Left at the Altar

By Daughters K. M.

Despite Sam Mackenzie's deep-rooted belief that marriage can turn two loving people into monsters, his all-encompassing love for Emma Jordan spurs him to propose before leaving the country bound for Valselo, the Adriatic village where millions believe the Mother of God speaks to three visionaries. Despite Emma's love for Sam, she is unable to envision a life in a remote town on a distant continent. Emma refuses his proposal and spends the next three years making a life without Sam. When she's left at the altar, a loving conspiracy between her parents and parish priest”Sam's uncle”brings Emma to Valselo and an inevitable reunion with Sam. God seems to be orchestrating a second chance, but both believe they have had good reasons to turn away from God's guidance. Will they listen to Our Lady's messages which call humanity to open their hearts to God's mercy and love? Or will they lose each other a second and final time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Rose Publishing
• Release date: May 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781611160833

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Gospa Journeys

K.M. Daughters

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Gospa Journeys

COPYRIGHT 2011 by K.M. Daughters

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible with Revised New Testament (c) 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2011

Hardcover Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-160-1

Published in the United States of America

Praise for K.M. Daughters

JEWEL OF THE ADRIATIC:

K.M. Daughters has written a lovely story of faith lost and regained, of love created and blessed by this faith. Long and Short Reviews

Selected as Book Of The Month, Catholic Mom's Book Club,The story is light, fun and quick paced…I read the book in two sittings and was left wanting more…Thank you for a lovely reading experience! Lisa M. Hendley, Webmaster, Catholic Mom.com

Jewel Of The Adriatic is beautifully written. Readers Favorite, Hawkesville, KY

ROSE OF THE ADRIATIC:

4 1/2 STARS, Fantastic, A Keeper from Romantic Times Books Reviews: Miracles really do happen in this character-driven story by the writing team behind Daughters. The strength of faith and love prevail in this well-crafted book. Matt and Anna will capture your heart.

5 Hearts, The Romance Studio, 2009 CAPA Nominee: This tale is deeply spiritual while still being an excellent romance and well told story.

KM Daughters creates riveting and wonderful character driven stories that prevent you from putting the book down. This is one author who NEVER disappoints and is on the top of my reading list. New York Times Bestselling Author Brenda Novak

Dedication

For Mary and her Son

Left at the Altar

Gospa Journeys, Vol. 1

Prologue

Seated exactly where she had requested, Emma Jordan drummed her fingers on the tabletop. She’d picked this spot because the position provided the perfect vantage point from which to spy Sam the second he entered the restaurant. When he did, Emma’s fingers froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat—her customary reaction to Sam’s presence.

Beaming a dazzling smile—one of Sam’s many perfect features—he covered the distance between the door and her table in a few swashbuckling strides. Grinning back at him involuntarily, Emma recaptured her wits by inwardly reciting for the hundredth time, a self-admonishing list of reasons she should not be in love with Dr. Sam Mackenzie.

He’s nine years older, and so much worldlier than I am.

He’s totally anti-marriage.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving…

You look amazing tonight, Sam said as he folded his athletic, six foot, muscled body into the booth opposite Emma.

Determined to mask her forlorn mood during what she considered a last supper, Emma smiled sweetly. Thank you, Sam. You look pretty amazing yourself. I miss you already. Why do you have to go? I don’t want to care. I don’t want to love you with all my heart.

Emma glanced casually at the menu that Sam had unfolded and spread on the table in front of him. I already ordered a pitcher of soda and toasted cheddar cubes to start. Is that all right?

Perfect. Sam closed the menu and propped it to lean against the wall behind a catsup bottle. Deep dish or thin crust?

Whatever you like, Emma replied as her thoughts turned inward again. It’s always your way. Why am I such a doormat?

Sam’s green eyes twinkled as he waved a hand in front of her face. Sweetheart, you seem a million miles away.

The endearment pierced her heart. Silent, Emma focused on Sam’s perfectly proportioned face. Jet black, longish hair fringed his forehead, temples, and ears, softening the rugged planes of high cheekbones and a squared-off chin. Kind, emerald eyes radiated his genuine affection for her. He had professed his love for her constantly over the past two years, usually after bestowing her with liquefying, toe-curling kisses. Memories flooded her senses as she gazed into his eyes across the table: holding hands strolling along Navy Pier; quick, loving text messages when he had pulled double shifts during his medical residency; and bear hugs while he offered her the sign of peace at Mass—I love you, Emma.

I love you, too, Sam. What an understatement. Emma questioned her own sanity on a daily basis. Sam had painfully related his family history to her in small doses since she had met him. Elated that Sam had trusted her implicitly, and had confided his parents’ negligence and abandonment, Emma had increasingly appreciated the extent of Sam’s ingrained belief that marriage can turn two people in love into hateful monsters. Insanely, Emma had still taken a nosedive into the bottomless well of loving Sam.

Are you all right, Emma?

Honestly? Emma paused as the waitress brought the soda and appetizer to the table. The brief interruption helped ground her. Despite her all-consuming passion for Sam—her yearning to be with him while separated due to his work schedule and frequent traveling—Emma had, thank God, never clung to him nor expressed the full extent of her longings. Thank you, she said to the departing waitress.

She ignored the food, and the drink Sam poured for her. I don’t want to say goodbye to you, Sam. This is so hard. The corners of her eyes prickled and stung, threatening compromising tears. Furious at the possibility that she might break down and shed every ounce of pride in the process, Emma willed away the tears.

Sam’s eyes gleamed. I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you, sweetheart. Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips pensively. I was going to wait…

He shifted and dipped his right hand under the table. When his hand reappeared above the shellacked wood tabletop, a black, velvet box was nestled in his outstretched palm.

Emma’s world tilted. Sam’s subsequent movements flowed in perceived slow motion: his left hand hovered over the box, covered the lid, and snapped it open. Sparkles dotted her vision as if a camera flash had temporarily impaired her eyesight. She stared open-mouthed at the diamond ring.

Will you marry me? registered in Emma’s ears, Sam’s deep, masculine voice muted, sounding from somewhere beyond reality.

But you said…you always said… she stammered.

A tantalizing smile lit his eyes. I know what I said. But God graced me with you. I love you with my whole heart and soul. I want you with me forever. Uncle Mark has helped to guide me to this decision. His eyes held hers with blazing intensity. Please say you’ll be my wife.

Elation burst inside Emma with brilliant clarity. You’ve changed your mind! You’re staying! she erupted, all doubts, all disillusionment banished with this miraculous turn of events. Yes!

His eyes darkened as she reached for the ring. Emma… his huge hand enfolded her fingers over the velvet contours of the box. I want you to go with me.

Emma withdrew her hand as confusion blanketed her like an impenetrable fog. To Valselo? she spit out, the idea unthinkable.

Of course, he responded with maddening calm. "Matt and Harry will build an annex to Mir House for us. Jenna and Anna can’t wait to meet you. You can decorate our apartment any way you like. Uncle Mark will marry us there in Our Lady of the Roses Church. In the meantime, you can choose to live in any number of places: the Lidovic’s pansion, or Harry and Jenna’s guest room, or even a room at Matt and Anna’s house. It’s an amazing village with welcoming, spiritual people." Sam rambled on.

She frowned, her gaze narrowing to an outraged scowl she could actually feel. What on earth will I do there? Pray all day? While you practice medicine and lead the life you’ve chosen on the other side of the world? Her heart pounded and her hands shook. I decorate our apartment, and then what? I can’t possibly live there… Tears brimmed and overflowed hot streaks down her cheeks.

Emma, please… his broad shoulders sagged.

No, Sam, she protested. I’m crazy about you. I really am. But my life is here. I love my parents and my brother. Guilt pinched her, remembering that Sam’s only true family consisted of his uncle, the parish priest—even though both his parents presumably remained alive somewhere.

It wasn’t her fault, and she couldn’t bury her own feelings under heartfelt sympathy about his abandonment. I love my work with Daddy at his Sacred Emblems Company. I have a career, too, Sam. I can’t give up everything and blindly go with you to a foreign Adriatic town. I’d die of boredom and loneliness.

I can’t change your mind? The absolute dejection in Sam’s voice split Emma in two.

Meeting his gaze, she challenged, I can’t change yours?

Shaking his head, his lips a tight line, Sam pocketed the ring.

Pain burst inside Emma’s chest as she rose rigidly from her seat and left.

1

Three Years Later

Emma Jordan’s Wedding Day

Emma focused on her reflection in the ornate floor mirror. The ivory silk, strapless gown hugged her slim body. The pale cream bodice accentuated her lightly tanned shoulders. Her hand caressed the embroidered skirt. Just perfect.

Today she wore the first, and last, bridal dress that she had ever tried on. Her mother and the saleswoman had attempted to convince her to consider the other dresses that hung on the rack like a huge frothy bouquet. But as she had stared into the tri-fold, dressing room mirror witnessing her own transformation from just plain Emma to fairytale bride, she had believed without doubt that this was the dress.

Very decisive, the saleswoman had pronounced as she rang up the eye-popping total.

Emma’s mother had agreed, teary-eyed with sentimentality, and unfazed about price as she had signed the credit card slip without a single gasp.

Emma hadn’t contradicted their description of her as decisive, since choosing a dress was easy. A breeze. Her indecisiveness about the wedding was the hard part.

Now, Emma perched on a tapestry-upholstered, throne-like chair in the St. Michael’s Church brides’ room, her train a sweeping, majestic apron of soft silk around her feet. She should feel regal, special. Instead, her stomach churned and her hands trembled as trepidation seized her again.

Jonathan’s downright nasty mood last evening disconcerted her and had substituted understandable wedding jitters with foreboding. He’d suggested a private talk with her father, and when he returned, it was clear the unexplained meeting had not gone well. Jonathan refused to disclose the discussion topic to Emma, which left her confused and distrustful. It wasn’t like him to be mysterious. Although she knew of his capacity to gloss over things with cool aloofness, last night her fiancé had plunged her into a deep freeze.

What am I getting myself into? The three-carat diamond ring dug into the palm of her clenched hand.

I was right. The PeeGee hydrangeas work perfectly with the baby pink roses, Emma’s mother, Beth proclaimed as she strode into the room toting an oversized florist box. Her copper colored, floor-length gown complimented her honey blonde hair, and she personified the graceful mother-of-the-bride. Wait until you see your bouquet. You’re going to love it.

Mom stopped short on her beeline to the table. Is something wrong?

No, of course not. What could be wrong? Emma’s voice cracked.

Nothing that I can think of, Mom remarked knitting her brows, her hazel eyes piercing. But the disheartened expression on your lovely face tells me otherwise.

Honestly, Mom, I’m fine. Emma frowned. Did Daddy say anything?

"Say anything? What could your father say that would cause that look on your face?’

Nothing. I’m a nervous Nellie. Jonathan acted upset last night after his talk with Daddy. I thought he might have told you about it before you went to bed.

I was so tired last night, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Mom beamed a smile. Enough nerves, Nellie. Come see this beautiful garden you’ll carry down the aisle.

The aromatic scent of roses perfumed the air as her Mom untied the pink ribbon and lifted the lid off the florist box.

Oh, Mom! It’s the most beautiful bouquet I’ve ever seen. Emma reverently touched the delicate lacy hydrangeas and bent to inhale the roses’ sweet fragrance. It’s perfect.

Carefully she lifted the arrangement from the box, clasped the bouquet in position at her waist and stepped in front of the mirror.

In the reflection, Mom’s tears welled and glistened in her eyes as warm hands gently cupped Emma’s shoulders. "You look stunning, honey. I’ve dreamed of this day since the day you were born.

You are a more exquisite bride than I ever imagined, Mom said as she snatched a fistful of tissues from the box on the gilt table. Daintily dabbing a tissue beneath her eyes, she sniffled. Enough of this blubbering. I paid a fortune for this makeup. I can’t have it running down my professionally spray-painted cheeks.

Emma giggled. I love you, Mom.

I love you too, honey. She hugged Emma, the solid comfort of the familiar embrace a soothing balm. Emma clung to her mother, happy for the first time that day.

A light tap on the door prompted Emma to raise her head from Mom’s shoulder. Come in.

The door cracked and her brother, Jake, poked his head through the opening.

What’s up squirt? Emma teased.

Uh… nothing, Em. Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?

Releasing Emma, Mom strode toward the door, shooing Jake away with hand waves. You don’t belong in here. No men allowed. She halted in front of her son and cocked her head. Where is your boutonniere? Didn’t the florist bring them to the grooms’ room?

I didn’t notice them. Jake widened his eyes and stared at Mom pointedly. I really need to talk to you, Mom.

Later, Jacob. I don’t have time to chat.

It’s OK, Mom, Emma assured. Come on in, Jake. What’s up?

I think I better talk to Mom first. He shuffled his feet and darted his gaze around the room, apparently unwilling to meet Emma’s eyes. Dad told me to get Mom.

Taken aback, Emma’s feet froze to the floor. You’re making me nervous.

Me, too, Mom added.

Jonathan called, Jake interjected.

Is he running late? I’m going to kill him, Mom hissed between her teeth. Our schedule is too tight for delays.

He’s not coming.

Emma’s stomach constricted as if Jake had punched her with a fist to the gut. She sank onto the seat, her skirt ballooning up around her, a clownish, couture heap. Her fingers went lax and her bouquet tumbled to the floor.

If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. Mom stooped and picked up the bouquet.

I am so sorry, sis. Jake scrunched his lips as he wagged his head. He just called and told me to tell you the wedding’s off, and if you want an explanation, ask Dad.

Dad?

Jake shrugged as their father stormed into the room, nudging Jake ahead of him as he shoved the door fully open. That son of—! The door banged against the wall, an echoing boom.

Jacob Jordan! You’re in a church. Watch your language, Mom admonished.

Without acknowledging Mom, Daddy kneeled next to Emma’s chair. I’m so sorry, princess. This is my fault.

Aghast at the admission, Emma couldn’t fathom any of this. Her father would never cause her harm. It’s Jonathan’s fault, Daddy. She covered her face with her hands, her head swimming. Why is he doing this to me?

Dad tipped her chin with his finger, easing her head upward. His earnest, blue eyes held hers. Last night he initiated a private conversation. He asked me to appoint him CFO of Sacred Emblems.

That didn’t make sense. Why? He never wanted to be part of our family business.

Apparently, he did all along, and he was biding his time. He claimed that he considered the position his right as my son-in-law. He even had the nerve to tell me that I had insulted him by not extending the offer sooner. I apologized for the inadvertent insult, but told him my answer was, no. That’s why he’s not showing up today.

Emma stared wide-eyed at him. He doesn’t want to marry me anymore because you turned him down for a job?

I’ll make this right. I’ll create a position for him, honey. He rose as he plucked his cell phone out of the breast pocket of his tuxedo. Let me give him a call now.

Emma tugged on his sleeve. No, Daddy. Don’t.

Her father frowned, a defeated expression on his smooth-shaven face. Are you sure, honey?

Emma’s heart seized. My handsome father-of-the bride. Not today. I’m sure. She hid her face in her hands, muttering. "He doesn’t love me.