Wedding a Warrior Page 5
Whitleigh blew out a burst of air, raking a hand through her hair.
Yes.
That three letter word meant so much more.
She lifted an envelope from the tallest stack. Collier nailed the timing of his latest letter. It met her in the mailbox after morning classes. Whitleigh sat back, elbow propped up on her refurbished thrift store footstool. She opened the letter, holding it with both hands, soaking in the scent of the parchment, fresh and earthy, like Collier. Rereading it soothed wedding jitters.
Dear Whit,
The paracord ring is temporary. I’m counting on a yes, and will make sure you have a nice, big engagement ring to show off to your friends. God’s got huge plans for our lives. I’m writing under the light of a headlamp, so forgive my writing and the shortness of this letter. I want you to know that I love you even more than…
1: Fried chicken
2: Beef tips over rice
3: Ice cream sandwiches (the Neapolitan kind)
4: Sweet tarts
5: Video games
6: Football
7: Myself. I will always love you more than myself.
Love always,
Collier, Your Soldier Boy
WHITLEIGH chuckled and twirled the olive colored paracord ring around her left ring finger. This particular “I love you more than…” list consisted of many more food items than usual. The poor man must be starving. With care, Whitleigh folded the note, tucked it in the envelope, and added it to the photo box underneath her bunk. She sighed, running a hand over the box — a portion of their love story. Another segment of their lives was soon to come. Her face warmed and she pushed up the sleeves of her worn Kentucky Wildcat hoodie.
A wad of paper smacked against the side of her face. “Earth to Whitleigh.” Reese pursed her lips. “Are you tutoring tomorrow? I was hoping to hitch a ride with you in the morning.” She shook a folder with way too much enthusiasm. “Want to get these flyers out to all the elementary teachers to give to the students’ parents.”
Whitleigh reached out for the folder, scanning the flyers. “Free personal finance classes. I think it’s great you’re doing that.”
“Doing my best to make a difference in the community. The library is letting me host a free course once a week.” Reese wiggled her fingers in the air. “So how about that ride?”
“You know you don’t have to ask. We leave at 8.”
“So early.” Reese grumbled, but nodded. “Oh, and my mom wants to order a few painted picture frames. She really liked what you did with the ones on your wall. Would you have time to get them done by next weekend?”
Next weekend. Whitleigh chewed on her thumbnail, eyeing the calendar by her bedside. Bold red lines slashed through the days, counting down until Collier returned. “Um, I think I can do that.”
Lennon spun in her seat. “When?” Her spiraling red hair bounced with each shake of her head. “In between classes, waitressing, tutoring, and painting a whole slew of other things for people? You’ve raised enough money. Why are you working so hard?”
“Good question.” Whitleigh slouched and smooshed her cheek in the palm of her hand.
“Lennon’s right, Whit.” Reese pouted and crossed her lanky legs at the ankle, sinking deeper into the beanbag chair. “Mom’s order can wait. You’ve got to rest too, you know.”
Rest. Yeah, right. Whitleigh gathered her knees to her chest.
“You still feeling bad?” Reese looked from Whitleigh to Lennon. “She ran out of class this morning. Ate a bad apple.”
“I’m fine.”
Lennon slid from her chair and onto the floor next to Whitleigh. “Spill it. What’s bugging you? I knew something was wrong when your cardigan collection was out of color sequence.”
“I really need to work on this. I want each kid to have their very own book.” Whitleigh tapped the pile of colorful paper on the floor. Her fingers surfed along the binding of the scrapbook.
“I know that look on your face. You’re either gonna cry or laugh.” Reese pried her body from the leathery beanbag chair and huddled on Whitleigh’s side. “Hey, Collier’s okay. He’ll be back, you’ll see. And if you’re still worried about going to Honduras —”
“I so want to go,” Lennon shrieked, fingers curled in the air. “Dumb wisdom teeth depleted me.”
“Anyway, as I was saying,” Reese shot a glare in Lennon’s direction, “if you’re still scared to go…” her voice trailed.
Whitleigh scrunched her nose. They’d find out soon enough anyway. “This morning Collier called and asked me to marry him. I said yes.” The words poured forth, sounding more insane when spoken out loud.
“What?” Reese screeched like a barnyard owl. “When? How?” She snatched Whitleigh’s left hand, gawking at the sturdy cord around her ring finger.
“I’ll have a real one soon.” Whitleigh’s stomach knotted. She rolled the ring around her finger. “But honestly, I like this one just as much as a diamond.”
“When are you getting married?” Reese clasped Whitleigh’s hands between hers, eyes bulging.
“This summer.” Whitleigh groaned, but couldn’t fight the urge to giggle. “Three months, maybe less.”
“You’re just now telling us?” Lennon’s mouth formed a perfect oval. “What did your parents say? This is crazy, you know that, right?”
“I’m sorry. Ugh.” Whitleigh swatted at a piece of loose hair dangling in her face. “I’ve been trying to process it all day, and no,” Whitleigh clenched her teeth, shoulders hovering beneath her ears, “I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be calling soon.”
Reese tugged at Whitleigh’s elbow. “Have you prayed about this?”
Whitleigh nodded and nudged her planner with her foot. That thing was a blessing and a curse. “The timing isn’t what I wanted, or anything like we planned, but… God’s got this, and it’s going to be fine.” That’s right. Whitleigh dipped her head up and down. Her shoulders relaxed, the tension from the day melted away. She allowed herself another giggle. Mrs. Whitleigh Cromwell fit well.
“This is so romantic. Crazy, but romantic.” Lennon clasped her hands together and released a whimsical sigh. “A man in uniform proposing, sweeping you off your feet. A phone call that changed the direction and destiny of your lives.”
Whitleigh’s face contorted. Reese sat as still as her stony expression.
“What?” Lennon folded her arms. “I’m interested in relationship stuff too.” She flipped the cascade of red curls away from her shoulder. “I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”
Right. Ms. Brainiac interested in dating? Whitleigh poked at Lennon’s knee. “I can hook you up with Bryant.”
“Or Blaine.” Reese lifted a hand.
“Um, yeah, no. That whole twin thing freaks me out. I can see Bryant pretending to be Blaine when we’re out and ugh, that’s gross.” Lennon shuddered for good reason.
“Look for the scar.” Whitleigh pointed to the corner of her forehead. “Blaine has a small one right there. Bryant hit him in the head with a screwdriver when we were little. Bled forever. Poor guy.”
Lennon grimaced. “It’s always the nice ones that take the beating.”
“True story.” Whitleigh shoved the twins from her mind, especially Bryant and his flirty ways, and continued to toy with her impromptu engagement ring.
“So, Whit, what are you gonna do?” Reese scooted closer. The scent of her mint chewing gum filled the space between them.
Lennon folded her legs, chin resting on closed fists.
“I guess I’m going to plan a wedding.” Whitleigh sank her face into her palms, breathing in and out. She lifted her head. “In three months. Without a set date.”
“Talk about a mission impossible.” Lennon snorted, smacking at the floor. “It took my sister a year to plan her wedding and she was insane the whole time.”
“We can do this.” Reese scrambled to her feet, snatched up Whitleigh’s calendar, and reached f
or a pen and notepad. “We’ll make a checklist. Don’t consider us just your roommates anymore—we’re your personal wedding planners.” She scribbled, taking time to tap her bottom lip with the pen. “Bridesmaids: Reese and Lennon, check. Venue. Dress. Cake. Caterers. Photographer. Flowers.”
“How do I even pay for a wedding? Mom and Dad won’t be able to cover the cost of everything.” There weren’t many people left in Collier’s family to ask for help. “I can’t use the money for Honduras, and anything left pays for my gas and car insurance.”
Whitleigh followed Reese and Lennon’s line of sight. Their eyes fixed on the large water cooler bottle filled with loose change and tip money at the foot of her bed. “No way, guys.” She fanned her hands. “I’ve been saving that since I was fifteen.”
“Times like these call for a sacrifice, Whit.” Lennon placed a firm hand on Whitleigh’s shoulder.
“That’s the money I’m using to furnish my classroom. Cute chairs, cushions, an entire library section with audio books available. The latest technology for my students.” Whitleigh’s voice squeaked more than she intended. “This money could change the lives of my students. Their future is counting on this.”
“Hello there Ms. Dramatic.” Reese mimicked Whitleigh’s words with puppeteer-like hand movements. “You’ve got two years until you get a classroom of your own, maybe longer in this economy.” She crossed her legs, hand pointed at Whitleigh. “It boils down to the fact that you’re worried about how to pay for a wedding when you have probably a few grand sitting there.”
“It's a no brainer.” Lennon nodded in agreement with Reese.
Whitleigh clamped her cheeks between her palms. “I hate when you guys are right.”
Lennon hopped up, dusting off her jeans and Lord of the Rings T-shirt. She skipped over the scrapbook pile and landed next to the water cooler bottle. No matter how deep her grunts or the intensity with which she tugged, the container did not budge. “A little help ladies.”
Whitleigh stood and dawdled forward. She and Reese pushed and pulled alongside Lennon, all three spewing variations of disgruntled groans. The oversized plastic bottle sat like a strong-willed child.
If only Collier was here to help. Whitleigh kicked at the container. “How are we going to get this money to the bank if we can’t even lift it?”
“I hate to say it ladies.” Reese gritted her teeth as she pushed the bottle with her feet. “This is a job for Bryant and his friends.”
“No way.” Lennon made a final grunt. The container toppled over, spilling out a steady stream of coins. “We take a little at a time. Grab some zip top bags, Whit.”
Whitleigh scanned the petite pantry shelf under her elevated bed and snatched several plastic bags. The green screen of her cell phone lit up with an angry buzz.
Two lumps rose in her throat. Mom and Dad. “Hey girls, I’m gonna have to take this call. Can you two step out for a few?”
Lennon and Reese nodded. “Good luck,” they whispered before shuffling out the door.
She’d need it.
The door snapped closed. Whitleigh cradled the buzzing phone for a moment before answering.
“Hey Momma.” She licked her lips, eyes closed. No need to be nervous. “You’re here? On campus?” Whitleigh’s eyes shot open. She pulled her hair to the side, knotting it around her fingers. “You’re here right now? Dad’s with you too?” She choked on a gulp. “Yes, I know we need to talk. Be right down.” She slid into a pair of worn glittered flats and stepped from the room, head held high. A difficult conversation awaited.
“WE can go somewhere else to talk. Anywhere.” The coffee house. Library. Somewhere public. A place with witnesses. Whitleigh ran a hand up and down her arm. Sweat bubbled up on the back of her neck. They loved Collier, but how would they feel about her marrying him in a matter of months?
“Your room is fine, dear.” Momma stepped into the dorm. She hugged Whitleigh close and sniffled. Her soft brown curls tickled the tip of Whitleigh’s nose. “Tell Reese and Lennon the next time we come down, we’ll take all of you out to eat.”
“Who can say no to a free meal?” Did her laugh sound too nervous? Whitleigh pressed her lips together.
Dad stood behind Momma, a head taller, silent, and hands planted in his pants’ pockets. When had his dark hair become speckled with gray? Whitleigh bowed her head as Momma released the embrace. Dad reached for her left hand, holding it carefully in his. His hands, rough and weather worn, scratched beneath her palm. Dad’s eyes glistened as he examined the paracord engagement ring. Whitleigh raked her teeth over her bottom lip. Her heart raced.
“So, you said yes, then?” His brow line crinkled.
Whitleigh managed a nod. Sometimes no words said more.
His skin, though red by nature — a true mark of a construction worker — paled in seconds. Momma lifted a tissue from her shirt pocket and held it to her nose. Short lines stretched from the corners of her brown eyes, touching the tops of her cheeks. Her makeup didn’t hide red puffy eyes well.
Dad coughed, looking from the coins spilled across the floor and back to Whitleigh. Her hand still lay in his. “Whit, I know since you’ve become a young woman, I haven’t really been, well, the father you needed me to be. I’ve been busy, working, and gone a lot.”
“It’s okay, Daddy.” Whit looked away. He was right. Since she started the transition from a young lady to a woman, her father, the man of few words, became a man of even fewer words — and less hugs.
“I’m sorry, Whit. I should’ve been there more for you. I got my priorities messed up for a while, but I know now work is a poor substitute for family.” Dad’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “Be honest. Are you marrying Collier to fill a void that I may have created in your life?”
“What?” Whitleigh flinched. She pulled her hand from his. “You’ve been a great dad — still are. Just hug me more and take me fishing like you used to.” She smiled, lightening the tense moment.
Dad nodded, wrapping his arms around Whitleigh. “You’ve grown up too fast.”
Momma circled a hand over Whitleigh’s back. She sighed as the stress melted from her shoulders. Back rubs were one of the many things she missed from home.
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” Momma sat on the bed, patting the mattress at her side.
Whitleigh sat. “I’m scared, but certain.”
“Army life is no joke.” Dad scratched at his brows with a thumb. He took a seat on the other side of Whitleigh. The bed sank under their weight. “There’s a war going on. Collier is an infantry soldier, Whit. He’s training to fight. Battle can do things to a man. My father, well, you’ve heard the stories of what war did to him and what he did to us in return.”
Yes. Horrible abuse. Whitleigh nodded, head hung. Professor Rhine’s morning monologue regarding the hells of war scrolled through her thoughts in broken snippets. She cringed, closing her eyes for a moment.
“We love Collier, Whit.” Momma brushed Whitleigh’s hair from her face. Whitleigh’s skin tingled as Momma’s fingernails skimmed over her shoulder. “We’ve known him since he was born. Been like a son to us.”
True. Collier and his brother spent many nights with them when Mr. Cromwell came home from the bars looking for a fight. Whitleigh rested her chin on top of a closed fist.
“But, Whit, honey, you’re so young.” Young. Yes, she supposed so, but what did age matter anyway? Momma looked into Whitleigh’s eyes. Her brown eyes pleaded and looked similar to Whitleigh’s in shape only.
Dad patted Whitleigh’s knee. “No matter what age you get married, or how ready you think you are, marriage takes a lot of work under any circumstances.” He pushed the tips of his fingers together. “You’re not just marrying Collier.”
Whitleigh lifted her head, eyes squinted. “What do you mean?”
“You’re marrying the military too.” His face grew solemn. “And that can add a lot of other challenges to a marriage.”
Momma lifted Whitleigh’s chin with an index finger, her smile warming. “Plans change on a whim in the military. A lot of hurry up and wait. For a planner like you, that could be difficult to handle.”
“I’m not pretending to know what to expect, but that’s faith, right? Stepping out on nothing to stand on something.” Whitleigh sat tall, shoulders back. “I’m trying to do what God wants, and believe me, it’s hard.” She lowered her head for a moment. “In my faith I’ve been so careful, so calculated. I’ve felt more like a cowardly lion than one that roars.” Her chest rose with her voice. “I want to roar. I want to live… really live, and do those things that scare me to death.”
Her parents stood motionless, their expressions firm. Whitleigh held her breath, her palms dampened.
Momma leaned in and placed a kiss on Whitleigh’s cheek. “Then roar, baby girl.”
Whitleigh exhaled. She smiled so big her cheeks hurt.
“That’s my girl.” Dad rubbed the top of Whitleigh’s head. She slouched under the weight of his hand. At least he forwent the noogies.
Dad leaned forward, reaching into his back pocket. With one smooth motion, he pulled out two tattered envelopes. Whitleigh’s cheeks grew warm. Collier’s letters. She swallowed hard.
“Collier’s got a pretty nice game plan.”
Momma chuckled. “His graphs are impressive.”
“We couldn’t pick a finer man than Collier for you.” Dad rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I would’ve liked it better if he had asked me in person, but I guess under the circumstances, and if you’re sure, then it’s settled.”