The Wedding Shop (11 page)

By the end of the week she hoped to have twelve women under employ with the goal of ten frocks a week.

While it was all exciting and energizing, Cora debated running any more ads. If the response kept up, she'd need a factory to meet the demand.

Well, that was her day. A long day. She should get on home. After all, the midnight hour had chimed. But she wanted to look through the mail. Unwind.

There was no letter from Rufus this week. But Cora did hear from two of her fall brides. They sent photographs from their wedding day.

Slipping the images from the envelopes, Cora removed two clothespins from a cotton bag in her bottom desk drawer and walked to the alcove's outside wall, clipping the pictures on the rope twine she'd strung across the brick. In fact, she had several runs of twine layering over one another. All with pictures of the shop's brides.
Her
brides.

“Here you go, Myra Deshler. Welcome to my wall.” Cora pinned Myra's smiling face to the twine. Didn't she look utterly beside herself, clinging to her new husband's arm? Handsome fella too. Myra waited ten years for him. Said she'd wait another ten if it meant Hammond Purdy would walk into her life.

The next photo was of young, very pretty Laura Canyon, who met Marshall Warren at a dance in Memphis and married him ten weeks later.

Love came in all sorts of sizes and packages, in the most blessed and strange ways.

Cora stepped back, admiring her brides, cherishing the journey of love these women gave her. She felt humbled to play a small part in their lives. This shop was her calling. And one day, perhaps, she would hang her own bridal picture on this wall.

“Cora?”

She whipped around at the sound of a familiar male voice. “Daddy?” She leaned over the mezzanine railing. “What are you doing here?”

“It's after midnight, darling. Your mother wouldn't let me have one wink of shut-eye until I came down here.” He raised his pant leg. “Look here, I'm wearing my pajamas underneath.”

Cora laughed. “And your ugly sweater.”

Daddy grabbed the worn wooly sweater tight around his lean frame. “I'll be buried in this thing.”

“Not if Mama has anything to say about it.” She'd tried four times in the last ten years to throw the “ugly thing” away, but Daddy saved it from the charity box every time.

“With any luck, she'll pass on before me.”

“Daddy, listen to you. All for a sweater.”

“You can't mess with a man's pipe, slippers, or favorite sweater. Now, come on home. I'll be falling asleep at my desk tomorrow. And you know it won't look good for the bank president to be asleep on the job.”

“May it never be.” Cora turned to the mezzanine. “Let me get my things and lock up. You know my car is here, don't you?”

“Ride home with me. I'll bring you in tomorrow morning. What are you doing working so late anyway?”

“Organizing the orders we got from the magazine ad.” Cora snapped off the mezzanine lights, grabbed her pocketbook, and headed downstairs. “We should earn a very handsome sum by the end of the year . . . if all goes well. Odelia's working on hiring seamstresses.”

“That's my girl.” Daddy applauded, bowing, then joined her on the stairs, his arm about her.

This was the Daddy Cora knew and loved. Strange to think his kindness and generosity surrounded and protected a darkness deep in his soul. One that caused him to abandon the family when
hard times struck. His raw, rash response to crisis that took down everyone around him.

Didn't he just love his work, though? Mama accused him of having another child—the bank. He did tend to lose himself in the bank's business.

“I'm turning out like you, Daddy.” Cora settled her hat on her head. “Overly devoted to my work.”

“Nothing wrong with hard work and devotion.”

Daddy's abandonments and humble returns left Cora cautious about him. Careful. Never knowing if his delicate temperament, his fragile confidence might drive him away from home again. Praise be to heaven the crash last year had not touched them.

“If you like this sort of business,” Daddy said. “We'll find you a better solution for order fulfillment than Odelia running around hiring help. Heaven knows, I'd never work for that woman.”

“And what woman on earth would you work for?” Cora gave Daddy's arm a squeeze.

“Seems I work for your mama a good deal. ‘Ernie, can you fix the oven? Ernest, I need the toilet fixed right now.' ” He chuckled. “But that's the way marriage works. Look, the mill right down the street might be up for grabs. If you're interested . . .”

“Textile mill? I'm a wedding shopkeeper, not a mill owner. However, the ad was an experiment. We'll see if I keep it up. We can talk then.”

Cora loved providing beautiful trousseaus for eager brides, but the
brides
were the best part of the job. What she loved most. The fellowship of women talking about love, home, and family. She'd miss the hope and excitement of the journey that blended two lives into one if she became a manufacturer.

She'd miss Odelia's ornery and grumpy countenance.

“How about we get you home?” Daddy offered Cora his arm.

She shut off the main lights with the switch by the door and, in the dark, the shop seemed to glow. Cora thought it was all the love
that filled this place. Sometimes the shop felt every bit as much like her church at First Avenue Baptist.

Sometimes she wondered if the light was otherworldly. She'd seen something like that once, at a tent revival meeting. The preacher on stage prayed with such passion, and for the life of her Cora imagined she saw a glow emerging from his mouth every time he said the name Jesus.

Scared her right enough, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. She'd decided that night to follow Jesus. If He could make a man's words gold, He must be something wonderful.

But age and time had snuffed out much of her passion. It'd been too long since she experienced any light. Waiting for Rufus left her cold and dark at times, and she struggled—
yes, admit it, now
—she struggled to find the light of hope.

But he promised . . .

Cora walked alongside Daddy toward his car parked on Blossom, the day's weariness settling on her. She was glad for the ride home. And the company.

“Thanks for coming, Daddy.”

He kissed her cheek, then held open the passenger door. “Of course. What's a father for if you can't count on him?”

H
ALEY

Room A in city hall was bright, warm, and stuffy. Haley slipped in, taking a seat three rows from the back, unzipping her jacket, tucking her gloves in the pockets.

The heat suffocated her cold skin. Riding in from the parents' place on a Harley was cold business.

She'd spent the afternoon preparing, collecting her thoughts, and practicing her town council speech with a row of childhood
toys she'd found in her closet. A beat-up Barbie, a scarred Ken, two seen-better-days bears, and a one-eyed Raggedy Ann—all possessions her unsentimental mother had
not
thrown out the day Haley went to college. She claimed Haley might want them some day. Maybe, but for now, they were her attentive audience.

She'd also discovered the old photo of Miss Cora she'd found that summer afternoon while playing with Tammy. It was in a box of annual goals Haley had written over the years. Another part of Haley's past Mom held on to.

Haley glanced at her notes and the photo of Miss Cora. It made her feel as if the old proprietor were with her, cheering her on.

Making speeches was nothing new. Haley had addressed her colleagues and superiors as well as those she commanded in the air force many times. This afternoon was about getting her words right.

“. . . the wedding shop is part of Heart's Bend, in ways we can't even see . . . touched all of our families . . .”

This part of the speech required emotion, passion, for the council to hear from a woman who had vision. Passion wasn't her strong suit. She preferred a more logical and orderly approach. But she was in a fight, and unless she convinced the council, she would lose.

At seven o'clock, the room was still fairly empty. Up front, three men and two women gathered on the dais. Must be the council.

From the side door, three clipped and pressed businessmen with an air of high dollars entered, taking seats on the first row.

“I see Akron's here on time, sitting up front.” Keith Niven dropped down into the seat next to Haley.

“Where is everyone else?” Haley angled around, eyeing the empty chairs.

“Who knows? People don't really care as long as they can live their lives the way they want.” Keith turned to her. “I've been thinking, if you want this shop, you're going to have to speak up, fight. Be clear, concise.”

“Keith, I grew up with four older brothers. I was a captain in the air force. I think I can manage this.”

“But this is Akron. They have smooth words. And money. How much money do you have?”

She grimaced. “And why are you here? To cheer me on or discourage me?”

“I'm just being practical.” Keith nudged her with his elbow, jerking his thumb toward the door. “Hey, an older woman. She might have been one of Miss Cora's brides.”

Haley saw the woman too. In her late seventies, maybe early eighties, she could've been one of Cora's brides. She walked around to Haley's row and sat down on the end.

“Hello,” she said, leaning toward Haley, her eyes clear and blue, though her wool coat was frayed at the cuffs and her gray hair thin.

“Hello.”

Should she ask her if she was one of Cora's brides? How would she even know Haley was making a case for the shop? Maybe she just wanted to keep Akron from knocking it down.

“Excuse me, but are you—”

Keith knocked her with his elbow again. “Well, look who's siding with the enemy.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, phone in hand, texting.

Cole.

“They aren't the enemy, Keith. I've seen the
enemy
and trust me, Akron isn't even close.”

“Or they just wear a different uniform.”

“Whatever.” She caught Cole's eye and made a face.
What are you doing?

He shrugged, offered her a half-hearted smile, and took a seat behind the Akron boys.

Keith's pinging phone ripped through the quiet room. He leaned toward Haley. “Cole says they offered him a job.”

“Akron offered Cole a job?”

“I told you, they have money. I was blinded by them myself. Almost cost the town the wedding chapel.”

“But you saw the light. The town will see the light.” And Cole. He will see the light. She wanted him on her team.

“But bookoo bucks buys a lot of loyalty.”

“Bookoo bucks? Stop talking about their money. You're killing my confidence.”

“I'm just preparing you.” Keith sat back, surrendering his point, resting his arm over the back of his chair.

Oh, Keith.
He was annoying with his bling personality, but Haley admired his ability to make a casual acquaintance feel like a friend.

Little by little the chairs began to fill. Haley was surprised and happy to see her dad. She waved at him from across the way. He gave her a single nod.

Drummond Branson slipped in next to Dad, giving her a fatherly thumbs-up.

The sound of a gavel shot through her. She pressed her hand to her heart. Sudden, loud noises still made her want to run for cover while reaching for her weapon.

“That's Linus Peabody, city manager, de facto leader of the council.” Keith, the town crier. “Both a rose and a thorn, if you know what I mean.”

“Thank you all for coming. Looks like we have a good turnout. Thanks to Drummond Branson's e-mails.” The speaker tossed a glance to Drummond with no affection in his voice or expression. “We're here to discuss Akron's proposal to divest the town of the building and land on the corner of Blossom and First. The address is 143 First Avenue. As you know, we've been hanging on to this property, taken over when the last owner abandoned it and owed back taxes. You can read all the documentation online.”

Haley listened, running her dewy palm over her jeans.

“We'll hear from Akron first, then we'll hear from any of you. Drummond, I suppose you'll want to speak.”

“Not tonight, Linus. I'm here to support Haley Morgan. She wants to reestablish the wedding shop. The Historical Society is in full support.”

“Well then . . .” The councilman sounded amused but looked arrogant. “I look forward to hearing from her. Brant, why don't you begin.” Linus started to sit down, then addressed the room. “Just to be clear, we've already approved Akron's development of the northeast side of the town. We're in the works, all good to go. This is just the final piece. Blacky Krantz, I know you're waiting to get into one of those new loft apartments. Well, listen to Brant here, and you'll be in before you know it.”