The Wedding Shop (7 page)

“Yeah.” He rapped his knuckles against the porch's wood frame. “I know I'm only thirty, but I suddenly feel too old for this. Dating. Wasn't fun in high school, so why would it be fun now? Expectations are the same yet different. People come to the table with all their gunk.” He turned to her. “You don't have gunk, do you? Please don't have any gunk. 'Cause the world needs one person without gunk, and that's you, Haley.”

“Don't make me the saint.” Haley stepped away, feeling herself close up, wilt a little. She probably had more gunk than anyone. At least anyone on this porch.

Cole was Tammy's man, but he'd always been Haley's friend. Words flowed easily between them. In fact, once, they spent all night talking in the football stands after a particularly tough loss to their rival Memphis team. Cole, the team's kicker, missed the game-winning field goal. He needed to talk. Tammy hated football. She only went to the games for Cole.

Boy, she liked to have killed them both when she found out her boyfriend and her best friend stayed out all night,
talking
, not answering their cell phones.

“So,” Haley said, patting the brick. “Do you think this old place can be restored?”

“I think it's a waste of your time. Going to be demolished once the city sells to Akron. I've put in a bid to demolish it.”

“What? No, Cole. They can't tear it down.” Haley pressed her cheek against the wall. “I'm here. I won't let them hurt you.”

Cole's laugh was sweet, low, full of affection. “Now you're taking me back to the old days. You and Tams . . . dreamers. How do you still have rose-colored glasses on after being in the air force? Didn't deployment burst all your bubbles?”

“I don't have any rose-colored glasses, Cole, but it's war that makes me want to reopen the shop. If we don't have love, marriage, and family, then what hope do we have? Why do we fight wars? I defended our freedoms, our way of life, down to the right of a man to propose to the woman he loves. For a woman to marry the man of her dreams.” She waved her flashlight beam against the window. “Besides, I always knew this shop was my future.”

“You're kidding. Not much of a future.” Cole kicked the weak porch frame. “Are you sure you're not just being sentimental about Tammy? About being a kid?”

“No, yeah, maybe. But so what? I've seen a lot in the last six years, Cole, and if running this wedding shop is my destiny, what God has for me, I'd be honored. Consider myself lucky.”

“Lucky? When you could go to grad school. Be one of those ‘amazing Morgans' who conquer their corner of the world.”

Haley stamped her foot. “This is my corner of the world. And I'm going to conquer it.”

His laugh carried the sound of pity. “Good luck. But I'm telling you it's going to be demolished.”

His words fell between them as Haley batted them to the porch floor. Tears swelled in her eyes. “Why not for Tammy, Cole?” Her confession was low and true. “Why not for me and our childhood dream?” She turned to him. “I miss her.”

“Me too.” He paused, clearing his throat.

Haley cupped her hands around her face and peered through the window again. “How do you think I should go about getting this place?”

“You're serious?” Cole tipped his head in wonder. “There's a For Sale sign. Call the Realtor. Keith Niven. You remember him? He was in your brother Will's class. He'll have ideas.”

“Good ones?”

“Haley, can I be a friend? Don't get your heart set on this place. I get the sentiment, and it being a new year and all, it gets us to thinking, but Akron has deep pockets and the city wants the cash. The town council is all about the new shopping mall and renovating the old mill into lofts.”

“Then why haven't they torn this place down already?”

“Because a brigade of old women who bought their wedding dresses from the shop forty, fifty, sixty years ago shows up at every town council meeting to plead for the old shop and the town council caves. But I don't think they will again. Akron is offering a lot of money. More than it's worth. The town can't afford to hold on to the building.”

“How did they get it in the first place?”

“Back taxes. Figure that into your dream too.”

“You're not scaring me. Cole, this place is Heart's Bend's legend. Half the families in this town have some connection to the wedding shop.”

“That'd be a lot of people, Haley. We have more and more newbies and fewer and fewer oldies.” He tapped his foot against a loose porch board, stooping, checking the underside, then tapping it back into place with his boot heel. “Heart's Bend needs to move on, out of the past and into the future. This place is an eyesore.”

“I'm all for progress, but that doesn't mean we completely leave our history behind. Heart's Bend had a premier wedding shop for, what, ninety years? It's part of our DNA. Not to mention it's a fifty-billion-dollar business, Cole. I've done some research.”

“Haley, this corner just doesn't work for business. It's been a bookstore, a record store, a computer repair center. Nothing works.
Drummond Branson tried to get it turned into a visitor center, but the town council said they had enough civic buildings to maintain. They want someone to take this place off their hands.”

“A visitor center? A book and record store? A computer place? No, no, no. Cole, of course those places won't work. This place is for weddings. Built to be a wedding shop. If ever a building had a calling, it's this one. Nothing will succeed in this place unless it's for weddings.” Her voice rose in the darkness, butted against the cold, and fired up her passion and resolve.

Cole surrendered, taking a step back. “A building with a calling?”

“I wrote a paper on Miss Cora in sixth grade. Her great-aunt Jane commissioned a Nashville architect to design the wedding shop. That's what this place is. Nothing else will do.”

“You're passionate about this, aren't you?”

Haley peered into the window again. “More and more.” She left the window to pace, to think.

“Careful, Haley. There are a lot of loose boards.”

“I can do this. I mean, for crying out loud, I managed logistics teams for the United States Air Force. Stateside and in Afghanistan. I can
do
this. Open a wedding shop.”

“You have a hundred grand lying around?”

She stopped short, speared on Cole's question. “A hundred grand?”

“That's what it'll take to fix this place up. Minimum.”

“Whoa.” Haley leaned against the wall, the breeze swirling about her, warning her of the coming cold, but the fire in her belly burning brighter. “That much?”

“Not to mention your business expenses. Website, business cards, furniture, supplies, inventory, advertising.” Cole walked to the other side of the porch. “With no guarantee of success. Meanwhile, Akron Developers is hanging around city hall like a hungry dog just waiting for the council to toss them
this
bone.” He kicked the
wall. “They are going all out too. Besides offering above market price, they're throwing in five years of road maintenance on this side of town. But . . .” Cole came back her way.

“But what?”

“There's a stipulation in one of the town ordinances that requires them to offer the place to any good Samaritan willing to tackle the reno, cover the taxes, and run a business.”

“You're kidding. What kind of ordinance is that?”

“An old one no one's bothered to change. The wedding shop falls under some downtown code. It behooves the city to try renovating before selling. Listen, that old shop has been stuck in limbo land for so long . . .” Cole shook his head. “No one knows quite what to do with it.”

“Except the women who bought their trousseaus there.”

“Yeah, but they're a dying breed. And not one has stepped forward offering to make it a wedding shop again.”

“So if I'm willing to take on the shop, the council would have to give it to me?”

“They have to give it weighted consideration, yes.” Cole moved next to her. “Haley, do you have a hundred grand to fix up a 126-year-old building?”

“No, but I'm not going to let a little thing like money stand in my way.”

“Yeah, sure, what's a little thing called money?” He slapped his thigh. “Do you really want to hang on to a kid's dream, sink a bunch of money you don't have into a place that's seen better days? Tammy would understand, trust me, if you changed your mind.” He propped his hands on his waist, exhaling. “To be honest, Tammy—”

“If I died, she'd do it for me. I know she would.”

Cole frowned. “Did she say that? When was the last time you two talked about this place?”

“I don't know, a few years.” Maybe since the middle of their college days. “But I know her,
knew
her, and she'd have done it. She
believed in the pinky promise as much as I do. I want to do this.” Her confession burned within her.

“Fine, you want to open a bridal shop? I'll introduce you to Akron. They'll probably give you a deal on one of their new spaces.”

Haley raised her face to the cold breeze. “I don't want to open any ole wedding shop. I want to open
the
wedding shop. Heart's Bend's wedding shop. Founded by Miss Jane Scott, then run by Miss Cora. Those women wanted to bring something regal and glamorous to the country and farm women of their day. It's my job to continue their tradition to the women of my generation.”

“You're stubborn, you know that?”

“I prefer determined.”

Cole walked the length of the porch and back, then stopped beside Haley, hunching up his shoulders. “Don't know about you, but I'm freezing. I think I'll head home.” He swung the light over the steps. “Watch that bottom board when you leave. It's really rotted.”

“Yeah, I'll go too. Getting colder by the minute.”

Cole pushed open the screen door, then reached for Haley's hand, lighting the steps with the flashlight's glow. “Careful.”

He held on to her. So tight. With such . . . care. A foreign sensation, for sure. And it swallowed up her hand, firing a warm sensation up her arm. Haley slipped her hand from his, shaking it in the cold, freeing herself of his touch.

What was that feeling?

“I'll just jump over.” She flew from the porch over the rotted steps to the ground. Cole followed, walking with her around front.

Haley paused at her bike, clicking off her flashlight, letting the darkness settle over her. Then caught a glimpse of Cole as he paused by his bike—which was identical to hers.

“You drive a Harley 750?”

“Yep.”

She regarded him for a second, then said in time with him, “Weird.”

He laughed. “This entire night is kind of weird. But in a good way. Hey, w-we should, you know, ride sometime.”

“Maybe,” she said. “When it warms up. I'm freezing on that thing tonight.”

Familiar words. Dax taught her to ride so they could “
ride together
.” She dropped a chunk of her savings on this bike only to have it sit in the garage. Dax never wanted to ride. At least not with her.

“Tell me about it. I rode my bike to the date. Should've taken my truck.”

Their conversation stalled and Haley shivered, ready to get home and warm. “Well, see you around.”

“See you around.”

She fired up her bike, then glanced at Cole. “You'd be married now if she'd lived.”

“Yeah . . . yeah, guess so.” His voice faded.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Talking about it is how we heal, right? Or so the infamous
they
tells us.”

“Are you healing, Cole?”

“I am. I really am. What about you?”

Haley shifted into gear with a glance at the looming dark old wedding shop. Between Dax and Tammy, she had a long way to go.

“I don't know,” she said, motioning to the shop. “But I think this is the place to start.”

C
ORA

C
offee, please.” Cora shuffled into the kitchen, the day's early light filling the window, making the room bright. She pulled out her chair and collapsed down with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the breeze that drifted through the screen door with the scent of freshly plowed soil.

“Goodness . . . you want coffee?” Mama moved to the stove, reaching for the percolating pot with her hand wrapped in a thick dish towel. “You look wrung out. Didn't you sleep?”

“Restless is all.” Cora fixed on the dark flow of coffee streaming into her cup. She didn't care for the black brew, but sleep had eluded her until the morning's early hours. When she finally drifted away, she'd awoken shortly after, her heart racing, dawn painting new-day hues on the walls of her room.

Taking her first sip, she winced. The hot bitter taste matched her memory of yesterday, of seeing Rufus. Of being mistaken.

“I can make you tea,” Mama said.

“This is fine.” But really, was it necessary? To drink the bitter dregs?

“Then you'd better eat. Your stomach isn't used to the grounds.”

“I'm not hungry.”

No matter, Mama was at the stove, filling a plate with the pancakes and sausage warming in the oven.

Before dressing and coming down to breakfast, Cora had
slipped Rufus's latest letter from the top of the packet bound by a red ribbon. It was from early March. Because she'd read it so many times, she could recite each word. She just needed to
hear
his voice.

Dearest Darling Cora,

I long to see you. Business has kept me away from you, moving north, and it's tearing me apart. You mustn't think I've forgotten you. Impossible. I think of you night and day, day and night.

I'm near a phone this evening, and while the roustabouts unloaded our cargo I sought permission to use the phone. But the boathouse boss refused me access. Even after I pledged to pay the long-distance fee.

So I'm back to writing you again while we're docked on the northern Mississippi. The night is cold and quiet, making me long for your warmth. The moon is bright tonight. It comforts me to know you are seeing the same light as I.

I'll return south soon. Do not give up on me. Write me soon at the St. Louis port. I'll claim your letter within a few weeks.

Good night for now.

All my love,
Rufus

See, there was no reason to fret. He'd come as soon as he was able.
Take heart, Cora Beth.

In the meantime, she merely had to endure Mama's glare as she set a loaded plate, the butter dish, and the syrup cup in front of her.

“Eat.”

“You can't make me. I'm not five, Mama.”

“Then don't act it.”

Mama sat at her place, taking up her coffee with a soft grin—can a girl really fight her mother?

Cora took up the butter knife and prepared her pancakes, the sweet aroma coaxing her taste buds awake. Mama did make the best pancakes anywhere. Even Matilda, the cook at the Heart's Bend Diner, wanted her recipe. But Mama kept such things a secret. Her way of wielding power.

“What's in the paper today?” Cora reached for the
Tribune
by Daddy's plate.

“Cora . . . don't.” Mama raised up, a bite of toast in her mouth, stretching for the paper.

But Cora slapped her hand over the newsprint, whisking it away from Mama. “Why? What's in it?” She scanned the front page, then turned inside, pausing at Hattie Lerner's “About Town” tidbits.

Nothing but a gossip column. Sheer, uncorroborated gossip.

Yesterday afternoon, the proprietress of The Wedding Shop, Miss Cora Scott, was seen running down First Avenue like her brown hair was on fire. It's unclear to this reporter why the daughter of bank president Earnest James Scott tore through town, but with Birch Good in hot pursuit, we wonder if it could be love? Or is she still waiting for her mysterious riverboat captain?

Cora gasped. “What in the world? Why-why this is downright libelous, printing my personal life in the
Tribune
. I ought to give her a piece of my mind.”

“Simmer down and think about it. This is good for business.”

“How in the world is my public humiliation good for business?”

“She mentioned you, the shop, your father, and the bank in one brief sentence.” Mama looked up as Daddy came into the kitchen, freshly showered, handsome in his tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and dark blue tie. He smelled of Lifebuoy, talcum powder, and hair cream. “There you are, Ernie. Sit down. I'll get your breakfast.”

Daddy sat down with a wink at Cora, reaching for his napkin.
“The hot water felt good this morning so I lingered in the tub.” He thanked Mama as she set his plate in front of him and filled his coffee. “What were you two discussing?”

“Hattie Lerner felt it necessary to spy on me and write about it.” Cora slapped the paper on the table by his plate.

“I said she mentioned the shop and the bank and both of you by name in one sentence. It's good publicity. Don't you agree, Ernest?” Mama took a cigarette from her apron pocket and stood by the open back door.

“I do like seeing our name in ink but—” He took up the paper, reading. “Why were you running down the street, Cora?”

“I was in a hurry. Late to the shop.” She'd always been shy about speaking of Rufus, or of love, to her parents, especially Daddy.

“And Birch chased you?”

“He most certainly did not.” He
caught
her as she was about to step in front of a car. “Once again Hattie has it wrong.”

“She makes a good living getting it wrong.” Daddy cut up his pancakes and slathered them with butter and syrup. “Esmé, are you outfitted for the bank dinner this Friday? We've got the bigwigs coming over from Nashville. Rogers Caldwell himself.”

Cora imagined Daddy's chest puffing out another inch. He was proud of his banking accomplishments, of starting a small bank after the war and, in less than a decade, joining the Caldwell and Company network and becoming one of their top branches.

“I'm ready, Ernie.” Pretty with a narrow, lean figure, Mama was always ready for a social occasion. Even in her housedress, she looked groomed and elegant. “Got my dress from the shop.”

She leaned against the wall with her coffee cup in one hand, her cigarette in the other, a thin tendril of smoke drifting through the window screen's narrow netting.

“We had a lovely shipment of ready-made evening gowns arrive this spring,” Cora said. “The brides are choosing them for their trousseaus.”

“Aunt Jane and her wild idea.” Daddy shook his head. “Bring high fashion to middle Tennessee gals.” Jane was Daddy's aunt, his father's baby sister. But she'd been like another grandmother to Cora.

“We had a customer from Birmingham yesterday. A legacy from Jane's day,” Mama said. “They practically ordered the whole house, didn't they, Cora?”

“If she could've ordered more than one wedding gown I believe she would've. So her mother let her go on to evening dresses and traveling suits and lingerie.”

Daddy popped up his hands. “I don't want to be hearing about a woman's unmentionables.”

“Funny, that's not what you said to me the other night.”

“Esmé!”

“Mama!”

She chuckled and feasted on her cigarette.

Daddy cleared his throat, fixing on his breakfast, cutting his pancakes until his knife scraped over the plate. “Oh, say, I looked at your account yesterday, Cora. You've a fine balance. I contacted Jane's attorney, asking for the rest of your trust. You're thirty now. You've met the requirements.”

“But I thought you wanted me to leave it be. Let the money grow. We've plenty of money, like you say.”

“I think it's wise to go ahead and bring the money into a safe place. Don't know what them Yankee bankers are up to, and I'd rather have your money in my bank where I can keep an eye on things.”

“If you think it's wise . . .”

Cora did her own books so she kept a close eye on things. But Daddy knew money like most men knew boxing stats or baseball scores. She trusted him. In fact, he'd established his bank using his experience in past banking panics and crashes to build what he considered a new kind of bank. His motto was, “Heart's Bend Mutual, Your Money Is Safe with Us.”

When Aunt Jane died, she left the shop and a tidy nest egg to Cora.

“So you're certain the crash from last October won't reach us down here, Ernie?” Mama said.

Daddy shook his head, mopping up syrup with a cut of his pancakes. “Not likely. Things are settling down. In fact, I'm investing. To be honest, I'm more worried about the malaria epidemic than any bank failing. Keep smart business practices, Cora, and you'll be fine. Have you given any more thought to my idea of buying a house? It's a good investment.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“You know better. You're just sitting on a lot of money for a single gal. You could rent the place out, line your nest egg a bit more.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'd rather wait until I move to my husband's house. Besides,” Cora said, motioning between her parents, “I'm the cream between you two tough cookies and you know it.” All,
ahem
, lingerie discussions aside.

“She's got you there, Ernie.” Mama stamped out her cigarette in the ashtray and refilled her coffee cup. “But let's not get too far adrift. Cora, I still want to know why you were running down First Avenue yesterday. You went to get pastries and returned fifteen minutes later empty-handed, flushed, and out of breath.”

“Let's not make a big to-do out of nothing, Mama.”

“She sent Birch Good off to do her bidding, Ernie. Which he did, happily.”

Daddy eyed Cora with one eyebrow raised. “Hmmm . . . Birch would make a fine husband. He's no dewdropper.”

“Dewdropper? Now, where did you hear that word? Are you trying to be a flapper?”

“I hear things. I am a bank president, a leader in this town. I'm obliged to keep up with the times. You can't go wrong with a hard worker like Birch, daughter. The Goods have owned their farm free and clear for years. From all accounts, Birch is doing well.”

Right or wrong, Daddy measured life and love in dollars and cents. Cora resigned herself to his way, his expression, finding the love in his heart through the dollar signs in his eyes. Twice he'd abandoned the family over ill-spent money and bad investments. First in the '07 panic when he put all his trust from Grandpa in TC&I.

He disappeared for three months, finally coming home when his grandpa gave him the money to straighten out his mess.

Then again in '14 when he lost money in some scheme. Once again, his grandpa bailed him out, steering him toward solid wartime investments. When the twenties rolled around he was able to start his own bank. Ten years and going strong. He'd learned his lesson.

Better have, because Grandpa wasn't around to help him out anymore.

But this business about Birch? That was
another
matter. “If he's such the duck's quack,” Cora said, pulling up her own flapper lingo from her college days, “then how come no one has trapped him yet?”

“He's clever, waiting for the right gal.” Daddy's goofy grin said,
“He's waiting for you.”

“Then good luck to him.” Cora carried her dishes to the sink, dipped them in the cool, soapy water, and reached for the dishrag. “If you ask me he's getting a bit long in the tooth. What's he dilly-dallying around for? A thirty-five-year-old man with a successful farm should have a wife. And it's not like he's tomcatting around, sowing wild oats.” She set the dishes in the drainer and dried her hands, then kissed Daddy's balding head on her way out. “Have a good day. Oooh, Daddy, easy on the Brilliantine.”

“What? I don't know what you mean.”

“Oh yes, you do, Ernie. I've told you the same thing a hundred times. I declare, some of our pillowcases will never be the same.”

Cora paused at the door. “Mama, see you at the shop.”

“I don't know why you don't consider Birch.” The woman
couldn't leave it alone. Had to shout her opinion through the house. “You said he was a bit long in the tooth, but might I point out you're not getting any younger?”

“No you may not.” Cora retrieved her handbag and sweater by the front door. She knew perfectly well how old she was.

“A woman of thirty should have a husband and a baby already.”

“And I will. Soon.” There, she gave Mama words of hope. Cora stepped onto the porch as Liberty, the Scotts' maid, came down the drive to the back of the house. “Liberty is here, Mama. Thank you for shouting my business to the world.”