Read Online The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek by Jane Myers Perrine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Myers Perrine
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the basket on the table where Winnie had been working, right on top of the nicest T-shirts.
Winnie blinked, Mercedes shook her head, and Miss Birdie—well, Miss Birdie continued to look stunned. Adam had never seen her taken aback. He’d never believed the pillar could be at a loss for words.
Both Winnie and Mercedes looked at Miss Birdie, expecting her to take over. When she didn’t, Mercedes said sweetly, “Hello, Blossom. You brought your housekeeper?”
“Oh, yes.” Blossom motioned in the direction of the woman. “That’s Evelyn, my housekeeper.”
“Why isn’t she at home?” Winnie said. “Keeping your house?”
“You said we were cleaning. I don’t clean well.” She fluttered her beautifully manicured hands toward the confusion of the room.
Finally, Miss Birdie found several dozen words. “The Widows are cleaning the thrift shop and sorting clothing,” she said in a voice so cold it could freeze the coffee Blossom had started to pour. “Not our housekeeper or our maids, but the Widows. This is a community service that we , the Widows, do.”
This time Blossom blinked. “But I’m not at all good with this sort of thing. I’m not dressed for it.” They all examined her lovely pale blue silk shirt and slacks with matching high-heeled sandals.
Because Adam feared Miss Birdie would have a stroke, he stepped forward. “Blossom, the Widows themselves do community service. It is their way of being servants, of helping others unselfishly.”
“But I brought coffee, and my cook baked us another of those coffee cakes you all enjoyed so much.” She smiled at them all.
“Not again,” the pillar grumbled.
“Dear,” Mercedes said. “Thank you, but as much as we enjoyed that pastry, we aren’t an eating group. We’re a doing-things-for-others group. We thought you understood that when we invited you to join.”
“At the suggestion of the preacher,” the pillar stated. Her tone said, Don’t blame me for this mess.
“You don’t want the coffee?” She glanced down at the three cups she’d poured.
“Evelyn, thank you for coming,” Adam said. “Do you live close by? Can you walk home from here or do you need a ride?”
The housekeeper pointed east. “I’ll walk.” She scurried out.
“Thank you for coming,” Mercedes shouted after her.
“Blossom, why don’t you and I go to the table in the back of the store and chat?” Adam picked up one of the filled cups. “Over our coffee?”
“I’m coming, too, Preacher, and I’m not feeling a bit chatty,” Miss Birdie said.
“Oh, my.” Blossom’s ivory skin became paler, and her eyes grew enormous. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no, only a misunderstanding,” Adam assured her as he pushed her toward the back. Once there, he held out a chair for her. Skittishly, she perched on the edge of the seat.
“I don’t believe you understand the mission of the Widows,” he began.
“We take care of other people, ourselves,” the pillar interrupted from where she stood next to the table. “We do the work. We don’t have our servants do the work.”
Because Blossom looked as if she was on the verge of tears, Adam took Miss Birdie’s elbow and escorted her, forcefully, toward the front of the store. “I’ll handle this,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. Taking a stand against the pillar had never been one of his favorite actions.
“ We are the servants,” Miss Birdie said loudly as he headed toward the table again and she stomped back to the work area.
He took a chair across from Blossom and took a gulp of coffee. “Great coffee.”
Blossom brightened a little.
“I have a favorite Bible verse, from the book of Micah. I’d like to share it with you,” Adam said. “‘…what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?’”
“Very pretty,” she said. “But,” she leaned forward and whispered, “that Birdie MacDowell isn’t a bit humble. Not
Winnie blinked, Mercedes shook her head, and Miss Birdie—well, Miss Birdie continued to look stunned. Adam had never seen her taken aback. He’d never believed the pillar could be at a loss for words.
Both Winnie and Mercedes looked at Miss Birdie, expecting her to take over. When she didn’t, Mercedes said sweetly, “Hello, Blossom. You brought your housekeeper?”
“Oh, yes.” Blossom motioned in the direction of the woman. “That’s Evelyn, my housekeeper.”
“Why isn’t she at home?” Winnie said. “Keeping your house?”
“You said we were cleaning. I don’t clean well.” She fluttered her beautifully manicured hands toward the confusion of the room.
Finally, Miss Birdie found several dozen words. “The Widows are cleaning the thrift shop and sorting clothing,” she said in a voice so cold it could freeze the coffee Blossom had started to pour. “Not our housekeeper or our maids, but the Widows. This is a community service that we , the Widows, do.”
This time Blossom blinked. “But I’m not at all good with this sort of thing. I’m not dressed for it.” They all examined her lovely pale blue silk shirt and slacks with matching high-heeled sandals.
Because Adam feared Miss Birdie would have a stroke, he stepped forward. “Blossom, the Widows themselves do community service. It is their way of being servants, of helping others unselfishly.”
“But I brought coffee, and my cook baked us another of those coffee cakes you all enjoyed so much.” She smiled at them all.
“Not again,” the pillar grumbled.
“Dear,” Mercedes said. “Thank you, but as much as we enjoyed that pastry, we aren’t an eating group. We’re a doing-things-for-others group. We thought you understood that when we invited you to join.”
“At the suggestion of the preacher,” the pillar stated. Her tone said, Don’t blame me for this mess.
“You don’t want the coffee?” She glanced down at the three cups she’d poured.
“Evelyn, thank you for coming,” Adam said. “Do you live close by? Can you walk home from here or do you need a ride?”
The housekeeper pointed east. “I’ll walk.” She scurried out.
“Thank you for coming,” Mercedes shouted after her.
“Blossom, why don’t you and I go to the table in the back of the store and chat?” Adam picked up one of the filled cups. “Over our coffee?”
“I’m coming, too, Preacher, and I’m not feeling a bit chatty,” Miss Birdie said.
“Oh, my.” Blossom’s ivory skin became paler, and her eyes grew enormous. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no, only a misunderstanding,” Adam assured her as he pushed her toward the back. Once there, he held out a chair for her. Skittishly, she perched on the edge of the seat.
“I don’t believe you understand the mission of the Widows,” he began.
“We take care of other people, ourselves,” the pillar interrupted from where she stood next to the table. “We do the work. We don’t have our servants do the work.”
Because Blossom looked as if she was on the verge of tears, Adam took Miss Birdie’s elbow and escorted her, forcefully, toward the front of the store. “I’ll handle this,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. Taking a stand against the pillar had never been one of his favorite actions.
“ We are the servants,” Miss Birdie said loudly as he headed toward the table again and she stomped back to the work area.
He took a chair across from Blossom and took a gulp of coffee. “Great coffee.”
Blossom brightened a little.
“I have a favorite Bible verse, from the book of Micah. I’d like to share it with you,” Adam said. “‘…what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?’”
“Very pretty,” she said. “But,” she leaned forward and whispered, “that Birdie MacDowell isn’t a bit humble. Not
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