Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n' China 05

by One Hex of a Wedding

  Though she didn’t exactly say it, I could tell that Natalie meant “other friends”—other than my Randa. I jumped to my feet. “I don’t presume to tell you how to raise your daughter, but a little more kindness at home might give her the self-confidence she needs to reach out to others.”

  Luke glanced at his watch. “This is ridiculous. I have a business meeting in Seattle at six A.M. and I don’t have time for bullshit like this. If the kids are good, then we’re out of here.” He glanced at me. “Tell your daughter she’d better get a hold of that temper,” he said, heading for the door.

  Natalie let out an indignant squeak but she gathered her purse. “I’m not going to stop Lori from visiting Randa. Lord knows she needs more friends, but, Emerald, if this happens again, I’ll sue your butt off for damages, regardless of whether the girls make up. Tell Lori to be home in an hour.” She stomped out, fluttering all the way to the door.

  Joe and I followed them, waiting on the porch as they spun out of the driveway in their Jag, zooming off up the street.

  “Good God, I feel sorry for that kid.” I stared at the sky. The evening was clear and drowsy. Joe slid his arm around my waist and I rested my head against his arm. “It’s been such a rough week. You getting shot and then my grandma, and Murray and the fire at Jimbo’s. Now Randa …” With a sigh, I pulled the velvet pouch holding Rose’s necklace out of my pocket. “Joe, I need to cleanse this. It’s hexed.”

  He did a double take. “What?”

  I told him what we’d found out about the Bride’s Circlet. “So, I either find a way to cleanse it, or I’m getting rid of it.”

  He started to laugh. “Leave it to you, babe, to be given a jinxed necklace as a wedding gift. That’s too perfect. Come on, let’s go see how the girls are doing.” Holding the door open, he guided me inside. We slipped down the hall, peeking around the corner. Lori and Randa were sitting at the table, talking intently. Randa glanced up and waved us in.

  “Mom, you were so right. Lori was telling the truth and I acted like a total jerk.” She reached out and grasped Lori’s hand in hers, squeezing tightly. Lori’s eyes were shining and I gathered that—whatever she’d said—Randa had managed to take the sting out of her insults.

  “Good. I’m so glad you’re friends again,” I said. “Lemonade okay?” Randa nodded. As I poured three glasses and carried them to the table, Joe retreated to the living room, stating that girl talk wasn’t his forte. I sat down next to Randa and she gave me a guilty smile.

  “So, what really happened?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t treading into thorny territory.

  Lori blushed. “Gunner wants to get back together with her and was asking me if I’d talk to her for him.”

  Whoa. Talk about irony. I glanced at Miranda. “So, are you interested?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like Gunner, and I was really upset when he dumped me, but now I’m not sure how I feel. I’ll think about it. Right now, I want to spend time with Lori. I’ve been a total ass.”

  I tapped her on the head. “Yes, you have been. And I’m glad you girls are friends again—very glad. But Randa, I have to punish you for your behavior.”

  Her face clouded over. “I know. How long am I grounded?”

  I contemplated the situation. I could ground her, but I wanted her and Lori to actually spend time mending their friendship. Then it hit me. Something that she’d agonize over, something that might actually stick.

  “I’m not going to ground you this time.” Her face lit up but I held up my hand. “Not so fast. I want a two-thousand-word essay. It’s to be well-thought-out, with no typos. I want a heartfelt analysis telling me why what you did was wrong.”

  Bingo. The look of panic on her face told me I’d hit pay dirt. She hated English with a passion, and this would both make her think about what she did and force her to use her brain on something else besides stars. She was starting high school in the fall, and she’d be subject to a lot of pressure. I wanted her to face her inner demons before she was called on by her peers to unleash them, though a little voice in the back of my mind warned me she might be on the receiving end of the taunts rather than dishing them out.

  “Mom—”

  “No whining, miss. You’re getting off easy. Your essay is due in two weeks, and it better be good or I’ll make you write it again. And Lori can tell you how she felt so you can use it in the essay, but you’re not to let her help you write it. Got it?”

  With a nod, she said, “Yes, ma’am. And … I really am sorry for what I did. It won’t ever happen again.”

  “Okay then, off with you.”

  “Can Lori spend the night?”

  I glanced at the plump, pretty young woman and once again wished that I could make life easier for her. “Would you like to stay, hon?” She nodded. “Okay, go call your folks and if they say it’s all right, then it’s fine with me.”

  As they took off for the living room, I slowly dragged myself up the stairs, wondering where Joe had gone to. I was exhausted, too tired to even think straight. When I opened the door to my bedroom, I heard running water and peeked in the bathroom. Joe had drawn me a tub full of bubbles, and he’d lit a dozen pale pink candles that formed a brilliant line along the vanity.

  “Your bath awaits, madam.” He bowed as I broke into a goofy grin.

  “You always know just what I need.” I pulled him to me and slid my arms around his waist.

  He rubbed my back. “And I intend to go right on knowing just what you need. Take your bath. I checked on Kip and told him everything’s okay. He’s fine, so don’t worry about him.”

  “I love you,” I said, mumbling into his chest. “I love you so much.”

  Joe leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “That’s all I want, Emerald. That’s all I want.”

  Fourteen

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, I headed out to look for a dress. Before I hit the shops, I decided to stop in and see how Cinnamon was doing. I pulled into my parking space by the Chintz ’n China and bustled into the shop.

  Cinnamon’s face lit up. “Emerald! You just here for a moment, or you planning on sticking around for a while?”

  “Why?” I asked, glancing around. As usual, the shop looked checkerboard cheerful—clean, quiet, calm. Just the way I wanted it to be. “Anything happen I should know about?”

  She shook her head. “No, but business picked up yesterday and we were run ragged. I haven’t had a chance to do any restocking on the shelves.” She put down the dust rag she was carrying and finished adjusting one of the teapots in our Summer Delights display—a colorful medley of fruit-shaped teacups surrounded by herbal tisanes and citrus-flavored teas. A pyramid of various marmalades rounded out the display.

  “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” I told her, adjusting one of the jars of marmalade, “but I’m just here for a few minutes. A couple more weeks and I’ll be back for the long haul.”

  The shop bells rang and I looked up to find a woman in her mid-fifties, wearing black rectangular reading glasses on a chain, headed my way. Her hair was piled on her head in brilliant orange curls, and her blush and lipstick stood out against her overly tanned skin.

  “Thank heavens I caught you!” She thrust out her hand.

  “I’m Emerald O’Brien. May I help you?”

  She ran her eyes over me and shook her head. “No, this won’t do at all. You’ll simply have to go home to change.”

  What the hell? “Excuse me? Who are you and what are you talking about?” Diplomacy was overrated.

  She stopped short. “I thought you knew I’d be coming. I was sure I called ahead. Oh dear, I probably forgot!” Her laughter cascaded over me, leaving me even more confused. Had I somehow managed to wander into the wrong shop—one that looked like mine but wasn’t? Was Rod Serling just around the corner, waiting to give his opening spiel?

  “Again, you are—?” I tried again, letting the question dangle in my voice.

  “I’m Ingrid Lindstrom, wi
th the Chiqetaw Town Crier. I’ve come to interview you for the article and photo shoot about your upcoming nuptials with your handsome young hunk.” She winked and I suddenly understood.

  Ingrid Lindstrom, the gossipmonger from hell. More than once she’d insinuated bizarre things about me, all in an attempt to turn a clever phrase, but the woman couldn’t write her way out of a paper box. Randa and I’d spent many a Saturday morning groaning over the latest installment in Ingrid’s column.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, Ingrid, but I’m not interested and I have no idea why you thought I would be.”

  Ingrid’s face fell. “But Cathy said you might.”

  Cathy? Oh no! Please, oh please, I silently begged, don’t let Ingrid Lindstrom and Cathy Sutton be in cahoots. One media hound was bad enough, but two? Unthinkable. Cathy owed me a big one, and she’d stayed off my case for a while but I had a feeling debts of gratitude ran short with her.

  “Well, Cathy was wrong.”

  After an awkward pause, Ingrid said, “How’s Mr. Files doing? Has he recovered from the shooting? Rumor has it that your ex-husband left town—”

  “My ex had nothing to do with the shooting,” I said shortly. “And Joe is fine.”

  “Do the police have any idea of who shot him?” The woman was a pit bull. She wouldn’t let up.

  “I can’t make any comments while the investigation is ongoing.” I crossed my arms. Why had she picked today of all days to wander into the shop? Why not yesterday, when I wasn’t around?

  “Well, the whole town is interested in your wedding. Are you having a public reception?” Ingrid looked over the top of her glasses at me, as if she expected a personally engraved invitation.

  The vision of several hundred bored townsfolk crashing my wedding scared the hell out of me. “No! It’s private. Only friends and family allowed. I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said, as Maeve entered the shop.

  Ingrid gaped at me as I pushed past her and overwhelmed Maeve with a hail of hellos and come right with mes.

  At first bewildered, Maeve caught sight of Ingrid and her expression changed. She looped her arm through mine and veered toward the tearoom. Grateful for her quick pick-up, I let out a long sigh.

  “Caught you in the nick of time, I see,” Maeve whispered, strolling toward an empty table. The tearoom usually filled up around noon and stayed busy until about one, then business picked up in the late afternoon when shoppers were on their way home.

  “Saved by the bell … the shop bells,” I whispered back. As we settled at the table, I began to breathe a bit easier. “Thank you. I thought it was bad with Cathy, but Ingrid is dumber than a fence post.”

  Maeve grinned. “My dear, you haven’t yet met some of my relatives, have you? Ah well, how are you this fine morning? And what are you doing at the shop? I thought you were taking a break before your wedding.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “I think I’m just going to just ask White Deer to marry us in the backyard, nekkid under the full moon.”

  “What’s going on?” Maeve asked, rising to fetch herself a glass of iced limeade and a lemon bar.

  Cinnamon had chosen a decidedly citrus theme for the day’s goodies. “Lemonade Days” was chalked on the menu board, and almost everything for sale had something to do with the sunshine flavor. Lemon gazpacho, lemon bars, limeade, lemon-lime tea. I was relieved to see that she’d wisely included raspberry sparkling water and chocolate peanut butter chip cookies for those whose tastes prefer sweet instead of tart.

  I poured myself a glass of sparkling water and chose a tuna on rye sandwich. My shop was one of the few places where I could eat fish. Randa had a life-threatening allergy, and having seafood in the house could be dangerous, so I only ate it when I was out at a restaurant. Even then, I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth before kissing her.

  Once we were back at the table, I filled Maeve in on everything that had happened, starting with the crystal necklace and ending with the lack of a dress.

  “I’m supposed to go shopping today but I’m overwhelmed. By now, all the dresses look the same to me.” I sipped my drink.

  Maeve gave me a soft smile. “All weddings are stressful, but you seem to be under assault.” Her eyes lit up. “I know! Let me play faerie godmother. Go home and get your necklace and corset, then come over to my house.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “You wouldn’t happen to have a dress for that corset, would you?”

  She broke into a grin. “I might at that. My mother was about your size, and I have her dress. She wore it when she and my father were married on a faerie mound. I’ve kept it all these years—my sister didn’t want anything to do with it since it wasn’t the latest fashion, and I certainly couldn’t wear it at my own wedding. I’m quite a bit taller and broader in the shoulders than Mother was. But I think it might fit you. If so, I’d like to see it used by someone truly in love, rather than let it molder away in my heirloom trunk.”

  A wedding dress worn on a faerie mound in Ireland? Couldn’t ask for anything much more magical than that. And I trusted Maeve not to offer me something hideous—she had, after all, given me her mother’s crystal ball.

  “Maeve, you’re a lifesaver. How about one-fifteen? Will that work?”

  She nodded and glanced at her watch. “And now, I must be about my shopping. I’ve just finished shearing my llamas and I need a new part for my spinning wheel. I think this may be my last season with the creatures, though. I’m thinking of opening up a little herb shop. I’d sell plants in the spring and fall, as well as a variety of dried products during the rest of the year. Also, hand-woven wreaths and holiday boughs during Christmas.”

  “Running a shop is hard work,” I said, thinking of how many hours I usually put in at the Chintz ’n China.

  “Oh, I know. I’d limit my shop hours to three or four days a week, so it wouldn’t be overtaxing. I’ve money enough not to worry about turning a wide profit. It just sounds like fun.”

  We agreed to meet at her house at one-thirty and she left with a quick TTFN and a wave. I bussed our dishes, then relieved Cinnamon at the counter for an hour or so, to give her time to restock the shelves. Thankfully, Ingrid was nowhere in sight. By twelve-thirty, the shelves were stocked and dusted, and I handed the reins back to Cinnamon. I brushed my teeth, then gathered my purse and keys. The scent of tea and spice and pastries spiraled up to fill my lungs and I longed to be back at work, following my simple routine that made me so happy.

  MAEVE LIVED NEAR the southern border of Chiqetaw. She’d put hundreds of hours into landscaping her land, and her gardens burgeoned into an array of brilliantly colored plots. But there was something else, besides the roses and hydrangeas and rhododendrons that gave such life to the land here.

  It was as if Maeve had tapped into the perfect place to nurture her spirit. She had the magic touch, every plant thrived here, and even the rock garden seemed to hum with life. Somehow, she’d forged a connection with the land that ran as deep as the tree roots. A sovereign bond existed between the soil and the woman, and the verdant foliage springing forth from the land stood as silent testimony to her dedication.

  As I parked next to her modest pickup and slipped out from the driver’s seat, the sharp tang of freshly mowed grass hit my nose and I breathed deep, letting the smell soothe my senses. Maeve’s garden smelled green.

  She met me at the front door. A strikingly tall woman, she would have been called “handsome” a hundred years ago. She had changed out of her linen pantsuit into a pair of tidy jeans, a button-down short-sleeved striped shirt, and a pair of gardening gloves.

  “I was just finishing up with the nasturtiums. Come in.”

  I’d been to visit several times, but the custom-renovated rambler never ceased to amaze me, with its loft-high ceilings and multiple skylights that let through the brilliant blue of the afternoon sky. Maeve’s decor tended toward minimalist Scandinavian. The first time I entered her living room, I’d expected to find old walnut antiqu
es and lace curtains, but instead, found light birch furniture free of frills or carving, and sheer panels covering sleek blinds. The floors were hardwood, not a speck of carpeting entered her house, although each room contained a Persian rug.

  I glanced at her dining table and saw a large white box sitting on it. She saw me looking at it and nodded.

  “Come. Let me see your necklace while you examine the dress. If you like it, try it on for size.”

  I handed her the necklace and approached the box. It was old, but obviously well-cared for. I would expect nothing less from Maeve. I hesitantly reached out and touched the bow, then slowly pulled the ribbon away. At first I’d been excited about the possibility of wearing a wedding dress that had history to it. Now, I felt a sort of reverence.

  “Maeve, do you think your mother would mind a stranger wearing her dress?” I asked as I lifted the top off the box.

  “Not at all. Mother was a lot like me, and since she entrusted her gown to me, she obviously trusted my judgment.” She held up the string of crystals. “You said these were made in Ireland?”

  “Yes, though they ended up in Jamaica.”

  As she turned away, still holding the necklace, I carefully unfolded the acid-free paper in which the gown had been stored. A wash of ivory satin met my gaze, a sparkle of light flickered in the corner of my eye. Slowly, making certain my hands were clean, I lifted the gown from the box, gasping as it fell open to reveal its full beauty.

  A vision in lace and satin, the dress was formfitting, with a low sweetheart-cut neckline. The ruched bodice had lace inserts across the waist and down the sides, framing the breasts, while pearl buttons fastened the dress in back. The sleeves were mildly poofy at the shoulder, tapering into points that would cover the top of the hand. The back of the skirt flowed into a rounded train that trailed a good yard behind the hemline.

  No visible stains or tears marred the gown, and I found myself entranced, hoping with all my might that it would fit me. “Oh, Maeve, this is so beautiful Are you sure you want me trying it on? I just love it.”