A Lowcountry Wedding (45 page)

“Are they yours?”

Harper was wildly wondering the same thing. Could her father have gotten hold of books she’d written as a girl, perhaps from Mamaw, and had them printed? “Wouldn’t that be lovely?” she said with a child’s delight. To think he might have read them, cherished them enough to bind them up. Her hands were dusty. She wiped them on her apron before inspecting the first book on her lap. She carefully opened the navy cover.

“It’s not mine. It’s a self-published book. Oh, Taylor, this might be one of
his
books. My God, it might be the only copies we have of something Parker wrote.” Her heart beat faster.

She reverently turned the page and read the title.
Tideland Treasures.
She looked up at Taylor and grinned with anticipation. She began to read aloud.

On a small barrier island there lived children who sat only on towels when they went to the beach, swam only in chlorinated swimming pools, who never picked up a fishing rod, and who never, ever ventured from the paved path.

And then there was Atticus and his sisters, Dora, Carson, and Harper.

Harper’s voice faded until the last word, her own name, came out a mere whisper. She felt the heat of the room like a furnace, and her head grew dizzy as all the comments, gestures, glances, and clues that had been floating in her head the past few weeks fell neatly into one inevitable conclusion.

Those eyes. Those incredible Muir-blue eyes.

She looked at Taylor. His green gaze was hooded, masking his emotions so he could better gauge hers.

Harper closed the book and licked her parched lips. “We’d best get Mamaw.”

Atticus sat at the granite counter of his condo, hands folded, head bent, praying for guidance.

Mamaw had called to tell him the cat was out of the bag. His
sisters had discovered he was their brother. Something about a fort found in the attic and a book Parker had written.
Tideland Treasures
was the story of a boy named Atticus who had three sisters: Dora, Carson, and Harper. How ironic, Atticus thought bitterly, because none of the three were mentioned at all in the terrible book he had read. He looked at the marked-up, tattered manuscript lying on the counter.

He dropped his forehead to his palm. He felt overwhelmed with shame, panic. All that he’d built with his sisters—trust, confidence, even affection—would be soured by this. They’d only know that he’d lied to them.

Why hadn’t he just told them the truth? He’d asked himself this same question over and over for weeks now. What madness convinced him to agree to that lie in the first place? And how did he and Mamaw think they wouldn’t be discovered and not hurt the very ones they had hoped to protect? Now nothing was left for him to do but man up and face them. To let them vent their anger.

He looked outside the window at the ocean sparkling in the distance. He’d come to love living here, being near his newfound family. God help him, he was going to miss having them in his life. Leaving them—leaving the lowcountry—would be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Mamaw and his sisters had filled the hole inside him. And now he’d ruined it. They’d never trust him again. Atticus squeezed his eyes tight, feeling the hole in his heart opening again, fathomless.

After a moment, he reached out to pick up Parker’s manuscript from the table. This, he now knew, was the only copy of their—and his—father’s book.
It was the treasure for which the girls had been searching for so long. Not because it was an outstanding
novel and would bring great wealth; sadly it wasn’t. But because the book was Parker’s life’s work. That made it priceless. At the very least, he could give them their father’s book as a parting gift. He slowly set down the manuscript, resting his hand upon the tattered pages. At least with that, having met him wouldn’t be a total loss for them.

The Muir women congregated in Harper’s office, seated on chairs clustered around the coffee table. Everyone hastily called to this gathering and pulled from a wedding task on an already busy day now sat stunned and wide-eyed at the news that their father’s old fort had been found in the attic, with the children’s books authored by him nestled within. Outside the room, the calls of workmen echoed and the hammering was distracting. Inside the office, it was as silent as the grave. Tension crackled in the air as Harper read the line from their father’s book:

“ ‘And then there was Atticus and his sisters, Dora, Carson, and Harper.’ ”

The silence continued. Mamaw looked at each girl’s face. Dora sat far back on the settee, her blond hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and her eyes wide as saucers. Carson sat beside her and dropped her face in her hands. Harper closed the books and sat stiffly, ankles together and lips tight, like a marionette.

“He’s our brother,” Dora said in a flat voice. “Our
brother
!” she exploded. “Daddy’s illegitimate son, born just months after Harper. Both women must’ve been pregnant at the same time. For God’s sake, didn’t Parker ever keep his pickle in the jar?”

“Dora!” Mamaw exclaimed, shocked. It was one thing to think it, another to shout it out so crudely.

“I can’t believe Atticus lied to us,” Harper said, her voice high with emotion. “After all his talk about honesty.”

“I know,” Carson agreed. She shook her head disbelievingly. “I should’ve trusted my instincts. There was something about him that seemed like we’d met before, a deeper connection than just a minister or a friend. And then, those blue eyes. And you, Mamaw”—Carson pointed her finger at her grandmother accusingly—“you covered for him. That’s what threw me off the scent.”

The three girls turned their heads to look reproachfully at Mamaw.

“I did
not
cover for him,” Mamaw said sternly. “There was no covering up at all. He came to see me that first day, and we decided, Atticus and I, not to tell you the truth about all this until after the weddings. In fact, it was my idea in the first place not to tell you. Atticus didn’t like the idea of lying. And by the way,” Mamaw said with emphasis, “we didn’t lie. I told you that Atticus was a minister and that I asked him to marry you. All that is true.”

“You just omitted the little part about him being our brother,” Carson spat out.

“Only temporarily. We were going to tell you after the wedding. I thought it would be too stressful for you to deal with.”

“And this isn’t?” Harper’s voice was an octave higher than normal.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Well, we did,” Carson fired out. “And I feel like I’ve been betrayed. That my trust was betrayed. I told him very personal feelings. I believed him.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Taylor is furious,” Harper added. “I had to stop him from going over and having it out with Atticus.”

“It’s not Taylor’s issue to deal with.” Mamaw’s voice was harsh with outrage. “I will not have it.”

The knock sounded again. “Mrs. Muir?” a voice rang out from behind the door. “It’s Beth from Wildflowers. I have a quick question for you.”

Mamaw closed her eyes tight a moment, then composed, called back, “I’ll be there in a minute.” She felt the tension rising in the room. Everyone had a million tasks to attend to, which only exacerbated the already-short tempers. This had to be the worst time for the news to come out.

“You stirred the pot,” Dora said to Mamaw. “Bringing Atticus in here under false pretenses. Of course we’re upset. What did you think would happen when we found out?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Mamaw admitted honestly. “I was so thrilled to meet my grandson. And I was so pleased with the way you were all getting along. You did get along. You can’t deny it.”

“But it was all based on a lie.”

“I don’t want him to marry us. Who knows if he’s even a real minister?”

“He was taking advantage of us.”

“How do we know he really is our brother?”

The girls’ voices all rose over each other until Mamaw couldn’t bear the backbiting any longer. She clapped her hands. “Stop it! Be quiet,” she said in a controlled fury. She looked at each of her granddaughters without hurry. “Atticus Green
is
your brother. The only brother you have. And he is my grandson. And as such he is as dear to me as every one of you.”

The three women stared back at their grandmother, summarily silenced.

Another knock sounded on the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Muir. It’s Dan with the tent. Would you come take a look?”

“One moment!” she called back in a frustrated shout. She could feel her heart accelerating. Everyone seemed to want a piece of her today. And it felt as if her granddaughters were ganging up on her. It was all too much. She looked down at her hands and saw them shaking. Clasping them together, she lifted her chin and faced her granddaughters.

“I pray that none of you have to endure the agony of burying a child.” Her gaze lingered on Harper. “You never fully get over it. And Parker was my only child.” She looked across the room at the rows of books on the shelves, recalling how Parker had loved to read in this very room.

Mamaw’s face softened with memories. “You never forget any of the things they’d done or said, no matter how trivial. The sound of his laugh, the feel of my arms around him, his arms around me. That morning when I opened the door and saw Atticus standing there, I thought I’d seen a ghost. I called out Parker’s name.”

“Oh, Mamaw,” Carson said with sympathy.

Mamaw placed her hands on her lips to still the trembling. “I saw my son in his son. I still think back on that moment with a degree of disbelief and awe.”

“But why did you feel you couldn’t tell us the truth about Atticus?” Dora asked.

“Atticus didn’t want me to tell you. We made a promise.”

“But why? I don’t understand.” Dora looked both confused and hurt.

“He had only just discovered the truth of his birth a week before. Imagine how
he
felt learning that the father he’d known his entire life wasn’t his biological parent? His father had died some years ago, his mother had just passed several months prior, and he’d thought he was alone, without family, only to suddenly learn in a letter from his mother’s lawyer that he had a grandmother and three half sisters he’d never known existed. He didn’t know how we’d react to the news of his not only being your illegitimate brother, but one who was black. You have to put yourself in his shoes.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered that he was black,” Harper said dismissively.

“It might have mattered to some people,” Dora argued. “He’s a black man from the South. Of course he wondered.”

“Dora’s right,” Mamaw said. “I’m not sure he believed me when I told him it wouldn’t matter until he met you, Harper. Then you, Carson. After that, he agreed to go along with my plan. It seemed harmless at the time. I don’t think either of us realized how quickly he would come to feel like one of the family. By then it was too late.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should have told us,” Harper said, frowning. “Atticus preached honesty, and now it all feels like a sham. All of it. And it’s all the worse now because we feel that you lied to us, too. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

The door knocked again. “Mrs. Muir?”

“Coming!” Mamaw called out sharply, at the end of her patience. “I have to go before they knock the door down,” she said irritably. She put her fingers to her temples, took a breath,
then slowly rose to her feet and rounded the sofa. She paused, hands on its back. She turned to her granddaughters sitting before her, her face grave.

“Your father, God rest his soul, is dead. We were blessed to find these treasures. And more than blessed to discover he had a son.” She took a breath. “I have a grandson! And you have a brother. Be careful, girls. You’re all self-righteous now. But think. How has Atticus helped you these past few months? Whenever you called, he came running—and you called him often. You couldn’t have asked more from him if you did know he was your brother. In matters of the heart, he couldn’t have been more true.”

Across the room the three women’s faces were introspective more than angry.

“Where is Atticus now?” Dora wanted to know.

Mamaw was pleased to hear Dora’s tone was conciliatory. “On his way here. I called him. He should be here soon. I think”—Mamaw walked toward the door—“that you should all talk amongst yourselves before he arrives. I’ll make tea.”