From the desk of
Adam Joseph Jordan, MDiv.
I’m fixin’ to make Birdie MacDowell happy. Let me restate this: I hope I’m fixin’ to make Miss Birdie happy.
I fell in love with Butternut Creek the first moment I arrived here nearly two years ago. In the center of the town square stands the courthouse, built in the Romanesque style and topped with a tower jutting into the clear blue Texas sky.
In this charming spot in the beautiful Hill Country of Texas, live oak trees trailing Spanish moss surround Victorian houses. Latticed gazebos sit proudly in front yards interspersed with a few pink flamingos. From the minute I entered town, Butternut Creek wrapped its charm around me. I felt truly blessed to be here, certain I’d find peace.
That was, of course, before I met Miss Birdie, a leader of the church forever—which is why I call her the pillar but never to her face. That first day in town, she strode into the parsonage and put me in my place without breaking a sweat.
Miss Birdie reminds me a little of the courthouse. That building survived the tornadoes and wildfires that have battered Central Texas over the years and still stands. I’ve heard about rough times in Miss Birdie’s life. Not that she’s complained to me, but I know she lost her husband years ago and ended up raising her granddaughters. Like the courthouse, she stands, bricks intact, proud, and strong.
Of course, she has no tower.
Another comparison: Just as the courthouse is at the center of Butternut Creek, Miss Birdie along with the three other women who call themselves the Widows functions as the center of the Christian Church and most of the groups in town that do good works.
Unfortunately, in addition to their charitable tasks, all four of the Widows have chosen me as their major project.
Miss Birdie had studied me from head to toe the first time she marched into the parsonage and wondered if she could possibly accept this tall, skinny, young, and very inexperienced man as the minister of her church. With the support of Mercedes Rivera, Winnie Peterson, and Blossom Brown—the other Widows—a non-stop campaign has been waged, the first priority being to whip me into shape. The second, to find me a wife. Not easy in an area where all the young people head to Austin or Dallas or Houston as soon as they graduate from high school.
The efforts of the Widows have led to mortification on my part and deep embarrassment for a few young women to whom the Widows attempted to marry me off.
As—or if ever—she reads this, pride will fill Miss Birdie at my use of to whom. Her minister’s use of proper grammar is important to her. She once wanted to become an English teacher. However, she will shudder because I ended a sentence with off. I have no idea of a better way to write it but making Miss Birdie both proud and unhappy in one sentence feels like a remarkable accomplishment.
After nearly a year of endeavors to find me a wife, the Widows realized how perfect Gussie Milton was for me. One reason for this conclusion is that Gussie really is the perfect woman for me. The other advantage in the eyes of the Widows is that she’s the only single woman within sixty miles. The acceptable distance for their search steadily increased the longer I remained single.
Although the Widows have little confidence in my ability to attract a woman without their assistance, Gussie’s and my dating life has gone better than they or I had hoped. We aren’t engaged, but everything is going well between us and we’re quite happy together.
I’ve written these pages in the unrealistic belief that I have made Miss Birdie happy enough to leave me alone. I have no expectation that will ever happen.