From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  This time she kissed him, and James wondered if a heart could burst from happiness. If it could, his would go any second now. He just hoped there’d be no long-term damage.

  “Well, then, I guess I’d best do what my teacher says,” she said, laughing. “If he thinks we ought to collaborate on a permanent basis…”

  “Hey, now, what’s going on here?” Hattie’s voice cut in.

  Startled, Melody turned to James, and he pointed toward a small group clustered at the Green Room door. “I believe your aunt and my grandfather — and heaven knows who else — have left the fourth estate behind and come to chaperone the proceedings.”

  “Well, they’re too late,” Melody declared. “Although if Hattie wants to, I suppose she can be a bridesmaid—”

  “Bite your tongue, my girl!” Hattie stormed in, feigning indignation. Too bad her best attempt at a straight face failed when Melody laughed, but she wouldn’t be deterred from speaking her piece. “Is this any way to treat Dean Thomas and me — and your parents, Mr. Goodwin, don’t forget them? We fend off the press while you two go and make the biggest decision of your lives without so much as a ‘by your leave’?”

  James threw back his head and laughed. “Hattie, the day Melody ever says ‘by your leave’ to me or anybody else, I’m checking her into the hospital.”

  “Speaking of which…” Al cleared his throat.

  “Oh, yeah.” James shrugged. “Sorry, Mel, but my limo’s waiting.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it.” She got to her feet, then stretched out both her hands and helped him to stand beside her. He was gladder for that assistance than he dared admit. “Here you are, proposing to me one minute and taking off the next? Never pictured you the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, James—”

  “Shh, Mel.” He knew she was joking, but he hadn’t the heart to laugh at that. “I will love you…and cherish you…and treasure you. I’m never, ever leaving you.”

  She blushed, then looked at him with her heart in her eyes. “I know that James. Forever.”

  On that, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Turning to Hattie, the dean, his parents, and anyone else listening, he said, “Okay, folks. This is it. You want to watch what I’m about to do, you’re welcome to. But if you’re easily embarrassed, look away, because I’m about to kiss this woman to within an inch of her life.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Al bantered back. “If you insist on putting your poor system through that kind of strain, you’ll do it lying down, in the ambulance.”

  “Lying—?” Melody sputtered, then started to laugh. “In the ambulance? James, can we do that?”

  “You’re going to do it,” Al answered instead. “Doctor’s orders.” He burst into a grin almost as wide as James’s. “Just let us help him into the back, Melody. Then you climb on in and ride along, and what you two do in the back of that thing is your own business.”

  Hattie groaned. “Now, Melody, be reasonable. You’re not actually thinking of climbing in the back of that van and—?”

  “Of course she is,” Angela Goodwin chimed in. “I say go for it, Melody, and don’t look back.”

  The Professor handed James back his cane, and he grinned and gave the collected relatives a jubilant thumbs-up. But Melody’s aunt still shook her head, murmuring fretfully, until Mike slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “Don’t worry, Hattie,” he soothed. “That means we’re free to get out of here and leave them be. I have a feeling they’ll be in good hands.”

  “Yep, we sure will,” Melody said, lifting James’s arm over her shoulders. “Each other’s.”

  That was all the closure James needed. “It’s a wrap, Doc. Let’s go.”

  As they settled him in, James reveled in sheer gratitude for a moment. Then she was in his arms, and he knew to the marrow of his bones that all the glitz-and-glamour limousine rides of his past put together wouldn’t equal the glory of the miraculous ride he was taking with Melody tonight.

  EPILOGUE

  Chicago, Illinois

  August 1999

  “You did it, Goodwin! You son of a gun!”

  Al’s congratulations for his best friend warmed Melody’s heart, but they only intensified the weepiness she’d had all morning, and now she was scrambling to mop up. That’s what I get for having no pockets on my wedding dress. Now, where’d I tuck my handkerchief?

  “Here you go.” She saw a hand first, in front of her face, holding two tissues. Then Melody saw the hand belonged to Barb.

  “Barbara, you read my mind,” she said, reaching for both tissues. But Barb pulled one back, shaking her head.

  “Uh-uh. One to a customer. The other one’s for me.”

  Melody dabbed her eyes. “Like you need it? I’d be willing to bet you haven’t shed one tear this morning.”

  “And you’d win that bet, because I’ve shed buckets.” Barb blew her nose, then hugged Melody. “I just got done passing on some of these to your aunt. I think she’s majorly stressed out, too.”

  “What?” Melody deadpanned. “Are you trying to tell me Hattie can’t handle a teeny little graduation party and a wedding six months apart? She’s been in her element.”

  Barb smiled as they both watched Melody’s aunt, resplendent in spring green jersey, greeting the guests in the receiving line. “I think the ‘losing the daughter’ thing has finally started to hit home, though,” she murmured.

  “And how is James’s mom holding up? Did she need you, too?”

  Barb blew her nose again. “Nah. She’s a trouper. It’s almost disgusting.” She narrowed her eyes mischievously. “Speaking of disgusting, look at you, girlfriend. Gorgeous, just married to a hunk, and ridiculously happy.”

  Melody laughed out loud. “It’s all James’s fault. He’s the one who’s made me happy as a clam, however happy that is.”

  “Clams,” James put in, “are like the rest of us. They’re as happy as they make up their minds to be.” He held Melody closer. “Right, Mel?”

  She beamed. “Yes, sir, Teacher. Anything you say.”

  “Anything I say?” James nuzzled her ear, growling playfully. “Sounds promising for later, Mrs. Goodwin.”

  Melody closed her eyes in bliss. “It’s supposed to be, Mr. Goodwin.”

  “All right, you two, steady as she goes,” Barb ordered. “You’ve still got a reception to get through, remember?”

  James groaned. “Come on, Barbara. Can’t we do the rest of this by proxy?”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Melody rapped her bouquet smartly against her new husband’s head. “It’s a package deal. If you do these festivities by proxy, you have to do the wedding night by proxy, too.”

  “Not on your life, honey,” James breathed into her ear, effectively stifling anything further. She didn’t mind, except she could feel a blush creeping all the way to her hairline at the precise moment the dean and the Professor made up the end of the line.

  “We hung back until the end,” Dean Thomas said. “Heinrich wanted to take his time with the two of you.”

  Melody was touched. “Professor, that’s so sweet. Thank you.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of being rushed past my favorite grandson’s new bride.” The Professor’s blue eyes twinkled. “Glad you’re staying around for a while, James.” He cleared his throat. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

  Melody took in the sight of the two of them and felt warm to her toes. It’s like the painting come to life…only better.

  “Not to worry, Grandpa,” James said, hugging the Professor with all the fervor of a small boy. “We’re all on the same page now.”

  By the time they let go, Melody wasn’t sure which of them was fighting harder to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of bawling. Fortunately, with the last of the guests out the door making their way to Hattie’s for the garden reception, she and James could pause long enough for her new husband to get his composure back.

  Husband. She sighed, loving the so
und of the word. Loving the feel of James’s arm around her waist. Loving the man who stood so straight and strong now, fully recovered, body and soul.

  “Aha. At last,” he murmured low, and kissed the back of her neck. “I thought they’d never leave!”

  She laughed. He was recovered, all right. “James, what did we tell you about the reception?”

  “It’ll keep without us for a bit.” He took her hand. “Come on back in church with me. I’ve got a special gift I need to give you.”

  “A gift?” She nearly stumbled trying to keep up with him. “But, James, the presents are all at Hattie’s. That’s where we’re supposed to—”

  “Shh.” Stopping, he placed one long finger over her lips. “Didn’t you just agree to anything I wanted, Mrs. Goodwin?”

  She couldn’t say a word without biting his finger, so she nodded.

  “Then do as I say, and come along.”

  Only when James had brought her clear up to the front of the church, next to the nine-foot grand piano near the altar, did he stop and let go of her hand. Then he drew her close and kissed her, and she had to admit, that kiss was worth the trip. James hadn’t lied premiere night. He did, indeed, know how to kiss a woman to within an inch of her life.

  “That’s much better.” He raised his head, gave her that crooked smile, and Melody swayed a little in his arms. “Now have a seat.”

  She frowned. “But, James, they’re all going to be waiting for us—”

  “Let ‘em wait.” Tenderly, he settled her in the front pew. “This is our day. This is our time.” His eyes darkened. “And I’m not sharing the wedding gift I have for you with that whole thundering horde.”

  “Wedding gift?” She looked up and down the pew, below it, in back of it, but there was no sign of package, box, envelope, or other paraphernalia. “Umm, James, if there’s supposed to be a gift here, I hate to tell you, but—”

  Then she stopped, all her senses alerted to a tiny sound. The sound of a soft ninth chord rippling up the keyboard of the sanctuary piano…and right up her spine.

  “James?” she whispered.

  While she’d been looking in vain for some mysterious package, he’d assumed a spot on the piano bench, and his hands still rested on the keys as the sound reverberated throughout the nave and faded gradually away.

  “Shh, Mel,” he said again. “Just listen.”

  With that, he began to play, starting with a slow, gentle melodic motive over clustered chords, clearly rooted in the jazz milieu he knew so well. Then she heard two distinct tunes, weaving in and out of each other as lightly as the butterflies that so loved Hattie’s garden. Alternately bold and translucent, they shimmered and danced over a flowing five-count, making Melody want to get up and dance herself.

  Even better was seeing him play. True, James was only giving her a sample of new music, but his hands moved with ease. He had good days and not-so-good days, and she was overwhelmingly grateful for a good one for him today, when it clearly meant so much. Lost in wonder at his splendid gift, she sat enraptured until he finished, with a subtle glissando capped by a whispering bass note. Then he lifted his hands from the keys and turned to her, his face suffused with happiness.

  “The beginning of my third concerto, Mel,” he said huskily. “For you. What do you think?”

  She leaned forward and ruffled his hair. “I think you get more talented by the second.”

  He blushed, and she couldn’t hold back a grin.

  “But you’re spoiling me, James,” she went on. “There’s no way I did anything to deserve a gift like that.” Settling on the bench beside him, she cradled his face in her hands, treasuring every angle, every shadow, every scar, every mark of the road he’d had to travel to find her. “Or to deserve you.”

  “That’s the beauty of a gift. You don’t have to deserve it.” He pulled her close. “Happy wedding day, Mrs. Goodwin.”

  “Happy wedding day yourself,” she murmured, breathing in the clean scent of him, the perfume of the flowers around them, and, from somewhere in the church hall, the aroma of coffee — perfectly timed to set her stomach growling. Hearing that, they both laughed.

  “If that’s not our cue to get out of here,” James said, “I don’t know what is.”

  “About time for some food, is what I say.” Melody hitched up her skirt enough to show a little ankle. “I’ll race you to the cake!”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” With a quick move, he rose from the bench and scooped her up in his arms. “I’m not having you run anywhere in those heels and break anything important before our wedding night.”

  “Anything important?” she squeaked. Held tight against James’s body, breathing in rhythm with his pulse, leaning into his chest and cradled in his arms, Melody felt downright lightheaded. “May I ask which parts you consider…er…important?”

  He lowered his mouth to hers for a sweet, potent kiss. “Tell you what, Mel,” he whispered. “We get alone, I’ll be glad to point out each one to you.”

  She glanced toward the open church door and the limousine, poised to take them to her aunt’s house, then deliberately into James’s eyes.

  “We can be real…alone…in the back of that car, you know,” she whispered back.

  His breath caught. “That gives me an idea.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll bet it does.”

  “Hear me out, Mel,” he went on, the baritone voice a sensual music of its own. “The party doesn’t officially start ‘til two, right?”

  She nodded. “Yep. More than an hour from now. Plenty of time…”

  “…to take the long way around to Hattie’s…”

  “…maybe even…get lost?”

  James’s eyes smoldered. “Mmm. You get lost far enough around this neighborhood, you could even end up at my place.”

  “No!” She feigned surprise.

  He shrugged. “It could happen.”

  She arched her brow. “Not if you keep standing around here yammering about it, it can’t. Is there anything else you need to do here?”

  He shook his head. “You?”

  “Well…” she teased, “…there is one thing I’ve always wanted to say at a moment like this.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “What else?” She pointed to the car with her bouquet. “Home, James!”

  He didn’t need to be told twice.

  About the Author

  Janet W. Butler couldn't decide whether to be a musician or a writer—so she's elected to do both. After earning her degree in Music Theory from Roosevelt University, she married a percussionist, sang in a madrigal group, discovered the world of opera choruses…and scribbled stories, something she's been obsessive about since the age of ten. She also presently belongs to the IPFW Choral Union, in which at times she sings soprano notes only dogs can hear. J

  Originally from Chicago, she's a transplant to northeast Indiana, where she lives with her husband, Patrick, daughter, Jessica, and Cassandra “Trouble” Butler, SRC (Spoiled Rotten Cat). When she has the occasional profound thought, she blogs at www.catholicwriterchick.blogspot.com.

  Also from Astraea Press

  Chapter One

  Kami's blouse bunched up her back as she slid down the wide oak's trunk. She cringed as aged bark grazed her skin and snagged her hair until her bottom hit the ground. She folded her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and welcomed the sharp pangs. Hurting Ian pained her more than anything she'd done in her life.

  Autumn leaves crunched as he paced the woodland's small clearing. Each stride matched two beats of her heart and crushed the sweet memories of their grove. Dust scented the air as he shuffled through a turn.

  "Why are you just now telling me this?" His breath hitched, and he cleared his throat.

  Words wouldn't form as Kami lifted her gaze.

  His hazel eyes shifted to the shadows of the young birch trees as he set his hands at his waist. A cloud of insects drifted through the pale trunks. Soft hums fille
d the air as they paused.

  He ran his hand across his jaw and looked back at her. "You know I love you, Kami."

  Tears seeped beneath her lids, and she blinked to relieve the burn. "I need to be the only one, Ian. I can't know you might love someone else more than me when you choose another wife."

  She stared at the thick roots that surrounded her and then traced the curve of one nearby with her fingertip. They wove into the caramel-colored ground, creating a perfect lounge for two lovers in an embrace. How many times had they sat there and shared their secrets, their love? How many times had he told her she was the one? She cursed the fact that she had been gullible enough to believe it could be true.

  Kami forced her voice through her tight throat. "When I first saw you, you were playing in the park with that scruffy little dog. Its hair was so long and matted, I thought you couldn't afford to pay a groomer. I thought that sock with the knot in it was all you could come up with to be his toy."

  His gaze dropped to the ground. "That stray lives at the park, and I removed my sock to have some fun with him."

  "I know that now. But then I assumed you were poor. And after the third date of peanut butter sandwich picnics by the river, I thought I knew for certain. I mean, who could love peanut butter that much? And what member of the elite class chooses such a simple activity for a date?"

  She scanned his solemn countenance. His love of nature was one of the things she adored about him, alongside the fact that he didn't feel the need to flaunt his wealth. But to keep such a fact from her under the circumstances… "I fell in love with you, believing you would make me the one choice you were allowed as a member of the lower class."

  A gust of wind lifted his black hair to dance around his face. The cheery motion seemed to mock his lips as they dipped into a deep frown. "If it were up to me, I'd have only you. Can't you believe that? I've waited, pushed the age limit to wed, looking for the right one to be my first. My first, Kami. The others will never mean what you do to me."