A Lowcountry Wedding

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Atticus breathed deep, stretched, then put his hands on his hips, feeling his decision settle. Inside he felt as calm as the horizon line that married the infinite sky to the sea.

  “Well, Miss Dora”—he turned to the condominium and clapped his hands—“I’ll take it.”

  A week had passed in the blink of an eye, thought Mamaw with no small amazement. Imogene had arrived and was settling in, though she made no secret of being displeased at not being in the cottage. Yet Mamaw couldn’t be upset about this. It seemed trivial compared to all that was going on in their lives. Their wedding planner, Ashley Rhodes, was calling frequently now, lining up appointments with florists, caterers, and more to confirm the myriad details for the wedding. During the busy days, however, always in the back of Mamaw’s mind was her grandson. She held his existence close to her heart. His was the face she thought of when she awoke, and the face that appeared in her dreams. Sometimes Atticus and Parker would become the same person, as happens in dreams.

  She’d counted off the days, and at long last Harper’s party was tonight. The family would gather at Sea Breeze and he would appear, as promised. She always felt her blood race before a party. But this party! The thought of Atticus’s being welcomed into the bosom of his family made her feel quite giddy. Her hands were shaking.

  A gentle rap on the front door of the cottage told Marietta that Girard had arrived for the dinner party. She still felt a flutter of butterflies whenever he was near. In the past year their friendship had grown to something far deeper, sweeter, than she could have imagined. Who knew that this late in her life she could discover love again? The kind of gushing girlish excitement she thought she was way past experiencing. She had lived her life with Plan A set in her mind. Now suddenly there was a Plan B and it took her breath away.

  On her way to answer the door she paused to check her reflection in the mirror. She wore blue, this time a simple silk sheath with a cashmere sweater in the same color. Girard had once told her he liked her in blue because the color flattered her eyes. So she wore it often, for him.

  Opening the door her heart skipped at seeing Girard, tanned and debonair in his dark suit and crisp white shirt, waiting at the door. The porch light highlighted the silver in his hair and the whiteness of his teeth as he smiled at seeing her.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She brought her hand up to smooth her French twist.

  His eyes gleaming, Girard leaned forward to kiss her.

  Marietta caught the scent of his aftershave and closed her eyes.

  The crunching of gravel alerted her to the arrival of a car. They both drew back and turned to see Dora’s car pull into the circular driveway. The silver Lexus was once Dora’s pride and joy when she’d purchased it after Nate was born. But that was a decade ago and now the car was dented, rusted, and running on a lick and a promise. The sound of car doors slamming sounded in the night followed by the crunch of gravel. Marietta peered in the dim light to see Dora and Nate approach. Dora looked harried. Her hair was disheveled, she was wearing old flats, and her arms were laden down with a large purse and a tray.

  Girard rushed forward to relieve her of the tray. “Here, let me take this. Excuse me, ladies.” He nodded to Marietta. “I’ll bring this right to the kitchen.”

  “You’re my knight in shining armor.” Dora sighed heavily. “Nate, you go on with Mr. Bellows, hear?”

  “Yes’m.” Nate obediently followed the older man to the house.

  Dora turned to Mamaw and said in her ear, “Mmm-mmm, that’s one fine man.”

  “Yes”—Mamaw followed Girard with her eyes—“he is.”

  Dora hoisted her bag. “Well, I’m a hot mess. Harper wanted me to make my mushroom canapés for the dinner. I made some spinach, too.” Dora rolled her eyes. “Said I had to get them here early. Mamaw, she actually said chop-chop! Carson calls her Bridezilla.” Dora made a face. “She kinda scares me.”

  “I remember her saying the same about you once upon a time,” Mamaw replied with humor and a hint of reproach. “Harper’s just nervous because Granny James is here. She feels like she has to pass some sort of test. It’s all in her mind, of course, but you know what a perfectionist she is.”

  “But we’re family.”

  “You know that. I know that. But she has to go through this passage. It’s all quite normal for a young bride. Don’t you remember?”

  Dora conceded with a sorry nod. “I suppose. But, Mamaw, I’m not talking about just dinner tonight. I’m busier than a moth in a mitten. Harper’s running me dry with the wedding, fetching this and that. And Carson is MIA most of the time. Being the only bridesmaid for two weddings sucks. Pardon my French.”

  “Dora!” Mamaw laughed lightly in sympathy. “You’re a good girl.”

  “Well, bad girls have more fun, I reckon. Anyway, I’m just complaining. Glad to do it, but look at me. I’m half-dressed. Can I use your bathroom? I just need to poof up my hair and put on my lips.” Dora grimaced. “Granny James is staying in my room.”

  Mamaw was pleased that despite Dora’s having her own house on Sullivan’s she still thought of the bedroom she’d slept in at Sea Breeze as hers. “Of course.” After a quick glance at the main house’s porch revealed Girard was already in the house, Mamaw led Dora to the bathroom in the cottage.

  Dora dumped her bag onto the small marble bathroom counter and immediately began pulling out a brush, her makeup bag, hair spray. She grabbed the brush and began working on her shoulder-length hair with a vengeance.

  “Let me.” Mamaw took the brush from her hand.

  Dora sighed. “Thank you. I just washed it and it’s out of control.”

  Mamaw began stroking the blond hair.

  “Mamaw, why did I get such thin, unruly hair? Carson’s hair is so thick she can barely get a comb through it, and Harper’s hair falls like silk.”

  It was true, Mamaw thought. Poor Dora’s hair was thin and flyaway. But she had other assets. “We all want what the other person has. When Carson was young, she cried because she wanted to have your blond hair. And Harper buys the best hair products. You might ask her about them. But you, Dora, have the most beautiful skin. Peaches and cream. I doubt you’ll have a wrinkle even at my age. Remember, hair can always be managed. But once your skin goes . . . Would you like me to put it up? In a twist like mine?”

  A relieved smile eased across Dora’s face. “I would.”

  As Mamaw brushed and styled Dora’s hair, she noticed the pensive expression on Dora’s face.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Dora skipped a beat. “Not really.”

  Mamaw could tell that was a difficult admission for Dora. She was so proud and she’d worked so hard in the past year to get over the divorce. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m starting my new job but no one seems interested in that.”

  Mamaw lowered her hand. “Of course we’re interested,” she said, surprised. She placed her hands on Dora’s shoulders and lowered to look at Dora through the mirror. “Congratulations! Honey, this is a big step for you.”

  “I didn’t want to take the spotlight off the brides.”

  “You couldn’t and wouldn’t. There will be plenty of spotlight on the brides. You have your moments to celebrate, too. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” Dora said with a short laugh, mollified. Then she shrugged lightly. “Mamaw?”

  Mamaw heard a tone in Dora’s voice that she hadn’t since the night before Dora’s own wedding. The voice was childlike, tinged with fear. Mamaw gave Dora her full attention. “Yes, Eudora?”

  “I’m a little nervous about starting the new job. I passed the exam with high marks. But everyone knows I got the job at Cassell Real Estate because of Devlin. They’re going to be watching me like hawks, just waiting for me to slip up. And what if I do? I don’t want to embarrass Devlin. Or have him see me in a lesser light. Do you think it was a mistake to work for him?”

 
; “No, Dora, I don’t. Everyone is nervous before they start any new job. You’re facing a new world with its own set of rules, peopled with new characters, some of them nice, others not so nice. You just have to walk in the door with your head held high and do your very best. That’s all anyone can ask of you. And let me tell you a thing about Devlin Cassell. He built that business himself. That’s his name on the stationery. Don’t think for one minute he’s only hiring you because he loves you. If he didn’t think you would make a great real estate agent, he would come up with a million different jobs for you. He’s too savvy a businessman to risk his company.”

  Dora sighed with relief. “You’re right. That’s his baby.”

  “It sure is.” Mamaw began to brush Dora’s hair again.

  “But even if I do okay, I’m still worried I won’t bring in enough commission, especially the first few months. It’s hard to get started and make contacts.”

  “I know what to do! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’ll throw you a nice little party and invite all my friends. Get the word out that you’re an agent. People like to know who they’re dealing with when they sell something as important and emotional as one’s house. You’re a Muir, dear. Our name means something in these parts.”

  “Would you, Mamaw? That would be amazing.”

  “The hens and chicks will start clucking, don’t you worry.” Mamaw paused. “You have money problems, child?”

  Dora looked at her hands. “Things are kind of tight now and the bills are stacking up. Mamaw, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and start thinking of all the bills I’ve got to pay and I can’t go back to sleep. I swear, I’m a breath away from long nights with a bottle of whiskey.”

  “What about Cal’s alimony and child support? I thought that would help carry you through.”

  “It’s supposed to, but he’s been late. Says he can’t manage it with the house payments and improvements.”

  Mamaw felt like a bull seeing red. She jabbed the hairbrush into the air. “You tell that no-count skinflint that you’re going to call your lawyer if he doesn’t assume his responsibilities. ASAP. And you call, hear?”

  “You should call him. He’s afraid of you.”

  “As well he should be. He’s no gentleman, letting you take on all the worry for Nate. That man’s tighter than a gnat’s behind.”

  Dora laughed at the truth in it. “Amen.” Then she looked at Mamaw with a wry grin. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you so riled before.”

  “When it comes to my babies, my claws come out. Still”—Mamaw regained her composure—“we can say what we will here when we’re alone. But for Nate’s sake, when you see Cal, you can offer him a sweet tea and a smile, but do not put up with that man’s bull honkey.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mamaw paused as her mind went to a different man. “Have you told Devlin about your money problems?”

  “I did not,” Dora answered firmly. “I’m not talking to Devlin about money matters. Or anything else much these days.”

  “Oh?”

  “We had words. He’s not coming tonight.”

  Mamaw stilled her hand as a flood of disappointment washed over her. She liked Devlin a great deal and, more, counted on his humor to keep this particular party afloat. “But why? He didn’t come to our last dinner, either. Surely he’s not still annoyed with Granny James? I thought they’d buried the hatchet.”

  “It’s not that. He likes Granny James and relishes the chance at another go-round with her. I think they both enjoy it. No”—Dora sighed—“it’s the engagements.”

  “The engagements? I don’t understand.”

  “My two sisters are getting married,” Dora said, stating the obvious. “Devlin wants to get married, too.” She looked at her hand, bare of any ring. “He proposed again.”

  “Ah.” Mamaw was aware of the tension between the couple over marriage. “And you said . . . ?”

  “That I wanted to wait.”

  Mamaw held her tongue. She could sense that Dora needed to vent.

  “I love him. We’ll get married someday. I’m . . . I’m just not ready. I only just got divorced. And I have all these bills. . . .”

  “I understand, dear. But he’s the one that you have to help understand.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Well, try a little harder. Now let’s finish this.” Mamaw gathered the blond hair in her hands and gently twisted it with the experience of a woman who’d worn her hair in this style for many years. She reached for a handful of pins and carefully set the twist in place. “There.” Mamaw eyed her work with satisfaction. “You look very pretty.”

  Dora turned her head from left to right, admiring her reflection. “Much better. Thank you, Mamaw. For always being there.”

  “That’s a grandmother’s job.” Mamaw studied Dora’s face. “But you need a bit of makeup before you’re done. Try some of my pink lipstick, dear. It will flatter your skin tone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The headlights of a car shone briefly through the window.

  Mamaw peered through the shutters. “Another guest. I’d better go in and help Harper and Carson. Come up when you’re ready. And don’t forget to use a bit of hair spray.”

  Before she left, Mamaw paused at the door and caught Dora’s eye. “Weddings are a time of great joy. Families gather to celebrate. There’s lots of hugging and kissing. Laughter. Issues that lay dormant emerge again.”

  Dora looked at Mamaw in the mirror with a worried expression.

  “It’s all normal.” Mamaw smiled. “Men get caught up in the wedding whoopla, too. We women tend to forget that. They don’t talk much about it, pretend they don’t notice, but they do. They’re like little children—big ears that don’t miss a word. Bless his heart, Devlin is just getting caught up in the wedding bliss and wants to be part of it. You just need to reassure him that you love him and that your time will come. Tell him that this time round, you can have a great time without all the fuss and worry. Call it your dress rehearsal.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Do more than try. Devlin’s a good man. Give him a call right this minute, hear?”

  “Clair de Lune” sounded from the speakers as Mamaw entered the front door. She clasped her hands together and let her gaze take in the front room dressed up for a party. Canapés were artfully arranged on the coffee table beside bowls of Marcona almonds and shelled pistachios and a plate of cheeses, all displayed with sprigs of rosemary and parsley. She walked through the room, gazing at the paintings and furniture—Harper’s things. Her party. It was bittersweet.

  Mamaw remembered the many parties she’d thrown over the past decades. Not so many in this house. Sea Breeze had always been a place of retreat for her and Edward. They’d hosted a few small dinners and cocktail parties, nothing grand. But in Charleston! Oh, her house on East Bay had such architectural charm. And the views . . . She used to decorate the house with seasonal flowers and holiday decor with the same doting care that a mother would a beloved child. She left no detail untouched and prided herself on knowing that an invitation to a Muir party was always accepted.

  But goodness, she thought, that was all so many years ago. She was only too happy to pass on the torch to the younger generation. Planning parties took great effort and energy. She surveyed the room with an experienced eye. If this were her party, she would have lit a fire, perhaps lowered the lights, added a few candles, set out a few more napkins. She laughed at herself. But no matter. Everything looked lovely just the way things were. These days she was happy simply to be a guest and observe the goings-on through the rosy-colored glasses of experience.

  The sound of voices and laughter rang out from the kitchen. Smiling, she followed the happy sounds, thinking to herself that no matter how one tried to lure guests into the living room, they always seemed to gravitate to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was warm and festive, redolent with the scents of garlic and rosema
ry. Harper stood in a butcher’s apron at the wood table, her hair pulled back with a clasp, putting aluminum foil over the leg of lamb. Carson was bent at the waist peering at potatoes roasting in the oven. Mamaw had enjoyed watching Harper embrace cooking over the past year, especially southern recipes. All her latent domestic instincts were in full bloom.

  Blake and Taylor were standing by the back door talking with beers in hand. Girard and Nate were inspecting a handheld electronic game. Mamaw paused at the door, soaking in the sight, thinking how these young couples were the family’s future. The house, the meal, the arrangements for the evening—all the tasks that had once been in her dominion—were now in the hands of her granddaughters. She could sit back and watch. Rather than its making her feel displaced or unhappy, she felt a surge of gratitude that she’d lived to see this natural evolution of a family unfold.

  The doorbell rang. A moment later, Devlin appeared in the kitchen. Mamaw’s eyes widened in surprise. Dora stepped in behind him, a canapé in her hand and a smile glowing on her face. “Devlin!” Mamaw exclaimed. “You’re here!”

  Devlin wrapped his arm around Dora’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Marietta.” Then he looked over her head and shouted, “It’s party time, y’all! Carson, your in-laws-to-be have arrived.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Acting like adults is something brides and grooms should be able to expect from everyone—including themselves.

  Mamaw saw the party scene as a stage set. Each of the characters had a role to play. The brides and grooms with their respective families, the homey setting with candles lit, smiles in place. Tonight the families gathered for the first time before the two weddings. For some, introductions would be made, first impressions struck. It was a time to limit drinks, to not brag on family or pull out the embarrassing story. Acting like adults was something brides and grooms should be able to expect from everyone—including themselves.

  Imogene entered the room at last. She held her chin high with hauteur. Mamaw had to admit Imogene looked regal in a long skirt of emerald-green silk and a creamy blouse that set off her pearls. Mamaw sniffed. Even if they were showy. The pearls were the size of quail eggs.