CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 1
I’m not who you think I am. These are the words I rehearse to myself when I board the plane with my husband.
I’m not who you think I am. I hold little Annie’s hand. She gazes up at me, her eyes wide and full of blissful adoration. She insisted on wearing glittery make-up to the wedding, and the corners of her eyes still sparkle with the tiny incandescent sprinkles.
I’m not who you think I am. The words catch in my throat. Beat through the four chambers of my heart. Pulse throughout my entire body.
People stare at us as we board the plane. I need to get used to the constant gawking. This is my life now.
Russel holds our boarding passes out like they’re a crucifix that’s meant to ward off the devil himself. “Here’s our seats,” he says, indicating two rows.
Two rows. A short courtship (Russel’s word, not mine) plus a 25-minute ceremony, and I’ve gone from being a woman who thrived on personal freedom and independence to this. A wife. A mother. A mother of four young children, to be exact. The kind of woman who wears a head covering and skirt that reaches the floor. The kind of woman with a family that takes up two rows on an airplane.
The kind of woman people gawk at while she boards.
I’m not who you think I am.
I came so close to telling Russel everything the night before our wedding. He could see I was nervous. Thought it had more to do with the fact that his first wife’s only been dead for six months, and not only am I inheriting Sarah’s marriage bed but her entire way of life. The five-hundred square-foot garden. The two separate chicken coops, one for layers, one for meat birds. Up until my first dinner over at Russel’s house, I had no idea there was a difference.
I’m also inheriting Sarah’s kitchen utensils, her pottery wheel (not that I have a clue how to use it), and her position of first lady at Gospel Kingdom. Funny really, if you were to have known me before I met Russel, to think that I’m now married to a pastor. Especially at a place like Gospel Kingdom. Where they don’t let women wear pants, and skirts must reach past the ankle. I’m not supposed to make much of myself in the sanctuary, but my new husband assures me that if I want to visit with the ladies after the sermon’s over, that would probably be seen as a hospitable gesture.
I’ve also been informed that Sarah hosted a women’s luncheon at the parsonage every other Wednesday, although the church ladies are going to be kind enough to not expect me to follow in my predecessor’s steps until I’ve had at least a couple more weeks to settle in.
Of course, after this vacation, the church ladies are planning on throwing me a proper bridal shower. They all want to get to know the woman who stole Pastor Russel’s heart after he was bereaved of his darling wife.
I’m not who you think I am.
Russel gestures with his hand, a silent motion telling me to take the seat behind his. He and the two eldest girls will sit in front. I let go of Annie’s hand, and she clambers excitedly into the window seat. Andrew, so far the only one of Russel’s kids that hasn’t seemed to instantaneously warm up to me, eyes me warily when I ask him if he wants the middle seat or aisle.
As it turns out, Andrew only wants the aisle seat if I’m seated in the window. We shuffle everyone around since Annie refuses to sit anywhere that’s not next to me. It’s musical chairs in a three-foot area. Not that I blame my stepson, mind you. How hospitable can you expect a five-year-old to be in a case like this? This little boy is already expected to call me Mom, adjust to an entirely new way of life, and his poor mother isn’t yet cold in her grave. That’s a metaphor, by the way. Russel had Sarah cremated. I should have mentioned her urn in my litany of odds and ends I’ve inherited as Russel’s new wife.
Sarah’s remains still sit in the greenhouse where she grew her prize-winning tomatoes. Russel assures me he’ll take care of it by spring, but I haven’t asked what he plans to do with them. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like that’s any of my business.
I love Russel, I really do. We’re an unlikely pair, even more so if you were to know my entire history. Let’s just say that I didn’t grow up churning butter and wearing head coverings in public (or anywhere at all for that matter).
You do strange things for love.
I’m not who you think I am, but maybe, just maybe, with a lot of luck and some of those miracles Russel preaches about at church on Sunday mornings, we’ll manage to be all right.
I do believe in miracles.
I’m just not sure after everything I’ve done that God has any left in store for me.
