The Wedding Shop (26 page)

Charlotte detailed how she spent years building relationships with designers in New York, Paris, and Milan. How her business was built on one-of-a-kind, expensive dresses.

“I have a flair for it. My assistant, Dixie, calls me the wedding dress whisperer. But your demographic is different, your gifts and talents . . . so do what feels right for you. The vintage with modern seems really interesting to me. I'd just advise you not to go the discount or warehouse sort of route. It takes the fun out of it.”

Haley agreed. “The shop was run by the founder, Jane Scott, until the mid 1920s. Then her great-niece operated the shop until the late seventies. From what I can tell, the stories I've heard, they were all about community, the bride, and her family.”

“Community is key. If that's the history of this shop, then build on it.”

At the top of the steps, Charlotte flipped on a bank of lights. “This is our grand salon.”

Haley drew in a deep breath. The recessed lights spilled down the wall, glowing, twinkling, moving her into another dimension.

“I put all the brides up on the pedestal, dim the lights, turn on the stardust,” Charlotte said.

With the flip of another switch, the salon transformed into a fairy wonderland.

“This takes my breath away.” Haley walked through the twinkling, swirling lights. “This is beautiful. How did you do it?”

“Have your contractor guy call my contractor guy because I have no idea. These lights were his genius.”

“It's incredible.”

“But here's the best part.” Charlotte moved another lever on the wall and the velvet voice of Michael Bublé sang over them. “Stardust melodies . . .”

“You're killing me. Bublé?”

“He usually seals the deal.”

Haley scribbled on her notepad. “Unbelievable, un-believable. You got
me
wanting to get married.” Oops.

“You don't want to get married?” Charlotte's question was wrapped in surprise and a touch of sadness.

Haley lowered her notepad with a sigh, glancing around at Charlotte. She'd not purged as much of her Dax bitterness from her heart as she'd hoped. “No, not really. I'd rather be on
this
side of the wedding business.”

Charlotte squeezed her arm. “Don't give up on love, Haley. After all, you're in the business of love. You're going to have all kinds of brides come through your shop, and some of them will challenge you, make you want to tell them the wedding is about the marriage, not the most expensive gown or the reception hall.
You have to believe in the institution they are entering. You have to remind them about the beauty of love and marriage. I tell you, your lack of experience is nothing compared to your lack of faith in marriage.”

Haley dropped down on the suede chair, her heart racing, tears stinging to the surface. “I want to believe, I do.”

Charlotte eased down next to her. “What happened to steal your hope?”

“A really wrong decision. In fact, that wrong decision showed up in Heart's Bend this morning. Go figure. But even so, Charlotte, I always saw myself as the bridesmaid instead of the bride, you know? I grew up with brothers so I was a tomboy. Dressed like a boy until junior high. I wanted to be girlie but no one in my family was girlie . . .”

“You don't have to be girlie to be a woman or a bride.”

Haley peered at her, nodding, grinning. “True, true.”

Charlotte brushed her hand over Haley's shoulder. “I didn't believe in love either until I met Tim. I never knew my father, and my mother was killed when I was twelve. A friend of hers, cranky Gert, raised me.”

“I read about the gown you found in a trunk.”

“I didn't find it, Haley. It found me. I went to Red Mountain to think, not sure I was ready to marry Tim, when I got caught in a bidding for this ugly old trunk. A thousand dollars. It was crazy. But the auctioneer was so persuasive, and he zeroed in on me.”

“So you bought the trunk? Did he know what was in it?”

“I think he did. He was more than an auctioneer, Haley. He was a divine interruption.”

“I could use a divine interruption.” Haley laughed, but her words were true.

“We never know how or when God will break into our lives, but we have to believe He is always working for our good. I found the dress, and it sent me on an amazing journey of discovering who
I really was.” Charlotte's story waxed sentimental. “I met two of the other women who wore the dress after my great-grandmother. I learned how the dress was divinely passed from bride to bride. How the dress fit each one who tried it on even though none of us are the same size.”

“I wonder if women in my town will bring their dresses around and, I don't know, one day a distant relative will happen upon it.”

“Quite possible. My dress had a divine journey assigned to it. Those of us who wore it were healed in some way. It never needed to be altered or fixed up. Though it was designed in 1912, it never looked outdated. Mary Grace and Hilary look like modern brides in their pictures. The old preacher who married Tim and me was Mary Grace's husband. He said, ‘This dress is like the gospel—never wears out, always on time, always in style, never needs to be altered.' The dress wasn't about me marrying Tim so much as me realizing God loved me.”

“Where is it now?”

“In my home, boxed up. Stored away.”

“Hmmm,” Haley said.

“Hmmm?” Charlotte echoed, peering at Haley through misty eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know . . .” Haley glanced down, trying to find meaning to her verbal musing. “I guess if the dress has some kind of divine journey, who's to say it should be boxed up and stored away? Maybe you should wonder who the next bride might be.”

When she peeked over at Charlotte, her complexion had paled. Haley wished back her observation. “Hey, don't listen to me. What do I know? I'm full of crazy ideas.”

“No, no . . .” Charlotte paced away. “It's just . . . I always thought the dress belonged to me. That it finally made its way home. I never knew my great-grandmother or grandmother. The dress became like family.”

“You're right, of course. You hold on to it for your daughters.
It's something you should pass on. I think I'm seeing that with the stories the old brides in Heart's Bend are telling me. They want their gowns, their experiences to be passed on. Like the sisterhood of the wedding shop.”

“Right, exactly. For me, it was the sisterhood of the wedding dress.”

The conversation stalled. Mom always warned Haley not to speak every thought. One of these days she'd learn.

“Haley, have you ever tried on a wedding dress?” Charlotte leaned to see her face.

“What? No, no, I mean, I'm not a bride.”

“But if you're going to sell to brides, you should know what it feels like to slip on that silky white gown.” Charlotte urged her to her feet.

“No, I can't. No, why, why would I do that?”

Haley resisted. Charlotte was no match for big brothers, drill sergeants, or bucking privates. “I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not trying on a dress.”

“Haley—” Charlotte shoved aside a glossy, dark wood barn door, revealing a river of white gowns. “You have to do this.”

“But I don't want to do this.”

Charlotte glanced over at her. “Because . . .?” The shop proprietor smiled. “Come on, it might ease whatever ails your heart about marriage.”

“Nothing ails my heart about marriage. I'm just not sure it's for me.”

“Really? Then what's the harm in trying on a dress?” She motioned to the row of white satin gowns. “Do you see one you like? When I opened the shop I tried on every dress.”

Charlotte removed a gown from the rack. “This is a local designer. Heidi Elnora. It's simple but beautiful, off the shoulder with an A-line skirt. It looks like you, Haley.”

“Me? No, I'm a fatigues and jeans girl.”

“Maybe you used to be, but . . .” Charlotte deposited Haley with the dress in a triangular room with muted canned lights and a lamp in the peak of the ceiling. The deep purple carpet was plush under her feet. “Get into as much as you can, then I'll come help with the buttons.”

Charlotte shut the door and Haley was alone. She breathed out, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

Lord, how did she get in this mess? She wanted to help brides, not be one. She'd forfeited her right to a happy ending because of the damage she'd done between Dax and his wife.

“How's it going in there?” Charlotte's voice slipped through the narrow door.

“Okay.” Sorta.

The dressing room door opened and in came Charlotte with a veil and a fascinator. “What do you think, this two-layer, shoulder-length blusher veil or the birdcage? You're so petite I think the birdcage . . . Haley, you're not changed.”

She sank down on the cushioned bench, the burden of seeing Dax, of remembering the life she'd lived with him surfacing again, so fresh and raw.

“Ever wish you'd lived some part of your life differently?”

Charlotte set the veils on the bench with the shoes and sat on the floor by Haley's feet. “Sure. Is that what's bothering you? I realize we just met, but I'm here if you want to talk.”

“Are you a woman of faith, Charlotte?” Haley turned her gaze to the dress hanging on the wall.

“I am.”

Haley crumpled back with a sigh. “I met Jesus when I was fourteen. I was really passionate all through high school. Only one in my family who went to church, but I believed, you know?”

“I do.”

“When I went to college I walked away some, got into some partying, but nothing too wild. Then came the air force and at the
most I drank too much, maybe hooked up with a guy for the night.” She peered at Charlotte. “But that wasn't me. I didn't want to be that girl.”

“So asking you to wear the dress brings all that into focus?” Charlotte said.

“When I was in California, I met a man who swept me off my feet.”

“And?”

“He was married. I didn't know at first, was mad as a hornet when I found out. But I didn't end it, Charlotte. I believed he loved me and would leave her. I urged him to walk away from his vows and commitment.”

“So
that
disqualifies you from wearing a wedding gown?”

Haley stood. “Doesn't it? Doesn't a white dress mean something? Or isn't it supposed to? I fought to break up a marriage, Charlotte. Who does that? I told him to leave his wife and kids. I wanted him for myself at the cost of someone else's heart and happiness.”

The unburdening freed her.

“You can't let your past define you, or your future, Haley. What you
did
isn't who you are now or who you'll become. Isn't that the point of the cross, of forgiveness? Being washed
white
as snow.” She took the dress from the hook. “This gown is actually called Snow White.”

Haley collapsed against the wall, eyes brimming. “I can't. I'm
no
Snow White.”

“Haley, take it from me, you can't punish yourself into righteousness. If God's forgiven you, why can't you forgive yourself?”

“I have forgiven myself.” Until she remembered the depths to which she sank.

“Really? Then why are you disqualifying yourself when God says you're qualified?” Charlotte walked to the door. “Now, put on the dress and shoes, choose the veil you like, and come out. I'll fix
the buttons and you, my new friend, are going to have your moment on the pedestal with the lights and stardust.”

“Charlotte, look, I appreciate—”

“Get to it.” Charlotte's bark was reminiscent of Haley's drill sergeant when she was in basic. The door slammed behind Charlotte, punctuating her command.

So the owner of Malone & Co. didn't hold back any punches. What Haley wanted more than anything was to put Dax
behind
her. His surprise visit stirred her regret, her disdain for herself, and the life she'd lived with him. Would she ever be rid of the shame?

With a sigh of resolve, Haley wrenched off her boots, jeans, and blouse, and carefully stepped into the dress, the silk running against her legs, cooling the heat of her struggle.

The bodice slipped over her hips and sat at her waist. She worked her arms through the short lace sleeves.

Gathering the skirt with shaking hands, she wiggled her feet into the shoes. Twenties-style Mary Janes. She grabbed the birdcage fascinator and emerged into the salon, all the while avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't look . . . just couldn't.

What would she see looking back at her? Would the Snow White gown mock her?

“Haley . . . Oh my.” Charlotte approached, wonder in her eyes, her hand pressed to her chest. “You are
stunning
.”

“Please, my hair's a mess and my makeup is all runny from the drive down.”

“Stop, no more telling me what's wrong with you. Or that I'm wrong.” Charlotte turned Haley toward the mirror. “See?”

Raising her gaze ever so slightly, Haley caught a glimpse of the dress. But stopped at her shoulders. She'd seen a picture of Dax's wife in her wedding dress and that was the last straw for Haley.

“Step up on the pedestal. I'm going to turn on the lights and music.”

Haley hesitated. “Charlotte, there's no need—”

“Oh, but there is.”

“Isn't it enough I tried on the dress? I get it. It feels amazing. The rich silk against my skin . . .”

Charlotte adjusted the lights and a sparkling glow dropped on Haley. When she looked up, she saw her entire reflection in the mirrors. The gown was beautiful. And she was . . .

Stringed music entered the atmosphere and her heart began to quake, shaking her body, shifting her stones. Then the tears took over.