by Lyn Cote
Marco drove directly to Spring. He bounded to her aunt’s door and knocked.
Matilde opened the door. Glaring, she folded her hands across her ample waist. “You.”
Her accusatory tone matched his self-recriminations. He drew in a deep breath. “I need to talk to Spring.”
“You need to get down on your knees and kiss her hand.”
“I intend to.”
Matilde stepped back. “Then, you can come in. Spring! Marco is here for you.”
A few moments later, Spring hung back at the other end of the hall. Her red-rimmed eyes belied her calm face. He noted her aunt standing behind her.
“Spring, will you go for a walk on the beach with me?”
She hesitated.
“You can go,” Matilde said. “He’s gonna apologize.”
“He’d better apologize,” Aunt Geneva added.
Marco held out his hand, and Spring came to him, but with downcast eyes. Her crestfallen look sliced him like a scalpel. Trying to think of the right words, he led her out the door. They followed the path through the gate down to the beach. The sun had passed its zenith. The beach was deserted except for an old woman and a little girl with copper curls who danced barefoot in the shallow surf. Sea foam puffed on the sand and diminutive crabs sidled away from their footsteps.
“Spring, I…” His voice faltered. “I apologize for acting like a jerk, an ungrateful jerk.”
“Why?” Her voice was muffled against the sound of the waves. “What were you so angry about at the garden show? You wanted the clinic. Now you have it.”
Marco plunged on. “But don’t you see, I wanted it my way. I wanted to do it all by myself. I would have bumbled around for years trying to fund the clinic. I wouldn’t have had a life, just a mission, a selfish one—even though it might have looked selfless. I didn’t want your help. I didn’t even want God’s.”
“Why?”
He struggled with himself, then decided to let go, tell her the unvarnished truth. “Do you remember when I told you about my father’s death?”
She nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He halted and reached for her. After lifting her chin, he took her slender shoulders in both his hands. He’d look her in the eye—even though it pained him to speak of this. “I told you that watching my father die made me want to be a doctor. But more than that happened that night. Somehow I’ve felt responsible for my father’s death…because I couldn’t save him. I know it’s not realistic—”
“But feelings are like that.” Spring spoke in a shy voice as though they’d never spoken of love.
Like we’re strangers, no! Don’t shut me out, Spring! “I drove myself to be a doctor. Then, when I’d achieved that goal, I found another goal to sacrifice myself to.”
“You mean, the clinic?”
“Sí. If I wasn’t flogging myself toward another altruistic goal, I was failing.”
“Just as you’d failed your father?”
She understands! He swallowed with difficulty. “Sí.”
“What does that mean to us? Is there an ‘us’?” she asked, now looking into his eyes.
“I certainly hope so. Can you forgive me? I was wrong—”
She stopped his words with a kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her and put everything he had into his response.
A child’s excited voice shrilled in the quiet. “Gramma, look! They’re kissing. That man and lady are kissing!” The little girl giggled.
Spring started to giggle against his lips.
He felt her whole body shake with mirth. Pulling away an inch, he shouted, “Yes, I’m kissing her! And I’m proposing!” He slipped down onto one knee in the wet sand and claimed her hand. “Spring Kirkland, will you be my wife—even if I am a stubborn and proud man?”
She threw her head back and laughed out loud.
“Yes, Marco, I’ll be your wife!” she shouted, then tugged him to stand up.
The little girl shrieked with glee, “Gramma, he was on his knee and now she’s laughing!”
He swept Spring to him and kissed her with abandon. The sun golden on his back, the splash and ebb of the waves, the little girl’s laughter, Spring’s warm, soft form and his own joy—all flowing upward through him like a geyser. He’d never forget this moment for the rest of his life. I’ll never be alone again, Lord! I thank You—a thousand times, gracias!
“Hi, Spring, this is—”
“Doree,” Spring cut in.
“How’s Mom?”
“Fine.” Spring was afraid to ask the question uppermost in her mind. Her heart started beating faster.
“I’m here, too.” Hannah’s voice came over the line.
Spring had been planning to call Hannah herself, but it was ominous to have her sisters set up a conference call without warning her. “What’s happened? Tell me.”
“We have wonderful news!” Doree squealed. “Our grandfather and his three children are going to come to Hannah’s wedding!”
“What?”
Hannah took over. “Doree called and explained who she was and everything that had happened to Connie Wilson.”
Doree burst in with her news. “He said that after he was wounded, he was laid up for a long time. He said he wanted to be well and able to support Connie before he returned to her. When he visited her parents, they told him she’d died, but he never knew anything about Connie having a baby—”
Hannah interrupted, “He said if he’d known, he would have taken Mother and raised her himself!”
Gladness for the present and sorrow over the past made it hard for Spring to speak, but she forced the words out. “Wait. Mother is the one who needs to hear this.” She called for Mother and handed her the phone. “Doree has news for you.”
Paloma’s quinceañería, her fifteenth birthday party, was in full swing. A band played salsa music on a platform in the backyard. Children in their Sunday best danced around the adults on the driveway. A long table with nachos, enchiladas, frijoles, along with black beans, rice and plantains had been set up. On the grill, fragrant hamburgers, hot dogs and lime-basted chicken sizzled. Ladies in lawn chairs bordered the backyard fence. Out on the front porch and steps, the men congregated, laughing and joking.
At a picnic table, Marco sat at Spring’s side holding her hand, which was adorned by a tasteful diamond engagement ring.
His mother and Spring’s were admiring for the thousandth time the pastel portrait of Paloma that Spring had finished just a day before the party.
“I didn’t know that Spring was an artist,” his mother said, “but she did a fine job with our Paloma.”
“She has a good eye,” Mother admitted with modesty.
“I will treasure this always.” His mother wiped her eyes.
“This is a thrilling time for both of you!” Aunt Geneva said. “A double June wedding for Hannah and Guthrie—”
“And for Spring and Marco!” his mother added with a smile.
“And I’m going to meet my father and my three half brothers and sister.” Ethel dabbed her eyes, too. “You and Santos must stay with us, along with Aunty. We have plenty of room!”
“We would be honored.” His mother’s smile became mischievous. “Anyway, who knows? Next year we might be abuelas—grandmothers!”
Epilogue
The biggest predicament at Hannah’s and Spring’s double June wedding had brought a lot of different opinions—until a solution finally dawned on everyone.
Having a double wedding had sounded so efficient. After waiting for over a decade, Spring and Marco couldn’t bear to spend a whole year making their own wedding plans. Hannah and Guthrie had made all their wedding plans and had been thrilled to share the day with Spring and Marco.
Now Hannah and Spring, dressed in their white gowns and the veils their mother had made them, waited in the Petite church vestibule. Spring couldn’t hold back a few tears of joy.
“Stop that,” Doree scolded. “If you start, w
e’ll all be lost.
Hannah nodded. “For once, she’s right.”
Doree made a face at them.
The prelude music paused, then started again, signaling the procession to begin.
At Hannah’s word, little Amber and Jenna, Guthrie’s nieces—one blond, one brunette—wearing matching peach-colored dresses, started down the aisle scattering rose petals. Their younger brother, Hunter, paraded behind them, proudly holding up the white satin pillow to which two sets of wedding bands were tied.
When the three children reached the front, they went to sit beside their grandmother Martha and great-aunts Ida and Edith. Practical Hannah had decided children needed to be “anchored,” not left to their own devices behind the two wedding couples.
Then Paloma, looking shy but very pretty in the peach gown originally meant for Spring, started down the aisle. From the groom’s side of the church, Anita, Santos and Tía Rosita all beamed at her. Aunt Geneva and Matilde, sitting on the bride’s side, dabbed their eyes and smiled encouragingly, too.
At the front of the church, Paloma took her place across from Pete Rasmussen, who’d flown up for the wedding. Exuberant Pete becoming Marco’s closest friend ranked as another miracle on this day of wonders.
Lynda, Guthrie’s sister, took her turn down the aisle. She stopped across from her husband, Bill. She and Bill had remarried in a private ceremony and were just back for a visit from the army base where they lived.
Always unpredictable Doree, the maid of honor, paraded down the aisle as though it were all a play in which she was performing. She faced Brandon, the best man, Guthrie’s older brother.
Then came the solution to the dilemma of this unusual wedding—with their father as the officiating minister, Bill Smith was to give the brides away. Now Bill Smith gave an arm to both the brides, his two newly discovered granddaughters, and led them to the altar.
Though Spring’s joy on the occasion of her own and her sister’s wedding filled her to overflowing, it didn’t compare to the exultation of seeing her mother sitting beside her half brothers and half sister as they watched Bill walk Spring and Hannah down the aisle. Spring bit back tears.
At the front of the church, blond Guthrie and dark Marco, both handsome in black tuxes for the occasion, waited for their respective brides. Between them, the brides’ father, Garner, waited to read the wedding service.
Garner began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”
Standing just a step away from Marco, Spring waited for the moment that would make her mother supremely happy.
Father asked the important question: “Who gives these brides to these grooms?”
Tall and silver-haired, Bill declared proudly, “I give these brides—though I’ve only known them a day.” As his eyes filled with tears, he looked over at his newly found daughter. “Ethel, I know Connie is smiling down on us from heaven today. Your name tells me that Connie still loved me. You see, Ethel was my mother’s name. Connie named you Ethel as a sign, so I’d know you were my own dear child.
“How I wish I could have held you in my arms as a baby and walked you down the aisle when you married Garner. But by the grace of God, I’m here today, and we’ll make up for the time we’ve lost—if He gives me a few more years. Praise God, my children and I have a whole new family to love.”
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed the romance of Spring and Marco. Marco made the mistake many make. He substituted doing good for trusting in God. Marco had plans to help others, but he wanted to do it all by himself. Pride and guilt can be powerful but destructive motivations. He was fortunate to have a wise and caring mother!
I hope you were touched by the happy ending for Spring and Hannah, her sister, but especially the reunion of their mother with her natural father. What a beautiful day!
God bless you with His bountiful love and blessings!
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1892-5
FINALLY FOUND
Copyright © 2002 by Lyn Cote
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