A Day Late and a Bride Short

by Jacobs, Holly

  She’d laughed out loud the first time her sister had called the baby Boop. Paisley remembered that feeling of utter glee.

  It seemed so long ago.

  It almost felt as if that moment, and so many other happy moments, had happened to someone else.

  Wondering if the cultural reference was lost on Annie, she said, “Betty Boop was a cartoon character—”

  “I might not be worldly, Paisley, but I do know who Betty Boop was.” Annie peered down at the baby. “I fear that Boop is not a very dignified name for such a beautiful little girl.”

  Boop burped loudly.

  Belched, actually.

  Annie looked up at Paisley and burst out laughing. “But maybe she’s not ready for dignified yet, eh, Boop?”

  Annie’s laughter and the baby’s happy string of “boops” eased Paisley’s nervousness. She felt a little lighter. It wasn’t exactly glee, or some reassuring feeling that would tell her that she’d made the right decision, but she felt better than she’d felt in months.

  This move to Cupid Falls was the right thing.

  “Now, come with me, you two. There’s a kettle on the stove upstairs and a pot of stew as well. There will be time enough tomorrow to get to work.”

  Annie led Paisley through the large crowded shop and the small room in the back, to a set of stairs. “I have an electrician coming tomorrow. He is a good man, Amos Greer. I would have had him start, but I’ve already scandalized my community enough by selling the store to an…outsider.”

  Paisley heard the hesitation. “To someone who’s English.”

  She knew the term meant something different here in the heart of Amish country. English was someone who wasn’t Amish. It lumped anyone who was non-Amish together. And Paisley thought that was fair enough, since so many English lumped Amish communities together, never realizing there was a difference between one group and another. Not even realizing that there was a difference between Amish and Mennonite.

  Non-Amish people seemed to view all the groups as an oddity or some kind of tourist attraction. But Paisley had lived on the fringes of Amish society her entire life. That was long enough for her to realize that people were people, regardless of how they dressed, or what modern conveniences they used. Everyone longed for the same things—a place to belong and someone to belong to.

  She’d thought she’d found all of that, but in the end…

  She turned her attention back to Annie.

  Annie nodded. “Yes. Some people are upset. A few families in the community might have bought the store if I’d let them know I was considering selling it. It’s one of the reasons I waited to tell them until after we’d made our deal.”

  “I’m sorry if my being here is causing you trouble, Annie.”

  They reached the top of the stairs and entered into an oil lamp lit kitchen in the small two-bedroom apartment over the store. “Le—Paisley, your mother was my dearest friend growing up. She was closer to me than my own sisters were. When her family moved to Ohio, both our hearts broke, but we stayed close through our weekly letters.”

  Annie nodded at a chair, and Paisley sat down. Annie handed her Boop then walked to the stove and poured water from the kettle into a brown teapot. “I’d have taken you and your sister when your mam died, if I could have. But Rachel, she was old enough to not want to leave home, and your aunt, she was a good woman who wanted you.”

  Paisley didn’t know what to say to this woman she knew better from letters than in person. Part of her wondered, as it had so often in the past, what would have happened if she’d gone with Annie? Or stayed with her sister?

  Who would she be then?

  She’d never know, but she was warmed by the thought that Annie had wanted her. “Thank you.”

  “I wish you would let me tell people about your history. It might make things easier for you. I like to think that we are a kind community, but some of us are set in our ways. They see any kind of change as a threat. The mayor has been encouraging tourism in Cupid Falls. It is good for the store and could be good for Cupid Falls but a lot of people are afraid it will disrupt our community. If you let me tell them—”

  Paisley shook her head and interrupted. “I want to make a go of this on my own, Annie. I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. That’s part of the reason I left Ohio.”

  Both the Amish and the English at home had showered Paisley with so much sympathy she sometimes thought she’d drown in it. There was no way to start a new life when everyone kept throwing the old one in her face.

  “I can’t out and out lie,” Annie said, “but I also can’t imagine anyone will ask, so your past is safe with me. Now, let’s get you and Boop here fed and settled for the night. I think the next few days are going to be taxing for you. But I’ll be here to help as much as you will allow.”

  She put her hand on Paisley’s shoulder. “You are not alone.”

  Paisley reached up and patted Annie’s hand.

  Every week, like clockwork, Annie had sent her a letter filled with little bits of her life here in Cupid Falls. Talk of weddings and new babies. Talk of Annie’s new quilts or the classes she taught to a few English clients. Talk about the English part of the town, too. They’d only seen each other in person a handful of times, but other than her aunt and Boop, Annie was the only family Paisley had left.

  “You’re sure the changes I have planned for the store won’t bother you? It’s been your business for all these years.” When she’d bought the place from Annie, she’d been up front with what she’d envisioned and Annie had agreed, but Paisley couldn’t help but worry that Annie might change her mind and resist the updates and renovations.

  “This store provided me a good life. But yah, I’m ready to let go. I’m as happy as not to retire to the dawdi haus out back. I have a new dog. Homer. Wait until you meet him. And I will help with the store and Boop here. Boop.” She chuckled again at the name. “I will keep busy, I think.”

  The baby, as if sensing she was being talked about, gurgled a string of nonsense syllables mixed in with a few boops and then grabbed one of Annie’s kapp strings. “Yes, I suspect that helping you with this one is going to keep me busier than I’ve been in years. This house and the business are yours now. You do as you will and make them both your own. I will help where and when I can.”

  Paisley leaned over and threw her arms around the older, well-cushioned lady, sandwiching her one-year-old niece between them. “Thank you, Annie. I was floundering and you’ve thrown me a lifeline.”

  “I think we’ll get on, you and I. I was practically sister to your mother and aunt, so that makes us family, or near enough. I might not have children of my own, but I do know that throwing lifelines is part of what being a family is about.”

  Coming May 2016

  Excerpt from Holly Jacobs’ I Waxed My Legs for This?

  Chapter One

  JACK TEMPLETON bounded up the stairs that led to Carrie Delany’s apartment, cursing her Bohemian spirit—the one that led her to lease a fifth-story loft in a building that had no elevator.

  “Carrie.”

  He beat his worry on the door with a quick succession of raps. When she called, Carrie had told him she was in trouble and to hurry.

  For the entire fifteen-minute race through traffic he agonized about what type of trouble she could have gotten into this time.

  “Coming,” she called.

  He breathed a sigh of relief that whatever the trouble was, she didn’t sound bad.

  The door slid open.

  Half of Carrie’s blondish brown hair was in a ponytail, the other half trailed wisps down her neck. She was wearing a disreputable robe, peeking out beneath it his old football jersey—a shirt she’d borrowed back in high school and had never returned.

  Whenever Jack asked for the jersey, Carrie told him it was dirty; that she’d get it back to him as soon as she’d laundered it. It had been over a decade, and either Carrie had the worst hygienic habits on record, or she intended t
o keep the jersey.

  But she looked fine.

  Relief flooded Jack’s body.

  Carrie looked a little nervous, but fine.

  After all the grisly possibilities he’d been imagining, a stolen high school jersey wasn’t much of a concern.

  “Are you okay?” Jack waltzed through the door and slammed it shut. He made himself at home, tossing his jacket on a chair and settling on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him. “You look a little green.”

  “I really did it this time,” she said with quiet resignation in her voice. “Why do I keep getting myself in these messes? I mean, I’m almost in my thirties. I have gainful employment. I got the okay on that dress for Jaycee Smith—you know, for the awards in Tennessee? It’s my first major commission. Eloise was almost more excited than I was. I was going to call you tonight and tell you. Maybe even invite you to celebrate.”

  She shook her head and sank awkwardly next to him on the couch. “I just don’t know how these things happen. I take my vitamins every day and run five miles on Sundays.”

  Jack lifted his eyebrow at that statement.

  He’d been with Carrie on more than one of her runs.

  She grinned. “Okay, I walk fast—”

  “And stop at every hot dog stand, doughnut shop, candy store on the way,” he said.

  “But I’m walking at least. And that’s not the point. The point is, I’m not dumb, I take care of myself, but I still—”

  He interrupted. “What is it this time?”

  She’d get to the point. Eventually.

  Sometimes Jack would allow her to meander her way around to her trouble, but he was curious and not feeling particularly patient. Carrie’s predicaments were always interesting and inventive.

  “This,” she said, pulling her robe aside with flourish.

  She plopped her legs onto the coffee table. They were covered in...something.

  “What the h—” Jack cut himself off just in time.

  Carrie heard the potential swearword and frowned.

  He substituted, “Heck. What the heck have you done now?”

  He could see the tears gathering in her eyes and felt a wave of sympathy.

  “I’m going to the beach this weekend to work on my tan,” she offered, as if the statement explained the goop on her legs.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And I didn’t want hairy legs. I mean, I’m almost a blonde, for goodness’ sakes. You’d think the hair on my legs would be as light and as fine as the hair on my head. Unfortunately it’s thick and black. I shave them in the morning and by dinner I have five-o’clock shadow. It’s embarrassing. So I decided to wax them.”

  She stopped and began to dig in the pocket of her robe, sniffing dramatically.

  Jack reached in his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

  It wasn’t fashionable to carry them, he knew that. But his mother had always been tucking one in his pocket when he was younger, and the habit stuck. It was a handy habit with a friend like Carrie.

  He handed the cotton square to her and she gave a very unladylike honk into it.

  “So you decided to wax your legs. What’s the problem?”

  She gave a muffled sob from the depths of his once pristine handkerchief.

  “It hurts.”

  She hiccupped—a side effect whenever Carrie cried.

  “I pulled the first section off and it hurt like crazy. Now I can’t make myself pull the rest off. I’ve sat here most of the afternoon trying, but I just can’t do it.”

  “And you want me to do it?”

  Any residual worry evaporated. Jack’s lips twitched as he dutifully tried to avoid smiling. He knew Carrie would see the humor in the situation, but not until the moment had passed.

  “I didn’t think it would be as bad as the time I asked you to get my class ring for me,” she offered.

  “Nothing could be that bad.” The memory was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Oh, he’d tried to bury it deep, but it remained firmly unburied.

  Carrie’s puppy, Muffin, had eaten the ring and the vet had told them it would eventually come out. Jack had spent the better part of a week sifting through... byproducts searching for it. Carrie had claimed the duty made her squeamish and her parents refused to oblige her by doing it.

  “You finally did find it,” she said in a triumphant voice. The smile she shot him almost made up for the task.

  Almost.

  “You even cleaned it up for me,” she said.

  “But you never wore it again.”

  “Would you?” Her sobs turned to laughter.

  That was the thing about Carrie; she never could make up her mind just what mood she was in. And when he was with her, Jack’s moods shifted just as rapidly.

  Carrie got herself into ridiculous situations and expected Jack to get her out of them. Then she somehow made him feel like a cross between a white knight and a court jester.

  “So you think me pulling wax off your legs will be easier than digging through Muffin’s muffins?”

  “For you, not for me. It really does hurt.” She shifted on the couch and placed her right leg onto his lap. “I think it would be easier if we just talk and you pull when I least expect...ow!”

  She yanked her leg off his lap and began massaging it.

  “That hurt,” she said, looking at him as if it was his fault.

  He tossed the piece of wax and hair covered paper on the coffee table. “You said I should pull it off when you weren’t expecting it.”

  “But I want you to do it when I’m expecting not to expect it.”

  She rubbed the injured limb a moment and then placed it back on Jack’s lap.

  He rubbed the slightly red area. “Do you remember when you were ten and decided you could slam-dunk?”

  Carrie groaned and threw her head back against the pillow in the comer of the couch. “It could have worked.”

  “If you had let go. Jumping off the ladder and grabbing the rim was a decent idea, but hanging there—”

  “I didn’t want to fall and hurt something.”

  “So you screamed for me to help you down.” Jack pulled another strip.

  “Ow! I should have kicked you harder.”

  She rubbed the offended area.

  “You kicked me hard enough to break my glasses.” He pulled another sheet.

  “Hey! That was too fast. You didn’t let me recover from the last one.”

  “Sorry. But we’re almost done with this leg.” Jack rubbed the exposed skin for her.

  “So, what’s new?” he asked, grasping for some topic to distract her.

  “Since we talked yesterday?” She paused for a moment. “I dumped Ted.”

  Jack had never liked the guy. He had shifty eyes and a habit of toying with Carrie’s hair. Jack had no rational explanation for why, but Ted’s habit set his teeth on edge.

  Trying to forget the fact that he wouldn’t miss Ted a bit, Jack tried to sound sympathetic. “I’m sorry. You’ve been seeing him almost a year. What happened?”

  “Well, last night, while we were at dinner I decided he’d never do.”

  Jack pulled another sheet, but Carrie didn’t even yelp this time, just glared at him and rubbed.

  “Because?” Jack prompted.

  She sighed. “We both ordered the fettuccine.”

  Jack should have been used to Carrie’s twists and turns. He was a lawyer, used to sorting through mountains of information to get to the truth. But with Carrie the twists left him lost in the muddle of her weird brand of logic.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And I realized if I was with you, you would have ordered the shrimp,” she replied.

  He smiled encouragingly, because she was right, he would have ordered shrimp. But that didn’t explain why she’d dumped Ted.

  Carrie smiled right back at him and nodded her head.

  Jack frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  Slowly, as if he was just a bit di
m, she explained. “When you order shrimp I always steal some. That way I get the best of both worlds—my fettuccine and your shrimp. I mean it’s just like when we go to the movies. He never got the Jujyfruit candies and I’d have to buy my own along with the licorice. It’s too much. I looked like a pig.”

  Jack ripped off two more sheets in quick succession.

  “Ow!” Carrie glared. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “One leg down, one to go.”

  He grabbed her left leg and pulled it onto his lap with the right one. “So you dumped him because he ordered the wrong food?”

  Carrie shook her head and blushed.

  Jack stopped. He’d seen many things in the years they’d been friends, but her blushing wasn’t one of them.

  “No.” She shrugged. “I dumped him because while he was kissing me goodnight—a rather sloppy, pathetic kind of kiss, I might add—I realized that you weren’t a sloppy kisser. Not that I’m asking you to kiss me,” she hastily added. “It’s just that I want to find a man someday who can kiss as good as you and knows how to order the proper food and all.”

  Jack stopped, mid-rip.

  “Hey, finish it off, that’s even worse, making me worry about when you’re going to finish... Ow.”

  She jerked her leg off his lap and rubbed the hairless strip of skin. “Doggone it. Men don’t have to have hairless legs. It’s not fair. Maybe I’ll move to Europe where women can go hairy.”

  “When did you kiss me?” Jack asked, ignoring her grumbles. He didn’t remember kissing Carrie. She’d kicked him, and there was the time she set him on fire, the time she locked him in a locker for an entire health period, the time...

  No. Jack was sure he’d never kissed her. Looking at her lips he was equally sure he’d remember it if he had.

  “Why, Jack, I’m hurt. Chemistry class, I was a junior, you were a senior?”

  He waited, still unable to remember a kiss.

  “I was mixing chemicals and they blew up. I passed out. There I was, lying on the floor and you leaned over and gave me the most wonderful kiss I’ve ever experienced. You quite ruined me for other men. I worried you didn’t kiss me again because I didn’t kiss good enough. When you went away to college, I spent my senior year practicing. I hoped the next time you were home, we could try again.”