by Cindy Kirk
You’re beautiful. Then the melody of the song from Bridgett’s wedding crashed over her. “You make me brave!”
Now she leaned against the screen, remembering, and inhaled the fragrance of the January morn as the bells chimed, seven, eight, nine.
Could she be brave? Go to church? She always said she’d go if someone invited her. Technically, Tom had invited her.
Ginger hesitated. She liked her Sunday morning routine—a latte and muffin while reading the Sunday Gazette. But if she hurried, she could have her breakfast, skim the paper, and still make it to the morning service.
She closed her eyes. Do it. Don’t think. Dashing for the shower, she actually let herself meditate on the pleasure of seeing Tom Wells again.
You’re beautiful.
Peeling off her nightshirt, Ginger examined her familiar wounds, trying to see them with new eyes. She stared at her reflection.
“Y-you’re beau—” She choked. It wasn’t true. “Ginger, say it.” She heard Tom’s truth in her own voice. “Y-you are . . . you are . . .” She leaned toward the mirror. “B-beautiful.”
A quick wind swept through her apartment. Through her soul.
“Ginger, you are”—she raised her voice—“beautiful.”
The wind swirled around her again.
“Ginger!” She yelled, arms raised. “You are beautiful!”
Joy in the form of tears ran down her cheeks, somehow watering all the dry, barren places where truth had not flowered in a long time. If ever.
“Ginger Winters, you are beautiful!”
Tom did his best to focus on the music, the songs, and worshipping his Lord, but felt the pressure of his inaugural Sunday morning. Along with the humiliation of bad press.
Alisha, God love her, curled her lip at the article. “Who cares? Is it true? No. Let God defend you, Tom.”
Her confidence stirred his.
Now, as Alisha brought worship to an end, Tom prepared to take the pulpit. He’d not looked over his shoulder for the entire worship set so he had no idea if one or a hundred people filled the old, wooden pews.
In truth, he wanted to see one face. Well, two. Pop’s and Ginger’s. Mostly Ginger’s. He needed to know she was okay. That the article hadn’t stirred up bad memories.
The last note rang out from the keyboard and Alisha nodded to Tom. Go time. Up the platform steps, he faced the sanctuary and his heart soared.
The place was full. To the brim. Standing room only.
“Good morning. Welcome to Encounter—”
“Is it true?” A woman in the second row rose to her feet. “Your father nearly had an affair?”
Tom recognized her from the old days. Shutting off his iPad, he came around the pulpit, his eyes drifting over the people. “Is that why you all are here?”
Heads bobbed. Voices assented.
The heat of confrontation beaded along his brow. “Then let’s just get it all out on the table. Some of the article is true. Dad had an inappropriate amount of affection for Shana Winters.” In the back, the sanctuary doors opened and Tom halted, a cold dread slipping down his back as Ginger eased inside.
No, no, not today. But it was too late to reverse rudder and preach his prepared message. To pretend the article never appeared.
He caught her gaze and she smiled, offering a small wave before accepting a seat in the last row from an older gentleman.
She looked . . . different. Radiant.
“Riley Conrad,” he said, “gave us her opinion about me and my family. She also dragged out the names of fellow, private citizens. I won’t speak for them but I can promise you my devotion to Jesus is greater than my devotion to any of you. Than to this ministry. If the Lord said, ‘Shut it down tomorrow,’ I’d do it. I’ve already been a rebel, the resentful, bitter son of a preacher and by the grace of God, I don’t care to go back. Come to Encounter Church if you want to encounter God’s love for you. If you want to love others. If you want to share life and the Gospel with the Rosebud community. Don’t come here if you’re looking to gain something for yourself. If you have any sort of agenda. Come here if you love or want to love Jesus.”
Tom shot a glance toward Ginger, who was on her feet, moving forward. “Can I say something?” Her voice carrying through the crowded sanctuary. Heads turned. Voices murmured.
“Are you sure?” Tom said. He could see her trembling.
“Hey, some of you know me. But for those who don’t, I’m Ginger Winters.” She held up a copy of the Gazette. “My mama and Tom’s dad had a friendship that went too far in my mama’s heart. It caused some problems for Reverend Wells, and he chose to leave. He has his reasons, and if you want to know, ask him.”
Tom watched, surprised, astounded. Something had happened to Ginger Winters.
“But don’t hold what our parents did against Tom here. When we were in high school, and no one wanted to talk to the freaky burned girl, me, he did. This past weekend at a wedding, he treated me like I mattered when others didn’t. He made me see that I expected them to treat me that way because that’s how I see myself.” She smiled up at him. “I guess I was listening.”
“Amazing,” he said, moving toward her. “Considering I talked way too much.”
Ginger faced the congregation again. “He challenged me to believe the truth. That I was, am, beautiful. Scars and all. He told me Jesus loved me and while I’m not sure what all that means, I’m starting to wonder if this Gospel business isn’t exactly what I need. I’ve never trusted any man with my heart. Shoot, I barely trusted anyone. But I’d trust Tom Wells. With every part of my being.” Her voice wavered and watered. “He challenged me to tell myself I was beautiful and this morning, for the first time, I looked into the mirror, saw my hated scars, and told myself I was beautiful. Out loud.” Her smile rivaled the sun peeking through the windows. “And for the first time,” a bubbly laugh overflowed from within her, “I believe it.”
Eight months later . . .
That January day it had snowed in Rosebud changed Ginger’s life in ways she never imagined. Just goes to show, true love causes even the most closed heart to fling wide.
“Okay, the final touch.” Ruby-Jane, in her maid of honor dress, a silk tea-length of royal plum, plopped an old, wooden chair next to Ginger and stepped up, holding the rhinestone clips of the Bandeau veil.
“Careful, RJ.” Michele raised up on her tiptoes, pensive, wiping a bit of sweat from her brow. “That updo is two hours of work. Don’t undo it in two seconds.”
“As if. You put enough spray in her hair to withstand a hurricane.” Ruby-Jane patted the top of Ginger’s teased bouffant.
The air conditioner kicked on, humming as it swirled the room with cool air.
“Rubes, careful, please. It might not fall down but it could crack.” Ginger cut a glance at Michele, laughing, reaching for her hand. “Thank you. I’ve not seen it yet but I know your work. I’m sure it’s stunning.”
“No,” Michele smoothed down what must have been a flyaway strand, “you are stunning. Ginger, I can’t believe how much you’ve changed. I guess I shouldn’t say that but—”
“It’s true.” Twitters and electric pulses crisscrossed Ginger’s middle. She inhaled, her legs trembling, buckling a little as Ruby-Jane settled on the veil.
She had changed. She’d listened to Tom and believed she was beautiful. But it took letting Jesus have her whole heart to truly get it. To let the truth settle in and change her identity. Tom walked her through it all. As a friend. Then five months ago, she woke up one morning to realize she was completely in love with him.
A month later, during a pizza and movie night in her apartment, he slipped to one knee, kissed her hand, and proposed. “Will you marry me? Please?”
When he slid the diamond ring on her finger, she let go of her last tear and her heart became aflame with love.
“Yes, Tom, yes. I would love to marry you.”
And now on her wedding day, because of love, she was going to exp
ose herself to all.
Though at the moment, she tried to remember what had possessed her to be so daring with her gown. A sleeveless, V-neck chiffon Donna Karan. A gift from Tracie Blue.
“There.” Ruby-Jane jumped down, sweeping the chair aside. “Oh, Ginger . . .” Her eyes watered as she pressed her fingers over her lips.
“Be honest, please.” Ginger swept her gaze from RJ to Michele. “Am I crazy? Do I look ghastly?” She offered up her bare, scarred arm, the gold glitter in the body makeup catching the late afternoon light floating through the window. “Is it too much? The glitter?”
“It’s perfect. You are going to blow Tom away.”
She touched the skin patch at the base of her neck. The sleeveless gown was a surprise for him. Her gift. “I can live with my arm and back being exposed, but what about this?” She motioned to her neck.
“You’re fine, Ginger,” Ruby-Jane said. “Don’t second-guess yourself now.”
She was right. If she was going to be brave, then be brave. Next month, Ginger had an appointment with a renowned plastic surgeon, a friend of her future father-in-law’s, who had volunteered his time and skill to repair the botched graft.
But truth was, she’d already met a renowned surgeon. Jesus. Who’d healed the inner wounds no one could see. And all it took was love. His and Tom’s.
A sweet laugh escaped her lips.
“What?” RJ said, smiling, leaning in, wanting to join Ginger’s joy.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, treasuring the moment. “I’m just happy.” Ruby-Jane still insisted God watched from a distance, so any talk of Him would spark debate.
“Ready to see what you look like?” Michele turned Ginger toward the full-length mirror.
“Ready.” Ginger closed her eyes and followed Michele’s leading—one, two, three steps to the right. She’d insisted they get her ready without a mirror. In case she panicked. Believing she was beautiful was still a battle some days.
“Open your eyes.”
Ginger inhaled, then opened her eyes on the exhale. The glass was filled with her image, clothed in white, her ombre hair sculpted on top of her head in a retro ’60s updo, and gold glitter filling the creases of her scars.
Tears bubbled up.
“Wait, here, for the final look.” Ruby-Jane dashed for Ginger’s small, wired bouquet of roses and gypsophila. “Perfect, so per—” RJ’s voice broke so she finished her thought with a sweet, weepy smile and a nod.
A tender knock echoed from the door. “Ready?” Maggie Boyd peeked inside. She’d returned home from Ireland two months ago, demanding to be Ginger’s wedding director.
So much favor came when she accepted love. When she accepted God. And her destiny.
“Ginger, oh, Ginger,” Maggie drew a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re going to have to pick Tom up off the floor.”
“Let’s hope so.” Ginger grinned, winking. She had a bit of confidence because he’d seen her scars. He’d asked two days ago to see her side and back, so tonight, when they became one, she’d not fear him seeing that part of her for the first time.
He traced his fingers along every jagged, rugged crevasse of her disfigurement, whispering prayers of healing, peace, and joy.
Not only for her body but for her heart.
His tenderness and care, as he ran his hand over the damaged flesh that would become his on their wedding night, along with his weepy, whispered prayers created an emotional exchange between them that nearly overwhelmed Ginger.
She could never doubt God’s love for her. She saw it manifested every day in Tom.
Tucked deep in her heart, that odd January day it snowed in Rosebud and Tom had reappeared in her life would always be one of her sweetest treasures.
“Baby, it’s four-thirty.” Mama popped into the room. “The sanctuary is filled to the brim.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think my heart is about to burst. Ginger, sugar, you are so beautiful.” She said it plainly, without stuttering.
Mama was changing too.
Ginger took one last glance in the mirror. She’d chosen a sleeveless gown because she loved it. Because it fit like a glove. Because if she didn’t have wounds on her arm and back, this would be her dream dress.
Go for it . . . Tom. Always Tom. The voice of truth and courage.
“Ah, I hear the orchestra, the music is starting.” Mama had worked double shifts at a diner after her city day job to earn money for a fifteen-piece orchestra. It was her way of, as she put it, “doing my part.”
“RJ, maid of honor, get going.” Maggie shoved Ruby-Jane toward the door. “Don’t forget this.” She snatched a bouquet from the nearby table.
Ruby-Jane’s heels thunked against the wide hardwood. “Shifting gears from helping the bride to being maid of honor.” She grinned at Ginger. “See you down there.”
Michele also slipped out the door, blowing Ginger a kiss. “Going to find Alex and the kids. Go get ’em, Ginger.”
“I’m proud of you.” A corner tear glistened in Mama’s eyes. “And I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt you.”
“Mama, no, no,” Ginger soothed away Mama’s tears. “Today is my wedding day. A fresh, new start. And you know what, we’re going to bury all the junk of the past in the past. You’re forgiven. It’s all forgotten. From this day forth, we’re going to create so many good, new memories, Mama.” Her own speech made her cry. “Now, are you walking me down the aisle or not?”
“I am, yes, ma’am, I am.” Mama snatched a tissue from the box by the mirror, the folds of her chocolate trumpet chiffon skirt with the lace bodice and ruffle beading flowing about her legs. “I’m sorry your daddy didn’t see his way clear to make it.”
“Last apology, Mama. That’s on him. I still love him. It’s just, well, life doesn’t always turn out like we hoped but—”
Mama traced Ginger’s arm. “We find ways to make it our own kind of beautiful.”
“All right, I hate to break up the love fest but the orchestra is a minute into ‘Unchained Melody’ and we’ve only got another minute and a half so if you want to walk down the aisle I suggest you get a move on.” Maggie gestured toward the door.
Mama offered Ginger her arm and together, they made their way to the sanctuary doors, Ginger’s heart palpitating with electric excitement.
The ushers pulled the doors wide at Maggie’s command. Ginger rounded to the entrance, catching her breath to see her handsome groom at the altar, waiting for her.
Mama trembled slightly as she escorted Ginger down the aisle. All eyes were on her now. Seeing her scars. What were they thinking? That she was hideous? Crazy for exposing herself? The thought shot a bolt of panic through her.
Then she saw Bridgett and Eric, their faces like beacons among the sea of guests. Smiling, Bridgett clasped her hands together in a “victory” pose. Eric gave her a vigorous thumbs-up.
Maybe, just maybe, she could join the bold and the beautiful.
Ginger continued down the aisle, shifting her gaze from the people to her groom. The man she loved so deeply and desperately. What did it matter what the guests thought? His opinion was the only one that mattered.
She met Tom’s glistening gaze. He approved, she could tell by his expression and his trembling chin.
By the time she arrived at the end of the aisle and the music faded, the sanctuary echoed with feminine sniffles and masculine throat-clearing.
Tom’s cheeks glistened. “Hey, babe . . .”
“Hey . . .”
Then Pop, who was officiating, stepped up and asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?”
“Yours truly,” Mama said, placing Ginger’s hand in Tom’s. “I mean it now . . . I said it once, I’ll say it again, you take care of my girl.”
“Always, Shana. Always.”
Taking Ginger’s right arm, she expected Tom to lead her up the altar steps but instead he faced the guests.
“I didn’t plan this but my heart is about to burst. I�
�m so proud of my beautiful bride . . . the bravest person I know. A year ago, she hid her scars beneath long sleeves and scarves. Even on the hottest summer days. But today, she—” His voice faltered. “I told you, babe, you are so beautiful.”
Then the guests, one by one, rose up, applauding.
Tom’s glistening blue eyes locked onto hers. “Ginger, I am so honored to be your husband.”
“Husband?” She made a face, grinning. “Not yet. You better walk me up those steps to your Pop and get this thing going. Because I want to kiss you.”
Tom laughed low. “Then by all means.”
He walked her up the altar steps to Pop and she peered sideways at him. “You know I love you, Tom Wells.”
“You know I love you, Ginger Winters.”
Pop led them through their vows and when he’d pronounced them man and wife, Tom drew Ginger to him, his right hand about her waist, his left hand on her scarred arm, and he kissed her with passion, sealing their vows with the sweet brush of love.
THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES
Once Upon a Prince
Princess Ever After
How to Catch a Prince (Available February 2015)
OTHER NOVELLAS
A March Bride
LOWCOUNTRY ROMANCE NOVELS
Love Starts with Elle
Sweet Caroline
Dining with Joy
Diva Nashvegas
Lost in Nashvegas
WITH SARA EVANS
Sweet By and By
Softly and Tenderly
Love Lifted Me
Rachel Hauck is an award winning, bestselling author. Her book, The Wedding Dress, was named Inspirational Novel of the Year by Romantic Times, and Once Upon A Prince was a Christy Award finalist. Rachel lives in central Florida with her husband and two pets and writes from her ivory tower.
Visit her website at www.rachelhauck.com
Twitter: RachelHauck
Facebook: rachelhauck
To Mom. Decades ago you endured a Valentine’s Day labor of love to usher me into this world. You have not stopped encouraging me since. I’m convinced I have the most kindhearted, loving mother in the world. Thank you for always believing in me.