An Unlikely Match

Blanching, she looked down at her hands, ringed fingers twining together anxiously. Once, she had wanted very much to marry Kent Monroe, and had nearly done so. Only at the last moment had she realized that she could never be happy living apart from her dear sisters. But when she had suggested to Kent that they live with her family, he hadn’t taken it very well, claiming that a “real man” would make his own home. She had understood that perfectly, but it had still hurt.

The aftermath of the breakup had been quite difficult for her, but she had never regretted her decision not to marry. Kent had truly been the only man who had ever tempted her to do so. When Kent had married Deirdre Billups, Odelia had put away her secret longings, and she had been more than content over the years. She had actually been quite happy and genuinely glad for Kent and Deirdre when, after years of marriage, their son had been born. Likewise, she had grieved for Kent and Deirdre when their son had died in an accident at the age of forty-one and then again, over a decade ago now, for Kent when Deirdre had succumbed to an aneurysm.

Since that time, she and Kent had gradually renewed their friendship, always keeping a polite distance. She had found that arrangement very satisfactory and had imagined that they would end their lives as casual friends with their shared past unremarked but unforgotten, at least between the two of them. Instead, in thirteen short days she had somehow reverted to her old foolish self, longing for the kind of relationship that she had long since determined was not for her. How could she, at her age, feel such nonsensical, girlish emotions? She was simply astounded.

“Dearest, are you all right?” Hypatia asked, calling Odelia from her reverie.

Odelia looked up, glancing from one sister to the other. Both watched her with concern etched upon their faces.

“Who, me?”

“Certainly she means you,” Magnolia said with a snort. “Who else? I certainly wasn’t engaged to Kent Monroe.”

Odelia forced herself to laugh brightly, hoping that it didn’t sound as stilted as she feared. “I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not our house that caught fire.”

“You just seem…not yourself lately,” Hypatia observed gently.

“Not yourself,” Magnolia agreed.

“If having Kent Monroe here is disturbing to you—” Hypatia began.

“It could be dyspepsia,” Magnolia pointed out brusquely. “You remember how Mother suffered with dyspepsia. It put her all out of sorts.”

“—we could always offer to put them up in a hotel,” Hypatia went on, sending Magnolia a speaking glance.

“I’m not dyspeptic!” Odelia insisted, turning on Magnolia. “I’ve never had digestive difficulties in my life.” As her waistline must surely demonstrate, she thought morosely.

“Well, of all of us, you’re most like Mother,” Magnolia argued defensively.

Plump, she means, Odelia thought. Perhaps she ought to pay a bit more attention to what she ate, she decided, mumbling, “My digestion is fine.”

“It’s certainly not unrequited love,” Magnolia commented, chuckling. “Not at our age.”

Odelia frowned and batted her eyelashes against a sudden welling of tears. She might be past the age of romance, but surely she should not be past the age of caring about her weight, if only as a matter of health. Abruptly, she wondered what Kent thought about her rounded figure. He had once declared her the very model of slender femininity, but what did he think now? Had age and indulgence robbed her of all appeal?

Closing her eyes, she told herself not to bring Kent into this, not even mentally. Obviously, to her shame, she needed to pray much more diligently about her personal lapses, and so she would. Meanwhile, she’d be boiled and peeled before she’d give in to this nonsensical emotional confusion.

Mentally centering herself, she heard Hypatia say, “I understand that new hotel out on the highway is quite comfortable and even offers kitchenettes. If we phrased it delicately and prepaid, say, a month’s rent, I doubt that either Kent or Ellie would take offense. We could always—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Hypatia!” Odelia snapped, popping open her eyes. “There is no polite way to turn someone out of your home when you have already offered them shelter and have more than ample accommodations for them.”

Horrified at this uncharacteristic harshness, Hypatia drew back, her eyes wide.

Beside Odelia on the settee, Magnolia drawled, “I think she should see a doctor.”

Embarrassed, Odelia considered placating her sisters by agreeing, but then she thought of Brooks Leland, the family physician, and knew that he was far too astute not to see that her problem was emotional and spiritual rather than physical.

Fighting for an even, melodic tone, she said, “I don’t need a doctor. I just need…” she looked to the windows at the front of the long, rectangular room “…sunshine.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “I need sunshine. And fresh air. Spring. I’m so very tired of winter. I need a dose of spring.” Making a beeline for the foyer, she decided that she would take an overcoat from the cloakroom and let herself out the sunroom door. “If you need me, I’ll be in the greenhouse,” she told her sisters. Praying, she added silently.

Perhaps then she could put aside these ridiculous longings and dreams, for such foolishness should be the purview of the young. What need had she of love at this late date, after all? It wasn’t as if they had time for children or growing old together. They were already old, she and Kent.

Too old.

Nothing promised such new possibilities as a Monday morning. At least, Ellie had always thought so. She loved the early-morning tranquility and neatness of her classroom, the moment of sublime peace before the children began to arrive, bringing their happy chaos with them, but Monday mornings were the best. As such, they always seemed ripe for prayer, but especially this particular Monday morning.

She’d mulled the problem of Asher Chatam all weekend without finding a solution, and now, as she read over her morning’s devotional, she wondered why she had not simply taken the matter to God. As the author of the devotional reminded her, God knew everything to be known about the whole situation anyway, even more than she did. He was just waiting for her to ask Him for the solution. Really, she could be so foolish sometimes. It was a wonder, a testament to God’s patience, that He didn’t drop stones out of Heaven onto her head at such moments.

Spreading her hands over the pages of her devotional book, she closed her eyes and began as she always did, whispering the words in her mind.

Holy Father, make me Your instrument this day. Help me to love and teach my students, to see and meet their needs as You would have me do. And, Lord, please show me how to deal with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. My grandfather deserves to be happy, really happy. He is the very soul of cheerful forbearance, as You know, and I know that Odelia would make him happy. I’m as convinced of it as Dallas is, only I would never have…

She bit her lip, unwilling even to put into words what she feared. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, after all. Besides, who was she to judge? And if Dallas had done something foolish to bring her aunt and Ellie’s grandfather together, well, what sense did it make to waste an opportunity like this? Just because she wouldn’t have done what she feared Dallas had done didn’t mean that God couldn’t use the situation for good. Did it?

If only the Chatam sisters hadn’t brought Asher into it! He could be a tad severe, and Dallas had always painted him as somewhat stodgy, but even she admitted that he was a very fine attorney, extremely intelligent and he could be trusted implicitly. Sadly, while Ellie admired those traits, they meant that he was bound to have the insurance company settling up in no time. Or worse yet, he might discover the truth of the fire—whatever that was—and then where would they be?

Would the insurance company even pay if the fire had been deliberately set? And what would happen to her dearest friend if… She turned off that line of thought, concentrating instead on her grandfather’s happiness.

Please, Lord, couldn’t You intercede here, just delay things a bit, maybe? I mean, Ash is bound to be busy. He has that prosperous look about him that busy attorneys who make lots of money often—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Money. That was the answer! All she had to do was tell Ash that she and her grandfather could not afford to pay him. Surely, that would put the brakes on things.

“Thank You,” she said brightly.

“For what?” asked a child’s voice.

Ellie’s eyes popped open. Her gently arched brows shot upward as she took in the two former pupils who stood with their bellies pressed to the front of her desk. Students often did that, especially when they wanted something. One of their mothers, a woman by the name of Ilene Riddle, stood behind them at a short distance.

“Hello,” Ellie said.

“Hello, Miss Monroe,” the two girls replied in sync.

“We didn’t want to disturb you,” put in the mother, moving forward a step. “You seemed to be meditating.”

An attractive platinum blonde with white-tipped nails and dark eye makeup, she had just been divorced for the second time when her daughter, Angie, had entered Ellie’s kindergarten class about a year ago now. Angie and Shawna, the second girl, had quickly become best friends and apparently still were. Ellie noticed that in contrast to her mother’s neat stylishness, Angie still looked as if she’d slept in her clothes, her short, dark blond hair sticking out at odd angles.

“I like to start my day with a prayer,” Ellie said, smiling. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Please, Miss Monroe,” Shawna pleaded, tilting her dark, sleek head, “we don’t get a coach, and we ’membered that you can play.”

“You played with us all those times at recess,” Angie put in eagerly.

“Play?” Ellie echoed, puzzled. “Play what?”

“Soccer,” Ms. Riddle clarified. “The girls have signed up for the spring soccer season, but there aren’t enough coaches to go around. Unless we can find someone to help out, the girls won’t get to play.”

“Oh, dear,” Ellie said, rising to her feet, her hands still planted atop the book on her desk.

“I’ve volunteered as team mother,” Ilene went on, “but I know nothing at all about the sport. I mean, I can organize everything, but I just don’t have any of the skills needed to teach the kids about the game, and the commissioner is apparently pretty strict about who is allowed to coach. We thought—hoped—you might be willing to help us.”