"Lovely," Sharon pronounced, backing away from the trail
of ivory satin ribbon that she left curling around a
tendril of ivy on the floor, the finishing touch to a
canopy of cascading ribbons and greenery.
"It is beautiful," Connie said, gently tugging on her left
earlobe as she pictured her older sister, Jolie, standing
beneath the canopy beside Sharon's brother, Vince.
Jolie met tall, good-looking Vince Cutler after she'd
moved into his old apartment. He'd forgotten to have his
personal mail forwarded, and the two had met after he'd
dropped by to pick up what the post office had sent to his
old address. One thing had led to another and now the two
were about to be married.
Connie couldn't have been happier for her sister. God knew
that Jolie needed someone like Vince, especially at that
point in her life. The whole thing was terribly romantic.
Every wedding was romantic, Connie supposed, but
especially on Valentine's Day when the couple were as much
in love as Jolie and Vince. The wedding was still hours
away, but there were already tears in Connie's eyes.
Helen, one of the youngest of Vince's four sisters, folded
her arms and nodded decisively.
"I think it's the prettiest wedding we've ever done."
"Ought to be," Donna, the youngest, cracked, "considering
how much practice we've had."
"And you know that if we'd left it up to Vince," Olivia,
the second-oldest sister, drawled, "he'd have hauled in a
couple of hay bales, stuck a daisy in one and called it
done."
Everyone laughed, but it was good-natured teasing. All of
the sisters were married and seemed delighted that their
adored only brother had found his life mate, even if Jolie
had decorated his house in Western style, or something
between Texana and cowboy chic, as she put it. For the
Cutler women, chintz and kitsch seemed to be the height of
home fashion, but Connie certainly couldn't fault their
wedding decor.
In fact, Connie couldn't have been happier with Jolie's
soon-to-be in-laws. They had even helped mend the rift
that had existed between Connie and Jolie, a break that
had resulted from a custody battle over Connie's young
son, Russell. Vince had pushed Jolie to reconcile with her
family, and for that, Connie would be forever grateful.
According to Marcus, Connie's and Jolie's brother, that
just went to prove that God does indeed move in mysterious
ways.
Marcus, who was the pastor of this endearing old church
where the wedding would take place, had been accorded the
happy privilege of performing the ceremony, and Connie
knew that he treasured the very idea of it. No one had
regretted the break with Jolie more than Marcus had, but
since the family had been mended, he'd have the joy of
officiating at his sister's wedding ceremony. Wanting to
look his very best on this momentous occasion, he had gone
to the barber shop that morning for a professional shave
and cut.
"Just think," he'd said as he kissed Connie's cheek before
walking out of the door of the house they shared, "one day
I'll be doing this for you, too."
Connie doubted that very much. Marcus, bless him, was so
good that he couldn't understand that most men would hold
her past against her, at least the sort of man that she
would even remotely consider as a father for her son.
Jolie, on the other hand, deserved a kind, caring, upright
man like Vince. Connie had cheated herself of that
privilege, but she couldn't be too maudlin about her
situation; if she hadn't made certain mistakes, she
wouldn't have Russell.
Thoughts of her eighteen-month-old son woke a quiet
yearning for the sight of his sweet little face, and
Connie glanced at her wrist to check the time. If she
hurried, she ought to be able to give Russell his dinner
in the kitchen at the parsonage before she had to start
getting ready for the wedding.
As if she could read her thoughts, Sharon announced, "I
think we're finished here."
"Better be," Olivia said, gathering up her decorating
supplies. "Mom's hair appointment is in thirty minutes."
"Oh, that's right!" Helen gasped. "We'd better swing by
the fellowship hall and pry her out of there ASAP."
"I don't know what she's been doing over there all this
time anyway," Donna said. "All she had left to do was
arrange a few relish trays."
Sharon rolled her eyes. "That's like saying all Genghis
Khan had to do after he conquered Asia was ride a horse
across it. She'll have rearranged the serving tables and
had the baker redecorate the cake by now."
"She'd better not," Olivia declared, heading for the door.
Olivia had spent hours that morning arranging those
serving tables just the way she wanted them, but Connie
wasn't fooled into thinking that anything but the most
best-natured arguments would ensue. The Cutler clan loved
and treasured one another. They teased mercilessly, but
since Jolie and Vince had gotten engaged at Christmas,
Connie had not witnessed a negative expression stronger
than a grimace from any member of the Cutler family.
Nevertheless, Olivia made a hasty retreat in the direction
of the church's fellowship hall.
The other sisters followed her in rapid succession, waving
at Connie and saying that they'd see her in a little
while. Connie smiled, genuinely admiring the Cutler
sisters, each in her own way. As the last one hurried off,
Connie took a final measure of the chapel.
The white of the antiqued walls had aged to a soft butter-
yellow, which complemented the gold carpet and pale,
natural woods in the room. Tall, narrow stained glass
windows glowed vibrantly in the afternoon sunlight, while
brass gleamed overhead.
The altar had been draped in an ivory satin cloth and
topped with a basket of bloodred roses and a gold cross.
The canopy of ivory ribbon and greenery elegantly draped
the brass kneeler before it.
A tall, heavy glass pedestal decorated with twining ivy
stood to one side, holding an ornately carved unity candle.
The Cutler sisters had crafted unique bouquets of greenery
with lengths of red satin cloth gathered into soft,
billowy clumps, which now adorned the ends of the pews.
Connie found them especially appropriate for Jolie, who,
though very pretty, was not, as Olivia put it, the "girly"
type.
The final touch was an artful scattering of almost two
hundred tiny votive candles in simple, clear glass
containers, which Vince's older nephews would light at the
beginning of the ceremony.
The attendants' dresses were a shade of pale yellow
trimmed with green ribbon, which, oddly enough, brought
the whole scheme together perfectly. When Jolie had first
chosen that particular shade, all of the sisters had
protested, but it hadn't taken long for everyone to
realize that Jolie had not only her own distinctive style
but also a gift for putting colors together.
It truly was going to be a beautiful wedding.
Smiling, Connie went to pick up her son at the church's
day care, situated on the back corner of the grounds.
Rather than erect a shiny new building, the congregation
had opted to purchase houses surrounding the historic old
church, link them with covered walkways and renovate them
for administration, education, fellowship hall and day
care spaces. In doing so, they had created a quaint campus
reminiscent of a gingerbread village with the chapel at
its center. The result felt more like a community than a
church, and Connie would be forever grateful for the haven
she'd found here.
Snagging her tan wool coat from a peg in the foyer, Connie
shrugged it on over her straight-legged, brown knit slacks
and matching turtleneck sweater. She felt that the
monochrome color scheme made her look taller that her mere
five-foot-three frame and balanced her top-heavy figure.
In actuality, her neat, curvy shape was well proportioned
to her height, giving her ultrafeminine appeal that her
taller, leggier older sister had often envied. Connie,
however, remained unaware of this fact, just as she
remained unaware that her wispy, golden-blond, chin-length
hairstyle often garnered more appreciative glances than
her sister's long fall of straight, thick, golden-brown
hair.
The one trait that the two sisters shared, other than
their jade-green eyes, was a simplicity of style. In
Connie, that translated into an almost-elfin elegance that
made her seem vulnerable and quintessentially female, as
opposed to Jolie's earthy, Amazonian womanhood.
Unfortunately, like many women, Connie tended to
concentrate on her shortcomings. When she gazed into the
mirror, she saw not a pert nose but a childish one, not a
classically oval face but a too-sharp chin and wide
cheeks, not a full, luscious mouth but a mundane one, not
arresting, gold-fringed eyes like jade glass but odd-color
eyes and lashes that were too pale.
As she tugged open the door and stepped onto the covered
walkway, a cold gust hit her with the force of an icy
slap. The wind had a wet, chilly feel to it, but the sky
remained blue and clear overhead.
February usually yielded an ice storm that would paralyze
north central Texas for at least a day or two, but so far
so good. It could ice up tomorrow, she thought, right
after Jolie and Vince head off to a beach in Mexico for a
honeymoon.
She was thinking how lovely that beach was going to be as
she walked up the ramp to the day care center and pulled
open the door.
A late-model, domestic luxury car was parked beneath the
drive-through cover, but Connie thought nothing of it.
Parents came and went all day long, and from the sound of
wails in the distance, some little one had either fallen
ill or gotten injured. Of course, if it had been serious,
an ambulance would have beaten the parent here.
Connie smiled at Millie, a spare, quiet, attentive woman
whom everyone referred to as "The Gatekeeper," and jotted
her name down on the pickup sheet beneath that of Kendal
Oakes.
Ah, that explained a great deal, she thought.
Mr. Oakes was a new member of the church, having just
recently moved to the community, although he did not
reside in Pantego itself. Sandwiched between Arlington and
Fort Worth, Pantego, along with Dalworthington Gardens,
was regarded as a small bedroom community. Landlocked by
its larger neighbors, it had little opportunity for
growth. As a consequence, many of the church's members
came from outside the community.
Unfortunately, Kendal Oakes's young daughter had already
earned a reputation as a problem child, and it was no
wonder considering what she'd been through, poor thing.
Connie felt deep compassion for the troubled toddler and
her father. Marcus told her that Mrs. Oakes had died
suddenly months earlier and that the child, Larissa, had
suffered great trauma as a result.
Connie knew Mr. Oakes only in passing, but she'd had
dealings with Larissa that past Sunday when she'd stopped
by the church's day care to check on Russell and found
herself calming the shrieking child. The day care
attendants — most of them older ladies — were beside
themselves when she happened along, and their relief was
painfully obvious when Larissa unexpectedly launched
herself at Connie and held on for dear life. It took
several minutes for the sobbing child to exhaust herself,
but she was sleeping peacefully against Connie's shoulder
when her father arrived to gently lift her away.
Recognizing a deep sadness in him, Connie supposed that,
like his daughter, he must still grieve his late wife
dearly. He had whispered his thanks, and in truth Connie
hadn't minded in the least, but she'd come away from the
experience more grateful than ever for her son's placid —
if somewhat determined — nature. It was a trait, or so
Marcus insisted, inherited from Connie. It certainly
hadn't come from his biological father.