You come inside and leave the lovebirds alone.” With a start, Blossom hurried away and into the church.

Gussie whooped and tears flowed down her cheeks. “Don’t they drive you crazy?”

“I’ve learned to laugh inside.” He sighed as he handed Gussie a Kleenex from his pocket. “You met Sam. The Widows are sure it was their matchmaking that got him married. They feel flush with victory and refuse to give up on me, not while they’re on a hot streak. I’m sorry they embarrassed you.”

“They delighted me, too.” With that, Gussie tossed the tote into the car, placed the cookies on the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel.

“Thanks, Adam. This was wonderful. I’ll never forget this afternoon.”

He closed the door as she started the car. With a wave, she drove away.

They’d both survived. They hadn’t had their britches embarrassed off them; only, maybe, their socks. When the car disappeared down the highway, he stood there, uncertain if he should feel victorious because the Widows had failed or defeated because Gussie had fled and left him more befuddled than ever.

With so little display of interest on Gussie’s part—lots of embarrassment, a great deal of laughter, but little attraction—he probably should leave things alone. He’d email her, thank her for coming. He didn’t really need to stop with one email. Friends, they could be friends, and that could develop into something more. If he stopped pursuing her, even in his meandering and obviously ineffective way, nothing would happen between them. Ever.

When he’d been in seminary, his professor of church management told the story about a man watching a kid fish. Before he tossed his line into the water, the boy reached in his mouth, pulled something out, and placed it on the hook. Every time, he’d pull in a large fish and repeat the operation. The man, who’d caught nothing, approached the boy and asked how he’d been so successful. The kid spit a bunch of worms into his hand and said, “You’ve got to keep the worms warm.”