September 22, 1945
Ellie watched from the doorway of her cottage as Rome clipped out the last of the fall flowers from the garden plot. He wasn't as agile as he had been five years ago; he had to bend awkwardly with one knee on the ground and his bad leg stretched out in front of him. But still he hummed and whistled, pausing now and then to stroke Pisgah's silvery fur as she rubbed up against him.
All summer he had stayed, working cheerfully through the sultry days of July and August. He had tended the gardens, coaxing from the stubborn soil enough vegetables to keep them all well fed, had repaired the gutters and downspouts so that the residents no longer got soaked coming in and out of the house. He had even installed an electric attic fan that drew cool air through the big house at night, and he'd put a ceiling fan in the downstairs parlor.
But it wasn't Rome's hard work that softened Ellie's heart toward him, or even his evident love for her. It was the way he related to Burgess Goudge and Frieda Hawthorne—and even Liz Townsend, the newest resident of the James Home, who drove everybody crazy with her incessant chattering and repetition. Always gentle and loving, yet never condescending, Rome lavished each of them with attention and compassion and humor.
Once, when Hazel Dennison was still alive and. the two were discussing Ellie's love life—or lack of it—Hazel had told Ellie that you could judge the measure of a man by the way he treated children and animals and old folks. Well, there weren't any children at the James Home, but there were plenty of old folks. And Rome opened himself to them, drew them in, embraced them, and made each of them feel cherished and important.
According to Catherine, this was the way you made a difference in the world—one life at a time. Ellie had difficulty applying the principle to herself and believing her own presence had any significant impact upon others, but she could see it clearly in Rome Tucker. His return had brought fresh hope and life to the members of the the James Home family—and, if she were going to be completely honest, to Ellie herself.
Out of Christian duty—the obligation of forgiveness, the requirement of the law—Ellie had agreed to give Rome his second chance. But inside, she had determined to keep her heart hardened; she had been hurt too much and had no intention of allowing herself to become vulnerable again. Not to him . . . not to anyone.
The problem was, she had already become vulnerable—exposed and indefensible against the irresistible power of love. Love in the form of Hazel Dennison, who had become the mother she had never known. Love in the guise of Burgess Goudge, who adored her like his own granddaughter. Love in the unyielding, indefatigable commitment of Catherine Starr. These were Ellie's people, her family. And she loved them with a fierce and holy devotion.
But Ellie had made a mistake—a potentially costly one. She had assumed that different kinds of love came in through different portals of the heart, so that she could fling wide the windows of her soul to embrace the love of God and the love of her newfound family and still keep a part of herself locked and bolted against Rome Tucker's kind of love. Romantic love.
Now, here she stood, watching him from the safety of her doorway, trying to still the pounding of her heart as the autumn sun touched his hair with gold and raised a glistening sheen on his broad forehead. He had proved himself trustworthy. Everyone at the James Home and at East Asheville Methodist had welcomed him home like the prodigal returning from his wanderings. And only her infernal pride was keeping Ellie from doing the same.
She had never thought of herself as a prideful woman. Her own mother's haughtiness, in fact, was one of the characteristics Ellie had spent a lifetime abhorring. Yet here it was, mocking her, like the menacing image of another face, a stranger's face, reflected back when she looked in the mirror.
Ellie didn't like what she saw, but she forced herself to face the distasteful image that loomed before her. Was she so arrogant, so proud, that she had to hang on to the pain of the past rather than forgiving and finding a new place to begin? Was she so holy, so righteous, that she couldn't put herself in Rome's place and understand the hell he had been through in the past five years?
Suddenly the truth struck her, and she recoiled in horror from it. She had been blaming Rome for her own misery, her own hopelessness, when none of it had been his fault at all. He had merely loved her, sought to build a new life for himself and for her, and circumstances had gotten in the way of the fulfillment of that dream. He was no monster; he was not responsible for his wife's death, nor for the war that had come between them. He was simply a man caught in the grip of circumstance—and an honorable man at that, who had faced up to his past and settled his debts before returning to the woman he loved. And she had refused to trust him.
Oh, she had couched her refusal in noble, even spiritual terms—waiting for God's direction, giving Rome a chance to prove himself. But how much proof of his character did she need? Everyone else accepted him—the church, the residents of the James Home, even Catherine Starr, whose opinion Ellie valued above any other. Ellie herself had been the single holdout. And it wasn't for any godly reason, either, no matter how much she might rationalize it in spiritual terms. It was purely out of pride and fear. Pride kept her from forgiving; fear kept her from taking a chance on love.
What had Catherine said about trust? Trust is risk taken and survived. There was no way to know what would happen if she took that risk and allowed herself to love Rome Tucker. But she was pretty sure she knew what would happen if she didn't risk it. Hazel Dennison had told her: There are only two things important in this life—love and forgiveness. Don't give your future to the past, child. Live without regret. . . .
As she watched Rome gather up the weeds to take them to the mulch pile, Ellie felt something give way inside her soul. A rush of fearlessness washed through her veins, and she could almost feel the tenderness welling up within her heart. She reached a hand toward him, as if from this distance she could touch him and draw him in. But his back was turned toward her.
"Rome?" she called in a tentative whisper. No response.
"Rome!" This time her voice was stronger, louder, more certain.
He turned. "Yes?"
"When you're finished there, why don't you come in for a cup of coffee?"
It was a simple request, but—at least for Ellie—one fraught with meaning and laden with promise. Their eyes met, and he stood there gazing at her with an expression of wonder and love.
Suddenly he dropped the mound of clippings, right on the sidewalk, and brushed off his hands. "I'm finished now." He grinned.
"Don't you want to—?"
Rome shrugged. "The weeds will wait," he said as he came toward her. "I'm afraid you won't."
November 3, 1945
The tiny clapboard church was crowded to capacity. White bows adorned the pews, and candles bathed the sanctuary with a holy glow. Bea Whitman sat at the organ, playing and smiling, smiling and playing.
In the small entry way, Ellie adjusted her veil nervously and shifted from one foot to the other.
"Be still, will you?" Tish commanded. "You're going to step on your train."
Ellie fidgeted and grabbed at Tish's arm. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
"I can't believe you didn't do it months ago." Catherine's voice behind her made Ellie jump, and she giggled.
"I feel like a schoolgirl. What if I trip and make a fool of myself?"
"Then everybody will get a good laugh out of it," Catherine said in her no-nonsense tone, "and it will be the most memorable wedding in recent history."
"You're a big help." Ellie pretended to be miffed. "Whatever possessed me to make you my matron of honor?"
"Because you adore me, of course," Catherine countered. "Now, remember, by the time you get back from the honeymoon, we should have the expansion done on the cottage. Are you sure you want to live there instead of getting a place of your own?"
Ellie nodded. "Rome and I talked about it, and there's no place we'd rather be. Besides, you need us." She smiled and gave Catherine a kiss on the cheek. Thanks to the woman's boundless generosity, Ellie and Rome would have a real honeymoon, on the beach in Mexico, and when they returned, the little cottage would have undergone a second transformation. "Now don't get too carried away with the cottage, Catherine," Ellie warned sternly. "I know you. If somebody doesn't keep an eye on you, we'll come back to find the Biltmore House in the backyard."
"The processional is beginning." Tish glanced at the clock in the vestibule. "Right on time. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." Ellie grimaced. "Do I look all right?"
"No, you don't look all right," Catherine answered. "You look beautiful."
"Is Rome here?"
"Rome's been here for hours. I think he arrived at sunrise."
Ellie took a deep breath. "All right. Let's go."
She watched as her two attendants—Tish, the maid of honor, and Catherine, the matron of honor—made their way down the aisle. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse of Rome, standing beside Reverend Potter at the front of the church. His normally ruddy skin had gone pale, and he licked his lips nervously. He's terrified, Ellie thought. But then, so am I.
"Scared, honey?"
Ellie turned to see Burgess Goudge, all spiffed up in a gray morning coat and bright red bow tie, ready to walk her down the aisle. Despite her prewedding jitters, she laughed. "A little, Burgess. But I feel better now."
He extended his arm, and they made their grand entrance to the majestic strains of "Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee." At the end of the aisle, he kissed her, squeezed her hand, and made a grand sweeping bow before taking his seat in the front pew.
Standing alone in the center of the aisle, Ellie experienced a moment of panic. In a traditional wedding, her father would have been beside her, still holding her elbow, waiting until the minister asked, "Who giveth this woman . . . ?" But Ellie had no father, no one to give her away, and after some discussion, she and Rome had decided simply to eliminate that portion of the service. Still, she felt isolated and exposed, and she desperately wished that Rome would move to her side as he was supposed to do.
Ellie looked up and caught his eye. He had made no move to step forward, but was grinning at her. I love you —his lips formed the words silently. Suddenly, Reverend Potter cleared his throat and began: "Dearly beloved . . ."
What was he doing? This wasn't right! The plan was, as soon as Ellie reached the end of the aisle, Rome would come forward and take her hand. But the man hadn't budged, and Ellie wasn't sure what to do next. She wasn't about to get married all by herself.
Then, to her shock, she heard Reverend Potter utter the question that wasn't supposed to be asked: "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Ellie held her breath, mortified. Well, she should have suspected that something would go awry. Was it an omen, a sign that she had made the wrong decision after all?
Desperately she looked to Rome, who was still grinning at her. And then she heard a shuffling sound behind her, and she turned. All the residents of the James Home were on their feet, along with most of the members of East Asheville Methodist. In unison, they roared out, "We do!"
Tears sprang to Ellie's eyes, and a knot formed in her throat. In an instant, Rome was at her side, cradling her elbow in his hand. He leaned down and whispered, "They love you, Ellie. What a wonderful family you have."
Ellie knew it was true. She glanced around and saw the faces of her family—not blood kin, but people grafted into her life by a divine hand, people with whom she shared a stronger bond than common ancestry could ever create. And then, when she turned and looked into Rome's eyes, she felt a depth of love that shook her to her soul.
Like Job, she had lost everything, only to have it abundantly restored by the hand of a gracious and compassionate God. Although she would probably never understand all the whys, she recognized the source and was thankful.
Understanding is irrelevant, Hazel Dennison had wisely told her. Only love matters.
Ellie smiled and took Rome's outstretched hand.
"Do you, Eleanor James, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Reverend Potter asked.
Ellie blinked back tears and took a deep breath. "I do," she said. "I most certainly do."