The Wedding Shop (21 page)

C
ORA

August 1931

August came with a rainless heat. Dust rose from the ground, thirsty for a taste of heaven. In the evening, the crickets' dirge saturated the stale air and Cora imagined their song begged God for relief.

Sitting on the back porch Birch built, she cooled herself with a Main Street Baptist Church fan. She'd heard tell of a newfangled device that cooled a home in the summer, an air conditioner. One day when things turned around in this town, Cora thought she'd find out how to install one of those contraptions in the shop.

The summer brides were sticky with sweat by the time they descended the stairs—even with the ceiling fans whirring.

“I'm having second thoughts,” Mama said, coming to the porch with two glasses of iced tea. “I'm not sure I should leave you. Or my garden.” She handed Cora a glass as she sat in the adjacent rocker.

“Mama, it's been discussed and decided. You're to go to New York. Besides, Aunt Marian went out of her way to find you a position in the secretarial pool. You can't sully her reputation by changing your mind.”

“People change their minds all the time. You're just trying to get rid of me.”

“Yes. You came up with this idea to move to New York and, frankly, I think it's a good one. I'm helping you stick to it.” Cora reached across the little table for Mama's arm. “But I'm going to miss you.”

“I'll miss you too, darling. But oh, won't it be good to earn a salary? My own money. I don't believe I've ever had my own money. First it was my daddy's, then my husband's. What times we live in.”

Right after Birch built the back porch and Cora started using it as a living space, setting meals on the table, sitting out in the evening reading, something changed in Mama. She started batting around ideas of moving on with her life.

So she wrote to her sister in New York, who was married to a prominent insurance man, and asked about a job. Marian approached her husband's boss about an opening in the secretarial pool and, well, Mama was booked on the noon bus tomorrow.

“What are you going to do with your first paycheck?” Cora said, keeping Mama's thoughts forward-thinking.

Mama sipped her tea, her face creased with concern. “I thought I'd send some to you. I'll be living with Marian and George, so I won't need much.”

“Keep your money, Mama. I have plenty.”

“You have plenty to run a business, but you need to hold on to that, Cora. Who knows how long this Depression and drought will last? Or what it will take to recover? Who knew any of this would ever happen? Besides, why can't I help out? You've been taking care of me since your da—well, since everything.”

“You've helped me more than you'll ever know. The best hostess this shop could ever have, all as a volunteer.”

Mama waved her off. “We're family.”

“Why don't you go shopping with your first paycheck?” Cora said. “Buy a new dress or two.

“Well, I would like to update my wardrobe. Most likely I'll be out of date with New York fashions.”

Cora more than heard Mama's sigh. She felt it. Less than a year ago she was a bank president's wife, a pillar in Heart's Bend society. Now she lived on the third floor of her daughter's shop. Tomorrow she'd leave town on a bus, alone, to a strange city,
taking on a job she'd barely been trained to do in high school over thirty years ago. To be nameless and faceless in a secretarial pool.

“Mama.” Cora squeezed her arm. “I know this is not what you expected of your life—”

“I expected to be entertaining my grandchildren, having large Sunday dinners with you and EJ. I planned to work my garden and tend to your father, being the good wife of a prominent man. It was a good plan, Cora. And for a long while, it worked like a charm. Now look at me.” She rubbed her thumb against the top of her hand. “A charity case. Leaving town in shame.” She glanced back at Cora. “Leaving you to face it all alone.”

“Lots of men have left their families. Remember Avril?” Word whispered through town of more and more men leaving, the desperate times forcing them into unthinkable actions.

“Yes, well, a lot of men did
not
leave their families too. They faced the difficulties like real men.”

“Daddy is a real man, Mama.” She couldn't help but defend him. Her heart always hoped. “As for me, I won't be alone. I have Odelia. My friends. Rufus.”

“Rufus. Well, I have warmed to him some, but, Cora, be careful. Please. He reminds me too much of your daddy. So handsome and charming, but saying one thing and doing another.” Mama faced away. “I'd like to know what sins I committed to bring this ruin down on me.”

“You know better.”

“Do I?”

“So the Jesus you taught in Sunday school to half of Heart's Bend citizens is not the God you believe in? Not the One who is good and kind, whose love and faithfulness never ends or fails?”

“How can you be so pious? Look at our plight.”

“What plight? I have a roof over my head and food on the table. Clothes to wear. We lost our house and our land, but so what? We
still have each other and our health. You may have lost hope in Daddy, but I have not.”

Mama shook her head. “He wrote, Cora, the day Birch built the porch.”

“What? You didn't tell me.” Cora bent forward to see Mama's face as she brushed her trembling hand over her wet cheeks.

“He's not coming back, Cora. He's too ashamed.”

So that's what caused her to change. “Tell him that's too bad.” Cora moved in front of Mama, taking hold of her shoulders. “Tell him to come home anyway. Everyone is dealing with some sort of shame and failure. Where is he, anyway?”

“In Georgia, or Florida. He can't decide.” Mama broke forward with a sob, burying her head in her hands. “He's gone. The man I knew and loved since I was sixteen is gone. Even if he came back, he'd not be the same. Not this time. How could I ever trust him?”

Cora slipped her arms around Mama's shoulders, holding her while she wept, her own tears blocked behind a barricade of anger.

Mama lifted her head, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to dry her eyes and blow her nose. “I shouldn't burden my girl with my troubles.” She whirled around with a fixed smile pressed on her lips. “I'm the mother, the one who should bear the family burdens.”

“No one can bear burdens alone.” Cora slipped back into her chair. “W-what did Daddy say in his letter?”

“He feels he's done me a great injustice, and he cannot bear to see my disappointment.”

“But it was all about money . . . things . . . Things we can do without. Yet we can't do without him.”

Mama pressed her hand to Cora's arm. “You said it yourself. Daddy can't separate his role as a provider from his role as a bank president, as a money man. If he can't be and
do
those things, then he can't be who he needs to be . . . for you and me.” She brushed
her handkerchief under her nose. “Listen to me making a defense for him.”

She disappeared into the house, and the sound of the closing door resonated through Cora as the final note in a long song.

Life had changed, was changing, and very possibly would never be the same. The only constants in her life were the shop and Rufus. She refused to give up her own hope of a happy ending.

“Cora?” A tender voice called from the edge of the porch.

“Millie?” Cora shoved open the screen door, inviting the woman in. “Millie Kuehn? How are you? I've not seen you in a good long while.”

Millie Kuehn, another shop alum, a few years older than Cora, stepped tentatively onto the porch.

“How long's it been? Ten years?” Cora said, offering her mama's rocker.

“Twelve.” She clicked her fingernails together, a vacant, haunting shadow in her eyes. “I still remember it like it was yesterday, though.” Her eyes welled up, a reflection of these hard times.

“Please sit, Millie,” Cora led her to the chair. “What's on your mind?”

“I can't complain.” She sat gently, folding her hands in her lap, setting the rocker in motion. “We ain't got no troubles no one else has, though Charles is still angry about the bank's closing and losing all our savings.” She swiped a bit of perspiration from her brow. “Don't help, this heat . . . He's afraid we're going to lose the corn crop.”

“Reverend Clinton is calling for a meeting to pray for rain. I'm planning on going.”

“Well, if 'n God cared, I suppose He'd be the one to ask for rain,” Millie said.

How did Cora find herself the arbitrator of faith this morning? She'd certainly had her doubts. But that's why she fought to believe, why she held on to Rufus. To be faithful to the end.

“My girl Annie just turned ten and she found my wedding dress. Begged me to try it on.” Millie's watery laugh joined the song of the birds slipping through the screen. “She swam in it. She's such a little bit of a thing, but she said, ‘Mama, I'm going to wear this someday.' I said, ‘Annie, I'd be honored, but don't you want your day at the wedding shop? Walk down those grand stairs, all dolled up and beautiful in your own gown, us women gazing up at you, fawning over you?' ” Millie inhaled, pressing her hands over her heart. “I never wanted to lose the feeling I had when I came down the stairs, so hopeful, so full of love. Then, when I walked down the aisle to Charles, I just knew everything was going to be grand and lovely.” Her fingers fluttered against her lace collar. “But I can't . . . I can't feel it . . . It's fading, Cora. Time is so cruel that-a-way.”

“But we have our memories plus the faith in times ahead. Think of your Annie walking down the stairs in your gown, Millie. What a grand day that will be. We can alter the dress for her any way she needs.” In a small town like Heart's Bend, there were few debutantes. The community didn't have much room for social stratospheres. Getting married was a girl's debut. “I remember how lovely you looked. Aunt Jane and I declared you had the best trousseau that year.”

“Did I?” Her smile wavered. “I lost it all, except my gown, in the fire our first year.” Millie absently rubbed the pink scar along the side of her arm. “I think I mourned that leaving suit more than losing half the house.”

“We can make Annie a nice suit. Or order one from New York. And get a nice mother's gown for you. You'll see. It'll be right again, Millie. Things for brides changed so much after the war. A girl has so many options. Used to be all bridal fashion came from Europe, but these days New York is all the rage. More affordable. By the time Annie gets married, who knows what a working family will be able to afford.”

“Well, she ain't getting nothing if times don't change.”

“She's only ten, Millie.” Cora's voice buoyed with hope.

“If Charles has his way she won't marry until she's an old maid of thirty.” Millie sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, Cora, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

“Better to be unmarried at thirty, waiting for the right man, than married at twenty to the wrong one.”

“Truer words were never spoken. I was blessed. Married me a good one.” Millie tipped her head back, resting it on the top of the rocker, and closed her eyes. “I just wanted to be someplace happy. Take a load off my mind. I remember the tea your aunt served, sitting in the big salon with my mother and grandmother, my sisters, and my cousin, excited, so very excited. It was the best day, simply the best.”

“Would you care for some iced tea now?”

“Wouldn't that be lovely?” Sitting back, rocking slightly to and fro, Millie drifted away, her eyelids fluttering with sleep.

Cora shoved out of her chair and tiptoed inside. Mama met her in the mudroom wearing her hat and gloves, an envelope in her hand. “I was just coming to find you. I'm off to run errands before my bus trip. And this came for you by special messenger.”

Cora glanced at the plain white envelope with nothing written on the outside. “Millie Kuehn is on the porch.”

“What does she want?” Mama moved aside the lace sheer at the window.

“Same thing as Avril Kreyling and the others who've stopped by. To remember happy times.”

“We all cling to what good we can.” Mama stepped into the small salon. “Also, Gwen Parker was just here. She got engaged and wanted to set an appointment. She's been saving her money since she was eight to get her dress here. I set her up for Monday.”

“All right. Thank you.” The unspoken words shouted between them. Mama wouldn't be here Monday.

After Mama left to do her errands, Cora slipped the envelope
into her pocket while she fixed Millie a glass of tea. But when she stepped outside, the woman was gone, her chair still rocking from her exit.

“God bless you, Millie.” Cora set down the tea and retrieved her letter. Her pulse ignited when she discovered it was from Rufus, with yesterday's date.

My dearest, I'm in port tomorrow evening. Dinner? 7:00? I'm in such need of your company. I miss you. Yours, Rufus

Cora crushed the note to her chest, then sniffed the plain white paper, breathing in his scent. See, God looked after His own. One just needed to be patient. Steadfast.

True love always triumphed.

C
OLE

M
onday morning Cole pulled into Java Jane's for a quick cup of coffee before heading off to Heart's Bend Inn. Thank goodness they called with a job, wanting some rooms renovated. This was an answer to prayer, no denying it.

Since his paintball game and confession in the snow with Haley last week, he'd not seen much of her. There was an unspoken need for space. To wrestle with the truth. Wrestle with things still unsaid. Wrestle with feelings that wouldn't let go.

The way she cried against him sank into his heart and mind. Something,
someone
hurt her. Beyond the secrets Tammy kept from her. Darned if he didn't want to be there for her. He spent Friday and Saturday making calls, seeing what kind of deals he could get for the remodel, getting set up and ready to go once the permits were released.

So far, his effort yielded nothing, but he was hopeful.

Inside Java Jane's, the barista called to him. “Morning, Cole. The usual?”

“Hey, Alice Sue. Yes, the usual please.” Regular coffee with a dash of cream. Cole dropped a five on the counter as he glanced around. Looked like the usual nine a.m. crowd.

“Oh, almost forgot, someone is waiting for you in the corner.” Alice Sue reached for the five as she slid over his large coffee.

“Who?” He glanced to the corners of the shop. Heat rose under his skin when he spotted his dad at a far table. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Cole. Have a good one.”

Taking a deep breath, he thought about just walking out, but the man had seen him, nodded, hoisting his coffee cup in salute. Stepping around the tables, Cole made his way over. When was the last time he'd seen his father? Chris's graduation from high school? Right before he was sentenced for six years.

Dad stood as he approached. “Morning, Cole.”

“What are you doing here?” Cole's gaze scraped over his father's thin cheeks and gray hair in need of a cut. A shell of the man he was while Cole was a kid. He was a powerful mover and shaker fifteen years ago, his construction business reaching through middle Tennessee. Akron wasn't even a speck on the map.

But he exchanged it for an all-expenses-paid trip to the state pen for ten-to-twenty. He got a reduced sentence for turning over evidence and good behavior.

“I came to see you.”

“You working?” Cole remained standing, so Dad slid back from the table, rising to his full six two, meeting his son's gaze.

“Got a job up in Nashville. On a crew taking care of city property. It's mindless. But keeps me busy.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Cole motioned to the clock on the wall. “Shouldn't you be working?”

“Working on a later crew today. Thought I'd run down and see you.”

“Got an apartment?”

“Little one. Hole in the wall.” Dad sipped his coffee. “How's your mother?”

“Fantastic. Running Ella's like a champ.” Bragging on Mom felt good, like he was stabbing Dad with the reality of his stupidity. He'd never find another woman like Mom and, hey, she made a
good life for herself without him. “Cap is at Vanderbilt. Chris, at Georgetown, about to get his MBA.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw Cap and Chris before Christmas.”

Cole hesitated over his coffee. So his brothers did see Dad.

“How's business for you?” Dad said after a second. “Things going well? Read in the paper the council gave that old wedding shop to Haley Morgan. That Dave and Joann's girl?”

“Yeah, she's bringing back the old wedding shop.”

“You working with her on it?”

“Maybe.”

“The bones of that place are solid. I did some minor fix-ups on it before Miss Cora shut her down in the late seventies. I was eighteen. On my first construction crew with Jim Bartholomew. That man taught me everything I know.”

“Except not to commit fraud.”

Dad turned his stir stick over and over with his fingers. “I guess I deserved that one.”

“I need to get going, Dad. Did you come down here just to say hi?” Cole backed toward the door, waiting, unsure what answer his heart longed to hear.

Dad hesitated, shifting his focus to his coffee, then the large pane window facing Main Street. “I was wondering about the Stratocaster. Chris told me you have the guitar boxed up in a glass case, hanging on your wall.”

“Chris talks too much.”

“That may be, but it seems we shared that guitar, Cole, and when times were good, I could afford to hold on to such a luxury. But times aren't so good, and yes, I know, it was all my doing. If you're not playing it, I thought you might consider selling it.”

“Money, everything with you is about money.”

“Well, when you're in need, yes, everything is about money. I've served my time. I'm working, making my own way, but I could use
a car, Cole. You could sell that thing for the price of two brand-new cars.”

“So I sell it and give you the money?”

“I figure we split it. I know what it's like to get up a business. I'm sure you could use some cash about now.”

“I'm not selling the Stratocaster.”

“Just to spite me? Because I'm in need. It's a valid possession of mine.”

Cole stepped into him. “And mine. You may not care about me or the family, but I do. Like it or not, that guitar was the last good memory I have of you, and it's not for sale.”

“The guitar isn't the memory, but the time we had finding it, playing it, fixing it up.”

“I've got to go.” Cole headed for the door, his heart blazing. He had some nerve, his dad. But just as he pushed outside, he caught Brant Jackson and Linus Peabody head-to-head in another corner of the shop. What were they cooking up? The image cooled his jets over Dad.

At his truck, he slammed the door, anchoring his coffee in the cup holder, firing up the engine. Sell the rare Fender Stratocaster? He'd rather don a wedding dress and parade down the shop's grand staircase into a sea of smiling old ladies. If he ever sold it, he'd give the money to Mom or his brothers, or some other deserving soul.

Nevertheless, the scene of Linus and Brant disturbed Cole almost as much as his dad's request. The city manager, the de facto head of the town council, looking all too cozy with the enemy of the wedding shop.

Backing out of the parking lot, Cole aimed for city hall to check on the permits, a
grr
in his gut, declaring war on anything that got in his way.