The Matchmaking Pact. Carolyne Aarsen
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confused girl of two, an orphan, with only her aunt to take care of her.
An aunt who, up until then, had lived life on her own terms and in her own way. Josie’s life had taken a 180-degree turn and there were many times, since then, that she thanked God for a second chance to redeem herself. Both in His eyes and in the eyes of the community.
But she was determined to be a good mother to Alyssa, to focus solely on the little girl and her needs. As a result she seldom dated and, in the past three years, had only gone out a handful of times.
Now a man’s voice reverberated from the living room, answering questions posed by Betty. A man was joining them for dinner.
“Tell Gramma and Mr. Marstow dinner is ready,” Josie said, setting the pot of rice on the table. She glanced over the settings, a feeling of self-pity loomed. The extensive china collection, inherited from her sister, had been reduced to a few chipped plates, a couple of cups and four bowls she and Alyssa salvaged from her broken house under the watchful eyes of a crew who was sent to remove debris.
The plastic chairs hunched around the rickety table had been donated, scrounged from various households whose possessions were still intact and who had extra to spare.
Her dining room had once boasted an antique dining room set, also inherited from her sister, a hutch that her parents used to own and a living room set that Josie had saved up for dollar by precious dollar.
All gone, she thought with a pang of remorse as she straightened the faded tablecloth she had bought at a rummage sale put on by the town for the tornado victims. Sure she had the insurance money, but dollars could never replace what she had lost.
She pushed her emotions aside, struggling to count her blessings. She had Alyssa. She had her health. She had the enduring presence of God in her life.
And Gramma? a tiny voice questioned.
Well that was another ongoing story.
“We’re here,” Alyssa said, leading the mini procession into the kitchen with a grin of pride.
“Smells good,” Silas said, pushing Betty’s wheelchair into the kitchen. “Where do you want us to sit?”
Alyssa directed traffic and a few moments later, they were all settled around the table.
“Shall we pray?” As Josie glanced around the full table, a curious sense of well-being sprung up inside.
It felt good to see new faces around the table. And as Josie’s eyes met Silas’s, she felt the faintest hint of possibilities.
Which she immediately quashed as she bowed her head. She had her plans. They had only been put on hold until her grandmother was settled.
“Thank You, Lord, for food. For a roof over our heads. For the blessing of Your love,” Josie prayed, “and thank You for the company that could join us this evening. May we be a blessing to each other. Amen.”
Josie waited a moment, then looked up.
Directly across from her, Silas was looking past her, his mouth set in grim lines. As if he was disapproving of something.
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