The Yellow Rose Beauty Shop

by Carolyn Brown

  It was one of those new fancy ones that was supposed to say “negative” or “positive” and then give the approximate weeks of pregnancy. She laid it on the counter, washed her hands, and put the potty lid down.

  She picked up the instructions again and reread them to see if it would say “negative” or “not pregnant” or “you are one lucky girl today.” It showed her the clear sign of what it would say and her breath caught in her chest.

  Jed had said he hoped their daughters had red hair like hers. Her mama had said that preachers’ kids were hellions. She’d understood that years ago, when that preacher’s kid went to school and bragged about taking her virginity in the back of his truck—and Jed had told her he’d been like that boy when he was a teenager. Lord, what would she do with a son like that? Or with a red-haired, sassy daughter?

  You will raise them up to love their mama like you love Nancy and their daddy and hope like hell they turn out right. Agnes’s voice was back in her head. And you will love them with your whole heart.

  She shut her eyes tightly and fumbled for the stick, but then she couldn’t force herself to open them. She wanted Jed’s children, lots of them, and suddenly, she realized that she’d be disappointed as hell if she wasn’t pregnant. The nausea was a fluke and the missed period had to be because of all the stress but still, she touched her stomach and wanted a baby to be growing there.

  She finally opened her eyes and reached for the phone, hit speed dial for Jed’s number, and said, “Where are you right now this minute? I need to see you.”

  “Jogging about half a block from your house.”

  “The back door is open and the house is empty.”

  “Three minutes.” He chuckled.

  “Run faster and get here in two,” she said.

  She laid the stick on a paper towel on the kitchen cabinet and met him at the back door. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rolled up on her toes and kissed him, long and lingering on the lips.

  “If your neighbors saw me barrel into this house, there’ll be talk before the ball,” he said. “But I do like the gleam in your eye.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. “I thought that one morning with nausea was something I ate and that the lack of my period was stress and the pill is supposed to be ninety-nine-point-whatever effective so I didn’t think I could possibly be pregnant but the test is over there and you can see for yourself . . .”

  He picked her up and swung her around the kitchen floor until she was even more breathless than ever. “This is the best wedding present ever. I feel like I’m floating on air. I love you, Mrs. Tucker, and now we’ve got a double announcement to make.”

  “I love you, Jed. Are you sure you’re not disappointed? We talked about waiting two years to start a family.”

  “No, my darlin’, I’m so happy that my heart is about to explode.”

  With her feet dangling off the floor, Stella felt as if she was floating on air for real. Gossip, scandal, malicious lies. None of it could touch her when she was in Jed’s arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The camo limo left the church parking lot and drove slowly out to the Prescott place. Stella had purposely sat beside her mama at the back of the limousine, and while the rest of the ladies carried on a lively conversation, she took Nancy’s hand in hers and whispered in her ear.

  “Mama, I want you to know before the announcement is made at the ball. I’ve been married to Jed Tucker since May.” In her wildest dreams she’d never thought that it would feel so good to say the words.

  Nancy’s quick intake of breath was so loud that Stella looked up at the other passengers to make sure they hadn’t heard.

  “Holy hell, Stella! The preacher,” she gasped.

  Stella nodded. “I fell in love with him, but all that scandal when I was young—and don’t tell me you didn’t know—scared me. I was afraid the church wouldn’t give him a contract if they knew we were married.”

  “I’m speechless. Does your daddy know?”

  Stella’s head moved from side to side. “Not yet. You want to tell him or should I?”

  “News that big should come from you. I can’t wrap my mind around it. You were married when he came to the backyard parties?”

  Stella nodded.

  “When he danced with you? Hell’s bells, girl. I’m losing my inner sense. I should’ve seen it. Lookin’ back, he had a special way with you. I should have seen it, but he’s the preacher.” Nancy’s voice got louder.

  “Shhh. This is for you only because I love you and want you to know before we get out of this limo.”

  Nancy squeezed Stella’s hand. “I’m fighting tears of joy. I’d go on and cry, but I spent an hour on this makeup.”

  “Me, too, Mama. It feels so good to tell you. I wanted to say something before, but . . .”

  “You deserve the big announcement after everything that has happened, including that rotten sign. I hope it’s taken down by morning.”

  “Oh, it will be. Jed promised.”

  The limo arrived amid flashing photographers’ lights and rolling cameras from the television station in Sherman. Rhett stepped up to the doors and lifted Piper down like a gentleman helping a lady out of a chariot, his hands firmly around her waist and hers on his shoulders.

  She whispered something in his ear and he nodded. Then he turned, took Agnes’s crutches from her hands and handed them to Boone, and picked her up like a bride, carrying her to the door of the barn and setting her down gently before handing the crutches back to her.

  “You are a gentleman and I never did believe all that shit about you,” Agnes whispered.

  He blushed and said softly, “It was probably all true, ma’am, but sometimes a leopard can change its spots if the right woman comes along.”

  It was Boone’s turn to help Charlotte from the limo next and he did so with a flourish, kissing her fingertips when he set her down. “Oh, my!” she said.

  “You are lovely tonight, m’lady. Shall we?” He crooked his arm.

  She slipped hers inside it, and Agnes held the filmy curtain back for them with the tip of one of her crutches.

  Rhett picked up Piper’s arm and tucked it inside his. “I hope my little brother knows what he’s doing. I’ve never been to something with a princess before and I’m following his lead.”

  Piper smiled. “That, Sir Rhett, is the best pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

  Everett poked his head inside the limo. “Well, I’ll be damned. This thing looks like a hooker wagon to me. Where’s my lovely wife?”

  “She’s right here, Daddy, and you are so right. I was just whispering secrets to her before we go inside,” Stella said.

  “I might have known it. Y’all been thicker’n thieves since the day we brought you home from the hospital. Well, come on, woman. Let’s go see what in the hell them prayin’ women done got cooked up inside there. I’m hungry and we got to wait until they get the names all called before we can eat. That Heather girl is out there talkin’ to some reporters, but they’re more interested in this big contraption than they are what she’s got to say,” Everett said.

  When Nancy put a high-heeled shoe on the first step, Everett scooped her up in his arms and said, “You’ll be the prettiest one in there tonight, Nancy darlin’. There ain’t a woman in Cadillac who can hold a candle to you.” He didn’t put her down until they were inside the barn.

  Stella was the only one left in the limo and when she started out the driver held out his hand. She reached for it but Jed appeared out of the shadows and took her hand, helped her down, and looked deeply into her eyes before tucking her arm into his. “I love you, Stella Tucker.”

  “That sounds real good,” she said.

  “It does, doesn’t it? Miz Agnes, darlin’, could I escort the two loveliest women in the county into this ball?” he asked when the
y made it to the door.

  “You are full of shit, Jed, even if you are a preacher, but I’ll gladly walk into this barn dance with you and Stella. Oh, my God!” Agnes said.

  “What? Did you hurt your hip?” Stella said frantically.

  “Hell, no! I just now figured the whole damn thing out. It’s been right there in plain sight the whole time. It’s Jed. And you are both wearing bright shiny new gold bands, which means he ain’t your feller but your husband. I can’t believe you pulled the wool over my eyes,” Agnes said.

  “Yes, he is, but don’t let the cat out of the bag just yet.” Stella laughed.

  “Does Nancy know?”

  “I just now told her.”

  “I bet she don’t know whether to wind her ass or scratch her watch.” Agnes cackled.

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Stella said.

  The big tin building was still a barn with a cracked concrete floor, wooden rafters, and buyers’ balconies on either side. It smelled like dozens and dozens of kinds of barbecue. No matter how many scented candles burned brightly on the tables or how many rose petals were tossed on the serving tables at the back, those were still slow cookers and disposable aluminum pans back there. And those really were red plastic cups for sweet tea and lemon-infused water.

  The yards and yards of filmy illusion netting blown backward by the noisy air conditioners did little to keep the cold air in and the hot air out. Heather’s floral dress with its wide skirts looked like something out of a pre–Civil War museum.

  “Well, Stella Baxter, here you are,” Heather said. “And the rumors have it that my marriage ministry has worked and you will be telling your family the name of your future husband tonight?”

  “You look lovely, Heather, but”—Stella lowered her voice to a whisper—“you shouldn’t eat any of my pulled chicken. I made it special for my feller and he does like it a bit spicy. A delicate little flower like you could never handle the heat, but I do understand that Quinn loves it, so maybe he can have your portion.”

  Heather’s beady little eyes squinted nearly shut. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s just that city folks can’t eat my chicken. It upsets their delicate nature. Down here in the backwoods, people are stronger. They are able to handle the jalapeño peppers we grow here because they’ve been eating them their whole lives, but you, comin’ from the city, honey, it’s just a warning. Don’t take offense, now,” Stella said.

  “Are you implying that I can’t handle as much as you can? I’ve eaten food with jalapeño peppers in it. Mexican food is some of my favorite,” Heather said.

  “No, I’m telling you straight up that you can’t. You might think you are taking Violet’s place in Cadillac, but darlin’, I’m the new Agnes. And FYI, Violet couldn’t get ahead of Agnes and you will always be two steps behind me.” Stella laid a hand on Heather’s shoulder and looked her right in the eye. “And I’m giving you fair warning, my pulled chicken is not for you. You can thank me later when you come down off your high horse. Now I really must get on up into the balcony before you start drawing names.”

  Heather headed straight for the food table holding Stella’s bright-red slow cooker of pulled barbecued chicken. She laid the lid to the side, picked up a plate, put a hamburger bun on it, and loaded it with the chicken. The expression on her face said that she would show that hussy just who had more steel in her backbone.

  Stella watched from the shadows near the stairs leading up to the balcony where the ladies were gathered. Sheer determination made Heather eat every bite of the sandwich, with her eyes watering and her face flushed by the time she finished it.

  Then she took off in a big-skirted waddle toward the table that held her special white grape juice punch. Piper, bless her heart, had offered to serve until time for the drawing and she filled a pink plastic cup to the brim and handed it to Heather.

  “Someone should have told you that Stella puts a lot of jalapeño peppers in her barbecue. You poor dear,” Piper said sympathetically.

  “I can take the heat,” Heather said stoically, but she downed the whole cup of punch and held it back for more. “I’m not a pansy.”

  “I’m sure you are strong, darlin’,” Piper said. “The tables look lovely with all the candlelight flickering.”

  Heather put down the second cup faster than the first and handed it back to Piper. “One more time. I’ve been working very hard and I’m thirsty.”

  Piper was more than willing to oblige her. “You’ve done such a lovely job. Why, no one would ever believe this is a common old sale barn. Everyone in the whole county is going to be saying that it’s the best barn dance they’ve ever been to.”

  Heather tilted up the third cup and gulped it down. When she set it down, her eyes were glazed and she grabbed the edge of the table. “This corset is really tight. I . . . oh, my sweet Gee . . . Gee . . . shus . . . what in the devil is Agnes Flynn wearing?”

  “It’s cute as a button, ain’t it,” Piper said. “Carlene down at the Bless My Bloomers store created it from some old kitchen curtains and a pair of overalls for her. Have you shopped there? I do all the time. They have the sexiest things for us tall folks as well as chubby ladies. I’m sure you could find something that would turn Quinn on.”

  Heather’s nose snarled as she tilted her chin up a notch. “That is a naughty panty store. I wouldn’t be caught dead in there. I do believe this corshit is cutting off my cirsulation.”

  “Hello, Heather, darlin’. Are you havin’ trouble breathing?” Charlotte was suddenly at her side, hooking an arm through hers and leading her to a nearby table. “Come on over here and sit beside me.”

  Floy wandered up to the punch table and nodded at Piper. “I do believe it’s almost time for you to join the ladies. I will take over from here.”

  Piper handed her the ladle and headed toward the stairs. If anyone ever questioned the punch, Floy would swear on a stack of Bibles that it didn’t have a drop of liquor in it. And she’d be right. The three cups that Heather sucked down so quickly had come from behind the punch bowl and Piper had already poured them about a fourth full of vodka before she ever added the punch to them. The empty vodka bottle was tucked away safely in her purse and she’d leave it under the balcony seats. Now it was up to Charlotte to do the job Agnes had assigned to her.

  “Heather, darlin’, I have a huge favor to ask of you. You can say no, but it will make me so sad, and frankly, honey, with this onset of the vapors I don’t think you’re up to reading the names anyway,” Charlotte said.

  “I do feel a bit faint,” Heather said. “But I am not delicatsh. I’m strong enough to be a marriage minishter.”

  Charlotte decided to go bold instead of sneaking up on Heather’s blind side. “I will give you one thousand dollars to let me call out the names. I have it right here.” She pulled out an envelope with ten one-hundred-dollar bills in it. “You can count them if you want. That will go a long way toward getting your marriage ministry out of the red.”

  “I can’t. It’s my job as the marri . . . marri . . . the minishter to call the names.”

  “I happen to know that you are more than a thousand dollars in the hole on this party,” Charlotte said.

  “It’s a ball. A fancy dress ball. Why, there is my aunt Violet. Doesn’t she look pretty in her black sha . . . sha . . . satin?” She finally spit the word out properly. “Even in the wheelchair. I should go talk to her.” She looked at the envelope lying in front of her and back at Charlotte. “Why do you want to do this so bad?”

  “Because I heard that someone put Violet’s name in the single women’s bowl. I wouldn’t want to call it out with Rhett Monroe and start a bunch of rumors about her liking younger men and paying them to go to bed with her,” Charlotte whispered.

  Heather covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, no! They wouldn’t say that about an old
woman.”

  “I heard that she’s been flirting with him and the way you are feeling faint, you might say her name before you think. I’ll make sure that if I pull her name out I hide it in my bra,” Charlotte said.

  Heather picked up the money. “Go on. Just protect my sweet aunt.”

  Charlotte made her way to the middle of the dance floor, where a small table had been set up with three fishbowls on it. She picked up the microphone and said, “Good evening, folks. Let’s give a big round of applause to everyone who has made this barn dance possible.”

  “Barbecue ball,” Heather mouthed from across the room, but no one heard her above the noise.

  “And we need to thank all the ladies who’ve brought the barbecue and the side dishes, which we will turn y’all loose on here as soon as we draw up the names of the couples and they enjoy their first dance. So let’s have another round for the cooks,” Charlotte said.

  Agnes gave her the thumbs-up sign.

  “I saw some of the ladies all dolled up and I know you menfolks are champin’ at the bit to get this show on the road. I’ll be drawing the married and engaged folks’ names first. Sugar and Jamie Magee, come on down!” she yelled like a game show host.

  Heather had her hands over her ears.

  It took ten minutes to get through the slips of paper in that bowl and then she started on the next two bowls. “Rhett Monroe and . . . let’s see . . . will you be dancing with Violet Prescott or maybe Agnes Flynn?”

  Everyone laughed and then it got quiet. “Looks like I was wrong. Your date for the evening is Piper Stephens. And the next bachelor is Gene Stephens. How’s that for luck folks, two Stephenses in a row? And your date for the evening is Macy Bardeen. Come on down here on the dance floor. Don’t be shy, Macy darlin’.”

  Stella sat down beside her father, close enough that she could whisper in his ear much like she’d done in the limo with her mother. “Daddy, I need to tell you something before Jed makes an announcement here.”

  “He’s your husband.” Everett chuckled.