The Matchmakers Page 5

  Everywhere she looked she saw tasks that she had been neglecting.

  She was grateful when her father informed her that he was willing to roll up his sleeves and go to work. For the first time since he’d retired, he looked excited about a project at hand.

  On Monday she left a little list, and by the time she arrived home from work that evening, he had already completed many of the assignments. She fixed a hurried meal, changed into old jeans, and together they tackled the rest. The next day the routine was repeated. Cynthia soon found that with the brightening of her home, her spirits brightened as well. It felt great to see the rooms transformed. She was enjoying even straightening out drawers and closets—places that would not be on display for her guests, but knowing everything was orderly made her feel good. I should have done this long ago, she scolded herself and wondered just why she hadn’t. How could she have let things get so far behind? But she’d not had enthusiasm for the tasks before. No compelling reason to take them on. It had been enough to just try to make it through each day.

  “It looks great!” her father exclaimed with a broad smile when the very last item was scratched from the final list. Cynthia agreed. It did look good. She loved the new kitchen wallpaper. The borders that had been added to the boys’ rooms. The freshness of the window treatments. The clean, unmarked paint on the walls. Even the carpet that she had longed to replace looked fresh and quite acceptable after the thorough shampooing.

  “Sunday?”

  “Sunday.”

  They stood there and grinned at each other.

  The dinner went very well. Cynthia served a pot roast to rave reviews. The cherry pie was equally appreciated. The kids went off to play and the adults settled in the living room to chat, coffee cups in hand. After they moved from the subject of the weather to the main points of the morning’s sermon, Cynthia noticed that the conversation on this occasion became more personal. More intimate.

  “I don’t feel too comfortable where I am now,” Mrs. Weston admitted. “I’m thinking of selling that big house and moving. But it’s hard, you know. That was our dream home, Carl’s and mine. But he scarcely had time to enjoy it. It seems… strange … that things happen like that. It would have been so much better if I were still in the old house.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Then again—I likely never would have met any of you, and Carl would have never realized his dream. He always had in mind that I needed a more—well, a larger, more impressive home. I was quite happy where I was. But he—” She stopped and smiled softly. “Guess men and women see things differently.”

  Cynthia’s father nodded. “We do,” he admitted. “I would’ve loved to have given Mary a nice, big house. One like she deserved. But it never happened. We lived in the same little home for all the twenty-nine years of our marriage.”

  “Twenty-nine years?”

  Her father nodded.

  “Carl and I were married for thirty-four.”

  Roger and I were only married for seven, Cynthia thought. We were cheated.

  But Cynthia did not say the words. She even forced the thought from her mind. How could she think that way? God knew what was best in life—even in death.

  “Well, one can cherish the memories of past days—but not live in them,” the woman continued. “I thank God for each one of my special memories. But as good as they are, more than memories are needed to carry a person through the days. One must—eventually—learn to move on.”

  Her father nodded, but Cynthia thought that she still could read doubt in his eyes. It had been hard for her father to move on.

  “So do you have any plans?” Cal, who had been listening thoughtfully, asked.

  “No, not yet. But I like it here. I like the church, the pastor, the wonderful, busy seniors’ program. The feel of… of warm family.” She cast a glance toward her son. “I’ve been doing some thinking about moving here.”

  Cynthia also took a quick peek at P.C. Weston. She did not see him flinch. Saw no shadow of concern in his eyes. She could not read his face at all. Was he at all at odds with his mother’s comment?

  “I think that would be wonderful,” her father was saying. By the look in his eyes, he was very enthusiastic about the idea.

  “We’d love to have you,” Judith put in. “It already feels like you belong. It’s hard to remember that you’ve only been with us for a few weeks.”

  Mrs. Weston reached out and clasped Judith’s hand in her right and Cynthia’s in her left. “I feel that way too,” she said simply. “You two have made me feel so at home.”

  It was time to do the dishes.

  Four weeks later the Westons issued an invitation. The little party was to get together again.

  “Preston’s apartment is far too small to host a dinner,” Mrs. Weston explained. “So we are going to a restaurant. Then we will go back to his place for dessert and coffee.”

  No one complained about the arrangement.

  The restaurant meal was a wonderful treat. The Westons had chosen the best place in town. With no need for the hostess to be jumping up to serve or to clear the plates, all of them settled in to enjoy the food and the conversation.

  When the meal was over there was no lingering over coffee, no playroom to which to send the kids. The attorney settled the bill and Mrs. Weston pushed her chair back.

  “We must get these youngsters away from the table and give them some running room,” she said. “They have been sitting quite long enough.”

  Her smile included all five. “You have behaved so nicely. I’m proud of you.”

  The kids squirmed in embarrassed pleasure.

  They had done well, Cynthia agreed as she pushed away from the table. Even her Todd and Justin. But she was a little nervous now. What would happen at the bachelor apartment? How would the immaculate attorney respond to five active, noisy kids romping through his quarters? She wished they could just go on home and leave the event on a positive note.

  Just as she feared, when they were invited to step through the door, everything in the apartment spoke of expensive taste and extreme orderliness. Cynthia held her breath.

  “You youngsters. Check the closet there,” Mrs. Weston said as she bustled in. “Preston did some shopping so you’d have something to do while we visit.”

  The kids needed no second invitation. They bounded toward the closet and fell to their knees. Indeed the attorney had done some shopping. Cynthia’s mouth opened in surprise. She had never seen such up-to-date toys. They were not many in number but carefully chosen. She quickly spotted two new motorized space station building sets that her boys had begged for as Christmas gifts—and she had been unable to supply. There was also a small train set, complete with tracks and a village to construct.

  Erin, too, had been considered. Quietly she took schoolteacher Barbie with her potential classroom and went off to a corner to set up the scene.

  The boys expressed enthusiasm and dived in with noisy excitement. Cynthia noticed the attorney smile softly. He seemed pleased with their pleasure.

  Maybe it was self-protection rather than generosity, thought Cynthia. He knew if they didn’t have something to do they might—But that’s unfair, she checked herself. It was kind of him to think of the kids.

  The dessert, pound cake with strawberries and whipping cream, was delicious. They sat around the living room and drank rich, hot coffee and chatted while the kids continued to play with the new toys. Cynthia decided that it hadn’t turned out too badly after all.

  When it came time to go, the boys were disappointed. Reluctantly they began to gather up remote-controlled cars and the many connecting pieces and place them back in the box in the closet.

  “They’ll still be here when you come again,” said the attorney. Cynthia glanced up. Was he serious? Was he actually considering letting them come again? Their social obligation was now covered. Was there to be another round?

  Cynthia looked toward Judith. Her friend only smiled.

  “It’s
really working quite well, don’t you think? I mean, your dad and Mrs. Weston seem to really enjoy each other.”

  Cynthia smiled. “You’re not going to believe this, but do you know what Daddy said the other day? He asked me to go shopping with him. Shopping! He hasn’t added anything to his wardrobe since Mama died, except for the shirts, socks, and underwear that I pick up for him.”

  “Shopping? A man?”

  “I couldn’t believe it. I asked him just what he wanted, and he said—with a rather embarrassed look—that he needed about everything. That he had let himself get pretty seedy. Imagine!”

  “Well…” said Judith, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe things are moving along faster than we would have dared to think.”

  “I hope they don’t move too fast,” Cynthia said soberly. “I mean, I think she’s great, but I want them both to be sure.”

  “They’re not kids—either one of them,” Judith reminded. “I know, but … well … you never can be too cautious. I’ve known of two perfectly wonderful people who just didn’t work out together at all.”

  Judith nodded her agreement, then said, “So, any future plans? Dinners? Outings?”

  “Daddy and P.C. are taking the boys to the hockey game next Friday night.”

  “He likes hockey?”

  “You’re surprised?”

  Judith shrugged. “I guess I am… a bit. I mean, he seems more like the kind who would be into—I dunno—polo. Cricket.”

  They looked at each other and fought to control their giggles.

  Cynthia became serious again. “Guess he likes most every sport—according to Daddy.”

  “So the two men will be going off with the boys to this hockey thing. Then what? More events? More outings?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  Cynthia looked up, not sure what the question implied. “What do you mean—mind? It’s good for boys to have—to be with men. Daddy has always said so. I’m glad that someone is willing to take them. Sports are good for them—except wrestling. I draw the line at wrestling. I never could understand grown men—”

  “And what do you do?”

  Cynthia set her coffee cup down. “What do you mean?”

  “If these … these males in your life spend their time running to … to sports things, what do you do?”

  Cynthia frowned. She had not thought about the lonely nights sitting at home by herself. It was not an enjoyable prospect.

  “Maybe you should find something to do with Mrs. Weston,” Judith went on.

  “Could you join us?”

  Even though Cynthia was learning to care deeply for the older woman, she was not quite prepared to take full responsibility for the friendship.

  “I have a family,” answered Judith simply. “Friday night is our family night. The kids always look forward to planning the activity. They plan way ahead. Next Friday we are going bowling.”

  “Oh, fun.”

  “You could join us. Cal wouldn’t mind.”

  For a moment Cynthia was tempted but she quickly shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said lamely. “It would feel very … odd. My father taking the boys out and me going off on my own.”

  “Another time then. Maybe you all can join us.”

  Cynthia turned back to her pastry. It did sound like fun, but after all, family outings were special and meant to be just that. It would change things if she horned in.

  She looked up at Judith and smiled her thanks but made no commitment.

  When spring came, Mrs. Weston decided to go home and put her big house up for sale. Cynthia knew that she would miss her. It wouldn’t be the same without her cheerful smile greeting them each Sunday.

  “This is late notice,” the diminutive woman said on her last Sunday with them, “but could you go out for dinner? I’m going to miss you all so much, and I thought that we should spend one more—”

  “Yes!” Todd drew back a fist and pumped it enthusiastically.

  “I do have a roast in—” Cynthia started to explain.

  “I can run home and remove it from the oven,” her father said quickly.

  Cynthia smiled. “Well,” she said, “it sounds like the family is much more interested in your invitation than in eating at home—so, yes, thank you.”

  “I have my car. Preston came early for the men’s prayer time before the service. I’ll meet you at Dixon’s,” Mrs. Weston instructed. “I’ll go on ahead and have them set up the table.”

  “Dixon’s.” Cynthia nodded, watching as Mrs. Weston hurried away to her car.

  “C’mon, Grandpa Paul,” prompted Justin. “Let’s go take out the roast.”

  Her father moved to follow the two eager boys, then turned back to Cynthia. “No need for you to come. We’ll just turn off the roast and meet you at Dixon’s.”

  “But… how am I to—”

  “You can ride with P.C.” And he was gone.

  Cynthia felt her cheeks coloring. How was she going to go to the attorney and say that she had been left behind? But he suddenly was there beside her. “Ready?” was all he said. She nodded, relieved that she hadn’t needed to ask.

  I could go with Judith and Cal, she found herself thinking as they left the church and proceeded across the parking lot. But she knew they always had a full van, what with their own brood and picking up neighborhood children for the Sunday service.

  P.C. opened the car door and she settled herself on the smooth dark leather of the seat. The car even smelled clean. Cynthia thought of her own vehicle. It had been years since it had looked polished. Not since Roger … She really needed to give it a good cleaning. In fact, she really was in need of a newer car. If it wasn’t for her father …

  “Good sermon,” he began as he backed from the parking spot.

  Cynthia nodded.

  “Mother really enjoys the services here.”

  “That’s nice,” mumbled Cynthia.

  He smiled. He really had a pleasant smile when he chose to use it.

  “But then, that’s not all she enjoys.” Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out if there was some kind of hidden message in the words.

  “I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to talk with you—alone—for some time,” he went on and Cynthia blinked.

  He grinned. “There sure isn’t any opportunity when we are in our little crowd.”

  No, there was not. She wondered if they had said more than a dozen words to each other over the past months. But the fact had not concerned her. Not in the least.

  “I’ve been wondering… if you … well, if you feel like I do?”

  Cynthia squirmed on the leather seat and held her breath. What in the world did the man mean?

  “What do you think? Maybe I shouldn’t even say it—or think it—but does it seem to you that Mother and your father might be just a little … attracted to each other?”

  Cynthia let the air release in a little gasp and turned to look fully at him. She could feel the flush of her cheeks. But since he was asking an honest question—with seriousness—she felt obligated to answer. She swallowed hard and nodded slightly.

  “I … I certainly believe that Daddy thinks your mother is a … a delightful woman,” she managed to say.

  “Would it upset you if anything were to come of it?”

  “Oh no,” said Cynthia quickly. “I quite like your mother.”

  He smiled.

  “Would it … would it … upset you?” she asked in turn.

  “Me?” His smile broadened. “On the contrary. It would ease my mind considerably.”

  Why? she wondered inwardly as she faced forward again. Didn’t this man realize how blessed he was to have such a wonderful mother?

  “It’s been great for me—having Mother here,” he explained, as if Cynthia had spoken her thoughts. “But I don’t think living with me is the life she needs. She needs … more. She is a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman. She needs to learn to be able to give of herself again.
Frankly, living with me is not enough to fill her days. She needs … people … activities … a place of service. She isn’t likely to find that if she stays on with me.”

  Cynthia turned questioning eyes on him. “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m sure of it. She spends all her time fussing. Over little things. Things that don’t really matter. She needs more than small, cramped quarters and one bachelor son. A challenge. A bigger world.”

  “But… she’s going to sell her house.”

  “I know. That concerns me. Oh … not that she’s going to sell her house. That’s the right move, I think. But then what? Cooped up in my apartment all day? I don’t think that would be good for her.”

  “I … I’m afraid I don’t follow—” Cynthia began.

  “I thought we might—sort of—join forces.”

  Cynthia frowned. Where was this conversation going?

  “They do seem to enjoy each other. I have a great deal of respect for your father. He’s the kind of man—well, frankly, I wouldn’t mind Mother becoming … involved.”

  “But—”

  “Of course, they must make up their own mind. I don’t want to force anything. But still, if they had just a—” He grinned again and held up a thumb and finger, indicating a small space. “If they had just a little bit of encouragement—I mean if they knew that we were in favor, then they might not be reluctant to explore—” he hesitated a moment, then finished with, “the possibility.”

  “I don’t know,” Cynthia began slowly. “It sounds—”

  “Nothing manipulative,” he cut into her thoughts, then quickly added, “Of course, if you are doubtful, if you don’t think Mother—”

  “Oh no. It’s not that. It’s just—well—I don’t want to interfere.” “Nor do I. But I wouldn’t mind giving, what should I say, assent.”

  “And how could we do that?”

  “Mother will be back here—soon, I hope. I am hopeful that it won’t take long to sell her house. She thinks the world of you—and the boys. It wouldn’t be at all hard to—well, to arrange for little outings, and then give them some space to talk … to get to know each other better.”