THE WEDDING CHAPEL is told from the point of view of four
people:
Jimmy, Collette, Taylor and Jack.
Jimmy Westbrook, 19, falls in love with a photograph of
Collette Greer, when he is in high school at Heart's Bend,
Tennessee. His best friend, Clem, shows him the photo of
his cousins, Peg and Collette, who are coming from England
to live with his family. Peg and Collette's parents died
during the war
and his parents are their only living relatives. When
Jimmy
meets Collette, he knows she is special. He falls hard and
slowly he melts Collette's heart.
But her sister, Peg, who
has always been jealous of Collette, presents a problem.
She is in love with
Jimmy. Collette knows Peg has never healed
from loosing her parents and does not want to hurt her. She
always ends up giving in to her sister, but Jimmy has no
affection for Peg.
It is always and forever Collette for him.
Upon graduating
high school, Jimmy begins to build a lovely wedding chapel
to
honor his love for Collette. One snowy night, he takes her
there to show her his progress and proposes to her. She
accepts but wants to keep it secret. They recite vows to
each other making their "marriage" official to them.
Later, Jimmy confesses he is leaving to serve
in the Army. On the day he leaves for
boot camp, Collette finds a letter from him telling her she
should move on. She
moves on to the Big Apple where she becomes a Soap Opera
star. Collette never
returns to Heart's Bend but keeps track
of Jimmy who had returned and became a Hall of Fame
football coach. Now sixty
years later, Jimmy is going
to sell the Wedding Chapel, but there is no way Collette is
letting him sell
her Chapel. She returns and meets Jimmy in the Chapel.
Time has not changed his love for her, but is it finally
their time?
Taylor Brandon and Jack Forester bump into each other on
the streets of New York City. Both share being from Heart's
Bend, and both moved to New York to pursue careers. Taylor
in Photography and Jack as a successful ad executive. They
had a whirlwind love affair and eloped. Six months after
their hasty marriage, they begin to question. Will the
marriage last? Or will it be doomed as so many of their
family's?
Taylor returns to Heart's Bend to photograph the
Wedding Chapel, and because her grandmother, Peg, has died
leaving the
contents of her home to Taylor. Going through Grandmother
Peg's things, Taylor
finds a letter filled with dark secrets with answers to
questions which
concern Jimmy and Collette.
THE WEDDING CHAPEL captured my heart from the first page
and never
let go. Rachel Hauck is a sterling story teller with real
characters I rooted for. I felt like I was in that
beautiful Chapel built lovingly stone-by-stone as a tribute
to his lifetime love. The theme of faith is an added plus
to me. This sweeping tale of four people, four loves, is
inspirational. Jimmy is my hero. THE WEDDING CHAPEL sits
on my keeper shelf, and
is my best
read of this year. I will recommend it to everyone. Five
stars to you, Rachel Hauck. I am a forever fan!
A lonely wedding chapel built as a tribute to lost love
just
might hold the long-awaited secret to hope and
reconciliation.
For sixty years, the wedding chapel has stood silent and
empty. Retired football hall-of-famer Jimmy “Coach”
Westbrook built the chapel by hand, stone by stone, for
his
beautiful and beloved Collette Greer, whom he lost so
many
years ago. The chapel is a sanctuary for his memories, a
monument to true love, and a testament to his survival of
the deepest pain and loss.
Photographer Taylor Branson left her hometown of Heart’s
Bend, Tennessee to make a new life for herself in New
York.
Taylor had lots to run away from, not least of all a
family
history of broken promises and broken dreams. Love
catches
Taylor off guard when she falls for Jack Forester, a
successful advertising executive, and their whirlwind
romance leads to an elopement – and then to second
guesses.
Jack, in spite of his very real love for Taylor, is
battling
his own demons and struggles to show her his true self
and
the depths of his love for her.
When Taylor takes a photography assignment in Heart’s
Bend,
she is thrown back into her own past and encounters
family
secrets buried deep beneath the sands of time. And when
Taylor and Coach’s journeys collide, they each rediscover
the heartbeat of their own dreams as they learn that the
love they long to hold is well worth waiting for.
Excerpt
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 out. 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 tele-
gram 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 din- ner? 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 photo-
graph. 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 loud- ness 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, with-
out 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, jump- ing 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 pic- ture 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 pavement.
“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 quarter- back. “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, feel- ing 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.
“See, girls are nothing but trouble.” Clem stepped in
between them, waving the ball. “Focus. We’ve got a season
to win. That tail- back from Memphis who ran through our
D line last year? Heard he bench-pressed three hundred in
the spring.”
Bradley moaned. He was a defensive lineman.
“Yeah, we got some work to do.” Clem sprinted forward,
then whipped around, sending the ball in a high arc
toward Jimmy. Man, he could throw a shot. Jimmy caught it
and ran through Bradley’s soft blocking.
If all went as planned, Clem would start as quarterback
and Jimmy as halfback. They were juniors but the best
ones for the job. So they hoped.
With the ball tucked in his arm and the sun peeking in a
patch of blue sky, Jimmy left the street, the football
field in view, cutting through Mrs. Whitaker’s backyard
where Spice chased the old lady’s cat up a tree.
Jimmy raced ahead, the end zone in sight. Clem ran a
close second, Spice and Bradley lumbering behind.
Jimmy spiked the ball as he crossed the goal line.
Yeah, this was what he needed to clear his head. To be on
the field. Looking forward to the season. Fixing on his
goals.
Dad was looking forward to his boy starting this season,
and Jimmy didn’t want to let him down. He liked to brag
on his son’s football talent to the fellas on his crew.
Jimmy would do his dad proud. He’d not allow a girl to
get him off track.
Nevertheless, when he lined up behind Clem for the first
prac- tice play, his pulse thudded in his ears. Not from
racing with his friends to the field, but from the
lingering image of the girl in the photograph.
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