by Hope Ramsay
But right now she was standing in the South Carolina sun as she prepared to begin the musical prelude to the marriage ceremony. The weather gods had sent a beautiful, but hot, day. Even the breeze off the bay seemed to be coming from a furnace.
She started with several Strauss waltzes as guests continued to arrive. In the middle of “The Blue Danube,” her stomach started to growl.
Damn. She’d grabbed a scone for breakfast this morning right before heading to the beauty shop. But she hadn’t eaten any lunch at all. Big mistake. What if her stomach rumbled in the middle of Mom’s ceremony?
Well, she couldn’t do anything about it now except file it under the heading of Murphy’s Law. If her stomach was growling already, it would growl midvow. Hopefully Mom would be so wrapped up in Jim she wouldn’t notice.
Damn, it was hot. She was starting to sweat along the fingerboard and chin rest.
She finished the Strauss waltz medley and then launched into Pachelbel’s “Canon,” which was a head fake for the wedding guests. So many brides walked down the aisle to “Canon,” but Mom wasn’t one of them. Instead, the piece was the cue for Dylan and Jim to take their places.
Ella didn’t look up from the music to see if that had happened. She was busy keeping an eye on the garden gate, waiting for Ashley’s cue that Mom was in place.
Ashley’s wave came, and Ella ended “Canon” and moved on to Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” which was Mom’s musical cue. Once the music started, Ella glanced up in time to see Mom come through the garden gate, pause for a moment, and gaze in Jim’s direction. She smiled and he returned the smile, his bright eyes adoring even from a distance.
Yeah. They were in love. And Ella was happy for them, even as her own heart was cracking in two.
She put all that emotion into her playing, making the violin soar through the Schubert. She must have found her groove despite the sweat dripping on the chin rest and the hollowness in her gut because Granny’s eyes were streaming by the time Mom reached the altar.
Ella ended the piece, put the violin back in its case, and grabbed the tissue she’d left there. She used it to dab the sweat on her chin, but when she straightened up, a rogue wave of dizziness hit her. Damn, this was a terrible time to have low blood sugar.
Or maybe heatstroke.
She breathed in, and the light-headedness ebbed away enough for her to join her mother under the shade cast by the canopy. Unfortunately, it was still three million degrees out here, and in a haze, she let herself glance away from Mom and Jim toward Dylan, who stood just beyond his father.
He was dressed in a gray suit and a blue striped four-in-hand tie. His slightly-too-long hair was doing its Lord Byron thing in the May humidity, the delicious curl falling over his forehead. She flashed on an image of that lock wrapped around her finger. She’d loved playing with his curl on those nights when they’d stayed up until the wee hours talking about nothing and everything all at once.
He was looking the other way, and she feasted on the sight of him until he turned and their gazes locked. Her stomach lurched, and her knees went watery, as if she’d just taken a ride on the Tower of Terror. She felt weightless for a moment until gravity reexerted its dominion over her body.
If she kept staring at him, she would faint, which would be too girlie for words. Not to mention embarrassing.
Worst of all, Mom would never forgive her. Ever.
She willed herself to look at Mom and Jim. I’m not going to faint. I’m not going to faint. I’m not going to faint.
Sheer willpower kept her knees locked and the little curlicues of blackness from edging too far into her field of vision.
“Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man…” Rev. St. Pierre began the ceremony in the slowest drawl ever. Ella willed him to talk faster.
He seemed immune to her silent pleas. Time slowed to a crawl. She started counting breaths, and her hands started to shake. If they didn’t stop soon, she would be unable to play the recessional.
Her stomach growled as the minister said, “Into this holy union, Brenda and James now come to be joined.”
Mom didn’t appear to have heard the noise, but a glance from the minister suggested that he may have. He appeared to be a little concerned, but he continued. “If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now or else forever hold your peace.”
The minister paused. Time crawled.
“Excuse me,” someone interrupted in a soft voice.
Ella knew that voice. She turned to find Granny standing up in the front row.
“Nancy, do you have an objection?” the minister asked. He didn’t sound all that surprised. What the heck was going on? The black dots swam a little further into her field of vision.
“Well, maybe,” Granny said.
“Maybe?”
“I’m concerned is all.”
“Momma, what are you doing?” Mom asked, her eyebrows folding down into the frown-of-death. Oh boy. Ella’s hands were starting to get cold and clammy.
I will not faint. I will not faint. I will not faint.
“Hush now, Brenda. I’m not concerned about you and Jim. Y’all are in love, and he’s a great catch, and I guess there is no legal impediment, but…”
“Okay then, why in the Sam Hill have you objected?” Mom’s voice cut through Ella’s increasingly fuzzy head like a paring knife.
“Nancy, you can raise legal or moral objections to Brenda and Jim’s wedding. Not anything else. So maybe after the ceremony we can—”
“No.” Granny shook her head. “We have to talk about this now.”
The minister glanced at Ella. No. He wasn’t a little concerned. He was a lot concerned. “Um, maybe we should adjourn to the inn and have a conversation.”
“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Ashley said from her station at the garden gate.
Rev. St. Pierre shot the innkeeper a killing look, and the members of the family who had gathered started to mutter.
“Well, I suppose,” Granny said. “But whether I say it here or inside, folks aren’t going to like what I have to say. But here it is. Jim and Brenda, if y’all get married, I’m afraid y’all will be destroying the happiness of your children forever.”
Ella’s knees gave out, and the little swirls that had been dancing in front of her eyes for the last five minutes won the battle of wills. She didn’t remember hitting the ground.
* * *
“Quick, Dylan,” Rev. St. Pierre said, “we need to get her inside. I think she spent too much time in the sun and hasn’t had a thing to eat.”
Dylan didn’t need the minister to issue any directives. He was at Ella’s side before she even fainted, checking her pulse, which was rapid. She looked deathly pale except for two red splotches on her cheeks, but her skin was cold and clammy.
Heat syncope was his immediate diagnosis. She was probably dehydrated, and she’d been standing for a while playing the fiddle in a sunny spot. It was a classic case of not enough blood to her brain.
But while the rational, doctor part of his brain was assessing the medical emergency and knew all the steps to treat the problem, his emotions went on a full-out Tilt-A-Whirl ride.
He scooped her up from the lawn and carried her right through the garden gate, following Ashley, who opened the inn’s front door for him. He took Ella to the library and settled her onto the aptly named fainting couch and put the rolled pillow under her feet.
“Do you have Gatorade or maybe a piece of watermelon or something like that? If not, water will do,” he said to Ashley, his voice wobbling with the emotions churning in his gut.
Ella moaned and blinked her eyes. She was coming back.
“Ella?”
She groaned again, and Ashley was Johnny-on-the-spot with a bottle of Gatorade and a straw. He couldn’t have had a better nurse.
He put the straw to Ella’s mouth. “Drink this.”
She tried to bat the straw away.
“Dammit, stop fighting me and listen.”
Her eyes fluttered open, big and wide and beautiful.
“Drink, dammit,” he said in a quieter voice.
She took the straw in her mouth and did as she was told. But she stared up at him with such a look on her face. He didn’t know whether to yell at her or hug her or scream out his frustration.
“Don’t you ever do that again, you hear?” His voice got stupid and emotional, and he had to bat away a tear that escaped his eye. His heart was racing too.
“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, a tourniquet squeezing his chest. “I don’t want you to move away or join some stupid band and go back on the road. I want you to stay in one place. I want you to be okay with someone boring and ordinary like me. And I know all the things you said to me that night in the hospital are probably right. But I don’t care. I don’t care about Dad or your mother. I care about you. And I don’t want you to ever faint again from something dumb like heatstroke, you hear?”
But this time, the tears were streaming out of his eyes and dripping off his chin.
“See what I mean, Reverend St. Pierre? This is why I had to stop the wedding,” a voice said from behind him.
Oh, great. He’d been professing his love to Ella with an audience. He glanced behind him. The whole family, Rev. St. Pierre, and Ashley Scott were standing there with funny looks on their faces.
Ella spit the straw out. He was pleased to see that she’d drained the bottle of Gatorade dry while he’d professed his undying love. He was such a fool sitting here crying like a sissy. Or maybe like his own father had cried that night in the hospital when he’d thought he’d lost Brenda. Or that night, all those years ago, when Dad had lost Mom forever.
But that’s what the tears were for. Because loss and love were simply different sides of the same coin. It had taken Dad forever to find someone new. That’s how much he’d loved Mom.
It would take him years to get over Ella. Because she was the girl his father had told him repeatedly that he needed to find. But he’d already found her.
“I want you to love me the same way I love you,” he said to Ella, not caring at all what Dad or Brenda thought. He was done trying to please everyone else. The only person who mattered was Ella. “I want you to be mine forever. I want you to stay here in Magnolia Harbor. And I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about the way I feel. Please don’t leave me. Please stay here with me. Forever.”
* * *
Dylan’s amber-flecked blue eyes glistened with tears shed and unshed. Beyond him, Mom was openly weeping, her mascara a mess as tears flowed like a waterfall from her eyes.
Granny wasn’t crying. She stood at the end of the couch with her arms across her chest and a gleam in her eyes. Say yes, she mouthed.
Ella pushed herself up on the chaise to give Dylan a little more room. She was feeling much better, cooler and clearheaded.
“How are you doing, Mom? You okay?” she asked, and braced for the explosion or the frown-of-death.
But instead Mom said, “I’m fine, sweetie. I think you just got asked an important question that you need to answer.”
“Amen to that,” Granny muttered in a louder-than-normal voice. For a quiet woman, Granny had certainly used her voice to wreak havoc today. But then, maybe Granny’s interruption had been a blessing, because Ella would probably have fainted either way.
She finally gazed at Dylan, who was still waiting patiently. Which, now that she thought about it, was one of the things she loved most about him.
“Why didn’t you tell me before this?” she asked. Funny how Cody had always used the L-word like a weapon against her. It slipped off his tongue whenever he got himself into a tight spot.
But Dylan didn’t do that kind of thing. When he said something, he meant it. He’d proved that over and over again. He always told the truth.
“Look,” he said into her continuing silence. “If you need to go on the road to make a living, I get it. I don’t want to pin you down or own you or whatever. I just want you in my life.”
“Oh, bless his heart,” Granny said.
“I hate being on tour,” Ella managed.
His eyes widened. Had she not told him that before? Maybe not.
“I didn’t know that. But you know I heard you were leaving town because of your career.”
“I was going to go to Nashville and see if I could start over there.”
“Could you start over here?”
“Yes, she can. Absolutely,” Ashley said.
Ella stared up at her boss, landlady, and friend. “Uh, well, Ashley, I need to do more than wait on tables.”
“I know that. Which is why I was hoping the symphony would ask you to audition.”
“They did. But I haven’t heard back from them. It’s been almost two weeks. And I need to get my life together. So I’m going to Nashville.”
Dylan nodded. “That makes perfect sense. You are incredibly talented,” he said in a small voice. “And I guess I’ve always known that this town was probably too small for you.”
He visibly swallowed, then looked up at his father. “Dad, I’m really sorry. I know you want to back off on the practice and all. But if Ella is going to Nashville to pursue her career in music, and if she’ll have me, then I’m going with her. I love you with all my heart, but you know, ever since Mom died, I’ve been working overtime to make you happy. It’s time to make myself happy. I’m sure I can find a small country practice somewhere outside Nashville.”
“What? No.” Mom took Jim by the arm. Both of them looked gobsmacked.
“Micah?” Ashley said, lifting her eyebrow in some silent communication. What was up with that?
The preacher turned toward Brenda and Jim and spoke again. “I’ll get around to marrying y’all in a minute, but I think Dylan and Ella need a little time, okay?” The minister ushered everyone through the doorway, where Ashley grinned at him like a demented cherub as she closed the pocket doors.
The minister turned toward Ella. “So you love Dylan?” he asked.
Suddenly the library felt like a confessional. Did she love Dylan? Of course she did. She hadn’t even let herself think the word for such a long time. But what else could this feeling be?
“Yes,” she said, her vision suddenly smearing with tears.
“Good. Dylan, you love Ella?”
“I do,” he said. He sounded so strong and sure and in control.
“I see no impediment,” the minister said. “Love is a wonderful gift. It’s a sin to squander it. So I’m saying that if you want to please the man upstairs, you’ll stop sneaking around, pretending you don’t care, or living your life for your parents’ benefit. They love you. And they will adjust to you loving each other. Trust me on this. It’s all going to work out whether you live here or in Nashville or on the Moon.”
They stared at the minister. He stared back, then cleared his throat. “So, are we good?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dylan said.
“Ella?” Rev. St. Pierre turned his deep brown gaze on her. You could not lie to him.
She nodded. “I’m good.”
“You may kiss the girl,” he said, giving Dylan a little half smile.
And Dylan did as he was told for once. The kiss he gave Ella melted her down again. It tasted a little like mint chewing gum with overtones of lavender and eucalyptus. And suddenly the sun came out from behind the personal rain cloud she’d been living under. The kiss lasted a long time, and the minister strolled to the front windows and studied the scenery.
When Dylan finally broke the kiss and looked down at her, Ella said, “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I will stay with you until death do us part. We just need to figure out where. And Dylan, I’m not living in an RV, okay? I want a home. A real home. You know?”
“I do.”
Epilogue
Ella carried her suitcase in one hand and her violin in the
other as she stepped across the porch and opened the door to the house. She crossed the threshold and drew in a deep breath filled with the faint scent of lavender. What was it about that scent? It calmed her and welcomed her home.
She put her suitcase and fiddle down and then turned around, taking it all in.
This was what she’d always wanted. A house she could call home. And this one was perfect in every way, with a porch, a center hall, a staircase with a turned newel post, and beautiful millwork around the windows. They didn’t make houses like this anymore. This one had been standing in this spot for almost a hundred years.
“What the hell, Ella, you didn’t wait for me?” Dylan said, stepping up onto the porch. He stopped in front of the door and put down the box he was carrying.
She turned toward him. This house came with a husband who had purchased it with the proceeds from the sale of the house where he’d grown up. He’d given up his childhood home so she could have this house. He’d been enthusiastic about the purchase, especially when he’d discovered the shed out back where he could keep his Harley.
No one, except maybe Mom, had ever given up anything for her before. And she’d never really understood how much Mom had given up. Not until recently.
He stood there, spiking a hand through his unruly curls. He was wearing his hair a little longer these days, to please her. Oh boy, he was perfect in every way, and she loved him with every fiber of her being.
“Was I supposed to wait?” she asked.
“Well, yeah. I was going to carry you across the threshold.”
She laughed. “No. I don’t need carrying. I’m fully conscious. Besides, you already carried me across a threshold on Mom’s wedding day. Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve metaphorically carried me over numerous thresholds. So, really, I—”
“Get over here,” he said with authority.
She was tempted to defy him, but how could she? If he wanted to be a stupid romantic, she wasn’t going to stop him. She loved him more because of it.
For thirteen years, she’d hung around a man who didn’t care about her except for what she could do for him. And in a few short months, she’d up and married another one who would walk to the ends of the earth for her. A man who was willing to give up everything to follow her to Nashville.
