by Rachel Hauck
“Ready. Do you have your gloves and hat?” Colette raised her hand as she tugged on her thick, woolly gloves. “Aren’t these divine? Aunt Jean found them at Loveman’s.”
“Let’s hope they keep you warm. Here we go.” Jimmy tugged on his hat and jumped out, hurrying around to Colette’s door.
Slipping his arm around her, he felt her lean into him, and everything was quiet and calm. Beautiful.
“Listen,” she said, tipping back her head, catching a massive flake on her tongue. “You can hear the snow falling. Isn’t it brilliant?”
“Yes, brilliant.” Jimmy held her close and kissed her cheek. “If you get too cold, tell me.”
“Love, you worry too much. But I adore that you worry about me.” She faced the chapel. “Now, tell me, what is this place? Where are we?”
“Come on, you’ll see.” Jimmy plowed forward, kicking through the shallow accumulation of snow.
“Jimmy—” Her voice buoyed with wonder. “Is this a chapel?”
He stopped on the steps. Or what would be the steps. For now, it was only a couple of crooked limestones.
“It’s your chapel, Colette. Your wedding chapel.”
“My wedding chapel?” She stepped around him, walked to the walls, smoothing her gloved hand over the snow-kissed stone. “I don’t understand.” She turned to him. “Am I getting married?”
“Someday.” Jimmy sidestepped the question, not ready to give a direct answer yet. “I tried to build it like the chapel in the picture, of you and Peg at that wedding. The one in the country.”
“You remembered?” Her voice quivered. “I was babbling, running on with my stories of home.”
“You said it was such a happy time in the midst of war.”
“And you wanted to re-create it for me?” She let out a moan and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. He dropped the basket and thermos and grabbed hold as she cradled her head against his coat and wept softly. “I love you, Jimmy. So very much. I’ll spend my life showing you.”
“I’ll never let you go, Lettie.” He buried his face against her hair. “I’ll be your man. Your rock.”
After a few moments, Colette released him and stepped back, drying her face with the cold, snowy sleeve of her coat. “You’re too wonderful for me.”
“Come on, I’ve set us up over here.” He gestured about halfway up in what he intended to be the center aisle. If his plans worked out, this spot would be the third pew from the back and second from the front.
“I can’t believe you did this. Who does such a thing? For a poor English girl? Jimmy, love, it must have cost you a fortune.”
“Don’t you know, Colette?” His confession burst to life. No more waiting for the planned moment by the fire. “I love you.” A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Since Clem showed me your picture, as crazy as it sounds. I just—”
She leapt at him, grabbing his shoulders and drawing him in for a kiss, holding on to him so tightly.
Jimmy responded, wrapping his arms about her, raising her off the ground, letting this moment be the rest of his answer.
How the chapel cost him practically nothing since Dad collected most of the stone. How the only expense was his time, which he freely gave.
“I love you too, Jimmy Westbrook. Since that night on the football field. With all my heart.”
“I love you, Colette. I love you. I don’t know much about marriage and all that, only one I ever took note of was your aunt and uncle’s, but I’ll give you everything I got.”
“Me too, darling, me too.”
He kissed her again, slowly this time, letting love defeat every one of their doubts. He didn’t have to fear with Lettie. Ever.
When the kiss ended he tapped his forehead to hers. “Say it again, Lettie. That you love me.”
She raised her gaze to his. “Jimmy Westbrook, I love you.”
He laughed, swirling her around. “Hear that, world? My Lettie loves me. And I love her.”
“Jimmy, put me down. Now, what is this place? My chapel.” Colette moved to the middle of the square, dirt sanctuary, arms wide, embracing the snow and cold.
“Yessiree, she’s all yours.” The chill hit him and he stooped to start a fire.
“Whoo! I’m the richest girl in the world.”
“I don’t know about that, but you certainly got your own wedding chapel.” He brushed the snow from the bench and the small woodpile, tugged a matchbox from his pocket, and set the delicate flame to the kindling.
She fell against him, throwing her arm around his neck. “My true love built a wedding chapel for me. What other girl can say such things? Not even Princess Elizabeth can say Prince Philip built a chapel just for her.”
“What do you know about that? I bested Prince Philip.” Jimmy left the crackling fire and turned to her, cupping her cheek and kissing her.
“But, Jim?” Colette’s voice sobered. “Why do I have a wedding chapel when I’m not getting married? Or even engaged?”
He slid onto the bench, pulling her down next to him. “That’s the thing, Lettie. I want you to marry me. In your chapel.”
“Jimmy . . .” The blue of her eyes radiated. “You’re . . . p-proposing?”
He dropped to one knee. “Colette Greer, will you marry me?”
Her eyes glistened, reflecting the firelight. “Yes, James Westbrook. I’ll marry you. Yes.”
He tugged Colette down to the pallet of blankets, falling back, her fragrance and beauty igniting his passion for her.
“I’m going to be your wife,” she said, her face hovering above his.
“I’m going to be your husband.”
She smiled. “Mercy, it sounds so grown up.”
“We are grown up, Colette. Twenty and nineteen. My dad was married at my age.” She captured him more with every moment, with her dark hair curling from under the edges of her hat, her plump lips red and beckoning.
“We are, love. I’m ready.”
The wind gushed through the open chapel, filling the air with snow and the scent of burning hickory.
What were cold temperatures compared to their love?
“I feel like I’m in a snow globe.” Colette slipped off her gloves and twirled her hand through the falling crystals. “Jimmy, when did you decide to build me a chapel?”
“Two summers ago.”
Her eyes widened. “Two summers.” She pressed her warm palm to his cold cheek. “You do love me.”
“With all my heart.” He reached for the picnic basket. “I’m famished.”
“What is that glorious aroma?” Colette leaned to see inside.
“Fried chicken, corn bread.” Jimmy held up the thermos. “Hot cocoa.”
“Does my true love cook?” Colette’s wide-eyed expression made him laugh. “You are my hero.”
Jimmy presented her with a tin of fried chicken. “Your true love’s father cooks.” He laughed, carefully filling two cups with hot cocoa.
“To us.” He raised his cup.
“To us.”
The fire found a bit of strength and the snow let up as the light began to fade from the gray clouds.
“See, darling, I told you the snow would let off.”
“Never doubted you.”
Snuggling under the blankets, resting against the iron bench, they talked, ate, and licked chicken grease from their fingers and dusted corn bread crumbs from their laps.
When Colette finished, she wiped her fingers on a cotton napkin and crawled out from the blankets, tucking her coat collar around her coat.
Jimmy shook the snow from the blankets, then warmed them by the fire while he watched Colette walk the chapel perimeter.
“To think, some girls get a diamond engagement ring, but I get a chapel. A lovely wedding chapel.”
“I love that you see what it will be instead of this roofless structure I got going.”
She turned to him, smiling, so beautiful standing between the brilliant firelight and the ghostly shadows of the snow. �
��When will it be finished? I want to be married as soon as possible. Before you change your mind.”
Jimmy met her on the other side of the fire, encircled her in his arms, and kissed her. “I will never change my mind, but, honey, I need to tell you something.”
“I’ll need time to plan and save,” she said. “I can’t expect Uncle Fred to bear the expense of my wedding.”
“Come sit by the fire.”
“What?” Her expression darkened. “Why so serious when you’ve just proposed?”
Curling up with her by the fire, tucking the blankets all around them, he drew a long, deep inhale.
“I got my notice, Colette.” He paused, searching her eyes, waiting for her response. Since Clem was leaving Monday bright and early, the war was fresh on his mind, her mind.
“Your notice?” Her lower lip quivered and her eyes pooled with sorrow.
“Two weeks ago.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” She gripped his hands, digging in her gloved fingers.
“I’m sorry, so sorry.” He drew her toward him and kissed her. “We were having such a good time. And I didn’t want to bring us down. Clem’s leaving was doing enough of that—”
She flung her arms about him. “You can’t go . . . you can’t. How can I lose someone else I love to war? Bloody, stupid war. I won’t let you go.”
“I have to, Lettie.” His response came off sharper than he’d intended. “Do you want me to write the War Department, tell them my fiancée won’t let me?”
“Yes, please, yes. Tell them you can’t go.” Her tears glistened on her cheeks. “Y-you mean everything to me, Jimmy. I can’t lose you. In England, I’d forgotten what true happiness felt like . . . You showed me different. You’re so sweet and kind, and you make me laugh. Jimmy, who will make me laugh?”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, then gently removed her wool hat, entwining his fingers with her soft hair. “I’ll send you jokes from Korea.”
“You make fun of me . . .”
“No . . .” Cupping her face, he kissed her, gently falling into her, wanting to forget he had no right to her body yet, to forget he’d be in a barracks with loads of other boys this time next week.
She stretched alongside him on the pallet, her pressing kiss an invitation. “Marry me, Jimmy.”
He traced his finger along the planes of her beautiful face. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. I will marry you.”
“No, marry me now. In my chapel.”
He buried his face against her breast, drawing strength from the whoosh-thump of her beating heart. “We’ve no license. And by the time I run for the preacher—”
“I don’t want any of that, just you.”
“But, Colette, we won’t be legal—”
“Yes, we will.” She pressed his hand to her heart. “Here. In our hearts. I, Colette Elizabeth Greer, take you, James Allen Westbrook, to be my husband, for better or worse, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, to love and cherish, ’til death us do part. Before God I pledge this vow.”
He swallowed, the sovereignty of the moment pumping through his heart. He could hear the rhythm in his ears. “I, James Allen Westbrook, take you, Colette Elizabeth Greer, to be my wife, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, to love and cherish, in war and peace, in good and bad, no matter what, and before God I pledge this vow.”
The sound of his voice lingered between them. Then he kissed her, feeling the finality of it all.
A slow grin pressed his lips. “We’re married.”
“So promise me, Jims, you will not die and leave me a war widow. I couldn’t bear it. Not one bit.”
His heart burst with the precious vulnerability of the woman in his arms. “I won’t die, Mrs. Westbrook. Not in Korea, and not for a very long time. I’ll be your old man husband.”
“I’ll be your old woman wife.”
Snow began to fall once more, swirling down around them. Jimmy couldn’t be sure, but in the distance he believed he heard a faint melody whistling through the trees.
“When I come home, I’m going to finish this chapel and marry you proper like, with all of our family and friends. Then we’re going to have a bunch of kids and be ‘those Westbrooks.’ ”
She laughed, snuggling against him, clinging to him. “I’ll snub the women’s league and club teas.”
“I’ll never hit the golf course or become an Elk. I’m going to be a . . . football coach. The best ever.”
“A football coach? Really? Did you just decide?”
“I think I did.”
“You’ll be marvelous, darling. I know it.”
She brushed her thumb over his lips, her eyes locked with his. “Just come home, Mr. Football Coach. Just come home.”
The snow became a force of large flakes sizzling in the fire. Gathering her in his arms, he burrowed with her under the covers, his heart beating as he let go into the now, the beginning-middle-end of them, and followed his heart to where everything was warm, passionate, and beautiful.
Chapter Twenty-Three
COLETTE
She stood atop the rolling green knoll behind the chapel, looking out over a new development, memories rising, flooding the recesses of her mind.
The trickle started on the drive down River Road—it’d been so long since she’d traveled this way—and now that she’d arrived at the chapel, she couldn’t seem to control her thoughts, her emotions, or the tremor running through her.
Taylor and Emma flanked her, submitting to the view and the silence.
“This used to be farmland,” Colette said after a moment. “But now it’s nothing but houses as far as the eye can see.”
“There’s a lot of development in Heart’s Bend,” Emma said.
“I heard a car door,” Taylor said, gently touching Colette’s shoulder. “I think Coach is here.”
Colette nodded. “Go on, I’ll be along.”
“You all right?”
“Fine. Just need a moment.” Colette was used to getting into character, preparing for a scene. But this was not pretend, reciting some writer’s lines. This was real life and the character she needed to reckon with was her nineteen-year-old self.
The chapel was beautiful, displaying Jimmy’s amazing craftsmanship. She could handle the outside of the place, but once she stepped inside . . .
The wind whispered past and she felt the thin ribbons knew her secret. That the night a blizzard threatened central Tennessee, she lay in her lover’s arms.
For the first and the last time.
JANUARY 28, 1951
AT THE CHAPEL
Snow swirled and danced, drifting down slowly through the open rafters, forming soft mounds on the chapel floor.
Her magical, wintry wedding chapel. Her living snow globe. A world in which no one existed but her and Jimmy.
She’d never been this close, this intimate with a man, but now that she let her heart and soul go to Jimmy, Colette knew it was the most glorious feeling. Her heart resounded beneath the layers of sweater and coat. “Is it real? All these happy feelings?”
Never mind the bother of him being called up. She’d not think of it.
“This is only the beginning, Colette.” He loosened her scarf and brushed his warm hand along the base of her neck, causing her to tremble with passion.
“Aren’t we the lucky ones, then.”
“Very.” He lowered his gaze, following the V line of her blouse. “Are you scared?”
“Not with you.” She raised herself up, kissing him softly, slipping from her coat.
“I won’t hurt you, Colette. Not now, not ever.”
She knew then she’d follow him to wherever their passions led. And she would be safe inside their consummated love.
Peg would just have to understand.
“I trust you, Jimmy.” She smiled, rolling her coat into a pillow. “My husband.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “My wife.”
Barely nine
teen, Colette felt sage and mature, queen of the world. And Jimmy was her king.
He placed her hand over his heart, his chest firm and muscled beneath her palm. “It’s racing.”
Tentatively, she placed his hand over her heart. “As is mine.”
His warm lips touched her as he drew her scarf from around her neck, and his touches spoke what words could not. Colette roped her arms around his shoulders, releasing into the movement of their bodies, moving to the whoosh-thump of her heart.
His eyes searched hers. “Tell me if you want to stop. We can be husband and wife in vow only.”
“But I want to be your wife . . . in every way.” She was never more sure of anything in her life. Because he was her shield from the past, her hope in the present, and her promise for the future.
As the snow continued to fall and the fire flamed, their passion took them where lovers go. Colette surrendered everything to Jimmy, knowing that in this place of love she became who she wanted to be.
JIMMY
Jimmy collected his memories of Colette as the sanctuary door opened. Taylor and another woman entered with Drummond Branson, followed by Keith Niven and three fancy-looking suits.
Apparently they was all riled up over something. Drummond was going toe-to-toe with Keith.
“Drummond, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Keith, it’s on record. I saw the city plans,” Drummond said. “You’re buying this property to build on it, not create a wedding venue.”
“You know as well as I do they are just plans on record just in case. But there are no plans to put a development here.” Keith laughed as if Drum walked the edge of crazy, making a face for Jimmy. “Coach, good to see you. Let me introduce your buyers. André Willet, Brant Jackson, and Dan Snyder.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Jimmy offered his hand, but Drummond stepped in between.
“Don’t shake, Coach.” What had Drummond so riled? “Keith, who are these men? And what’s the offer?”
“Drum, I don’t see how any of this is your business.”
“Two hundred thousand.” From the one named Brant. He seemed right confident, and two hundred grand didn’t seem like a bad offer.