The Wedding Shop (18 page)

From the street, a motor rumbled pulling up to the shop. The driver cut the engine and a lithe young woman with shining hair falling about her face in Greta Garbo waves stepped out. She was followed by two equally lithe and well-dressed women—perhaps the mother and grandmother—and two young women.

“I 'spect I need to be heading out.” Avril pushed up from the stoop. “I left the kids playing in the yard.” Her blank gaze rested on the blue horizon. “Do you think it will rain today? We could sure use some rain.”

“Hello.” The woman, who looked like the mother, called, waving. “We're the Kirkpatricks. My daughter just became engaged. We heard this is the wedding shop from which to buy her trousseau.”

“You heard right.” Avril stood, punctuating her hearty endorsement. “This is the best wedding shop, bar none, in these parts and beyond.”

“Nice to meet you. Do come in.” Cora introduced herself with one hand clapped on Avril's arm. “Let me say good-bye to my friend and I'll be right with you. There's a lovely divan to your right.” She turned to Avril. “Wait here.”

Scurrying around the side of the shop, Cora ducked into the mudroom, tapped her heel against a loose board, lifted it free, and knelt down, fishing for the can tucked under the floor against the wall.

Got it. Prying away the lid, she counted out twenty dollars. Her reserves were dwindling, but she could not send Avril home empty-handed.

Five hundred dollars was all she had left in this can. But she had two more hidden. She took out another forty, folding them into her palm, and headed around the outside of the shop to find Avril across the way, heading through Gardenia Park.

“Avril!” Cora paused for a slow-moving Lincoln, then darted across the street. “Wait.”

When the women met on the edge of the thin and brown grass, Cora pressed the money into her hand.

“I knew you were going to do something like this.” Avril pressed the money back. “I can't take your money. I can't be beholden. When would I pay you back?”

“It's a gift. You don't need to pay me back.”

“I can't.”

“Avril Kreyling, if you let your children go hungry on account of your pride, I'll never forgive you. You'll never forgive yourself. Take it or I'll go shopping and show up with groceries. At least this way, you have the dignity of doing your own marketing.”

“Then let me earn it. I can't just take it. Can I clean the shop? Take in your laundry?”

Cora exhaled. With mail orders down this spring, Odelia and only four other women handled the sewing. Mama did the laundry but hated it. She missed Liberty to no end.

“You can take in our washing.”

Avril's smile put a light in her rising tears. “Thank you . . . thank you.”

“Come around Friday to pick it up. If we like the arrangement, we can keep it up for as long as you need. But this”—Cora pressed the money into her hand—“is a gift.”

Avril broke, dropping her forehead to Cora's chest, gripping her arms, sobbing. “I knew this old shop was the place to come. I did. You've saved me, Cora Scott. Saved me.”

B
IRCH

H
e pulled his wagon along Blossom Lane, hopped down, and gave Uncle Sam a smooth pat on the rump. “Be right back, boy.”

He jumped the curb and made his way under the oak tree to the back of the wedding shop. “Cora!”

He waited with one eye on the back door. He was right proud of Cora and Esmé, but it didn't look like Ernest Scott was coming home any time soon. The man had plum lost his mind skipping out like he did just before Christmas. Did he know his women were living on the third floor of the shop? In that tiny space? In this heat?

Couldn't be a hotter summer. He was worried for his crops. Every morning he woke asking the good Father for rain. “I can do the plowing and planting, Lord, but only You can make my fields grow.”

“Cora!” He stopped at the back door, rapping his knuckles against the screen. “It's eight o'clock, woman. You best be up.”

Sadly, he'd not seen much of Cora this summer. Passed her in church, but she kept to herself. Any ill he had toward her over that riverboat captain, he set aside. Love hoped in all things.

He saw Esmé every day when she came out to the farm to tend her garden. She had his tomatoes and cucumbers beat by a country mile.

He used stored rainwater to keep the garden growing, but his cornfields needed the clouds to cry.

If the drought continued, how would the Scott women eat this winter? He'd decided already to give them a side of beef from the cow he'd butcher this fall. And have mercy if Esmé didn't have enough chickens to frustrate the roosters and keep them busy.

In fact, he was just a might jealous. He'd like to have a hen to chase after. Well, he was working on her. If she'd just stop clucking for the captain and look at him.

“Cora Scott!” He knocked harder this time.

The back door flew open. “Birch Good, land sakes, what in the world are you doing out here yelling like an uncouth for everyone to hear?” She appeared rushed, mussed, and beautiful with her chestnut hair flying about her face, her eyes snapping.

“What are you worried about?” Birch yanked off his hat and beat it against his overalls, scooping his hands through his mass of curls, twisting and knotting every which way. “All the shops are closed until nine, at least.”

“The Everlys live right next to us. Above their shop. And they have a new baby. Now, what do you want?”

“Come on, I want to show you something.” He set his cap back on his head and snatched her hand, dragging her off the narrow back stoop.

“Let go of me. I can't be dragged out in public like this. I'm barefoot, my hair is a mess, and I've no lipstick. Do you want to get me banned from the Women's League?”

“Ain't no one gonna ban you. Besides, don't pretend to me you like the Women's League. Bunch of snooty old hags.” They arrived at the wagon and Birch slapped the side. “What do you think?”

Cora peered over the tailgate. “Lumber. You drag me from my back door to get excited about a bunch of sawed trees?” She faced him, hand on her lean hip. “Times are hard, Birch, but not that hard.”

“I'm building you a porch. Off the back of the shop.” He held up his hands toward the house, making a box by touching his thumbs together. “You and your mama can have dinner out there
all summer, into the fall. Give you a break from the hot third floor. I know you're roasting up there. I can run some electric wires, too, so you can have a lamp for some cozy reading.”

Birch glanced back at her, dropping his gaze and clearing his throat when he saw her misty golden eyes. It made his heart burn to see a gal cry. Made his arms itch to hold her.

“Thank you.” She wrapped him in a hug.

He slowly brought his arms around her. “I thought you'd like a bit of space for yourselves. Make this shop more of a home. Your mama loved her porch back at the homestead.”

Cora laughed through her tears, stepping out of his embrace, brushing her cheek dry. “We did go at each other last night.” She reached over the wagon's gate and patted the smooth golden boards. “You beautiful, beautiful lumber.”

“You okay for me to get started?”

“Please. The sooner, the better. Did you have breakfast?”

“Just a cup of coffee.”

“Eggs and toast coming up.” Cora hurried toward the house, her skirt swinging over her slender calves and bare feet. Dang if Birch's heart didn't burst into flames. Drawing in a deep breath, he lowered the wagon's gate, trying to clear his head of that image, but his stubborn soul refused. He loved every image he'd stored of Cora Scott. He'd be blazes if this one wasn't one to savor.

Just as he reached in for the first set of boards, her fragrance filled his senses as she hooked her arms about his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you again, Birch.”

He righted himself, turning to her, gathering her into his arms, stepping into her, weakened by her long, narrow form leaning against him. “You know I'd do anything for you. I love you.” He touched the heart-shaped pendant at the base of her neck. “Why do you wear that thing? He's only buying your affection.”

“Birch . . .”

He let her go, though her presence increased his desire to make her his. It didn't matter his love was unrequited. It only mattered that he loved her.

When she ridded herself of that dastardly riverboat captain, he'd be there for her. She'd see Birch was made for her. Look how easily their bodies fitted together.

“I'd better see to your eggs.” She backed toward the shop. “Thank you again. Mama will be thrilled.”

“Wade Fry is coming to help. We'll be done by end of the day.”

“Really? How wonderful. Rufus comes next month and we can dine on my porch.”

Birch stepped back, the colors of the day fading from brilliant to gray. “Rufus, you say?”

“Yes, finally he has a spare moment to spend with me. He's been on every river but the Cumberland this spring and summer.”

“Not sure I like building you a porch to spend time with another man.” Unable to glance her way, the sting of the moment quelled his excitement.

“I've always been honest with you.”

“True, you have . . .”

“Shall I make eggs? Or are you changing your mind? Because if you're building this porch with strings attached . . .”

“Ain't no strings or conditions.” He was no reneger.

Birch raised the first set of boards to his shoulder.

Over time he'd come to suspect her riverboat captain was a philanderer. From the rumors and whispers, he guessed half the town knew it too. So hows come Cora didn't?

Where was
Rufus
when Cora and Esmé had no place to live? Where was
Rufus
when Esmé needed a plot of land for her garden? Where was he when they wanted wood for the apartment fireplace last winter?

Cora disappeared inside and he could hear the echo of her voice. “Mama, eggs and toast for Birch. He's building us a porch.”

He sighed, fighting the heaviness in his heart as he walked back to the wagon. One of these days he'd talk himself into forgetting her and moving on.

He hoisted another load to his shoulder and carted it to the back of the shop, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. Pausing, he raised his gaze to the blue sky peeking through the shading elm.

Yep, one of these days he was going to move on from Cora. However, today was not that day.

H
ALEY

Heart's Bend allowed for interior demolition if requests for renovation permits were on file, so Monday Cole and his team got things going. Light flooded into the shop the moment they busted down the added walls.

The hardwood under the nasty carpet was dull and thirsty but in great shape. “That's a win,” Cole said.

Over the weekend Haley worked on her business plan, grateful she could consign gowns from designers. Now to get one or two that she liked to go into business with her. She had no credit or history in this business, so . . .

What she needed was a mentor. Someone to show her the ropes. She Googled around and discovered a shop in Birmingham called Malone & Co. Apparently the owner, Charlotte Rose, found her wedding dress in a trunk and it'd been worn by three other women throughout history. Intrigued, Haley searched until she came across an article in the Birmingham newspaper.

The dress, made and first worn in 1912, found its way to two other brides before Charlotte in 2012. One in 1939 and another in 1968.

The gown fit all four women without needing to be altered or changed. Like some sort of magic dress. The sisterhood of the traveling wedding gown.

Haley's pulse raced as she read the account. She had to meet Charlotte Rose.

Standing over Cole, she announced her plans. “I put a call into a wedding shop owner in Birmingham. I'm going to see if she'll meet with me.”

Cole looked around from where he was pulling carpet nails from the small salon floor. “Birmingham? Don't they have wedding shops in Nashville?”

“There's something special about this shop owner. I liked what I read about her.”

He handed her an extra hammer. “Here, start pulling out nails. Man, whoever kicked this carpet did not know what they were doing.”

Haley dropped to the floor, getting to work.

“How's it going with the money?”

“Do desperate prayers count?”

“In my book, yes,” Cole said. “What about your folks?”

“Dad would but Mom refuses. She hates this place and I can't get a reason out of her.” Haley recounted her conversation with her parents, raising more questions in her heart.

What did Mom have against the wedding shop? And why wouldn't she tell Haley?

Cole stopped pulling nails. “Are you sure you want to start down this road if you have no money? What about the bank?”

“They said no.”

“Haley—”

“Cole, I'm not giving up. If I have to open the shop with only half of it done—”

“You won't pass inspection.”

“I'll find the money. Shoot, I found a rare part for a tank in the
middle of the desert. I think I can find a few measly dollars to redo this place.”

“You think eighty thousand is a few measly dollars?”

“Remember the story where the prophet Elisha prayed for the widow and her bottle of oil never ran out? She had money to pay her debt.”

“Do you have a bottle of expensive oil to sell? Stock in Exxon?”

“No, but I'm talking to the same God Elisha talked to, and He has a whole lot of money.”

“You're really doing this on faith?”

Haley sat down against the wall. “I don't have any other option, Cole. Ever have that feeling in your gut that says ‘this is the right thing to do,' but it makes no sense?”

He lightly tapped his hammer against the floorboard at an imaginary nail. “I do. Rather, I knew when something wasn't right even though it made no sense.”

“Did you act on it?”

He jutted out his chin. “I did. Hardest thing I'd ever done.”

“Really? Even with your dad—”

“Knock, knock. Hello?”

Haley exchanged a glance with Cole, rising up to find an older woman entering the foyer, leaning on her cane. Behind her, on the stoop, sat a distressed leather suitcase.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Haley?”

“I am. Please come in.” Haley offered her a steadying hand, helping her to the old metal chair Cole set down for her, then closing the door.

“It's cold out there,” she said with a shiver. “I read about you in the paper. About the city giving you this shop. I had to come see for myself.”

The woman had an aura about her, a timeless quality, and Haley ached to hear what she had to say.

Cole bounded up to the mezzanine, returning with another old metal chair from the third floor, setting it down for Haley. He took a seat on the stairs as the woman glanced around the dusty shop.