The Rejected Writers' Christmas Wedding (The Southlea Bay Series Book 3)

by Suzanne Kelman

  John tried to shout back in his sleep, but he had lost his voice. Nothing came out. He finally woke up in a heavy sweat and sat up in the bed. That’s when he realized it was just a nightmare, but he knew exactly what it meant. He wasn’t going to do it. He couldn’t. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He wasn’t malicious. He’d actually become quite fond of Flora. He just couldn’t hurt her in this way. She was OK.

  He got out of bed, went to the hall closet, and pulled out his jacket. He was going to burn it. He’d made up his mind. That was what he would do: burn the letter and give her the document right now so he couldn’t go back on his word. So he could move forward with a new life.

  He reached into his inside pocket to recover the letter. It was gone. He scoured through all of his pockets but, except for a pack of cigarettes and the candy cane he had been given the first day, they were empty.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  It was gone.

  Even though it was still a few days before the wedding, the Labette sisters couldn’t wait any longer. They had to give Flora their gift, and they had to give it to her now. She’d mentioned she had a nine a.m. appointment at the Bob and Curl so Sadie could deep condition her hair.

  Lavinia picked up an elegant box and placed it in the trunk. When they arrived at the Bob and Curl at exactly 9:15, Sadie was on the telephone, a concerned look on her face. Lavinia slipped in and smiled, waiting for Sadie to hang up before saying, “Sorry to bother you, honey. We just wanted a quick minute with the bride-to-be.”

  Sadie nodded as she hung up. “You and me both.”

  Lavinia knotted her brows. “I thought Flora had an appointment here this morning.”

  “She did, but she didn’t turn up. In fact, that’s who I was just calling.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Flora,” added Lottie by Lavinia’s side, voicing everyone’s concern.

  “I know,” said Sadie. “I would pop over and check on her, but I have a color coming in at nine thirty and I need to be here.”

  “Probably just a case of pre-wedding jitters,” said Lottie, trying to stay optimistic. “Lavinia threw up all morning before she got married to her third husband, Hank. Didn’t you, Lavinia?”

  “Yes, I did, dear, but I think the name of that was sheer terror. My stomach had realized what it took my mind another six months to figure out: that I should never have married that blasted man.”

  “Lavinia!” screeched Lottie in her high-pitched altar tone. “There’s no need for profanity.”

  Sadie smiled at the sisters, obviously charmed.

  Lavinia continued, “Why don’t we just pop across the road and see about Flora? If she’s jittery, I have a fabulous family recipe that can cure all manner of ailments. It has a good amount of booze in it, which seems to calm the jitters right down.”

  Lottie tapped her sister’s hand. “We’ll have none of our old family concoctions here. The last thing Flora needs first thing in the morning is alcohol. We will pop over there, though, just to make sure she is OK.”

  Carrying their pretty package, the Labettes made their way up Main Street and onto the little side street where Flora’s tiny cottage sat. After opening the wrought iron gate and moving to the doorstep, they knocked on the door.

  John drove into town like someone possessed by the devil. He had to find that letter before anyone picked it up and passed it on to Flora. He felt ashamed to think he’d even thought of doing such a thing. He would start where he had parked at the bank and retrace his steps.

  He pulled into a parking space and jumped out of the car, forgetting to even lock it. Being in Southlea Bay had started to rub off on him. He walked up the road toward the post office, his eyes fixed only on the ground. He didn’t want to miss it. It had to be here somewhere. But his heart continued to sink as he saw nothing.

  He arrived at the red-brick building and rushed inside, glancing frantically around. Mrs. Barber had just opened the door and was humming as she readied herself for her day. John went straight to her.

  “Did you find an envelope yesterday?”

  Mrs. Barber didn’t seem to notice his desperate face or the fact that he seemed in an awful rush. She just said, “Well, good morning. John, isn’t it? What a lovely morning.”

  He tried again. “A letter, Mrs. Barber. Did you by any chance find a letter?”

  She laughed and nodded. “I find lots of post, John. They’re in my sacks in the back. I have a post office. This is my business.”

  “No,” he said, “this is very important.” He seized her wobbly round shoulders and pulled her toward him. She bristled a little, as if it wasn’t post office procedure to be grabbed, in particular by a young man from out of town.

  “It was addressed to Flora. Do you have a letter for Flora?”

  She released herself from his grip and stepped behind the desk, as if she needed to remind him of her authority. “I have lots of letters and of course some for Flora.”

  “But did you find one on the floor? I might have dropped it.”

  She sniffed. “We have a box for that. I will go and look.” She moved into the back office.

  Doris Newberry was wound up. She planned on going over to Flora’s to discuss more wedding suggestions. She put on her shoes and started to make her way to the door when someone knocked. It was Ethel.

  “Here is the book you lent me,” she said in a tight voice. Wearing her usual dour expression, she continued, “It was very good. Very funny.” She said the word funny as if she’d just sucked an extra-hot jalapeno right out of the jar. “I should let you know that I saw your momma wandering back toward town when I was on the bus. She has on her slippers and a chemise housecoat.”

  Doris puffed out her cheeks. This wasn’t going to be a good day—she could feel it. “Come on, Ethel. We have a mission in town. We can pick up Mama on the way.” Doris picked up her car keys, slipped on her town shoes, and closed the door.

  Doris found her mama walking along the road, singing “Kumbaya.” She pulled up next to her and rolled down the window. “Mama, what are you doing?”

  “I’m just taking a stroll, Dotty dear,” she said. “I thought I would drop off this little sign I’d made for Dan and Flora. ‘Your happily ever after has just begun.’” She uncovered the sign that she’d made, draped in pink polka dot tissue paper.

  Doris sighed. “Get in, Mama. I’m on my way to Flora’s now. I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Lovely!” Gracie jumped into the car.

  Lavinia Labette stood, peeking into Flora’s window, reporting her findings to her sister below her. “There are open boxes laid on the table with lots of lovely blue-and-green tissue paper, as if she’d opened it and pulled something out to wear. Oh! Looks expensive. Like the box that comes from Macy’s. You know, like the one I bought that lovely camel-colored suit for us in?”

  “I don’t care about a suit.” Lottie rubbed her hands together, nervously. “Tell me if you see Flora.”

  “Well, no,” she answered, “but it looks dark and disheveled in there. Actually, very un-Flora-like. She’s usually quite a tidy Heidi.”

  “Lord,” cried Lottie, throwing her hands up to heaven. “Please let her be OK. God, please send us a soldier of the Lord to help us.”

  “Stop your wailing,” said Lavinia. “There’s probably a perfectly good reason she’s not here. A girl could be a thousand different places a few days before her wedding.”

  Mrs. Barber came back to the front desk and appeared to balk at the fact that John was still standing there. She took off her reading glasses and stuck them into her hair. They sat there, caught firmly in the mangled nest with a couple of other pairs. “Now,” she said in her polite, but businesslike voice, “there is nothing in the box. When did you lose it?”

  John shook his head in disbelief. “Yesterday. I told you, I dropped an envelope somewhere in town. It was addressed to Flora.”

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Barber, distracted. “Sweet Flora is getting marri
ed. She’s been getting all kinds of mail.” Suddenly, the light bulb appeared to go off in her mind. She started to giggle. “Oh, that’s what you’re talking about.” Then she added, reassuringly, “Don’t worry, young man. I found your card on the floor, under the parcel table. It didn’t have a stamp on it, but I was passing Flora’s cottage on my way home and thought it was a wedding card for her. I just popped it through her door. I wanted to make sure she got it before the wedding—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he raced from the building.

  I fought exhaustion after another restless morning with twin two-year-olds; I didn’t know how Stacy did it. I actually left early for work at the library just to gather myself. As I made my way up the Main Street hill, an odd sight caught my eye: Lavinia Labette was standing up on one of Flora’s garden benches, peeking into the window. I stopped the car and got out. As I reached Flora’s gate, John ran up beside me, out of breath. The wrought iron gateway squealed, announcing our arrival.

  “Ah, here are John and Janet,” said Lottie. “Praise the Lord. God has answered my prayer. Maybe John can climb into one of the windows or something.”

  Suddenly, Doris pulled up beside the house, and three more ladies got out and approached the door. “Why, here are Doris, Ethel, and Gracie,” said Lottie.

  Lavinia put her hand on her hip and looked at her sister. “Lottie, dear, you really need to be less fervent in your prayers for help. You ask God to send us a soldier and he sends us a whole platoon!”

  Lottie’s eyes twinkled. She was always excited when God answered her prayers. As we assembled on Flora’s step, Lavinia brought us up to date on the hairdressing appointment and the disheveled front room.

  “Stand aside,” Doris said in her authoritarian tone. She reached below a plant pot, pulled out a single spare key, and put it into the lock.

  Lottie rubbed her hands together. “Do you think it’s a good idea to go in like this? She may have only gone for a walk or shopping. I hate to intrude.”

  I took her hand to calm her. “We’re just checking. It’s not like Flora to miss a hairdressing appointment, especially so close to her wedding. Maybe she’s sick. We should at least go in and find out.”

  John’s face paled.

  We all walked into the darkened house. It was chilled, devoid of life or warmth. It had obviously been without heat all night. As I looked around the room, everything was disorganized, as if someone had left in a hurry: A tray of tea on the table with a used tea bag. Shoes were strewn on the floor and clothes thrown across the chairs.

  Lottie called up the stairs toward Flora’s room and slowly, tentatively, made her way up. Suddenly, the phone rang and everybody jumped.

  Lavinia picked it up. “Hello?” she said reluctantly. then: “Oh, hello, Dan. How are you? Flora? You want to speak to Flora?” Lavinia faltered.

  Everyone in the room stared at her, waiting.

  “No, I’m afraid she’s not available right now. I’ll get her to call you when she is. Uh-huh. Good-bye.”

  We all stood there for a minute before Doris broke the silence. “Why didn’t you ask him if he’d seen her?”

  “I didn’t want to worry the poor boy, for goodness sake,” said Lavinia. “If he just called, it means he doesn’t know she isn’t here, which means we have to figure this out before we worry him half to death.”

  Lottie returned from the bedroom as pale as John. She reached out and took my hand to steady herself. She tried to sit down.

  “What is it?” asked Doris, noticing her ashen expression. “What’s wrong?”

  She swallowed and then said, “Flora’s gone. I checked her bedroom. There are clothes out on the bed, and her favorite travel bag is gone.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” said Lavinia. “She may just be half-packed for her honeymoon.”

  Before Lavinia could continue, I realized something. “Haven’t you noticed something else? Mr. Darcy isn’t here. He never leaves the house. I don’t know where or why, but I think you’re right. She’s gone.”

  There was a long silence as everyone took in that information.

  “I hope it wasn’t anything we did,” whispered Lottie, the worry obvious in her tone. “Maybe she really wanted to have her wedding in the community hall after all.”

  “That can’t be it,” her sister interjected. “It’s more likely that god-awful dress or the terrible wedding service Doris was trying to inflict on her that sent her over the edge.”

  Doris stiffened and barked back, “What was wrong with my dress? I thought Flora would want to be married in white. There was nothing wrong with that dress that a nip and tuck wouldn’t have solved.”

  “Nip and tuck,” Lavinia railed back. “It was huge. We could have added tent poles to the edges and hosted the wedding breakfast under it.”

  Annie shook her head. “It was probably more to do with the flowers.” She then added pointedly, “Flora is very particular about her flowers.”

  I was just about to step in and try to smother the fire that was erupting when one clear voice spoke.

  “I know why,” John said.

  Everyone became silent and looked toward him.

  “It’s because of me,” John said quietly. “I found out a secret from her past, and I came here to try . . .” He trailed off and looked at the floor.

  Doris, still boiling, turned her frustration toward him and boomed, “Tried what?”

  He finally responded to his shoes, “To get money out of her.”

  A sharp gasp reverberated around the cottage, as if everyone were trying to suck the air out of the room. Lottie and Lavinia spoke the same words, at the same time, with very different emphases. “Oh God!”

  He continued, “I was going to take her money, but then I met you all, and it didn’t seem right. Doris always cooking me food. Annie knitting me sweaters. I had the evidence in a letter, but I lost it. The little round woman at the post office found it and put it through Flora’s mail drop last night. I went everywhere this morning, just trying to find it before she saw it. Please believe me when I say I didn’t want her to see it.”

  We all stood frozen as the truth of what he had said sank in.

  Gracie broke the tension. She floated toward him and cupped his face with her delicate, childlike hands. Then she slowly raked her fingers through his hair, as if he were a young boy. “I believe you.”

  That one gentle act seemed to relax the group, and Lavinia spoke. “Well, what are we gonna do about it?”

  “First things first,” I said. “We need to tell Dan.” I could tell by everyone’s reaction that nobody was relishing that task.

  Doris moved to the phone and picked it up. She called the local directory for the number of Dan’s auto repair shop. I could hear the exchange clearly in the pin-drop silent gloom of the cottage.

  “Hi, Doris,” said the local operator. “How’s your mama?”

  “Mary, I don’t have time to chat,” Doris replied. “I have an emergency.”

  The operator went into business mode, and Doris wrote out the number she gave her and dialed. Two minutes later, Doris hung up the phone and looked at all our expectant faces. “Dan has gone out on a job. He’ll be back in an hour. We’ll call him back then.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Lavinia, “but I need a quick something that’s a little strong. I wonder if it’s too early for a Baileys coffee at the Crab. We can’t stay here. Besides, who knows? Maybe she just went for the night and will be back tomorrow. We shouldn’t be too hasty.”

  Everyone agreed, but no one seemed convinced, I could tell. We filed out, locked Flora’s door, and started toward the Crab.

  Only John hung back. Lavinia noticed him and took him by the hand.

  “Now, look,” she said. “What’s done is done. There’s nothing you can do now. Everyone makes mistakes, and believe me, I’m the queen of them. I’m not sure how Dan will feel when he finds out, but you might as well get a cup of coffee to k
eep your strength up before he punches you on the nose.”

  John’s face drained of color.

  On the way to the Crab, he explained that it wasn’t that he hadn’t been punched in the face before. He had—many times, he added. But somehow being in this quaint little Northwest town, with its flowering hanging baskets and “Southlea Bay Wants to Wish You a Happy Day” sign, had worn him down. It was hard for him to get back into his streetwise head. He no longer wanted—or seemed to remember how—to fight.

  Lavinia nodded and smiled. “It’s our one line of defense against meanness,” she added. “All those dishes of pot pies and knitted gifts have a purpose.”

  As the group passed Ruby-Skye’s shop, she poked her head out. “Going to a rally?”

  “We’re going to the Crab for breakfast again,” said Gracie as she danced along on her toes in her bedroom slippers. “I love it when I get two breakfasts in one day.”

  I smiled and filled Ruby-Skye in quietly on the details.

  “I’ll be over in a minute,” she said, going back into her shop to close it up.

  Inside the Crab, the whole group gathered, waiting for our waitress, Gladys. When she saw us, she eyed John warily. “Who’s this?”

  “The booth,” said Doris, ignoring her comment. “We need privacy.”

  “The booth?” responded Gladys, incredulously. “I can barely squeeze y’all in there, and now you have a man. What are you planning to do with him? Crush him in between you all or have him pop up out of a cake?”

  John didn’t look happy at either prospect.

  “Maybe we could add a table,” said Lottie thoughtfully.

  Gladys grabbed a bunch of menus and shuffled off, complaining. “I should get my license to be a furniture mover just for when your gaggle comes in.”

  We followed obediently and squeezed as many of us into the booth as we could. Gladys tried to pull over a table, but as she pulled on it, nothing seemed to happen. She stood there with her hands stretched out on the edges of the table, puffing and panting.