The Wedding Chapel

by Rachel Hauck

  Drummond clapped him on the shoulder. “Coach, don’t accept. This property is worth twice that.”

  “Are you accusing me of something, Drummond?” Keith said. “Then say it.”

  “What? Have I been unclear so far?”

  Enough. Jimmy didn’t want folks throwing stones in his chapel, in a place meant for love and joy.

  But perhaps this argument was his just due—his sins coming home to roost. Fine, then let them be on him.

  In fact, the buyers were standing right where he’d once lain with Colette.

  He raised his hands. “Let’s not argue—”

  The Brant fella interrupted, his feathers all fluffed. “Two hundred is right at market value for this area. We’ve no intention of robbing Mr. Westbrook of a fair deal.”

  “The land alone is worth three hundred, maybe more. And this chapel? Throw in another hundred and fifty grand. Coach.” Drummond took hold of Jimmy’s shoulder. “The plan for this area is for big, ritzy row houses. These boys will sell each quarter acre for fifty thousand-plus. The six acres will gross well over a million dollars.”

  “It’s called good business,” André said. “We take the risk by buying the property, insuring it, making sure there are no environmental hurdles, and yes, eventually selling for a profit.”

  “No deal,” Drummond said with all boldness but without any authority.

  “This is not your business, Drummond.” All red faced, Keith was fixing to blow.

  Jimmy peered past Drummond at Taylor. He’d simmer down this argument by seeing what she wanted. “Did you need to see me?”

  She glanced toward the door. “Yes, but—” She flashed her palm. “I’ll be right back. Don’t make any deals until I get back. Coach, this is my sister, Emma.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too, Coach.”

  “No deals . . . That’s right, Taylor. Tell him.” Drummond was like a dog with a bone on this one.

  “Can we negotiate without this man?” Dan, the tall one, simmered beneath his fancy duds.

  “Nothing less than five hundred thousand,” Drummond pressed on. “For five acres. Leave the chapel on one. Plus an easement and parking.”

  “You must be out of your mind.” The other suit looked like a shaken bottle of soda pop. “We want all six acres.”

  “Why? Take five. You’ll still have plenty of land, along with the property you own, to build your suburb.”

  “Because—” Brant hesitated, glancing around at Keith and his partners. “The road goes right through here.”

  “Brant!” Keith’s voice bounced among the rafters.

  “Road? What road?” Jimmy said, his senses fully engaged, burning away any lingering emotion. “What road?”

  “Yeah, Keith, what road?” Drummond angled back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this.

  “Coach, there’s no road. Just, on the plans filed with the county”—he peered at Drummond—“plans we’re not going to use, there might be a road.” He motioned up and down the chapel aisle. “About here.”

  “But you can’t have a road about here. You’d have to tear down the chapel.”

  “Exactly,” Drum said. “The road to their community begins right there.” He pointed to the back of the sanctuary. “At your little gravel entrance off River Road.”

  “But that can’t be.” Jimmy’s heart jumped. No, no, no. “Keith? You said you were finding wedding venue buyers.”

  “Jimmy, listen . . .” Keith shoved Drummond out of the way and cupped his arm around Jimmy. “Yes, that was the original plan. But really, what do you care? As long as you make a good profit? And if it’s good for Heart’s Bend? Brant, André, and Dan here want to bring business and commerce, families, to Heart’s Bend.” Keith smiled down at him. “Which means more revenue, more money for schools, for football. Brant here is willing to donate a sizable sum to a new football field house.”

  Behind Jimmy, Drummond growled and grumbled. “A bunch of hoo-ha.”

  “Coach, you will be solely responsible for bringing innovation and enterprise to Heart’s Bend. Brant and the boys here have a vision of prosperity for our little town. What’s good for one is good for all. What’s good for all is good for one.”

  “Gobbledygook.” Drummond again.

  Jimmy took a breath. He meant to see this thing clearly. Like an opposing defense. “So, let me understand. You boys mean to bring more of Nashville over this way. We already got big communities on the east side of town. Shopping malls and movie theaters.”

  “Look around, Coach,” Keith said. “The world’s changing. You can talk to someone in Asia face-to-face on a device no bigger than a transistor radio. When you built this chapel we barely had television in these parts. Look, I know you had a plan when you built this place, but it didn’t work out.” The real estate agent shrugged. “Welcome to life. Plans change all the time. For you, what’s most important is lining your nest egg. Who cares if your property is sold to a wedding venue or a developer?” Keith walked down the aisle, his arms wide. “Either way, you’re making folks happy. Changing lives. Besides, Coach, you can’t cling to the past.”

  “No, I can’t cling to the past,” Jimmy said slowly, thinking. “I’ve held on to this place too long. But I don’t intend this chapel for destruction. She can’t be torn down. My dreams might not have come true within these walls, but I’d like to help other couples make their dreams come true.”

  “So what are you saying?” Keith said.

  “Coach,” Brant said. “If you sell to someone else, we’ll just buy from them. Just want to be up front about that, and might I add, I’m a big fan. My dad played against you in your last title game.”

  Jimmy regarded him through a narrow gaze. “We won that one as I recall.”

  Brant grinned, nodding. “Much to my father’s regret.”

  “Enough memory lane,” Drummond said. “Coach, don’t sell.”

  “This development does have me reconsidering.” Jimmy motioned to the high beam ceiling. “I hauled the lumber from downtown Nashville for this place during the rebuilding years, after the war. About broke my back hauling limestone out of the ground all over Tennessee. Stained the ground with my own sweat and tears. Boys, I can’t let you tear her down.”

  “Interesting.” Drummond walked around Keith, inspecting the ceiling beams. “I’ve got a buddy at the historical register. We might be able to claim this chapel as a historic site.”

  “Drummond, that’s ridiculous,” Keith said.

  “Niven, you brought us into a circus.” Brant started for the door, then whirled around to Jimmy. “This is not the end. We’ll take legal action.”

  “Legal action? Brant, wait. Coach—” Keith stood between the two groups, a weak excuse for a peace bridge. “We can work this out. Let’s go back to Drummond’s idea of more money. How’s five acres for five hundred thousand hit everyone?”

  Like a match tossed on gasoline, Drummond, the suits, and Keith exploded one by one, protesting, their voices flying, their arms flailing, their reasons jabbing the air.

  Jimmy jumped up on the nearest pew. “Take a knee!” His inner football coach roared from deep within. His baritone echoed about the beams, and every man, even the suits, took a knee. “Listen up, this is my place and I call the shots. There ain’t going to be a lawsuit and—”

  Ten feet away, the sanctuary doors opened and a stream of fall light rushed in. Jimmy squinted through the brilliance as a vision emerged from the hue of white and gold.

  Colette.

  His knees gave way and he buckled, slipping off the pew, his heart beating with the force of hummingbird wings. Drummond lurched forward, catching him by the arm, helping him to firm footing.

  “Coach, I brought someone to see you.” Taylor stepped around Colette, leading her down the aisle.

  He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. Colette. His Colette. She was a statuesque beauty who seemed not to have aged one jot. Time had been kind to her. To his Le
ttie.

  Keith stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, we’re in a meeting here.”

  “Everyone,” Taylor said, ignoring that blowhard Keith. “This is Colette Greer, the soap opera star and the inspiration for the chapel.”

  “Colette Greer?” Brant said. “I thought she was dead.”

  “No, I’m very much alive.” Colette spoke, so poised and gracious. “And this is my wedding chapel.”

  Keith laughed. “Is this some sort of joke?” He pointed to the camera around Taylor’s neck. “Are we on a reality show?” He danced about, waving his hands, looking the fool.

  “No, no, she’s right. This is Colette’s chapel.” Jimmy found a smattering of composure. He was breathing the same air as his true love. After sixty-four years. He felt suddenly aware of himself and smoothed his hand over his hair, tucked in the back of his shirt.

  “Legally?” Brant said. “Does she have the deed? Because if she does, then why were you trying to sell it, Mr. Westbrook?”

  The room seemed to expand, moving the other players out of the way. Jimmy only saw and heard Colette. “I knew you’d come.” He kept the distance of one pew between them. “One day you’d come.”

  “Then why,” she said in a whisper, “are you selling my chapel?”

  From the corner of his eye, Jimmy spied Taylor behind her camera, capturing the moment. And he was grateful.

  “What does she mean, this is her chapel?” Keith’s whine broke the magic and interrupted Jimmy’s sweet reunion. “Is she serious? Does she hold the deed? That’s what we need to know, Coach.”

  “Everyone out!” Jimmy channeled his inner coach again and motioned to the exit. “Out. Out. Out. Stop yer yammering.”

  “We’re not done here,” Brant declared as he made his way down the aisle, his partners following.

  “We’re more than done here,” Jimmy said. “Keith, take down your sign.”

  “We’ve got a contract, Jimmy.”

  “Not anymore. I’m not selling. And if I were, I’d not be in business with a man who lied to me.”

  “Way to go, Coach,” Drummond said, clapping him on the back. “Way to go, Aunt Colette.” He offered his hand. “I’m Peg’s son, Drummond.”

  “Yes, I know.” Then she did the oddest thing. She slipped her hand into Jimmy’s and leaned into him. Hold on, darling Lettie. I gotcha. “My dear nephew.”

  “Daddy, Emma, why don’t we give these two a moment?”

  “Right, right. See you later?” Drummond walked toward the door with his daughters.

  “Drummond,” Jimmy said, “I owe you a Tennessee hill of gratitude.”

  “You don’t owe me nothing, Coach. After all you did for me in high school, this is the least I can do.”

  The door opened, then closed, and silence filled the sanctuary. He was alone with her. He tried to speak but faltered, the thousands of words in his chest unable to find breath.

  She squeezed his hand, her smile as bright as he remembered. “I’m sorry to come unannounced, but when I heard you were selling, I couldn’t stay away.”

  “I’m glad.” Jimmy cleared his throat, trying to sound like a man in this exchange. “I’m glad.” He glanced down at his old boots. “You look good, Lettie.”

  Her soft laugh raised his chin. “My, no one has called me that in years. You look good too, Jims. And I’m not sure I have the right to demand anything of you, but please don’t sell my chapel.” She raised her gaze to the beams, surveyed the windows, the walls, the altar, soft sighs escaping. “It’s more lovely than I imagined it would be.”

  “She’s been waiting for you.”

  Colette glanced at him. “Jimmy, please, I—”

  “Marry me.” The words fired through the reservoir of the unspoken and into the room with the power of his heart. “I ain’t waiting no more. You’re here and I need to know if you’ll marry me.” He sank slowly to one knee, hanging on to the pew beside him.

  “Marry you? Are you—”

  “Proper this time. Not some vows only we knew about, vows we too easily walked away from.”

  She peered down at him, then turned, walking away. “I’ve not seen you in sixty-four years and this is what you ask of me?”

  “What do you want me to ask? How’s life? Or how was your trip down here? How long you staying? No, Colette.” He shoved up from the floor. “You’re here and I aim not to let you get away this time.”

  She whirled around to him. “And what about me? What I want?”

  “Then is your answer no?”

  “Jimmy . . . you . . . you have no idea what you’re asking.” She clasped her hands, pacing.

  “But I do know what I’m asking. In fact, I asked you sixty-four years ago in this very spot and you said yes. What’s changed?”

  “What’s changed?” She held out her arms and turned a slow circle. “Everything has changed, you old fool. How can you possibly want to marry me?”

  “Because I ain’t never stopped loving you. Isn’t that enough?”

  She shook, the wallet around her wrist visibly trembling. “You don’t know me . . . what you’re asking.”

  “Then tell me. What am I missing? Lettie, I never thought I’d see you again. But here you stand. Saving me. Saving the chapel. In that sense, nothing has changed at all.”

  She pressed her finger to her lips as tears slipped down her cheeks. “You silly old fool. You think we can just pick up where we left off? That we can be nineteen and twenty again?” She spun around and pushed through the door, leaving Jimmy to stand alone in the shadows, the echo of his proposal raining down over him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  TAYLOR

  She’d pretended she didn’t, but she’d heard the whoosh-thump of the chapel’s heart. She didn’t know what else to call it. But it resounded loud and clear.

  She’d peeked at Jimmy, but he didn’t seem to hear it. He was so focused on Colette.

  Just remembering gave Taylor chills, and now that she drove east toward Granny’s with Emma oddly silent in the backseat and a stony Colette in the passenger seat, her heart spilled over.

  So she released her questions to God. Who else could she ask about the supernatural but the One who created it? Existed above and beyond it? Why was He taking time to invade her world? Jimmy’s world?

  A low mutter came from Colette. “It was a mistake to come, a mistake.”

  “I saw Coach’s face. He was . . . really glad to see you.”

  “You can never go back. You can’t. Shouldn’t have tried.”

  Colette’s posture and tone invited no more questions, so Taylor settled in with her own thoughts with a peek in the rearview at Emma, who stared pensively at the passing trees.

  They pulled into Granny’s driveway, parking behind another dark rental car. Colette slipped out of the car, beelining for her rental. “Thank you, Taylor and Emma, for taking a foolish woman on a foolish journey.”

  “Won’t you come inside? Maybe we can talk about it.”

  “No, I’ve seen and talked enough.”

  “Jack and Ford are inside.”

  “I need to be alone.” She fumbled with a key, trying to unlock the car. When she couldn’t manage it, she stomped her foot, swearing softly, her thin shoulders crumpling.

  Emma walked over, gently taking the keys from her. “Colette, please come inside.”

  “Please unlock the door.”

  Emma passed the keys to Taylor. “I think you should drive her.”

  “No, I can drive myself.” But Colette did not move.

  Taylor unlocked the door and popped it open. “You don’t have to block us out, you know. Just because Granny is dead or because trouble existed between you. It doesn’t have to be that way with the rest of us.”

  At the sound of her own confession, Taylor felt the power of family. Good, bad, weak, or strong, family mattered. If not blood kin, then those who fit in one’s heart.

  “Yes, it must be this way.” Colette stared down the shaded, t
ree-lined lane. “Because if you knew—”

  “A secret?” Taylor tossed the word out on a hunch. “That there’s a secret?”

  Colette’s countenance darkened. “You know?”

  “That there’s a secret? Yes, but I have no idea what. Colette, please come in. What could be so bad you can’t tell us? Granny is gone and time has a way of healing things, you know?”

  “Tell Ford I’ll see him at the hotel.” Colette’s whole body trembled as she slipped behind the wheel.

  “Colette, you’re not in any shape to drive,” Emma said. “When did you last eat?”

  “I had cake not long ago.”

  “Cake? You need more than cake.”

  But the great Colette Greer was done talking. She slammed the door and fired up the engine.

  From the curb, the sisters watched her drive off, the Mercedes’ taillights disappearing around the corner. Be safe, Colette.

  Making her way up to the house, Taylor regretted letting her go. But Colette wasn’t a child. Or addled. She was hurting. And Taylor knew what it felt like to just want to escape.

  When she and Emma entered the house, Jack and Ford leapt to their feet.

  “Well?” Ford said, rushing to the door and peering out. “Where’s Colette?”

  “She left.” Taylor set her camera on the remaining end table. “Said she wanted to be alone.”

  “You do realize she doesn’t have a valid driver’s license? And that she’s a horrible driver?”

  “We’ll find her, Ford,” Jack said, then moved to Taylor, wrapping her in a hug. She exhaled. He felt good. I’ve something to tell you, Jack. “What’s going on, Tay?”

  “Colette’s the one. The one Coach built the chapel for.”

  “What? The wedding chapel Coach built, that you photographed, was for Colette Greer? When? Why?”

  “Long time ago and I guess because he loved her. The details are sketchy.”

  Ford left the door but not his fretting. “What’s this about a chapel?”

  “Coach was in love with Colette?” Jack said.

  Taylor gave a summary to Ford, who hmm’d. “That answers a few questions I’ve had over the years.”