A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (A Year of Weddings Novella)

by Hauck, Rachel

  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 expose 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 o
f 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.

  1. Ginger suffered a tragedy that marked her inside and out. Everyone reacts differently to life events. Was there an event in your life that marked you in some way? Do you relate to how Ginger feels?

  2. Tom’s family, while Christians, are flawed. He wants to make amends for his father’s mistake. But it’s not always possible to undo what’s been done. What’s the best way to show forgiveness for a wrong? Or to seek redemption?

  3. Bridgett seems all about herself, doesn’t she? But in the end of the book, she’s at the wedding cheering Ginger on. How do you see this? Did Ginger misunderstand her friendship with Bridgett?

  4. We often see ourselves through our own wounds. We think that’s how others see us. Does Ginger do this when she’s around the bold and the beautiful people? Around Bridgett?

  5. Tom is influenced by Edward, a man responsible for bringing him back to town to start a church. Does he allow Edward too much influence? How do we walk in love with one another when we disagree?

  6. Ginger’s mama, Shana, was looking for help in the church. But her trust was misplaced. How can we love people who confess secrets to us? How can we bring them to truth without making them feel condemned?

  7. I loved when Ginger was bold enough to walk down the aisle in her dream dress even though it exposed her scars. I actually cried writing that scene. What happened to her that she could brave such a thing?

  8. Be honest, do you really believe God can change your negative emotions? Because He can. We don’t have to be locked in darkness, despair, depression, and fears. How can you change your thinking to believe you are who He says you are? Ginger did it by confessing she was beautiful.

  9. What aspects of Christ does Tom demonstrate to Ginger? How can you do the same toward your friends and family?

  10. If you have scars, inside or out, list one thing you can do to overcome.

  An Excerpt from SERVING UP A SWEETHEART

  by Cheryl Wyatt

  The sky blew crystal kisses to the earth, the snow patterning Meadow Larson’s window in white filigree flakes. That would’ve been fine if it weren’t for Niagara Falls pouring down double-paned glass and drenching her in-home catering kitchen.

  Worse, on the one day her business partner, Del, called in sick.

  The leak around the window intensified, streaming wet rivulets over live outlets and onto the plethora of towels she had already placed on the counter and floor.

  Mind awhirl with what to do next, Meadow rushed to shut off breakers, then snatched her phone off one of her only dry counters and dialed her sister Flora while sloshing back toward the awful mess.

  “Meadow, you’re panting. What’s wrong?”

  “I have four caters over the next week, and my place is flooding under massive snow melt.” Realizing every towel she owned was now soaked, Meadow turned to grab blankets from her hall closet.

  She heard an ominous creaking sound behind her. Turning back, she looked up . . . and lost her breath.

  As if in slow motion, her ceiling bowed and then crashed to the floor in a thundering pile of icy lumber and tile. Her countertops and best catering supplies disappeared under a destructive mishmash of winter’s white frosting and debris.

  Scrambling backward, Meadow dropped the phone. Stared in fascinated horror at the cave-in that covered her kitchen in a heap of unprecedented February snow. Her dream-since-childhood business squashed by a southern Illinois blizzard. A “once-in-a-lifetime event,” this morning’s weatherman had called it, right after he’d informed viewers the groundhog had seen his shadow.

  How could her demanding schedule survive six more weeks of winter?

  Moreover, how could she fulfill contracts with clients when her workspace and best catering supplies were pulverized?

  “What was that racket? Meadow, everything okay?”

  Meadow became aware of the voice on the floor. She picked up her phone—the face of which now resembled how she felt inside: cracked in all directions. “No. Could you please come over? My kitchen ceiling collapsed.”

  “You kidding me?”

  “Wish I were.” Meadow fought tears. She hadn’t cried in ten years and wasn’t about to now. Fearing more collapse, Meadow fled for cover outside. Ironic.

  She’d always loved wintertime, with its beautiful diamond glisten and the enchanting allure of hoarfrost.

  Not. Today.

  Meadow threw on a coat from the front hall closet, and the storm door slammed in her wake as she left to pace the front yard.

  Midway between her red Tudor cottage door and the street, she passed a knight-white snowman standing sentry over her sidewalk. She didn’t know who had built him since no children lived near her, but she paused, glared at it, and decided the majestic ice imp was mocking her.

  With a less-than-ladylike growl, she hauled her leg back and kicked.

  Ploof!

  Her entire foot and ankle disappeared into
the snowman’s torso. “I hate you, and I hate that stupid groundhog!”

  Groundhog? Colin McGrath set his box back on the passenger seat and rounded his truck to get a better look at the animated face issuing the words he’d just heard. He watched the woman across the street with interest. She had evidently just assaulted the snowman in her yard.

  Stuck in an awkward stance resembling a frozen flamingo in a badly posed karate move, she whipped her arms around like a hostile windmill. Balance righted, she yanked her leg out of the snowman and raised her foot. Colin grew amused to find it shoeless.

  The astonished glare she sent the snowman could’ve gone viral on YouTube. As she sputtered something about it being a wretched, shoe-thieving traitor, Colin burst out laughing.

  Until he saw her tears.

  The brunette swiped madly at them before dropping to her knees. Concern coursed through him as she started scooping out wads of snow.

  Her distress drew him quickly across the street.

  Recalling the strength of her kick, he approached cautiously. “Bad day, I take it?”

  Frosty’s would-be assassin shrieked, stood, and whirled. Hair swept from widening honey eyes, she looked familiar. But he’d been gone ten years. Colin fought to place her.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you”—he eyed her barren ring finger—“miss.”

  Her face plumed the color of cranberries on a cold winter day . . . like today. She slid back to the frozen ground and dug, probably for her MIA shoe. To no avail. Colin reached into the eviscerated snowman and yanked the foot-wear right out.

  She stood again and snatched the loafer out of his hands. “May I help you?”