An April Bride (13 page)

“Excuse me,” he said as he pushed past an older couple. He had to get outside. He had to find some air.

He saw the image again, the one in his dreams.

Stella was walking in the smoke, her white dress growing gray with dirt and soot. He could hear engines roaring, could hear the explosion of gunfire and the sound of people screaming.

“Go back,” he tried to call. “Go away. Stella, go away.”

He turned and saw her standing right behind him, shock turning her pale.

Then she spun on her heels and hurried back inside.

M
arshall stared up at the attic door, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Looking for a particular spot on the ceiling, son?” His dad stood a few steps away, down on the staircase.

Marshall turned and sat down on the landing. “I need to read those letters, Dad.”

“Sure you’re ready for that?” Gerald asked, his expression laced with worry. “You sure got upset back at the hospital when you tried that.”

“I wasn’t ready then. I was too messed up. I’m better now.”

“We’re all glad for that,” Gerald replied. “You made Stella happy by getting everyone together for that surprise shower yesterday.” His dad looked down at the stair tread. “But you left kind of early. Didn’t even stay for church.”

He couldn’t tell his dad that they’d had a little spat after
Stella had overheard him telling her to go back. He’d tried to explain, but her hurt expression told him to give her some time.

Now he searched for the right words. “I got a little overwhelmed and had to leave. But I’m glad about the shower. I missed all the other wedding festivities, so I wanted to do something for her that would include both of us. Mom said a couples’ shower would work. And it did until . . . until I started feeling kind of funny. Too many people asking too many questions.”

“Your mom is a very wise woman, but maybe we shouldn’t have pushed this on you. None of this.”

Marshall couldn’t argue with the notion of too much, too soon. “I’m blessed to have both of you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. The shower was my idea, but then I messed things up and now Stella’s more confused than ever.”

Gerald marched up the remaining steps and sat down beside Marshall. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m thankful you came home in one piece. You and Stella might need more time to adjust though.”

Marshall put a hand against his forehead. “Still a little fuzzy in here, but . . . I do like being with Stella. I just have to convince her of that. I wish I could remember more about her.”

“But you remembered your mom and me right away after we began telling you about your life. Why do you think it’s so hard to remember one of the best parts of your life?”

“You mean Stella and the wedding?”

“Yep. That’s the topic of the day around here.”

Marshall slanted an appreciative gaze toward his strong,
usually silent father. “I guess I haven’t been the best patient, huh?”

“It’s okay, son,” his dad said. “We’re so glad you’re alive, we figure we’ll work on the rest. That’s what family is all about.”

Marshall accepted his father’s words. “And about Stella? I can’t explain it.” He took a deep breath. “I keep having this dream about her.” He shrugged, wringing his hands together. “Lately, the dream has become more frequent. I have this scene in my head, of Stella walking right into the war zone. I’m trying to tell her to go away.”

“Dreaming about Stella might be a sign that your memory is finally coming back, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

“Except in the dream, she’s there with me in the fray. The bomb blast pushes me through the air, through a heavy smoke, and I hit the dirt and I can’t breathe. Stella’s walking toward me, but I’m yelling for her to go back, to run away.” He shrugged. “She never hears me. She just keeps on coming toward me.” He gave his father a helpless glance. “She heard me talking to myself yesterday when I was having a panic attack and took what I said the wrong way. Now she thinks I don’t want her around.”

His dad patted him on the knee. “Maybe she heard you, but she doesn’t want to run away. Stella is fighting her own battle, son. Think about that.”

Marshall nodded in agreement. “And I keep hurting her over and over. I think it’s time I read the letters. We’ve only got a few days before the wedding. Maybe the letters will fill in the spots that are still blank.”

“Do you love Stella?” his dad asked.

Marshall looked down at his hands. “I want to. She’s so easy to love.”

“You did love her, you know. You two made the cutest couple, always cuddling and cooing, laughing and having fun. Reminded me of your mom and me when we were dating.”

“I have fun with her now and I like being with her, but why can’t I just let go and get
that
feeling back?” Marshall asked, wishing it with all his might.

“You were very ill, son. You’ve still got some healing to do.” His dad pointed to his chest. “In here. It might take time, so don’t rush it. If you love Stella, you can make this work, one way or another. But if you’re not sure, you owe it to her to be completely honest. You two can work through this without the stress of a big wedding and worrying about the intimacy of marriage.”

Marshall swiped at his hair, his hand touching on the scar left from his injury. “I’m not sure about anything. Each time I think about stopping the wedding, I see her face and I see the disappointment in her eyes. Then I remember the dream and something holds me back. I can’t stop her in the dream. But I could end all of this in reality.” He shrugged. “Only I don’t want to end it. In spite of all my doubts, marrying Stella seems like what I need to do.”

His dad tented his hands across his knees. “What is your heart telling you?”

“To do the thing I promised to do. To marry the woman I love.” He shifted, held on to one of the old oak railing spindles. “Or at least I want to love her again.”

His father sat still for a minute or two. Then he stood
up and glanced at the attic door. “You do need to read those letters. They’ll tell you the story you can’t seem to get right in your head.”

Marshall watched his father walk back down the stairs. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he needed to take his cue from Stella and quit running.

He got up and tugged at the drop-down door, unfolding the rickety stairs and locking them in place. Then he slowly made his way up.

Two days later, Stella’s heels hit the slick wooden stairs in a tap-tap of urgency. A rainstorm had hit the minute she’d shut down the bookstore for the day, and now she was soaking wet and so tired. But the caterer had called with a major problem. Two of her workers had a spat and they’d both walked off the job for good.

She hadn’t heard from Marshall since Sunday night. He’d called her, apologizing for not staying for the church service. But he’d left her there alone with all their friends and all the gifts they’d received. The whole town was probably buzzing with the magnitude of that embarrassing incident. And what she’d heard him say . . .

He’s trying
, she reminded herself.
We’re both trying
.

He’d sounded contrite and sincere in his apology, but now her doubts had doubled. Maybe this problem with the caterer was a solid sign to call it quits.

Myrtle Palmer was waiting for her at the top of the stairs right by the “Myrtle’s Fine Food and Catering” sign. “I’m so
sorry, Stella. But with just days until the wedding, I thought I should let you know right away.”

Stella hugged the curvy older woman, the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked wedding cake surrounding them. “Can’t you hire new people?” she asked, her mind whirling with last-minute jitters.

Myrtle brushed drops of rain off Stella’s jacket and guided her into the office above the catering kitchen. “I could,” she said as she sank down in her leather chair and dabbed at her brow with a wrinkled white handkerchief. “But that takes vetting and checking and getting references. You know, I only hire the best, but these two had been at it for way too long. Good at their jobs, bad at getting along. I gave them every chance, and then they went at it again. I had told them last week, either shape up or there’s the door. Today they chose the door.”

Stella wondered why Myrtle had given the two workers the ultimatum just days before her wedding, but she could see the stress lines all over Myrtle’s plump face. “I understand,” she said, not really understanding at all.

But they were down to crunch time. The wedding was this Saturday. She tried to breathe, tried to calm herself, tried to convince herself that what she’d heard when she’d found Marshall outside the church doors had only been part of his anxiety.

“Stella, go away.”

Should she do just that?

Except for that one phone call to apologize and explain, she hadn’t heard from Marshall at all. Why was he avoiding her now, this close to the wedding? All sorts of scenarios
played in her head, and none of them were good. Each time they took a step forward, things seemed to slide two steps backward.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” Myrtle said again. “I might be able to pull it off, but I’m gonna need some help. Planning ahead for two hundred and fifty people involves a lot of crab legs and marinated shrimp.”

Stella pulled out the wedding journal she’d taken to work with her and studied the remaining days, hoping some comforting words would pop up on the page. Finally, she gulped back the need to have a good cry and smiled at Myrtle. “You know what? We don’t have to have a lot of fancy food. We can cut back on some of the appetizers and focus on what you can get done. Whatever you serve at the wedding will be wonderful. And we can get volunteers from church to fill in as helpers. They do weddings and showers all the time.”

Myrtle’s surprise moved down her ruddy face like candy sprinkles until her mouth dropped open. “I declare, I’ve never had a bride say that to me in all my twenty-eight years of catering events. Usually by this point, I’m either refunding money, asking for more money, or they’re standing there calling me names I can’t even begin to repeat.”

She sank back in her chair. “I’m gonna make you the prettiest wedding cake this town has ever seen.”

That brought the tears. Stella turned into a blubbering, sobbing bundle of waterworks.

Myrtle’s expression went from surprised to horrified. “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’ll get you some appetizers going too. I promise. If I have to do beanie-weenies, you’ll have appetizers.”

“It’s not that,” Stella said through her sobs. “It’s just everything.”

Myrtle got up and came around the desk. “C’mon into the kitchen with me, little lady. I just made a batch of my marshmallow brownies. I’m gonna cut you a big slab or two and you’re gonna tell me every little thing.”

Stella obediently followed Myrtle down to the big kitchen where workers scurried around doing their duties. Taking in all the wonderful smells, she said, “You’re too busy to bother with me.”

Myrtle shook her head and wagged a finger at Stella. “I am making an exception. Remember, I taught you in Sunday school, and you were always the most precious thing. I tried to guide you in the right direction back then and, suga’, I’m sure gonna do that with this wedding. I know your man’s a bit befuddled, but . . . honey, you look confused yourself.” She pulled Stella close in another bear hug. “Now come on and let’s find a nice cool spot to have us a little brownie break.”

Soon Stella was sitting in a quiet corner, eventually working on her second brownie and her third cup of coffee. By the time she finished her tale of woe, her stomach groaned with chocolate contentment and she practically glowed with caffeinated energy.

“So now I’m wondering what to do. I had to have my dress altered because I’ve lost weight from worrying. And then this problem with your staff . . . The groom might not even show up.”

Myrtle chuckled. “Those brownies should help with all that.”

But Stella wasn’t done. “The flowers I wanted for the altar had to be changed from hydrangeas and baby’s breath to lilies because of an error on the shipping date, and while I love lilies, I really love hydrangeas.” She sighed and put her head in her hand. “I think I’m asking too much, wanting the perfect wedding.”