Building a Perfect Match

Petra called for her to enter, and she did so, slipping quietly into the comfortable room. “I just thought I’d check on you, dear,” she explained. “You seemed…preoccupied at dinner.”

Pointing the remote at the flat-screen TV mounted above the fireplace, Petra shut it off. She motioned for Hypatia to join her on the couch. Upholstered in pale lilac, it made a pretty contrast in the mint-green and creamy-white room.

“I have something difficult to do tomorrow,” Petra explained haltingly as Hypatia sank down on the edge of the sofa cushion. “I have to remove…someone from the project.”

“Ah. That can’t be pleasant.”

Petra shook her head. “No. In fact, it’s more awful than I thought it would be. Because he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“It’s just one of those unhappy things,” Petra said, shaking her head again, “but it’s probably for the best.”

“I can tell you’re distressed by it, though.”

“Yes, well, it comes with the job,” Petra informed her.

“And this job is very important to you, isn’t it, dear?” Hypatia asked, trying to understand.

“More important than you know!” Petra exclaimed. “Oh, Aunt Hypatia, this is my chance, my one real chance, to make something of myself!”

Shocked, Hypatia drew her spine straight. “Why, Petra Gayle Chatam,” she scolded, “you are precious just as you are! How can you doubt it?”

“But I’m not like the rest of them!” Petra cried plaintively. “You know how dedicated my parents are.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And Asher is a wonderful lawyer.”

“Without question.”

Petra shot to her feet and began to pace. “And Phillip! He leads the life of an adventurer, climbing mountains and traveling all over the world.”

“I pray for his safety all the time,” Hypatia admitted with a nod.

“Even Dallas has always known where her place is in this world,” Petra went on agitatedly. “She wasn’t nine years old when she announced that she was going to be a schoolteacher.”

“And so she is,” Hypatia observed, still confused.

“But I,” Petra declared, pausing to thump herself in the chest, “I’ve never had the slightest idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is that all?” Hypatia blurted, oddly relieved.

“All?” Petra echoed. Shaking her head dejectedly, she dropped down beside Hypatia once more. “In my family, that’s everything.”

“Now, now,” Hypatia soothed, taking her hand. “I know that’s how it must seem, dear, but you’re leaving out one very important ingredient.”

“What’s that?”

“God’s guidance.”

“But I’ve begged for God’s guidance,” Petra told her.

“Then you have to trust that He’s leading you where He would have you go.”

“I do,” Petra assured her, squeezing her hand. “That’s why this job is so important to me. I believe, I know, that He’s led me to this point.”

“Well, as long as you’re following Him, you have nothing to fear,” Hypatia said. “He’ll give you everything you need.”

Petra nodded. “You’re right. I know it. I don’t doubt Him. I doubt myself.”

“You just stop that,” Hypatia ordered, as if Petra was six again and would obey unhesitatingly.

Petra laughed. “I’ll try.”

“If it helps, dear,” Hypatia told her, “I have every confidence in you.”

Smiling, Petra hugged her, whispering, “Thank you.”

Hypatia cleared her throat of the lump that had risen there, patted her niece, and rose smoothly to her feet. “I’ll bid you good-night now.” Bending, she kissed Petra on the forehead as she used to do when she and her sisters had tucked in the visiting children at night. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Hypatia went to the door, but there she paused. “I’ll pray for you tomorrow. And for whoever you must remove, poor man.”

Petra bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Hypatia went out, determined to share her concerns with her sisters. They would pray, as always, and God would direct Petra’s steps. As for that unfortunate man who did not deserve to lose his job, she would ask God to bless him in ways that he couldn’t even imagine. Whoever he was, she hoped that he would feel the hand of God in his life and trust Him to provide his heart’s desire.

Chapter Three

“It’s not about his skills, Mr. Bowen,” Petra said for perhaps the third time. “It’s just a difference in management styles.”

That excuse for removing Dale from the construction manager’s position didn’t sound any better now than the first time she’d used it, but she had little else to offer the man sitting across the battered desk from her. Walton Bowen was the rarest of persons, a truly nice individual. Nevertheless, he showed some irritation now, bracing his heavy hands on the arms of a chair that had seen better days.

“I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t get along with my son,” he insisted.

“It’s not a matter of getting along, sir,” she assured him. “As I said, it’s just a—”

“Difference in management styles,” said a wry, familiar voice from the doorway of the cluttered, dusty office.

She hadn’t expected Dale to attend this meeting, but she wasn’t surprised that he had. He was the construction manager on the project, after all. For the moment. She braced herself, tugging on the hem of her navy blue skirt, which she wore with a matching jacket and sensible flats. Dale’s boots clumped across the wood floor, as the hydraulic arm on the heavy office door wheezed closed.

“If Anderton thinks he can work around the BCHS by getting me out of the way, he’s wrong,” Dale said to Petra, parking one hip on the corner of his father’s desk and crossing his long legs at the ankles.

She couldn’t deny either Dale’s implication or his conclusion, but neither could she refuse a direct order. “He, we, feel that the work will go more smoothly with someone else as construction manager.”

Dale folded his arms, looking down on her from his perch. “And I’m telling you that no one in this company knows the BCHS better or works closer with them than I do. No one in this town, for that matter.”