Wedding a Warrior
A Novella by
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Published by
Olivia Kimbrell Press™
Copyright Notice
Wedding a Warrior, a Novella
First edition. Copyright© 2015 by Hannah Conway. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording – without express written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, locales or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY: Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 4393, Winchester, KY 40392-4393.
The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.
*Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the New King James Version of the Holy Bible, Copyright© 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas-Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Library Cataloging Data
Conway, Hannah (Hannah Conway) 1983
Wedding a Warrior / Hannah Conway
142 p. 20cm x 12.5cm (8in x 5in.)
Summary: Whitleigh wrestles with faith and ponders how to answer longtime boyfriend, Collier, now Army soldier, who unexpectedly proposes. Marriage would mean leaving behind everything she's ever known, loved, and planned for in life.
ISBN: 978-1-939603-62-3 (ebook)
U.S. Library of Congress Control Number (PCN): 2015930106
1. Christian fiction 2. man-woman relationships 3. military romance 4. love stories 5. family relationships 6. Christian romance
PS3568.H623 0113 2015
[Fic.] 813.6 (DDC 23)
Acknowledgements
I want to thank God. I pray these words reflect who He is and nothing that I’ve done of my own accord.
I want to thank my husband for his service to our country and family. You keep me steady.
To my babies, I love you both and your sweet hugs. You are a joy.
To my family back home in Kentucky, I thank you for your unending encouragement.
To ACFW, MBT, and all my writer friends for your encouragement, guidance, and instruction in priceless.
A big thank you to my publishers, Olivia Kimbrell Press. Heather McCurdy, my amazing editor, and Debi Warford, my talented cover artist, thank you.
I want to acknowledge and thank my readers and influencers. Your support brings a smile to my face and it’s a privilege to pray for you. You are vital to my writing ministry.
To all my friends who stand by my side, I love doing life with you. Thank you for your encouragement.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mom and dad.
Psalms 127:4
Chapter 1
THE, they’d have at least twelve children. Minimum. Whitleigh Haynes held Collier Cromwell’s note in one hand. An elbow weighted down a short stack of Kindergarten artwork and handwriting papers ready to be graded. She sat cross-legged at the playground picnic table and held her chin in the palm of her other hand. Her eyes scanned the Kentucky sky far more blue than yesterday.
The clouds looked lovely today—puffy. Whitleigh squinted and lifted a hand above her brow as a shield from the sun’s bright rays. She breathed in the sweet scent of freshly mowed grass and hints of early autumn leaves. Cars hummed by in the distance.
Fibers from her cardigan sleeve tickled her nose. She laughed almost as loud as the children running around. Both kindergarten classes competed in a clumsy game of tag. A swift breeze played along, tossing strands of their hair up and about. It lifted her hair as well, throwing it over one shoulder. Whitleigh slid the bobby pin back into place just above her ear.
Back to work—if she could concentrate. Mrs. Ruthers needed as much help as possible getting papers graded and sent out to parents before the weekend. If Whitleigh were to have a classroom of her own one day, she needed all the practice she could get.
Collier interfered with her thought process way too often. Not a bad problem.
She clicked her short nails on the table and slid his letter in a bulging tote bag. Glue sticks, stickers, and crayons bumped against lip gloss, her college and life planner, order forms for painted frames, and that horrid barbeque-stained apron rolled up and ready to wear for another evening of work.
Whitleigh dug around in the tote, pushing her cell phone and car keys to the side. Volunteering at the school meant no pay, but waitressing and customizing old picture frames provided enough to supply the kiddos in Mrs. Ruthers’ class with an assortment of stickers and sweet treats. She smiled and lifted a stack of stickers thicker than the papers needing to be graded.
The first paper, letter recognition and association—Abi. Whitleigh brushed over the little girl’s name with her thumb and smiled.
Frail pencil lines struggled to follow along the dotted path of the F. Much improved from last time. Whitleigh placed a glitter-clad sticker on the child’s rendition of the American flag and drew a smile beside each letter attempt on the paper. She licked her fingers, nodded, tucked the page behind the next, and moved on. Fantastic work.
“Ms. Haynes. Ms. Haynes.” A group of rambunctious, lose toothed kiddos shouted in her direction. “Come play with us.”
“Ha.” Whitleigh threw back her head. “In these shoes?”
“You can take’m off.”
Teachers and staff walked up and down the sidewalk nearest to the playground, many looking like wardens, while others frolicked alongside the children.
“Coming.” Whitleigh’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Yes, one day she and Collier would have many children, and she’d have a classroom of children just like the ones she helped now. Whitleigh stood from the child-sized table and slipped off her high-heeled shoes. She glanced at the note from Collier once more. Sigh. The man was a poet. Her fingers danced along the last line.
“It’s a good thing there’s an eternity. A lifetime with you isn’t enough. Looking forward to our date today. I have something important to ask.”
Her cheeks warmed. A proposal neared. She knew it. Reese and Lennon saw him looking at rings with his buddies at the mall the other day. Whitleigh giggled and her heart quickened. Of course she’d say yes.
Mrs. Whitleigh Cromwell. Nice. Her mouth slid into a grin.
Had he asked Dad for permission? Surely. Collier was thorough.
“Hurry up.” The children arched their backs, arms extended as they exaggerated their plea.
Whitleigh threw a teasing nod in their direction. “Okay. Okay.” She folded the letter and slid it beneath the note pages of her clipboard. “You guys think you can outrun me?”
Their small squeals resembled the brakes of her poor car, but much more entertaining and free. They bounced up and down without the assistance of caffeine. “Come get us.”
Whitleigh bumped her hip as she rounded the corner of the table and rubbed the spot as if it helped the pain.
“I’m it now.” Whitleigh held her up hands, fingers curled. “You better run. Here I come.”
The children scattered. Their mouths ope
ned wide and released quirky cackles. They paid no mind to the disapproving nods of older teachers and faculty members propped against the chain-link fence. Each child darted to and fro, many of their shoe strings flapping along the grass. Whitleigh chased them around the swings, through the sandbox, and past the double slides. Her breaths escaped in heaps of laughter.
“Whew. Y’all are too fast for me.” Whitleigh gasped for air. Her fists rested on her hips. The children giggled as they ran toward her. Her open arms hugged as many of them as possible.
“Blood.” Landry’s eyes widened as she pointed. Her tiny mouth formed a perfect oval. She tugged on her red pigtails. “Brady’s bleeding again.”
Poor guy. Fourth time this month. Whitleigh pried tiny hands from her neck and tickled her way through the mob of grumbling five and six year-olds.
“Brady always gets hurt.” Jameson stuck out his bottom lip, arms folded. “We were having fun until you got hurt, Bra-dy.”
Brady hid his face behind his knees.
“Be nice, Jameson.” Whitleigh rustled his unruly brown hair as she worked her way past the children and knelt to the ground. “Another skinned knee.” She scooped Brady in her arms. “It’s a good thing you’ve only got two knees kiddo.” He didn’t snicker.
Brady buried his head into Whitleigh’s shoulder.
“Okay kiddos.” Whitleigh strained as she lifted Brady. Stout little boy. “Keep playing. You’ve still got a few minutes of recess left until Mrs. Ruthers comes to get you.”
They groaned and kicked at the ground, but then ran off, bent on enjoying the remainder of recess.
“I’m still watching, so be nice to each other.”
Jameson crinkled his nose before starting off toward the sandbox.
Brady’s sobs were short and quiet for the most part. “I tore my new jeans.” He sniffled. “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad.” Tears fell from his hazel eyes.
Whitleigh’s throat tightened. “Shh.” She held him close and carried him over to the picnic table. “Don’t worry about that.” But he would. Kids in this area of Kentucky knew from a young age how hard parents worked to provide for their families. “You sit right here.” She placed him on top of the table and hollered toward the fence row. “Mrs. Jefferies. First aid kit, please.”
Mrs. Jefferies, another teacher’s aide, much older than she, hurried toward the school hands up as she ran.
Brady held his knee and panted. Whitleigh sat at his side. “Mrs. Jefferies is on her way.” She wrapped an arm around him. “How about we talk about something. Anything you want.” That should keep his mind off the wound. “Toys. Pizza. Superheroes. You name it.” Whitleigh wiped the tears from his cheek with the sleeve of her cardigan.
“Did you know our country is in a war?”
“Um.” Whitleigh winced. “Yes. I did know that.” The attacks of September 11th left the world in turmoil. “You want to tell me about your latest Lego creation?”
Brady shook his head. “My Dad is going to the war. He holunteered.”
“Volunteered?”
“Yeah. He leaves on Monday.”
“That’s really brave of your father.”
“He’s braver than superman.” Brady lifted his chin, chest puffed out.
“Yes, he is.” Whitleigh tousled his blond hair. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Much like Brady she fought them back.
“Momma cries.” Brady swiped his arm across his nose. “She doesn’t know I hear her. I think she’s scared for Daddy to go.”
Perceptive child.
Whitleigh’s chest caved. Her stomach lurched. “It’s hard to let go of someone you love.” What did she, a young college student, know about letting go when all she’d done was hold on? Home was here, in a safe place, with her family close by and Collier at her side—together forever. “Your mom is brave too you know.”
Brady’s brow furrowed.
“She is.” Whitleigh pulled him closer. “Believe it or not.”
The whistle blew. Mrs. Ruthers waved to her class. “Time to go.”
The children protested in unison, but skipped forward, making a rather lengthy and crooked line.
Mrs. Jefferies scuttled from the side doors of the school with an assortment of first aid items. One bandage would’ve sufficed.
Whitleigh patted Brady’s leg. “Your daddy is going to be okay and so is your mommy.” Why make such a promise when nothing in life was guaranteed? Whitleigh lowered her lashes.
“Will you pray for them Ms. Haynes?”
Her eyes stung. Precious child. “Of course.”
“My grandpa told me God makes all things work out good for those who love Him.”
“Your grandpa is a smart man.”
“I love God.”
“Me too buddy.”
He poked at the frayed pieces of denim around his skinned knee as if contemplating to speak, or perhaps he tried to grasp the concept of all things working for the good of those who love God. A daunting task, yet, if anyone could comprehend the mind of God, it would be a child.
Mrs. Jefferies came closer. She fumbled with the bandage wrappers, cotton swabs, and antibiotic ointment. Brady winced as she busied herself dabbing, prodding, and wrapping his wound. “All better.” Her wrinkled rounded cheeks jiggled as she nodded her head.
Brady smiled, his tears now dried. He hugged Mrs. Jefferies and she hurried about working to straighten the line of Kindergarteners. Mission impossible.
“It’s a good thing I got hurt, Ms. Haynes.”
Whitleigh tilted her head. “Good?”
“If I didn’t get hurt, then I wouldn’t have been able to ask you to pray for my Mom and Dad before he left.”
Profound. A short breath escaped her mouth. Tingling shivers spread up her back. She welcomed the tiny arms around her neck and rocked Brady side to side for a moment.
“This was my only time to ask.” He shrugged, breaking from the hug. “We can’t really talk in class.”
“You’ve got a point.” Whitleigh snickered and nodded. Mrs. Ruthers liked a quiet classroom.
Another whistle blew and the children marched and hopped into the elementary school.
“C’mon kiddo, I’ll walk you to class.” Whitleigh slid from the picnic tabletop holding Brady’s small hand in hers.
SO this was where Collier would propose. Wildflowers basked in the glow of the sun's rays. To her right and left tall oaks, maples, poplars, and ash trees lifted their branches to dance in the wind. Their leaves clattered together like applause. Perhaps they could cheer louder when Collier decided to take a knee. Whitleigh smiled and laid her head on his shoulder as they walked along the familiar, narrow dirt path.
She carried her high-heels in one hand and held Collier’s hand with the other. The wicker picnic basket creaked in the crook of his elbow. A rolled up quilt peeked from beneath the basket lid.
“You’re more quiet than usual.” Collier gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Still thinking of Brady?”
“Among other things.” Whitleigh’s grin slid to the side. She lifted her head and kicked a rock to the side. “He’s so brave. His dad leaves in a couple of days and instead of whining about how unfair life is, he’s asking me to pray for his parents.”
Collier nodded.
“That child has more faith than I have.”
“How so?” Collier tilted his head.
“I’ve never left the comfort of my own home, nor do I really even want to.”
“What about the mission trip to Honduras next summer?”
Yeah. What about it? Whitleigh shrugged. “I’ll go, it’s just… I can’t explain it.” She huffed. “I know I’m supposed to do missions, but I don’t know if this is the one. Know what I mean?” She tilted her head.
“So….”
“I’ll go to Honduras, but I feel like there’s something more for me out there, you know?”
“Something bigger than a trip to Honduras?”
Whitleigh nodded. Her heart quickened. �
�A life calling.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Teaching, loving, helping, serving.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s like there’s something in me that I have to do or I’m going to explode.” A laugh escaped from her mouth.
“I know all about that.” Collier swallowed with an audible gulp.
“Tell me what you know about, Mr. Cromwell.” Whitleigh spun on the balls of her feet under his arm as if on a ballroom floor instead of the leaf strewn ground.
“You first.” Collier twirled her around a second time, careful to balance the picnic basket. “I wanna hear about this ‘life calling’ and how you’re gonna keep from exploding. Wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Ha. Well.” Whitleigh lowered her chin as she matched his steps with her short stride. “I get glimpses of what I’m supposed to do, but I’m not sure how it all plays out.” She licked her lips. “I love kids. Becoming a teacher is a good place to start. Then one day there will be marriage, babies, and summer missions.” She nudged his shoulder.
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough?” She stopped and pulled him back as he continued ahead.
“Maybe for now.” Collier winked. His words lingered in her heart. She winced and hurried back to his side.
“Anyway.” The dirt floor felt cool beneath her feet. “Brady’s embarking on this life journey that I could never go on.” She shook her head. “He’s facing so many unknowns.” Whitleigh shivered.
Collier lifted her hand to his mouth and then let their hands hang down to dangle side to side. Her fist bumped his hip and brushed against his blue jeans. No ring box in that pocket.
Whitleigh arched a brow. “You plan on telling me that thing you have to do or you’re gonna explode?”
“Looking for the right time.”
Her face warmed. She couldn’t help but giggle. Collier looked up. Whitleigh followed his gaze. Beautiful clouds peeked between the canopies of tree branches.
Whitleigh watched as a squirrel scurried up a tree. Tall grasses clung close to the tree trunks and bent forward to tickle her ankles.
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