The Wedding Chapel (32 page)

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” She gripped his hands, digging in her gloved fingers.

“I’m sorry, so sorry.” He drew her toward him and kissed her. “We were having such a good time. And I didn’t want to bring us down. Clem’s leaving was doing enough of that—”

She flung her arms about him. “You can’t go . . . you can’t. How can I lose someone else I love to war? Bloody, stupid war. I won’t let you go.”

“I have to, Lettie.” His response came off sharper than he’d intended. “Do you want me to write the War Department, tell them my fiancée won’t let me?”

“Yes, please, yes. Tell them you can’t go.” Her tears glistened on her cheeks. “Y-you mean everything to me, Jimmy. I can’t lose you. In England, I’d forgotten what true happiness felt like . . . You showed me different. You’re so sweet and kind, and you make me laugh. Jimmy, who will make me laugh?”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, then gently removed her wool hat, entwining his fingers with her soft hair. “I’ll send you jokes from Korea.”

“You make fun of me . . .”

“No . . .” Cupping her face, he kissed her, gently falling into her, wanting to forget he had no right to her body yet, to forget he’d be in a barracks with loads of other boys this time next week.

She stretched alongside him on the pallet, her pressing kiss an invitation. “Marry me, Jimmy.”

He traced his finger along the planes of her beautiful face. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. I will marry you.”

“No, marry me now. In my chapel.”

He buried his face against her breast, drawing strength from the
whoosh
-
thump
of her beating heart. “We’ve no license. And by the time I run for the preacher—”

“I don’t want any of that, just you.”

“But, Colette, we won’t be legal—”

“Yes, we will.” She pressed his hand to her heart. “Here. In our hearts. I, Colette Elizabeth Greer, take you, James Allen Westbrook, to be my husband, for better or worse, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, to love and cherish, ’til death us do part. Before God I pledge this vow.”

He swallowed, the sovereignty of the moment pumping through his heart. He could hear the rhythm in his ears. “I, James Allen Westbrook, take you, Colette Elizabeth Greer, to be my wife, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, to love and cherish, in war and
peace, in good and bad, no matter what, and before God I pledge this vow.”

The sound of his voice lingered between them. Then he kissed her, feeling the finality of it all.

A slow grin pressed his lips. “We’re married.”

“So promise me, Jims, you will not die and leave me a war widow. I couldn’t bear it. Not one bit.”

His heart burst with the precious vulnerability of the woman in his arms. “I won’t die, Mrs. Westbrook. Not in Korea, and not for a very long time. I’ll be your old man husband.”

“I’ll be your old woman wife.”

Snow began to fall once more, swirling down around them. Jimmy couldn’t be sure, but in the distance he believed he heard a faint melody whistling through the trees.

“When I come home, I’m going to finish this chapel and marry you proper like, with all of our family and friends. Then we’re going to have a bunch of kids and be ‘those Westbrooks.’ ”

She laughed, snuggling against him, clinging to him. “I’ll snub the women’s league and club teas.”

“I’ll never hit the golf course or become an Elk. I’m going to be a . . . football coach. The best ever.”

“A football coach? Really? Did you just decide?”

“I think I did.”

“You’ll be marvelous, darling. I know it.”

She brushed her thumb over his lips, her eyes locked with his. “Just come home, Mr. Football Coach. Just come home.”

The snow became a force of large flakes sizzling in the fire. Gathering her in his arms, he burrowed with her under the covers, his heart beating as he let go into the now, the beginning-middle-end of them, and followed his heart to where everything was warm, passionate, and beautiful.

Chapter Twenty-Three

COLETTE

S
he stood atop the rolling green knoll behind the chapel, looking out over a new development, memories rising, flooding the recesses of her mind.

The trickle started on the drive down River Road—it’d been so long since she’d traveled this way—and now that she’d arrived at the chapel, she couldn’t seem to control her thoughts, her emotions, or the tremor running through her.

Taylor and Emma flanked her, submitting to the view and the silence.

“This used to be farmland,” Colette said after a moment. “But now it’s nothing but houses as far as the eye can see.”

“There’s a lot of development in Heart’s Bend,” Emma said.

“I heard a car door,” Taylor said, gently touching Colette’s shoulder. “I think Coach is here.”

Colette nodded. “Go on, I’ll be along.”

“You all right?”

“Fine. Just need a moment.” Colette was used to getting into character, preparing for a scene. But this was not pretend, reciting some writer’s lines. This was real life and the character she needed to reckon with was her nineteen-year-old self.

The chapel was beautiful, displaying Jimmy’s amazing craftsmanship. She could handle the outside of the place, but once she stepped inside . . .

The wind whispered past and she felt the thin ribbons knew her secret. That the night a blizzard threatened central Tennessee, she lay in her lover’s arms.

For the first and the last time.

J
ANUARY
28, 1951

A
T THE CHAPEL

Snow swirled and danced, drifting down slowly through the open rafters, forming soft mounds on the chapel floor.

Her magical, wintry wedding chapel. Her living snow globe. A world in which no one existed but her and Jimmy.

She’d never been this close, this intimate with a man, but now that she let her heart and soul go to Jimmy, Colette knew it was the most
glorious
feeling. Her heart resounded beneath the layers of sweater and coat. “Is it real? All these happy feelings?”

Never mind the bother of him being called up. She’d not think of it.

“This is only the beginning, Colette.” He loosened her scarf and brushed his warm hand along the base of her neck, causing her to tremble with passion.

“Aren’t we the lucky ones, then.”

“Very.” He lowered his gaze, following the V line of her blouse. “Are you scared?”

“Not with you.” She raised herself up, kissing him softly, slipping from her coat.

“I won’t hurt you, Colette. Not now, not ever.”

She knew then she’d follow him to wherever their passions led. And she would be safe inside their consummated love.

Peg would just have to understand.

“I trust you, Jimmy.” She smiled, rolling her coat into a pillow. “My husband.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “My wife.”

Barely nineteen, Colette felt sage and mature, queen of the world. And Jimmy was her king.

He placed her hand over his heart, his chest firm and muscled beneath her palm. “It’s racing.”

Tentatively, she placed his hand over her heart. “As is mine.”

His warm lips touched her as he drew her scarf from around her neck, and his touches spoke what words could not. Colette roped her arms around his shoulders, releasing into the movement of their bodies, moving to the
whoosh
-
thump
of her heart.

His eyes searched hers. “Tell me if you want to stop. We can be husband and wife in vow only.”

“But I want to be your wife . . . in every way.” She was never more sure of anything in her life. Because he
was
her shield from the past, her hope in the present, and her promise for the future.

As the snow continued to fall and the fire flamed, their passion took them where lovers go. Colette surrendered everything to Jimmy, knowing that in this place of love she became who she wanted to be.

JIMMY

Jimmy collected his memories of Colette as the sanctuary door opened. Taylor and another woman entered with Drummond Branson, followed by Keith Niven and three fancy-looking suits.

Apparently they was all riled up over something. Drummond was going toe-to-toe with Keith.

“Drummond, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Keith, it’s on record. I saw the city plans,” Drummond said. “You’re buying this property to build on it, not create a wedding venue.”

“You know as well as I do they are just plans on record
just in case.
But there are no plans to put a development here.” Keith laughed as if Drum walked the edge of crazy, making a face for Jimmy. “Coach, good to see you. Let me introduce your buyers. André Willet, Brant Jackson, and Dan Snyder.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jimmy offered his hand, but Drummond stepped in between.

“Don’t shake, Coach.” What had Drummond so riled? “Keith, who are these men? And what’s the offer?”

“Drum, I don’t see how any of this is your business.”

“Two hundred thousand.” From the one named Brant. He seemed right confident, and two hundred grand didn’t seem like a bad offer.

Drummond clapped him on the shoulder. “Coach, don’t accept. This property is worth twice that.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Drummond?” Keith said. “Then say it.”

“What? Have I been unclear so far?”

Enough. Jimmy didn’t want folks throwing stones in his chapel, in a place meant for love and joy.

But perhaps this argument was his just due—his sins coming home to roost. Fine, then let them be on him.

In fact, the buyers were standing right where he’d once lain with Colette.

He raised his hands. “Let’s not argue—”

The Brant fella interrupted, his feathers all fluffed. “Two hundred is right at market value for this area. We’ve no intention of robbing Mr. Westbrook of a fair deal.”

“The land alone is worth three hundred, maybe more. And this chapel? Throw in another hundred and fifty grand. Coach.” Drummond took hold of Jimmy’s shoulder. “The plan for this area is for big, ritzy row houses. These boys will sell each quarter acre for fifty thousand-plus. The six acres will gross well over a million dollars.”

“It’s called good business,” André said. “We take the risk by buying the property, insuring it, making sure there are no environmental hurdles, and yes, eventually selling for a profit.”

“No deal,” Drummond said with all boldness but without any authority.

“This is not your business, Drummond.” All red faced, Keith was fixing to blow.

Jimmy peered past Drummond at Taylor. He’d simmer down this argument by seeing what she wanted. “Did you need to see me?”

She glanced toward the door. “Yes, but—” She flashed her palm. “I’ll be right back. Don’t make any deals until I get back. Coach, this is my sister, Emma.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Coach.”

“No deals . . . That’s right, Taylor. Tell him.” Drummond was like a dog with a bone on this one.

“Can we negotiate without this man?” Dan, the tall one, simmered beneath his fancy duds.

“Nothing less than five hundred thousand,” Drummond pressed on. “For five acres. Leave the chapel on one. Plus an easement and parking.”

“You must be out of your mind.” The other suit looked like a shaken bottle of soda pop. “We want
all
six acres.”

“Why? Take five. You’ll still have plenty of land, along with the property you own, to build your suburb.”

“Because—” Brant hesitated, glancing around at Keith and his partners. “The road goes right through here.”

“Brant!” Keith’s voice bounced among the rafters.

“Road? What road?” Jimmy said, his senses fully engaged, burning away any lingering emotion. “What road?”

“Yeah, Keith, what road?” Drummond angled back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this.

“Coach, there’s no road. Just, on the plans filed with the county”—he peered at Drummond—“plans we’re not going to use, there might be a road.” He motioned up and down the chapel aisle. “About here.”

“But you can’t have a road
about
here. You’d have to tear down the chapel.”

“Exactly,” Drum said. “The road to their community begins right there.” He pointed to the back of the sanctuary. “At your little gravel entrance off River Road.”