Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2)

by Deborah Dee Harper

  “Gee, Gwampa,” he said, groaning under its heft. “This is heavy!”

  “Sure is, Tanner. You’re a mighty strong boy to be able to hold it. Can you imagine using that to chop wood?”

  He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, back in the old days, they didn’t have furnaces, so they had to chop wood to use in their fireplaces,” I said. “You know, to heat their houses and cook their food over the fire.” I relieved him of the rusty old tool—no need to have him break his foot and his father break my neck—and hung it back on the wall.

  He shook his head and looked slightly disgusted. “That doesn’t make any sense, Gwampa.” He folded his little arms over his chest and took a deep breath as if to say, “Gwown-ups!”

  “Why not? They had to chop down trees to cook those deer and rabbits and squirrels and ... well, whatever else they hunted down to eat.”

  He dropped his arms and looked at me, his eyes wide and horrified. “You chopped down twees? You kewewed twees? And wabbits?”

  Oh dear. “Well, no, not me. Old-time people.” I shrugged. “You know, back in the old days.”

  He pointed his finger at me and said, “You don’t kewew wabbits, Gwampa.” Reminded me a little of what an eleventh commandment would have sounded like had God revealed that particular mandate to His people and Moses had had trouble with his Ls and Rs.

  I held my hands palms-out to him in surrender and said, “No, I promise, Tanner. I don’t kill rabbits. Never. Ever. I promise.” I held my hand over my heart and thumped it violently as if hurting myself might drive home the point that I wasn’t a rabbit-slayer.

  He looked skeptical but lowered his finger and then hammered the last nail into my “why old-time people needed hatchets” coffin.

  “Gee, Gwampa, why didn’t they just go to ’Donald’s?”

  Chapter 32

  The ladies of Road’s End were outdoing themselves and that’s saying something. Every square inch of surface in the kitchen and dining room even remotely suitable for holding a platter, pan, roaster, dish, or cake plate was covered. I even found six dozen cookies in our bedroom. Thank You, Lord!

  My joy was short-lived, however, because as soon as the thought left my brain, I heard a stern, “Don’t even think about it, buddy.” For a split-second, I thought I’d heard the voice of God; sadly, it was only Martha Washington. I was so disappointed, it didn’t even occur to me to wonder what she was doing wandering around our bedroom until late the next evening, and by then so much had happened, I didn’t give a rip. Let her wander.

  Even though we planned to hold the reception after church on Sunday, they were still preparing food just an hour before the wedding. Assuming the weather held, which neither Mack nor Titus Shadler would let me believe, we’d hold the reception outdoors the following day around noon midst the blooming trees and flowers. Assuming we had any trees or flowers left, that is.

  But ever mindful of how things have a way of changing when you least expect it, Mel had made preparations to hold it indoors if necessary. That made it doubly difficult to get around. Chairs we might use outdoors the following day were stored in every nook and cranny of the house just in case. Tables, tablecloths, napkins, plates, gifts, cut floral arrangements and potted plants—Mel tells me those two things are different?—glassware, candles, candles, and more candles—all of it stashed behind doors, in closets, in the shower. Even my underwear drawer wasn’t safe; I found silverware, napkin rings, and a cake knife and server tucked away next to my Hanes.

  I didn’t want to think about what the men were doing, but I’d noticed some activity over at the church. As the afternoon progressed and evening approached, Bristol and Mack assured me they had everything under control. Bristol was keeping the men busy, and Mack, although he informed me more than once that we still had a situation, gave me a thumbs-up every time he walked by. I checked the sky constantly and aside from the appearance of a few puffy clouds, the weather still looked perfect for a wedding.

  Even a wedding in Road’s End.

  The hours leading up to the candlelight service were at once hectic and never-ending. I existed in some sort of time bubble where the hours felt like minutes and the minutes felt like hours. Despite the constant ruckus, I must have drifted off. I awoke to an eerie silence. It was downright frightening until Mel peeked into the room and told me the ladies had left to dress for the wedding. Could it be? Was I really alone with just my family members—and of course, the wife of a United States senator, the President of the United States, and a dozen or so Secret Service agents? Seemed unlikely. I don’t think we’ve been without the ladies and gentlemen of Road’s End wandering around our home for weeks now. Make that months.

  Mandy was upstairs changing into her wedding dress, tended to by Mel, Irene, and my mother. I would have thought she was old enough to dress herself, but apparently on their wedding day, brides regress to toddlerhood and need all the assistance they can get. Jonathan and Tanner were in another room getting gussied up

  So, that left me and the President of the United States alone with all that quietness. Weird. I’d dressed earlier since no one would let me do anything else, and apparently STR had done the same. I couldn’t imagine anyone shooing him out of the kitchen with a broom like Emma River did with me, bringing back fond memories of the first time I ever met her, so I imagine he was sitting in my living room of his own accord.

  However he ended up there, though, there we were, sitting in matching wing chairs next to the fireplace, all decked out in flowers—the mantel, not us, although both of us wore boutonnieres—drinking iced tea. I didn’t see an agent, but one or two of them could’ve been hiding in the potted plants or dangling upside down from the chimney for all I knew. At any rate, I’m sure someone had a close eye on the president.

  You’d think it might be awkward talking to the most powerful man in the world, but Stuart Thomas Rogers has an air of casual friendliness about him that puts everyone at ease. At least it did me. Maybe I’m too dumb to be stupefied, but it wasn’t long before I realized twenty minutes had passed. We talked about the usual guy things—football, food, fishing, more food, more football. I asked him about his nephew’s aberrant behavior with both the University of Michigan and that sweet tea thing. He claimed the Fifth. I had just about talked out my knowledge of all of the above when he surprised me with an offhand comment.

  “So, Hugh, do you think I should run for re-election?”

  I almost spit iced tea all over him. I set my glass down then said, “Sir, I don’t think that’s anything I’m qualified to speak on.”

  “You’re a voter, right?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir. Every election since I turned twenty-one.”

  “Then you’re qualified, Hugh.” He smiled. “You know, I really do value your opinion. Any man who can live in this town for more than a day has a lot to offer in the area of keeping the peace. I thought those men were either going to hang me or worship me yesterday. Both ideas were scary. And Sadie Simms.” He shook his head. “How do you do it?”

  “I pray a lot,” I said. “A lot.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I stopped praying a long time ago. I’m glad it works for you, but it’s no longer an option for me. God led me all the way through my life—straight to the steps of the White House—and then He took it all away when He let Caroline die that night. I haven’t uttered a word of prayer since He refused to answer my pleas to save her.”

  I took another sip of my tea then carefully positioned the glass right in the middle of the coaster on the table beside me. “I can’t begin to understand your anguish, sir, but over the years, I’ve been with many people in pain, or fear, or near death, and I’ve always found God to have our best interests at heart. Yes, He doesn’t always answer our prayers the way we want Him to, and perhaps we won’t know this side of Heaven what He had in mind when He allowed something bad to happen ...”

  “Heaven, Hugh
? Frankly, I have no interest in Heaven.”

  “Caroline was a Christ follower, wasn’t she?”

  He steepled his fingers. “Most certainly.”

  “Then that’s where she is right now. And I can’t imagine how much she’s looking forward to seeing you again. Can you?”

  “Nice try, Hugh. Nice try.”

  I pressed on. “Am I wrong, Mr. President?”

  “About her being in Heaven or her looking forward to seeing me again?” I let his comment hang in the air.

  He shrugged. “If there is a Heaven, and I’m not so sure about that anymore, then she’s there. And, yes, I know Caroline would want to see me again. Of course, she would.”

  I took a deep breath with this next one then plunged in. “Am I correct, sir, that you feel the same about Caroline? That you’d give anything to be with her again?”

  He was quiet for a long while, taking turns looking around the room and down at his hands in his lap. I noticed he still wore his wedding band. Finally, he looked up at me and said, “I would give everything I have to have her back again.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s not what I asked. She’s not coming back. She’s in Heaven. She’s not coming to you. You have to go to her.”

  He grunted a small chuckle. “You’d make a great politician.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got my hands full right here. Taking on more problems isn’t on my agenda right now.”

  He sighed, stood, and walked to the window beside the fireplace, arms behind his back, hands clasped. He stared out at the garden Mel had designed and I’d helped her plant during all of the other preparations for this event. With any luck, we'd hold the reception out there tomorrow and all that hard work wouldn't have happened for nothing.

  While I waited for his reply, I listened to the shrieks of laughter emanating from Mandy’s room. Apparently getting a wedding dress on a woman is a hilarious affair. I was glad someone was having a good time; my conversation wasn’t going all that well.

  After a long while, he turned to me and said, “Okay, you’re right. Of course, you’re right. I would give all that I have to see her again, and if she’s in Heaven, then that’s where I want to go someday.”

  Whew. I nodded as if he’d made a great decision, which he had, of course. “Okay, good. Let’s move on from there, shall we? That is, if you want to continue discussing this with me. If not, I’ll understand completely.”

  “Hugh, I’d love to finish this, but I don’t think this is the time, do you?” He inclined his head toward the doorway between the dining room and living room. There, in the most beautiful wedding dress I had ever seen—thank you, Ruby Mae Headley—stood my daughter.

  I wanted to stand up. I wanted to hug her; I wanted to tell her she was the most incredibly beautiful bride I had ever seen, and believe me, in my line of work, I’ve seen plenty. I wanted to smile and wink at her mother, congratulate the two of them for creating such a lovely event, do something remotely father of the bride-like, something manly.

  Instead, in full view of my wife and daughter, my mother, Jonathan’s mother, the President of the United States, and God Almighty, I began to weep.

  Chapter 33

  There are few things scarier than officiating at your daughter’s wedding. Not only do the memories of the happiest day of her life hang in the balance, but messing up means I’d have to face two angry women—Mandy and her mother. Of the two of them, I’d rather face Mandy. Or better yet, enter the Witness Protection Program.

  To say my little girl was stunning on this, her special day, would be like saying peanut butter cookies taste good—a gross understatement bordering on lunacy. Mel told me after the wedding that the dress Ruby Mae sewed for Mandy was a satin princess-style gown, overlaid with lace and seed pearls—the better to shimmer and glimmer in the candlelight—finger-tip lace sleeves, and a long, detachable, shoulder-high train, all topped by a traditional fingertip veil held in place by a crystal crown.

  I saw a white dress and an indescribably beautiful daughter. Period.

  Ruby Mae Headley, Head Presidential Wedding Dressmaker and Christ Is Lord Church’s Senior Musical Director—read, piano player—did an admirable job of playing “The Wedding March” with unmatched gusto without upsetting the marriage hat she wore. This one sported white flowers—maybe lilies or a dogwood tree—that bobbed and weaved like the best of professional heavyweight boxers.

  I could go on and on about seeing my Mandy’s childhood pass before me as I walked her down the aisle or the overwhelming joy and utter sadness on Mel’s face as we passed the front pew, but I won’t. Anyone who’s had a child get married is familiar with the emotions that others think are flitting through your mind like a butterfly when they’re actually gutting your innards like a school of piranha.

  I was thrilled. I was saddened. But mostly, I was thankful.

  Thankful for a young man with the good sense to recognize Mandy as the most beautiful woman in the world, for a new grandson, for a church filled with Christ-loving neighbors who don’t always display good sense but always come to their senses sooner or later, and for my wife with whom I could share this joyous occasion for years to come.

  When we reached the front of the church, and I prepared to hand my precious child over to Jonathan for the rest of their days, I stopped one step short of our goal and turned toward her. I took both her hands in mine and looked into her eyes. They were the same eyes that met mine for the first time just seconds after she was born, eyes with wisdom beyond her years—or considering her youth, make that beyond her minutes—as if to say, Well, Daddy, I’m finally here. I’m your little girl. I was sent by God to steal your heart and bring untold joy to you and Mommy. And then, she promptly did it. The same startlingly blue eyes that looked to me for protection and assurance in the middle of the night when that pesky monster waited for her under the bed or fever dulled those eyes to a steely gray and turned her cheeks bright pink and her little body hot and dry to the touch. The same ones that glistened with tears when her first boyfriend, cad that he was, dumped her for a cheerleader and each time she had to leave her new best friend, over and over again through the years, when we moved to another house, another base, another country.

  Now, here she stood, more beautiful than any woman should be, with that familiar shimmer in her eye. Was she crying with fear? With joy? Or was she crying for me—for the years that had passed and could never be retrieved, for the memories I held precious and yearned to relive, for the realization that life was about to change in a glorious, yet incredibly heart-wrenching way? Did she know I felt sorry for myself and envious of the man leading her into the future after all the years I'd reigned as the most important man in her life? The same man who, in a few minutes, God and I would install as her husband and protector for all time?

  Frankly, I don’t know why she was crying. Someday I’ll get around to asking her. At the moment, I was too busy wiping away my own tears.

  I glanced at Mel just before Mandy and I took that final step to the altar. My wife’s eyes were glued to mine, and she wasn’t even trying to stem the flow of tears down her cheeks. Even so, she and my daughter were still the most beautiful women I’d ever known. But now was not the time to brag about the women in my life.

  It was time to make a new family. I placed Mandy’s hand in Jonathan’s and squeezed them both. I kissed Mandy, smiled at Jonathan, and took two steps to my place behind the pulpit. I glanced around the sanctuary, at the candles flickering in the windows as it grew dusk beyond the panes, at the flowers overflowing from every container the good ladies of Road’s End owned, at the faces of my wife, parents, little Tanner, friends, neighbors, parishioners, politicians, and black-suited, burly men with guns.

  And that’s when another burly, black-suited man appeared. Only this one didn’t look as friendly as the armed ones. Senator Gilbert Austin. Welcome to the wedding, Senator. Thanks for interrupting the most memorable moment of my daughter’s life.

&
nbsp; He stood at the back of the room as if waiting to walk down the aisle to some grand music heralding his arrival. I waved him in and motioned to where Irene sat. If he expected an introduction to the congregation, he was wrong. I’d deal with that later. For this one time, at least, Senator Gilbert Austin was going to be just a late arrival. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He shot daggers at me, then walked down the aisle, a touch too pompously for my taste, and sat down next to his wife. She glanced at him, rather coldly, I thought. STR extended his hand to the senator, but he ignored it, and sat down next to his wife. She slid over just a bit and gave me a slight nod to continue. I smiled and did exactly that.

  “Loved ones, friends, neighbors, honored guests, this evening marks an unusually special occasion for two reasons. First and foremost, we’re here to celebrate the creation of a new family through the marriage of our daughter, Amanda Marie Foster and Jonathan Stuart Sterling. Secondly, to make that new union complete, to make it even more special and even more blessed, we have little Tanner Sterling here.” Tanner grinned at me from his position next to his dad and stopped hopping from one foot to the other long enough to give me a thumbs-up. I grinned and thumbs-upped him right back.

  “Tanner is the one who’s going to make Mandy and Jonathan a family. He’s the glue, he’s that ... that stuff in the middle of an Oreo, or better yet, that delicious lemony pudding Sadie puts inside her sweet rolls.” I got a couple of laughs and several nods for that. Everybody knows Sadie’s sweet rolls. And Oreos, for that matter.

  “Tanner, who is the joyous result of Jonathan’s first marriage, and whose mother is even now watching and smiling down at him from Heaven, is what love is all about. Melanie and I hadn’t known Tanner for five minutes before he came up to me, hugged my legs, threw his little head back to look up at me, and said, “Do you love me yet?”