An April Bride (5 page)

Marshall’s heart went out to her. He’d put her through so much by not allowing her to visit him in the hospital and by keeping her in the dark about what was really wrong with him. “I’m so sorry,” he said, taking her hand.

Reverend Howell offered her a tissue. “You have a right to question this situation, Stella. This was a big blow—and right before your wedding too. Sometimes we don’t know the
answers to the why and how, but we do know the Lord is in control. Do you still believe that?”

She lowered her head and wiped at her eyes. “I tell myself not to worry, but . . . my whole life has changed overnight. I don’t feel so secure and confident in anything these days.”

Marshall tugged at her hand so she’d look at him. “You can be sure about me, Stella. I don’t back down on a pledge. And if I pledged myself to you, then that’s how it’s gonna be. I won’t desert you.”

“But what if you don’t love me anymore, Marsh?”

Marshall couldn’t take the hurt on her pretty face. “I believe I do still love you, deep down inside. I just have to find a way to bring all those feelings to the surface.” He got up and bent down in front of her. “Don’t give up on me, okay? Stella? Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed now. “I didn’t mean to cry. Really, I didn’t.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Marshall said. “This was a good idea. This discussion has shown me that I need to be careful of your feelings too. It’s not all about me, you know. It’s about us.”

She nodded and smiled. “And God’s plans for us.”

Trust in the Lord
.

“Yes.” Marshall pulled her to her feet. “I’m so sorry to put you through this.”

Reverend Howell stood and came around the desk. “You two love each other. That we all know. Marshall, you’re admirable to go through with the wedding while you’re still not one hundred percent, but be very sure you both can handle
this hurdle. Weddings are stressful even when everything is hunky-dory. So pace yourselves and remember you have the rest of your lives to get through this.”

“But we only have the rest of this month until the wedding,” Stella said. “I don’t want any regrets.”

Marshall understood what she was saying. “I don’t think any man would regret being your husband.”

“I don’t want just any man. I want you,” she said. “All of you.” Then she thanked the reverend and left the room.

Reverend Howell gave Marshall a solemn stare. “I think you and I need to say a prayer, son.”

Marshall nodded in agreement and closed his eyes.

Stella waited by her convertible, her prayers centered on trusting in God. Her faith had always been her stronghold. She wouldn’t waver now. She found comfort in knowing that even if the worst happened, she’d get through it. She had the best parents in the world, and she had a solid faith community to see her through.

But what if I don’t have Marsh?

She couldn’t think beyond the here and now. She had to take baby steps right along with Marshall. When she saw him coming out of the church, she took a steadying breath and waved.

“Sorry,” he said. “The reverend gave me a little advice.”

“What did he say?” she blurted. Then she held up her hand. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. That’s private.”

“It’s okay.” He opened her door to let her into the driver’s seat, then he came around and folded himself into the passenger’s side. “We prayed together.”

Stella felt a rush of tears again, but she pushed them away. She’d never been such a crybaby. But knowing Marshall was also relying on the Lord made her feel so much better.

“We have to keep the faith,” she said as she shifted the little car into reverse.

Marshall looked straight ahead. “Yes. I guess having faith is a lot like not remembering. The unseen things are right there out of your reach and you have to trust that everything will make sense one day.”

Stella shot him a smile. The old Marsh was still here. She could cling to that. “I thought we’d take a drive around the lake. Pelican Lake. Do you remember it?”

He took in the countryside. “Church picnics, camp meetings, after-school swimming. Yeah, I . . . I can see it in my mind.”

She wanted to ask if he could see her in his memories, but Stella was learning to be patient. “It’s not a big lake, but it’s pretty. Remember Old Jake?”

He squinted and frowned. “No.”

“He’s a big alligator. We used to sing ‘Hey, Jake from Pelican Lake.’ He travels back and forth from the bayou stream between the river and the lake. I used to be scared to swim there because of Old Jake sightings. I guess he’s still there somewhere.”

“Just like my memories,” Marshall said, his tone full of frustration.

Stella refrained from agreeing with him. “Let’s grab some burgers and have a picnic. We used to spend a lot of time out there.”

“That sounds great,” he said before changing the subject. “So we’re getting married at the church. I like that.”

“Good. We agreed on that a year ago. Right before you left.” Her voice drifted off as memories flashed through her mind like a river flood. “Then we decided to go ahead and find a house. Our own house. Your dad helped my dad fix it up. Our moms helped me decorate it.”

“Let’s go to the house,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “If I’m gonna live there, I probably should see the place, right?”

Stella wasn’t sure. She’d wanted to show him the house right away. But that had been before . . . before the new Marshall had walked into her life. “Are you up to this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I told you, I need details. I’d say the house I obviously now own is one mighty big detail.”

When she didn’t respond to his rough tone, he touched her hand. “I’m sorry. This . . . isn’t easy. I can’t remember and I get aggravated. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Stella held on to the gear stick and shifted. “The house it is, then. I hope you like it. I sent you pictures.”

He gave her a frustrated stare. “Mom kept telling me about your letters and pictures. They must be in the bundle of my personal belongings that got shipped here.”

Stella mirrored his frustration. “You really haven’t read any of my letters?”

“I was so out of it in Germany, I didn’t want to read them. Mom decided to ship my belongings home so they wouldn’t get lost,” he said, his tone softening. “I’ll get them
out and read them again. I promise. Everything’s been kind of mixed up.”

Stella’s hope warred with her agony. If he didn’t care enough to read the letters she’d sent to him on a regular basis, why should he care about anything?

She whirled the car into the drive-through and ordered their burgers, then she took a turn on the street where they were supposed to live. She spun the tiny car up onto the driveway of the Craftsman-style house they’d picked out all those months ago, her pain and anger simmering beneath a smile.

But when she turned to look at Marshall, her heart melted for him all over again. He had such a look of awe on his face that she couldn’t be mad at him.

“This is our house?” he asked in a low whisper, glancing from the house to her and then back again.

“Yours, mine, and the bank’s,” she replied. “C’mon. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

When they got to the front door, Marshall turned to her. “About the letters. I . . . I was afraid to read them, Stella. I was afraid I wouldn’t remember, so Mom sent them home to keep me from getting all frazzled and upset. You have to understand, I was wounded, bitter, and scared. I haven’t admitted that to anyone, not the doctors and not even my parents.” He took the bag of food from her and looked down, his gaze locked on her. “I’m going to read your letters now. I want to know everything, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, her heart so full of love she thought it would fill this whole house. “Okay, Marshall. Every little thing will bring you back to me, one memory at a time.”

“Starting with these burgers,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes.

“Starting now,” she replied. Then she unlocked the door to their home.

M
arshall took a step into the little cottage, trying to picture living here with Stella. “I like the built-ins and the fireplace,” he said.

“You zoomed right in on that when we first looked at the house,” she explained. “It was a mess back then, empty and sad and in need of some tender loving care.”

That described him too, but he had to quit comparing all her happy memories with his empty ones. He took in the new floral sofa across from the double windows and the cozy leather chair and ottoman tucked in one perfect corner. “I guess you went furniture shopping.”

She moved toward the shiny white built-in shelves, then asked as if she knew what he was thinking, “Do you remember any of this?”

He glanced around. The house smelled of new paint and freshly polished wood. A picture of a garden scene hung over the sofa. A sweet-smelling round yellow candle was centered
on the trunk that served as a coffee table. Already she’d worked to make it homey and comfortable.

Marshall closed his eyes and let his mind wander. “I remember a song playing on the radio.”

He heard her intake of breath and opened his eyes.

She nodded. “It was the Realtor’s cell phone. He kept getting calls and we giggled about it. It was a rendition of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’ ”

Marshall snapped his fingers. “Yes, I remember that song, and I can see the house—this room—in my mind.”

She rushed toward him. “Do you see me there in your mind?”

He couldn’t lie to her. He’d already done enough to hurt her. “I just hear the song and I see this room, empty.”

“Oh.” She looked so deflated he wished he had told her she was in that particular scene. But that wouldn’t help the situation. At least she was here now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand. “Show me the kitchen.”

She forced a smile. “You know how I love to bake. This is the perfect kitchen for that.”

He didn’t correct her slip-up. So she loved to bake. That made sense. She was almost too good to be true. In spite of jumbled memories, he felt a tug toward her. She was pretty, smart, and capable. All the things any man would want in a soul mate. But Stella had another quality that seemed to draw Marshall like the pull of the river. She had an exuberant, unshakable outlook on life, coupled with a strong faith. How could he not smile when she was in the room?

She tugged him through an archway. “This is the dining
room. I sent you pictures of the antique table and chairs Mama and I found at a flea market. We’re restoring the set, so it’s back at Flower Bend in my daddy’s workshop.”

“He restores things,” Marshall said without preamble.

Her smile lit up again. “Yes, he does. He owned a furniture store, but he sold that a couple of years ago, and now he likes to fiddle around in his shop and restore old furniture. He’s making a nice little income thanks to a lot of our friends.”

“He restored an old chest for my mother.”

“Yes, he did. You remembered!” She pointed to the polished trunk. “He buffed this and brought it back to life. You should have seen it before. It looked like it had traveled the world, all battered and scratched.”

“I’ll have to tell my mom I remembered that about him.” He shrugged, then looked out the big bay window. “This has been hard on her too.”

“I’m sure it has,” Stella said, some of the pain leaving her eyes. “I need to remember this isn’t about me. You’ve been through so much—”

“And now I’m home and building new memories.”

“But still searching for the old ones.”

“Yes. It’s a challenge but . . . life with you certainly isn’t dull.”

She laughed at that. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Look at this kitchen. I can just picture us here with friends. You’ll grill burgers and I’ll make potato salad. I might even bake an apple pie.” She pushed him through the bright, sunny kitchen to the large window. “See that old live oak out there in the backyard? Don’t you think it begs for a tire swing?”

“It does,” he said, imagining a little girl just like her out there calling to him. His heart swelled with a sensation that he’d tried so hard to control.

“Marsh, are you all right?”

Marshall’s pulse accelerated. His breathing became erratic. He turned to find Stella staring at him. “Yes. I mean, I’m okay. This is just so overwhelming at times.”