Building a Perfect Match. Arlene James

a schoolteacher.”

       “And so she is,” Hypatia observed, still confused.

       “But I,” Petra declared, pausing to thump herself in the chest, “I’ve never had the slightest idea what I’m supposed to do.”

       “Is that all?” Hypatia blurted, oddly relieved.

       “All?” Petra echoed. Shaking her head dejectedly, she dropped down beside Hypatia once more. “In my family, that’s everything.”

       “Now, now,” Hypatia soothed, taking her hand. “I know that’s how it must seem, dear, but you’re leaving out one very important ingredient.”

       “What’s that?”

       “God’s guidance.”

       “But I’ve begged for God’s guidance,” Petra told her.

       “Then you have to trust that He’s leading you where He would have you go.”

       “I do,” Petra assured her, squeezing her hand. “That’s why this job is so important to me. I believe, I know, that He’s led me to this point.”

       “Well, as long as you’re following Him, you have nothing to fear,” Hypatia said. “He’ll give you everything you need.”

       Petra nodded. “You’re right. I know it. I don’t doubt Him. I doubt myself.”

       “You just stop that,” Hypatia ordered, as if Petra was six again and would obey unhesitatingly.

       Petra laughed. “I’ll try.”

       “If it helps, dear,” Hypatia told her, “I have every confidence in you.”

       Smiling, Petra hugged her, whispering, “Thank you.”

       Hypatia cleared her throat of the lump that had risen there, patted her niece, and rose smoothly to her feet. “I’ll bid you good-night now.” Bending, she kissed Petra on the forehead as she used to do when she and her sisters had tucked in the visiting children at night. “Sleep well.”

       “You, too.”

       Hypatia went to the door, but there she paused. “I’ll pray for you tomorrow. And for whoever you must remove, poor man.”

       Petra bowed her head. “Thank you.”

       Nodding, Hypatia went out, determined to share her concerns with her sisters. They would pray, as always, and God would direct Petra’s steps. As for that unfortunate man who did not deserve to lose his job, she would ask God to bless him in ways that he couldn’t even imagine. Whoever he was, she hoped that he would feel the hand of God in his life and trust Him to provide his heart’s desire.

      Chapter Three

      “It’s not about his skills, Mr. Bowen,” Petra said for perhaps the third time. “It’s just a difference in management styles.”

       That excuse for removing Dale from the construction manager’s position didn’t sound any better now than the first time she’d used it, but she had little else to offer the man sitting across the battered desk from her. Walton Bowen was the rarest of persons, a truly nice individual. Nevertheless, he showed some irritation now, bracing his heavy hands on the arms of a chair that had seen better days.

       “I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t get along with my son,” he insisted.

       “It’s not a matter of getting along, sir,” she assured him. “As I said, it’s just a—”

       “Difference in management styles,” said a wry, familiar voice from the doorway of the cluttered, dusty office.

       She hadn’t expected Dale to attend this meeting, but she wasn’t surprised that he had. He was the construction manager on the project, after all. For the moment. She braced herself, tugging on the hem of her navy blue skirt, which she wore with a matching jacket and sensible flats. Dale’s boots clumped across the wood floor, as the hydraulic arm on the heavy office door wheezed closed.

       “If Anderton thinks he can work around the BCHS by getting me out of the way, he’s wrong,” Dale said to Petra, parking one hip on the corner of his father’s desk and crossing his long legs at the ankles.

       She couldn’t deny either Dale’s implication or his conclusion, but neither could she refuse a direct order. “He, we, feel that the work will go more smoothly with someone else as construction manager.”

       Dale folded his arms, looking down on her from his perch. “And I’m telling you that no one in this company knows the BCHS better or works closer with them than I do. No one in this town, for that matter.”

       “I’m sure you’re right,” she admitted. “Nevertheless…”

       She didn’t have to say more. Anger flashed across Dale’s handsome face. Behind him, his father’s chair creaked.

       “I have a policy when it comes to disagreements, Ms. Chatam,” he informed her. “Whenever we come to loggerheads in this office, we seek guidance in prayer.”

       Shocked, Petra tugged at her skirt again. She believed in prayer, of course, and frequently resorted to it. In private. But this was business. Still, she’d prayed about this very matter before she’d entered the large, metal building that housed Bowen & Bowen’s offices and equipment.

       Walt Bowen clasped his hands together atop the blotter on his desk and bowed his head, apparently waiting. After a moment, Dale shifted onto his feet. Turning, he joined Petra on the lumpy sofa. She bowed her head almost in self-defense, painfully aware of Dale as he leaned forward, braced his elbows upon his knees and knit his fingers together.

       “Heavenly Father,” Walt began, “it’s not Your intention for Your children to be at odds, and as we sincerely seek Your will in all things, we come to You now for enlightenment and direction.”

       As he continued to speak, Petra felt her tension drain away and a hopeful optimism begin to grow. Surely, this would all work out somehow. She tried to think what she might do to soften Garth’s dislike of the man next to her, but God appeared to be way ahead of her.

       No sooner were the “Amens” spoken than Dale Bowen sighed, swept his finger down his nose and said, “All right. You want me out of the way, I’ll step aside. What we have to discuss now is who replaces me.”

       Petra slumped with relief and reached out to lay a hand on his strong arm before she could think better of the gesture. The man radiated heat like a log fire. She snatched her hand back. “Thank you.”

       He shrugged. “I still think it’s a mistake.”

       “You may be right,” she conceded. That changed nothing, however, and he obviously knew it.

       “As far as your replacement,” Walt said, spreading his big hands across the ink blotter, “that’ll have to be me.”

       “No way,” Dale objected, sitting back to cross one leg over the other. “You have enough on your plate. Jackie Hernandez can handle things.”

       “You sound like your mother,” Walt grumbled.

       “In other words, she’d agree with me,” Dale retorted before glancing at Petra. “I’ll explain things to Jackie myself.”

       “Isn’t Mr. Hernandez the supervisor on-site?” Petra asked, wondering about that exchange between father and son.

       “He is,” Dale confirmed. “He’s young, but don’t be fooled by that. Jack knows what he’s doing.”

       “My only concern is that he can handle the job,” Petra replied earnestly.

       “No worries there,” Dale stated.

       “Jack’s a good man,” Walt concurred.

       “Then we’re agreed,” Petra said, getting to her