Lenora Worth - Wedding at Wildwood

Dillon knew it was rude to stare.

But he couldn’t help himself. He was so amazed to be seeing her again after so many years. She’d literally knocked the wind out of him, and now, in typical Isabel style, she wanted to run away.

“Stay a while,” he said, his gaze lingering a little too long on her face. “Stay and tell me why you were taking my picture.”

“No.” She tried to move away. She didn’t want to be with Dillon Murdock.

But he refused to let her go. “Then stay long enough to tell me why you came back to Wildwood.”

Wanting to show him he couldn’t get to her the way he used to, Isabel retorted, “I think a better question would be—what are you doing here?”

“Well, that’s real simple, Isabel,” he said sarcastically. “I came back at my mother’s request.” Backing away, he called, “Yes, the prodigal son has returned.”

LENORA WORTH

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first, she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream full-time. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.

“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

Lenora Worth

It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.

—Luke 15:32

To my brothers, Windell, Waymon

and especially Jerry

And in memory of

my father,

Delma Humphries

Dear Reader,

I grew up on a farm in south Georgia and lived in a house similar to the one described in Isabel’s story. I couldn’t wait to leave that house, but it has stayed with me all of these years. My memories are sometimes bittersweet, but I realize now that I loved my home and I often dream of my life there.

The story of the prodigal son has always fascinated me. Coming from a big Southern family, I’ve learned lots of lessons about forgiveness, but this parable teaches all of us that there is sometimes more to the story than what appears on the surface.

In this story, there were two prodigal sons. Dillon lost his way by running away, and Eli lost his way because he’d never learned true humility. Not only does the Bible teach us to forgive those we love, we also have to remember that as human beings, we are all God’s children.

I’m glad Isabel and Dillon found each other again, and learned the lessons of forgiveness and acceptance. Hope you enjoyed their story.

Until the next time, may the angels watch over you while you sleep.

About the Author

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

Epilogue

She hadn’t planned on coming back to Wildwood. But now that she was here, Isabel Landry realized she also hadn’t planned on the surge of emotions pouring over her like a warm summer rain as she stood looking up at the stark white mansion.

Wildwood.

The house, built sometime before the Civil War, was old and run-down now. Abandoned and gloomy. And so very sad.

But then, most of her memories of growing up on this land made Isabel feel sad and forlorn, too. Staring across the brilliant field of colorful wildflowers in shades of pink, yellow and fuchsia, she clicked her camera, focusing on the old house, deliberately blurring the pink phlox, purple heather, and yellow black-eyed Susans that posed a sharp contrast to the wilted condition of the once grand mansion. Now shuttered and closed, its paint peeling and its porches overgrown with ivy and wisteria, the house with the fat Doric columns and the wide, cool verandas on each floor didn’t seem as formidable as it had so long ago.

Isabel had never lived in Wildwood, but oh, how she’d dreamed of living in just such a house one day. Now, she saw that fantasy as silly, fueled by the imagination of an only child of older parents, raised on land that did not belong to her family. Born on the Murdock land, in a quiet corner of southwest Georgia, known as Wildwood Plantation.

Glancing away from the imposing plantation house, she saw where she had lived off in the distance, around the curve of the oak trees and dogwoods lining the dirt lane. The small white-framed farmhouse hadn’t changed much in the ten years since she’d been away, and neither had Isabel’s determined promise to herself to rise above her poor upbringing.

“I don’t belong here,” she said to the summer wind. “I never did.”

Yet she lifted her camera, using it as a shield as she took a quick picture of the rickety little house she remembered so well. Just therapy, she told herself. That’s why she’d taken the picture; she certainly didn’t need or want a reminder of her years growing up there.

Looking up to the heavens, she whispered, “Oh, Mama, why did God bring me back here? I don’t want this.” Silently, she wondered if her deceased parents were as at peace up there in Heaven as they’d always seemed to be when they were alive and working here on Wildwood Plantation.

Mentally chiding herself, she smiled. “I know, Mama. Grammy Martha would scold me for doubting God’s intent. You are at peace. This I know. So, why can’t I find that same peace here on earth?”

Lifting up yet another prayer, Isabel knew she wouldn’t find any answers here on this red Georgia clay. Ever since her grandmother, Martha Landry, had called asking her to come home to take pictures of Eli Murdock’s upcoming wedding, she’d been at odds. But between assignments and with nothing pressing on her agenda, she’d had no choice but to come. Isabel knew her duties, and she was good at her job as a professional photographer. Besides, she could never turn down a request from Grammy Martha, even if it did mean having to face the Murdocks and bow to their commands once again.

She hadn’t been home in a long time, and she missed her grandmother. Often in the years since her parents had died—first her mother, then two years later, her father—Isabel had hurried home for quick visits with her grandmother. But on those occasions, she’d distanced herself from the Murdocks, always staying only a couple of days, sleeping in her old room at the farmhouse and keeping a low profile. During those rare trips, she’d never once ventured up the lane to visit the people who’d allowed her grandmother to stay on their land and still employed her grandmother’s services on occasion.

Now, she’d be forced to socialize with them, to snap happy pictures of Eli’s wedding to a girl Isabel had graduated high school with, a woman almost ten years younger than Eli. Well, at least Susan Webster was a wonderful woman. She’d make Eli a good wife, though for the life of her, Isabel couldn’t understand what had attracted petite, perky Susan to such a bully bear of a man.