Deep in thought, Rebecca strolled through the backyard of her
new, though temporary, home. Ribbons of waning sunlight slanted through the
massive maples, casting mottled patterns against the lush lawn. The air was
cool, pungent with the fragrance of the white nicotiana that grew in the
flowerbeds behind the latticed gazebo.
She wondered if Mark’s practice included weekend hours at
the hospital or whether he was fortunate enough to have weekends off, leaving
time for regular church attendance. Their brief conversation had alerted her to
the fact that he was probably one of those churchgoers who liked to get
involved. The thought of seeing him again both intrigued and terrified her. How
could she allow herself to become attracted to a man who was so openly
everything she was not? A man who'd apparently become so entrenched in his
church work, he deemed it necessary to change everything the grand old home had
represented for nearly a decade? And, yes, a much too appealing man who was
also unknowingly trying to destroy her very dreams?
The house and yard were empty, now, and one full hour
remained . . . Ah, one precious hour. One hour
of solitude to indulge in her memories, allow herself to slip away again into that
secret haven deep inside her. She stooped to breathe in the fragrance of a pale yellow
rose and sighed in contentment. The wind rustled through the maples, their gray
scaly trunks partially obstructing the view of the shoreline and harbor below.
She closed her eyes. Yes, she could hear the wind through the trees—perhaps,
even, the winds of time. Soft as a goose-down coverlet, they wrapped around
her, caressed her, carried her back to nine years earlier.
It was that precious day in May again. She and August were
standing beneath these very trees, inside the white gazebo, repeating their
marriage vows. Pastor Vandehey, the minister from Grace Community, faced them,
smiling, while nearly three hundred guests looked on: her dear parents, her
beloved grandmother on her dad’s side, various members of August’s family, her
friends from church and school, plus the folks from her mother’s garden club.
Rebecca breathed in deeply. She caught the scent of lilacs, heard the caw-caw
of a crow overhead, and felt the unseasonably warm breeze envelope her.
“And I, Rebecca, take thee, August, to be my lawfully wedded
husband . . .” She gazed up into August’s blue, blue eyes and drank in the
adoration she saw reflected there. Could she ever love any man more than the
one standing right here before her? No, never. They were meant to spend a
lifetime together, and they would . . . always. “To have and to hold . . .”
Yes, she could hardly wait to have him. To hold him, to be his completely, in
the truest sense. “From this day forward, for better or for—”
“Rebecca?”
She gave a start. Snapping back to reality, she jerked her
head to the side. Mark! Mark Simons! How dare he intrude on
my precious memories, my quiet hour alone?
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