The Wedding Chapel
Page 1
ACCLAIM FOR HOW TO CATCH A PRINCE
“A stirring modern-day fairy tale about the power of true love.”
—CINDY KIRK, AUTHOR OF LOVE AT MISTLETOE INN
“How to Catch a Prince is an enchanting story told with bold flavor and tender insight. Engaging characters come alive as romance blooms between a prince and his one true love. Hauck’s own brand of royal-style romance shines in this third installment of the Royal Wedding Series.”
—DENISE HUNTER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE WISHING SEASON
“How to Catch a Prince contains all the elements I’ve come to love in Rachel Hauck’s Royal Wedding Series: an ‘it don’t come easy’ happily ever after, a contemporary romance woven through with royal history, and a strong spiritual thread with an unexpected touch of the divine. Hauck’s smooth writing—and the way she wove life truths throughout the novel—made for a couldn’t-put-it-down read.”
—BETH K. VOGT, AUTHOR OF SOMEBODY LIKE YOU, ONE OF PUBLISHERS WEEKLY’S BEST BOOKS OF 2014
ACCLAIM FOR PREVIOUS BOOKS
“Rachel Hauck’s inspiring Royal Wedding Series is one for which you should reserve space on your keeper shelf!”
—USA TODAY
“Hauck spins a surprisingly believable royal-meets-commoner love story. This is a modern and engaging tale with well-developed secondary characters that are entertaining and add a quirky touch. Hauck fans will find a gem of a tale.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY STARRED REVIEW OF ONCE UPON A PRINCE
“Both books, Once Upon a Prince and Princess Ever After, are a good blend of uplifting entertainment with a mystery twist—not too heavy, not too light, just right! Five-plus stars awarded to these most excellent books by Rachel Hauck.”
—LAURA PALMORE
“A completely satisfying read. I’ve read A March Bride three times!”
—J. GOLDHAHN
“Upon entering the world of Brighton and now Hessenberg (Princess Ever After), my mind was awash with the colors, sounds, sights, and even smells of this delightful, fictional city. So much so, I wish it were real so that I could schedule a visit! All in all, this was a world I did not want to leave.”
—THINKING THOUGHTS BLOG
“I just finished my ARC of Once Upon a Prince and I LOVED IT! I don’t say that often because I do so many book reviews and it’s hard to find a real gem, but this one fit the bill!”
—LORI TWICHELL OF RADIANT LIT
“The Wedding Dress is a thought-provoking read and one of the best books I have read. Look forward to more . . .”
—MICHELLE JOHNMAN, GOLD COAST, AUSTRALIA
“I thank God for your talent and that you wrote The Wedding Dress. I will definitely come back to this book and read it again. And now I cannot wait to read Once Upon a Prince.”
—AGATA FROM POLAND
“Rachel Hauck writes with comedic timing and dramatic flair that underscore the stirring theme of God equipping and legitimizing those He calls to fulfill a purpose. Her portrayal of the supernatural presence and intercession of the Holy Spirit is artfully executed and a powerful testimony. Hauck illustrates Reggie’s spiritual awakening with a purity that leaves little doubt to its credibility.”
—FAMILY FICTION ON PRINCESS EVER AFTER
ALSO BY RACHEL HAUCK
The Wedding Dress
NOVELLAS FOUND IN A YEAR OF WEDDINGS
A March Bride (e-book only)
A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (e-book only)
THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES
Once Upon a Prince
Princess Ever After
How to Catch a Prince
LOWCOUNTRY ROMANCE NOVELS
Love Starts with Elle
Sweet Caroline
Dining with Joy
Nashville Sweetheart (e-book only)
Nashville Dreams (e-book only)
WITH SARA EVANS
Sweet By and By
Softly and Tenderly
Love Lifted Me
ZONDERVAN
The Wedding Chapel
Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Hayes Hauck
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
ePub Edition © October 2015: ISBN 978-0-310-34333-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hauck, Rachel, 1960-
The wedding chapel / Rachel Hauck.
pages; cm
ISBN 978-0-310-34152-9 (softcover)
1. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A866W425 2015
813’.6—dc23
2015023680
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Interior design: Mallory Perkins
15 16 17 18 19 20 / RRD / 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my sister, Rebekah Gunter
Contents
Chapter One: Jimmy
Chapter Two: Taylor
Chapter Three: Jack
Chapter Four: Colette
Chapter Five: Jimmy
Chapter Six: Jimmy
Chapter Seven: Jack
Chapter Eight: Colette
Chapter Nine: Taylor
Chapter Ten: Jack
Chapter Eleven: Jimmy
Chapter Twelve: Taylor
Chapter Thirteen: Jimmy
Chapter Fourteen: Taylor
Chapter Fifteen: Colette
Chapter Sixteen: Taylor
Chapter Seventeen: Jack
Chapter Eighteen: Jimmy
Chapter Nineteen: Colette
Chapter Twenty: Taylor
Chapter Twenty-One: Colette
Chapter Twenty-Two: Jimmy
Chapter Twenty-Three: Colette
Chapter Twenty-Four: Taylor
Chapter Twenty-Five: Taylor
Chapter Twenty-Six: Jack
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Taylor
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Jack
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Jimmy
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
JIMMY
HEART’S BEND, TENNESSEE
JULY 1948
Jimmy’s journey began with a photograph. One of two girls standing next to a slender bride gripping a weak cluster of flowers, the shade of a stone chapel falling over their faces.
“My cousins.” Clem’s heavy exhale pushed him down to the family’s brand-new sofa. “From England.”
“All of them?” Jimmy remained planted in the same spot he’d been standing when Clem passed over the picture. In a warm swath of afternoon sunlight falling through the square front window.
“Nooo, golly geez, just the two flower girls, or bridesmaids, whatever you call them. They’re coming to live with us.” Clem whistled low and slumped down against the couch cushions, his dark hair buzzed in a close crew cut. “If all three of them came to live with us, I’d have to move o
ut. And you know Mama wouldn’t cotton to losing her baby boy.”
Jimmy’s eyes watered. Dang. He was too old for tears. He cleared his throat, then said, “She’d hunt you down.”
“You don’t say.” Clem made a wry face, but Jimmy knew their joking etched around the truth. Clem was now his mama’s only boy. Big brother Ted had died on Iwo Jima just a week after his twentieth birthday, and the family had never been the same.
Though more than three years had passed since the telegram arrived, Jimmy’s soul still vibrated with the echoes of Mrs. Clemson’s wailing as her husband read the news. Everyone in Heart’s Bend had loved Ted. No exaggeration. Everyone. The whole town shut down for his memorial.
Jimmy jerked around, glancing at the stairs, for a moment imagining he heard the big guy’s thunderous footsteps.
“Come on, lazies, let’s get up a game. Jims, you staying for dinner? Mams, set an extra place for dinner . . .”
“. . . but what’s a fella to do?” Clem’s question brought Jimmy out from the shadows. “They lost everything in the war. Their folks, their home . . .”
Right. The cousins. Jimmy studied the picture again. “They’re orphans?” His heart moved with understanding.
“Yessiree, and they’re coming here to live.” Clem leaned toward the radio console and upped the volume, the velvet voice of Doris Day giving energy to the sunlight.
“Gonna take a sentimental journey / to renew old memories.”
“So why’re you showing me this?” Jimmy held up the photograph. Did Clem want him to decode something between the shades of black and white? “Might be kinda nice, Clem, having kids around. The house won’t be so . . .”
Lonely. He wanted to say it, but the tone sat sad in his ears. If Jimmy knew about anything, it was loneliness: the hollow shadows of a dark house, the chill of walking into a cold kitchen, the loudness of silence.
“Lonely?” Clem made a dismissive phffbt sound and waved Jimmy off. “What’re you talking about? I just got things the way I want around here. Got the whole upstairs to myself.” He flipped his hand toward the stairs, feigning more protest than Jimmy believed true. “Now I’m going to have girls hanging their stockings and unmentionables in the bathroom—my bathroom—and getting their powder and rouge all over the sink.”
“Girls get their powder all over the sink?”
Clem sat forward, jamming his thumb over his shoulder toward the neighbors. “Bradley told me everything about living with sisters.” Clem shook his head. “Just when we thought the war was over and things were getting back to normal, I got to have girls moving in.”
“Big deal . . . So what, maybe they’ll bake or something. I bet they’ll do the dishes and cleaning.” At least he’d heard that’s what womenfolk did around the house. But in the Westbrook men-only home, Jimmy did most of the “girl” chores.
“I’d gladly do the dishes to have the upstairs to myself.” Clem glanced away, a glossy sheen spreading across his eyes.
“I’d not want anyone to take Ted’s place either if I was you,” Jimmy said quietly, taking a final glance at the girl cousins before passing the photo back to Clem.
Clem took the picture, running the heel of his hand over his eyes, and with a final gander dropped it onto the coffee table.
“Can’t stop missing him.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
But Jimmy’s gut told him Albert “Clem” Clemson, his best friend since Miss Tuttle’s second-grade class, was wrong about these girls. They were special. He didn’t know how or why, just that they were more than powder-spreading inconveniences.
Besides, they were pretty. Especially the one on the right with her sweet, heart-shaped face and head of curls.
Jimmy recognized the look in her eye as she squinted through the shadows. It was the sad glint of losing a parent. And he sure as spitting knew what that felt like.
“If they do the housework, you know what that means? Dad’ll have me putting in more hours at the store.” His jaw set, Clem was determined not to be consoled. “Did I tell you he’s pert-near ready to open a third store in Ashland City?”
“What’s her name?” The words came out, slipped out, without Jimmy’s consent. But there they were, hanging in the air. He dropped to Mr. Clemson’s well-used leather easy chair as the image of the girl with the curls and tender gaze made him feel all hot and fluttery inside.
“Of the store?” Clem curled his lip. “You think it’s a she?”
“No . . .” Jimmy grimaced, making a face. “Th-the cousins.” It was hard to act casual when his pumping heart made his voice all quivery.
“Which one?” Clem reached for the photo on the coffee table, then regarded Jimmy for a moment.
Jimmy ducked his head, fearing he’d be discovered. He could sense a red heat flushing his cheeks. If Clem ever told the fellas . . .
“Um.” He cleared his throat and rose from the chair. “Either, I guess. Man, it’s hot in here.” Jimmy glanced toward the window and its stream of July sunlight.
“Guess it don’t matter ’cause I don’t know their names.” Clem popped up, reaching for the football wedged between the couch and the end table. “Let’s get up a game. We need the practice.”
“You don’t know your own cousins’ names?”
Jimmy had one cousin, April Raney, who was off to college now but the closest thing he’d ever had to a sibling. He liked her a lot, and every year he saved some of his earnings to buy her a birthday and Christmas present.
“Why should I? I never met them. Their mom is . . . was . . . my mom’s sister, but they only saw each other once in twenty years. When Mama went to England.” Clem tossed the football between his hands, then fake pumped to Jimmy. “Mama says they’ll be in our class.”
“They’re twins?” Jimmy leaned to squint at the picture, his interest more in memorizing the face of the girl with the curls. He took up the image and flipped it over. Maybe her name was on the back. But the only imprint was the date: May ’48.
“Naw, not twins. That I know. Just in the same grade. Something to do with the war and being shipped to the country to live. Then they got orphaned.” Clem tossed the ball toward the ceiling, jumping to catch it while moving toward the door. “Let’s go, Westbrook. I’ll holler at Bradley. We can pick up Spice on the way.”
“Coming.” Jimmy dropped the photograph onto the table just as the breeze skipped through the open doorway, skidding the picture across the coffee table’s smooth surface into Mrs. Clemson’s collection of Saturday Evening Posts.
Can’t wait to meet you . . .
Outside, Clem jumped from the porch, slapping the rafters, the ball tucked under his arm. “Braaadleeeey Green, we’re getting up a game. Need to practice if we’re going to make first team. Let’s go. I’m working this afternoon so it’s now or never.”
Jimmy jumped from the porch onto the grass, trying to shed the strange sensations lingering in his chest. Get over it. It’s just a photograph. But confound it, Clem’s goofy girl cousin made him want to hug her, protect her. He’d always promised himself he’d not go moon-eyed over a gal. He’d learned from Dad that women weren’t worth the effort.
His ole pop seemed pretty clear on the fact that loving a woman caused a man a whole heap of trouble. And his father was a swell, stand-up fella who told the truth.
Besides, what did Jimmy know of girls? Nothing. Other than Nana and April, he had no experience with women whatsoever.
Bradley ran out of his house, still tying his sneakers. “I called Spice,” he said.
Sure enough, from across the street and three houses down, Spice Keating hurried out of his house. His old man was a boozer, a bit rough. But Spice was all charm and smiles.
Jimmy didn’t know how he managed it.
“Coach said we could practice at school if we promise not to tear up the turf,” Clem said, walking backward, tossing the ball to Jimmy.
But Jimmy missed. Missed! The ball slipped through his hands and hit the pavem
ent.
“Westbrook, is that how you’re going to play this fall?”
“Shut up, Clem.” Irritated, Jimmy scooped up the ball, ran down the middle of the street, and spiraled it back to his quarterback. “You get it to me and I’ll catch it.”
See what girls did? He was already distracted and he hadn’t even met her. That was the trouble with girls. They could mess up a guy in all sorts of ways. Humiliate him.
“Hey, fellas,” Jimmy said, a teasing melody in his voice. “Clem’s having girl cousins move in.”
“Girls? What kind of girls?”
“Westbrook, you big mouth.” Clem fired the ball at Jimmy.
“Ah, what’s the big deal? They were going to find out sooner or later.” Jimmy caught the ball and shoved into Spice. “What do you mean, ‘What kind of girls?’ There’s more than one?”
“Yeah, sure, pretty and ugly.” Spice laughed, shuffling around Jimmy, reaching for the ball, a saucy grin on his face, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. “So which is it? Pretty or ugly?”
“Yeah, Jimmy,” Clem echoed. “Which is it?”
“They’re your cousins.” Jimmy tossed the ball to Bradley, who dropped it.
“Exactly.” Clem scooped up the ball, twisting around, barely missing Mrs. Grove as she turned the corner in her big new Cadillac. “I ain’t got no skin in this game.”
“Nice car, Mrs. Grove.” Young or old, Spice tried to charm them all. “Anyway, we could use some new girls round here. Pretty ones.” He glanced back at Mrs. Grove’s driveway. “Young ones too.”
“Well, if you’d quit loving ’em and leaving ’em, you’d have more choices.” Jimmy ran long for Clem’s pass, catching it in stride, feeling the lingering grudge he had against Spice. They were friends all right, but last year Spice knew Jimmy was keen on Rebekah Gunter. He moved right in anyway, even though he had no intention of ever going steady. Love was just a game to him.
“Ah, don’t be bitter, Westbrook. You know you didn’t have the guts to ask Beka out.”
“Take that back, Keating.” Jimmy shoved him, hard.