The Wedding Shop

by Rachel Hauck

  “What in the world . . .” Miriam said. “Rufus, unhand her. What has gotten into you?”

  Rufus released Cora, shoving her to the hardwood. Pushing up from the floor to lean on Birch, she saw Rufus rubbing his jaw.

  “Nothing,” he said, facing his wife. “These two are swindlers.”

  Miriam adjusted the baby boy riding on her hip. “Miss Scott, why have you disrupted my home on a quiet Sunday afternoon?”

  Overhead the ceiling fans peacefully hummed and whirred, stirring the hot air.

  “He’s my fiancé,” Cora said, hearing the mistake in her declaration. “Well, practically. He’s promised to propose to me when—”

  “This is outrageous. Miriam, darling. Why are you listening to her?”

  Birch stepped up, staring down the liar. “St. Claire, let her speak.”

  “How could he make such promises?” Miriam’s fake cackle trembled. “He’s married to me.”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. He told me as soon as he made his fortune and he could support me in the manner I deserved, he’d marry me.”

  “Darling,” Rufus cooed to his wife. “She’s lying.”

  Cora recoiled, her blinders peeled back, hearing, sensing the snake oil in his voice.

  “She’s not lying, Mrs. St. Claire,” Birch said.

  Miriam shoved her hand against her husband with a harsh glance. “Hush up, Rufus. I’d like to hear her out. Are you his lover?”

  Cora hung her head. “No.” Not that she hadn’t almost succumbed on many occasions. “But I love him.”

  “And where do you live, Miss Scott?”

  “Heart’s Bend, Tennessee. I learned about you when a postcard you sent to Rufus came to my wedding shop.”

  “Miriam, darling, why are you listening to her? She’s a liar.”

  “St. Claire, I’m warning you!” Birch inched a step in front of Cora toward Rufus. “Let her speak.”

  “Are you a liar, Miss Scott? What has my husband done to you that you’d drive up from, what is it, Heart’s Bend, to tell such fantastic tales on him?”

  “He was supposed to meet me for dinner two months ago. When he didn’t arrive, I went looking for him. I left candles burning and my wedding shop caught fire.”

  “See, she’s an imbecile. Why would I even be seen with the likes of her? She’s plain. Unimaginative.”

  The words whipped her soul, cutting, and blood oozed from her heart. “A man at the dock told me he had many women. Only I was the foolish one who’d not figured him out yet. He told me Rufus was one of the richest men on the river. So I came to see for myself.”

  “Rufus? Is this true?” The hem of Miriam’s fine dress shimmied, revealing what her steel composure tried to hide. “Did you promise to marry Miss Scott? Do you have other women?”

  “Miriam, I command you to stop engaging this woman in her lies. How can I lower myself to even consider your question?”

  “Mrs. St. Claire, I received a postcard you sent to your husband. It came to my shop in Heart’s Bend. I inquired about you. He told me you were the wife of a mate.” The color drained from Miriam’s delicate features. Her now-pale cheeks made her large, round green eyes seem otherworldly. Cora grabbed Birch’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Are you sure?” Birch said, pulling her back. “Have you said all you’re going to say, because you’ll never get this chance again.”

  She drew a deep breath, aching to look at Rufus one more time but seeing nothing but Miriam’s expression. With her own heart on the verge of flying apart, she wasn’t sure she could find the proper words anyway.

  What did it matter that she had loved Rufus with every fiber of her being? That she’d waited for him? Dreamt of their wedding day and their honeymoon when she’d give herself to him completely? That she’d endured the scorn of her mother, her friends to defend him? That she trusted him?

  He was married.

  If she said more, Cora sensed she’d lose a part of herself she’d never get back. Besides, she’d only wound Miriam, who was as much a victim of Rufus’s lies and betrayal as anyone. For what? Her own comeuppance?

  And what of the sweet child with the ruddy cheeks and puppy dog eyes? Or the one in the womb? They deserved to have their father—no matter how wretched a man.

  “I’m sorry I disturbed your afternoon, Mrs. St. Claire. I’ll be going now and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

  “But is it true?” She reached for Cora’s arm. “I must know. Has he, did he, promise to marry you?” She dug in her fingers. “I can leave him. He used my father’s money to build his life on the river.”

  “I heard it was his father’s money.”

  “No, it was my father’s.” She turned to Rufus. “Have you been telling people it was your father’s money?”

  “I can’t believe you’re siding with this . . . this . . . harlot.”

  “Miriam,” Cora said. “If you leave, it will be your decision. Not because of me.”

  “But it’s true? He spoke to you of marriage?”

  What answer could she give? Miriam St. Claire was more the victim than Cora would ever be. “Yes, he did.”

  Miriam shrank back, hand over her mouth, cradled her son closer, and hurried down a side hall, out of the kitchen and away from the truth.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Rufus growled in her face.

  “No, look what you’ve done.”

  Head raised, heels singing an exit dirge against the marble, Cora marched out of the house, holding herself together until she was out the front door, through the gate, and down the walk.

  Beyond her, somewhere against the blue sky, birds sang their song as the wind pushed through the changing October trees.

  In the car, she slammed her door and tried to ram her key into the ignition, but she trembled so she couldn’t control her movements.

  “Here, here, let me.” Birch took the jangling keys from her and slipped one into the ignition. “I can drive if you want.”

  “No.” Her voice sank into her chest, though she tried to hold her head high. “I-I can drive.”

  “You did it, Gunga Din.”

  “Did I? Really? I may have just busted up that child’s home because I had to feel justified.”

  “Don’t you dare, Cora Scott. Don’t you dare take on Rufus St. Claire’s sins.” Birch reclined against the passenger door. “He wrongs a woman and somehow she feels guilty for confronting him about it? For hurting his wife, who, if you asked me, needed to know the truth.”

  “But the children don’t have to be hurt by it. If she leaves him . . .”

  “She won’t. Trust me.”

  “How do you know? She’s got money. She doesn’t need him.”

  “She won’t leave him because he’s the father of her children. Because her daddy’s money will keep him in line. Because he’s rugged and good-looking, and as long as he treats her like a queen when he’s in town, she’ll forget all about his tomcatting around when he’s away. It’s a perfect life for her. The scandal of divorce would crush her more than what you just did in there. But she needed to know. And you?” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You needed to close the door on him. Cora, you’re free of him now. You’re free.”

  “Am I? Really?”

  Cranking the motor, she brushed a stream of tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “The fact remains, Birch, I loved him. Still do. I wanted to make a life with him.” Cora shifted into gear, but couldn’t release the clutch and drive.

  Crashing her head against the steering wheel, shaking so hard each inhale filled her lungs with pain. Sobs gathered in her chest, and when she exhaled she collapsed into Birch’s waiting arms.

  “Oh, Birch, oh, Birch . . .”

  He held her, catching her tears with the hook of his finger. “You are more than you believe, Cora. So much more. You’ll see, darling, everything will be right as rain. That’s it, let it all out. Everything will be right as rain.”


  HALEY

  Malone & Co. was a gorgeous shop. Haley loved the vibe, and Charlotte, immediately. Beyond striking, she was confident with a kind aura that helped Haley wash away the last of her confrontation with Dax.

  It’d taken the two-and-a-half-hour chilly ride down I-65 and a lot of prayer to dislodge that man from her emotions.

  He had nerve on top of nerve.

  But now that she was in Charlotte’s good graces, Haley righted her thoughts and emotions.

  She’d reviewed Haley’s business plan, giving her a thumbs-up, reminding her to budget for part-time help and shop upkeep. She gave her ideas on how to work with local businesses, enlisting their support. Ways to barter for advertising, get sponsorships.

  She advised her on how to order her gowns, what items to buy outright, what items to buy on consignment. She gave insight on everything from how to steer brides to the right gown to bookkeeping to what Haley could expect to make in her first five years.

  “Tennessee’s wedding business is over one billion.” Charlotte arched one brow. “You shouldn’t have trouble getting a piece of that. Do you have an opening date?”

  “Sort of. The town gave me the building, but I have to have it renovated by May first with the doors open in June. Only trouble is, I don’t have all the money I need and the construction permits are held up with red tape. The town gave me twenty thousand, which I have to pay back, but it’s not enough. But then this older woman came by with her mother’s wedding dress.” Recalling the story buzzed a spark of life through Haley. “Said Miss Cora lent the gown to her but her mother never returned it. She gave me the dress and five thousand dollars. Called it interest.”

  Charlotte regarded her. “Sounds like people believe in what you’re doing.”

  “I guess. I just have to keep believing.” The image and sound of Dax offering to help flashed across her mind. No, no, no. Letting him in would destroy her and the shop.

  Charlotte gave her a tour of her place, then moved toward the stairs, wide and grand, much like the ones in her own shop, motioning for Haley to follow.

  “I love that the former bride brought her mother’s gown to you. Very sweet, but consider if you want to be both vintage and modern. Do you have the space to do both?”

  “Actually, I do. There’s a small and large salon. Could one be for vintage, one for modern?”

  “I like it. It’s unique. Gives you a niche.”

  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.”