His Ideal Match. Arlene James
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Humming to herself, Odelia Chatam Monroe swanned through the lovely mauve-and-cream sitting room of the suite that she shared with Kent, her husband of almost a year, and on into the purple bedroom, where the silk bed hangings, drapes and spread provided an appropriately romantic theme. They’d waited fifty years to marry, and they meant to enjoy every moment left to them. Pausing beside the antique Queen Anne dresser, she twitched a few gladiolus blossoms in a tall crystal vase into perfect position, before continuing into the enormous fuchsia-and-yellow bathroom to remove the cold cream from her face. After tossing aside the cucumber slices that she’d placed over her eyes, she next applied a judicious layer of makeup on her face. Finally, she removed the curlers from her thick, white hair and combed it out.
True, she was no girl, but Kent thought her beautiful. How she adored him. She took a moment to thank God for blessing her with such a husband in the twilight of her long, happy life before venturing into her closet, her favorite room in the whole house.
She noticed that she’d accidentally left the light on, but the crystal chandelier gave her such pleasure that she didn’t dwell on it. Of the many material gifts that Kent had given her—this gorgeous suite, the ostentatious ring on her finger, the pool in the backyard, to name a few—the closet was her favorite, for he’d had the walls painted in color-coded stripes so that her eclectic wardrobe could be stored in a somewhat orderly fashion. She did so love clothes. Giggling, she wondered what she ought to wear for lunch. Wouldn’t a gladiolus theme be fun?
An answering giggle surprised her. Odelia considered the possibility of an echo, but common sense—oh, yes, she did have some, no matter what others might say—told her that could not be so. For one thing, the racks were stuffed with clothing. For another, the room simply wasn’t large enough. That meant she must not be alone.
Looking around, she said brightly, “Hello?”
To her surprise, a little head wreathed in the aqua chiffon of one of her favorite skirts popped out from a row of dresses. “Hello.”
For a long moment, Odelia could do nothing but stare. The little one clomped into view, wearing a pale green knit short set, as well as a pair of Odelia’s pumps over her own canvas shoes and anklets. At second glance, she also wore other bits and pieces of Odelia’s wardrobe, including a gold belt worn sash-style over one shoulder and a feathered boa.
“You got snappers on your ears,” the little one said.
“Snappers?”
“Turdles. Snappers turdles.”
Odelia touched her earlobes, feeling her earrings. They had seemed appropriate after her gardening-mad sister had complained at breakfast that a box turtle had been snacking on her rhododendrons. “You mean, snapping turtles, I think.” She had forgotten about them.
“Yep. You got ’em on your ears.”
“So I do, and you have on my things.” Odelia recognized a scarf and a pair of old gloves that she’d given Hilda earlier. Puzzle pieces tumbled into place. “Ah. You’re Hilda’s great-niece.”
The girl nodded. “We’re playing dress-up.”
Odelia smiled, recognizing a kindred spirit. “What’s your name, child?”
“Grace.”
“Grace is not a full name,” Odelia admonished gently. “For instance, I am Odelia Mae Chatam Monroe.” Frowning, she pressed a finger against the cleft in her chin. “Or should that be Mrs. Kent Monroe? Mrs. Odelia Monroe?” Hypatia would know. Odelia waved a hand. “You may call me Miss Odelia. Now then, your name? Your full name, if you please.”
“Grace Amanda Hopper,” the imp said, wobbling in the shoes.
“So, you like to play dress-up, do you, Grace Amanda?”
“Best of anything.”
Odelia grinned and clapped her hands. “So do I!”
Just then, a frantic male voice cried out, “Grace! Grace, where are you?”
“In here,” Odelia trilled.
Phillip arrived, breathless, one boy in hand and another trailing behind with a scowl on his bespectacled face.
“Thank You, God!” Phillip gasped, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Slumping against the doorjamb, he huffed out a breath and sucked in another before fixing Grace with a baleful glare. “Young lady, you scared the life out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” Grace said contritely, going to take his free hand in hers.
Odelia watched all six foot four inches of her nephew melt like so much marshmallow over a campfire. Interesting.
“Just don’t take off like that again,” he scolded before looking to Odelia. “I’m sorry. She got away from us.”
“You are so in for it,” chortled the freckle-faced, gap-toothed boy being physically restrained by Phillip.
“No, she is not,” Odelia decreed, smiling down at her little guest, “but perhaps next time, she will seek permission before she goes exploring.”
“Yes, ma’am,” coached the older boy with glasses. Reaching around Phillip, he poked the girl.
“Yes, ma’am,” little Grace echoed dutifully.
“Very well,” Odelia said, waving them all out. “We’ll make formal introductions at luncheon.”
As Phillip towed the children away, he said, “I’m not sure what Hilda has planned for lunch.”
“Whatever it is,” Odelia told him brightly, following their ragtag little group into the sitting room, “I’m sure it will be lovely.”
After a season of weddings, they had experienced a tranquil period at Chatam House. First had come the marriage of Phillip’s older brother, Asher, and Kent’s granddaughter Ellie, whose newborn daughter the family had recently welcomed. Chatam House’s gardener, Garrett Willows, and his Jessa had married almost immediately afterward, with Odelia and Kent’s wedding following just one month later. Shortly after that, Phillip’s oldest sister, Petra, had married Garrett’s friend Dale Bowen.
Two other nephews, Reeves and Chandler, and a niece, Kaylie, had met their spouses here at Chatam House. It had been months since the house had hosted company, however. Then Phillip had arrived, for no apparent reason, and here he remained, much to the disgust of his parents and the concern of his aunts. The boy just did not seem to want to work. Oh, he wasn’t lazy; he just had no direction. He seemed to be waiting for some sort of inspiration to strike—or for some grand adventure to present itself.
Hypatia was of the opinion that they had been more than patient with him. Certainly she and her sisters had been praying for him. Watching him now, Odelia couldn’t help wondering what God had in store for Phillip. One thing she knew without doubt was that God always had a plan for His children.
She suspected that Phillip was about to find that out.
* * *
When Carissa Hopper did not return as expected that evening, Phillip was ready to climb the walls. He had scaled mountains less challenging than dealing with three kids! While little Grace beguiled everyone into getting her way, Tucker treated the mansion like his personal playground, haring off without warning. Nathan, meanwhile, remained solemn, suspicious and openly hostile, especially toward Phillip. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it bothered Phillip. People usually liked him. Then again, he didn’t have much experience with children. In fact, if anyone had told him that he’d have to work so hard to keep three youngsters from tearing the house down, he’d have scoffed. How Carissa Hopper had somehow managed to shelter, feed, clothe and survive this trio all alone for years was a mystery to him.
Hilda and Chester insisted that it wasn’t like Carissa to lose track of time or forget to call, but their phone calls to her went unanswered. Someone—Hypatia probably—alerted Phillip’s