The Secret Wedding Dress (13 page)

“I’ll try. I’m afraid my fingers will be all thumbs.”

“You only have two thumbs, and so do I. Two’s all anybody’s got, silly.”

“Feels like more when I have to tie these shiny ribbons.” He made four attempts and worked up a sweat. “It still doesn’t look right,” he said critically.

“If I’m careful not to get my shoes dirty, may I run over to Sylvie’s and ask her to tie it for me, Daddy?”

“Too late, snookums. She just left with her date.”

“What’s a date?”

“It’s a who. In this case, a guy driving a sweetheart of a car.”

“We could’ve given Sylvie a ride.”

“Considering how pretty and dressed up she was tonight, I’m sure she’d rather ride in the hot car, not in our van.”

“Why?”

“You’d know if you saw his car. Hey, if you’re ready, maybe we’ll get to the church in time for me to show you what I mean.”

Considering the number of cars in the parking lot and parked
all along both sides of the street, Joel thought they wouldn’t find a place. He’d forgotten the Lamborghini until lo and behold, the only open spot was right beside it. He squeezed from his seat, taking pains not to let the door of his five-year-old van touch the spit-polished-midnight blue lacquer on the sportscar.

Joel pointed out the various features to Rianne.

She peered inside. “It’s got no room, Daddy, and the seats go way back. Sylvie would’ve been more comfortable, I bet, if she’d come with us.”

Deciding his kid just didn’t understand, Joel took Rianne’s hand. After a last longing glance at the car, he allowed her to lead him into the church. He hadn’t realized it was almost six, and they were late. The wedding party was lined up in the hall.

Joel knew the moment Sylvie spotted them. He would’ve seen her shock even if Rianne hadn’t shouted loudly enough to make everyone in line pause. “Sylvie, Sylvie…hi! Oh, you’re even prettier in that dress than Daddy said.”

Sylvie’s face turned five shades of red, and Joel was sure his matched. He didn’t need to witness the cat-that-got-the-cream expression lighting the eyes of the two women he’d met last night. They, plus a third, older woman who resembled Sylvie enough to be none other than her mom, began to whisper. Joel suspected he heard Sylvie groan. Or perhaps it was no more than a gleeful chortle among the three.

But Joel would hate Rianne to feel she’d done anything wrong. Nevertheless, he bent and murmured near her ear, “We’re in church, snooks. Lower your voice, please. You can talk to Sylvie later. I think we need to find our seats.”

Hopping backward on her shiny patent leather shoes, Rianne continued to wave excitedly at Sylvie. If any poor soul at the gathering remained unaware of a connection between the new man in town and Sylvie Shea, they’d surely gotten the word by the time an usher led Joel and Rianne to the bride’s side of the satin-roped aisle.

Whispers traveled along the rows like a rolling snowball. Joel
heard his name several times. He heard speculation as to how he knew Kay and Dave. Heard it noted that he was kin to Iva Whitaker. And he supposed it served him right for having fine-tuned a propensity for eavesdropping in his work.

Too late, he saw that it was a huge error in judgment to be here, just as Sylvie had tried to tell him. Sitting heavily, Joel stifled an urge to flee. In reality, he had no expectation of escaping anytime soon. Rianne was too definitely enamored of this whole wedding business.

The wedding
was grander than Joel had expected. Huge wicker baskets of flowers sat between fan-shaped candelabra. White satin ribbons looped from pew to pew along the center aisle, which was covered with a white satin runner.

With the first chords of the wedding march reverberating through the chapel, the guests’ attention switched from Joel and Rianne to the front of the church. A minister, looking resplendent in a gold-and-purple robe, entered through a side door. A nervous groom, who no doubt had been coached to death the night before, came to stand unsteadily at the altar.

Far from bored now, Joel began taking note of small details. The groom, for one thing. The way the guy kept running a finger around the inside of his collar, as if to loosen a strangling tie, for instance. That had Joel seriously contemplating the possibility of writing a few scripts from a male’s point of view. He’d already decided Poppy and Rose would get caught up in helping Cousin Petunia find a husband. Almost without realizing it, he started assessing the proceedings with an artist’s eye. For a small-town production, the overall effect appeared very professional. Sylvie’s doing?

If you discounted the fact that every time she glanced in his direction, she shot daggers through him, Joel actually enjoyed imagining her in his unfolding strip. In that respect, even Sylvie’s daggers worked to his advantage.

He
hadn’t named his country cousin in the pilot he’d sent in for Lester’s approval. Now, surrounded by fragrant blossoms spilling from baskets carried by the bride and her attendants, Joel knew he wanted something in keeping with Poppy and Rose. Petunia had been silly and off the cuff. He tested others—iris, violet, lily, daisy. None suited the character he’d drawn. There had to be a name, other than Jasmine, with a southern flavor. Dogwood sounded way too hokey.

Leaning over abruptly, Joel asked Rianne if she knew the name of the big white flowers in the bride’s bouquet and in the bridesmaids’ corsages.

The girl shook her head.

A large woman seated on the other side of Rianne murmured, “Magnolias. Aren’t these glorious? I grow some outside my sun room, but I never would’ve thought to mix them with camellias or baby roses. Only Sylvie would be that clever, even if she had to get them from a California hothouse this time of year.” She nodded sagely. “Before Sylvie came home, our fall brides were relegated to decorating with old standby’s like maple leaves and chrysanthemums.”

Not having any interest in those details, Joel offered a polite smile over Rianne’s blond head. He saw that the ribbons he’d tied were slipping. Discreetly he attempted to adjust the one in the worst shape. Apparently pitying him, the matron on the other side of Rianne calmly shoved his hand aside. Deftly, she retied and knotted the ribbons on both sides so they matched perfectly.

How did she do that?
Joel’s smile came from his heart. His child sat transfixed throughout the bow-tying, totally focused on the service.

Joel faced forward again, now giving the minister’s words his attention. His gaze kept drifting to Sylvie, however, and his mind returned to the name Magnolia. The more he considered it, the more he thought the name would resonate with readers who loved Poppy and Rose. Pleasing them was important.

He
wanted long-time followers to identify with Magnolia and empathize with her, so they’d be fully involved in any situation Joel landed the poor cousin in. Yes,
Magnolia
might work.

He emerged from his plotting cocoon after the crowd surged to its feet around him. Rianne attempted to tug him to a standing position. He struggled up and saw that the bride and groom were being presented as husband and wife. Their requisite kiss brought applause, chuckles and whistles throughout the church.

Again Joel’s eyes strayed to Sylvie’s slightly wistful expression. He experienced an odd tingling of his limbs. Why was she wistful if, as she said yesterday, she ran like hell to avoid her family’s attempts to match her with a man? He wondered about that as the newlyweds broke apart, beamed at family and friends, and the organist pounded out the recessional.

The happy pair’s exit was considerably slowed due to well-wishers and sniffling huggers. Weddings and births ought to be happy occasions. Joel thought people should save tears for tragedies and funerals.

At that moment Sylvie drew abreast of his row. She did her best to telegraph her deep displeasure at seeing him there, all the while responding positively to Rianne’s excited babble.

The woman who’d tied Rianne’s hair bows zeroed in on the exchange. Once the party moved past, she bent toward Joel. “I’m Freda Poulson, the local librarian. You’d be Harvey and Iva Whitaker’s great-nephew, I assume. And this beautiful, charming child is…?”

“My daughter, Rianne. I’m Joel Mercer,” he said, accepting the woman’s soft hand. “Rianne loves to read. You’ll see us at the library as soon as we get completely moved in. By the way, thanks for helping with the bows. They’re beyond me.”

“You poor, dear man. However do you manage to raise a daughter alone?”

Joel, who’d dropped his hand to Rianne’s shoulder to hold
her wiggling to a minimum, felt his fingers tighten. “We do fine on most fronts. I’m a little deficient, I admit, in tying hair ribbons, but basically, we’re thriving.”

Freda tsked. “There’s so much more to raising girls as they mature, you know. If I may be so bold…I don’t think you should wait much longer before finding her a stepmother to direct her along the proper path.” Freda paused, apparently to let her advice sink in, then said quite matter-of-factly, as if she was Joel’s best friend, “Are you aware that the perfect candidate lives right next door? It’s a shame you got off on the wrong foot with Sylvie Shea. Such a dear. A finer family than hers doesn’t exist.”

Floored at the temerity of a virtual stranger, Joel groped for a suitable response, but came up empty.

His daughter had no such problem. “What’s she mean, Daddy? Shouldn’t you tell her we like Sylvie a whole bunch?”

Leaning backward to see the matronly woman, Rianne said again, and more loudly, “Sylvie’s wonderful. She let me help her bake cookies for her Sunday school. We cut my Barbie out a dress. And Sylvie’s making me one ‘xactly like it as soon as she finds a pattern. Yesterday when Daddy fell in the lake, Sylvie pulled him out and brought him back to life.”

Joel considered clapping a hand over Rianne’s mouth, then decided that would only make matters worse. Maybe if he ignored the entire outburst, the woman, Freda, might move along. But no such luck. She ran a speculative eye over Joel.

“Really?” The librarian sidestepped her way to the end of the pew. Moments ahead of merging with the other guests flocking down the aisle, she thumped Joel on the arm with a hand still clasping the hankie she’d used to dab her eyes during the ceremony. “Saint’s be praised! Maybe now Sylvie can bring out that secret wedding dress she dragged home from New York. Nothing would make Nan and Rob happier.” Thankfully, the librarian’s bulk was swept toward the exit with the press of jovial guests.

Joel sagged with relief.
What secret dress? And who were
Nan
and Rob?
Someone else had mentioned Nan. Joel couldn’t recall who or when, he was so rattled. Plainly, people in Briarwood weren’t familiar with the term
privacy.
As a result of his hanging back, he and Rianne missed their turn to join the exodus. For a minute they seemed to be stuck in the pew, awash in the battling scents of perfumes and colognes passing them by. He spotted an opening in front of a senior couple plodding slowly along. Joel shoved Rianne into the stream of traffic.

The next thing he knew, they’d emerged in the much fresher air of a balmy southern night. Joel considered going straight home. But that wasn’t to be. Men and women began to stop and strike up conversations. Most now knew Joel by name. He was frequently slapped on the back and shook hands until his fingers felt numb. Rianne, he noticed, reveled in the attention. Belatedly, Joel figured out that they were being steadily herded to the next location, the Elks’ Lodge. The reception was already in full swing by the sound of it.

In the foyer, Joel saw people deposit gifts on three long tables already laden with wrapped packages. He pulled Rianne out of the shuffle. “I left our gift in the car. Either we’ll have to walk back for it and hike up here again, or if you’re okay with skipping this part, we can stop by on the drive home and I’ll run in with our gift.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Dory Hopewell said from behind him. “Why drag Rianne all that way?” The woman bent to the child’s eye level and said, “We haven’t met. I’m Sylvie’s middle sister, Dory. My daughter, Kendra’s, just inside with her father and brother. How would you like to come along with me and meet her? I’ll get you girls some punch. Your dad can come round and find us as soon as he returns.”

She straightened, saying for Joel’s benefit, “If you’d like to drive and save the hike uphill, there ought to be parking spaces at the rear of this building.”

“Can I stay, Daddy? Sylvie showed me Kendra’s picture. Next
week she’s gonna be five like me.” Rianne giggled. “‘Cept the week after that, I’ll be six, and we won’t be the same age again for ‘nother year. Sylvie figured that out.”

“I don’t think I can let you stay, Rianne. Anyway, our van’s not far.” To Dory, he said, “I’m not in the habit of turning my daughter over to strangers.”

Dory batted a hand through the air. “That probably makes perfect sense where you used to live. In Briarwood, there’s no such thing as a stranger. Look, here’s Kendra now. And the Martin twins. They’ll be in Rianne’s first-grade class. I don’t envy their teacher, but let’s see if I can tell them apart to introduce them.” Dory pointed a finger at a gap-toothed pigtailed girl. “Nikki. And Nola.” Her daughter and the twins dissolved in laughter and promptly corrected Dory’s mistake.

Joel noticed the twins had old-fashioned manners, in that they called Dory Mrs. Hopewell. She seemed not the least put out, and hugged all three. Her easy manner with the kids, and their obvious acceptance of her, went a long way toward persuading Joel to give in.

As his original intent in coming here was so Rianne could make some friends, he capitulated—to Rianne’s obvious delight, and also the delight of her newest best friends. “Okay, but listen up. We’re not staying long,” he counseled both the excited kids and Dory Hopewell.

She patted his arm in a familiar manner. Did everyone in this town assume that if you lived here, you were instantly bosom buddies? “Go retrieve your gift, Joel, but hurry back. You won’t be half so grouchy once you’re inside and get swept up in the party atmosphere. The band Dave and Kay booked for the evening is the best in the area. There’ll be tons of food, a moderate amount of spirits and good company all around.” Winking, she added, “Failing that, you can slink off into a corner and natter on about sports with my husband and brother-in-law, who are past masters at avoiding the dance floor.”

Her engaging grin was so like Sylvie’s, it got under Joel’s
skin. “Okay, okay. Rianne, you stick with Dory and the kids until I get back. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Yippee!” the twins shouted at the top of their lungs. “Come on, Rianne, we’ll show you the table with the pink punch for kids.”

Joel watched his daughter dart off. She didn’t bother to say goodbye. That upset him. Maybe she was already growing up, as Freda, back at the church, had suggested. Maybe he was already losing his influence.

“Is something else bothering you?” Dory asked. “I promise to keep a good eye on her. Really, I swear she’ll be fine.”

“I know. It’s just…earlier tonight someone remarked how quickly kids begin to spread their wings. I believe this may be my first experience. Now I’m wondering if standing aside is going to be even harder than I suspected.”

It was obvious from her expression that Dory Hopewell understood and empathized with Joel. “It helps to have a partner to share half the burden of raising kids.”

“Yes, well, sometimes that part of life doesn’t work out.” Joel backed toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said a little more curtly.

“Now I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth when I didn’t mean to. What you said made me stop to think I should march straight inside and hug Grant for all the times he gives me a break from the kids. No one said being a parent is easy.”

Joel inclined his chin briefly, but he shot out of the Elks’ Lodge like a man possessed. He’d almost reached his van when he acknowledged that he’d probably said too much back there. Telling himself it was too late for regrets over Lynn, he backed the car out of the lot and parked it behind the lodge. Hauling out the gift, a bowl Carline Manchester had wrapped the day he and Rianne had shopped in town, Joel set it on an already full table.

In the main room, the hub of festivities, the lights at one end had been turned low. A multicolored spotlight revolved,
raining speckles of light on the heads and shoulders of dancers. More guests sat at long tables covered with pink cloths on the opposite end of the room. Most were partaking of the generous buffet. Some stood in groups, talking. It was at a table near the food that Joel spotted Rianne in the middle of six or more kids.

He worked his way over to her. “I’m back, snooks,” he said.

“Daddy, hi. This is Holly and her sister, Ashleigh. Holly’s going into first grade, too. Ashleigh will be in third grade,” Rianne said with no small amount of respect. “You already met Kendra and the twins. This is Kendra’s brother, Roy.”

Joel bobbed his head and mumbled that he was pleased to meet the other children. He scanned the area for an empty chair. The three end tables were nothing but a sea of children. The noise made it difficult to hear what anyone was saying. He dropped to one knee to speak directly in Rianne’s ear. “I’m going to grab a plate of food and something to drink, then I’ll stand right over in that corner. Ask the girls what supplies we need to buy before the first day of school, okay? When we both finish eating, we need to head home.”

“Daddy, we can’t go before Kay and David cut the cake. Ashleigh said kids get plain toast.”