Home At Last

by Raney, Deborah;

  She let the kitchen distract her. “Look at this, Link! Just look. Is this what it looked like when your grandmother lived here? This is perfect. Oh! Those open shelves. I couldn’t have designed it better myself.”

  She turned to see him beaming at her. “You like it?”

  “It’s amazing. So who bought it? Do I know them?”

  “You know them.” He pulled her into his arms again. And kissed her in that wonderfully disturbing way. “You know them,” he whispered. “And you’re kissing them.”

  She pulled away and stared at him. “What? What? Are you serious? You bought it?”

  “Well, I’m buying it. The bank owns a pretty big chunk of it right now.”

  “Link!” She covered her mouth with her hands. “You’re going to live here?”

  “Shay.” He took her hand and dropped to one knee. “I hope we’re going to live here.”

  And suddenly she knew exactly what this was all about. Tears sprang to her eyes and she went to her knees in front of him. “Link. Really? Really?”

  He looked suddenly nervous, and like a little boy. The sweetest little boy she’d ever known. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He handed it to her, still grinning.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s not a ring, Shay. I wish it was, but the down payment on the house pretty much wiped out my savings, so it might be a while before—”

  She shook her head adamantly. “I don’t care about a ring, Link. I’d probably just lose it in the dough anyway. I don’t care about that at all. I’d rather have you. And this house. Oh, Link!” She must have said it fifty times, but she couldn’t help it.

  He touched the folded paper in her hand. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  She looked at the paper, turned it over.

  “I found it when I was helping my parents pack.” Link looked like the proverbial kid in a candy store.

  “What is it?”

  He sat cross-legged on the floor, patting the spot in front of him. “Here. Sit.”

  She looked around the room, dying to explore. “This can’t wait until after the tour?”

  “Nope. You have to read it first.”

  “What is it?” she said again.

  “It’s a list I made in youth group. About the perfect woman.” He patted her cheek, his voice tender. “Just read it.” The paper was folded in quarters. He unfolded it once, leaving it folded in half.

  She took the paper from him and started to read.

  She looked up at him. “Well, one out of five isn’t bad. I do love God.”

  He laughed. “You nut. You’re all of those things. Except fat. You’re not fat, I mean.”

  She giggled.

  He unfolded the sheet so the rest of the list was visible.

  She read it.

  “Will you marry me, Shayla Michaels?”

  She started to cry. “Yes. Of course I will. Oh, Link, I—I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I thought I’d never get permission.”

  “What do you mean? About the house?”

  “No, silly. From your dad.”

  She gasped. “Daddy knows?”

  Link beamed. “He knows and approves.”

  “He does? He gave his blessing?”

  “It was like pulling teeth, but he finally did.” The way he grinned, she thought he was exaggerating.

  But then, knowing her father, maybe not. “Does Daddy know about the house?”

  Link nodded. “I invited him to live here with us, Shay. I hope that was okay. He said no, but maybe you can talk him into it.”

  “Oh, Link. This can’t be happening.” She truly felt like she might disintegrate from joy. She wanted to kiss Link—her husband-to-be! She wanted to run and tell Daddy—even though he already knew. She wanted to tell Portia. Oh! That child would be so happy!

  And she wanted to finish the tour of the house. Her house. Their house. Oh dear God. Is it possible to die of pure joy? Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor across from each other, Link took her hands. “So . . . you’re happy?”

  The tears came again. “You just don’t know. You just don’t know, Link.”

  He leaned and touched his nose to hers. “I think I might know. Because I think I might be about the same amount of happy.”

  She laughed, then cradled his face between her hands. “I love you.” She’d never spoken those words to a man before Link. But she knew she’d never be sorry she had.

  “I love you too, Shayla Jean. Now, you want to go see the rest of your house?” Without waiting for an answer, he jumped up and pulled her after him. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep this secret. We’ve been painting and putting in new flooring for three weeks now. We just finished the shelves in the kitchen last night.”

  “We? Who all knows about this?”

  “My parents, your dad, my sisters. Chase and Drew hung the shelves.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “Nobody knew I was going to propose tonight. That was my secret. But they all know about the house, obviously. I was so afraid you’d see my truck down here. I parked in the garage when I could. We even talked the Realtor into leaving the sign up, so you wouldn’t get suspicious.”

  “You’re kidding. How did it all come about? I still can’t believe you bought it.”

  “That day my parents offered for me to move home and help out at the inn; they also told me the renters were moving out of CeeCee’s house and they were going to put it on the market. Dad thought that I might be interested. For an investment. But that day—before they told me about the house—I told them I wanted to marry you. And raise Portia.”

  “Link—” She whispered his name, in awe at how everything had unfolded.

  “It just kind of seemed like God was setting everything up.”

  “And Daddy said yes? I still can’t believe it.”

  He swaggered. “I think I’m growing on the man.”

  She laughed. “You must be living right.”

  His expression turned serious. “I feel like I’ve been living right ever since I met you.”

  This time, she didn’t argue when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. And again.

  Epilogue

  Ohhh, Shayla!” Audrey folded her hands in front of her chin as if she were praying. “Honey, you look stunning!”

  Shayla twirled in front of the mirror in a guest room at the Chicory Inn that had been converted to a dressing room for today. She looked back over her shoulder to see the full effect. That winter wedding she’d always wanted was overrated. At least if it meant waiting even one more day to marry Link Whitman.

  But even for a June wedding, she had figured out a way to pull off the “fur” trimmed wedding gown she’d always dreamed of. She ran her hand lightly over the downy feather trim that lined the graceful neckline and the scooped cowl back of her gown.

  Chicken fur, Link had dubbed it when he saw it on the hanger. The very thought made her laugh. But then her husband-to-be was good at doing that. And making her heart glad every day. So if he wanted to tell the world she got married in chicken fur, let him.

  Audrey frowned and inspected the shoulder seam of the gown, picking at a thread. “There. The perfect June bride.”

  The way she said it sounded so much like Mama, Shayla felt tears threaten. She would probably always wish that her mother could have met Link. Could have known all the people who were most important in her life now. And yet, it made her connection to Daddy—and Jerry—all the more precious. Her dad would bring pictures to show Jerry when he went to visit next. And maybe, just maybe, she would go with him. And take Link. Introduce her brother to her husband.

  “Have you seen my dad yet?” she asked Audrey.

  “I have, and he’s looking quite dapper!”

  She giggled. “I’ve never seen him in a tux before.”

  “Shayla!” Portia flew into the room and piro
uetted across the carpet in a blur of lavender tulle, which they were calling “purple” for the occasion.

  Shay held out her arms. “Come here! Let me see you, birthday girl.” She knelt, taking care with the hem of her gown. “You look so pretty, Portia!”

  “You do too, Shay.” She touched the feathers at Shay’s neck, then blew on them. “I like your chicken fur.” The gleam in her eyes told Shayla where that remark had come from.

  “Link told you to say that, didn’t he?”

  Portia put her hands on her hips, in tattletale mode. “He told me to say chicken poop. But that’s not nice.”

  Shayla stifled a laugh. “No, it’s not. And good for you for not saying it.”

  Something caught Portia’s attention, and she tiptoed to the window overlooking the meadow where the wedding tent was set up. “People are here already!”

  “No!” Shayla squealed. “I’m not ready!” She picked at her hair. These stupid curls that were bound to be frizz by the time the night was over. But that was the way Link liked it. She’d make that concession on his wedding day.

  Corinne popped her head in the door. “Your groom is waiting—Oh, Shay, how beautiful!”

  Portia stepped in front of Shayla. “I’m beautiful too.”

  Corinne laughed. “Yes, you are, birthday girl.”

  “I’m six.”

  “I know. And since you’re six”—she winked at Shayla—“why don’t you come with me and we’ll get your basket of flower petals ready to go.” She took Portia’s hand, then turned back to Shay. “Link is out by the climbing tree. The photographer wants to take a few pictures after you guys . . . have a moment. But go let your groom see you first! He is going to flip!”

  Her heart warmed at this family she’d gained. But it warmed at the family she had to offer too. They were a good mix.

  She crept down the stairs, afraid some of the guests might have come inside, but the coast was clear. She held up the hem of her gown as she hurried to the back door. Stepping outside, she looked down toward the meadow and—

  There he stood, beside the Whitmans’ “climbing tree,” looking a little nervous, but handsome as all get out. A man in a tux . . . it didn’t get much finer than that.

  Closing the door behind her, she picked her way down the steps of the deck. She’d changed into white tennis shoes for this part of the day. But she wasn’t about to run and risk falling down—and ruining her chicken fur gown.

  Link looked up and smiled when he saw her. She was pretty sure by the look on his face that he liked what he saw.

  As she came closer, he held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her into his arms. Just as quickly, he held her at arms’ length. “Let me look at you.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

  “You’re looking pretty fine yourself, Whitman.”

  He leaned to kiss her. “I know, I know . . . don’t mess up your lipstick.”

  “You can mess it up all you want tonight.”

  “Mmm.” He pulled her close again, his voice husky. “I love you, Shayla Michaels. And that’s the last time I’ll be saying that.”

  “What?”

  “After today, it’ll be I love you, Shayla Whitman.”

  Some guy with a huge camera came traipsing down to spoil their moment.

  “Is my makeup okay?”

  “You couldn’t look more beautiful. I mean it, Shay. Except for maybe—” He reached up and picked something out of her hair.

  She leaned back to see him grasping a fat June bug between his fingers. She squealed. “Get that thing away from me!”

  Link clowned around with the bug and made chicken fur jokes while the photographer snapped away.

  All the nerves of the day drained away. And, except for missing Mama, Shayla couldn’t imagine feeling any happier than she did in this moment. By the time they were finished with pictures, guests were beginning to find their seats under the tent.

  Link slipped away to round up his groomsmen—his three brothers-in-law. And Shayla went to find her dad and Portia.

  Daddy spotted her and instantly teared up.

  “Daddy, don’t! You’ll ruin my makeup.”

  He pulled her into a hug. “You couldn’t look more beautiful, baby. Your mama would have been so proud. So happy for you.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “That goes both ways, baby.” He offered the crook of his arm and she took it.

  She and Link had both tried to convince her father to move into CeeCee’s house with them, but he remained adamant. “I’ll be fine. You and Portia deserve a real home. It’s not good, you livin’ in a bakery.”

  But she’d chided him. “We have a real home. Some of my happiest memories are in that bakery, Daddy. You and Mama made it a home for us. And we’ll be back there every day to help with the bakery. It’s only a five-minute walk from the house, you know.”

  “Six minutes, actually. I timed it. And I gotta say, I’m kind of pumped to turn Portia’s room into that man cave I’ve always wanted.”

  Shayla knew better. Her dad was not a man cave kind of guy. But she loved him for putting that spin on it. It made it easier to think about him alone at the bakery.

  “Okay, baby, wipe those tears. It’s time to give my little girl away.”

  ***

  Shayla peered into the mirror of the powder room at the inn. “Shayla Jean Whitman,” she whispered at the reflection staring back at her. If it weren’t for the diamond sparkling on her left hand, she would think it was all a beautiful dream.

  She held her hand up to admire the ring, splaying her manicured fingers. The ring was CeeCee’s that Bree had worn while she was married to Link’s brother and that had now been passed on to Link—and her.

  She’d sneaked away from her wedding reception to check her hair before the dancing started. It was its usual frizzy mess, but Link was teaching her to tolerate, if not love the curls God had given her.

  Unable to keep from smiling, she turned off the light and went outside to rejoin the rowdy celebration that was going on in honor of her and Link.

  Picking her way back down to the meadow, she stopped at the top of the ridge and took in the amazing scene. A mass of stars winked at her in the deep blue, cloudless summer sky overhead. And beneath the canopy of their wedding tent, a dozen strings of twinkle lights made a valiant effort to echo God’s starry night.

  She stood perfectly still, listening to the quiet chatter of family and friends gathered under their wedding tent.

  Daddy’s friends from Bible study were all here, most of them gathered to themselves at a table in the corner—with CeeCee, who, judging by the men’s laughter, seemed to be as entertaining as she was entertained.

  Derrick and Valerie—who were an item now—had volunteered to cater with a few friends from college, as their gift to the newlyweds.

  Portia held hands in a circle with Link’s nieces, while his sisters rocked their babies on their hips and their husband’s stood outside the tent shooting the breeze.

  Shayla thought of that children’s song CeeCee had quoted the first time Shay’d met her. “Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight.” She’d scoffed that day, thinking CeeCee was being condescending. But that didn’t keep her words from being true. They were precious in His sight. Each one of them. Maybe even Billy Waverton. He just didn’t know it yet.

  A gentle breeze ruffled the soft feathers at her neck and shoulders and made her shiver.

  “Hey, Mrs. Whitman.”

  She turned to see Link—her husband!—striding across the ridge toward her.

  His smile matched hers. “It’s almost time for our first dance.”

  Shayla laughed. It really would be their first time to dance together. He’d tried to talk her into practicing a simple waltz step, but she wanted their wedding night to hold many firsts, including that sweet dance. “You’re not going to step on my toes, are you?”

  “I make no promises. Especially with
you looking so beautiful.”

  She tipped her head to receive his feather-light kisses. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You’ll be distracting me.”

  She laughed. And let him mess up the hair she’d just worked so hard to put in place. “You’re not nervous?”

  He studied her, a gleam in his gorgeous blue eyes. “About the dance?”

  “About . . . everything . . .”

  Smiling softly, he took her hand and knit their fingers together, then pressed his cheek against hers and pulled her into their own private dance. “Nervous? Not even a little,” he whispered against her cheek, rocking her to the music that wafted up to them—the music of laughter and chatter of the ones they loved, who’d come to celebrate this night with them.

  She wove her fingers through his hair. “Me neither. I think we’re gonna hit it out of the park.”

  Group Discussion Guide

  SPOILER ALERT: These discussion questions contain spoilers that may give away elements of the plot.

  1. In Home at Last, the final book in the Chicory Inn Novels series, Link Whitman is the “last man standing” in his family—the last one to get married—and he has his entire family eager to get that crossed off his list for him. How do you feel about matchmaking in the twenty-first century? Is it ever a good idea? Do you know anyone who’s ever successfully made a match that lasted?

  2. Home at Last deals with some difficult issues, especially in the area of racial unity. The characters in Home at Last discuss their belief that racial divides are deeper in some parts of the country than others. Have you found that to be true? And if so, how would you evaluate the community where you live? Are people of all races and economic situations generally given respect and fair treatment?

  3. When Link and Shayla start dating, their families both have some reservations. Did you agree with and understand the reasons for Mike Michaels’s reservations about his daughter dating someone of a different race? for Grant Whitman’s reservations for the same reasons? Do you think either or both of them were revealing their own prejudices by expressing concern for Link and Shayla’s future together?