Tracie Peterson (44 page)

The ceremony itself was quick and orderly. Clara had her own pleasant surprise when Michael slipped a gold band onto her finger. He hadn’t forgotten the ring! Sylvia was the first to congratulate them before leading them both into the dining hall, where she had set up the reception. Clara and Michael greeted their guests, laughing and commenting on each person’s reaction.

“After running all over England looking for a dress,” Anna Nelson teased, “you must have felt rather silly to find one right under your nose.”

Clara exchanged a glance with Sylvia, who was standing not a foot away serving tea to her guests. “I don’t feel silly at all,” Clara replied. “I feel only blessed and very fortunate to have such good friends.”

The evening wore on and the party intensified. Most everyone in the room knew that the men would soon be heading across the Channel. No one knew how long the war would continue. What had once been thought to be a simple matter of tying up loose ends and forcing the Germans to surrender had changed overnight to leave them all discouraged and baffled. The war showed little sign of being over, and that would mean more soldiers, more wounded, more dead.

“Sylvia suggests we make a break for it,” Michael whispered in Clara’s ear. “It’s nearly eleven-thirty.”

Clara nodded. “Did she tell you about our suite?”

He grinned. “She did. It came as welcome news. General Blevins managed to get me here, but he can’t work miracles. I didn’t want to spend our first night together in the back of the Clubmobile.”

Clara laughed. “Me neither. I’ve spent enough time there as it is.” She took hold of his hand and lead him toward the stairs. “Hurry before someone sees us.”

They raced up the stairs, barely containing their laughter. When they reached the top, they slowed and walked leisurely down the hall, arm in arm. Clara looked up at Michael with such adoration and love that he could hardly breathe. They paused at the doors, and Clara opened them without ceremony.

“It’s the most beautiful room in the world,” she declared.

“Perfect,” he said, lifting her into his arms. “For the most beautiful bride in the world.”

She looped her arms around his neck and smiled. “We finally managed to see this thing through.”

“Any regrets?” he questioned seriously.

Clara shook her head. “Not a one.”

He crossed the threshold with her and, before he put her down, pressed his lips to Clara’s in a passionate kiss. As she wrapped her arms around him tightly, Michael slowly allowed her to stand. He embraced her tightly, pulling her against him. “I love you, Mrs. Shepherd,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” she replied, her gaze meeting his.

He set her away from him, then turned to close and lock the doors. Sliding the top bolt into place, he suddenly felt very nervous. He turned to find her pulling the pins from her hair in order to remove the veil.

Suddenly the future seemed very uncertain. He knew he’d been advised not to have a true wedding night with his bride. The danger of leaving a widow carrying his child was great, especially if things in Europe were as intense as rumor had it. Swallowing hard, he broached the subject.

“Clar,” he said softly.

She looked up at him and smiled. “You’ll have to help me with the buttons. I can’t reach them.”

Michael stepped forward as she turned to show him her back. He reached out hesitantly, his hands shaking slightly as he unfastened the first of many satin-covered buttons.

“We need to talk,” he began again.

Clara turned around as soon as he finished with the buttons. “What’s wrong?”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Nothing is wrong. I just want you to think about our night together. I’m leaving tomorrow—at least that’s the way they’re telling it right now. And whether this is the real thing or just another false alarm, the reality of it is simple. The future is very uncertain. We have no way of knowing whether I’ll stay or go. And if I go, we have no way of knowing if I’ll make it back alive. We have to face facts.”

Clara nodded, although he could see that a little of the color in her cheeks had waned. “I know all of this.”

“It might be better if we put off having a real wedding night,” he said. “I would hate to leave you a widow, but I would hate even more to leave you as a pregnant widow.”

Clara’s expression soften as she reached up to touch his face with her hand. “Michael, there’s no way to predict the future. We have to trust God for what will come. Whether you head off to war or off to a regular day of performing a physician’s tasks, we have no guarantees.”

“I know, but you have to admit this is different. I don’t want to leave you and I’m going to do everything in my power to stay alive, but—”

She put a finger to his lips and shook her head. “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’” She gently moved her finger over his lips and down the line of his jaw. “I would not have married you if I didn’t intend to be a wife to you in every way. If God chooses to bless us with a child, then that is His will and I will gladly accept it.”

Michael pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. She smelled of lilies of the valley and the same sweet scent she always wore. “I just wanted you to be sure,” he said, gently touching his lips to her earlobe. “I didn’t want you to regret tonight.”

She shook her head. “No regrets, Michael. Only hope. Hope for the future and time to grow the love we have for each other.”

From somewhere down the hall, the clock began to chime. “It’s midnight!” Michael said. “It’s Christmas! Christmas, Clar!”

Clara laughed. “You sound like a little boy who’s been waiting to unwrap his presents.”

Michael raised a brow and gave Clara a look that caused her to blush. “I
have
been waiting to unwrap my present,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Let the war rage
, he thought.
Take no thought of the morrow—tonight is ours
. God had brought them together and worked more than one miracle to see them married. How could Michael doubt that He must also have great plans for them both?

He pulled her close. “Merry Christmas, my sweet wife.”

She met his eyes and he felt her tremble in his arms. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

TRACIE PETERSON is the bestselling, award-winning author of more than ninety novels. Tracie also teaches writing workshops at a variety of conferences on subjects such as inspirational romance and historical research. She and her family live in Belgrade, Montana. For more information, please visit her website at
www.traciepeterson.com
.

Books by Tracie Peterson

Controlling Interests
Entangled
Framed
A Slender Thread
Tidings of Peace

W
ESTWARD
C
HRONICLES

A Shelter of Hope
Hidden in a Whisper
A Veiled Reflection

R
IBBONS OF
S
TEEL
*

Distant Dreams
A Hope Beyond
A Promise for Tomorrow

R
IBBONS
W
EST
*

Westward the Dream
Separate Roads
Ties That Bind

Y
UKON
Q
UEST

Treasures of the North
Ashes and Ice
Rivers of Gold

S
TRIKING A
M
ATCH

Embers of Love
Hearts Aglow
Hope Rekindled

L
AND OF THE
L
ONE
S
TAR

Chasing the Sun
Touching the Sky
Taming the Wind

*with Judith Pella