A Lowcountry Wedding (48 page)

There is no someday, Dora. There’s now, or I’m guessing never
.

Dora wasn’t looking for never. She wanted forever.

Taking a breath, she looked up into Devlin’s eyes. He was waiting, watching her closely.

“I’d like to ask you . . . Devlin, will you marry me?”

He froze for a moment, staring at her as one who wasn’t sure he’d heard quite correctly.

“You’re asking me to marry you?”

“Yes. Or rather, I am. I believe you’re the one who’s supposed to say yes in this scenario.”

Devlin’s eyes were sparkling with amusement blended with love. “Hell, yes!”

Dora smiled, embarrassed and happy and unsure what to do next. She looked at her glass. “Good. Real good.” She sighed in relief. “I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes.”

In silence, Devlin took her tumbler, then set both on the desk. Then he took her hands in his. “Woman, why in the world would you think I’d answer anything but yes?”

“You gave me a scare when you said you weren’t coming to the weddings. Set me to thinking. Really thinking. For a year I’ve been telling you what I needed in order to say yes to your proposal. And you kept waiting, helping me, helping Nate. I kept putting you off and you bore it as few men would. Never losing faith.” She paused, gathering strength for honesty. “I felt I needed to prove to myself that I could take care of myself and my son. Then I would feel worthy of being your wife.”

“Worthy?” Devlin said with disbelief. “Don’t you know I worked hard all these years, raised myself up from nothing, just to make myself worthy of you?”

Dora squeezed his hands and smiled tenderly. “What a pair we make. Devlin, it must’ve been hard with the two weddings coming, reminding you of how I’ve been making you wait. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I see now how I should have put your needs and wants first. That’s what love is. Selfless and unconditional. And it’s about trust. I was burned. We both were. But because of you I know I can trust a man again. I trust you.”

She stepped closer, placing her left hand on his chest. “Devlin Cassell, I love you. I always have and always will. So, if you still have that ring, I’d be proud to wear it.”

Two lowcountry weddings—one at the beach, one at a plantation. Each venue is as unique as the bride, yet each is equally bound by the traditions and values of the lowcountry.

I
t was a perfect night for a party. The temperature was balmy, with that moist, tropical breeze that smelled of night jasmine and a hint of the sea. It gently caressed her skin, heated after an evening of dancing and drinks.

Mamaw sat on the rocker of her front porch. Edward had always told her to leave the party at its height. And so she did, making her unhurried way down the front stairs across the gravel to her own sweet cottage. She was still fully dressed in her fancy silk underclothes, black silk nylons, the dreaded girdle that seemed tighter every time she put it on, and the stiff and constricting black taffeta gown with elaborate beading that caught the moonlight and shimmered with her every movement. The dress was an old warhorse brought out of mothballs
for the party. That was the advantage of couture gowns, she thought. Vintage never went out of style. And at her age, she thought it unseemly to struggle to keep up with the latest fashions when classic always struck a dignified note.

She was tired and a bit woozy from the several Lowcountry Wedding signature cocktails she’d enjoyed. They had a bit of a kick in them, as Lucille liked to say. But who was counting? What a party it was! She had to laugh when she recalled the shocked looks on the guests’ faces when Carson and Harper announced the switch of venues. The staff discreetly and swiftly handed out the newly printed programs directing Harper’s guests to the Legare Waring plantation and Carson’s guests to Wild Dunes Resort. She thought poor Linda Legare looked ready to pitch a hissy fit. Mamaw chuckled again. But it all went off as planned, and after the music picked up again, the party resumed without a hitch.

Carson and Harper had never looked lovelier. Their faces shone with excitement and anticipation, befitting fiancées on the eve of their weddings. Yet, Mamaw thought with a wry grin, Dora may have stolen the limelight tonight. When she walked in flashing her stunning diamond engagement ring, the party’s excitement shot to new heights. At last, Dora had come fully into herself. She was a woman in love, every bit as radiant as the brides. Though the one who might’ve looked even happier was Devlin. He accepted the congratulations like a rooster crowing at the sun.

And speaking of love . . . Atticus had never left the side of a certain attractive woman he’d escorted to the dinner. Word spread fast on this little island, and Mamaw had already learned that she was the local vet. From what Mamaw could tell, Atticus
looked like a hound dog that had caught the scent. She chuckled to herself. If Lucille were here, they’d already be matchmaking.

Oh, the parties this house had seen, she thought, looking out from her cottage porch to Sea Breeze, alight tonight with the festive fairy lights and live music of the rehearsal dinner. Her dear home had been polished and primped as it hadn’t been in years. Tonight Sea Breeze appeared as breathtakingly shimmering and filled with golden light as any bride.

Her Sea Breeze.

Contemplating that she would be leaving it after all was bittersweet. Though she would be only a stone’s throw away, she felt the apron strings tug at her heart. In this house she’d reigned as hostess to parties, baptisms, graduations, weddings, even funerals. She’d watched her granddaughters grow from carefree children into women she was proud of. Under the roof of Sea Breeze she’d welcomed Blake and Taylor and Devlin to the family. She had met her grandson, Atticus. The future appeared bright on the horizon.

She’d said her farewells here, too. Her mind conjured up a vision of dear Edward, wiry and tanned, laughing as he carried a towheaded Parker on his shoulders to the beach.
Parker.
Thinking of Parker, she always saw her son as a young man in his twenties—in his prime. So full of life and dreams. So confident of his position, his good looks, his talent. She could think of him now without pain. Rather, she felt a comfort keeping his memory alive. He would have been sixty now had he lived, likely white in his hair, wrinkles here and there, the proud father walking his daughters down the aisle. She sniffed and reached for the handkerchief she kept in her sleeve. But that
was not to be, she told herself, stopping herself from slipping into the maudlin. This was a night for joy. Carson and Harper had bestowed on her the honor of walking them down the aisle. A particular pride was associated with that, she thought with a sniff.

Finally, she remembered the brown, wise, yet maddeningly unlined face of Lucille, her large eyes flashing with humor or a scold. Tonight the past was as alive in Mamaw’s heart as the present. So many changes, she thought, kicking off the rocking motion with her foot.

“What did you ’spect?” came a voice in her mind’s ear.

It was often like this when she sat alone on the porch of the cottage, especially on a soft night such as this when the ringing of laughter wafted down from the big house. Marietta was not superstitious. But she was Charleston born and bred and had seen and heard too much in those old houses not to know that spirits came and went at their pleasure. Still, she told herself she only imagined her dear Lucille sitting here with her, as she had so often throughout their lives together. So many years of coming up with one harebrained scheme after another, playing hands of gin rummy, and just passing the time as old friends did. When Marietta heard a voice in her head, it did not cause her apprehension nor did she feel haunted. She simply accepted the voice as a comfort in her old age. Welcomed it.

“I suppose I expected things to go on the way they were . . . forever,” she replied.

She heard a rustling in the leaves that sounded like laughter. “Them girls were going to get married, start lives of their own someday,” Lucille said. “You knew that. Well, that day’s here, so no use bellyaching about it.”

“I’m not bellyaching,” Mamaw said indignantly. “Can’t an old woman get teary eyed with nostalgia?”

“Sure she can. Only not too much. You’ll spoil your makeup. Your fella is going to come lookin’ for you pretty soon.”

So like Lucille, always looking out for her. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Always did. Girard’s a fine man. Got what I call character. And he’s a looker, too.”

Mamaw smiled and curled her toes at the memory of how handsome Girard looked in his dinner jacket tonight.

“The weddings begin tomorrow,” she said, not quite believing the day had finally arrived. “Two lowcountry weddings—one at the beach, one at a plantation. Each venue is as unique as the bride, yet each is equally bound by the traditions and values of the lowcountry. Oh, Lucille, I wish you could stand by my side at the ceremonies.”

“I’ll be there,” came Lucille’s voice on the wind. “I’ll be right beside you, same as always.”

Marietta felt the breeze glide across her face and sighed. “I know you will. We did it, Lucille. We’ve seen our Summer Girls married and settled. Happy. Oh, I know there will be bumps in the road ahead. There always are. But I have high hopes for them.”

“I do, too. And from where I’m sittin’ I got a good view.”

Mamaw smiled, reassured by that. “What do I do now, old friend?”

A bird cackled in the old oak, shrill and high.

“Lucille?”

“You keep on living, old girl,” came the voice, fading now as
the sound of footfalls rose louder. “Tomorrow you pick up your skirt and dance!”

Mamaw, distracted by the sound of laughter, looked up to see her three granddaughters walking her way, arms linked, their long dresses flowing in the breeze, their faces shimmering in the night like the stars overhead. They were laughing and calling her name.

“Mamaw!”

“I’m here!” she called back.

They hurried up the stairs and surrounded her, wrapping arms around her, enveloping her in their scents, kissing her cheeks, scolding her for running off. She closed her eyes and heard their voices as a symphony of her life—highs and lows, dissonance and consonance, solos and duets, staccato and grave.

“We’ve come to fetch you back to the party,” Carson said, tugging at her arm.

“It’s not a party without you,” Dora added.

“Up now, Mamaw!” Harper exclaimed, helping her from the chair. “You are and always will be the hostess of Sea Breeze. Everyone is waiting on you.”

Standing on her porch, Mamaw looked out and saw a young man walking toward her, cloaked in shadow. Her breath caught. Tall and slender, he walked with his hands in his pockets, his gait elegant and achingly familiar.
Parker,
her heart called out. Standing in the arms of his daughters, she felt his presence keenly.

Yet as the young man drew nearer into the light, she recognized his darker skin, his broader forehead, his fuller lips. This man was no one’s ghost. He was his own man, she realized,
seeing his eyes light up at the sight of her and his sisters. Her grandson.

“Atticus.” She reached out her hand.

“Mamaw.” Atticus kissed her hand. “Come. The night is still young. The party has just begun!”

Legare Waring House

H
arper felt as though she was in a dream as she rode in the white horse-drawn carriage down the long alley of ancient oaks. Moss dripped from the boughs like bridal lace. It was twilight and a hush fell over the lush, historic gardens of the Legare Waring House as though the earth held its breath for her wedding. She heard the
clop clop clop
of the hooves, was enveloped in the heady scent of jasmine, and everywhere she looked she saw signs of the lowcountry she had come to love and call home.

The sound of the hooves alerted the guests gathered under the drape of oaks. Everyone stood and turned toward her. Harper felt her heart flutter in her chest like a caged bird eager to take flight. Granny James and Mamaw came to her side, each dressed in beige lace. Linking arms, she felt their wisdom, strength, and love support her. The string quartet started to play, and with her grandmothers, she began her walk toward a small white tented pavilion decked with seasonal flowers. Hanging from ropes, mason jar lanterns lit her way. She smiled
when she saw Carson and Dora standing side by side in long dresses of coral.