Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,62
He thought of God’s promise to “restore what the locust hath eaten,” and he was humbled to realize how amazingly that had been borne out in his own life.
At one time he had lost everything that was precious to him. No one, not even Daria, knew just how much he had lost. But he had decided long ago not to dwell on the past. Nothing could ever change the fact that things had happened as they had. It had all been forgiven and mostly forgotten. And now here he sat on a beautiful winter morning about to have the blessing of love restored to him. He felt unworthy. Deep gratitude welled up inside him, and he bowed his head and gave thanks—though it seemed there were no adequate words.
He drained his coffee cup and went to the mud room to pull on his coveralls and boots. He stepped off the back porch into almost a foot of snow. Crunching around to the front of the house, he saw that the snowplow had yet to make it down the dirt road. He would have to clear the driveway and the short stretch of road to the highway himself. He trudged down the lane that led to the barn and went in to hook the snow blade to his little farm tractor.
Two hours later the road was clear, the clinic chores were done, and he was back home to shower and eat a quick breakfast.
He pulled on blue jeans and a sweater, grabbed the black pinstriped suit—the one he hadn’t removed from the cleaner’s bag since he’d worn it in his cousin’s wedding three years before—and headed for the church.
The country church where Cole and Daria were to be married looked like something out of a fairy tale. The county road grader had already been down the side roads to the highway. Most of the family members who lived nearby would be able to get there, but Cole doubted if anyone would come from a distance on such a day.
Inside the church, Cole stamped the snow off his boots and peeked into the sanctuary. The snow gave it a hushed atmosphere. The organist was quietly running through the songs one last time, and Daria’s mother and her friend Beth were fussing with the garlands of ivy and the hurricane lamps that decorated the altar and the ends of the oak pews.
Margo Haydon looked up, distracted. “Oh, hi Cole.”
“Hi, Mom,” he said. He’d begun calling her that teasingly when he and Daria announced their engagement. She smiled at him. It was nice to have someone to call Mom and Dad again.
“Is Daria here yet?” he asked, even though the two women had already gone back to an intent discussion about the satin ribbon twined among the ivy.
Margo looked at her friend with mock disgust. “Just listen to that, Beth. ‘Is Daria here yet?’” She turned to Cole, wagging a finger. “You’ve got a lot to learn, buddy. Daria has been here for an hour. She’s doing her hair in the nursery. We women are not so lucky as to simply hop in the shower, jump into a suit, and show up at the altar. And don’t you dare go in there. You do know that the groom is not allowed to see the bride until she comes down the aisle?”
“So I’ve heard.” He laughed and held up the bag from the cleaners. “Well, I’m going to go jump into a suit.”
The two women laughed loudly. Rolling his eyes, he headed down the darkened hallway that led to the Sunday-school classrooms and the rest rooms. The door marked Nursery popped open, and Daria stepped into the hallway wearing a simple, ivory-colored satin sheath gown. In spite of the fact that she was barefoot and had two bright red hair curlers sprouting from the top of her head, she looked stunningly beautiful.
She let out a little scream when she saw him. “Cole!”
“Are you superstitious?”
“I guess not.” She gave him that smile that melted his heart.
“Then come here.”
He took her into his arms, amazed all over again that after today she would belong to him. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered.
“Thank you, sir. But don’t wrinkle me,” she teased.
He held her at arm’s length and pretended to smooth the creases from the shoulders of her dress. “I think we’re going to have an even smaller wedding than we originally planned. The roads are still pretty bad.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But you know what? I don’t care.”