The Wedding Shop

by Rachel Hauck

  “I can’t believe they drove all the way from Texas. And did you see Clark and Darcy Hath? I’d not seen them since high school.”

  “He did well in oil. Makes me wish—”

  “Nothing, Birch. You wish nothing.” With the tray in hand, Cora headed for the pantry, but paused by her husband. “I’d have no other life.”

  In the pantry she set the dishes by the sink. Birch fixed a sink in the counter a few years back, along with electricity, so Mama could percolate coffee and tea for the customers without running up two flights of stairs.

  Cora glanced out the window, the color of fall skirting across the thinning green lawn. Oh, Mama . . . Sorrow mixed with relief swirled through her. What’ll I do without you?

  She was as spunky as she ever was right to the end. Wearing blonde wigs and red lipstick. But so weak. Clinging to Cora’s hand as she read her the newspaper. Hattie Lerner was still writing the About Town column.

  “Am I ready to see Jesus, Cora?”

  “Do you believe, Mama? Have you forgiven Daddy?”

  “Yes, yes, I believe. I do forgive your daddy.”

  Cora reached around for a chair, facing the window, her thoughts tripping back to when she was young, when Mama was cooking up good smells in the kitchen, when Daddy came traipsing in to breakfast with his strong cologne and slicked hair. To when Cora ran through the fall leaves, laughing, with EJ.

  Not even fifty and she’d lost them all. So she let the tears come.

  Birch’s hands smoothed over her shoulders. “Why don’t we lock up and head home? I’ll swing by Ella’s Diner for takeout? Hmmm?”

  Cora wiped her cheeks. “We have tons of leftovers.”

  “They can keep. How about one of those newfangled pizza pies? We can see what’s on the television tonight.”

  “We don’t get any channels at the farmhouse.”

  Birch chuckled. “Well, one, but the picture is all fuzzy. We’ll turn on the radio.” He gently helped her to her feet. “I’ll come in with you in the morning to help clean up.”

  “Just let me put the leftovers in the ice box.”

  As they cleaned up the last, Cora took one last sweep around the shop. Tomorrow it needed to look like a unique bridal boutique, not a funeral parlor.

  A dark shadow hit the floor from the front doorway.

  “Cora?” An older gentleman stepped inside, a beautiful little girl about three years old, in a lacy dress, white socks, and very shiny black Mary Janes, clinging to his hand. Her dark hair had been pin curled, then brushed out, curving around her pretty, heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes peered intensely at Cora, taking in everything around her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Is that how you greet your ole daddy?”

  She drew a deep inhale and regarded him for a mere moment, seeing through his thinning gray hair and lined features. “Daddy?”

  “Yes, it’s Daddy.” He nodded, stepping forward like he might hug her, then stepped back. Slick tears glistened in his tired eyes. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

  Cora gripped her hands together, holding on to decorum. Otherwise she was a leaf in a summer storm. “What are you doing here?” She’d given up on being mad at him. His annual Christmas cards signed, “Love, Dad,” let her know he was alive and well. But nothing more.

  He was, perhaps as Mama intended, dead to them.

  “I heard about Esmé. I wanted to pay my respects.”

  “Then go to Memorial Gardens. She’s buried next to EJ.”

  “Thank you. I-I will. Cora . . .” He cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s too late to say I’m sorry.”

  “For Mama it is, yes.” Cora folded her arms, resenting his intrusion on her grieving, in her life. He was nothing more than a robber.

  “And you?”

  “Daddy, I’ve made my peace with you. Let’s not stir stuff up.”

  “Cora, you ’bout ready?” Birch entered, his steps slowing as he came alongside Cora. “Ernie.”

  “Birch.” A slow grin lit Daddy’s face and he jutted forward to shake his hand, dragging the little girl along with him. “Well, I’ll be. You finally roped her.”

  “Actually, Daddy, I roped him.”

  “H-how long y’all been married? Kids?”

  “Eighteen years,” Cora said.

  “No children.” Birch slipped his arms about her waist. “We enjoy each other’s company.”

  Daddy nodded, then took a slow look at the girl by his side. “This is . . . well . . .” Daddy knelt next to her, drawing her close, stirring a pang of longing in Cora. “Someone really special. Cora, I was hoping you might watch her for me while I go visit the grave. She’s a bit young to go. And I’ve some things to say to your mama.”

  “You know she’s not really there. If you want to say them to the air, take a walk across the park.”

  He lowered his head at her sharp intonation. But she didn’t wish it back.

  “Will you watch her for me? Her mother is at the inn. She didn’t want to come.”

  “Then take her back to the inn. Who is her mother, anyway, and why do you have her daughter?”

  “I-I . . .” Daddy rose up, clearing his voice, looking around the shop, looking everywhere but at Cora. “I remarried.”

  Birch’s fingers dug into Cora’s waist, holding her steady and upright. “You remarried?”

  Cora glanced between the little girl, who still watched her with baby doll blue eyes, and Daddy.

  “I did. Lydia was a war widow. We met in Nashville. At the USO. I was playing banjo with a bluegrass group. Well, anyway, we’re . . . we’re coming back here to live, Cora. We want to raise Joann here in Heart’s Bend. Small town, you see.”

  Cora’s mouth was arid, and any words she longed to say evaporated. She fell into Birch, shaking her head. “No, no . . .”

  Most of the war widows Cora knew were half her age, in their twenties. A few women in their thirties. Even fewer in their forties. Widowed by officers caught in battle.

  What war widow wanted her worn-out, coward of a father? Since their friends and Mama’s side of the family thought Daddy was dead, no one talked about him. No one asked, “What’s Ernie up to these days?” No one speculated or announced, “I heard from Ernie. He remarried, you know.”

  The news found no place to rest in her mind.

  “Cora.” Daddy ushered the little girl forward. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But . . . this is your little sister, Joann.”

  HALEY

  When Haley and Cole stepped into the shop’s locked storeroom, they were swept into another time. Into yesteryear. The 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s.

  Cole moved the flashlight’s beam over the floor and walls, searching for a light switch, the white orb spotlighting ancient mannequins and dress forms, a clothes rack of wedding gowns, linen and wool suits, a row of dusty Mary Janes and tattered, ripped veils.

  They’d left his commitment of love drifting in the air above them in his kitchen. When he suggested they use the key to inspect the storeroom, Haley all but ran for the door.

  He unnerved her. Crossed all of her boundaries. Worse. She kind of liked it. Not yet, Lord. Not yet.

  “A time capsule,” she whispered, unable to move.

  Cole propped the door open with a large box, then tugged on the string swinging from a bare lightbulb in the center of the ceiling.

  The wood-grain walls went from floor to ceiling, trimmed with white crown molding and wide baseboards.

  On Haley’s left, old-time racks on wheels held the gowns and dresses, the suits. On her right, the wall consisted of built-in shelves holding the shoe, hat, and glove boxes.

  Inching farther inside were two display cases, one empty, one housing tinted and tarnished costume jewelry.

  Then along the back wall, pinned to weak and rotting twine, was the greatest treasure of all. Photograph after photograph.

  “There must be hundreds of them.” Haley bent forward, examining each one.

  Col
e shoved a box of photographs toward Haley as he moved his flashlight over the black-and-white images, over the faded color photographs, over the Polaroids. “Why would she leave this stuff? How did a previous tenant not bust the door down?”

  Haley pressed her hand to her middle, a distant but longed-for rise of joy engaging her senses. “Because, Cole, this place was always meant to be the wedding shop.”

  Cole examined the ceiling down the seam of the built-ins to the floor. “These are solid. Just need to be cleaned up. There won’t be a lot of work in here. Do you want to keep this room?” He ran the light over the outer wall. “We could knock this down, open up to the mezzanine.”

  “No, no . . .” Haley turned slowly, breathing in the fragrance of cedar and time gone by, of lavender, Chanel No. 5, old wood, and leather. “This room is a forever room. When I’m gone, the next owner will see that Cora’s been here, that I’ve been here.” Haley spied a photograph of Cora on the shelf under the window. “She wanted us to remember her. To know she’d been here, done her time with humanity. Served her brides.”

  Haley studied the image. Cora in her wedding dress with a handsome man in a suit, his dark hair slicked back, his smile so . . . happy. Genuine.

  Cole regarded her for a second. “Good-looking couple.”

  “Must be when she married Birch Good.” Haley turned the photograph over, removing the back to check for a date. “I’m still wrestling with the notion she’s my aunt.” Haley whipped around to face Cole. “She’s my aunt. Do you think . . . Is that why I’ve loved this place so much?”

  He grinned, a twitch on his lips, like he wanted to kiss her. Maybe she wouldn’t mind. “God works in mysterious ways.”

  She made a face. “That’s your answer? Platitudes?” She laughed, snapping the back off the picture. An envelope fell to her feet.

  “It’s a good platitude. And true.” He stooped for the letter. “Says ‘Joann’ on the front.”

  “It’s to Mom.” Haley set the picture and frame on the built-in work desk. “Should I open it?” She pulled out her phone with a glance at Cole. “I’ll call Mom.”

  But Mom was with a patient, and despite all rights to privacy, Haley couldn’t resist. She slipped the flap open, retrieving a handwritten letter on linen stationery.

  “May 1980. Her handwriting is perfect. Beautiful.”

  “What’s it say?” Cole didn’t hover but gave her room, leaning against the workbench.

  Haley sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged, and read aloud.

  Dear Joann,

  You are on my mind. My little sister. The one I never got to know. Sentiment grabs hold of me these days, in my later years. I’ve just turned eighty, closed the shop, and am on the farm with my Birch.

  I spoke with your mother in the market recently. She informed me of your medical achievements and that you had your first child, a son. How very wonderful for you.

  Dad would be proud. To be honest, I am proud. After EJ died I never anticipated another sibling, much less a sister forty-seven years my junior. When I met you that day in the shop, my heart still grieved Mama’s death. Perhaps in some ways, grieved my own barrenness. Birch and I’d just been speaking of it when you came in with Daddy.

  You could’ve been my child. My grandchild. But you were my sister. Are my sister.

  I’ve watched you grow up from afar. A fact I mourn in my latter years. I want to apologize for our confrontation in Ella’s the afternoon you informed me Daddy was dying.

  You see, Mama and I considered him dead for almost thirty years by the time you brought me the news. I just didn’t have it in my heart to grieve again. I’d grieved, Joann. I’d said good-bye to the daddy I knew when my parents divorced in 1932.

  But I wish now I’d come to his side to say a true good-bye, to let him know I’d forgiven him. I am so sorry if my actions hurt you in any way.

  I’d entertained thoughts of perhaps leaving the shop to you, but as your medical endeavors are yielding good fruit, running a shop for brides may not be your cup of tea.

  I’ve thought about this letter over and over for years. Wondering if and when and how I might speak to you of my life, of who I am. While you may not give a wit now, there may come a time when you do. If not you, then your children.

  I have the advantage of eighty years to know the ideals I had when I was twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty are not the ones I cling to today. Age has gentled my heart. What seemed so gosh darn important when I was younger seems frivolous now.

  The wedding shop was my life until I married at thirty-two. Even after, the shop was a large part of my day. But Birch became my life. Joann, if you’ve found a good man, cling to him. There is nothing more soothing, comforting, enjoyable in life than living out your years with a man you love. And one who loves you.

  There’s a verse in Proverbs that speaks to me. “There are three things which are too wonderful for me, four which I do not understand. The way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a serpent on a rock, the way of a ship in the middle of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.”

  The way of a man with a maid. Doesn’t that just pull you into wonder? I’ve come to learn of this glorious way and indeed it is a mystery, but such a wonderful one! Am I not waxing sentimental? Goodness.

  I was in love with the wrong man for too many years. A rugged and charming riverboat captain who swept me off my feet and out of my sound mind. He consumed me until I learned he was married with children of his own.

  Haley gasped, shooting a wide glance at Cole. “Oh my gosh, she had a Dax in her life.” She ran her hand down her arm. “Look, chills.”

  “But she found her way to the right man.”

  “I guess so.”

  Birch had always been in my life, a friend to our brother, EJ.

  “Our brother. Mom had a brother. He died in World War One. Think of it, Cole. We are all connected so much more than we know.”

  “Cora’s clearly drawing your mom into the family. Making that connection real.”

  He was there for me during my foolishness, sticking by me and with me, much more than I deserved. When I finally came to my senses, I almost lost him to Janice Pettrey. But praise be to the God of love, Birch came back to me.

  I was just so scared, Joann, of my error with Rufus. If I’d been so fooled once, how could I be sure I’d not be fooled again even though my heart, mind, eyes, and ears knew Birch Good was a worthy, honorable, good man?

  My hesitation almost cost me the love of my life.

  Haley’s voice trailed off. She peeked up at Cole. “Cora almost lost the love of her life.”

  He dropped down next to her, brushing aside her bangs, the light touch of his fingertips over her forehead inspiring a new set of chills. “If Birch can wait, I can wait.”

  She raised her gaze to his deep blues. “I-I don’t know if you’re the love of my life, Cole.”

  “Neither did she. But she gave him a chance. She gave herself a chance.”

  “So I shouldn’t be afraid? I should trust the good man sitting before me?”

  “I think that’s what she’s saying. Maybe you don’t feel the passion for me, yet, that you felt for Dax—”

  “Dax wasn’t passion. Dax was sickness. After we . . . well . . . When we were together, I felt lost and empty, hungry for something he never gave me. He took. Stole.” She sighed. “Sex-without-commitment hype is bull.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He winked when she looked at him, her face burning red.

  “Good for you.”

  He leaned to read over her shoulder. “Come on, read the rest of Cora’s wisdom.”

  I suspect you’re upset about the inheritance Daddy left me. But when his bank closed, I lost a good deal of Aunt Jane’s money. I think he wanted to make up for that, Joann. For all his faults, Daddy could be a man of honor.

  I never needed the money. I put it in the safe. The combination is 24–82–16. Use it for yourself. For my nephew. Or any other children you may have. Oh,
how lovely to write I’ve a nephew!

  I’m renting at the shop for now, but upon my death, it will go up for sale unless you come forward. I hope you do.

  Aunt Jane built a wedding shop for the women of Heart’s Bend, our daughters and granddaughters. But I can’t carry on. My old bones tire too easily. I failed Aunt Jane in that I’ve left no heir for the shop.

  Edwina Park is using it as an everyday dress shop, so we shall see. I said to her, “Where’s the imagination in that, Edie? Carry on with the brides.” But she wants to reach more women. Oh, she doesn’t know what she’s missing.

  Another thing I’ve learned in life is that control is in the hands of the Almighty. It will go well for me to trust Him. As it will for you.

  I’ll close with my sincere desire for you to have a good and prosperous life, my sister. We may not have known each other in this life, but perhaps in the next.

  All my love,

  Cora Beth Scott Good

  Haley clutched the letter to her heart, stealing the river of emotion roaring through her. Cole cradled her head on his shoulder.

  “Kind of all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

  She nodded, wiping her tears. “Aunt Jane to Aunt Cora to me.” The giant reality of how life, how the Lord, worked all together for good crushed her fears. “What seemed so random now seems right, divine, like everything, even Dax, led me to this moment.”

  Her face was so close to Cole’s when she peered up at him. She swallowed the pulse of her heart beat. Would she be ready for him? Soon? “I won’t make you wait forever.”

  “Good.” He swept his hand around the back of her neck, kissing her forehead. “My heart’s about to burst.” He searched her eyes, slowly lowering his lips to hers . . .

  “Boss!” Below them a door slammed. Gomez’s voice vibrated through the floor. “You in here?”

  Cole cleared his throat, laughing low. “Up here.” He stood, glancing down at Haley. “I’m not going to let our first kiss be rushed with G coming up the stairs.” He stood in the doorway, calling out, “In the storeroom. We found the key.”