Walker's Wedding by Lori Copeland Page A

you ever got into this mess, but you’ll have to remember that Walker’s been a bachelor a long time and been real hurt by a woman, and that’s still stuck in his craw. Things’ll work out, but you’re gonna need the patience of Job.”
    â€œI’m used to hardheaded men. Papa is as stubborn as ragweed,” Sarah said. Oh, Papa, I wish you were here to see me marry. I love you. Please forgive what I’m about to do. And dear Lord, I’m going to need your understanding too.
    She didn’t expect the marriage to go smoothly at first. There would be awkward moments, especially when she told Walker the truth—but that moment would come later. Sarah couldn’t think of a single thing that could spoil this day, short of the wedding not happening at all. Walker could relax. She wasn’t going anywhere but down those stairs at the appointed time.
    The two women turned when they heard the door down the hall open again. Sarah held her breath until two pairs of booted footsteps echoed toward the stairs. She glanced at Flo.
    â€œJust remember, honey, it’s your wedding day no matter how unusual it appears. The good Lord is watchin’ after you.”
    Sarah frowned. What an odd statement. Unusual? The housekeeper clucked as the clock in the hall chimed, signaling the appointed hour. Sarah straightened, holding still as Flo adjusted the crown of flowers around her forehead. “You go out there and take away their breaths, young’un.”
    Midafternoon sunshine streamed through the stained-glass window at the end of the hallway when Sarah stepped out of the bedroom with Flo carrying her train. The musicians struck up a tune and Sarah paused, cocking an ear to identify the song. It wasn’t the wedding march. She crept down the hallway, Flo close behind. Her petticoats rustled as she halted at the top of the stairs, drawing a deep breath. Laughing voices floated up the staircase, and boots scraped back and forth across the floor. Music swelled as she stepped down onto the top stair.
    â€œRemember,” Flo whispered, “don’t let nothin’ bother you today. It’ll get better, given enough time.”
    Sarah glanced over her shoulder with a hesitant smile. Was that “Turkey in the Straw” the musicians were playing? Gathering her skirts around her, she continued her descent.
    Halfway down, Sarah paused again, shocked at what she saw below. People dressed in everyday muslins and calicos were milling about with cups of punch in their hands. Others danced, unaware that the ceremony had begun. There must be a mistake. The reception was never before the wedding.
    She spotted a group of men talking and laughing with a man wearing a black collar. The clergy—but his Bible was nowhere in sight. He seemed to be in the middle of a funny story. Shouldn’t Walker tell him the service was starting? Shouldn’t he know? Where was Walker, anyway?
    She stepped down another two steps, assessing the crowd. Walker was coming toward her, hurrying to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. Now whispers made their way around the room, and people paused midsentence to stare.
    The lead fiddler spotted Sarah, his bow dropping to his side while he looked on. Walker reached her at the steps as the music died away.
    The silence became deafening. Sarah’s eyes met bewildered gazes, all equally speechless. The musicians lowered their instruments to their laps.
    â€œKeep movin’, darlin’,” Flo said, nudging her forward. Sarah started, forgetting for a moment that she was the bride—the center of attention. Her feet seemed to be frozen in place.
    Walker attempted a smile but failed. Instead, he extended his arm with a hopeful look.
    Navigating the final two steps, she slipped her arm through his, murmuring under her breath, “Why are they looking at me like that?”
    â€œKeep walking. I’ll explain later.”
    â€œHey, Walker,