Flower Girl Bride Read online

  Conservationists’ Guide to Recycling Bridesmaid Dresses:

  Don’t forget the tried-and-true quilt, particularly a wedding ring design. It never hurts to have chartreuse lace and lime-green rayon reminders that the grass really wasn’t greener on the single side.

  Place in steel garbage can and light match, hoping against hope that there aren’t any flame-retardant materials. (Oops, wrong list.)

  Make decorative trashcan liners. They will add color to your bathroom scheme while keeping your princess-waist, tea-length fashion faux pas where it really belongs.

  Hang in back of closet as a conversation piece. Clearly the most popular choice, the hoarding practice will someday give your teenage daughter proof that your clothes were more ridiculous than hers.

  Sew several together as a kite. Whenever you fly it, you’ll announce the lengths you were willing to go—even to look like a periwinkle mushroom—all in the name of forever love.

  Books by Dana Corbit

  Love Inspired

  A Blessed Life #188

  An Honest Life #233

  A New Life #274

  A Family for Christmas #278

  “Child in a Manger”

  On the Doorstep #316

  Christmas in the Air #322

  “Season of Hope”

  A Hickory Ridge Christmas #374

  Flower Girl Bride #394

  DANA CORBIT

  started telling “people stories” at about the same time she started forming words. So it came as no surprise when the Indiana native chose a career in journalism. As a newspaper reporter and features editor, Dana told true-life stories of wonderful everyday people. She left the workforce to raise her children, but the stories came home with her as she discovered the joy of writing fiction. The nationally award-winning journalist feels blessed to have the opportunity to share the stories of her heart with readers.

  Dana, who makes her home in southeast Michigan, balances the make-believe realm of her characters with her equally exciting real-life world as a wife, carpool coordinator for three athletic daughters and food supplier for two disinterested felines.

  Flower Girl Bride

  Dana Corbit

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

  and do not rely on your own insight.

  In all your ways acknowledge Him,

  and He will make straight your paths.

  —Proverbs 3:5-6

  To our sweet second daughter, Caterina, who always views the world as an open doorway of possibilities and who gives those of us around her the gift of her contagious smile. Also to Cindy Thomas and Sandy Morris, who have welcomed me as a neighbor and opened their hearts to me as a friend.

  A special thanks to my dear friend, speech pathologist Maija Anderson, for her insights into her profession. Thanks also to the employees of the Starbucks store in Northville, Michigan, who didn’t throw me out when I discovered that this story flowed best with a vanilla latte, a molasses cookie and all that delicious white noise.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Letter to Reader

  Questions for Discussion

  Chapter One

  I will be happy for Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Jack, I vowed, repeating the words like a mantra, as I drove toward the beach house where they were hosting their own silver anniversary party. That the party came complete with a renewal of vows ceremony only made me strengthen my own promise.

  Usually, I avoided all things nuptial because they only provided painful reminders of my own failed marriage, but today wasn’t about me. No matter how ugly my scars, I was determined not put a damper on my aunt and uncle’s special day.

  Lake Michigan winked out at me from between modest homes and mansions as I followed the winding road toward Bluffton Point Lighthouse. Even through the dusty windshield, the water appeared glassy smooth, its color deepening in stripes from sky blue to violet.

  In the distance, the redbrick lighthouse stood majestically, peering down at its kingdom and offering protection to seasoned fishermen and novice recreational boaters alike.

  The siren call of these surroundings, which lulled visitors into the slow-paced vacation mindset of Mantua, Michigan, helped to lift my mood—or would have if I hadn’t been so uncomfortably warm.

  Brushing at the sweat trickling down my neck, I grumbled over my car’s air-conditioning unit, which desperately needed a shot of refrigerant. If only I’d remembered to include that in my summer break budget, but as it was, I’d be sweating it out until school started the last week of August.

  This was supposed to be the first week of June near one of the Great Lakes, not the South Atlantic. As I sat with the backs of my legs sticking to the upholstery, nothing could convince me that Michigan hadn’t slipped south of the equator.

  My cell phone picked that moment to cue up “Pop Goes the Weasel” and give me another reminder to read the owner’s manual and learn how to change the ring. Pulling over on the shoulder of the road, I reached down for the phone in the passenger seat, flipped it open and pressed it to my ear.

  “Cassie, sweetheart, is that you?” Eleanor Hudson nearly shouted into the receiver before I had the chance to say hello.

  “Of course it’s me, Aunt Eleanor. You called me, remember?”

  “Watch yourself, missy. You know, you shouldn’t be talking on your cell phone while you’re driving.”

  I smiled for the first time all day. Dad had always said that even the Grinch couldn’t stay in a bad mood around his sister. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you think. I pulled over before picking up the phone, but I’m not getting there any faster by sitting here.”

  “Sorry, sweetie.” Her cheery voice didn’t sound all that apologetic. “I’ve got pre-wedding jitters. I need my favorite niece to help me get through it.”

  “I’m your only niece on both sides, right?”

  “Well…” What could only have been a middle-aged woman’s giggle came through the line.

  “Aunt Eleanor,” I started again. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. Uncle Jack is still nuts about you, even after twenty-five years. Otherwise, how could you have convinced him to be a part of this off-the-wall vows renewal thing?”

  The idea was wild, all right, with a ceremony right on the beach. How was that repeating history, anyway? The first time my aunt and uncle had spoken their vows, they’d been standing in a tiny country church outside Waterloo. There were pictures to prove it.

  “I have ways of convincing him.” With barely a pause, Eleanor asked, “When should we expect you? Princess is dying to meet you.”

  “I’m sure she is.” Not that I was convinced that cats became excited about anything, let alone houseguests. I’d heard tales about Princess for the last few years, but this was the first time I would make her royal acquaintance. I wondered if my aunt would expect me to curtsy when I did.

  “Everyone else is already here, too. The whole wedding party. Even—”

  “Great.” I cut her off before she could give a list of strangers’ names. At this rate, I would never get there. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I hoped the last statement conveyed my enthusiasm for this time and for the couple I adored. My aunt and uncle had every right to expect me to be thrilled over their silver wedding anniversary. And I was.

  On the other hand, this marriage renewal eve
nt didn’t exactly give me the urge to turn cartwheels and shake pom-poms. The party would celebrate enduring love and commitment. My own experience of it had been as much a fallacy as it was fleeting. Hardly the stuff that dreams were made of.

  Because this party felt like an in-your-face commentary on my failures, I had planned to arrive early and fade inconspicuously into the walls of my aunt and uncle’s lake cottage. My stalling had messed up even those good intentions, and now everyone would think I had arrived fashionably late to make an entrance when all I wanted was an excuse for an exit.

  After saying goodbye to Aunt Eleanor, I continued to follow her directions to the address on the invitation. When I thought I was there, I slowed the car, but I already knew it wasn’t the right place. The sprawling, blond-brick structure had a huge entry arch, tons of windows and was probably insulated with bundles of cash.

  I couldn’t imagine my aunt and uncle moving to a place like this. Most of their marriage, they’d lived happily in a modest ranch house near Jackson.

  Still, the numbers matched. Apparently, The Millionaire Next Door had nothing on my relatives.

  Almost as soon as I pulled into the driveway, Eleanor leaned into the open driver’s-side door and gave me a fierce hug. Chin-length hair that she kept its lovely champagne color by maintaining strict six-week touch-ups fluttered across my cheek. Her comforting warmth enveloped me, which felt strange at first, because I hadn’t felt warm inside all year.

  “Cassandra Eleanor.” Like always, she used my first and middle names to remind anyone listening that I was her namesake.

  “Hi, Aunt Eleanor,” I said into her shoulder. “You said cottage, not mansion.”

  Her chest rumbled against me with her chuckle. “No, I believe I said house. Just wait until you see the view from the deck. God gave us front-row seats to every West Michigan sunset.”

  Kindly, my aunt didn’t mention that I would have seen their view and met their precious Princess before if I’d visited any time since they’d moved in three summers before. I’d been far too busy messing up my own life to be involved in anyone else’s.

  Aunt Eleanor pulled back so I could stand up, but she didn’t release me completely. I hoped she wouldn’t because I might have been tempted to cling.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She had that right. I was a sight, and I probably made her eyes sore. I held my breath, waiting for her to comment on my weight, which was a good ten pounds below the one hundred twenty-five where I looked my best. But she didn’t mention that or the raccoon eyes that my liquid concealer failed to hide.

  Maybe mothers were the only ones who felt obliged to point out weight gains or losses, bad haircuts and unfortunate wardrobe choices. Funny, I missed even those things now that the death dates were filled in on both sides of Mom and Dad’s joint headstone.

  My only remaining blood relative on my father’s side drew me into her arms, though now that I was standing, I had to bend at the waist to let her reach up to me.

  “Well, Ellie, are you going to let the rest of us get a look at Cassie or not?”

  Jack Hudson appeared beside his wife, wearing his familiar toothy grin under his graying mustache, plus a potbelly he’d further developed in the last few years. His hug was every bit as tight my aunt’s as he spoke with a muffled voice into my rat’s nest of blond hair. I should have known better than to leave the car window open if I didn’t tie my hair back.

  “You get prettier every day.”

  Today I knew that was a fib, though he’d said it to me dozens of times before. I could hear other voices, but I couldn’t see past my uncle’s sizable height and girth.

  It was just as well since I wouldn’t know any of these people I would be expected to remember, anyway. I didn’t want to hear someone say, “Last time I saw you, you were this big,” as they held their hands at about waist height. If I heard that, I might be tempted to spout off that the last time I saw them their hair wasn’t so gray. That probably wouldn’t earn me any Brownie points.

  I especially didn’t want to hear about how adorable I’d been in the pictures of the original wedding with the little ring bearer—Lucky or something. Since he wasn’t related to either the bride or the groom and wouldn’t feel obligated to attend this cutesy event, I probably wouldn’t have to pretend to know him at all.

  Though I wished I could remember for Aunt Eleanor’s sake, I could recall only a few fuzzy details of the day I pranced down the aisle as her flower girl. If only my memory could be as blissfully vague over my own fiasco of a wedding and marriage.

  “Let her breathe, Jack. I’m about to get jealous.”

  My uncle’s laughter boomed at that. “And well you should. She’s not little Miss Cassie Blake anymore.”

  And never would be again, I was tempted to announce as my uncle stepped back to reveal a sea of smiling faces. My name wouldn’t even be Blake if I hadn’t asked for it back while negotiating for my car and grandma’s piano in the divorce.

  I could no more picture this Cassandra Whittinger—this Mrs. Alan Whittinger—than I could see myself as that little blond darling with ringlet curls who had worn a periwinkle taffeta dress with crinolines to the wedding. I was no longer that nearly five-year-old girl who had mimicked the bride and groom by sharing a buttercream-icing-flavored kiss with the ring bearer under the table. I was just weeks away from my thirtieth birthday, and I felt even older than that.

  “Cassie, dear, are you paying attention?”

  “Hmm?” I turned back to my aunt’s softly rounded image. Like her husband, Aunt Eleanor had blossomed a bit since her big day as the blushing bride. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  Aunt Eleanor came forward and rested both warm hands on my forearms. “Sweetie, you look exhausted after such a long drive. We can wait until after you’ve rested for you to become reacquainted with everyone else.”

  She made it sound as if I’d passed through three time zones and required a passport for my journey from Toledo, but I nodded anyway, grateful for the reprieve. Maybe I could get through this weekend after all. Just a few days of smiling, and it all would be over. I could do that.

  The sacrifices were small for the reward at the end: three weeks of solitude at my aunt and uncle’s cottage-slash—mansion—slash—house. Well, near solitude anyway. Princess would be there, too, but she was probably one of those aloof cats that wouldn’t notice I was around as long as I kept food in her bowl. How hard could it be?

  Anyway, I knew full well that Aunt Eleanor had asked me to cat-sit when she could just as easily have asked a neighbor to pull cat duty. I recognized emotional charity when I heard it, yet I was in no position to turn it down. Nearly two years had passed since the divorce, and I was still in get-through-the-day mode.

  What I needed was a break in the routine, and a few weeks on Michigan’s incredible west coast might be just the ticket. I would sink my toes in the sand and wait for the sun to draw the highlights out in my hair. I would let the water and a dozen or so of the sunsets my aunt had promised lull me out of the lethargy that had become my life. Maybe surrounded by God’s creation, I would even be inspired to pray a little again.

  Worry creased my aunt’s eyebrows when I glanced at her, but her expression softened as she smiled.

  “You’re right,” I told her. “I am pretty tired.”

  I gave a quick wave to the crowd. “I look forward to meeting—I mean seeing all of you again—later.” Nobody stared me down or accused me of being a coward, so I figured I had passed that test.

  As Aunt Eleanor slipped away to attend to her other guests, Uncle Jack stepped forward and squeezed my shoulder. “You rest a little. There’ll be plenty of time for visiting tonight at the rehearsal dinner.”

  Rehearsal dinner? They were taking this whole second-wedding thing a little too seriously as far as I was concerned.

  My uncle must have sensed my incredulity because he chuckled then. “There’s no real rehearsal. We promise. We�
��re planning to wing it tomorrow, but this gives us an excuse for another big meal.” He patted his rounded stomach. “Any excuse is good enough for me.”

  Jack turned back to Eleanor and the crowd that was beginning to disperse. “Ellie, are we going to show Cassie to her room?”

  I glanced at the garage’s side entry. Maybe Aunt Eleanor would take me in that way, like family, rather than through the front door as a guest. A wave of sadness rushed over me as I thought about how long it had been since I’d been with family, since I’d felt at home.

  “In just a minute,” my aunt called out from behind me. “But before I do, I want to make just one introduction—I mean reintroduction.”

  “Ellie I’d wait—” Uncle Jack began, but I waved my hand to interrupt him.

  “No, that’s fine.” Slowly, I turned back to where the crowd had been.

  Standing next to Aunt Eleanor but with his attention focused on someone on the other side of the crowd was a man with dark, wavy hair and a pleasant face. He towered above my aunt, not much of a feat since even at my five feet eight I had her by a few inches. I tried to place him, but he didn’t look like anyone from the wedding picture in my wall collage. He was too young to have been among them anyway.

  Eleanor cleared her throat. “Cassie, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”

  The man turned his head and looked right at me. His eyes were huge, startling and royal blue. He had those thick, spiky eyelashes that I always envied in men and resented as I painted and curled my own pale lashes. His eyes, though, were incredible. They were so familiar, so— And suddenly I knew.

  With a flourish of her hand, Eleanor indicated the man. “I’d like to present former ring bearer, now all-grown-up Luke Sheridan.”