Chapter 3
“I’m sorry, I have no idea of who in the world you can get to marry you within a week,” Marjorie McBride said as Amy and Jones sat at the bar in front of her.
It was Friday morning, early, and her three grandchildren, the children of her oldest son Gilbert, had not awoken yet. Once they did, her day would be full, taking care of them, feeding them, making sure they had things to play with that weren’t going to hurt them and would keep them from getting into trouble, and in between all that, praying for Gilbert and Sally, his wife.
“But, Mom, you know everyone,” Amy said, picking up a cookie from the plate that Marjorie had set in front of them. If there was one thing that she had learned as a mom who was alone with her six children a lot, it was that cookies solved a lot of problems.
She joked about it, though she really did try to depend on the Lord to fix things, but... This seemed like it was way too big for even prayer.
Therefore, cookies.
“She’s right, Mom. Surely you know someone?” Jones said, looking at the cookie Amy held and snapping it out of her hand. “That one’s not cooked. You hate them like that. It’s mine.”
Jones ignored the fact that Amy had already taken a bite out of it, and consumed three quarters of the cookie in one mouthful.
“That’s because I’m focusing too hard on trying to get you a wife. ”
She almost laughed at the two of them. They were like brother and sister only... She didn’t think they quite felt about each other the same way Amy felt about her other siblings. And she was pretty sure that Jones didn’t feel the same way about Amy as he felt about her sisters.
They would say that that was because they were such good friends, but Marjorie had a tendency to think maybe that wasn’t entirely true.
“These are really good, Mom.” Jones’s brow wrinkled. “Did you tweak your recipe?”
“I did. With the kids here, I’m baking more than what I usually do,” she said easily, tilting her head. “What do you think?”
It didn’t surprise her at all that Jones was the one who noticed. Amy had a tendency to put her head down and pull blindly forward. Jones was the one that kind of came along behind, looking at things and noticing stuff.
“These are new?” Amy said, without giving her a chance to answer.
“I think they’re amazing. Although, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a cookie of yours that I didn’t like in my life. Well, except for those fruitcake cookies that you tried back when we were, what, fourteen or so?”
“Oh goodness. The notorious fruitcake cookies.” She was never going to live them down. Even Jones gave her a hard time about it. “You make a woman not want to try anything new by your constant harping on her failures,” she said in a lightly scolding tone. One Jones knew to be joking. If she were scolding him, he would know it.
“Mom. Fruitcake cookies. What in the world about those two words would make you want to try it?” Amy could be a little outspoken, although it was part of what made her endearing. One always knew where she stood. Except for her financial issues. Marjorie had a feeling that part of her need for Jones to get the ten million dollars was because she was hoping she would have a new benefactor for her sanctuary.
Marjorie loved that Amy loved animals, but she wished that Amy didn’t love them quite so much, and could have a real job, and not worry her mother so much, especially about how in the world she was going to survive.
“It sounded new and interesting. Plus, the idea of a fruitcake is kind of a good one, it just...doesn’t always go together very well,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She always wondered why fruitcake had such a bad rap. She didn’t really like it herself, and she didn’t know too many people who did, but what she had just said—the idea had potential. The reality just didn’t live up to it.
“Can we focus?” Amy said, taking the cookie that Jones handed to her. It was dark and crispy, the way she liked them. He reached around the plate for one that was more his style, doughy in the middle.
They were opposites in a lot of ways, but there was so much about them that fit together perfectly. Even their oppositeness worked out. If she almost burned a pan of cookies, Amy would eat them, and inevitably there was always a pan or two she took out too early, and Jones loved those.
That was the way they were in life. Amy was the one who had all the ideas and blew into town with guns blazing, while Jones provided her backup, cleaning up the mess and helping her turn her dreams into reality. She often thought about how good they would be together, but neither one of them ever seemed to notice that the other one was right there, available, and perfect.
Lord? Is this Your way of pushing them together?
So many of her prayers as a mother were silent. Her kids would flip out if they knew the things she prayed about them.
She hesitated to suggest that they think about each other as a potential solution to their problem, as they both munched thoughtfully on cookies, and she turned around to get the batter ready to make pancakes for the kids when they got up.
She had forty-five minutes before she had to get them on the bus, but in her experience, forty-five minutes went by in a flash when a person was trying to herd three small children.
“You guys are here early,” Roland said as he walked out from down the hall, pulling a sweatshirt down over the top of his T-shirt as he did so, carrying his boots in his hand.
She preferred that her kids not wear shoes in the house, but they had too many kids for everyone to leave their shoes by the door. Otherwise, there would be a mountain to cross as soon as a person stepped into their house. So instead, everyone just took their shoes off and carried them to their rooms.
It had taken years for her to train her children to do that, and then, once they were trained, they moved out.
It was a pity that children stayed in a person’s house until they were old enough to really be a blessing, and then they left.
That wasn’t entirely true. By the time her children were eleven or twelve, they were doing as much as she was around the house.
Still, she missed them after they left. But she had grandchildren instead, and they helped remind her that she was glad that she wasn’t raising young children anymore. She was older than she used to be and got tired a lot faster.
Maybe if she had a husband to help her. But Sam had died, and while he had been a good man, not perfect, but he tried, she wouldn’t mind finding someone to share the rest of her life with. But the logistics of that... She had six children. How were they going to blend their families? What about grandchildren? Were they both responsible for everyone’s grandchildren, or did they each have their own? That didn’t really seem like a very good marriage, when one person had their own grandkids, and the other person had their own grandkids, and neither one of them shared grandkids .
It just seemed messy and complicated and full of potential to have hurt feelings.
She wasn’t sure she wanted companionship bad enough to try to navigate that minefield.
Plus, she was old and rather set in her ways, if fifty-five was considered old.
It was old to her twenty-year-old self, but once she hit her mid-forties, seventy felt young.
“Mom, you need to think. Please?” Amy asked, sounding like she was talking with her mouth full.
“I’m thinking, honey. But what you’re asking is rather impossible, unless you find someone that Jones already knows and likes. A friend. A friend who would be willing to build a relationship into more.” She paused and turned around, a cup of flour in her hand, and put the other hand on her hip while tilting her head. “Do you know anyone like that?”
Jones got it before Amy did. She could see it coming over his face like the sun coming up from behind the mountain.
It wasn’t quite as glorious, but it still made Marjorie bite back a smile. The guy looked absolutely gobsmacked, like the idea of marrying Amy had never, ever occurred to him, not once in his life before.
Marjorie wanted to roll her eyes while she turned around, but she refrained. Being a mother did nothing if not teach her self-control.
“Jones just doesn’t really have a lot of girls that are friends other than me. I mean, Isadora is getting divorced. I suppose she knows him well enough. I’m pretty sure that Terry and Judd are going to be a thing here. But...” She turned to Jones. “Terry could be a good idea? You and she have grown up together.”
“I think your mom might have been talking about you,” Jones said, and Marjorie had already turned back around. This was a moment she didn’t want to miss.
She held the bowl against her stomach as she stirred, not too much, because if she stirred pancake batter too much, they got flat instead of puffy.
“Me?” Amy said, and for a moment, Marjorie thought she was going to fall off her barstool. “Mom, tell him you weren’t talking about me,” she called out, sounding like she meant it, then she ended in a softer voice, “Were you?”
“Can you think of anyone better?”
“Sure. I can think of four billion people who are better. I’m always barging into things and sticking my foot in my mouth and jumping into stuff without thinking about it, and besides, Jones and I are just friends.”
“And sometimes friends make the best marriage partners,” Marjorie said, wondering when her voice had gotten that wise old tone that said sage in the woods dishing out wisdom for tokens.
“Jones?” Amy said. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Jones lifted his brow, and then, smart man that he was, he grabbed two cookies and shoved them both in his mouth.
Roland came over and grabbed a cookie, his boots clomping on the floor as he shoved the cookie in his mouth and pushed his hands into his coat sleeves. “I don’t know what you guys are fussing about. You’re perfect for each other. Everybody thought you were going to get married ten years ago. Just do it already.” He took the cookie out of his mouth and waved at Marjorie. “Have a good day with the urchins, Mom.”
Grabbing his hat from the hook by the door, he shoved it down on his head and walked out.
There was total silence in the house after he left.