An April Bride (14 page)

Myrtle patted Stella’s hand and gave her another tissue. “What you need to aim for isn’t perfect, baby doll. You need to aim for the best you can do. Because that’s all you can do, any day of the week. You just do the best you can do and let the rest work itself out.”

Stella nodded and wiped her nose. “But am I doing my best? Or should I just give up and let Marshall go? I mean, every time I think he’s making progress and he truly wants to marry me, he backs away and becomes even more distant. I’ve prayed and I’ve tried to be patient. And now days before the wedding, everything’s just falling apart. Is that a sign I should just give up?”

Myrtle pursed her lips and got up, her hands on her hips. “You are not giving up, no ma’am.” She pulled Stella toward the front door and then out onto the sidewalk. “Look up there,” she said with a smile of assurance.

Stella looked up at the sky. “A rainbow. How did you know?”

Myrtle’s chuckle echoed down the street. “The whole time you were pouring your heart out to me, I could see out the window. When it stopped raining, I saw part of this rainbow shooting through the sky.”

Stella lifted her gaze to the heavens. The rainbow spread across the clouds into a multicolored arc that sparkled
between the clouds and the sun like ribbons trailing after a gift box.

“God never gives up, so why should you?” Myrtle asked. She pointed to the rainbow. “The sun was behind you, but the rain was all you could see in front of you. You know, the rainbow is formed when the light hits millions of water droplets and bends into an arc. Then it changes into those brilliant colors. It’s the same light you saw before, sweetie. It’s just shifted into something else. Something that holds the promise of God’s love.”

Myrtle stared up at the rainbow. “I learn a lot, watching the Weather Channel.” Her eyes sparkled. “Your Marshall is the same man you fell in love with. He’s just been through something that bent him and he’s changed color a little bit.” She patted Stella on the back. “But he ain’t broken yet, no sir. Together, you and that man can still have something beautiful.”

Stella smiled and started crying all over again. This time her tears were resolved and determined. But her resolve and determination had shifted to something more than her wedding.

“I never knew you were such a romantic philosopher, Miss Myrtle,” she said. “But . . . you make perfect sense.”

Myrtle clapped her hands together. “Not perfect now. But I do the best I can with what I’ve got.”

Stella decided that was exactly what she would do too. She wasn’t giving up, but she had to let go.

M
arshall sat in his bedroom. This upstairs room at the back of the house held pieces of his memories like the lace of a spiderweb. Football and prom pictures, spring break and youth trips.

Stella was in just about every picture. His mom had left it all right here even though he’d been away at college and serving in the Army for years now. Why?

Was it hard for her to let go of her only child?

Glad now that his mom had kept his room pretty much intact, he sat back on the bed and stared at the bundle of letters he’d saved. Letters from home.

Letters from Stella.

She’d written detailed accounts of her days at the bookstore and her nights with friends, painting and polishing the little house they’d both fallen in love with in the months before he’d left for his second deployment.

Marshall closed his eyes, his thoughts jumbled and
tossed. He’d always wanted to serve his country, even after getting a business degree in college. He’d gone over and over his choice with his parents, and finally, after a lot of prayer, they’d given him their blessing.

Stella had agreed, reluctantly but proudly, as she’d put it in one of the letters, to let him go too.

“I’ll be fine right here in Renaissance, Marsh,” she’d said. “Because I know you’ll come home to me and then we can begin our life together.”

Her resolve and devotion had been sprinkled throughout her colorful letters. In one of them she had told him a funny story about a church committee.

Mrs. Mims came to a meeting with a granddaddy long-leg spider in her hair. You should have heard all of us screaming. But she thumped him off and then picked him up and let him go outside. I would have stomped him, but I guess she has a kinder heart toward creepy creatures than I do.

“You have a kind heart,” he said now, smiling.

He picked up the phone, dialed her number, and waited to hear her voice.

“Marsh, how are you?”

She sounded breathless, her voice husky and hopeful.

“I’m okay. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been sorting through some things.”

“I understand. You needed some time to think.”

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. I’ve been talking to my parents a lot, trying to put each memory in its proper place.”

“I didn’t want to pester you,” she said, “so I’ve tried to give you some space.” She went silent and then added, “But we do need to talk. I’ve reached a decision . . . about our wedding.”

Marshall stood on the riverbank, staring out at the churning Mississippi River. The undercurrents running through his mind matched the gliding water that swirled and twisted down below the levee.

Stella had asked to meet him here, and he thought he knew the reason. He’d proposed to her here, according to his mother’s telling. Stella had only mentioned it once in passing, probably so as not to disturb him.

He didn’t want this walking-on-eggshells kind of life. He was pretty sure Stella didn’t want it either. He turned and stared across the highway to the big white house sitting like a wedding cake on the other side. Stella’s home was beautiful and strong, steeped in tradition. She wanted that kind of wedding. She expected that kind of life. The life where the china pattern was as old as the family tree. The life where traditions and customs and manners counted. A beautiful, gossamer life that spoke of faith, hope, and love.

He’d wanted that life too, hadn’t he
?

Why
can’t I remember?

He’d tried to pray, had tried to read the letters. But with each new letter, with each word leading up to this wedding, he became more and more agitated. He’d stopped reading
when he reached the letters he’d received the week he’d been injured.

Too close. Too painful.

Why
can’t I get past my pain and this tremendous fear?

“Marshall?”

He saw her now. She’d parked her little car at the end of the long drive, and now she was walking toward him.

Marshall waved and waited, his heart crushing into his rib cage, every muscle in him tightening with a strange hurt that far outweighed any injuries he’d suffered. This beautiful woman deserved better than the likes of him.

She made her way up onto the levee and stopped to stare at the river. “It never stops moving,” she said by way of a greeting. “It changes and makes new paths, but this river just never gives up.”

“But you have, right?”

Stella turned to him then, her nod so quick he almost missed it. “I . . . I haven’t given up, but I’m giving in.”

“What does that mean?”

She pushed at her hair, blinked back tears. “I just can’t do it, Marsh. I can’t railroad you into a marriage that you’re not ready to be a part of.”

“Stella—”

“No, don’t.” She put her hands together, held them against her midsection like a shield. “I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I’ve talked to the caterer and the church and I’ve got people on standby to call everyone who might be traveling too far to turn back.”

She inhaled a great breath. “I’ve decided to call off the
wedding, Marsh. It’s the best thing for everyone.” She finally looked at him, her eyes clear and bright and full of resolve. “I wanted a big, beautiful wedding, but what I want more than that is a good, strong marriage. With a man who can love me the way I love him.” She stared off at the river, then brought her gaze back to him. “You used to be that man.”

Marshall’s heart cracked. He rushed to her and put his hands on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I wanted to make it right, Stella.”

“I know you did,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I know, and I love you all the more for it, but we can’t force something that’s not the same.”

She was right and he knew it, but something inside him seemed to shatter and crash. “One day—”

“One day we might be able to start all over, but not now. Not too soon.” She handed him the ring that had belonged to his grandmother. “When you’re ready, you meet me right back here and . . . if you truly love me, I’ll be here. But . . . I want you to get well and . . . I’ll love you no matter what. Always. If you never get your memory back, I’ll be okay. I know I will. It won’t be easy, but I’ll be fine. And so will you.”

She placed her hands up on his shoulders. “Your health is more important than . . . anything.”

Then she turned and walked back down the levee.

While the sun set over the river behind his back.

The house was silent.

Marshall’s parents had gone to a Wednesday night supper meeting at church.

He had to do something. He had to decide if he wanted to stay here in Renaissance or maybe move away so he could start fresh somewhere else.

But . . . he didn’t want to move away. He didn’t want to give up on Stella either. He’d stay and fight somehow. He’d discovered that this battle wasn’t about sending her away. This battle was about pushing through his pain to make her stay with him. He had to show Stella that somewhere in the deepest places in his heart, he loved her.

So he went into his room and pulled out the last packet of letters.

Dear Marshall, just a few more months until our wedding. I have my dress! I picked it out the other day. Mama and I drove to New Orleans and had a nice lunch, then we went to the bridal salon and I tried it on again. It’s so beautiful. I hope you’ll like it. I can’t send you a picture since tradition dictates that the groom can’t see me in the gown until the wedding. So I’m not even going to describe it because I want you to be surprised when you see me walking down the aisle toward you.

Marshall stopped, the image he now dreaded rising up in his mind. He remembered reading this letter before. He remembered picturing Stella in a beautiful white dress walking toward him.

Walking toward him.

He’d been reading this letter right before their convoy had headed out and been hit by that IED. The image of Stella in a wedding dress had been on his mind all day that day.
All day long
.

Marshall sat there on the bed, staring at the graceful words as memories tore through his system like rushing water.

He’d just tucked the letter into his locker with the rest, smiling as he thought about Stella walking toward him in a white dress. That image had been in his thoughts when he’d rushed out the door . . . and then moments later his world had gone black.

He’d woken up in a hospital, in pain and without any memories.

He read the letter again, his breath hitching, sweat popping up along his spine, and with each word, memories poured through his mind, filling his heart with a piercing, breathtaking love. A love that quieted his fears and opened his heart.