An April Bride (9 page)

“No, no.” He set his tea down on the big butcher-block
counter where her mother had placed crackers and cheese and pickled peppers and peaches. “You’ve hit on the very thing that makes me want to keep going, Stella.”

Walking around the counter, he touched a finger to her loose ponytail. “I’m holding something dear, or as the therapist thinks, I’m holding back these memories because I think I have to protect them. I just never understood until this minute that it’s not so much repressed memories as it is cherished memories.”

Stella’s confused heart raced to keep up with him. “So . . . you think you . . . cherished me?”

“I must have.” His eyes held hers with that promise he refused to break. “If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

Stella smiled up at him. “Want to see our shower gifts before we eat dinner?”

“I’d like that.”

“They’re mostly in the dining room right now. We passed it, but the doors are closed.”

“I can’t wait to dig right in. I mean, most men just love to shop for china and to gloat over household goods, right?”

She had to giggle at that. “Yes, of course.”

He took her hand and followed her to the front of the house. And for just a minute, everything seemed right in Stella’s world.

She had some memories she planned to cherish too. And this would be one of them.

T
hat is a really big mixer,” Marshall said. “It looks like it could mow the lawn too.”

Stella touched a dainty hand to the bright red monstrosity. “Oh no, buddy. This stays in my kitchen, right there on what I call the baking counter.”

“You did mention you like to cook.”

“Doesn’t every Southern woman?”

“I guess so. Y’all sure do know the way to a man’s heart.”

Her smile was as brilliant as the big mixer’s shine. “So we’re getting to you, right?”

He rubbed his stomach. “That pot roast is calling my name.”

She ran her hand over the shimmering silver bowl that went with the mixer. “We also have banana pudding. And not from a box. My mama makes her pudding from scratch. Cooks it on the stove and adds fresh bananas and crisp vanilla wafers.”

“You are seriously killing me.”

He grinned at her and was rewarded with that cute smile again. Her green eyes were the color of fresh grass.

“So, a mixer, a food processor, a fancy cookware set, plus several dish towels too pretty to actually use. And all these other gadgets. That’s called a kitchen shower.”

“Yes.” She moved on to comforters and blankets, cushions and pillows, or “linens,” as she called them. “I’ve had five showers so far, each with a different theme—kitchen, garden, linens, recipes and cookbooks, and china and every-day dishes. According to proper etiquette they have to all be done and finished several weeks before the wedding so I won’t be distracted, but who’s counting?”

“I think you have more than enough distraction,” he said on a soft note.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Moving on. You have to see the fine china.”

He followed her to a long buffet cabinet where the “fine” china was being displayed. He listened while she discussed the pros and cons of Lenox versus Wedgwood or Waterford.

“So finally, I went with a Wedgwood pattern.” She pointed to the butterfly floral design. “It made me think of the gardens here at Flower Bend. And Wedgwood is traditional in my family, so I would have caused a scandal if I’d picked something else.”

The china was beautiful, delicate, and dainty, just like her. He didn’t really understand, but if this stuff made her happy then he’d go with it. “So I missed out on all that.”

She gave him an indulgent smile. “Most men would be more than glad to miss out on a bunch of chattering women
admiring all these beautiful gifts. The whole trousseau part involves registering for what you’d like and then allowing your friends and family to throw showers and buy you gifts. Then it’s all about lime green sherbet punch and lots of delicate finger sandwiches and a themed cake. The one for the kitchen shower had the cutest design on it—forks and spoons and spatulas in all colors and all edible.”

He snapped his fingers. “I really hate I missed that one.” Then he laughed. “But you were holding out about the punch and cake. I don’t think I’ve ever turned down either.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have that at the wedding. We haven’t had a couples’ shower, where there would be plenty of food. But that’s okay. We don’t need to face another crowd.”

She stopped, put a hand on a fluffy, embroidered white bath towel, her eyes on the big
H
monogram scrolled in black. She lifted her gaze to him, her eyes doing that misty thing. “It’s amazing how much I took all this for granted. How much I took you for granted.”

“You didn’t do that,” he said, coming around the big table to take her hands in his. “You were planning our wedding just as you should have been doing. I’m the one who messed up.”

“Going to war and then being wounded isn’t messing up, Marshall. I’m so glad you made it home.” She shrugged and then lifted an unopened package wrapped with an elaborate white bow. “This morning a customer at the store told me she had given up on love, and when I asked her what she meant by that, she explained that her husband died in Vietnam. She never remarried.”

Stella gazed up at him with those big eyes, her expression
full of thankfulness. “I thought about how that could be me. All alone and bitter. I shouldn’t whine about anything when I have you standing right here in front of me.”

She placed the gift box on the side table with several other unopened packages. “Looking back, I can see I’ve been so caught up in the wedding, I forgot to plan for the marriage. I need to consider that our lives are about to change. Even more than they already have.”

Marshall once again marveled at this woman’s strong faith and practical logic. The way she looked at him told him how much she loved him. His heart did a little shifting thing, like a flower breaking through dry, cracked dirt. The stirring in his soul made him reach for her and tug her close.

“We can make this work,” he said, wanting it. “Changes happen in life, right? We can make this work.”

“My mama always says marriage is hard work,” she replied. “I just never knew it would be this hard.”

“We can have some good parts,” he said, hoping she’d be able to enjoy being with him. “Like this.” He lifted her chin and gave her a tentative kiss. Then he leaned back and stared down at her, marveling at her grace and determination. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She smiled, but he saw a hint of that mist in her eyes. “I remember your kisses,” she said in a soft whisper. “I missed you so much, Marsh.”

He should tell her that he missed her too. That her kisses seemed familiar and wonderful. He should tell her that he loved her, that he knew in his heart he’d always loved her.

But that old cold dread held him back.

“I’ve missed out on much more than towels and cookware, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” she said, her head down. “I wish I could make it all right again, but . . . that’s in God’s hands.”

“Do you believe God will give me back my memories?”

She gazed up at him, her face mirroring his doubts. “I believe God has allowed you to store your memories in a safe place, but maybe you’re not so sure. Maybe you’re afraid to bring them back out.”

He almost told her about the dream, about seeing her walking toward him with her hand outstretched. But as with all the other times he’d thought of the dream, his heart started racing and he broke out in a cold sweat, the fear that gripped him cutting at his breath.

“Marsh, are you all right?”

Dazed, he blinked and nodded. “I . . . I think I need some air. Just . . . can we go outside?”

“C’mon,” she replied, fear clouding her eyes. “I’m sorry for dragging you in here.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just . . . need some air.”

She hurried him down the hallway and out onto the back porch. Marshall grabbed one of the sturdy posts and held on, his head down, his mind whirling with dark images. Why couldn’t he get past this? When would it end?

Would he be forced to walk away from Stella so he could heal himself? His gut told him if he walked away now, he’d never be able to come back to her.

Trust in the Lord
.

The words shattered the dark walls around his soul.

He had to trust that he was doing the right thing and for
all the right reasons. He had to trust in the plan God had for his life.

And the only way to do that was to march forward toward the light of Stella’s undying love so he could emerge a new and better man than the one she thought she’d lost.

He took another deep breath and then turned to Stella. “I’m sorry. It’s the PTSD. It comes and goes. I’ll be okay.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I have images of war inside my head. They come at odd times and . . . sometimes I still have nightmares.” He didn’t go into detail or tell her that she was in his dreams. “The doctors say it’ll get better as long as I keep going to therapy.”

“I hope so.”

She looked so scared. Was she afraid of him?

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

“Oh no, I mean, I understand. I thought I was the one who’d upset you. All that stuff for a house you don’t really remember—”

He realized she thought he’d become stifled by the wedding and shower gifts. No wonder she looked so lost and embarrassed.

“Stella, it’s not that. Really, it’s not.”

She looked doubtful, but before she could say anything else, her parents walked up.

Her dad grunted. “Look at this, Marshall. We have enough vegetables here to last your mama a month of Sundays.”

Marshall tore his gaze away from Stella. “Wow, she’ll sure appreciate that.”

Stella’s mother took one look at them and went into
overdrive. “Where are my manners? You’re probably starving, and here I am all hot and a mess from picking vegetables.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” Stella said, her tone flat. “We . . . came out to enjoy the night air.”

“Let’s get y’all inside, and Stella, if you don’t mind helping me to warm up the dinner rolls, we’ll get on with our meal.”

“Sure.” Stella shot Marshall a questioning look. “I’ll see you inside.”

He wished they could sit down alone and away from all the well-meaning people who kept interrupting them. As he watched Stella walk away, Marshall decided to take matters into his own hands.

Come this weekend, he intended to kidnap his bride and take her away from all this. Just for a few precious hours. And after seeing all that he’d missed, he came up with an idea that might surprise her too.

T
he first week of waiting for Marsh to remember her had gone by.

Stella went
over her planner notes to make sure she’d covered everything for the wedding. She’d already had formal photographs taken of her in her wedding dress. Those would go to the local newspaper to run the week after the wedding.

She stopped, held a hand to her heart, and stared out her bedroom window. She could see the Mississippi River flowing and gurgling, as old as time and such a constant in her life. She’d been so happy the day the photographer had come out to Flower Bend to take those pictures. The whole garden had awakened in a riot of color that made her shimmering white dress stand out like a single magnolia blossom caught in a bunch of azaleas.

She’d been excited and happy after she’d seen the photos. Her hair had been curled in a loose chignon with her
grandmother’s lace veil caught in a crystal tiara, and her dress—the portrait neckline a clear satin white that showed off her mother’s pearls, the long flowing skirt accented with seed pearls and embroidered flowers.

She couldn’t show those pictures to Marshall. Not now, since he wasn’t supposed to see her in the dress before the wedding. Maybe not ever. But she’d described her dream wedding to him in detail in her letters.

Letters that, as far as she knew, he still had not read. But why? What was holding him back?

Three more weeks, Lord. What should I do?

A soft knock at her door brought Stella’s head up. “Come in.”