A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five)
Page 12
In answer to Mark’s persistent question, Uncle Gary was sent back to complete his tour of duty in England. Thankfully, the war ended soon after, and he returned home in early June. He married Lucille in a lavish ceremony at Drexel Park Presbyterian Church.
As much as I loved the journal Mark gave me, I couldn’t bring myself to start writing in it right away. I didn’t want its opening pages to be filled with the haunting, surreal story of what had happened to Mark.
Which is why I’ve waited until now. A full six months later.
Two days ago, I walked down the aisle of First Church on my father’s arm, carrying a bouquet of pale green hydrangeas as a stringed quartet played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” Ahead of me stood my handsome groom, his face beaming as he waited alongside Uncle Ted who married us moments later. Chad and Shelly served in our bridal party. I’m fairly confident there will be another Alexander and Christopher wedding in the not so distant future.
Ours was a perfect wedding, as was the reception following.
We stayed in town that first night, then flew here to Paris. Yes, PARIS! Maybe it’s the jet lag, but I’m sitting here on our hotel room balcony staring at the Eiffel Tower, and not quite believing I’m actually here. We’ve given ourselves an extra day to rest before heading out to see the sights.
We are newlyweds, after all. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
I’m so ridiculously happy, I can hardly bear it. Happy to be Mrs. Mark Christopher. Happy to be here in the most romantic city in the world. And most of all, happy that my new husband is alive and well.
I’ve had so many random thoughts about what happened to us, bringing us here to this moment in time. Looking back, it’s easy to see God’s hand through all of it. Even for a sometime-skeptic like me.
I’ve always believed things happen for a reason. Like the fact that Mark has always been physically fit. Granted, in his job at UPS, he hustled all day long, delivering packages. And if that wasn’t enough, he worked out at the gym faithfully, four times a week. Which is where he met my brother Chad. Who, it turns out, gave Mark that final nudge to ask me out.
For someone who writes love stories for a living, I never saw it coming. Who knew my happy-go-lucky UPS guy had a crush on me?
The fact that Mark was in such great shape physically facilitated his speedy recovery, surprising all of us, most of all his doctors. That his weeks-long coma left no lasting effects on his mental faculties was truly miraculous. All things considered, he was a lucky, lucky man. No, I take that back. “Luck” had little to do with it; God, on the other hand, had everything to do with it.
I can also see God’s handprints on the timetable of Aunt Lucille’s diary arriving when it did. It still baffles me how eerily similar Uncle Gary’s and Mark’s attacks were. Stranger still, that I read Lucille’s account of Gary’s prolonged hospital stay even as I kept vigil beside my Mark. What was it Chad told me? “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” Indeed.
Then, shortly after Mark left the hospital, the insurance carrier for UPS offered him an astronomical “pain and suffering” payment. Mark’s dad is a financial wizard, and he helped Mark invest the money wisely. To be honest, I was surprised when Mark decided to take the money and walk away from his job. Then, one night while he was still at home recuperating, we had a long talk.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” he said.
“Me? Laugh at you? Never.”
“Like I believe that?”
“Go on, big guy. Give it your best shot.”
He glanced down as though unable to face me. “The thing is, I’ve always had this crazy dream of becoming a professional bowler.”
I stared at him, swallowing hard as visions of a life spent in tacky bowling alleys flashed through my mind. “Oh?” I croaked. “Really?”
He nodded, still looking down. “Really.”
“Well, I’m, uh . . .”
“Lucy?”
Did his voice just crack or did I imagine it? “Yes?”
He finally leveled his gaze at me. “I’m kidding.”
I swatted his arm as he rocked with laughter. “Don’t do that! I believed you!”
He tried to wrap his arms around me. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re such an easy target.”
I pulled back. “Go ahead. Have your fun. I’m used to it, you know.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry! I was only kidding.” He tugged at my hand and laced my fingers with his as his laughter subsided. “I’ve actually given a lot of thought about this windfall. How it came out of the blue—”
“You mean, out of the brown?”
He laughed again. “Duly noted. Good one.”
“Go on.”
“The thing is, I want to do more with my life than deliver packages. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. UPS has been great. But after everything that happened, I can’t help but think it’s the right time to start a new chapter in my life. Do something different.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not sure yet. But it’s exciting to think about the possibilities. Believe it or not, I’ve always wanted to learn how to paint. Oils and watercolor.”
“Seriously? You?”
“I know. Crazy, isn’t it? I’d like to try and see if I’m any good at it. And I want to learn to cook. To bake bread and pastries and make all kinds of delectable desserts.”
“How come you never told me any of this before?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I never gave myself permission to dream those kinds of dreams before. Weird, huh?”
“Not really. I think it’s wonderful, Mark.” I curled my fingers over his. “So what will you do? Start taking lessons? Cooking and painting? Both at the same time? One at a time? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“Then what will you do in the meantime? Until you decide?”
“That much I do know. Two things.”
“Two?”
“First, I want to travel. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go places I’ve only dreamed about. New Zealand. England. Austria. Paris. Rome. I actually had a dream the other night that I lived in an old villa on a hillside in Tuscany with rows of vineyards stretching in every direction.”
“Yeah?”
“Then I woke up because I heard Dean Martin singing ‘That’s Amore.’”
“Why would that wake you?”
“Because he was standing there in my courtyard with a drink in one hand, serenading us. In person. As in, alive.” Mark shivered. “Dino’s been dead since 1995.”
“Well, yeah, I can see your point.”
“But at the same time, I realized how at home I felt there. Weird, huh?”
I gazed over at Mark’s fireplace and watched the flames dance as I tried to imagine him living in Italy—with or without Dean Martin. But something else bothered me. Something he’d said but I’d already forgotten. It was there, but not.
Mark placed his finger under my chin and turned my face back to his. “Of course, that could never happen unless . . .”
“Unless?”
“Unless you come with me.”
I searched his eyes, unsure I’d heard him right. “But—”
“Marry me, Lucy.”
“What?”
“Marry me. We’ll travel the world, then we’ll decide where to live. Together. You can write your books, I can paint or cook or make wine—as long as you’re there with me, it doesn’t matter.”
I felt my chin begin to tremble as the familiar pin-prick in my eyes triggered the first tears I’d cried in weeks.
Mark smiled as he thumbed away my tears and held my face in his strong hands. “Marry me, Lucy. Let’s write our own love story.”
I placed my hands over his and kissed him over and over.
He leaned back. “Can I take that as a yes?”
I nodded. “Oh, it’s a definite yes
!”
And that’s how it happened.
That’s how we ended up here in Paris, our first stop at the beginning of an extended honeymoon.
That’s why I’m sitting here on the balcony of our hotel, watching the golden rays of the sunrise reflecting off the Eiffel Tower, and writing in my new diary with the quiet snores of my new husband serenading me in the background.
As for living in a villa on a hill in Tuscany—who knows. Someday, we might have a home on this side of the Atlantic. But for now, we’re content just to be here.
Together.
At the beginning of our very own happily ever after.
Thanks for reading Diane’s book. Please take a
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Acknowledgments
To my cousin Allan Hale for sharing so many wonderful memories of his parents. Thank you for allowing me to use their photograph on my cover. All these years later, I still miss them so much.
Continued thanks to my beloved aunt, Lucille McKeag Hale, whose gift of vintage teacups inspired the stories of this novella series.
To Cyndi Hollman, Sally Wilson, Glenn Hale, and Bev Harrison for working your editing magic. I couldn’t do it without you!
And to my husband Ken who is the best brainstorming partner a girl could ask for. Thanks for all your expertise in marketing and your Midas touch in Gimp land. I love you to the moon and back.
About the Author
Born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma, Diane Hale Moody is a graduate of Oklahoma State University. She lives with her husband Ken in the rolling hills just outside of Nashville. They are the proud parents of two grown and extraordinary children, Hannah and Ben.
Just after moving to Tennessee in 1999, Diane felt the tug of a long-neglected passion to write again. Since then, she’s written a column for her local newspaper, feature articles for various magazines and curriculum, and several novels with a dozen more stories eagerly vying for her attention.
When she’s not reading or writing, Diane enjoys an eclectic taste in music and movies, great coffee, the company of good friends, and the adoration of a peculiar little pooch named Darby.
Visit Diane's website at www.dianemoody.net and her blog, “just sayin’” at www.dianemoody.blogspot.com
Other Titles from OBT Bookz
(click the title for more information)
From Author Diane Moody
The Runaway Pastor’s Wife
Blue Christmas
Blue Like Elvis
Confessions of a Prayer Slacker
Tea with Emma
The Teacup Novellas (Book One)
Strike the Match
The Teacup Novellas (Book Two)
Home to Walnut Creek
The Teacup Novellas (Book Three)
At Legend’s End
The Teacup Novellas (Book Four)
From Author McMillian Moody
Ordained Irreverence
Elmo Jenkins (Book One)
Some Things Never Change
Elmo Jenkins (Book Two)
The Old Man and the Tea
Elmo Jenkins (Book Three)
The Elmo Jenkins Trilogy