The Wedding Shop (27 page)

“I can't . . . I can't.” She turned to flee, but Charlotte was in the way, blocking her escape.

“Haley, I'm no prophet, but this is not about a wedding dress. This is about seeing yourself as He sees you.” She turned her around, walking her to the pedestal. “White as snow.”

A male voice began to sing softly. But it wasn't Bublé this time. “What can wash away my sins, nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

Gritting her teeth and gripping her fists, Haley battled her tears, fought the anger burning from deep within.

“I-I wrecked a family, a marriage. And for a year I didn't care. I wanted my man.”

“Forgive yourself, Haley. If the Lord has, then how dare you hold on to your offense?”

“Wrecking a marriage . . . It is unforgivable.” She raised her fist. “How could I? How could I? I knew better. I
know
better.” Haley shook so, she barely stood.

Charlotte gently touched her arm. “Let it go or it will taint everything you do in life, Haley. Everything.”

Who was this woman she barely knew lobbing truths into her soul?

Haley stumbled off the pedestal, collapsing against Charlotte, then sinking to the floor, staining the lace and silk of the Snow White wedding dress with her tears of shame, regret, and forgiveness.

Blindsided by the moment, by a woman she barely knew, this was God's coming in like a flood, overwhelming her by His Spirit. And she was undone by the simple act of putting on a garment she did not deserve to wear.

C
ORA

March 1932

A
glorious day. Truly glorious. Spring's promise pushed back the dreary chill of winter and Cora felt like celebrating.

She'd spent a grand five dollars on an ad in the
Tennessean
and $1.35 on an ad in the Heart's Bend
Tribune
announcing The Wedding Shop's reopening after a cruel fire.

Hattie Lerner did a quick write-up in the
Tribune
's society section with a sweet headline:

THE WEDDING SHOP REOPENS FOR BRIDES EVERYWHERE.

Thank you, Hattie.

Cora folded the paper, tucking it under her arm, content with her ads, content with getting back to work. Moving forward and forgetting the last eight months.

Other than Daddy losing her childhood home and leaving the family, getting over Rufus had been the most trying time of her life. She despised her naïveté. Worse, the embarrassment of weeping on Birch's shoulder, then of confessing the truth to Odelia and, finally, to Mama, who graciously refrained to only two, “I told you. I told you,” during the initial dialogue.

Well, it was all done now. Over. A thing of the past.

Leaving the newspaper in the pantry, breathing in the scent of
new lumber and paint that sweetened the shop . . . it made the shop feel new again. Revitalized.

Cora hurried up to the mezzanine, grateful ruined things could be restored, and pulled the key from her skirt pocket, unlocking the storage door.

A drop of joy spilled on her heart. While the new part of the shop was being painted, Cora had the storage room spruced up. The fresh pink wall was contrasted by a row of white wedding gowns. At the end of the room, on the far wall, a window captured the outside in. The room was fresh, bright, airy, and full of everything Cora loved.

She'd splurged, yes she did, ordering all sorts of new things from New York—gowns, veils and gloves, shoes. She paid Odelia and her seamstresses an extra three dollars each for going-away dresses and wedding-night apparel.

If she couldn't be a bride, she'd be the best bride's
maid
anywhere. Let the brides commence shopping.

Cora walked the length of the room, inspecting each milky-white gown. And weren't the going-away dresses such bold colors this season? Reds, blues, and purples.

At the window, she paused to look out, then with a burst of energy shouted against the glass, “I'm back and going to win the day.”

Whirling around, ready to work, Cora gathered two mannequin heads and the box of veils, taking a quick survey of the room. What else would she need? She'd come back for the shoes. She had a lovely idea to display them along the staircase—a pair on each step.

The fire, as shocking as it was, turned out to be a blessing. The purging flames awoke her to her foolishness,
purged
her really, from the evils of Rufus St. Claire.

Her first Sunday in church after the fire, Cora begged God's forgiveness, begged for His balm on her sorrow. While she sensed
His touch, there were dark waves throughout her day when a memory surfaced, or a longing, and she'd break down.

How could she have been so blind? Could she ever trust her heart again?

At the display case in the small salon, Cora fashioned the veils on the mannequin heads, then opened the front door, allowing the morning breeze to sweep away the stale air of the night. To clear her mind of cobwebs of shame.

She raised the window sash and saw Odelia walking down the street. “Did you pick up the pastries?” she called.

“Right here.” Odelia raised two large boxes over her head.

“Cora, please, stop yelling like a heathen.”

She turned to see Mama gliding down the stairs, so lithe and sophisticated in her New York Saks Fifth Avenue dress, her hair the color of the morning sun and permanent waved.

She returned home when Odelia wrote her about the fire. Cora had planned to leave the tale for another time, when things were right again. But Odelia thought different. And Mama thanked her for it.

“If Daddy could see you now, Mama.”

She smiled, raising her cigarette to her lips. “I sent him a photograph of me right after I had my hair done, wearing this dress.”

“Has he written?” Cora asked. She'd not heard from Daddy since Christmas

Mama's smile faded. “No, but it's to be expected.” Smoke from her cigarette swirled around her hair. Despite her thin, exotic appearance, Mama could not keep her despair from reflecting in her eyes.

“Pastries are in the pantry.” Odelia came from the back, tying on her work apron. “I heard at the Women's Club that quite a number of the town's younger women want to come out, take a look. They have no hope of affording a wedding trousseau, but they'd like to dream.”

“This danged Depression can't last forever,” Mama said. “President Hoover must do something to help.”

“The president can't make it rain, Mama. Nor does he care about brides in Heart's Bend, Tennessee, but we do. We can help them afford some sort of trousseau.” Cora's rejuvenated mission welled within her. “We'll find a way.”

“Yes, and if you're not careful you'll run out of money before it's all over. You can't keep giving stuff away,” Mama said, disappearing into the new pantry, her favorite place in this whole shop. So she said.

Now that she'd worked a real job for a few months in a big city, she was more of an expert on everything than before. And not timid at all about sharing her opinion.

“The usual, Cora?” Odelia said, heading up to the mezzanine.

“Yes, dresses from New York on the mannequins. And let's bring down the entire inventory for the new built-in racks in the grand salon.” Another idea from the reconstruction. Cora installed dress racks in the grand salon. She and Odelia wouldn't have to put it all away at night. “On the dress forms, put your favorite pattern dresses. Oh, I saw an ad in
Vogue
last fall with shoes positioned on the staircase. It looked marvelous. Let's do something similar, shall we?”

“We shall.” Odelia hustled up the stairs. “I think someone is in love.”

“In love?” Mama came from the pantry with a cup of coffee and a fresh cigarette. “Who's in love?”

“Cora.”

“What on earth? I am
not
in love.”

“You're mighty chipper lately. Especially when Birch Good comes around.”

Mama sipped her coffee, peering at Cora over the rim. “I agree. I declare you officially Rufus-free. Thank goodness.”

“Fine and dandy, but that does not mean I'm in love with
Birch.” Good grief. Two crazy old ladies . . . That's what she was dealing with here.

Sure, Cora liked Birch. Very, very much. She adored him, really. He'd been a lifesaver the past eight months, but love? No, no, no.

He was a farmer. He lived by the will of the sun and the rain. The land was his master. She wanted no such life.

She was about to head up to help Odelia when a young man dressed in a messenger uniform appeared at the door. “I'm looking for Mrs. Scott.”

Mama stepped in from the small salon. “I'm Mrs. Scott.”

“I've a registered mail for you, ma'am.”

Mama anchored her cigarette between her lips, handed Cora her coffee, and signed for her letter. Cora dug a quarter from her pocket for a tip.

“Mama, what is it?”

Standing in the sun-filled foyer, Mama scanned the letter. “It's from your father.”

“Daddy? What does he say?” Cora set Mama's coffee on the small planter between the windows and tried to read over her shoulder.

“H-he wants a divorce.”

“A divorce?” Cora snatched the letter. “He can't mean it. He can't.”

He had written over Christmas saying he was well, thinking of them, but couldn't bring himself to face the shame of Heart's Bend and all he'd done to their friends.

But divorce. Had he lost his mind? It was scandalous.

Yet there before Cora's eyes, in black and white, was a writ of divorce.

“He can't do this, Mama. The courts won't let him. He deserted
us
, not the other way around.”

Mama's hand trembled as she drew a long puff from her cigarette. “If he wants a divorce, then why would I stand in his way? He's left me,
us
, three times, Cora.”

“He'll come home again.”

“Cora, darling, you're so hopeful. But not this time. It's been well over a year.” Mama turned for the stairs. “Now, how can I help Odelia? Shall I arrange the shoes?”

“Mama, how can you be so blasé? This doesn't bother you? It's one thing for Daddy to leave, but another to divorce you.”

Mama sighed. “If you must know, he wrote to me already asking if I wanted to divorce him. I said I would not put my good name through the courts that way, but if he wanted to divorce me I'd not stand in his way. Now, let's get to the grand reopening of The Wedding Shop.” She turned to call up the stairs. “Odelia, don't forget the long satin gloves. Those are so lovely.”

Mama started up the stairs and Cora chased after her. “Mama, how are you not sad? How can you be all right with this?”

At the top of the stairs, Mama pulled another cigarette from her pocket. Cora snatched it from her fingers.

“Not around the dresses.”

Mama sighed. “Cora, I've thought a lot about this and I want to move on. Is that all right with you? Plenty of women get divorced. I'll be more than fine.” She punched the air with her fist. “I'm a feisty one.”

“Plenty of women? Who, Mama? Who do you know in this town who's gotten divorced?” Cora couldn't think of anyone. “And who cares about other women. You've loved Daddy since you were sixteen. Married him at eighteen. How can you be all right with this?”

Mary Denton got divorced, but her husband went to jail for fraud. The Andersons got divorced a few years back, but she was a drunk. Other than that . . .

“Cora, leave it.” Mama patted her shoulder. “I want to be happy today.”

“But are you happy, Mama?” Cora touched her arm. If losing Rufus hurt like the dickens, how must Mama feel losing her husband of more than thirty-six years?

“You make me happy. This shop makes me happy. Cora, don't fret over me. Now, let's get those shoes lined up on the stairs.”

The grand reopening started slow but ended with the shop full of women young and old celebrating the shop's return. Cora had three appointments on the books for next week and fully expected more.

When she closed the shop and shut off the lights at seven, Mama and Odelia met her in the foyer with a glass of tea. Mama hoisted her glass. “To our success!”

“To a good day,” Odelia said. “Well done, Cora. I'm happy things are getting back to normal round here.”

Mama sputtered a laugh, choking on her tea, pressing her fingers to her lips, shaking her head, listening to Odelia go on to complain her “dogs were barking” and she was heading on home.

Cora and Mama ate a light supper in the apartment, enjoying their new stove and refrigerator, keeping the conversation light and away from the matter of the divorce.

When they finished, Cora stood, clearing away the dishes. “I'll clean up, Mama. You go rest.”

“Thank you, darling. I do feel rather worn-out today. But we had a good one, didn't we?”

“We did.”

As she set the dishes in the sink, a wild sob contorted her forward. “Daddy . . .”

He wasn't coming back. Her family was no more. Cora muffled her soft cry with the dish towel, resting against the wall. Mama must not see or hear.

She collected herself enough to put away the corned beef, then snuck downstairs to the back porch.

Along the dark horizon, the final glow of the sunset hung on but offered no warmth. Cora drew her sweater around her, the night chilly, winter not ready to let go.

“Care for some company?” Birch peered through the screen on the far side of the porch.

“Please, please, come in.” She stood as he entered, removing his hat, kissing her on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see how the reopen went.” Birch took the chair next to hers, setting his hat on his knee. “Nice night.”

“Beautiful.”

“So, you had a good day?”

“The reopening was a success. I'm very pleased. How was your day?”

“Started the plowing with the new tractor. Uncle Sam's glad he can rest in the barn.”

“He's been a good ole mule, Uncle Sam.”

“A partner, really. Where would we be without him?”

She peeked at Birch. He was a handsome man with his hair smoothed back and the spring sun coloring his cheeks a pale red. “Daddy served Mama divorce papers.”

“Cora, no . . .” He leaned forward, arms on his legs, slapping his hat between his hands. “I'm so sorry. How's Esmé?”