An Unlikely Match

by Arlene James

  “Help yourselves.”

  It had been ages since Asher had parked himself on one of those small, round stools at the soda bar. He usually visited one of the specialty coffee shops on the square these days. Something about those red vinyl-covered seats edged in chrome and fixed atop a stationary metal pole made him feel silly. Still, he sat when Ellie motioned him to it. She rounded the corner and slid behind the counter.

  “Now, let’s see,” she said, looking around her, “maybe you’d prefer something other than a float. Say, a cream fizz or a sarsaparilla?”

  “Really?” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “A sarsaparilla? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, then?”

  “Maybe you’d better choose.”

  She smiled. “A float it is, but a very special one.”

  He watched doubtfully as she squirted a measure of dark syrup into a tall metal cup, added a firm scoop of vanilla ice cream, blended the ingredients and then divided the resulting sludge between two tall, fluted goblets. She flooded the goblets with cola from one of the fountain taps, forming an impressive lather on each. Plucking two straws from a container, she shoved them into the goblets and carried both around the counter, where she took a seat next to Asher, facing backward.

  “A cappuccino root beer float,” she announced, plunking his down in front of him. Hanging her elbow on the counter, she took a long pull on her straw then drawled in a thick, syrupy voice, “For the sophisticated palate.”

  Asher didn’t know whether to be amused or wary. He took a careful sip and arched his eyebrows, surprised by the rich flavor. “Mmm, that’s good.”

  “It is,” she agreed, spinning around on the stool so that they faced the same direction, “and terribly addicting. I limit myself strictly to five a week.”

  He sputtered a chuckle around his straw. “You’re kidding.”

  “I couldn’t get through that door back there if I had five of these a week. A girl can dream, though, can’t she?”

  “Is that what you dream of?” Asher asked offhandedly, helping himself to a napkin from a dispenser.

  “No, not really,” she answered, suddenly serious. She stirred the drink with her straw, drawing languid circles in the thick foam. “I dream of what every woman dreams of. Husband, home, children. Romance.”

  “Romance,” he echoed sourly, with a shake of his head. “Romance will wreck the other three, if you’re not careful.”

  “Is that what happened to your marriage?” she asked softly. “She wanted romance to go along with the home and husband?”

  That came surprisingly close to the truth—so close, in fact, that Asher heard himself say, “Life is not romance. It’s a lot of hard work and, if you’re very blessed, part pleasure.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s all I’ve ever had time for.”

  “But what about other things, like children?”

  “We didn’t get that far,” he said tersely, “but I can’t imagine that adding kids to the mix would make room for romance.”

  “I think your definition of romance is too narrow,” she told him. “You’re talking about grand gestures of the flowers-and-mood-music sort. Sometimes romance is just knowing that you’ll be together at the end of the day. It’s wanting to be together even when the demands of life necessarily separate you.”

  “According to her, the ‘demands of life,’ as you put it, was the only part that I was any good at.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t any good at some of her parts, either.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked, shooting Ellie a surprised look. “She seems to have done okay the second time around.”

  “Maybe she has more in common with her husband this time, or maybe he doesn’t have to work as hard as most. A wife has to be supportive of a hardworking husband.”

  “Even if it means giving up what she wants and needs?”

  “Why would it?”

  “Maybe he just doesn’t have time for her. What then?”

  “Then he doesn’t really care for her.”

  He stared at Ellie, his worst fear laid bare.

  “Look,” Ellie said, shifting closer and lowering her voice, “every couple has to learn to make time for each other. Sometimes, one or both has to give up something, but normally they do it through shared interests and goals.”

  Asher stared at his drink. He could have given up soccer. At the time, it had seemed like the only thing keeping him sane, the only way he could get through law school and come home to Samantha with anything less than a snarl on his face. When they’d been dating, Samantha had often come out to watch and cheer him on when he’d played, but after the wedding, she had lost interest and come to resent every moment that he’d spent playing. But he hadn’t been willing to give it up. It had seemed unthinkable, frankly. What did that say about him as a person, let alone a husband?

  “Do you still love her?” Ellie asked, watching him closely.

  He wasn’t entirely sure now that he had ever loved Samantha, but he simply shook his head and went with the short answer. “No.”

  “Then it’s the failure that destroys you,” Ellie surmised.

  Astonished, Asher set his glass down with a plunk. He stared at her for a long moment, wondering just exactly what it was that he saw in her eyes. Understanding? Sadness? Wisdom? Hope? Something more, something from which he instinctively shied.

  “I expect Mr. Inventor has gone on his way by now,” he said, injecting just the right note of avuncular humor into his tone. “Gotta run.” He took a last drag on his straw—the drink really was quite good—spun his stool and left, leaving her with a smile and a nod of thanks.

  He didn’t pretend that he wasn’t running away, because he was. And he counted it among the wisest things he’d ever done.

  Lord, heal that man, Ellie prayed, as Asher walked away. It wasn’t as simple as a broken heart; she saw that now. The poor man had chosen the wrong woman, and he’d taken on the full blame for the failure of the marriage, but his ex had chosen wrong, too. It wasn’t all his fault. Somehow, he had to learn to forgive and trust himself again. Open his eyes, Lord, she whispered in her heart, and then, because she couldn’t stop herself, Let him see what’s right in front of him.

  Her grandfather trundled up to her. His footsteps were no longer as quick or sure as they had once been, and his belly strained against the buttons of his white lab coat, but he was still himself—a man with a huge, loving heart. She smiled in gratitude for all he was to her, all he’d taught her.

  “Asher didn’t stay long,” he remarked.

  “He’s a busy man.”

  “The best ones are.” She said nothing to that, just smiled. “Ready?” he asked.

  She popped up off the stool. “Just let me wash these glasses first.”

  He squeezed in behind the counter and helped her. Seconds later, they left the building together. Relieved to find that Lance had, indeed, gone away, she happily allowed her grandfather to escort her to her red truck. His old sedan was constantly being serviced or repaired, so she often gave him a ride to or from the shop.

  Ten minutes later, Ellie turned her pickup between the thick brick pillars at the foot of the drive, passing by the wrought-iron gate with a tall, golden C at its center. As she downshifted to make the slight incline, a sense of peace enveloped her. This wasn’t home, and it didn’t feel like home, but it did feel like sanctuary.

  About halfway up the hill, the drive curved into a broad circle, with the graceful mansion standing at its apex. It was a beautiful old house, flanked by a rose arbor on the east and an enormous magnolia tree on the west. Everything about the place evoked a sense of permanence, continuity and hope.

  Parking at the foot of the broad, redbrick walkway, Ellie paused to silently thank God for the safety, comfort and peace that she and her grandfather had found in this place.

  “It’s a special house, isn’t it?” Kent remarked. “It always has been a special place
because the people in it are special. Funny how we imbue a place with our essence. I think that’s why there is nothing sadder than an empty house.” He shifted in his seat, looking at her. “Have you ever noticed how quickly an empty house deteriorates? You can sit there for decades and do little to nothing to maintain the place, and it will eventually fall down around your ears. But walk away, leave it empty, and it’ll go to pot in a matter of months, weeks sometimes.”

  “I hope this house is never empty,” she said.

  “Not until Jesus comes again and makes all things new. And even then I hope there will be Chatams here.”

  It was a sweet thought, one that humbled her. How silly she was to try to handle every little problem herself when the God of Creation and the Savior of Souls was in charge. From now on, she decided, she would let Him handle things and confine her own involvement to prayer. If Dallas had done what Ellie had feared she had, Ellie didn’t even want to know because she didn’t want to lie, even if it meant protecting her well-meaning but foolish friend. Besides, Ellie could not change anything that had happened or convince Asher to give her grandfather and his aunt time to search their hearts for long-buried feelings. Only God could do that.

  Besides, being in Asher’s company awoke foolish dreams. Why embarrass herself and feed her foolishness? He was not the man who could give her what she wanted, needed and deserved. He didn’t even believe himself capable of being a good husband, and didn’t want to try.

  Perhaps it wasn’t even about Asher, though. Perhaps it was all about her.

  Perhaps no man was right for her. Perhaps God intended her to remain single.

  Better that than married to the wrong man.

  It was only later, as she settled into her comfortable bed there in Chatam House, that a thought struck her. Asher had not always thought himself a poor candidate for marriage. Obviously, he had wanted to marry at one time. Otherwise, he would not have done so. No, it was just as she’d thought earlier. He had chosen the wrong woman, and that had changed his outlook entirely. Might the right woman change it once again?

  There you go, she scolded herself, punching her pillow into a more comfortable shape, asking for trouble. Imagining yourself with Asher will only set you up for disappointment.

  It would definitely be better to avoid the temptation of spinning dreams around Asher Chatam, which meant avoiding the man himself. God would bring the right man to her in His own good time. He had never failed to provide her with anything else, after all. She could trust Him for her own happiness, as well as her grandfather’s.

  It was past time that she acted like it.

  “Asher, dear!” Hypatia tilted her head to receive his kiss on her cheek. “We weren’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

  Glancing meaningfully at his sister on the settee next to their Aunt Magnolia in the front parlor of Chatam House, Asher fixed a smile in place. “Well, I was told that I could find my sister here.” Run her to ground, more like.

  She had dodged him repeatedly over the past twenty-four hours. He’d been forced to go by the elementary school where she taught, only to be told by a coworker of hers that she’d mentioned having dinner with her aunts. He’d decided to drop by Chatam House and corner her here. Besides, he wanted a chance to get the story from Garrett Willows, the aunties’ gardener.

  “You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Magnolia stated, exactly as Asher expected.

  “Oh, say you will,” Hypatia urged before he could respond.

  “Absolutely,” he agreed, noticing his little sister’s frown.

  He had to judge for himself whether Dallas knew something that Ellie wasn’t telling him about the fire at the Monroe house. After all, he could not in good conscience hand off the case to another attorney until he knew what he might be handing off.

  He had determined in the midst of a long, restless night that he definitely had to shed the case. And Ellie. Even if it meant paying the costs himself, though he’d make sure no one ever realized that.

  The whole idea smacked of skullduggery, but he just didn’t see any other way to handle things since Ellie had made him that root beer cappuccino float and effectively laid bare his soul. He just needed enough information to make sure that he picked the right attorney to take over. Otherwise, the aunts would carve out his heart with their dainty silver teaspoons.

  That wasn’t the only reason he needed to see Dallas, though. The matter of his sister’s meddling had to be addressed.

  “Dallas, dear, will you tell Hilda that we need an extra plate laid at the dinner table?” Hypatia asked sweetly.

  “Sure.” Leaping to her feet, Dallas tossed Asher a sour look, her short red curls bouncing.

  As she left the room, he took her seat next to Magnolia, asking, “Where is everyone?”

  Magnolia revealed that Odelia had taken a walk and the Monroes had gone back to their house to put out food for their cat. “They rarely come down until dinner is on the table, anyway,” she said.

  Asher felt a bit of relief. He wanted to judge their reactions to his last conversation with Ellie, but he didn’t want to spend any more time with her than necessary.

  “They try so hard not to impose,” Hypatia told him softly.

  “And Aunt Odelia? Is she well?”

  “Well enough,” Hypatia replied, glancing away.

  “She’s dieting,” Mags hissed, her disapproval clear.

  “You’re kidding!” he blurted out.

  “Won’t even take a decent tea,” Mags told him in a low tone of voice.

  Asher frowned. Could it be because of Kent Monroe? He shook his head. A younger woman might seek to lose weight in order to impress a man, but a woman of Odelia’s age? He couldn’t believe it. On the other hand, she had grown rather round in the past few years. Perhaps it was a simple matter of ill-fitting clothes.

  He suddenly remembered an old photograph of Odelia in a strapless ball gown. Her chestnut hair swept up in an elegant style, diamonds at her earlobes and throat, she had worn a corsage tied about one wrist and a beaming smile. Beside her, Hypatia might have traded places with the queen of England, while Mags had resembled nothing so much as a farm girl in her mother’s Sunday best. Odelia, however, could have been a movie star to rival the likes of Ginger Rogers.

  Perhaps having a young woman in the house—a woman as lovely as Ellie Monroe—had inspired Odelia to reclaim her figure.

  He cleared his throat and tried to get his thoughts off Ellie, asking, “Is Garrett Willows around?”

  Magnolia raised her eyebrows at him. “I expect he’s in the greenhouse. Why do you ask?”

  Asher served up as much truth as he was willing to at this point. “I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to him. Just thought we might be able to connect over the dinner table.”

  “Oh, no, dear. Garrett doesn’t eat with us very often now that his sister has moved out of the house,” Hypatia told him.

  “I don’t know why,” Mags groused. “The boy’s not just staff now. He’s practically family!”

  “Young men need time to themselves,” Hypatia told her.

  Mags merely humphed at that. Her fondness for the fellow spoke well of him, but Asher believed in forming his own opinions, and Willows had more than the usual number of variables to assess. He forgot for the moment that Willows and the Monroes would soon be someone else’s problem.

  Hypatia changed the subject to Asher’s parents, and they chatted about his father’s plans to retire at last from his practice. Surgery, Asher pointed out, was a complex matter requiring constant reeducation, and his dad had just turned sixty-nine. At sixty-one, his mother intended to continue seeing pediatric patients several days a week, but she had recently taken on a much younger partner.

  “Do you think they’ll move home when your mother fully retires?” Hypatia asked hopefully.

  Asher smiled. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  His parents had lived in Waco for thirty years. Though their ties to Buffalo Creek we
re strong, he didn’t see them moving back here anytime soon. His mother had hinted that the advent of grandchildren in their lives could change that, but Asher had told her in no uncertain terms to look to his younger siblings, none of whom were married yet. Phillip, thirty-one, lived in Seattle and pretty much kept to himself, answering phone messages with texts and the occasional email, often weeks after the fact. No one was even entirely sure what he did for a living, though one thing was certain: like the rest of the siblings, it was not connected to the field of medicine. Petra, at twenty-five, still lived with their parents while finishing her master’s degree in hotel management. That left Dallas, who was in her second year of teaching—and her twenty-third year of meddling, which was why the Monroes were now ensconced in Chatam House and disrupting his life.

  In fact, if Dallas had not purposefully set out to make the acquaintance of Kent Monroe’s granddaughter, she would not even be friends with Ellie and he would have been spared the inconvenience of…an unwanted attraction. Dallas had announced her intention to introduce herself to the Monroes on the very day that she had first arrived on campus at Buffalo Creek Bible College. As her much older brother, Asher had always taken a rather parental role with Dallas, so he hadn’t hesitated to caution his sister not to interfere in something that did not concern her, but as usual she had not listened.

  Over time, Asher had relaxed about the situation somewhat. For one thing, she and Ellie seemed to have developed a genuine friendship. For another, Dallas obviously had not made much progress in her campaign to rekindle a romance that had been dead for nearly half a century. He’d known from the beginning that Dallas’s romantic obsession with their aunt’s failed engagement was going to prove catastrophic in the end; he just hadn’t anticipated that the catastrophe would somehow involve him.

  Laughter suddenly echoed in the foyer. Recognition shivered through Asher. Though he was quite certain that he had never heard Ellie laugh like that, he knew it was her. He recognized her on a visceral level, as if some part of her had invaded his subconscious. Staying where he was took every iota of his willpower. But he didn’t know if his impulse was to run away—or run toward her.