Long-Awaited Wedding

Cover Page

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

DORIS ELAINE FELL

With books and dolls as her companions, Doris knew from the time she was seven that she wanted to be a nurse and a writer when she grew up. Challenged by these childhood dreams, she escaped the confinement of a tiny hometown to pursue a multifaceted career as a teacher, missionary, nurse, freelance editor and author. Her diverse professions have taken her to a Carib village in Guatemala, a Swiss chalet in the Alps, through rugged mountain passes in Mexico, and to a bamboo schoolhouse in the Philippines. She also thoroughly enjoys her teddy bear collection and sitting by the river in eastern Washington with her great-nieces and nephews.

But it was as a high schooler that Doris knelt by her bedside and asked God for the privilege of one day writing for His glory. For the past nine years she has written full-time, expressing her love for a gracious God and her love of life and living. As evident in Long-Awaited Wedding, her first romance novel with Steeple Hill, the subtle theme of forgiveness marks her writing. Other publishers of her work include Crossway Books and Fleming Revell. She is currently under contract for her fifteenth book.

Long-Awaited Wedding

Doris Elaine Fell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Search me, O God, and know my heart;

test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting.

—Psalm 139:23-24

To

HANNAH MARIE

WHO WANTS TO BE A WIFE AND MOMMY

WHEN SHE GROWS UP

Chapter One

Maureen Davenport entered the restaurant on the arm of Dwayne Crocker, an affable, rangy man in his late thirties, a brilliant engineer with a genius for math, a drolly humorous man…a total bore. She wondered now why she had agreed to come with him.

She had planned on leaving work on time and heading straight home for a relaxing soak in the hot tub. It was her way to unravel, to close out the day, to shut out her anxieties over the pending merger between Fabian Industries and Larhaven Aircraft Her preoccupation with the merger had left her without defense or excuses when Dwayne blocked her exit at closing time and asked, “How about dinner and a show this evening?”

So here she was, sitting across from him in a crowded restaurant that smelled of fried chicken and wondering how she could endure five hours in Dwayne’s company. She had expected this type of place—an economical menu with a quaint old-fashioned setting, tables crowded together and an abundance of fussing children.

She ran her hand over the closed menu, deciding on the house salad and a steaming cup of tea. Idly she watched Dwayne adjust his silver-rimmed glasses. The glasses magnified the glossy gray of his eyes—his best feature—and now as she met his glance, she saw the flecks of dark blue in the gray. His dancing eyes were evenly set in his narrow face, a not unpleasant face in spite of the prominent bony structure.

Before she could tell him what she wanted, he turned to the waitress, arched his thick brows and said, “We’re starving. Make it two chicken dinners—the whole works. Tea for the lady—”

So he remembered her preference, she thought.

“And coffee for me. And bring plenty of biscuits.”

As they waited, he knuckled his fingers. “Did I blow it?”

She mellowed her response. “I only wanted a salad.”

“And some place more exclusive?” He pulled a candle from his pocket and shoved it in the flower vase. Then he whipped out a lighter and made a ceremony of lighting it. “There, is that better?” he asked.

The flickering flame caught the light in his eyes again. “Do you always carry candles in your pocket, Dwayne?”

“Your secretary told me you like candlelight and fancy restaurants in Los Angeles or Newport. But getting a reservation this late—well, actually I didn’t bother. We’d miss the show.”

The show. Maureen had momentarily forgotten the theater. She moved her arm as the waitress set the rhubarb and house salad in front of her and put a plate of hot biscuits on the table.

“Maureen, are you married?” Dwayne asked.

She stared him down. “Dwayne, if I were married I would not be having dinner with you.”

He glanced at the opal ring on her left hand. “Don’t take offense. I’ve asked around and no one seems to know anything about your life outside of the office.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

At thirty-seven, Maureen was a poised, confident woman. Men often commented on her stunning appearance and her stylish clothes. Her good looks and social skills had helped her, but she’d managed to climb the ladder of success mainly through her intellect and sheer hard work. She had earned respect and equal footing with the men she worked with. But she was still a private person, her life outside Fabian strictly her own.

She said guardedly, “I was married once to Carl Davenport.”

She had met Carl in Indianapolis, where she worked right out of graduate school. He was wealthy and charming, witty and handsome, a superb dancer. Carl had liked his music fast and his tempo of living even faster.

She sighed. “Perhaps you’ve heard of my husband—Carl drove the Indianapolis 500.”

“Carl Davenport?” Excitement brightened Dwayne’s ordinary features. “I would never have guessed—”

An awkward pause cut his sentence short. He met her gaze and then said quietly, “He was killed driving the Indy 500, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, five years ago. His car crashed and burned.” She shivered, and felt the fine hairs on her arm curl. They had been on the verge of real happiness—of working out their differences. She felt her lips pinch. “He was only thirty-two when he died.”

“Too young.”

She smiled wanly. “He was doing what he liked doing best.”

“Yeah, I guess you can look at it that way. So you’ve been married and widowed. That’s a well kept secret at the office.”

Over the years, Maureen had kept another secret. Whatever you do, Dwayne Crocker, she warned silently, don’t ask me if Carl and I had children. I would have to lie and I have denied my daughter long enough.

Even as she looked across the table at Dwayne, Maureen remained calm, the thudding of her heart not visible to him. But surely he would think it was Carl’s child, not Allen’s. No one knew of the birth of Allen’s child, given up for adoption nineteen years ago. Almost twenty. Maureen rarely allowed herself to dwell on the infant daughter she had given away. And yet the girl was always there in Maureen’s mind. In her heart In her dreams. In this restaurant filled with strangers.

“Any kids, Maureen?”

“One daughter,” she said, and then quickly asked, “And you, Dwayne, have you ever been married?”

“I’m still waiting for the right girl to come along.”

Don’t wait too long, she thought You’re pushing forty.

But what did she want? She had no immediate plans to remarry again and settle down. She would if the right person came along, but for now she was carving out her niche in the business world.

But what if the “right man” came along? She knew for certain that Dwayne Crocker was not the one. As he talked on, she did what she always did when she sat across the table from a boring dinner date—she imagined that “special” person sitting there. Allen was always the right one, but he was gone, presumably lost in one of the country’s peacekeeping missions. After all these years, it was like lighting an old torch, like awakening a sleeping giant, like plucking back a painful memory. She tried to picture Allen across the table from her—older, wiser, handsome. Smiling and leaning forward and boasting that his father was grooming him to take over the family dynasty.

“So what do you think?” Dwayne’s question cut into her thoughts.

“Excuse me?” Maureen asked, embarrassed to have drifted off.

“I just suggested that you run away with me to some far-off island and get married.”

She laughed. “You do know how to get a woman’s attention.”

Maureen was thankful when their waitress arrived with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with country gravy, and biscuits with honey. She ate more than she had intended, as Dwayne monopolized the conversation.

He was unstoppable, inexhaustible, talking figures through much of the dinner. The billions of dollars of government overspending and predictions for the Dow Jones averages. Then—just when she thought that he was running out of steam—he offered statistics that would iron out the flaws in the Fabian missile project He was right, too. Dwayne Crocker didn’t make mistakes.

Normally she might find his conversation stimulating. But tonight the information seemed wearying, irksome, oppressive.

As the last roll disappeared from his plate, Dwayne carefully licked the honey from his finger. Over steaming cups of coffee and tea, he discussed the financial advantages of merging. He favored the merger with Larhaven.

She dreaded it.

“It’s nothing but a hostile takeover,” she said hotly.

“But, Maureen, Larhaven will come out on the winning side. Once we combine building military aircraft and the skins of commercial liners and keep signing contracts for more missiles, there’s no stopping us.”

“I dislike the bidding wars,” she told him.

“Look, a merger means billions of dollars on the drawing board. Fabian can’t keep pace with the industry unless we merge.”

But it wasn’t fair to be so close to being CEO at Fabian and then lose out to a merger, she thought She’d never have another opportunity to move to the top. “Jobs will be slashed,” she reminded Dwayne. “Hundreds of them. I expected to replace Eddie McCormick when he retired. Now I don’t even know whether I’ll have a job at all.”

“You know why McCormick stayed on? He’s fishing for better dollar signs and benefits in his retirement package. But my job’s secure,” Dwayne boasted. “They need my mathematical genius.”

“I wouldn’t count on it Larhaven will bring in their own management team.”

He looked surprised. “No chance they’ll let me go. If they do, I head right to their competitor. They won’t let you go either, Maureen. They may not want women as vice-presidents, but they will need research scientists.”

He pushed his plate aside and told the waitress to bring two apple pies. “Why are you so worried, Maureen? What did you do—have a run-in with the powers that be at Larhaven?”

“A long time ago. Old man Kladis doesn’t favor women on his board.”

“He’s been dead for ten years. His eldest son runs the show.”

Her body went rigid. Allen Kladis? “I thought Allen was dead,” she said softly.

“No, his wife died. About a year ago. But Allen is still going strong. He’s the force behind this merger. I can’t believe you. Haven’t you been listening in the conference room? Eddie keeps talking about A. G. Kladis. The guy’s about my age.”

Allen’s age.

So Allen was the head of Larhaven, not the father? What was his father’s name? Adam? No, Alexander G. Kladis, a tall man with olive skin and a barrel chest and anger in his black eyes, a father who had been determined to make millionaires out of his three boys even if he had to stomp on the heart of a seventeen-year-old girl who loved his eldest son more than anything else in the world.

“Maureen, are you all right? You look sick.”

“I have a headache. I just need to get some air.”

Dwayne dropped a tip on the table as they stood.

He gave her a winsome smile as they left the table. “Can we have dinner again soon, Maureen?”

She smiled back. “I’m too full to think about it right now.”

“Then I’ll keep asking.”

As they reached the door he gently touched her elbow. “Maureen, I’ve apparently given you a shock. I’m sorry. But when you get back to the office tomorrow, read the correspondence—check the masthead on the Larhaven contract. A. G. Kladis is CEO at Larhaven.”

Allen Kladis, not his father Alexander. She felt a stinging betrayal. Alexander Kladis had won. Why had the older Kladis lied to her so long ago? Why had he told her that Allen was dead?

Allen was alive—alive, and he never came back for her!

Chapter Two

Outside, she was grateful to take Dwayne’s arm again and sense his strength as they strolled companionably along the avenue of quaint shops.

“Would you rather skip the show and just take a walk?” he asked quietly.

“Actually, I’m not feeling very well, Dwayne,” she answered honestly. “I think I’d better go home.”

She felt his disappointment as his hand wrapped around hers. Just ahead of them a commotion broke out. Several people ran out into the street, staring up in the sky.

Someone shouted, “Look, there’s been a midair crash.”

Maureen listened for the sound of falling metal. Was it a plane taking off from nearby John Wayne Airport? If so, run for cover! she thought. Don’t just stand there.

But Dwayne Crocker was already propelling her toward the crowd. Overhead a brilliant, blazing light illuminated the sky. The resplendent glow of a rocket missile—dazzling, magnificent

As if awakening a slumbering planet, the missile had split the heavens on soundless wings—mute, echoless as it soared into the clear evening sky. As she watched, it hovered to the left of Venus, shining brighter than the evening star. And then its diaphanous haze cut a course through the clouds, swirling into shimmering vapor trails, churning into eerie streamers.

Dwayne said, “That thing can be seen for a hundred miles.”

She looked up at him. Crocker actually looked like some little kid whose kite had blown higher than his friend’s.

“It just takes minutes to reach an island in the Pacific Ocean,” she said. “Four thousand miles away, quick as a wink.”

“That puts it at a missile range near the Marshall Islands.”

She agreed. Now that he had pinpointed the location to the minute, she felt more inclined toward Dwayne than she had at dinner. In front of them, a young couple craned their necks looking up, a small child clutching their hands.

“What is it, Daddy?” the boy asked.

“It’s a missile, son. Remember, we looked at a book about them the other night. And that’s the planet Venus to the right,” the father said, pointing toward it

What was he? Six? Seven? At unexpected moments like this, Maureen felt a tightness in her chest, an ache that wouldn’t go away, a fresh flood of shame that she had given her own child away. She looked at the father and volunteered, “That splendor in the sky is a firststage separation from the missile. Those blue and orange colors in the sky are vapors that occurred right after the missile was launched and separated.”

As she noticed the boy’s interest wane, she told him, “It’s like painting pictures in the sky.”

“So that’s what they did. Daddy, they spilt their paints.”

Maureen’s heart did flip-flops, as it often did when she thought of her daughter. To the boy’s father she said, “What we’re seeing with our naked eyes is nothing more than burned fuel and water droplets hitting the atmosphere.”

Dwayne rubbed his jaw reflectively. Give it to Dwayne from a mathematical perspective and he would know to the nth degree how much water, how much fuel.

The vapor trails twirled and arced out of control as they moved from the center and spread across the sky. Maureen gripped Dwayne’s arm to steady herself. Something was wrong! How had she stood here for two minutes without realizing what was happening? She hadn’t made the connection. But she did so now. The Fabian missile had misfired.

“Dwayne, that was one of the Fabian missiles. Look at the way it blew apart—at the lights streaming across the sky, like they’re exploding from the center. Out of control.”

“Can’t be, Maureen. The air force agreed to hold off testing any more of the Fabians until the flaws were ironed out.”

But as another burst of streamers spewed from the center, he said, “You may be right”

Of course, I’m right, she thought. And if that was a Fabian launch, I’m in trouble. The misfiring of another missile would set the wires sizzling between her office and the Pentagon. She whispered, “I have to get back to the office.”

“Let me go back with you.”

“No.” She was adamant

As vice-president of Research Operations, her department was responsible for what was happening. And if Eddie McCormick was going to have her head, she didn’t want Dwayne Crocker there to witness it. She turned abruptly and eased her way through the throng, walking hurriedly to her sleek sports car parked beside Dwayne’s. She climbed into her car, the wheels squealing as she raced from the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, she sat at her desk and dialed the Wallingdale Air Force Base. When she couldn’t get beyond the duty officer, she slammed down the phone and called her friend at the Pentagon. As the phone rang, she glanced out into the evening sky. The lights from the missile had vanished completely. As suddenly as the brightness had erupted into the heavens, it had died away and floated into nothingness, leaving only the evening star surrounded by its unbroken layers of clouds.

Someone on the other end picked up the phone. “Roland Spencer,” he said.

“I was hoping I’d catch you. It’s Maureen Davenport, in California. Roland, they launched that Fabian missile ahead of schedule. What went wrong?” she demanded. “They promised to postpone the launch until we could work out the flaws—”

“I’m sorry. There was a mix-up.”

“Not mine,” she said tartly.

“Ours,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “Look, sweetheart, I’m still your friend. Remember?” He had been her friend since her first visit to the Pentagon. “If I didn’t have a flat top, I’d be pulling out my hair. So I’m tugging at my mustache instead.”

“Not funny,” she said. “McCormick is going to blame me for not getting word to Wallingdale Air Base in time.”

“They knew in time. I’ll vouch for you. So stay calm. I just had a call from the commanding officer at Wallingdale Air Base. He apologized.”

“Apologized? Half of southern California saw their blunder.”

Spencer laughed good-naturedly. He had a throaty chuckle that always made his rimless glasses bob; she pictured them doing so. “The C.O. from Wallingdale said it was a splendid show that could be seen for a hundred-mile radius.”

“So when does Larhaven get wind of it, Roland?”

“Whenever McCormick sends them an e-mail. Hold just a minute. I have a call waiting.”

While she waited, she tried to picture Roland’s square face and wide brow bathed in scowls. He was a solidly built man of forty-eight, twenty pounds heavier than he should be, and yet he cut a favorable impression in his army uniform with the rows of service ribbons across his broad chest

He was back now. “It wasn’t your mistake, Maureen. Larhaven wanted that missile to go off.”

“But we had orders from them to delay it.”

“That was Eddie McCormick on the line. He said for you to stay at the plant. He’ll see you there in an hour. He has one of the Kladis brothers with him.”

“Allen Kladis?”

“That wasn’t the name. Would it make a difference?”

All the difference in the world, she thought.

“Allen is a reasonable man, Maureen. Much fairer than his father. We’ve met over some government contracts. Hope this misfiring isn’t his kind of reverse reasoning. The Kladis brothers are determined to beat out the competition and merge with Fabian.”

The kind of reasoning that Allen Kladis was capable of? she wondered. But Spencer called him “fair.” That would be the Allen that she remembered. “Will the merger go through?” she asked.

“It looks like the boys at the Pentagon want another corporate giant. The White House agrees.” He cleared his throat. “The merger will help maintain our position on the world market”

“But it all boils down to money?” That didn’t sound like Allen. Or had he changed once he joined the family business?

“We’ll put a ban on firing any more missiles until this thing gets settled, Maureen. I’ll check things out on this end in the morning and get back to you. By the way, you’re staying with Larhaven when they merge, aren’t you?”

“If they want me.” If Allen wants me, she corrected silently.

“Their loss if they don’t. And if they don’t, we’ll find you a spot here at the Pentagon.”

As she cradled the receiver, she unlocked the top desk drawer and slid out the oriental jewelry chest that Allen Kladis had given her when she was seventeen. She kept the chest at the office because, with all the security there, she felt it was safer than keeping it at home. And still accessible to her most any time she wanted to journey back to the past. She dusted it off with the back of her hand and then took a tiny key from her purse and unlocked it. As she swung the lid back, tears burned behind her eyes.

She spread the items out and lifted the velvet case with the five-carat diamond from Carl. Then, unfolding a packet covered in tissue paper, she wrapped her fingers around the pink-beaded baby bracelet. Baby Birkland, it read. Maureen Birkland’s baby. It was all she had of her infant daughter. The couple who adopted her baby took everything else. Her daughter. Her life. Her dreams.

Ten yellowed one-thousand-dollar bills were held together with a rusty clip, still unspent after almost twenty years. Maureen shrank back from the money even now, still seeing it as Alexander Kladis’s payoff to a frightened seventeen-year-old, his silent warning to stay away from his son, to never use his son’s name. A son who was still alive—not dead as Alexander Kladis had told her.

As she waited for Eddie McCormick to arrive, she picked up Allen’s last note to her. Inside was the snapshot of himself, taken on board his carrier as it lay anchored near Cyprus. Her tears splashed on the picture—Allen at nineteen in his navy uniform, his sailor’s hat perched cockily on his head, his enormous dark eyes smiling out at her.

She clutched the snapshot and took up his note. She could almost hear him saying,

Dear Reeny,

I see you always in our last happy moments together. Mostly at the winter campsite where you sat on the log beside me above that frozen brook and wrote so intently on your notepad, I love you. I look forward to the day when I will see you again, Reeny. I am counting the days until this winter of separation is gone and we are together always.