An April Bride (15 page)

“Stella,” he whispered as tears fell down his face. “Stella, I was trying to protect you. I did tell you to go away, to turn back, but I was trying to warn you.”

He could see it all now. The letter, the image of the dress, the vision of Stella coming toward him, smiling, laughing.

And then the horror of a searing pain and screams and sand and smoke surrounding him. Fire and heat and rage. The fear of being helpless, of not knowing what was happening. And then, with one last image of the woman he loved in his mind, darkness and blessed sleep.

Marshall sat there, clutching his fists against the palms
of his hands until he had fingernail marks indenting his skin. He cried out to God to help him heal, to help him get past the pain of guilt and the grief of losing his buddies. But he especially prayed with a thankful heart that he’d finally remembered everything about the woman he loved.

Now he understood why he’d pushed Stella away, why he’d blocked out the sweet memories of being with her again, of marrying her and never letting her go.

He’d been so afraid of putting her through the danger of battle. Then of having her all dressed in white, waiting for him forever when he thought he was never coming home. In his mind, he’d somehow believed that Stella would be standing over his grave instead of meeting him at the altar.

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispered. “From all of it.”

He had to find her, to tell her the truth, to hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her more than life.

But what if it was too late?

S
tella stared at the dress she’d dreamed of wearing at her wedding. Two days from now, she was supposed to have married Marshall. But now, that dream was over. Myrtle had cried almost as hard as Stella when Stella had given her the news.

“The wedding is off, Miss Myrtle. So you don’t have to worry about having help to finish the menu. But . . . we do want you to do something special with the food you’ve already prepared.”

Myrtle blinked back tears, then grabbed her ever-present white handkerchief. “I’ll save it, just in case.”

“No. Take it all to the soup kitchen downtown. You know our church supports that and the homeless shelter too. Let them heat it up and enjoy it.”

“Even the cake?”

“Is it finished?”

“No, but . . . all I had to do was thaw the layers and add the icing.”

“Do what you have to do to make it special for them,” Stella had replied, her words husky with unshed tears.

She’d also talked to the rental company and told Mr. Tatum to cancel setting up the tent and tables.

“But we found hydrangeas for the tables,” his wife, Jackie, had said, her own voice raw with emotion. “Your mother and several of her friends are cutting them fresh from their gardens.”

Stella had been so overwhelmed by that, she couldn’t respond. That had brought her another motherly hug and a promise from Miss Jackie. “You call us if you change your mind. We’ll be there.”

Canceling a wedding halted a lot of work for a lot of people, but at least they’d get to keep most of their fees.

Thankfully, Stella and her helpers had kept things pretty simple. She’d only had a couple of bridesmaids and they all lived nearby, but instead of having a last get-together with them tomorrow night, she’d be home alone in her old pj’s, crying her heart out.

Fingering the dress that still hung on the door of the armoire, Stella smiled one last time. “It’s not about wearing a beautiful dress. It’s about . . . doing the right thing.”

That’s what Marshall had tried so hard to do.

She loved him even more for that, at least.

A knock at her door caused Stella to drop her hand away from the dress and wipe at her eyes. “Come in.”

Her mother peeked in, then walked a couple of steps toward the window. “Honey, I think you need to look outside.”

“What is it, Mama?”

“Just . . . take a look,” her mother said, her eyes watery too.

Stella wanted to curl up in her bed and never leave the house, but the insistent look her mother gave her made her wonder what was going on.

She went to the French doors and opened them wide to the late afternoon wind. Her mother followed and pulled her to the railing. “Look, out on the levee.”

Stella stared into the sunset and let out a gasp.

“Is that Marshall?”

“I do believe so,” her mother said, touching her shoulder. “Don’t you think you should go out there and see what he’s doing?”

Stella stood there, her hands on the wooden railing, disbelief battling with her weary heart. “I . . . I don’t know.”

Marshall stood on the levee wearing a white shirt and khaki pants, holding a bouquet of exquisite blue- and lavender-colored hydrangeas, his gaze on the house.

On her.

“He called me,” her mother explained. “He wants you to go down there.”

“What?” Stella blinked. “What is he doing?”

“Honey, I think you should go and ask him,” her mother urged.

Stella washed her face and hurried down the stairs and out the door. She walked at first, trying to maintain a polite decorum, but when she reached the old white gate and opened it, her gaze met Marshall’s and . . . she started running.

By the time she saw the expression on his face, she realized the truth. “Marshall! You’ve finally remembered me!”

Marshall stared at the woman he’d loved for most of his life, tears forming in spite of his need to control them. He nodded. “I . . . I . . .” He tugged her into his arms, his gaze holding hers. “I love you so much, Stella.”

Then he kissed her to prove he was back and whole and that he wanted to make a lifetime commitment to her.

When he lifted his head, he saw her tears of happiness. Wiping at her cheeks, he said, “I read the last letter, Stella. The one where you talked about your wedding dress.”

She didn’t speak. She just kept moving her head, tears misting in her eyes.

But he had to explain. “That was the last letter I had from you before . . . the explosion.”

“Oh, Marsh.”

Now she was wiping his tears away.

“That image I kept having of you in my dreams. That was the image I had in my head when the bomb exploded. So seeing you walking toward me in a wedding gown got all muddled with the images of smoke and wounded soldiers and . . . death. I didn’t want you to be a widow before we were even married.”

He tugged her close again. “I wanted to protect you, but really I blocked all that out to protect myself. Does that make sense?”

She nodded again. “That’s why you told me to go away when you had that flashback at the couples’ shower?”

“Yes, yes.” He breathed a sigh of relief, his heart hammering a new beat now. “I saw it all after I found that letter. I saw you, Stella. The real you.”

Stella couldn’t speak. She just kept smiling through her tears.

Marshall kissed her again, then handed her the flowers. “Myrtle says you’re partial to hydrangeas.” He winked. “I happened to remember that myself too.”

She laughed, wondering why he’d been talking to Myrtle.

Marshall smiled, reached in his pocket for his grandmother’s ring, and got down on one knee. “Stella, will you marry me?”

Stella let out a little gasp. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, a hundred times yes.”

He put the ring on her finger and grinned. “Once will do just fine.”

Then he stood up and pulled his bride into his arms and hugged her close, the memory of her surrounding him with ribbons of brilliant light that rivaled the rusty mauves and golden oranges of the sunset over the river.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said, smiling again. “Will you marry me this Saturday at the church, just as we’d planned?”

She almost nodded, but then stopped. “I can’t. I mean, I canceled everything already.”

Marshall chuckled and pushed back a strand of her wayward curls. “I went behind you and un-canceled everything,” he explained. “Miss Myrtle screamed so loud on the phone, I might be deaf.”

“I can’t believe this,” Stella said, regaining some of her practicality. “What if I’d said no?”

Marshall kissed her hand. “I had faith that you wouldn’t do that,” he admitted. “And I prayed toward that end.”

Stella finally laughed, the relief in her eyes shining as brightly as the contented sky. “I can’t believe this is really happening. And you really, really remember me?”

“Every precious part of you,” he replied. “Let’s go tell your parents.” He took her by the hand and guided her down the levee. “They might be busy calling everyone to let them know the wedding’s back on.”

“You told them already?”

“I sure did. I shouted it from the rooftop to my parents, and then I came straight here and asked your dad for permission.”

He walked her across the country road. “Your mom went into action, calling the church phone tree. I think by now the whole town knows we’re back on.”

“We might not have appetizers at the reception though.”

“Miss Myrtle told me about that. She said to give you a message. Something about beanie-weenies?”

Stella laughed out loud. “Sounds wonderful to me.”

Saturday afternoon.

The church shined with a festive attitude. The altar was covered in lilies and hydrangeas, baby’s breath and white roses. The groom waited impatiently to finally get his first glance of his bride in the wedding dress he’d waited a
lifetime to see. The music played a soft rendition of “Faith, Hope, and Love.”

When “Wedding March” began, his heart seemed to lift to the sky with joy and thankfulness.

And then his bride came into full view and his breath stopped. But this time, she was the one who took his breath away, and all the fear and chaos of battle receded into a fine mist of lost memories. This was real. This was the here and now. This was the most beautiful scene he ever could have imagined.

An hour later, Stella stood in that same dress with a smile spreading across her face. “I hope this isn’t a dream.”

Marshall kissed the top of her head. “This is real, but a dream come true. I can’t believe I almost let you go.”

“I can’t believe I decided to let you go,” she countered.

“You did the right thing. It forced me to face my worst fears.”

“It’s over now,” she said. “With time and your therapy, you should heal completely, right?”