By The Beckoning Sea

Copyright

ISBN 978-1-60260-076-8

Copyright © 2008 by Carole Gift Page. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

All scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

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Prologue

Mr. & Mrs. Alexander Bancroft

cordially invite you to share their joy

at the marriage of their daughter

Miss Ashley Bancroft

to Mr. Bennett Radison

at 5:00 p.m.

on the third Saturday of June

at the Hilton Hawaiian Village on Waikiki Beach

Honolulu, Hawaii

Beach reception and luau following ceremony

One

Ashley Bancroft would remember her wedding day for the rest of her life—the cluster of family and friends gathered on the white sandy beach near the jutting lava rock wall; the panoramic view of the deep blue Pacific Ocean at dusk; and the distant, majestic Diamond Head volcano framed by Hawaii’s lush green, palm-fringed coastline.

The fragrance of blooming bougainvillea and plumeria trees mingled in the evening breeze with the pungent scents of orchids and lilies in Ashley’s bridal bouquet. She could hear the ukulele player strumming the Hawaiian Wedding Song. She could smell the smoked kalua pig and sweet potatoes roasting in the luau pit nearby.

And she could see her beloved Ben facing her in his black cutaway tuxedo with the customary green leafy lei draped around his neck. Those moments were like a dream now, full of possibility and romance—she in her strapless satin A-line gown with its beaded embroidery and lace, her hair wreathed in hibiscus, her rhinestone sandals sinking into the soft white sand as Pastor Kealoha led them in their vows. The images were etched indelibly on her mind’s eye—vivid, surreal, and now utterly painful.

Diamond Head was the only thing that didn’t erupt the day that her cherished dreams shattered into a nightmare.

And yet it had all started out so beautifully.

She could still hear Pastor Kealoha’s voice rising and falling with a predictable, lyrical drone. He obviously loved weddings, for he was waxing eloquent, as if performing for some unseen theater critic. She could imagine some reality show judge pronouncing him a natural thespian, or an impossible ham, or just plain boring.

For some reason she couldn’t focus on his words, couldn’t make sense of them, although she knew they were important, something about God’s plan and purpose for the home. She needed to comprehend their meaning—this was crucial—make the words her own, make them real to her, but they seemed just beyond her grasp.

It was all she could do to keep her ankles from wobbling, to keep her sandaled feet from sinking into the shifting sand. Relax, she told herself. This is the best day of your life. Enjoy it.

She wanted to enjoy it but felt too light-headed, her stomach unsettled. At dusk, the tropical air was heavy and warm, stealing her breath. She couldn’t see her family and friends now—they were behind her—but she could feel their presence, sense them surrounding her, pressing in on her with all their hopes and expectations. Or maybe the problem was her lace bodice; the gown was cinched too tightly at the waist. Was it possible she had gained weight since her fitting?

She wondered, What if I faint dead away at Ben’s feet? She had seen television videos of wedding disasters—grooms fainting, brides falling into their wedding cakes.

She stole a glance at Ben. He looked as discomfited as she. He was a lean, graceful man with short-cropped, straw-blond hair, a ruddy complexion, and a ready smile. Wire-rimmed spectacles framed merry, half-moon hazel eyes. But now perspiration beaded his high forehead and upper lip. His jaw was set, jutting forward, as if he were grinding his teeth.

It’s not supposed to be this way. Everything should be perfect.

She closed her eyes. Her moist palms tightened around her bridal bouquet. Lord, this is what You want for me, isn’t it?

Pastor Kealoha’s voice caught her off guard. He was instructing the happy couple to face each other and recite their vows. She handed her bouquet to her maid of honor, her best friend, Dixie Salinger, then turned and faced Ben as he took her hands in his. With only a slight tremor in her voice, she repeated the words she had carefully written and memorized.

Ben, when I first moved to New York City three years ago and started working for Haricott Publishing, I was just a timid, small-town girl striking out on her own. I never imagined I’d meet the man of my dreams. When you hired me as your editorial assistant, I was thrilled to be working for such a distinguished and renowned editor. Bennett Radison, the talk of the literary world. Every woman in the office was jealous of me working so closely with you. At first, I was in awe of you, afraid of doing something to displease you. But then, as we became friends, I realized what a remarkable man you are—considerate, creative, strong, stubborn, smart.

She drew in a quick breath, her heart pounding so hard she could hardly hear her own voice. We—we have so much in common, Ben. We both love good literature. We love taking a walk in the park after a long day’s work and splitting a mushroom pizza while we watch the late show. I don’t even mind when you critique my feeble attempts at writing the Great American Novel. You are the man I want to be my husband and the father of my children someday—a loyal, loving, godly man who will be by my side for the rest of my life.

Her words hung in the air for a long minute. It was Ben’s turn now. Pastor Kealoha nodded. The silence lengthened, becoming uncomfortable. Ben tightened his grip on her hands as her eyes searched his. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read, a dark intensity, as if he were struggling with something deep in his soul.

Ben, she whispered, if you’ve forgotten your vows, just say what’s on your heart.

He nodded and cleared his throat, then spoke over rising emotion. "Ash—my beautiful Ashley. I love so much about you—your kindness, your wit, your passion for life, your devotion to your work, your deep faith, your generous spirit. I love the way the sun turns your hair golden and the moon puts little blue stars in your eyes.

"I remember the first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You weren’t like other women in the office in their drab business suits and no-nonsense hairdos. You looked like a free spirit in your bright, trendy clothes and long, crimped curls. I pictured you running through a meadow with the wind in your hair. As if you weren’t quite real. As if I’d imagined you—an illusion, a fantasy. I thought you were a lightweight. I didn’t expect you to last long. But you blew me away with your first editing assignment. You were good. Amazing. You still are. I can always count on you to do your best, to be true to yourself, true to God, and true to everyone around you.

I can’t tell you how happy I’ve been to have you in my life. You’ve changed me, made me a better man. You’ve made me realize things about myself I never knew. You’ve taught me the importance of utter, absolute honesty, even when it hurts. That’s why. . .

He stopped, his expression darkening. His eyes broke away from hers. But not before she glimpsed something in them that knotted her stomach and sent her heart racing with panic and dread. She felt her smile freeze on her lips. Everything was slipping away, her future collapsing around her, the whole world suddenly off-kilter. Nothing had happened; yet everything was different. She knew it was over before Ben even said the words.

I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Ash.

Don’t, she implored.

I love you. I’ll always love you. But I’m not the man for you. He circled her waist with his arm and turned her toward their wedding guests, as if this were a natural part of the ceremony. She could hardly make out the sea of faces through her tears.

It’s my fault, Ben told everyone in his most sonorous voice. I’m sorry. There won’t be a wedding today. But please stay for the luau. The tables are brimming with island delicacies—lobster and mahimahi, pineapples, poi, seviche. Enjoy the food and fellowship. Had he actually said fellowship? That was her word, not his. He gazed down, his eyes entreating her. Please don’t hate me.

Before she could find her voice, he began walking her down the flower-strewn pathway just the way they were supposed to do, except without music, without a marriage, with only the stunned silence of their family and friends heavy in the air.

The rest of the evening was a blur—a cacophony of sounds, a crazy quilt of colors, a kaleidoscope of motion as the wedding guests milled around on the beach, sampled the sweet guava juice and virgin mai tais, then gathered around the roasting pit for the luau.

But Ashley wanted no part of the festivities.

Let me go back to the hotel, she begged Ben.

Not until we’ve talked. Let’s take a walk down the beach. Somewhere private.

She removed her sandals and tossed them aside, then gathered her satin gown up around her knees. He pulled off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, then took her arm firmly in his. Surely they made a peculiar sight as they strolled barefoot along the water’s edge. When they found an isolated cove, they sat down on a smooth outcropping of rock, where the waves washed in over their feet. She thought fleetingly of protecting her wedding dress, then dismissed the idea. It wasn’t as if she needed it anymore. They sat side by side, close enough that their arms touched, yet worlds apart. The muggy night air was electric with unspoken words, unshed tears.

Minutes ago they were ready to pledge their undying love. Now they were like colliding strangers trying to extricate themselves from one another.

She forced out the words, You don’t want to marry me. What else is there to say?

Plenty.

She didn’t want to hear it. For the first time she wished Ben was like other men who grunted single-syllable replies. But not her Ben. He loved words. He analyzed everything to death. Even their marriage. Or near marriage.

We’ve had a good thing going, Ash. He massaged his knuckles, weighing his words. I loved the idea that you were a pure Christian girl with high standards and values. From the beginning I’ve tried to measure up to what you expected of me.

And you have, Ben. You’ve always been a perfect gentleman. We share the same values, the same faith. That’s what I love about you.

That’s just it, Ash. He reached over and squeezed her hand hard. The sky was darkening, with strokes of violet and crimson slashing the horizon. Ben’s voice broke, husky, uneven. I’ve tried to be the person you wanted. I did the whole church bit. I thought I could make it work. But it’s not me. I’m not into this whole Jesus thing like you are. The truth is, I don’t get it. And today when I stood at the altar looking at you, I knew I couldn’t sentence you to a life with a man pretending to be something he wasn’t. You deserve the truth. You deserve a man who lives his faith the way you do. But I’m not that man.

Whatever else Ben said fell on deaf ears. Ashley wasn’t there, was no longer conscious of her surroundings, or of Ben’s presence, or of the sounds and voices drifting from the luau. She could think only that she was the victim of a terrible joke. Surely everyone was laughing, and nothing in her life would ever be right again.

Two

Bennett Radison flew home to New York early the next morning. Ashley spent her so-called wedding night alone in the bridal suite of her beachfront hotel. Not alone actually. Her parents stayed with her, alternately offering comfort and warm milk—her mother’s solution to every distress—and decrying Bennett Radison for his cruelty and callousness. You’re better off without that heel, her mother said over and over as she fluffed Ashley’s pillow or stroked her forehead.

Ashley didn’t want to hear it. She wanted sleep—a deep, soothing slumber that would erase all the pain and memories of the past few hours. But sleep eluded her, taunted her with brief moments of dreamy repose—only to startle her awake with shards of bitter reality. Ben doesn’t want me. He’s forsaken me. How could God let this happen?

Her mother didn’t help matters, the way she hovered over Ashley like an anxious nursemaid, reassuring her, God will bring a wonderful man into your life, sweetheart. Just you wait and see.

Pulling the pillow over her head to block out her mother’s voice, Ashley shrilled, I don’t want another man! I want Ben!

But Ben was gone.

The next day Ashley convinced her parents to go home without her. Don’t worry, I won’t be alone. Dixie promised to stay in Hawaii with me for a few days. We’ll do some sightseeing and catch up on old times, she said with more bravado than she felt.

Well, if anyone can cheer you up, it’s Dixie. She’s such a funny, eccentric girl. But after that, what will you do, honey? Her mother’s face looked pinched with worry and lined with wrinkles Ashley hadn’t noticed before.

I don’t know, Mom. I can’t go back to New York yet. How can I face people? I don’t have a husband. I won’t even have a job.

Of course you have a job. Everyone at Haricott Publishing loves you.

Not Ben. There’s no way I’m going back to work as Ben’s editorial assistant. I’ll have to find another job.

Ashley told her friend Dixie the same thing that afternoon as the two sat in lounge chairs on the hotel lanai, sipping sodas and gazing out at the vast, cerulean-blue ocean.