Five Brides (60 page)

The bridal march swelled from the front of the church. As they started down the aisle—step-together, step-together—Joan heard her mother’s voice speak across the miles, whispering her favorite saying into Joan’s heart:
“As God made them, he matched them.”

Joan breathed slowly, relishing the moment.
This is so right,
she thought.
And I am so blessed. So very blessed.

Robert glanced down at her and, in turn, Joan gazed up at him. They exchanged a smile before facing forward.

Forward.

This is the beginning of something amazing,
her heart nearly shouted within her.
Mum, you’ve been right all along. From the moment we were born—Robert in North Carolina and me in Chicago—God set about sending me to Robert.

And Robert to me.

June 2015

London, England

Rachel sat on the long, low-backed sofa in the middle of the elegant room, her feet tucked under her, listening as her mother recounted the tale, start to finish, ending with her grandfather’s long pursuit of her grandmother and the magic of a kiss he gave her after the Valentine’s dance. “I can’t believe MiMi made Granddaddy work so hard and wait so long,” she said with a laugh. “But I’m awful glad she did. That way she was the last to wear the dress and the one who got to keep it.”

Behind her, beyond the wide windows, the majesty of old London rose in temples and spires on the opposite shore of the Thames. Between them on the low marble-topped coffee table, the box lay unopened, off-white-and-chocolate-brown striped, the Carson’s signature three squares touting,
Carson Pirie Scott & Co.

“Neither one of us would have been able to wear it.” Julie chuckled. “But you’re right. Miss Evelyn sure made Mr. Edwin work for it. After all, he was a
Baptist
preacher. But—as she used to tell me—on the pro side, he was a pretty good fisherman.”

Rachel’s eyes twinkled. “I guess you could say she made him
fish
for her.” When Julie sat motionless too long, she added, “You know . . . how when you go fishing you spend more time sitting and waiting, watching for the cork to bob, than you do actually catching the fish?”

Julie laughed then. “Good metaphor.” She winked. “Although I’m not sure Miss Evelyn would want to be likened to a
fish
.”

Rachel leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “I only wish . . . they could be here.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I miss them both so much.”

Julie reached for a nearby tissue box, then stood and took it to her daughter. “If it’s any consolation, Joan and Robert RSVP’d.
They’ll
be here for the wedding.”

Rachel brightened, even as she blew her nose delicately—as she’d been taught during her own time at her grandmother’s charm school.

Julie patted her shoulder, then gave it a squeeze. “She said the wedding gave her a good excuse to visit family.” Julie eyed the box. “Okay, Miss Priss. Ready to peek inside? Try it on?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but . . .” She held up the crumpled tissue. “Let me toss this and wash my face and hands first.” She stood. “Be right back,” she said before heading toward her bedroom.

Julie stood with her, arching to stretch her back, then walking toward the wide window. She peered out, her vision lingering on the sleek silver water of the Thames, then on the street below, where, she hoped, she’d see her husband stepping out of an English cab.

She didn’t.

“Oh, Miss Evelyn,” she whispered as the story of the five brides swirled again through her memory. Each of them, so different. All of them, the same. What was it Miss Evelyn had said? The verse of Scripture that tied them all together?

“I will go before thee, and make the crooked places straight.”

And now, it was Miss Evelyn’s only granddaughter’s turn to carry on the tradition. Julie fought tears as she continued. “Wouldn’t you and your fishing buddy be so proud?”

She no sooner spoke than a taxi—which to her way of thinking looked more like a Matchbox car—slowed to a stop along the front curb. A second later one of her husband’s long legs exited from the back door followed by the rest of him. She felt her smile all the way to her stomach. “Rachel,” she called out, turning. “Your daddy’s here. I’m going to go meet him at the elevator.” She was halfway to the door when Rachel stepped out from her room.

“Ma’am?”

“Your daddy,” Julie said, this time quietly. “He’s here. I’m going to go meet him. When we get back the three of us can take the gown out together.”

Rachel nodded, smiling. She had the stories now; she understood.

Julie stepped out of the hotel room and into the hall, turning toward the elevator, listening as it rattled upward, bringing her own sweet husband back to her. Not wanting to appear anxious (Miss Evelyn would have a hissy fit from the Great Beyond if she did), she slowed, keeping her eyes on the coral-painted toenails that looked so chic in her designer sandals.

Now, as she neared the end of the hall, Julie walked in the precise way her mother-in-law had taught her so many years ago when she’d been one of her cotillion students.

Heel in front of toes . . . heel in front of toes . . . wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like Marilyn Monroe.

Discussion Questions

1. Joan leaves her home and her family at the age of nineteen, with only a small amount of money, to start a new life in a different country. Have you, or someone you know, made such a drastic change at a young age? Is it something you would have the courage to do? Why or why not? Do you think it was the right thing for her to do?
   
2. Joan feels like she’s different from every other young woman she’s met because marriage and children are not her highest or first goals for her life. Would she still feel that way in today’s culture? Do you think young people are pressured in either direction today, or do they have complete freedom to choose the course of their lives?
   
3. Evelyn invests a lot of time and energy trying to please a man who doesn’t think she’s good enough for him. Have you ever been in a relationship like this? What advice would you have given Evelyn? If you were in her place, do you think you would have listened any better than she did?
   
4. Evelyn ends up being the last to marry, and thus she is the one to keep the wedding dress. As a result, her daughter-in-law and then her granddaughter are able to wear it. Has a wedding dress or other special garment been passed down in your family? Is this a tradition you’d like to start with your children or grandchildren? In what ways can this be a valuable tradition?
   
5. Betty comes from a life of privilege, and her parents want to make sure she continues to enjoy its benefits. What do you think of their wishes for their daughter? Of the ways in which they try to manipulate her life? Assuming they are motivated by genuine concern for her well-being, how might they communicate it more effectively?
   
6. One of Betty’s fears is that she will “become” her mother as she embarks on marriage and motherhood. What specifically is she afraid of? How likely is it that she will fall into these patterns? What qualities of your mother’s do you hope to emulate in your own life, and in what ways do you hope your life is different from hers?
   
7. For a time, Magda believes she is in love with a man whose talent and connections she admires. Have you ever found yourself attracted to someone, either as a love interest or a friend, primarily because that person has something you want? How can we guard against this when making new friends?
   
8. When Magda and Barry begin dating, Magda faces challenges common to blended families. What is the motivation behind Harriet’s animosity toward her? Does Magda handle it appropriately, in your opinion? Do you think Harriet will choose to change her behavior in order to remain a welcome part of the family?
   
9. Inga’s story is a little more poignant than those of the other women. When she learns she is pregnant, and that marrying her baby’s father is not an option, she turns to her parents for help. In the end, she feels she has no choice to but accept their solution: marriage to a stranger. Do you agree that this was her only choice? What advice would you have given Inga? How do you think her marriage will turn out?
   
10. Which of the characters in the book were you most able to relate to? Which did you have the hardest time relating to? Which one(s) would you be interested in reading more about?
    

A Note from the Author

Writers of fiction hear it all the time—“Boy, do I have a story for you.” We listen as though we just may use the tale in one of our works. But the truth is, we already have such a number of stories forming and making havoc in our heads, we don’t need one more—true or not.

Typically we hear a story on the news . . . or find an old photograph . . . or overhear someone talking in a restaurant or airport, and we think,
What if . . . ?
But every so often someone comes along and says, “Can I share something with you?” and we are swept away. Intrigued.
We have to have that story!

Such is the case with the one you have just read. Several years ago, my dear friend Sharon Decker told me of a wedding dress that had been purchased by five roommates who’d met while working in post–World War II Chicago. One dress. Five near-strangers. Each one had worn the dress on her wedding day. Each one had a special love story.

“And,”
she added, “I know the fourth wearer of the dress.”

I nearly begged for the story. Begged and waited years before I had the opportunity to meet Joan Hunt Zimmerman, who willingly allowed me to take what she told me and add to it. “After all,” she said, “this is fiction, right?”

To that end, for the most part, this is a work of fiction.

While the names of Joan Hunt and Robert Zimmerman (as well as the gist of their story) have been unaltered, the stories of the other women are completely made up. I did my best with all things pertaining to the US Forces, the US Army, and their work in Germany post–World War II. Although Joan only spent two years in Germany, for the sake of the story, I extended her time there by several months.

I hope and pray I have portrayed the land I truly love, the South—or “Dixie”—and that beloved part of it, North Carolina, in its truest light. We Southerners are proud of much of our history, but we hang our heads at the rest of it. North Carolina is no exception to this fact.

About the Author