by Lexi Eddings
At any rate, the organist didn’t immediately launch into the music that signaled the bride’s entrance. And in that slice of silence, Pastor Mark began the ceremony without her.
“Dearly Beloved . . .” he droned, his gaze still glued to the order of service.
This cannot be happening.
In the right transept, where the hand bells were set up, Mr. Mariano was practically jumping up and down. He waved his hands frantically, trying to catch the pastor’s eye.
“The bride! You need the bride!” the director mouthed.
Pastor Mark continued his opening remarks undeterred.
Lacy must be beside herself. We’re having her wedding without her.
“Pastor,” Heather whispered.
He gave her a quick glare and went on with his timeworn opening. He barely paused for a breath when he asked if anyone had just cause for why the marriage should not take place.
How about there’s no bride?
Finally, he wound down with “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”
When there was no answer, the pastor looked up, blinked like a mole blinded by sunlight, and said, “Oh. I guess we need the bride.”
As if that were her cue, the organist launched into a rousing rendition of Here Comes the Bride, instead of the ethereal Canon in D. The doors at the back of the church swung open anyway.
But the only person standing there was Mr. Evans.
* * *
For a man who was missing a leg from the knee down, Jake could move surprisingly fast. Like the former all-state halfback he’d been, he bolted down the aisle toward his future father-in-law, with Michael on his heels. The gathered congregation released a collective gasp as Heather lifted her hem and followed suit.
She couldn’t blame Lacy for being upset.What bride wants to be forgotten at her own wedding? But if her sudden disappearance was about more than that, well, the day had turned from gaff-riddled to disastrous.
As they neared the dressing room, her sobs could be heard through the shut door.
Jake put a hand to the doorknob, but stopped himself and knocked instead. “Lacy, honey, can I come in?”
The sobs only grew louder.
“She’s being a drama queen just like when we were kids.” Michael shouldered him out of the way. “Never ask a hysterical woman what she wants. Chances are she has no idea.”
He pushed into the room with Heather and Jake close behind. To Heather’s relief, Lacy ran across the room and threw herself into Jake’s arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “It’s not you. It . . . it’s just everything.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Heather whispered as she took Michael’s hand. He gave hers a squeeze.
“Let them hash it out,” Mike whispered back.
“Don’t you want to marry me?” Jake asked.
Lacy palmed his cheeks. “More than anything, but look at what happened. Everything’s gone wrong. It’s a sign.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“But maybe it is. I mean, even if we get through this circus, what then?” Lacy pulled away from him. “We still haven’t decided what we’re doing after the honeymoon.”
“You still want to take that contract job in Cambridge?”
Lacy nodded, her face a study in misery.
“Then, Cambridge, here we come.”
“You mean it?” When he nodded, she was back in his arms faster than a rumor on the Methodist prayer chain.
“I’ve been saving this news for the honeymoon, but the truth is,” Jake said, “I figure the Green Apple’s gone about as far as it can go with a jarhead at the grill. So I’ve been looking into a cooking school in Boston.”
“What about the Green Apple while you’re gone?”
“My sister, Laura, can take over running it. She needs something to do and Ethel needs someone to bully besides Lester and me.”
Lacy laughed and dried her eyes. Heather sighed in relief. Even though Lacy’s wedding had a few speed bumps, her friend was going to get her happily ever after anyway.
“The school back East offers a two-year course, so I’ll graduate by the time your contract’s up,” Jake explained.
“And then?”
“Who knows? We can decide what to do next when the time comes. Lacy, we can’t map out our whole lives today. Things happen. Good things, bad things. Either way, we have to get through them.” Jake took both her hands in his. “I just want to make sure we get through them together.”
“Oh, Jake, I want that, too. Let’s go get this wedding over with.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t want our wedding to be something you just want to be over. Like you said, it might be a sign. Your dad offered me a ladder to elope. Let’s do it.”
Lacy’s face lit up like a thousand candles. “We’re going on a cruise for our honeymoon. We can have the captain marry us once we’re on board.”
“You mean I’m paying for a wedding and nobody’s getting married?” Mr. Evans was standing outside the open door.
“Hang on a minute, Dad. Maybe someone will.” Michael turned to Heather and dropped to one knee.
She gasped, a hand to her heart.
“Heather, you know I love you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about trying to romance you, to whisk you off to Paris and propose on the bank of the Seine, but the truth is, where I ask you doesn’t matter if I’m not the one you want. Can you ignore the details and just see the man?”
She was afraid her voice wouldn’t work, but it did. “I can, if the man is you.”
When he rose to his feet and kissed her deeply, the world seemed to slow and teeter just a bit on its axis.There was only Michael. Only her. And wherever they were, they were quite enough.
“Will you mind getting married in a borrowed ceremony?”
“I’m in favor of anything that gets me out of this flamingo suit.”
Michael kissed her again, a toe-curling, knee-weakening kiss. “And just so you know, I’m taking you to Paris anyway.”
Lacy clapped her hands loudly.
“All right, that’s settled. Everybody with a Y chromosome, hit the road! Help me out of this gown, Heather. I always thought it suited you more than me anyway,” Lacy said, taking charge as thoroughly as her mother would have. “I’ll wear your flamingo suit.”
“Oh, Lacy, I can’t let you do that.”
“Hey, you were willing to wear it for me,” Lacy said. “Jake, get down to the sanctuary and let the guests know a wedding is still on before they start slipping away. On the double, mister.”
He grinned and clapped Michael on the back. “Come on, bro. Let’s go let everyone know there’s been a change in the lineup.”
In a few minutes, Heather and Lacy had exchanged dresses. Her friend hurried into the sanctuary to take her place as maid of honor, and to Heather’s surprise, Mr. Evans was waiting by the open door.
“Welcome to the family, dear,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Since your parents aren’t present, I thought I might walk you down the aisle.”
“Oh, that would be lovely.” She gave Michael’s dad a hug. “And just so you know, the bride’s family always pays for the wedding. My folks will reimburse you when they get back.”
In the write-up for the Coldwater Gazette, Wanda Cruikshank reported that the bride’s smile lit up the sanctuary, but the happiest man at the wedding—barring the groom, of course—was Mr. Evans.
Epilogue
Several weeks later, in the Coldwater Cove Courthouse . . .
“And in summary, Your Honor, we ask that you rule against Ms. Hildebrand and find her guilty of libel against Michael Evans,” Skyler Sweazy said in his most lawyerly tone. “Not only were her accusations untrue, her intent was to maliciously harm him and his business interests.”
Judge Barbara Mueller looked down from the bench at the de
fendant. “Do you have anything to add before I pronounce my verdict, Ms. Hildebrand?”
“It’s Doctor.”
“Excuse me?
“My name. It’s Dr. Hildebrand,” Judith said. “I earned it. I expect you to use it.”
The judge removed her glasses and cleaned them slowly on the sleeve of her gown. “Very well, Dr. Hildebrand, do you have any further testimony to offer?”
“Only that a court like this one cannot possibly understand the complexities of the media,” Judith said with a sniff. “I’m a journalist. The first amendment protects free speech, you know. Or perhaps you don’t, Ms. Mueller.”
“That’s ‘Judge.’”
“What?”
“Judge Mueller. I earned it. I expect you to use it.”
Judith swallowed hard.
“There being no further testimony, I hereby pronounce you guilty of libel—”
“But—”
“Unless you wish me to hold you in contempt and reopen negotiations with the district attorney about charges involving how you came by the information you disseminated about Mr. Evans, I suggest you keep still,” Judge Mueller said. “The maximum penalty is a thousand dollars or a year in jail.”
“But I haven’t got a thousand dollars,” Judith protested.
“Then welcome to Coldwater Cove, Dr. Hildebrand.” The judge banged her gavel. “You’re going to be with us for a while.”
Recipes from Coldwater Cove
Homemade Egg Noodles
When I first learned to cook, I was so frustrated by the good cooks in my family who didn’t have exact measurements for their recipes. My mother-in-law always claimed she started at one end of the kitchen and kept going till she reached the other, dirtying every pot and pan in the place. My mother claims she adds ingredients “until it feels right.”
Grrr! How could I ever fix anything with advice like that?
So let me apologize in advance if my noodle recipe seems a bit loosey-goosey. Mom was right. Sometimes, you do have to rely on feelings. And my M-I-L would be happy to know that making my noodles spreads flour in all directions, so my kitchen is far from spotless by the time I’m done. But my family loves them, so here’s what I do:
Ingredients
Eggs, 2–4 (depending on how many noodles you want)
⅓ cup milk (Add more if you want more noodles. Are you seeing a pattern here?)
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
½ teaspoon salt
All-purpose flour, 2–4 cups (again, depending on how many noodles you want)
¼ teaspoon baking powder
Broth—turkey, chicken or beef (enough to fill a stock pot halfway)
See. I warned you this was a slippery sort of recipe.
Directions
Start the night before you mean to serve the noodles! (Very important! If the noodles don’t dry before you cut them, you’ll be in a world of hurt.)
Whip the eggs and milk together in a large bowl.
Add the cream of tartar, baking powder, and salt, stirring vigorously. (Get some kids or a highly motivated husband involved at this point!)
Begin adding flour one cup at a time, and mix it thoroughly with the wet ingredients. Eventually, you’ll need to use your hands to work the flour in. But don’t knead it too much or the noodles will be tough.
Spread some of the leftover flour onto a pastry cloth, putting a pile of flour in the center.
Form your noodle dough into a ball and place on the center of your cloth, nestled in the flour pile. Pour the last of the flour on top and then roll out the dough to the desired thickness (It depends on whether you want fat or thin noodles! Remember, they will rise a bit because of the baking powder.) with a well-floured rolling pin.
Cover with a cloth and let dry overnight.
The next morning, cut the dough into noodles (preferably while having occasional sips of coffee fixed for you by someone who appreciates all the work you’re putting into the noodles!).
Heat a stock pot of broth to a rolling boil. (There are different schools of thought in my family about whether to use store-bought stock or to make your own or just use the drippings from the turkey you’re probably roasting to go with the noodles. I’m a pragmatist. I use a little of all three!)
Add noodles a handful at a time. Once they’ve boiled for 5 minutes under your watchful eye, and stirring spoon, turn the heat down until the noodles are barely bubbling. Set a timer and stir every 5 minutes so nothing sticks to the bottom of the pot.
Do not stir in a circle or you’ll end up with the world’s largest dumpling!
(Yes, that is the voice of sad experience you hear!)
After the noodles have cooked for an hour, serve to your grateful family. They’ll love them! You can make the noodles well in advance and freeze them. Once cooked, they are great left over and can be worked into casseroles and soups.
Which brings us to our next recipe . . .
Vegan Turkey Casserole
OK. In A Coldwater Warm Hearts Wedding, Shirley Evans’s casserole is only vegan because she forgot to add the turkey. But this is my mom’s recipe and she contends that the main point of making a turkey casserole is using up your leftover turkey.
So don’t forget to add the turkey!
Filling
Leftover noodles with thickened broth (If you used the noodle recipe on page 316, they’ll be just right!)
Peas
Diced carrots (optional)
Leftover turkey, cut into bite-sized pieces (NOT optional!)
Ingredients for a pie crust to fit a 9” x 12” baking pan
2 cups Crisco
Dash of salt
4 cups flour
16 tablespoons water (To make it fit the larger pan, my mom just doubles
her single pie crust recipe, which calls for 8 tablespoons of water. Just
FYI: 16 tablespoons equals 1 cup.)
Directions
Mix noodles, peas, carrots, and turkey (especially the turkey. Do NOT forget the turkey!) in a large bowl. Set aside.
In a mixing bowl, combine Crisco, salt, and a cup or so of flour. Gently mix. (This means “by hand.”) Add some of the water and more flour (by no means all!), being careful not to overstir or beat. Go by feel until the dough is cohesive enough to pour out onto a floured board. Knead more flour into it.
(I have been strongly cautioned NOT to work the dough too much. You want the ingredients blended but not flogged into toughness. Also, my mother confesses she doesn’t mix all the flour the recipe calls for into the dough. Some of it is used to roll out the crusts.)
Divide the dough into two balls, a larger one for the bottom of the 9” x 13” baking pan and a small one that will be the top crust. Roll to a one-eighth-inch thickness. (Here’s a tip from my mom: Once you have the dough rolled out, fold it over to lift it up and into the baking pan. Make sure there’s enough to go up the sides and hang over the lip a bit.)
Use a fork to poke holes in the bottom and sides of the crust.
Fill the bottom crust with the noodle, peas, carrots, and turkey mixture.
Cut two curved slits in the top crust before you cover the noodles, peas, carrots, and turkey. (This is your last chance to make sure you didn’t forget the turkey!)
Flute the edges of the dough to join the top and bottom halves as if you were making a pie. (Now that I think about it, I wonder why my family has always called this a turkey casserole when it’s clearly a turkey potpie! Oh, well . . . whatever you call it, it’ll still taste good.)
Bake at 350 degrees for 50–55 minutes until golden brown.
If you’re a little frustrated by these recipes, imagine how I felt back when I couldn’t boil water. But through trial and error (many errors, as it turned out), I learned how to use them to make these family favorites.
What is life but a series of trials and errors? Don’t we go “by feel” on most things? And fortunately, I have a forgiving family who’s willing to help me get rid of most of my mistakes
.
By eating them.
Acknowledgments
No book comes to life as the result of one person’s effort. A Coldwater Warm Hearts Wedding is no exception. There are tons of people I should thank, but these are the ones I can fit on this page:
Alicia Condon, my delightful editor, for believing in my stories and shepherding my books into the Kensington fold. Kudos to Kristine Noble, Tom Hallman, Paula Reedy, Brittany Dowdle, Carla Derr, Jane Nutter, Lauren Jernigan, Rebecca Raskin, and the rest of the Kensington gang who market, copyedit, and design my amazing covers. What a wonderful team!
Natasha Kern, my amazing agent, for believing in me! She’s such a source of encouragement and guidance.
Ashlyn Chase, my long-suffering critique partner, for hours of “read alouds” and for her friendship.
Marcy Weinbeck, my beta reader and my friend. I rely on her exquisite taste and keen eye.
YOU, my dear reader. Yes, you, holding this book in your hands right now. Without you and your imagination added to my words, nothing happens.
And lastly, my Dear Husband. We’ve been together for forty years and he still knows how to show a girl a good time! He is, and always will be, the reason I write about love.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
A COLDWATER WARM HEARTS WEDDING
Lexi Eddings
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of this book.
