The town of Poppy lived up to its name, as golden poppies blanketed the surrounding hills alongside yellow mustard, purple lupine, and pale green grasses. The town of Poppy had also turned up, every last member, to the newly completed stone-and-timber Rawlings house for Nash and Ellen’s wedding. Ellen flushed hot as the townsfolk clapped and cheered at their first kiss as husband and wife. She no doubt splotched like a tomato.
Who cared? Nash was her husband now. She popped to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“That’s enough, you two.” Stella, her matron-of-honor gown straining over her round midsection, fisted a hand on her hip. “Cut the cake before your train leaves without you.”
Best man Clifford slipped an arm around his pregnant wife’s shoulders. “Can’t believe you’re honeymooning on a train, after the last time.”
“Seems fitting, but it’s not a long trip. Just to Oakland, then the ferry to San Francisco. We won that fancy dinner at the Palace Hotel, after all. Although you’re right, we did everything backwards.” Nash led the way to the cake table. “A honeymoon trip first, courtship second.”
Ellen shook her head. “That wasn’t a honeymoon. A crazy stunt with honeymooners, yes. But I doubt any of them found it romantic.”
Nash’s fingers tightened on hers. “I did.”
“Me, too.”
Stella smiled at her husband. Since they’d settled in San Francisco, they’d grown closer again. Ellen hugged her friend.
It seemed they’d scarcely had a taste of the fruity cake Stella crafted before Nash lifted her into a beribboned carriage, they said their farewells, and were off to the train depot. Ellen smoothed the flounces of her white dress, but since she’d spotted Nash in his wool suit—no buckskin in sight—she hadn’t thought once of her appearance, just his.
Not that their clothes mattered. She curled her arm into his. “I love that you take me as I am, quirks and all.”
“I love who you are. You’re who God made you to be.” He grinned down at her. To think, this compassionate, handsome man loved her.
In August, she’d boarded the Honeymoon Express to begin a new life. Little had she known the miracles God had planned for her. A purpose. Friends in the Howells and even in little Gabe, whose mother often wrote to Ellen on his behalf. And a beautiful home built by her new husband’s own two hands.
“Something fretting you, sweetheart?” Nash kissed the top of her head.
“No, why?”
“Your fingers are tapping my arm. Thought you might be telegraphing something.”
She was. She just hadn’t realized it.
Dash. Dot dot dot dot…
Thank You, Lord.