“Sure, but hold your horses, Sister. I like it there, too.
“Deal.”
“Okay, subject change. Can I just ask what our opinion of Reverend Green is?” Carson asked, eyes twinkling.
“Besides the fact that he’s GQ material?” Dora asked. Carson hooted in response. “I mean, heavens above, how is a man like that a minister? And not married?”
“He can get married,” Carson told her.
“Then why hasn’t someone snatched him up?” Dora speared another piece of lettuce. “Anyway, I like him. He seems like real folk. Plus he’s a friend of Mamaw’s. There’s something about him that makes him so easy to talk to. Do you feel that?”
“Very much so,” Carson acknowledged.
Dora swung her head to check out Harper. “How about you?”
“Oh, sure, I like him, too.” Her voice was flat.
“You okay?” Dora asked her, her voice laden with concern. “You’re awful quiet over there, Little Mouse.”
Harper smiled, hearing the old nickname her sisters used to call her. “Yes.” She paused, then shook her head. “No.”
“What’s going on?” Carson asked.
Harper picked up her knife and idly started tracing lines on the tablecloth. “How do you two come down on the subject of prenups?”
Carson and Dora both sat back and exchanged a quick, commiserating glance. “I don’t like them,” Carson said firmly, right off the bat. “If you’re making the decision to get married, for better or for worse, richer or poorer, tossing in a prenup is kind of like you saying, ‘But just in case, I’m throwing in a safety net. For me.’ ”
“That’s easy for you and me to say,” Dora said. “Neither of us has any great fortune to protect. We’re just looking to make a life together with the person we love. But Harper does. A prenuptial agreement is important for people like her who have to protect multimillion-dollar financial interests. And not just money, but her family estate. Things that have been in her family for generations. And ours! Let me remind you, Harper owns Sea Breeze now. God forbid, what if she dies young? The house would go to Taylor. It would fall out of the family.”
“Taylor’s a good guy,” Harper said defensively. “He would never do anything untoward. Especially with a baby. He’d have a family to think about no matter what.”
“All true. But he’s also young,” Dora reasoned. “And hot. He’d get married again. And he and his pretty new wife would have children. On his death, or divorce, Sea Breeze would be out of the family.”
“Damn,” said Carson, appearing worried for the first time. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Most brides don’t,” said Dora. “Let me tell you, I wish I’d signed one with Cal. We didn’t have a pot to pee in, but we both promised the other that, if we ever got divorced, we’d split the money up even-steven, but he would keep his family antiques and I would keep mine. It made sense we’d want those pieces that were part of our histories. Sentimental, you know? But lo and behold, once Cal figured out how much some of my pieces were worth compared to his during our divorce, he got the lawyers to claim all as community property. That’s how I lost some of my furniture, my silver, and my art. I only wish I had the money to buy them back. Just saying, you don’t know how nasty divorces can get.” Dora picked up her wineglass. “Like they say, ‘Marriage is grand. Divorce is fifty grand.’ ” With that she swallowed down the rest of her wine.
Harper appeared troubled. “I hear what you’re saying and see the sense in it. But I feel like asking for a prenup is saying to Taylor that I don’t trust him.”
“I think you can make your prenup about anything you want it to be. My Lord”—Dora giggled—“you’d be surprised what some prenups include. I heard of things such as how often you have sex, too much weight gain, housekeeping chores, who gets the pets.”
“That’s horrible.” Harper’s face reflected her feeling. “Why are they even getting married? Seems like they’re entering nothing more than a contractual agreement.”
“That’s what marriage is,” Carson reminded her. “A contractual agreement. Legally binding. If you don’t want a prenup, you could always opt for cohabitation.”
“No.” Harper shook her head. “That seems so lacking in commitment. I want to marry Taylor and be his wife. I love him and my child, and I want us to be a family.” Tears started filling her eyes.
“Spoken like a bride,” Dora said with a hint of warning.
“Aw, honey, don’t let this upset you.” Carson reached across the table to put her hand over Harper’s.
“She’s right, honey. And for what it’s worth, my backwoods beliefs about prenups is that it’s no big deal. It’s like prearranging anything, even your funeral. Which, girls, you should both do. ’Cause remember, the reality is that up to fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. And of those that don’t, one hundred percent end in death.”
“And on that happy note”—Carson put her napkin on the table—“we have to scoot. As you’re so fond of telling me, there is so much to do. We picked up the rings, nailed the venues and the bands. But now you have to put ‘get a lawyer’ on your to-do list.” She snorted when she saw the dismay on Harper’s face.
“Oh my God, look at the time,” Dora said, checking her watch. “We’re supposed to meet the grandmothers at the bridal salon at two. It’s nearly two now.”
Harper pulled out her wallet. “Tell you what, I’ll pay the bill to save time.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Carson said, reaching for her wallet.
“Done!” Harper flagged down the waitress and handed her a credit card.
“I’ll pay you back,” said Dora, rising to her feet. “You know what they say. When women have problems or get depressed, they eat or go shopping. We did both.”
Carson piled some cash on the table for a tip. “Men invade a country.”
Dora smiled. “Well I, for one, would rather do the former. Less mess and way more fun.”
Feeling buoyed by the luncheon, the girls walked to King Street to the bridal salon where Harper was scheduled for a fitting of the wedding dress she’d ordered months earlier. They plowed past the afternoon crowds and one tempting boutique after another, not daring to stop at a window if they were going to arrive in time for their appointment. When they arrived at the small white door of LulaKate on King Street, they pushed through the door, feeling as if they were gaining exclusive entrance. Mamaw and Granny James were already there, sipping flutes of champagne and looking quite relaxed.
From the moment she stepped into the salon, Harper felt like a bride. A floral scent floated around the room, not cloyingly sweet but more fresh and springlike. Rows of gorgeous white gowns were lined up against an exposed redbrick wall, each one promising to make its bride a princess for a day. The boutique salon had achieved that delicate balance between elegant chic and charming lowcountry. Exactly what Harper had hoped she would achieve with her wedding. She felt her spirits rise as her sisters made cooing noises and immediately headed toward the gowns and began sorting through them.
Then Harper looked toward the far wall where the finished gowns were waiting to be united with their owners, tailored exactly to each bride’s specifications. Gowns that were slim-fitted, looking almost doll-like on their padded hangers. And very, very unforgiving in the waistlines.
Suddenly that toast and avocado from Magnolias wasn’t sitting so well. “Excuse me,” she asked the pretty salesclerk urgently, quietly. “Is the bathroom unlocked?”
The pretty saleslady took one look at Harper and, eyes widening slightly, nodded and turned on her heel to quickly lead Harper to the bathroom.
“I’m Lauren. Let me know if there’s anything you need,” the saleswoman said as she discreetly closed the door.
Harper clung to the rim of the sink and took deep breaths, stilling both her roiling stomach and her racing heart. She was nervous her dress wouldn’t fit. And even if by some miracle it did, what if they didn’t like
it? She’d bought the dress on an impulse when she’d come in alone one afternoon in the first flush of wedding plans. Putting her hand on her baby bump, she thought how much had changed since that afternoon several months ago.
Harper ran a hand towel under the cool water from the marble faucet and patted her cheeks, breathing slowly. Then she stared at herself in the mirror. She was paler than usual and her blue eyes were rimmed with smudges of fatigue.
There was a soft knock on the door. She heard Granny James’s voice. “Harper? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
There was a long pause, then: “Very well. I’ll wait for you with the rest of the girls.”
Harper took several more deep breaths, rearranged her hair, and left the bathroom. Lauren was waiting for her and guided her to a large dressing room with white chairs and heavy, white-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She immediately saw her gown hanging on a hook, waiting for her. Her breath caught on a sigh as she hurried to the dress and tentatively reached out to touch the embroidered bodice.
“It’s as lovely as I remember,” she said softly.
“Of course it is,” Lauren said cheerfully. “It’s one of my favorites. Feeling better?”
Harper turned to face her and shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be feeling better for several more weeks.” She smiled. “I’m pregnant.”
Understanding flashed across Lauren’s face, swiftly followed by concern. “How far along are you?”
“Second trimester. Near four months.”
“And the wedding date is when, remind me?”
“The end of May.”
Lauren began counting on her fingers. “Well,” she said in a long, tentative drawl, “by then you’ll have a baby bump.” She glanced at the gown. “With some gowns, like an A-line or Empire style, we can make alterations to the dress quite easily. But with the gown you selected, I fear it will be difficult.” Lauren grimaced. “The bodice is intricately constructed with embroidery, and the waist is so tight.”
Tears stung Harper’s eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “I’ve been worried about that.”
“Oh, don’t cry.” Lauren rushed for a tissue. She strove for optimism. “Let’s try it on, shall we? You’re so small, perhaps we can make it work. We won’t know until we see what we have to work with, right? I’ll put you in the dress, then I’ll call for our alterations head. Alva is a miracle worker.”
Lauren was efficient at smoothly slipping Harper into the gorgeous gown, but Harper could already feel the gown pulling at the waist, where months before the folds had fallen across her frame in perfect harmony. Harper sucked in her breath, but it didn’t make any difference. Her baby bump was barely visible yet, but it did make the small waistline of the gown feel extremely tight. Nonetheless, Lauren managed to fasten all the buttons. Harper could barely breathe. She turned to face the mirror.
It was a moment she’d never forget. Her heart melted at seeing herself in the luminous gown. The sweetheart, strapless neckline featured a heavily embroidered bodice in old-world guipure. The bodice was corseted to fit tightly, accentuating her small waist before exploding in tulle. Little girls, herself included, dreamed of seeing themselves in a gown such as this. Yet seeing it again, Harper didn’t quite remember its being so . . . so the dress of a Disney princess.
“Shall we show your family?”
Harper nodded, lifting the folds of fabric as she followed Lauren into the waiting area, imagining how she would possibly move in this dress on her wedding day. The dress was heavy and constricting, especially at her waist where the stays dug into her skin.
Great shafts of light flowed into the room through the large front windows. With the brick walls, the wood floors, and bouquets of fresh flowers, Harper felt as if she were a deer walking into an open meadow. Carson, Dora, Mamaw, and Granny James were sitting waiting for her in the plush chairs, arms and legs crossed. Harper pasted a wide smile on her face and walked with studied grace onto the small platform set before a wall of mirrors. She pirouetted daintily, then dropped the fabric from her hands and looked at her entourage expectantly. Carson’s brow was raised with indecision. Mamaw’s head was tilted in thought. Granny James’s face was a classic study of the old British stiff upper lip. Only Dora wore a broad smile on her face.
“Well?” Harper asked breathlessly. “What do you think?”
“I love it!” Dora exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm. “It’s so beautiful. You look just like a princess!”
Harper smiled tremulously. That was just the comment she’d been hoping not to hear. She looked to Carson.
Carson said thoughtfully, “It is a beautiful gown.” She paused and her brows furrowed. “But . . . a princess gown? Tulle? You always wear very minimalist, chic styles. I don’t know, Sis, it just doesn’t seem like you.”
Harper felt this criticism stab at her heart. Her smile fell and she looked to Mamaw, expecting support.
“It’s lovely, dear. You are a beautiful bride,” Mamaw said sincerely.
Harper heard hesitation. “But . . .”
“Well, I don’t know, dear. The dress feels so . . . naïve. Is that the right word? A young bride looks sweet in a cloud of white silk and tulle. But according to Emily Post, a bride in her thirties or older might do well to choose a creamy or off-white color. As would, perhaps, a woman who is already sharing a home with her intended.” Mamaw paused, then said delicately, “And is in a family way.”
Harper felt the color drain from her cheeks.
“Mamaw!” Dora exclaimed, breathless with shock. “What era are you living in? Women wear all colors these days. White, cream, pink, blue, even black. And by the way, Harper’s only twenty-nine.”
“I’m aware of that,” Mamaw said, clearly ruffled. She lifted her chin. “I’m only telling you what I was raised to believe. What others might very well think.”
“I can’t believe you just said that, Mamaw,” Carson said hotly, reproach ringing in her voice. “You just shot a volley over all our bows. We’re all sleeping with our intendeds, as you put it. Does that mean none of us can wear white? And by the way, so are you! Only he’s not even your intended.”
Mamaw’s mouth slipped open in shock. “What?”
Granny James, who had remained remarkably silent so far, swung around to stare at Mamaw with more amusement than surprise.
“I saw you having breakfast with Girard,” Carson said. “In your robe. On his porch. And your bed wasn’t slept in. I know. I checked.”
Dora chuckled and wagged her brows. “My, my, my. Look who’s calling the kettle black.”
Mamaw’s cheeks flamed and she clenched her hands together. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with any impropriety, Carson.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mamaw,” Carson said, frustrated. “No one’s offended by what you’re doing with Girard, but by what you just said. Words can be hurtful.” She looked pointedly at Harper.
Harper stood quietly on the stage, appearing a lost waif in all the fabric.
Mamaw’s face fell with remorse. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Don’t pay me no mind. I’m just an old fuddy-duddy. Truly, Harper dear, it wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
An awkward silence followed until Lauren tried to take back control of the appointment. “Choosing a bride gown is always an emotional event. Let’s try to remember that Harper is the bride and what matters is what she wants. And, yes, brides wear every color today. The only question of white today is simply a matter of how well it looks against the skin of the bride. And I think the dress is beautiful on Harper.”
“Granny James?” Harper called out, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the lackluster overall reaction of the group thus far. “I haven’t heard your opinion.”
All heads turned to the woman sitting at the end of the line of chairs.
Granny James had maintained a stoic silence during the outbursts. Too silent. Her face was solemn. “If you love the d
ress, then that’s all that matters.”
Harper felt a surge of gratitude. It was short-lived.
“However”—Carson swung her head and looked over her knee to stare at Granny James with a glare of warning. It went unnoticed—“it is a beach wedding. That dress, while lovely, is clearly more formal. Are you sure it’s in theme with the wedding? I’m not sure that it is. But”—she waved her fingers delicately in the air—“it’s entirely up to you, of course.”
The room fell again into silence. Tears filled Harper’s eyes and she lowered her head, defeated. No one liked the dress, save Dora. And bless her heart, Dora would love any dress Harper put on.
“Perhaps if I jack her up,” Lauren said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Put on a veil, add some jewelry. You’ll get the full effect.”
“No,” Harper said. “Thank you. I don’t feel up to it. I’d like to take it off now, please.”
Lauren cast a sad glance tinged with disapproval at the entourage. “Of course.” She lent her hand to Harper and helped her off the platform.
After Harper left, the room went deathly silent.
Eventually Granny James said, “Tell me, Marietta, what edition of Emily Post was it that said a bride had to be a virgin to wear white? The one published in the 1920s?” Granny James shook her head disbelievingly. “Debrett’s is quite clear on the subject. A bride can wear any color she chooses, and these days she does.”
“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite,” Mamaw shot back. “You know as well as I do that no matter what the book says to the young people today, people of our generation will be thinking about the old rules. We have to face that Harper will be visibly pregnant on her wedding day. I just wanted her to choose a dress that was more . . .”
“Concealing?” asked Carson with pique.
“I was going to say appropriate, but, yes, concealing works even better.”
“What do we care what anyone else thinks?” Carson responded. “All I know is that she’s feeling badly right now.”
“Perhaps I should go talk to her?” Mamaw asked softly.
A Lowcountry Wedding Page 23