Daddy's Little Matchmaker

by Roz Denny Fox

  “I guess that’s okay. Why not let me fix sandwiches and soft drinks? That way we’re not giving your housekeeper extra work.”

  “Birdie loves to cook. Oh, do you have any food allergies I need to tell her about?”

  “None. At least none I know of. So, we’re saying closer to noon, then?”

  “Make it half past twelve. You’ll have a chance to change into jeans. Take a jacket and wear boots. Part of the trail winds through thick timber. It may be chilly there, with patches of snow. And you need boots because it’s really spongy around the headwaters.”

  “Got it. Now will you let go of me, so we can go inside?”

  He uncurled his fingers slowly. “One other thing. I hate to ask, but it might be better not to mention our outing to Louemma. I’ll have to borrow a horse from a friend. Because she’s become so fearful, I sold ours. I don’t make a habit of lying to her, but I’m not sure how she might react to my going off on a horse.”

  “I understand. There’s no reason to mention our outing to anyone.” In fact, Laurel would rather they did keep it to themselves. She could imagine people in town having a field day if that news leaked. “Rather than borrow a horse, Alan, you can ride my gelding. He needs exercise. I bought two saddles and tack with the horses. He’s solid. Strong enough for you. I’ve just ridden him twice. He has a nice gait.”

  “Good, then it’s…” Alan had started to say a date. But the way his heart skidded in anticipation stopped him. Or maybe it had more to do with his reaction to being so near her. As their hands accidentally collided on the doorknob, he changed his words to a simple, “It’s set.”

  She said nothing, just hunching her shoulders to avoid touching him further. She breezed into the room, giving the students a cheery and rather breathless smile. “Hi! Putting away my horse took longer than I’d planned.”

  Louemma looked unhappy, even though Dog had his head on her lap. “Daddy, when you didn’t come back, I was worried. Where did you go?”

  “I said I’d be back in a minute, that I’d be right outside. I’m sorry if you were worried. There was no need.” He dropped to his knees and gave her a hug.

  Her lower lip trembled. “Brenna and Jenny wouldn’t leave their weaving to go see where you were. They’ve already started their projects. Daddy, this isn’t going to work. I can’t do what they’re doing. Besides, they’re giggling together and leaving me out. Will you please take me home?”

  Wondering if she and Alan had caused the injured girl added stress by staying outside talking about personal matters for so long, Laurel gave father and daughter some space. After all, maybe Alan needed to see for himself what Laurel had insisted all along—that bringing Louemma to this class wouldn’t work.

  Climbing to his feet, Alan approached Laurel. “I’ll refund your money,” she said quickly.

  “It’s not the money, it’s the situation. Louemma needs individual attention. How much more to set up private lessons?”

  Laurel bit her upper lip. “I’m sorry, Alan,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “After this week, I simply have no other time available. And her case is so special. She’s special. Maybe we can consider arranging something when she’s completed all her physical therapy.”

  “She’s not in therapy. The orthopedic doctor who operated on her leg fractures and pinned her hip after the accident arranged for eight weeks at the sports medicine clinic in Lexington once the casts came off. She can walk. But she eats so little, her muscles are giving out. She hates the fortified drinks we’ve tried. As far as the clinic is concerned, their program was a success.”

  “But…no one’s exercising her hands and arms?”

  He shook his head. “We have a masseuse. For Grandmother, really. The woman comes to the house once a week. She occasionally gives Louemma deep-heat treatments to keep her muscles from atrophying totally.”

  “I should think so.” Laurel frowned. “I…have a full schedule.”

  “What about early evening? Any early evening?”

  “That’s when I work on commissioned projects. Those are what pay my bills.”

  “What about directly after Jenny and Brenna’s lesson? They come from three-thirty to four-thirty. Or maybe an hour’s too long for Louemma. What if I brought Louemma twice a week on the dot of four-thirty? Could you work with her until five?”

  Laurel sighed. This man wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I suppose we could try. Not today, though. She’s already too tense and I won’t risk harming muscles that haven’t been warmed up. Next week. Bring her and I’ll assess whether or not there’s any profit for her in continuing.”

  “Good. That’s all we can ask. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow at twelve-thirty for our ride.”

  Wishing she could take back her agreement, Laurel gave a brief nod, then trailed Alan and Louemma to the door. “Bye, Louemma. Next week we’re letting you come by yourself.”

  “Without Daddy? Where will he go?”

  “No,” Alan interjected quickly. “She means a private lesson for you. Without your school friends.”

  “But I’m not in school with them anymore. And I don’t think they’re my friends anyway,” she said, her chin quivering.

  Alan seemed so disturbed by his daughter’s words, Laurel almost didn’t issue her next edict. But after a brief tug-of-war with herself, she decided it would be best to get everything out in the open.

  “Alan, I’ve said from the beginning that your staying for her lesson won’t be beneficial. And it may be a hindrance. You’re welcome to sit in next week, but if we continue, you’ll have to go elsewhere while Louemma and I work.”

  “For half an hour? That’s ridiculous. It’d take me that long to drive from here to town. Out of the question.”

  “That’s the only way I’ll agree to go forward. Take it or leave it.”

  He seemed so torn, and Louemma so hopeful, that Laurel was moved to offer a solution. “Bring your laptop or a book to read. You can sit on my porch. The back porch at my cottage is shaded and screened. I’ve put a table and chairs and a wicker settee back there. For thirty minutes a week, I should think it will do.”

  “That’s very generous, Laurel. Thanks. So what do you say, Louemma? Shall we give this a whirl?”

  “Yes, please. Dog can be inside the cottage with me, can’t he?”

  The big dog, who’d padded beside the girl to the door, wagged his tail as if he knew they were talking about him.

  Laurel marveled at how the pair had bonded in such a short time. She thought it was a good sign. Animals were being used more and more in therapy programs. “Louemma, honey, I think Dog will be most happy to sit in on your lessons. He’s content to watch me weave. Has been from the first day I brought him home from the shelter. So…it’s settled. You both take care. Dog and I will see you about this time next week.”

  Once they departed, she closed the door and went back to see how the other girls were doing. “Jenny, I think you’re trying to rush. See how loose these last three rows are? That means you aren’t being careful to pull the beater bar forward enough.”

  Jenny’s face fell. “Oops. Do I have to rip it out? That means Brenna will get ahead of me.”

  “Weaving isn’t a race, girls. The object is to have a product you can be proud of when you finish. I’m going to show you how to untie the shuttle, rip this back and retie it. Brenna, you come and watch. There’ll be times you’ll have problems and be forced to rip out, too.”

  “Ms. Ashline, we weren’t giggling at Louemma,” Jenny said, sliding out of her seat to trade places with Laurel. “Me and Brenna were talking about stuff at school. Louemma wasn’t close enough to hear what we were saying. She jumped to conclusions. That’s right, isn’t it? I think that’s what my mama says.”

  “That’s the proper term. However, one of you might’ve moved Louemma’s wheelchair closer so she could hear. She can’t operate the chair by herself, you know.”

  Brenna leaned an elbow on the table. “She doesn’t
go to our school anymore. So she wouldn’t understand stuff we were talking about, ’cause it was something that happened yesterday at recess.”

  “To a new person at school? Someone she wouldn’t know because she hasn’t attended classes since the accident?”

  Jenny and Brenna exchanged a guilty look. “Louemma knows Robbie Hendricks. Last year he used to pester the life out of her. She knows everyone in third grade. We’ve all been together since kindergarten.”

  “Well, then, I think you realize she must’ve been feeling quite left out.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Ashline.” Brenna wriggled uncomfortably.

  Jenny nodded. “Me, too. I’m sorry for not ’cluding her,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t think I’m scolding you, girls. I’m not. It’s that we all need to be more aware of our actions when we’re dealing with a disabled person.”

  “That’s what our teacher said. She said a kid can’t know when something might happen to put them in the same spot.”

  “You have a wise teacher. Okay, enough about Louemma. Watch how I remove the shuttle. And we have to pull the thread back out very carefully so as not to get tufts in the middle or break the yarn. Trying to pull it through the warp too fast can damage the threads making up the yarn. You could break strands. One of these days, I’ll show you how to make a variety of knots. For today, it’s enough to learn how to back out and restart a piece of work.”

  “When we came in, me and Brenna stopped to look at the cloth you’re weaving on your big loom. Those looms are so cool. But they look hard. Will we ever learn how to use them?”

  “Like everything, Jenny, it takes practice. You work up to tackling more intricate projects. I think both of you show real aptitude. So I guess the answer to your question is yes, in time, if you keep at it.”

  “Awesome,” they exclaimed in unison.

  Laurel laughed. It felt good to be able to be spontaneous about something.” It struck her how long she’d spent in the shadow of her ex-husband, afraid to laugh, afraid to express any emotion lest it set him off. Every day she was getting stronger, feeling freer.

  A horn honked outside, and Dog ran barking to the door. “Girls, I think your lesson is over and your chariot awaits. Leave your looms as they are. Next week we’ll take up where you left off. At the rate you two are working, I predict several people will be the lucky recipients of your Christmas crafts.”

  The girls seemed reluctant to go. Laurel walked them to the bridge to make sure they crossed okay and that the person honking was indeed their chauffeur, Jenny’s mom. The women exchanged waves. They’d never been introduced, but Laurel saw that the other woman had her hands full with a group of younger girls. “If your parents have any questions,” Laurel said, “have them call me.”

  Brenna hung back as Jenny dashed away. “I feel bad about Louemma. If I phoned her, do you think she might come back and be in our class again?”

  Laurel smiled. “Phoning her is a wonderful idea, Brenna. I know it’s hard being cut off from friends. As for rejoining the class, she needs more one-on-one attention. I’ll be instructing her right after your class ends. So you’ll probably meet coming and going until we see how things develop.”

  The girl beamed and scurried off, seeming relieved that she and Jenny hadn’t totally lost their friendship with Louemma.

  HARDY DUFF, general manager of the distillery and a Windridge shareholder, was climbing out of his pickup at the Ridge house when Alan and Louemma drove in.

  “Good timing on my part,” Hardy said, greeting his boss. “Howdy, Louemma, you’re looking fine today. Just getting home from the doctor’s?”

  “I’ve been to weaving class,” the girl told him without any particular inflection.

  “Weaving?” The older, stockier man paused in the middle of removing a tube of architectural blueprints from his vehicle. He sent Alan a pointed stare. “Weaving as in terms of our nemesis?”

  Alan returned a dark look. “Go on in and have a seat in my office, Hardy. I’ll join you as soon as I get Louemma settled at the TV or in her room with a talking book.”

  The house was quiet inside, but there was a pleasant odor of something spicy cooking. Alan called out to let Vestal and Birdie know they were home.

  Birdie poked her head out of the kitchen. “Miss Vestal’s resting. She probably overdid out in that garden, like you and I knew she would. Oh, Mr. Duff, hello. I didn’t know Mr. Alan brought company home. I’ll go right now and add another place setting. Supper will be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Miss Vestal thought we should try eating a bit earlier today.”

  Alan started to say Hardy wasn’t staying. Vestal and he tended to keep family meals private, especially since Louemma felt self-conscious about having to be fed. Hardy, though, almost tripped over his tongue accepting.

  “Why, thank y’all, Birdie. An old bachelor like me leaps at any and every opportunity to eat home-cooked meals. I knew there was a dang good reason I didn’t rush over here earlier with Dave Bentley’s drawings.” He tapped the tube he carried against Alan’s shoulder. “I think Dave’s got a winner this time, Alan. Soon as you’ve got clear title to our hill, his construction crew is ready to roll.”

  “You’re always welcome to sit and eat a bite with us, isn’t he, Mr. Alan?” Birdie, who loved nothing so much as cooking for a crowd, let her pleasure at having company show. It was no secret how much she missed Emily’s frequent teas, luncheons and cocktail parties. Vestal had virtually given up entertaining after Jason died. And these days, Alan shied away from the responsibility of entertaining friends, neighbors and business associates. Windridge used to be known for its lavish parties, but not since the accident.

  Alan couldn’t say why he resented the intrusion of a man who’d become vital to the running of the family business. Or—he did know. Alan resented the way Hardy was pressuring him to acquire Bell Hill. He wanted the land yesterday. Alan wasn’t one to rush, and he sure didn’t intend to reveal the idea he’d dreamed up last night about personally buying back the land. Not until he knew for sure that Laurel would accept his offer. If her reaction earlier was any indicator, it’d be a cold day in hell before she went for his plan. Then he’d have to think of something else.

  Hardy, the board of directors and Vestal probably wouldn’t see it his way. They’d think he’d gone nuts, paying for land they actually owned.

  “Hardy, I make it a point not to discuss business matters during meals. Vestal gets more stressed over things than she used to. Right now, Louemma and I will go wash up after our outing. Dump the blueprints in my office. You and I will take our coffee and go in there to look at the drawings later.”

  “Sure.” Hardy’s brow puckered. “Aren’t you champing at the bit to see what Dave’s proposed? Damn, man, this could well mean a fifty percent increase in our exports.”

  “Hardy, are you happy working for Windridge?”

  “What do you mean? Of course,” he said, a worried look crossing his face.

  “Are the workers happy? With their hours and the benefit package we offer?”

  “Far as I know. I haven’t heard anyone complaining.”

  Alan lifted Louemma out of the chair and stood a moment, supporting her. “If everyone’s happy, why do we have to lay out money on a new facility? Can’t it wait?”

  “Didn’t you look at the industry studies I had done? Nine of our closest competitors, all from this state, have increased their production by a third over the last year. If Windridge doesn’t keep pace, Alan, buyers will begin to bypass us. Shareholders, no matter how limited, will dump their stock. They’ll look at our competition as being more up-to-date and forward-thinking.”

  “I suppose.” Still hugging Louemma, Alan walked down the hall.

  Hardy called after him, “If you’ve got some kind of history with the woman standing in our way, I’ll do the dirty work for you.”

  “There’s no history.” Alan threw the denial over his shoulder.

  Vestal em
erged from her quarters. “What woman? Hello, Hardy,” she said, covering a yawn. “Is it any wonder my grandson has no history with a woman? He’s practically become a hermit. Listening to him stomp down the hall when someone’s trying to rest—well, it’s plain to see he’s taken leave of his manners.”

  Alan wished he’d never started the conversation with Hardy. Now they’d upset his grandmother. Loud enough for Hardy to hear, Alan said, “Birdie says it’s almost time for dinner. Louemma and I are going to wash up. And where are your manners?” he teased. “You should be playing hostess and serving Hardy a before-dinner drink.”

  “That’d be nice, Alan. Shall I pour you one, too?”

  He started to automatically say yes, but had a sudden vision of Laurel Ashline all but accusing him of being his own best customer. “A short one.”

  “I was thinking of uncorking a bottle from our last gold medal private reserve.”

  “Do,” Alan called from inside the hall bathroom. “That batch came from the malt barley we bought from a grower in South Dakota. A flag I put in the computer program on that order came up yesterday, saying it’s time to renew for fall if we like the flavor.”

  “Then you’d better have a tall glass,” Hardy said as Alan set Louemma down to walk. “You’re the dean of tasters.”

  “Tasting takes only a couple of fingers.”

  Vestal sniffed the cork, poured some of the dark gold liquid into two glasses and paused, studying her grandson. “Aren’t you feeling well, Alan?”

  “I feel fine.”

  Louemma, who stood halfway between her great-grand-mother and her father, piped up. “Ms. Ashline thinks drinking is bad. And he likes her, don’t you, Daddy? We both like her.”

  For ten seconds it was as if all sound in the room, even breathing, stopped.

  Hardy Duff choked on his first swig. “Tell me she’s not referring to our public enemy number one.”