A Wedding Disaster... Or Was It?

  Still uncertain what was happening, Chelsea looked for answers in Derek's eyes. Her still confused gaze followed his finger as it pointed to the gorgeous artwork on the right lower side of Chelsea's gown, which mimicked the flower arrangements on the stage. The greens, blues, pinks, and golds of the flora and fauna were unmistakable, but only gave a hint that the same flowers that were on her dress would explode into vivid color on either side of the bride and groom in the actual floral arrangements.

  Oh, she had forgotten all about Delane's labor of love on her gown!

  A smile escaped her lips. A very fulfilling smile! A contented smile!

  A "Ha, ha, it's my dress" smile!

  Within one minute's time, Pastor Dayton reclaimed his presiding officiant's authority, giving nothing more than a look toward the congregation.

  Once silence was restored, the ceremony vows spoken, the pronouncement of husband and wife completed, the bride and groom sealed their vows with a kiss, Chelsea raised her skirt, revealing her white calf-height Victorian lace boots, to which the entire sanctuary lifted their voices in praise.

  Praises on the boots, her dress, or the wedding pronouncement, she didn't know.

  But, more importantly, she didn't care, because it was accomplished...

  Derek belonged to Chelsea, and Chelsea belonged to Derek! For always!

  Chapter 12

  KiirstiAan's email to me:

  Mommy Dearest (Just kidding!),

  I think I remember something about you going to that wedding. Aren't his parents members at church? One of the problems of going to a mega church is that you recognize names, but can't put faces to them, or vice versa. Sometimes I feel lost in the crowds. (I think maybe I went to school with one or two of Derek's brothers.)

  Anywho.. (Remember when you used to use this word to me when I was growing up and I hated it?!)

  I loved this story! I was engaged from the first word to the last. Oh, boy, I can hardly wait to read more! I read it to Evan. (Oh wait... you already knew that.) His reaction was the same. He thought it was so cool. His comment was something about reality being stranger than fiction. I asked him if he wanted to hear more of them. He said yeah, could we make every Monday evening "Storybook Night". Isn't he adorable?! I love this man!

  Now, for a critique...

  First off, USE SPELL CHECK. You spelled the word boutonniere five different ways. And, frankly, it was frustrating, because of course I had to correct it each time. Two or three times I had to re-think where I was in the story. UGH!

  After I finished reading this one to Evan, he had the same three questions I did. Well, actually four. (At first we thought you should have covered these in the story itself, but after we talked, we decided that it wouldn't have enhanced the story, it might actually have been anti-climactic.)

  1. What was the feedback on Chelsea's gown from the guests at the reception?

  2. Did Delane ever paint anymore dresses?

  3. Did Chelsea's bruises heal up ok?

  4. What happened to Chelsea's dad?

  BTW... I LOOOOVED THIS STORY! (Or did I say that already? Ha ha.)

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  Thanks, Sweet Stuff! I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

  Yes, you DID go to school with Derek's brother, Travis. I think you even had a crush on him for a while in high school.

  Anywho (to use your phrase, which is no longer fun to use since it no longer bothers you)...

  I try to spell carefully, but sometimes I don't take the time to check. If I'm in the midst of a train of thought, I don't want to "squelch the spirit." Besides, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that part of the job of the proofreader?!

  Now, to your questions...

  Number three first. Yes, Chelsea's bruises healed up over the next few weeks, and there were no lasting negative effects.

  Number four comes second. Chelsea's dad went to be with the Lord two months or so after the wedding. He deteriorated so quickly after that day, and although she says she misses him something awful (even after these eight years), she will see him again before she knows it and will be able to introduce him to his twin granddaughters and twin grandsons. Do you believe that?! Apparently both sides have multiple births running through them. In fact, Chelsea's aunts on her father's side were triplets. Back in the day, they used to give rhyming names to multiples. Chelsea has an Aunt Mary, Aunt Jerry, and Aunt Carry. (Isn't that a hoot?) All still living, I understand.

  Number one and two come last.

  Your dad wasn't feeling well that evening, and I remember we had to leave early. But, even in the thirty minutes or so that we stayed at the reception, there had to be half a dozen people come up to Chelsea and ask where her exquisite and unique gown was from. At one point I heard Chelsea ask one of the guests if they had paper and pen. When they responded yes, she asked the woman if she would give the paper and pen to Delane (whom she pointed out to her), and give her instructions to write down her name and phone number to all those who wanted to know if she could do something similar for them. I watched Delane give her name and number to at least four or five people before we left.

  Since Delane was only one month short of completing her undergrad studies at the time of the wedding, she began a small home-based (or perhaps I should say apartment-based) business immediately after graduation, fulfilling the gown fantasies of local brides-to-be. She started grad studies simultaneously, but within six months, she had so much business, she decided to quit school and pursue gown-painting fulltime. Her parents fronted her a tiny store. The only condition was that she start it back home, close to Mom and Dad. Actually, that was ok with Delane. She and her folks always have been and still are really tight. So, she's gone now to Atlanta, where her parents did indeed set her up in a storefront.

  Her business grew at a frantic pace, and now she has three stores, where she employs fourteen artists. The original in Atlanta, another in Manhattan, and a third somewhere in Texas (Dallas or Austin?) Apparently she has perfected fabric painting and teaches the technique herself to her employees. They have a six month internship with her, at the end of which they are either hired or fired.

  Amazing, right?!

  I'm thrilled for her. She always has had such a heart for the Lord, and even on her website, she shares her testimony.

  Oh, that's right. I just said she has a website. I should probably give the web address to you. It's BridalExtrava-Gown.com. You should go there and check it out. I only went there once almost immediately after she opened the site. Even then there was one sample of her work. It was an Eiffel Tower that started on the middle back of the bride's gown and wrapped around the front and up to just below the bust.

  Now, are you ready for this? You can read it yourself when to go to her site, but I can't stand it, I have to tell you first.

  The whole Eiffel Tower thing was because the bride's first name was Paris, the groom's first name was Etienne (French in origin). And their married last name? Hightower.

  Evan's right. Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction.

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  1. So sorry about Chelsea's dad.

  2. Can't believe about all the multiple births.

  3. Seriously? Paris and Etienne Hightower?

  4. And this is the most important one...

  I'm going to visit Delane's website. Since I already have my gown, maybe I should have her do something outrageously artistic to it. (I promise not to put pictures of the cats or Evan's car on it.)

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  What's with you and this numbering everything deal? I think you've been doing that since you were three or four years old.

  Here's where I'm trying not to sound like the controlling mother...

  Please be careful to not do anything totally unorthodox to your gorgeous gown.

  Oops! Who wrote that comment?

  Wow, what I would say is, What a totally exciting prospect for you! (That's what you call "a save.")

&
nbsp; Ok, time to start the next story.

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  To the numbering question: I don't know.

  To the gown-painting: No comment.

  To the writing of the next story: ^5

  My email reply to KiirstiAan:

  There can only be one title for this new story, The Pirate Bride.

  KiirstiAan's email reply to me:

  Pirate Bride?! Oh, this is gonna be good! I can just feel it!

  GFI (Go for it!)

  Chapter 13

  A piercing scream emitted from Sarah's lips, followed by a bone-chilling, agonizing screech. One on the heels of the other. If not in the room with her, the sounds could easily have been misconstrued as a homicide in progress. If actually present with her at the time, it at least would have caused shuddering, as it replayed in one's mind the shower scene from the movie, Psycho.

  Dean arrived first in the kitchen. He had been in the bathroom relieving himself when his "task" was interrupted by the blood-curdling shrieks. Kate was a close second. She had been in the family room, organizing and placing a combination of Sarah's and Dean's book collections in an empty bookshelf, while Sarah and Dean were in the kitchen, papering the cabinet shelves.

  If any undertaking was a fulfillment of Kate's gifts, it was home design. Kate knew it and so did everyone else. She was almost as excited about this new-home design commission for Sarah and Dean, as she was co-planning their wedding.

  Upon arrival, both of them registered horrified looks on their face when they saw Sarah lying on her left side on the kitchen floor, one hand clutching her left eye and cheek and the other hand holding her "lower right cheek", both covered in a flowing and growing deep crimson stain.

  Funny the things that go through one's mind in crisis.

  Dean immediately envisioned himself in white armor, on a white horse, charging in to rescue the fair maiden from her distress (whatever that anguish was). Not that he saw himself as such, but Sarah had told him he was just that so many times during their courtship, that it automatically surfaced in his brain upon hearing her cries.

  Sarah's mother, Kate, on the other hand, was torn equally between realizing that taking Sarah to the emergency room at the hospital was going to take them off-task, preventing the house from being organized and decorated by the wedding a week from Saturday, and fright over the damage that must be underneath the hand-covered facial area that was spewing so much blood. She did see the blood coming from Sarah's right glutimous maximus, And yes, she actually saw that term in her mind, and wondered two things. Was that spelled right (she didn't think so), and why was it that even in the privacy of her own thoughts, she couldn't think the word butt? Oops! She just did. Somehow, however, nothing seemed as serious as any damage caused to that beautiful, beautiful face of her daughter's.

  *****

  "Sarah, Baby, what happened?" But, she was moaning too much to even give Dean an answer.

  There wouldn't have been enough time for a considered response anyway. By the time Kate arrived, Dean had already slammed the kitchen cabinet door closed, noticed the blood saturating the corner of it, grabbed a white bath towel from the bathroom, applied it to Sarah's eye, picked up Sarah, saw the screwdriver drop to the floor, and was standing as though confused. Bedroom or car? Home medical fix or professional? No contest! He reclaimed his presence of mind, barked out the order for Kate to go out and start her car, and was right behind her, carrying his beloved.

  Kate dove in the driver's seat, while Dean opened the door and backed into the rear seat, never relinquishing his hold on Sarah.

  "Sweetheart, how did this happen?"

  "I was using the screwdriver to tighten the hinges on the lower cabinet..." she moaned, "and stood up really fast to grab the shelf paper you were using instead of walking over to the box with the new ones in it. I didn't know the upper cabinet door where you were working was open. I guess I stood up too fast and ran my eye right into the corner."

  "Honey, I would gladly have given you my roll of paper, if I'd known you needed it."

  "I know, but then you would have had to go get and open a new roll, and I didn't want you to have to do it either."

  Needing to shift her position on Dean's lap, she moved just slightly, but it was enough to send a shooting pain where the screwdriver had penetrated. She yelped and Dean held her tighter.

  "But how did you get the other wound?" her mother asked, more demanding than asking from concern.

  "I was holding onto the screwdriver when I stood and just never released as I was using that hand to break my fall. Must have had it tipped at an odd angle."

  Kate barked out, "Sarah!"

  "I know... it was stupid. I guess my reflexes just weren't that good."

  "It'll be ok, Baby. We're almost to the emergency room," interjected Dean.

  The rest of the drive, they all gave in to their own thoughts. Dean was worrying about Sarah and asked the Lord to take care of her. Sarah was worried that Dean would feel responsible for the injuries, asking the Lord to heal her quickly so that Dean wouldn't feel any guilt. Kate was still volleying between the spelling of the lower anatomy part that Sarah had injured, the probability that this would ruin her interior decorating completion date, and anger that Sarah was so clumsy.

  Kate gasped, but no further sound came forth, just the disturbing thought, Oh no, if her face is damaged, we'll have to postpone the wedding. There's no excuse for this kind of carelessness.

  Exactly seven minutes later they arrived at Memorial Hospital Emergency entrance.

  *****

  "I'm sorry I couldn't get here any sooner. I was right in the middle of a procedure. Some kid ran his motorcycle into a picket fence, and when he..." This from Jonathan, who was both an ER doctor and Sarah's stepdad. The only reason the explanation wasn't completed was because Kate gave him a look that he had long ago learned to interpret, Please shut up!

  "What happened?" Jonathan asked.

  "As I already told you on your cell, she hit her eye on the corner of a kitchen cabinet and fell on a screwdriver. JB, I'm frantic. I think it's going to maybe require Richard's skills. We're going to have to postpone the wedding, I just know it."

  "Where is she?" Jonathan petitioned.

  Short of patience, Kate insisted, "She's in with the doctor right now. I don't know what room. Could you go in and check on her and let me know what's going on? I'm going to have to get going on the wedding postponement cards." With this, she grabbed her iPhone from her purse, and hit speed dial to the stationer to rush order the engraved cancellation cards. No reason not to get started on the inevitable. Once connected with the call recipient, she walked away from Dean, and began explaining to the stationer the situation and exactly what she needed in both card style and order completion time.

  Jonathan turned to find the room in which Sarah was being treated. Before he took more than five or six steps, Dean caught up.

  "JB, I couldn't see under her hand, but from the amount of blood, she's really hurt. Please make sure they take good care of her."

  "I will, Son."

  Before Jonathan even passed through the doors to the exam rooms, Dean had already seated himself in a deserted corner chair and begun to pray.

  "Lord, please put Your Hand on Sarah. Only You can provide healing and peace. I trust You to take care of her like no one else can. In Jesus' name, Amen."

  *****

  Seven stitches below her left eye, a rolled eye patch, bandaging covering half her face, four stitches in her right glut, a tetanus injection, a heavy duty pain pill, and four hours later the arguing had already begun at home.

  Raising her head from her pillow, Sarah re-iterated, "No, we're not postponing the wedding!"

  Kate was up for any verbal fight necessary, "Yes, we are postponing it. Have you taken a good long look at your face in the mirror?! Your face is blown up like a balloon, and your father told me when he came out of the ER that you looked really bad. He said you have stitches
that probably won't even be out by the wedding day, and the swelling and bruising are going to be monumental! We're postponing the wedding."

  "Mom, I am too sleepy right now to argue," responded Sarah, even as the medication was causing her serious drowsiness. "We'll talk in the morning when we're both less stressed."

  "Sarah..."

  "Goodnight, Mom."

  "It's only 5:45 p.m., Sarah."

  "Yeah, and I need my beauty sleep."

  "Sarah..."

  No answer.

  "Yes, we are postponing the wedding," she whispered so quietly that no one could have heard her, even if standing directly next to her. She exited Sarah's bedroom and closed the door, while only mouthing the words of her final authoritative declaration, "Yes, we are postponing the wedding!"

  *****

  Chapter 14

  Next day, after many curt, ugly words and tears on both sides, Sarah won her argument for going ahead with the wedding, now seven days away. Kate was not a happy camper about the decision, but Sarah knew her mother had accepted it when the FedEx package had been delivered from the stationer. Sarah watched her mom from the office window as she tearfully threw it directly in the trash can at the side of the house without opening it. Sarah didn't even want to know how much money her father had spent on this now obsolete purchase. She knew her mom well enough to know that she would never bring it up to her dad, and her father would simply accept the credit card charge as yet another wedding expenditure.

  Sarah's moment of feeling sad for her mom was quickly overshadowed by joy that she had stood her ground and would still become Dean's blushing bride next weekend.

  Suddenly wanting to hug her mom and tell her that she was so grateful to her for letting Sarah move ahead with the wedding, she followed Kate outside to the trash can location, hobbling pitifully. Her hip was hurting her terribly, and she favored it with each step. I must look like I have a peg leg, she disgustedly thought. And, it was already causing pain throughout her lower back. Man, remind me never to sit on a screwdriver again.

  Her mother was already striding away from the cans, however, and headed purposefully out the gate and down the block.

  From a long distance behind Kate, Sarah curiously followed her to the neighbor's house four doors away. Within a couple of minutes of Kate's entrance to the home, Sarah knocked on the door. She knew these neighbors by sight, but not much more. She wasn't sure what she was going to say when the door opened, just that she needed to speak with her mother.