No Doubt It’s Love

By Betsy Lowery

Sam and Grace never dreamed that the happy news of their engagement would stir up such outright interference—from a pompous aunt, an overeager sister, and a mysterious stranger! On top of that, one of them has a secret that won’t stay buried, and it’s causing second thoughts in the other. With all of this opposition swirling around them, the two forge their own path of discovery while parents, the officiating minister, and a day visitor who’s in town for a football game each impart needed counsel.

If you enjoyed Joan Ryan’s mountainous misadventures in Tennessee (A Stranger’s Promise), don’t miss this sequel, which introduces Joan’s kids and their friends back home in Georgia. And there’s a special perk here for Jane Austen fans...some in this new cast of characters can’t seem to stop quoting Pride and Prejudice!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973648291

Betsy Lowery

Betsy Lowery (A Stranger's Promise, No Doubt It's Love) has woven another unique tale accented with southern charm. Like her prior works, Love Ever Green draws readers in with vivid description, entertaining characters, and a carefully crafted plot sparking with surprises. Venture down this trail where a poignant love story blossoms against the backdrop of evergreens, autumn color, and holiday festivity!

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Copyright © 2019 Betsy Lowery.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-9736-4830-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4829-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018914637

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/07/2019

Contents

Chapter 1 Will you marry me?

Chapter 2 Gaining a daughter

Chapter 3 Our love will keep us warm

Chapter 4 Gray skies

Chapter 5 That I might make my sentiments known

Chapter 6 Potholes in the path to paradise

Chapter 7 Reveals and reconnaissance

Chapter 8 Royal what?

Chapter 9 Rhyme and reason

Chapter 10 A pooper and a party

Chapter 11 Apple butter and strawberry jam

Chapter 12 Stop the music!

Chapter 13 Baby, it’s cold inside

Chapter 14 Crook Mountain revisited

Chapter 15 Heroes and villains

Chapter 16 I solemnly promise

Chapter 17 Lessons in gratitude

Chapter 18 Merriment and mayhem

Chapter 19 Mistletoe and melodies

Chapter 20 Starting the new year right

Epilogue

Book Club Discussion Questions

About The Author

Acknowledgments

For their help with answers to my research questions (on everything from weddings to professional musicians to greater Atlanta venues) and/or permission to quote, I thank: Sgt. Robert Owens of Vestavia Hills Police Department; Peggy McCleskey of Duluth, Georgia; Dr. K. Dennis Anderson of Vestavia Hills Baptist Church; Sheila Anderson; Alynn LeBerte; Ashley Doster Hinson; Allison Festavan of Dance Et Cetera; Julie Bunkley of InVision Events; Lee McLemore, Director of Golf Operations, Birmingham Country Club; Susan Delenne; Brent Warren; Kathy V. Sealy. I gratefully acknowledge Tom and Marcie Smith, friends whose beach condominium proved the greatest catalyst in taking this book from a partial work to a finished work. Special thanks to Facebook friends who have weighed in on fun polls to help me choose characters’ names. Finally, I thank my family and the many friends who have prayed for me and encouraged me during the writing of this book and of its prequel, A Stranger’s Promise.

References to personality types and their characteristics in chapter 11 are based on MBTI information found online. Additional credits: Dr. David Eldridge, Senior Pastor, Dawson Memorial Baptist Church, whose style of delivery influenced remarks of Austin King during the wedding and whose August 5, 2018 sermon What Makes Us Whole Again? is reflected in Book Club Discussion Question number 7. Lyrics to the carol Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella are my own work, three stanzas translated in 2001 directly from the French and a fourth completely mine; likewise, True Love, Eternal Love, the excerpt from It Wants You for a Friend, the poem attributed to Henry Watson, and the additional, evangelistic stanza sung to the tune of Amazing Grace are my work. The quoted line of Amazing Grace is the work of John Newton. The line from You Do Something to Me in chapter 1 is the work of Cole Porter; the line from Put on a Happy Face in chapter 4 is by Lee Adams. The reference to depending on one another on page 278 is suggested by the book Hold Me Tight by Sue Johnson. Marrying months poems quoted or paraphrased in chapters 2, 3, and 6 are found in various forms from various public domain sources. The initial planning checklist read by April in chapter 2 is quoted and/or paraphrased from a bridal magazine article published circa 2014.

Authors whose works have proved influential and valuable in my writing endeavors and in my personal development include Grace Livingston Hill, author of many enduring works, of which The Beloved Stranger is the source of the passage read by Cora Haskew in chapter 15. Hill’s books Homing and The Substitute Guest have particularly influenced my interest in, and my approach to, Christian fiction. More novels like Hill’s need to be out there for the readers of today, with current settings but also with her old-fashioned feel. That wish has especially driven what I’ve tried to accomplish in No Doubt It’s Love. Beverly Cleary’s 1959 novel Jean and Johnny remains a lifelong favorite, an enduring work for young readers, and a candidate for required reading by all girls, especially those with sisters; crumbs from a boy like Johnny in that book is reflected herein. Betty Cavanna is another author whose sense of healthy and upright living for young adults puts her in a certain class for her genre that ought not to be overlooked. Finally, much appreciation is due to Jane Austen, of whose classic works I have come to know well and to enjoy especially the most popular one, Pride and Prejudice, and a little less so Sense and Sensibility, both of which are quoted herein.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons living or dead, known or unknown to the author, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance of plot matters or theme relevance to the true-life circumstances of any person known or unknown to the author is entirely coincidental.

The self-reliant person is not greatly malleable

as clay in the Potter’s hands.

Apart from me, you can do nothing. John 15:5

Chapter 1

Will you marry me?

Sam was a goner. But what a way to go. Her beautiful, dark brown hair was one of the first things he’d noticed about the girl seated across from him, two years ago almost to the day. That timing was by design. Would Grace make the connection in spite of this understated dinner at a place they’d been to so many times?

He looked at her. Grace. Never was a name so perfect for someone. Her parents couldn’t have known when they’d picked out her name how successful she would be at dancing. And Sam couldn’t have known two years ago that he’d find himself with a whole different attitude about that world. How many dance recitals had his parents dragged him to in the early years before his sister had figured out she wasn’t going to rise to the top over so many competitors and had switched to track and field? It felt like a hundred. Loud, giggling, shrieking, boring nonsense. Every number looked the same—just with different costumes. But, when Grace had come out on stage that night—that unforgettable night—his attention had been captured as never before. A magical vision, floating across the stage in a jade green costume, she was a standout as well as a knockout, her long hair flowing free to fit the modern dance number. She’d danced, performed, dazzled her way right under Sam’s skin, and he’d had to meet her. Wracking his brain for something to talk about after standing with a crowd of others who wanted to tell the star of the show how they had loved her performance, Sam had picked up that Grace had grown up in Fort Payne. So, hoping it didn’t sound too lame, he’d barged in with a comment about the country band Alabama, then segued into his own musical pursuits as the drummer with a local band. That point of commonality may have been stretching it, and it wasn’t the cleverest line (Alec would have done much better), but that hadn’t mattered for more than a couple of minutes. What had mattered was that it had worked. Sam and Grace had started talking.

Sam winked at his girlfriend as she sat, characteristically quiet, no doubt thinking and observing things she’d tell him about later when a talkative mood hit her. That was one of the ways Grace was different from other girls. In the moment, she soaked everything up instead of gabbing, laughing, and texting all through it. Silence was one of her things, and maybe that was what fed some of her other virtues, like kindness and encouragement. What a lucky guy he was! Two years. Two happy, fun, awesome years with this beauty by his side.

In the early days, he’d gotten all manner of grief from the three guys he spent so much of his spare time with. That was mostly sparked by one big goof on his part. A few weeks after he’d met Grace, and before they were officially dating, Sam had committed the musician’s unpardonable sin. Remembering it now, he grinned toward Grace over what was left of his chipotle braised pork taco. When he’d spotted her wandering near the band’s gig at a Saturday farmer’s market, it was the first time he had ever let something or someone in an audience distract him from his playing. Staring at her trim figure in skinny jeans and some kind of amazing green top, he’d totally missed seven or eight measures at a fairly critical point during one of their numbers. And the rest of Papa Cass & Company had never let him forget it. He’d been bitten hard by the love bug, and there was no sense in trying to deny it. C’est la guerre was Alec’s take on the missed measures—a surprisingly generous attitude from the most serious musician in the bunch.

A waiter in a black T-shirt and jeans leaned slightly toward them as he passed their table, asking if they needed anything. The interruption was kind of a jolt, but it was probably a good thing. If Sam sat here worshiping the one across the table much longer, she’d surely know something was up. She didn’t appear to, so far, calmly enjoying her Angus burger with avocado. First time for that one. She liked working her way around a place’s menu methodically instead of ordering the same thing every time, the way he tended to do. That was one of the things he liked best about her. Variety. Look at her! Tonight her hair was down, in a simple side part, but the effect was no less enchanting than when it was pulled up tight off her face to set off bold stage makeup and a glittery costume. If Grace said yes a little while from now, that hair he’d sometimes heard called chestnut color was one of the many charms that would be his to enjoy forever.

Sam wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his blue jeans. He wasn’t himself. But, how could he be, on the verge of proposing marriage? It wasn’t something a guy did every day. Sam caressed Grace’s slim leg with the top of his shoe under the table and winked again, as much to reassure himself as anything, and then reached for the check.

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They strolled through Atlantic Station, headed toward a certain bench where they’d talked many times. The early April night was a little cool. Definitely not tropical, as some might imagine necessary for a moment as important and as memorable as this, but Sam didn’t mind the chill in the air and he knew Grace didn’t, either. They were dressed for it, and love of the brisk outdoors was one of the bigger things they had in common, to offset the littler ways they were exact opposites. The cold winter this year had been good for skiing. He was great at it, and Grace, who couldn’t risk broken legs, was a great admirer of his skill.

Sam’s fingers felt the silver ring on Grace’s right hand. He had given it to her on their one-year anniversary of dating. His ulterior motive had been to learn her ring size, of course. Lame, again, I guess, but what else are you gonna do? Ask one of her roomies her ring size? That was even more likely to give it away. What girl could keep that kind of intelligence quiet? Not that Grace considered her two roommates close friends—which was all the more reason to keep them entirely out of it. Sam squeezed Grace’s hand. Tall and slender, she had long, delicate fingers to match. When he glanced at her other hand, his insides lurched. Soon, that one would never be bare again. He hoped.

With a few words, he guided Grace to the bench and held back a grin. Somewhere in the bushes a few feet away, his accomplices were lurking. They’d come out here to run interference for him, keeping the designated spot free of random people.

They sat. It’s time. I can’t take the pressure another second. Sam pulled a folded piece of plain white paper from his back pocket and offered it. Grace accepted it with a little smile and an attractive quirk of her dark brown eyebrows. Sam tried to keep his expression from looking as silly as it must. Without much hope of success, he told both his face and his stomach to relax. With a good deal more hope, he lifted one arm and set it across Grace’s shoulders. She wasn’t going to laugh at his poem, even if he had turned down Alec’s offer of help and had written it all by himself. She wasn’t going to say no to the ring. Girls didn’t do that, except once in a while, in the movies, when it was crystal clear the guy was all wrong for her. Right? Sam heaved a deep sigh in spite of himself, but Grace didn’t appear to notice. With one slender, stretch-jeaned leg crossed over the other, her foot gracefully pointed and bobbing up and down a little, she was reading the unfolded page. Sam couldn’t look at it. Anyway, he knew the lines by heart. Knew them way too well. What had he been thinking? A love poem? That’s what eighth graders did.

Grace, however, seemed engrossed. And she wasn’t laughing. Not so far, anyway, and that had to be green light enough. Sam stealthily reached into a different pocket and produced a small, purple box with rounded corners. He held it in one hand and covered it with the other, on his lap. That was his friends’ cue. A very old song began in a barbershop style—only it was a trio, not a quartet. You do something to me, something that simply mystifies me… Grace lifted her eyes from the poem and turned her head to try to find the direction of the sound. Frowning slightly, she looked at Sam. Those voices sound familiar.

They should. Sam’s band buddies made the perfect setup for this occasion, and Grace had heard Cass’s lead vocals and the other two in backup many times. For answer, Sam tried a noncommittal expression on Grace, but it was really hard not to smile. Well, whatever. She was going to know the whole scheme in a few seconds, anyway. Like, right now. His face had to be giving the whole thing away. He was thrilled. Eager. Afraid. She wasn’t going to laugh, was she? But, even if she did, he’d handle it. Grace’s eyes followed his, downward, and he moved his top hand out of the way. He gripped the box’s lid and raised it, quickly lifting his eyes to watch for Grace’s reaction. She was staring at the ring in apparent astonishment. Next, she looked at him, with apparent delight.

As Sam kissed Grace and then wrapped his arms around her, he knew his friends in hiding would be watching. He couldn’t help it—that fed his ego. The guys would see that things had gone as planned, that their friend and fellow musician was headed for the altar. So what if the build-up had been on paper and the proposal mimed? Even if he’d rehearsed a speech, he never would have delivered it right. And, if he read Grace correctly, which he did most of the time, she would have found a proposal speech from him as awkward as he would’ve. Because she would have felt pressured to try to say something just as…formal for her answer. And that just wasn’t her. So, Sam just held the future Mrs. Ryan close. Yeah, some guys would have gotten all worked up over a script, but he’d put his efforts into the other logistics instead. Come to think of it, he’d even been spared the stress of having to obtain the future father-in-law’s permission to propose. Most guys these days had to work themselves up not only to the proposal, with special surprise touches that would outdo the latest, greatest creative proposal his girlfriend had seen on social media, but also to that dreaded talk with her father. That speech about good intentions, faithful love, and the ability to provide a good home. But the woman in Sam’s arms had no relatives. At least, none close enough for him to have met. At only twenty-four, Grace had outlived both of her parents. Sam sobered a little, picturing those empty places in the wedding party. With a small pang of conscience, he told himself he would have gladly handled a permission to propose interview, for Grace’s sake, if one had been possible.

Whooping and cheering broke in, and the moment ended as Sam’s friends sprang from their hiding place and noisily began to issue congratulations. Tender moment over! one of them called, and Alec James dropped to one knee in front of Grace. He raised both hands dramatically. "Thank you, dear lady, for taking this one out of circulation. With him and his good looks spoken for, chances should improve for those of us who aren’t the drummer." He looked at Sam now. "And you. Sly work, getting your fair maiden’s ‘yes’ without any last-minute near-disasters like in all those romance movies. No family crises scaring Grace off, no Lady Catherine de Bourghs setting out at once to make their sentiments known."

At this speech with its bravado and antics, Sam and Grace merely smiled. Sam had no idea what his quirky friend meant by that last bit, but carrot-topped Cass Elliott spoke right up. The band’s founder and leader often got his opinions voiced earliest. And, usually, loudest. "Another Pride and Prejudice quote, we less-literary peeps presume. Cass shook his head and glanced at his phone. Another five hours and we would’ve made it through a whole day without that."

I’m telling you guys—and trying to show you by example—a can’t-miss way to wow the fairer sex.

It’s not as if you need any special extra help there, Al. Cass sucked his chubby middle in as he stood near Alec’s taller, leaner frame. "You play, what—six instruments? You know three languages and you write lyrics in at least two of them. Your I.Q. is off the charts. And, as if all that weren’t enough to get you the lion’s share of our female groupies, you’re a bona fide great-grand-nephew of Harry James! Cass’s voice was rising, as it often did when he failed to conceal his frustration at being a clear lag-behind in matters of romance. Doesn’t all of that make you enough of a chick magnet? Like the girl who knits you all those hats." Cass inclined his head toward the toboggan that was part of Alec’s trademark look. Sam shifted uncomfortably on the bench and looked around for fear a scene was in the making. If this was going to turn into a scene, it should be about him and Grace.

"I do my best with the spare gifts I’ve been given, and share wisdom where I can, especially with still-waters Zach here. I’m telling you guys, to talk the talk of Jane Austen is to be a chick electro-magnet."

Sam laughed quietly with Grace at that, then made eye contact with Zach Medford. He was pretty quiet a lot of the time. And why not, when Al and Cass put plenty of noise out there? Right now, though, Zach broke into a big smile and bent down to shake Sam’s hand. His congratulatory words first to Sam, and then to Grace (without the handshake), were brief but meaningful. Zach immediately suggested to the other guys that it was time for them to leave the happy couple to enjoy the remainder of their Friday night. Tactful Zach. Sam didn’t know the band’s newest member that well, but if there was a hidden agenda, meaning Zach’s need to reclaim the last hours of his Friday, he would be the one able to disguise that fact better than either of the other two.

Alec and Cass followed Zach’s lead, Alec hinting that he had at least one young lady waiting for him. Cass, bringing up the rear, muttered with a broad shake of his head, Girls every day of the week. Then he reminded the other two, self-importantly, and loudly enough for Sam and Grace to hear him, that the three of them were under strict orders not to tell anyone about the engagement until Sam gave the go-ahead, so that the couple could share the news within their closest circle in their own way.

Sam and Grace kept talking quietly, chuckling occasionally, and admiring her new ring. And kissing.

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Joan Ryan stood surveying the dining room table, bending to adjust the position of a salad fork at one of the two places set with silver-rimmed Lenox Moonspun china. This particular room wasn’t used every day, nor even every week. But, when it was used, it was used well. Roughly equal to her satisfaction over the table’s appearance was her delight in how Lee’s welcome-home meal was turning out. A smile curved her lips. Registered dietitians weren’t automatically gourmet chefs, though many people assumed so. And Joan, in all honesty, wouldn’t say she deserved the term gourmet. But she was always working to improve herself.

She glanced first at the pewter-rimmed wall clock and then at her phone, automatically wondering if the times matched to the minute. Lee’s last text message, very brief as per usual, told her that he’d arrived safely at Hartsfield International Airport (landed) and that he was looking forward to the reunion dinner (one random food emoticon followed by one excited face emoticon). Then, a separate text message with just one character: the red heart emoticon. Joan laughed. He’d obviously had spare time during taxiing and deplaning; otherwise, he’d never have scrolled through the cute keyboard. If his texts generally were few in words, they were even fewer in available add-ins. Joan let her gaze rest on the picture symbols, which kept her grin steady. Lee. She sighed out loud. They’d spent fourteen of the previous seventeen days apart.

And what a crazy time it had been! The memories were still so fresh of the three days Lee had been with her in Tennessee, coming there to surprise her, to break up their time apart during his bridge project. His work trip to Texas had been completely expected and planned. But hers, to Crook Mountain, had been unexpected and highly irregular. It was supposed to have been a spur-of-the-moment vacation. A restful diversion. She shook her head side to side, slowly. Her kids were still pretty much in the dark about all that had happened in that little community near Cluny’s Ridge where they’d gone so many times as a family over the years. Even Lee still didn’t know everything she had to tell about it. That little fact pulled one side of Joan’s mouth back in a twinge of guilt. It had been rather an ordeal, in spite of all the sweet people she’d met and the outcomes that were better than they might have been. You couldn’t honestly call the experience fun—she was too old by now to be quite that nonchalant about it—but it had been good. Fun makes you laugh, said a character in an old western TV episode, but good makes you strong.

The kitchen timer buzzed, jolting Joan back to the present. She hopped up and checked the grilled salmon, coming away from it with considerable pride. That, with asparagus, headlined the menu and promised to be a worthy offering. Taking a seat now (she’d been on her feet a lot today), she rapidly reviewed the four or five steps that remained for each part of the meal to be ready at the same time. It wasn’t long, though, before her gaze strayed and landed on the photograph she had placed where Lee would see it when he sat down to his welcome-home meal. The subject of the picture was herself, wearing a good smile and posing playfully in a field of wildflowers. Scrutinizing the retouched photo, she liked how her short, blonde hair looked in the late afternoon sun. The picture had been taken with her camera in Crook Mountain just seven days ago. Really? Had only a week passed since the day she and Dove Sechrist had gotten a bit silly with the camera? They had really needed the outlet at just that time as they’d tried to unwind for a few minutes during a highly stressful situation. On the other side of the experience, Joan was still surprised at herself for getting as lost in that town’s personality as she had done. Right at this moment, she was almost as convinced as Dove had claimed to be that she had been sent to help Dove achieve a long-awaited personal goal against large odds. The idea of being sent somewhere as the result of someone else’s prayers for help was a novel concept. Tonight, during or after dinner, she wanted to talk that over with Lee along with telling him the facts about her trip that she’d been concealing.

And there went the familiar sound of a key turning in the front door’s lock. Joan hurried to meet Lee in the foyer.

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The two empty plates and the final utterances of mmm and yum testified to two things: that the meal had been delicious, and that over the course of a thirty-year marriage Joan had become virtually an expert at serving portions of just the right size. Just relaxing and enjoying the romantic dinner that she had built up so often in her remarks of the past few days had stayed priority number one. That being the case, their conversation across the flickering candlelight had stayed fairly surface, regarding the most recent happenings since the two had last talked, and with a bit of current political events thrown in. Not that she always bore the full burden of both cooking and cleanup, Joan carried the dinner plates into the kitchen before giving Lee a chance to offer to help. She returned with sampler-sized portions of two desserts—Lee’s favorite, red velvet cake without red coloring, and a bittersweet chocolate soufflé drizzled with rich vanilla butter sauce. That second one had been a last-minute decision, thrown in for good measure because it hadn’t turned out to Joan’s exacting standards the last time she’d tried it. Practice made perfect!

Lee gazed at the presentation Joan considered magazine-worthy. Those look divine! He eagerly went for his share of both choices, nodding to answer her offer of coffee and ultimately commenting, By the way, you’re humming classical music.

"I am? I mean, I was? I hadn’t realized."

I believe it was that Canon thing.

There’s a classical song about copiers?

Lee chuckled. Funny. That ‘Canon in some key or another’ one often hears at weddings.

Joan heard, or at least imagined, a bit of extra emphasis on that last word. Mmmm, she murmured as a bite of the soufflé confirmed to her yet again that great homemade dishes were worth the effort. Have any particular wedding in mind? She stayed with the light tone of the banter, but she was actually pretty surprised. All of this Tennessee stuff had been on her mind, occupying what of it wasn’t focused on fixing tonight’s meal. And yet, evidently, still something else had been beneath the surface. The subconscious certainly was a complex place.

Do you think I’ll be asked to stand up with our son as his best man? Lee swelled his chest visibly and Joan laughed at the show of fatherly pride. Though we’re both jumping the gun a little. But I think it’s safe to say Sam has definite plans to propose.

"Agreed. That being the case, will you look online with me tonight at mother-of-the-groom dresses? I know our ‘nest’ is empty, but I have a feeling that wedding mania is about to strike full force, and our chances for quiet tête-à-têtes to decide what we like may grow few and far between. Lee merely smiled, but Joan knew his unspoken language pretty well. If he hadn’t flat-out said no" by now, that meant he would indulge her pet request. Yesss! Not only that, but now he was taking their empty dessert dishes to the kitchen. Good man. He really was that!

Lee sat again at the dining room table and sipped his coffee, staring at Joan over the rim of his cup. Still staring. She gave him a puzzled look and finally burst out, What? It would be unnatural, and way less fun, if she could read all of his thoughts.

You’re humming Bach now.

Bach. Yes, that could well be true, because it hadn’t been a great stretch a second ago to go from visualizing herself in her mother-of-the-groom dress to seeing their handsome Sam, more dashing than ever, in his dark tuxedo. And Grace! Gorgeous Grace, almost floating, like a perfect princess in a fairy tale, down a long, petal-strewn aisle. She would be carrying a stunning bouquet of delicate blooms echoed in a floral crown encircling her head. And Bach would be coming from the organ.

"If you’re picturing a big church wedding with a twelve-piece orchestra, remember this is Sam the drummer we’re talking about. A drummer in a rock band. Who’s to say his wedding won’t take place on the beach in Key West or on some Colorado mountain peak, and not in that high-ceilinged cathedral you’re imagining?"

Joan looked from her misty distance to the husband sitting across from her, who dealt her his most teasing smirk. The organist in her daydream church wedding suddenly struck a sour chord. The polished violinist in a slim black dress, playing the triplet-metered Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring along with the organist, morphed into a very-tattooed harmonica player with wild hair and torn jeans. Standing in front of the minister, Sam wore a pair of old jeans with some dinged-up drumsticks jutting out of a back pocket where all of the wedding guests could see them. And, instead of a formal white gown trimmed in delicate lace and pearls, Grace sported a long, clingy white top over nude leggings with rips in them. Platform flip flops revealing black nail polish and a skull toe ring completed her ensemble. There was no halo of flowers in her hair, which was dyed purple and orange. All of this was bad enough, but it got worse. The maid of honor’s dress was accidentally tucked up into the waist of some underthing, exposing the back of her bare legs, and exposing almost more than that. Heaven forbid! Joan squeezed her eyes shut to make the horrible scene disappear. Being a drummer is just one side of our son, she protested, as much to reassure herself as to contradict Lee. "You’re just trying to squelch my Bach. Sam’s a drummer, but he isn’t Gothic or weird. And, anyway, isn’t the wedding more about the bride’s long-standing dreams and wishes? At least, traditionally."

So, the groom basically just shows up on the wedding day and doesn’t even know what flavor the cake is until the bride shoves a hunk of it into his mouth?

"I doubt many grooms were ever that uninvolved in planning, even back in our day. That’s not how you remember our wedding, is it?"

I ain’t sayin’. Lee eased his high-backed chair away from the table. "Mmmm. Great dinner, honey!"

Now you’re just teasing me.

A while later, Joan snuggled close to him on the settee of the sun porch, where calming colors, southern touches, and comfortable furniture always beckoned. She opened their album of wedding photos and immediately grinned at the dated look of the gathered-skirt dresses with lace overlay, the men’s hair parted in the center ("for