“Why don’t we all fly down to Jamaica for Christmas?” Jamie suggested to Sam later that afternoon when they were putting lights up on the front of the house. “You and Eli could get married while the rest of us soak up the sun. Sophia wants to have a destination wedding. Tahiti or Maui, somewhere exotic.”
Sam cleared her throat. “I’d like to meet this Sophia before you start planning the wedding.”
She knew three things about Jamie’s girlfriend. Sophia Rainey was a beautiful redhead from California who made her sorority her priority. Jamie had been seeing Sophia for eight months, but so far Sam had yet to meet her. As social chairman for her sorority, Sophia had been too busy organizing functions to join them for their tailgate parties at the Gamecock football games she and Eli had attended last fall.
“Get real, Mom! I don’t mean our wedding. We’ve only been dating eight months. The subject of marriage has never come up. I’m just saying Sophia likes to travel. That’s all.”
Sam pulled another strand of lights from the plastic bin on the ground beside her. “Sad to think this might be the last year we put lights up on our little yellow house. We’ve been doing this since you were in kindergarten.”
“Just think, though. Next Christmas, if we buy the bungalow, we can enter the dock parade just like all the other houses on the creek. We’ll have to decide whether to go with elegant or tacky decorations for our dock. Maybe tacky, since Aunt Jackie usually wins Best Tree with her twelve-foot artificial fir and all its thousands of little white blinking lights.”
“That could be fun. We could collaborate our efforts with Faith and Mike.” Sam paused as she finished draping her light over the porch railing. “Sounds like you’re as excited as Eli and I are about the idea of buying this house.”
“Are you kidding me? The place rocks. You know I’ve always wanted to live on the inlet.”
Sam straightened. “So you’re okay with all this. I mean the wedding and everything happening so fast?”
“If I had my way, you’d already be married.” Jamie plugged the extension cord into the outlet on the porch and stood back to admire their handiwork. Icicle lights hung from the eaves of the house, strands of blinking lights outlined the porch, and nets of lights covered the foundation shrubs.
They stacked the plastic bins and carried them inside. “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Sam said. “I’ve enjoyed having you home, and I appreciate you helping out at the market. We wouldn’t have made it on Wednesday without you.”
“I’ll be back in three weeks. You can count on me to work overtime during my break. I need to earn some money.” He dropped the plastic bins in the corner of the sitting room with the rest of the decorations. “You’ll wait for me to do the tree, won’t you?”
She mussed his hair. “Of course. It’ll be our last tree together, just you and me.”
He plopped down on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “Where would we put the Christmas tree in our new house?”
“Stop talking about it,” she said, hands on hips. “You’ll jinx our offer.”
“Don’t be so superstitious, and have a little faith. The way I see it, we have lots of options of where to put the tree. It might be cool to put it in the center of the room.” He hopped up off the sofa. “Imagine this.” He spread his hands in the air in front of them. “Us, drinking hot chocolate and opening gifts in leather chairs arranged around a ten-foot tree with tons of ornaments and twinkling lights.”
Sam closed her eyes as she imagined the scene. “Strangely enough, I can see the tree in the center of the great room. The bungalow definitely defies tradition.”
“Which is exactly why it’s so perfect for our family.”
FOUR
When the owners of the bungalow made a counteroffer on Sunday evening, Sam and Eli stayed up well past midnight juggling their finances and pooling their resources in order to counter the counter, a proposal that split the difference with the owners. Sam dragged herself into work on Monday in anticipation of the busy weeks ahead.
In the back office late morning, Sam and Faith were reworking their catering menu to include items their customers requested the most at Christmas—beef tenderloin, eggnog cheesecake, and oyster stew. Sam dropped her pen on the desk and buried her face in her hands. “Maybe it’s too much to have this wedding on Christmas Eve. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I don’t like the idea of having to wait until spring. All I really want is to be married to Eli. But with business the way it’s been . . .”
Faith looked up from the menu. “It’s not like you to give up so easily. Where’s the Sammie spunk we all admire? Christmas Eve is family time, the perfect time to get married in my opinion. If we all pitch in, we can make it happen.”
“I don’t know how, unless you can come up with a church and a place for the reception. The secretary at First Methodist says they have no room in their schedule for a wedding on Christmas Eve. And Jackie just texted me that all the private banquet rooms at the club are booked on December twenty-fourth.”
“So find another venue.” Faith leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “What about getting married at the farm like I did?”
“I can’t ask Jackie to do that on Christmas Eve.”
“Why not? She’s already having our family dinner that night. Start the party a little earlier, throw in a minister, and we’ve got ourselves a wedding.”
“And just where do you suggest I find a minister who won’t be holding Christmas Eve services for his parishioners?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Faith crossed her arms and stared up at the ceiling. “What about your little chapel?”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “How’d you know about the chapel?”
Faith grinned. “I’ve seen your Jeep there a time or two. I figured you would have told me about it if you’d wanted me to know.”
Sam picked up her pen. “The chapel might work. I’ll drive out there this afternoon and talk to Pastor Paul.”
Annie arrived around three thirty for her after-school shift. “I really want to help you with the wedding,” she said, tying a green apron around her waist. “Whatever you need. Food. Flowers. Name it.”
“I accept your offer. The way the phone’s been ringing off the hook here today, we’re in for a busy few weeks. I’m going to need all the help I can get to pull this wedding together.”
Sam studied the sixteen-year-old girl opposite the fish counter from her. She’d changed a lot from the waif who’d arrived on their doorstep six months ago posing as a teenager down on her luck. Annie had come to Prospect with an agenda. She needed a slice of Jamie’s liver in order to save her father’s life. Their father’s life. Allen Bethune. The man who had abandoned Sam when she found out she was pregnant with Jamie. He died before the doctors could make a decision about the transplant. With her biological mother out of the picture, the young girl was suddenly all alone in the world. Even though Annie lived with Faith, all three Sweeney sisters as well as their mother felt responsible for helping raise her.
Sam eyed the girl suspiciously. “What’s different about you?” Annie no longer resembled a scrawny baby bird with matted feathers but an exotic mermaid with shiny golden hair and curves in all the right places.
“I’m getting fat, that’s what. I’ve gained ten pounds and it’s all right here.” She smacked her butt.
“You look great. You needed to gain some weight. But that’s not it. There’s something else, something that’s not physical.” Sam’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Annie’s cheeks turned a vibrant shade of pink.
“You do!” Sam clasped her hands together. “You have a boyfriend.”
“Shh!” Annie cast a quick glance around the room, to make certain they were alone. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. We’re still in the early stages.”
“I won’t say anything.” Sam leaned across the fish counter. “As long as you tell me who the luc
ky guy is.”
Annie shook her head. “I can’t do that. Not yet. But you’ll be the first to know if and when we officially become a couple.”
“Okay, fine. But you make sure he’s good to you.” She wagged her finger at Annie. “You’re a nice girl. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect.”
“Don’t worry, Sam. I grew up with my father’s deadbeat friends. I know a good guy when I see one.”
“I’m sure you do.” Sam dared to imagine what Annie’s life had been like as the daughter of a fisherman, moving from one marina to the next in Florida and the Keys. Not an easy life for a little girl and her single-parent father. The life Sam and Jamie would have had if she’d married Allen all those years ago.
“Okay then.” Sam straightened, holding her shoulders back and her head high. “Wish me luck. I’m going to see a pastor about a chapel.”
The sun had already begun its descent over the inlet in the bleak winter sky when Sam pulled into the gravel lot at the Creekside Chapel. She wrapped her Barbour tight around her as she dashed from the car to the chapel. She took her usual seat in the second pew and bowed her head, offering thanks to God for the blessings in her life and asking him for patience in dealing with her shortcomings. The scent of mothballs alerted her to Pastor Paul’s presence. She opened her eyes to find him sitting next to her, wearing his clerical collar and shirt beneath an old gray cardigan.
“How are you, my dear?” he said in his melodic voice. “It’s been awhile.”
“I know, Pastor, and I’m sorry. I’m not going to make excuses for myself, except to say that, while I haven’t been to see you, I’ve attended services nearly every Sunday at First Methodist.”
He nodded his approval. “As long as you’re getting your fix somewhere.” He smiled at his own joke.
“I’ve never thought to ask. Do you have services here?”
“As a matter of fact, we do.” Placing his arm on the back of the pew, Pastor Paul turned in his seat to face Sam. “Nine o’clock service every Sunday morning in the summer and five o’clock on Sunday evenings during the rest of the year. All our services are casual, come-as-you-are affairs.”
“Does anyone ever get married here?”
“All the time. Young folks like our laid-back atmosphere. Sometimes I conduct the ceremony; other times they bring in their own minister. The chapel belongs to the people of the inlet. Whatever works for them is fine with us.” He chuckled. “Of course, the only us here is me. There is no other staff.”
Out of obligation to her mother, and because that’s all she’d known growing up, Sam attended services two weeks a month at First Methodist. But she felt her real connection to God here, in this simple clapboard chapel with its windows that looked out over the inlet. Who needed stained glass with God’s handiwork in plain sight? It felt right for her to pledge her love to Eli here.
“Would you consider marrying me, Pastor Paul?” She held out her left hand. “I got engaged over the weekend. I’m crazy about him.”
A soft smile parted the old man’s lips. “Eli, I presume.”
She’d only visited the chapel a handful of times, yet Pastor Paul knew her better than Reverend Webster ever would. “Eli is a police officer. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I think the two of you will hit it off.” She drew in a deep breath. “The thing is, we really have our hearts set on getting married Christmas Eve. Just a simple service, family only, late morning, followed by a sit-down lunch. That is, if I can find a place to have the reception. I hope you’ll join us. For the luncheon, I mean. If you’re free of course. And if the chapel isn’t being used for services.” She paused to breathe. “I should probably shut up now.”
He patted her hand. “I would be delighted to marry you, Samantha, on Christmas Eve or any other day you choose.”
“Really?” she asked, and he nodded. “Really.”
She slumped back against the pew. “That’s wonderful, Pastor. This place is very special to me. I think I was meant to get married here.”
Sam tried to imagine the scene. She, wearing a dress of some sort–that part was blurry—standing at the altar with Eli, surrounded by dozens of white poinsettias, her family in attendance in the congregation. “Would it be okay if we brought in flowers?”
“Of course. Flowers are one of the Lord’s many gifts to us.” He placed his hands, fingers splayed, on his thighs. “So when do I get to meet Eli?”
“Whenever it’s convenient for you. Should I schedule an appointment with your secretary?” Sam asked, her periwinkle eyes full of mischief.
His laughter echoed throughout the sanctuary. “You’d be hard pressed to get in touch with her. Stop by anytime. I’m always here.”
Eli called Sam on her way home with the news that the sellers had agreed to their counteroffer and the contract had been signed.
Sam punched the air. “Woo-hoo! Our luck is turning. We have a chapel and a house. Now all we have left to do is find a place for a reception.”
“According to Sheila, the owners are having some sort of crisis. Personal or financial, she didn’t say. But they are pushing us to close the house by the end of the year.”
“Can we make it happen that fast?” Sam asked.
“Our loan officer at the bank has assured me that it’s not a problem, but I have to admit, it makes me kind of nervous.”
Sam drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Nervous? It scares the hell out of me. Especially with everything else we have going on. But don’t listen to me. We all know how much I dislike change.”
FIVE
Sam arrived in Charleston at Jackie’s carriage house, the temporary offices of JSH Designs, as she was finishing up with her noon appointment. “Why don’t you wait for me inside where it’s cool?” Jackie held the front door open for Sam. “I’m going to walk Marcie to her car, and I’ll be back in a minute.” The two women tromped off down the garden path, their arms loaded with sample books of fabric and wallpaper.
Sam crossed the threshold and stepped back into the nineteenth century to the pre-Civil War days when the carriage house was used to store horse-drawn carriages. Exposed beams ran the length of the ceiling, while oak planks in random widths, worn from age, covered the floors. Dappled sunlight beamed in through the arched windows on either side of the main room, both sides having formerly been open to allow entry for the carriages. More sample books and carpet swatches covered every available surface of the room. The floor, the tables, and even the mantel above the small stone fireplace—all piled high with books. Two young women, not long out of college, sat on either side of a conference table, each with a phone pressed to her ear, sample books and notepads scattered on the table in front of them.
The woman with long, silky black hair held the phone to her chest. “Make yourself at home.” She eyed the overnight bag in Sam’s hand. “You can put that upstairs if you’d like.”
Sam mouthed her thanks and climbed the stairs to the second floor. A double bed dominated the majority of the space in the lone bedroom. Sam had not slept in the same bed with her sister since they were girls.
This should be interesting. I wonder if she snores.
She pulled off her Sweeney’s Market polo and slipped on a long-sleeve gray blouse. Taking her toiletries bag to the tiny bathroom next door, she quickly brushed through her cropped hair and smeared on a thin coat of pale pink lipstick. She then slipped her coat on and returned to the office downstairs.
Jackie was waiting for her. Sam gave her sister a half-hug. “I hope you’re making headway in your search for office space, because it looks to me like you’re busting at the seams here.”
Jackie cocked back her meticulously coiffed dark head and laughed. “The quarters are so cramped it’s a wonder the three of us don’t kill each other.” She motioned to her staff. “Liza, Cecilia, this is my sister Sam.” Still clutching their phones, the girls poked their heads up from their work and waved.
Jackie placed a hand on a stack of neat
ly folded fabric samples on the conference table. “These are for you, for the bungalow. I had the girls pull them this morning. We’ll look at them after dinner if you’d like.”
“So you’re forcing me into putting premium gas in the Cadillac I just bought?”
“Damn straight. Just like I’m forcing you into buying a wedding dress. As your older sister, it’s my job to set you straight.”
“Huh! As your younger sister, it’s my job not to listen to you.”
“Are you hungry? I have some oriental chicken salad left over from my lunch with Marcie.”
“Thanks, but I stopped in at Chick-fil-A on the way here.”
“Then what’re we waiting for?” Jackie retrieved her hobo bag from her desk and led Sam out the front door. “Before we hit the shops, I want to show you my new project.” She marched Sam across the garden path to the side porch of a two-story Federal-style house, the main residence on the property. Jackie unlocked the back door and they entered a galley kitchen. “I have an architect working on designs to expand this room into the backyard. Other than gutting the bathrooms upstairs and reconfiguring a few of the closets, the rest of the work needed is cosmetic.”
Sam followed her sister throughout the downstairs, from the generous-size dining and living rooms at the front of the house down the wide center hallway to the library and sunroom at the back. She ran her hand along the mahogany banister on the handsome curving staircase. “What’re you planning to do with it when you’re finished, sell it?”
Boots and Bedlam Page 3