Free The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek by Jane Myers Perrine

looked up from his Bible, attempting to bring himself back to the present from the time of David. Maggie stood at the door. “Yes?”
    “I need the hymns for Sunday.”
    He picked a piece of paper from the printer tray, glanced at it, then grabbed the list of Miss Birdie–approved hymns and a pen. With that, he crossed out his choices and changed every hymn to one of Miss Birdie’s choosing.
    That should make her believe she’d broken him in, which should make his life easier. His plan was, little by little, to slip in some of the newer hymns and drop most of the Fanny Crosby hymns and several of the old favorites she enjoyed. “Jesus Is Tenderly Calling Me Home” had always made him feel as if he were at a funeral. However, allowing Miss Birdie to win the first skirmish seemed like an excellent strategy.
    Finished, he handed the list to Maggie and headed out to call on Sam Peterson. Easily finding the right house, Adam picked up all the papers—two weeks’ worth—and placed them on the porch next to the front door, then rang the bell.
    He didn’t hear the sound of the chime inside, so he knocked. And knocked again. No one came, and it seemed as if no one would. If Captain Peterson didn’t want visitors, Adam had to respect that. Besides, even a minister could hardly force himself on the man. Adam backed away from the door and turned to step off the porch.
    He’d keep trying. He wanted to meet this man and he knew Miss Birdie wouldn’t let him forget his duty.

Chapter Five
    F riday evening Adam lay half-on-half-off the sofa, watching some action program he couldn’t concentrate on.
    The time since his arrival had gone well. Most of the congregation liked his preaching, although the pillar—Miss Birdie—made several suggestions. He’d made a number of much-appreciated hospital and nursing home visits and met the ministers of the Lutheran and Episcopal churches, spent a few hours at the food pantry every week, had coffee with Father Joe, and done a lot of ministerial stuff. But books and boxes still covered the surfaces and floors of the office. Someday he’d get to them.
    As busy as he’d been with all those activities and events and meetings and services to fill time, Adam felt on edge. For the past few days, he hadn’t been able to sit still. In the parsonage, he’d paced through the parlors and up and down the hall several times, even up the stairs to wander into empty bedrooms and the attic, then back down, over and over. None of that movement brought relief.
    Adam stood and moved to stare out the front window.
    Somewhere out there lay what he needed. Could he find it tonight? How would he be able to locate his fix in a new town?
    Where to start?
    He didn’t know, but he had to find something to get him through the night, to allow him to sleep, to take the edge off.
    He had to find a pickup game of roundball.
    After changing into athletic shoes and sweats, he found his basketball and dribbled it down the stairs, across the hall, and outside.
    During Daylight Saving Time, sunlight in Central Texas lasted until nine thirty. If he could find a court, he’d have about an hour to shoot hoops.
    Some people ran. Others walked or swam. Adam played basketball. He’d always needed the physical demands of the game to release all the pent-up tension and nervous energy his body built up with inactivity. Add to that the stress accumulated over the days without exercise, the jitters of being a new minister, the strain of knowing Miss Birdie watched his every move. His body screamed for a hard game of basketball.
    He missed the competition, the moves, the jukes, and the almost chess-like thinking that took place in nearly every game, even pickup games.
    Easy to find a game in Kentucky where basketball was pretty much another religion. If no one at the seminary was playing, he’d cross the street to the university or to Prall Town, a nearby neighborhood.
    He jogged down streets lined by crepe myrtle. Heavy with