Roz Fox - Daddy's Little Matchmaker

“Well, then you definitely should speak with Alan. I just assumed Louemma would participate in our regular meetings, starting today.”

Laurel flew out the door then and called to Alan, who’d already placed his daughter in the Jeep. He closed her wheelchair and set it in the back before answering Laurel’s summons. He waited beside the open driver’s door, jingling his keys, clearly indicating his desire to get underway.

But Laurel really didn’t want to talk to him where Louemma might overhear, so she stopped by the Madisons’ front gate.

“Are you stuck, or what?” Alan demanded, sounding annoyed at her intrusion into his planned escape.

It was plain to Laurel that the man didn’t intend to budge. Reluctantly she started toward him. “Mrs. Madison suggested I remind you of the undeveloped condition of the walkway leading up to my loom cottage.”

He ignored that. “So, you really weren’t home when I came out to your place?” he inquired instead. “Doesn’t matter. I fulfilled my grandmother’s request today. It was even worse than I expected. Of course Louemma won’t be at next week’s meeting.”

Laurel was at a loss to explain why her relief was mixed with a twinge of sorrow when she heard his curt words.

“Daddy,” Louemma called plaintively from inside the dusty blue vehicle. “I want to see the spinning wheel. Can’t I please go with the others?”

From the frown that instantly crossed his face, throwing the angles of his cheeks into sharp relief, Laurel fully expected him to deny the child. But as he half turned to peer at her through the door, the lines softened measurably. “You want to go, honey? Are you positive?”

“I want to see how to get yarn out of sheep’s wool. And I like Ms. Ashline.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Alan practically barked at Laurel, blaming her with his eyes for the fact that Louemma thought she was nice.

She could have ended it then and there. But the eagerness on Louemma’s face wouldn’t let her. “I plan exactly that,” she mumbled at last. “I’ll demonstrate washing, carding and spinning yarn from sheep’s wool, and thread from raw cotton bolls.” The stab of guilt she felt over her testiness toward him also came with an unexpected reward in the slow smile that lit the girl’s dark eyes.

“Uh, so I’ll see you next week, Louemma,” Laurel said. “I’m glad Mrs. Madison has a van big enough to transport all of you girls.” She abruptly sidestepped the Ridge Jeep, waved to the girl and ran across the street to where she’d parked. As she felt Alan Ridge’s smoldering gaze tracking every inch of her progress.

THE OUTING TOOK A TOLL on Louemma; she fell asleep on the drive home. Still furious about the way Laurel Ashline had fouled his attempt to stonewall a second meeting, Alan carried his sleeping child into the house. It galled him that Laurel had sashayed off in that sugar-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth manner after setting him up.

She’d planted the suggestion in Louemma’s mind by mentioning she could ride there with Charity. As if he’d entrust his daughter’s transportation to anyone else! Her own mother had disregarded something as basic as weather warnings.

The house was silent, so he walked quietly along the hall. Entering Louemma’s room, he placed her gently on her bed, then removed her jacket and shoes. Finding a lightweight coverlet, he settled it over her, thinking he’d let her nap until dinner. Then he might ask if she’d like to go see the Disney movie that Charity had mentioned. He wanted their lives back to normal. Wanted Louemma to have friends again.

Alan knew he was guilty of hovering. Marv Fulton, their family physician, said to quit treating Louemma like an invalid. He said they should plunge back into their pre-accident routines. Ha! Marv obviously didn’t understand how hard that was.

Finding Louemma’s favorite stuffed animal, a plush brown bear she’d had since birth, Alan propped it on the pillow where she could readily see it if she woke suddenly. She was still prone to nightmares, although she never said what they were about. The accident, everyone assumed. Marv thought maybe they’d never know. He hoped in time they’d fade. So did Alan.

He left the bedroom and bumped into Vestal.

“Oh, you’re back from the weaving demonstration.” She peered past him, into Louemma’s bedroom. “How’d it go?” she whispered.

Pursing his lips, Alan left the door ajar. With a slight shake of his head, he led the way to his office. Leaving his grandmother to choose a seat, he rummaged in the small fridge and extracted a bottle of water. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, not looking at her, but rather out the window at the budding tulip trees.

“Nothing, thanks. I take it from your evasiveness that things didn’t go well. I’m so disappointed. I’d hoped—”

“What?” he snapped, whirling. “Did you think a weaver would have some magic potion? That she’d succeed where the very best medical talent has failed?”

“Maybe,” Vestal admitted wearily, sinking onto a high-backed leather chair, which had been her husband’s favorite. She rubbed the brass studs on the rich green armrests. “I’m sorry if Louemma hated the demonstration, or if being there made her feel worse. What’s next, Alan? Find a new bone doctor? Or another psychiatrist?”

He took a deep swig from the icy, sweating bottle. “I didn’t say Louemma hated the demonstration. It…just opened a can of worms. She’s begged to go to the woman’s cottage next week. She’ll be spinning thread like some damn black widow spider.”

The old woman leaned forward eagerly, adjusting her trifocals over her myopic eyes. “Why didn’t you say so right off the bat? That’s good! Think how long it’s been since Louemma took an interest in anything outside the house.”

“I’m afraid I don’t agree it’s good to foster an interest in something she’ll never be able to do, Grandmother. Is it wise to throw her in with peers who only make her feel more inept? Sarah Madison was such a pain today. According to Charity, it’s only a phase. All I know is that Sarah caused Louemma’s problems at school, too. I thought those two were best friends. Was I so blind and naive before the accident?”

“Girls are fickle, Alan. Sarah may not know how to handle what’s happened to Louemma. Maybe its her way of coping. Your friends haven’t all known how to act, either. Shoot, most of them don’t know what to say or whether to even mention Emily. These are just kids. Go a little easy on them.”

“I’ll try. But I’m not letting Louemma ride out to Bell Hill next week with Charity, and that’s final. It’s not that I think she’s a bad driver. She’s probably fine. But Emily drove fine, too.” He brooded for a minute, staring into his water bottle. “Anyway, hauling Louemma and her wheelchair across the footbridge needs a man’s strength. Did I tell you that Ms. Ashline has a ferocious watchdog? Oh, and horses. You know how hysterical Louemma got over our horses when she came home from the hospital. How will she react to a yapping dog?”

Vestal rose. “It sounds as if you’re making a laundry list of excuses so you can avoid the next Camp Fire meeting yourself. Is this really about all the things you just brought up? Or do you plain dislike Laurel Ashline?”

“She’s pushy. And takes independence to extremes.”

“Hmm. I thought she was attractive and quite gracious. With a smoky voice that reminded me of a young Lauren Bacall. But you know how I love Bogie and Bacall’s old movies,” she said, absently straightening papers on Alan’s cluttered desk.

“Don’t organize my controlled mess,” he said testily, setting his plastic bottle atop a particularly precarious stack of shipping orders.