A Lowcountry Wedding (36 page)

“You’re still angry at your father.”

“Hell yeah, I’m angry at him. He screwed up my life!”

“Carson, carrying around all that anger will only keep you tied to that tragic past. It’s like some heavy chain wrapped around your mind and your heart. The only way to release yourself from the anger and fear is to forgive him.”

“Forgive him for what? His whole life?”

“That’s a good question. Of all the things you’re angry with Parker about, what is the easiest to forgive?”

Carson scratched her head while she looked off. At first she seemed irritated by the question and wouldn’t answer. Then she looked at Atticus. “I suppose . . . it would have to be his alcoholism.”

“And the hardest thing to forgive him for?”

Tears unexpectedly flooded her eyes and her lips began to tremble. “For not taking care of me.”

Atticus was moved by the child’s cry he heard in the woman’s answer.

Carson wiped her eyes with quick strokes, trying to bring
herself under control. “Isn’t that the responsibility of a parent?” she asked angrily. “To take care of his child?”

“Of course it is. Hey, I’m not a parent. I’m not even a spouse. But I know this much.”

Carson stilled to listen.

“What being a good parent is about—what being a spouse is about—is no longer thinking only of yourself or your self-interests. By that criterion Parker wasn’t a good parent. Or, apparently, a good spouse.” Atticus reached out to put his hand over hers. “But forgive his alcoholism. Start there.”

Atticus rolled into the Sea Breeze driveway a few hours later. He saw Carson’s Blue Bomber parked next to Harper’s Jeep—a car he found curiously incongruent with his image of its petite, proper owner. When his foot hit the pavement, he heard the thunder of paws against gravel as Thor came trotting from around the house to check out the new arrival.

“Hey, big boy,” Atticus called out, holding out his arms.

Thor bumped into him, sending Atticus tottering back with the weight of the huge dog. The Great Dane mix whined with pleasure at seeing him as Atticus scratched his ear.

“You know who I am, don’t you, old boy?” Atticus wished he could be as honest with everyone else at Sea Breeze. “Time to find out what’s bothering your lady, okay? Come on, boy, lead the way.” Atticus pointed to the front door.

When they reached the porch, Thor sat on his haunches beside the door and watched as Atticus knocked several times. There was no answer. Finding the door open, he hesitated. If Harper knew he was her brother, would he be able to stroll
right in, like Carson and Dora? Would she still have reservations?

He glanced at Thor, wondering how he’d react to a home invasion. “You okay with this, old boy?”

Thor lay down on the porch and put his head on his paws.

All right then, Atticus thought, and pushed open the door a crack. “Hello?” he called out, sticking his head in. “Harper?”

Thor was instantly back on his feet, curious.

Atticus heard the sound of footfalls running toward him. In a flash, Harper appeared in tan pants and a flowing green print top. It was the first time he’d seen her wearing maternity clothes, and he thought she looked wonderful.

“You’re here! Come in!” She walked up to him. She kissed his cheek in welcome, then turned to Thor. “Not you. You stay outside.” She nudged Thor back out the door and ushered Atticus inside.

The usual fresh flowers were in a vase on the hall table. The house was filled with light and the scent of polish. Harper turned to Atticus. “Thank you for coming right over. You made good time. I hope it was no inconvenience.”

Atticus thought of the unfinished sermon on his table. “No problem.”

“Let’s go in the library.” She led the way down the hall. “We can talk there.”

The library was a handsome room, masculine with pecky-cypress paneling and walls of bookshelves filled with books, some new and some quite rare. Yet it had a strong feminine touch, clearly an effort of Harper’s since Atticus knew she’d claimed this as her office where she wrote. Her signature style was everywhere. An English chintz lined the windows and
covered the chairs, a worn, muted Oriental rug had rose and creamy hues, and standing proud in front of the large windows was an exquisitely beautiful writing desk with cabriole legs. Harper had lit a fire in preparation for his visit. It snapped and crackled and created a cozy atmosphere. A pot of tea and mugs sat on the glass cocktail table along with a plate of cinnamon scones.

“I thought we’d be more comfortable in here, rather than the living room.”

And more private, Atticus thought to himself. Away from curious ears. “So many books.” He ran his fingertips along the spines. “I’ve always loved books. Felt I could get lost in them.”

The feminine chintz-covered chairs sat side by side near the fire. Atticus took one at Harper’s invitation. He squeezed in, but just. This was definitely a woman’s office.

“I’d like to begin with a silent prayer for guidance.”

Harper looked a bit surprised, but after a moment willingly nodded and bowed her head.

Atticus similarly bent his head and let his eyes flutter closed, silently asking God for the knowledge to help this young woman in whatever way he was able. Upon finishing, Atticus felt the cloak of calm that he always did when his prayer was heard. Looking up, he saw Harper sitting at the edge of her chair, having lifted her head, eyes wide open. “You seem a little uncomfortable with prayer. Do you believe in God?”

“Yes, I believe in God,” she replied hastily. “I was raised in the Anglican Church. Granny James goes to church . . . on occasion.” Harper’s lips twitched. “I expect my grandmother feels she can commune with God directly.”

Atticus chuckled. “And you?”

Harper shook her head. “I never had that kind of relationship with God. I’ve always thought He wasn’t much concerned with what’s going on with us peons on earth.”

“Are you at all curious about religion?”

“I wasn’t before, but now that I’m pregnant I’m feeling more interested in finding out more. I’ve been doing some research. I’d like to raise my child with some spiritual foundation for his or her future. And, well, I definitely want to baptize the baby. I have this fear that if I don’t, well—” She paused and her cheeks colored fetchingly. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

“I’m afraid if I don’t and the baby dies, it’ll go to limbo.”

“Limbo?”
Atticus snorted in disbelief. He couldn’t help it. “You mean the place where babies who die without baptism go?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“That’s an old Catholic teaching, and even they abandoned it.”

“Still, mothers think of these things. I read about it on the Web.”

“The Web,” he repeated knowingly. “Do you know what medical schoolitis is?”

Harper shook her head.

“It’s the phenomenon of medical students thinking they’ve acquired the many diseases and illnesses they’re studying. Happens on the Internet, too. Everyone self-diagnoses based on articles they’ve read. Sounds like that’s what you’re doing. Maybe you should lay off the Internet a little.”

Harper nodded and looked at her hands. “You must think me a complete idiot.”

Atticus reached out to take her slim fingers in his large, strong grip. “Quite the opposite. Listen, I don’t know much about pregnancy, but from what I do know, being curious about all stages of your baby’s growth and development—physical, mental, and spiritual—is natural.”

Harper smiled. “Thanks. I needed some support today.”

Atticus released her hand and bent to pick up his tea. “You know Charleston is called the Holy City? There are churches here from most every denomination. Why not check a few out? You never know. You might find one you like.”

“I will. I’ve always been curious. Taylor’s open-minded, too. My mother didn’t guide me in matters of religion. Let’s just say that was one more area of neglect. Speaking of Georgiana, the other day I called her to tell her my good news. I didn’t expect much, maybe a simple congratulations.” Harper paused. “She actually asked if congratulations were in order. As though I might not be happy about the pregnancy and might consider getting rid of it.”

That took him aback. “And what did you tell her?”

“In so many words, to stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

He smiled into his cup. “Can’t say she didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m back on my mother’s blacklist. She doesn’t approve of my engagement or my wedding. And as for my pregnancy, well”—Harper snorted in an unladylike fashion—“let’s just say she sees it in limbo. You know”—Harper looked out the window—“it’s hard, even at my age, to realize my mother has no concern or sympathy for anything that makes
me
happy.”

“I’m sorry.” From what Atticus was hearing of Georgiana so far, he was far from impressed. This was the same woman who
had treated their father miserably and fired his mother. She seemed irredeemable. “I do understand, though. I had a distant relationship with my father. He wasn’t what you’d call an affectionate guy. First, he worked all the time. But even when he was home, he didn’t hug or share his thoughts. He cared, don’t get me wrong. Just . . .”

“You didn’t feel loved?”

“Not as a kid. He was a formidable personality with a big voice and staunch principles. He could be intimidating at home as well as in the courtroom. He was generous with charities, a deacon in the church, and took on a lot of pro bono cases,” Atticus added, wanting to round out his father’s character. “I admired him. When I got older, we communicated on a grown-up level. We had a few good moments. But that’s also the time I started getting in trouble.” Atticus sighed. “I was a constant source of disappointment to him.”

“That’s how I felt with my mother. No matter how hard I tried, nothing I ever did seemed good enough.”

Atticus felt a connection with this sister. She understood his loneliness and displacement. That something was missing from their lives.

“But now you have a chance to start fresh. You can’t change your mother. Maybe not even your relationship with her. But you’ve already changed your own life. You’ve created this warm and inviting home. You won’t make the same mistakes with your child.”

Harper shook her head, eyes filled with new hope. “No, I won’t,” she said with conviction.

He smiled, glad that he could offer her some consolation.
He suddenly felt hope of his own that he could make a change in his life, as well. With Mamaw and his sisters.

Harper returned the smile, then bent to pour the tea. “How do you take your tea?”

“Cream and sugar, thanks.”

He watched her graceful movements as she poured, added milk, a teaspoon of sugar, then handed Atticus his cup. It was good tea, a blend of some kind, strong with a heady scent.

“But, you see”—Harper picked up her cup—“the phone call brought up a tough conversation I had with Granny James. This is what I really wanted to talk to you about.” She paused. “Granny wants me to get a prenuptial agreement.”

“A prenup.” Knowing Harper’s finances, Atticus wasn’t entirely surprised. “How do you feel about that?”

“At first I was against it. It’s hardly romantic and I’m worried drawing one up will cripple my marriage before it even gets started. But I can see Granny’s point, too. The James estate is vast, and it is her responsibility to ensure that the estate is kept in the family. It’s a unique situation.”

He set his cup on the table. It sounded to him as if she was trying to persuade herself out loud. “What does Taylor think about all this?”

She held her cup in front of herself like a shield. “He didn’t like the idea. He said it makes him feel like a lesser partner in the marriage.” She took a sip of her tea, then cast a glance at Atticus.

“Well, he is the one with the lesser money. You hold the purse strings.”

She set the teacup back on the table. Her huge diamond caught the light, brilliant as a giant star.

“For any guy,” Atticus said, “but especially for a southern male, that’s tough. And, the vow does say ‘for richer or poorer.’ ”

“I do trust him.” She made a face. “It’s his future wife I don’t trust.”

“What?” Atticus laughed in disbelief.

“If I died young and he remarried, I don’t want
her
to get my money. I want it all to go to our baby. See, that’s Granny James’s point—keep the family fortune in the family line. It’s beginning to make sense to me.”

“Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.”

“That sounds horrible, but yes.”

“Harper, you’re the one who has to live with the consequences of your decision. You have to decide for yourself what you want and need and hope Taylor will understand no matter what. Because he loves you.”

Atticus remained silent as Harper sipped her tea and contemplated what he’d said. He sipped his tea and looked around the room, taking in the shelves of books.

“I’ve always wanted a library like this,” he said abruptly. “I love books. I’ve always been a great reader.”

“Me, too! My sisters used to tease me for hiding out in my room with my nose in a book. That’s how I got the nickname Little Mouse.”

“Did you always write?”

“Good heavens, no.” Harper laughed. “At least not openly. I suppose I always made up stories, but I was terrified my mother would find out. When I was eight, I finally worked up the courage to give her one of my silly stories to read, and she called me into her office and told me quite plainly that I didn’t have talent. Of course I believed her. She was the head of a major
publishing house. I was groomed to be an editor, and I liked editing. I still do. I’m good at it. But it wasn’t until I moved here last summer that I truly explored writing, freely without fear. You might be surprised that this Little Mouse had a lot to say.”