The Wedding Chapel (31 page)

His prayer, his confession weighted his heart. He’d had plans for this place besides his own wedding.

He’d wanted to see friends marry here. His children and grandchildren.

Whoosh-thump. Whoosh-thump.

I’ll miss you too.
Jimmy pressed the back of his wrist to his watering eyes, memories surfacing with every breath.

J
ANUARY
28, 1951

T
HE GREAT
N
ASHVILLE BLIZZARD

The
Tennessean
predicted clear skies, but on Sunday afternoon, as Jimmy turned down the narrow lane leading to his hideaway, the old Ford engine winding down, snow fell from blanketing gray clouds.

The wipers stuttered back and forth across the cold windshield, keeping the quarter-sized flakes from collecting.

The truck hit a hole and Colette laughed, bouncing in the seat next to him. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see.” Jimmy turned on the defrost. Rats, it wasn’t supposed to snow.

He’d set up the chapel for his scheme on his way home after church—when the skies were blue and the temperature a balmy fifty.

But by the time he headed to the Clemsons’ to collect Colette, the temperatures had plummeted and snow thickened the air.

In the back of the truck, he had his secret picnic basket of fried chicken and hot chocolate. At the chapel, he’d set up a wrought-iron bench Dad had salvaged, along with a stack of blankets. He’d built a fire pit and stacked plenty of wood.

But snow? The chapel didn’t have a roof. Jimmy was counting on the canopy of trees to catch the precipitation and keep the chapel clear.

“Do you have a surprise for me, Jimmy Westbrook?” Colette snuggled close to him, making his pulse thick and heavy.

“Just hold your horses.”

She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder. Yep, his heart could burst this very minute and he’d die a happy man.

He was more confident than ever his idea to bring her here was right. Even if her
surprise
was not complete.

He’d planned to show her the chapel when he was finished. He’d been sneaking off to work on it every spare hour, sometimes fibbing to Colette about his whereabouts on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, saying Dad needed him to work.

But Uncle Sam called him up two weeks ago and he couldn’t wait any longer to tell her. He realized last night when they went to the pictures with Clem and his new wife, Marie, he’d made a mistake not telling her right away.

Clem shipped out tomorrow, and Marie cried all through the show.

So he made up his mind to tell Colette today. And to
show
her why he’d not already proposed. He prayed the stone walls of the chapel would demonstrate his love for her and hold her heart until he returned.

The truck hit an icy patch and skidded forward, the back end fishtailing. Jimmy gripped the wheel and eased off the gas, straightening out the truck’s trajectory. Colette laughed, a free, sweet refrain.

“Lovely driving, Mr. Westbrook.”

He soared. There was nothing like being a hero to the woman he loved. Made his blood pump and his heart ping.

Then the walls of the chapel came into view. He felt shy and nervous. What would she say?

“Here we are.” He pulled up and cut the engine.

Through the gray light and flurrying snow, the chapel walls reached for the clouds, confident, ready to become what they were meant to be. Jimmy turned to Colette, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “If it’s too cold, we can go.”

“Go? After all you’ve done? Darling, I’m an Englishwoman. I lived through a war and plenty a cold night on a Carmarthenshire farm. Whatever this adventure you’ve planned, I’ll not miss it.” She scooted forward, peering through the windshield. “What is this?”

Jimmy nestled her close, the small light from the dash contouring the curves and planes of her face. Colette warmed his coldest corridors. She brought light where shadows had always lingered.

Her eyes searched his. “What’s up with you? You’re worrying me.”

“You’re beautiful. You know that, Colette?”

Her eyes glistened. “I believe it when you tell me, Jimmy.”

He brought his lips to hers, the first tender touch igniting a fire that would heat him all night. She arched up, slipping her hand around his neck, returning his kiss with one of her own.

When they broke apart, he tapped the end of her nose. “Ready?” He had to keep moving or he’d whisper the words he’d been holding on to for over two years.
“Marry me.”
He refused to utter them in the heat of the moment.

“Ready. Do you have your gloves and hat?” Colette raised her hand as she tugged on her thick, woolly gloves. “Aren’t these divine? Aunt Jean found them at Loveman’s.”

“Let’s hope they keep you warm. Here we go.” Jimmy tugged on his hat and jumped out, hurrying around to Colette’s door.

Slipping his arm around her, he felt her lean into him, and everything was quiet and calm. Beautiful.

“Listen,” she said, tipping back her head, catching a massive flake on her tongue. “You can hear the snow falling. Isn’t it brilliant?”

“Yes, brilliant.” Jimmy held her close and kissed her cheek. “If you get too cold, tell me.”

“Love, you worry too much. But I adore that you worry about me.” She faced the chapel. “Now, tell me, what is this place? Where are we?”

“Come on, you’ll see.” Jimmy plowed forward, kicking through the shallow accumulation of snow.

“Jimmy—” Her voice buoyed with wonder. “Is this a chapel?”

He stopped on the steps. Or what would be the steps. For now, it was only a couple of crooked limestones.

“It’s your chapel, Colette. Your wedding chapel.”

“My
wedding
chapel?” She stepped around him, walked to the walls, smoothing her gloved hand over the snow-kissed stone. “I don’t understand.” She turned to him. “Am I getting married?”

“Someday.” Jimmy sidestepped the question, not ready to give a direct answer yet. “I tried to build it like the chapel in the picture, of you and Peg at that wedding. The one in the country.”

“You remembered?” Her voice quivered. “I was babbling, running on with my stories of home.”

“You said it was such a happy time in the midst of war.”

“And you wanted to re-create it for me?” She let out a moan and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. He dropped the basket and thermos and grabbed hold as she cradled her head against his coat and wept softly. “I love you, Jimmy. So very much. I’ll spend my life showing you.”

“I’ll never let you go, Lettie.” He buried his face against her hair. “I’ll be your man. Your rock.”

After a few moments, Colette released him and stepped back, drying her face with the cold, snowy sleeve of her coat. “You’re too wonderful for me.”

“Come on, I’ve set us up over here.” He gestured about halfway up in what he intended to be the center aisle. If his plans worked out, this spot would be the third pew from the back and second from the front.

“I can’t believe you did this. Who does such a thing? For a poor English girl? Jimmy, love, it must have cost you a fortune.”

“Don’t you know, Colette?” His confession burst to life. No
more waiting for the planned moment by the fire. “I love you.” A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Since Clem showed me your picture, as crazy as it sounds. I just—”

She leapt at him, grabbing his shoulders and drawing him in for a kiss, holding on to him so tightly.

Jimmy responded, wrapping his arms about her, raising her off the ground, letting this moment be the rest of his answer.

How the chapel cost him practically nothing since Dad collected most of the stone. How the only expense was his time, which he freely gave.

“I love you too, Jimmy Westbrook. Since that night on the football field. With all my heart.”

“I love you, Colette. I love you. I don’t know much about marriage and all that, only one I ever took note of was your aunt and uncle’s, but I’ll give you everything I got.”

“Me too, darling, me too.”

He kissed her again, slowly this time, letting love defeat every one of their doubts. He didn’t have to fear with Lettie. Ever.

When the kiss ended he tapped his forehead to hers. “Say it again, Lettie. That you love me.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Jimmy Westbrook, I love you.”

He laughed, swirling her around. “Hear that, world? My Lettie loves me. And I love her.”

“Jimmy, put me down. Now, what is this place?
My
chapel.” Colette moved to the middle of the square, dirt sanctuary, arms wide, embracing the snow and cold.

“Yessiree, she’s all yours.” The chill hit him and he stooped to start a fire.

“Whoo! I’m the richest girl in the world.”

“I don’t know about that, but you certainly got your own wedding chapel.” He brushed the snow from the bench and the small
woodpile, tugged a matchbox from his pocket, and set the delicate flame to the kindling.

She fell against him, throwing her arm around his neck. “My true love built a wedding chapel for me. What other girl can say such things? Not even Princess Elizabeth can say Prince Philip built a chapel just for her.”

“What do you know about that? I bested Prince Philip.” Jimmy left the crackling fire and turned to her, cupping her cheek and kissing her.

“But, Jim?” Colette’s voice sobered. “Why do I have a wedding chapel when I’m not getting married? Or even engaged?”

He slid onto the bench, pulling her down next to him. “That’s the thing, Lettie. I want you to marry me. In your chapel.”

“Jimmy . . .” The blue of her eyes radiated. “You’re . . . p-proposing?”

He dropped to one knee. “Colette Greer, will you marry me?”

Her eyes glistened, reflecting the firelight. “Yes, James Westbrook. I’ll marry you. Yes.”

He tugged Colette down to the pallet of blankets, falling back, her fragrance and beauty igniting his passion for her.

“I’m going to be your wife,” she said, her face hovering above his.

“I’m going to be your husband.”

She smiled. “Mercy, it sounds so grown up.”

“We
are
grown up, Colette. Twenty and nineteen. My dad was married at my age.” She captured him more with every moment, with her dark hair curling from under the edges of her hat, her plump lips red and beckoning.

“We are, love. I’m ready.”

The wind gushed through the open chapel, filling the air with snow and the scent of burning hickory.

What were cold temperatures compared to their love?

“I feel like I’m in a snow globe.” Colette slipped off her gloves
and twirled her hand through the falling crystals. “Jimmy, when did you decide to build me a chapel?”

“Two summers ago.”

Her eyes widened. “Two summers.” She pressed her warm palm to his cold cheek. “You
do
love me.”

“With all my heart.” He reached for the picnic basket. “I’m famished.”

“What is that glorious aroma?” Colette leaned to see inside.

“Fried chicken, corn bread.” Jimmy held up the thermos. “Hot cocoa.”

“Does my true love cook?” Colette’s wide-eyed expression made him laugh. “You
are
my hero.”

Jimmy presented her with a tin of fried chicken. “Your true love’s father cooks.” He laughed, carefully filling two cups with hot cocoa.

“To us.” He raised his cup.

“To us.”

The fire found a bit of strength and the snow let up as the light began to fade from the gray clouds.

“See, darling, I told you the snow would let off.”

“Never doubted you.”

Snuggling under the blankets, resting against the iron bench, they talked, ate, and licked chicken grease from their fingers and dusted corn bread crumbs from their laps.

When Colette finished, she wiped her fingers on a cotton napkin and crawled out from the blankets, tucking her coat collar around her coat.

Jimmy shook the snow from the blankets, then warmed them by the fire while he watched Colette walk the chapel perimeter.

“To think, some girls get a diamond engagement ring, but I get a
chapel
. A lovely wedding chapel.”

“I love that you see what it will be instead of this roofless structure I got going.”

She turned to him, smiling, so beautiful standing between the brilliant firelight and the ghostly shadows of the snow. “When will it be finished? I want to be married as soon as possible. Before you change your mind.”

Jimmy met her on the other side of the fire, encircled her in his arms, and kissed her. “I will never change my mind, but, honey, I need to tell you something.”

“I’ll need time to plan and save,” she said. “I can’t expect Uncle Fred to bear the expense of my wedding.”

“Come sit by the fire.”

“What?” Her expression darkened. “Why so serious when you’ve just proposed?”

Curling up with her by the fire, tucking the blankets all around them, he drew a long, deep inhale.

“I got my notice, Colette.” He paused, searching her eyes, waiting for her response. Since Clem was leaving Monday bright and early, the war was fresh on his mind, her mind.

“Your notice?” Her lower lip quivered and her eyes pooled with sorrow.