by L. E. Rico
“I know, I know—it’s not a west coast vs. Midwest thing—I’d have been stunned to find this reaction any place on the planet. Jeez, it’s like those old time barn raisings where the entire community would come out to help.”
It’s an excellent analogy—“many hands make light work” and all that. And there are a lot of hands here. Miss Lucy, Janet Lahti and the pub chef, Donovan, have just convinced Annie Xavier of Annie’s Candies to join them on Team Catering. Our local celebrity, the purple-haired, black-nailed Julie Freddino, owner of The Knitty Kitty, is taking charge of Team Attire. But it’s the long table at the far end of the room that’s caught my attention. The Clarke brothers—Win and Scott—have unearthed a map of Mayhem from somewhere in the back of the pub and are poring over potential reception venues with a half-dozen others seated with them.
For the first time in the months I’ve known the Clarkes, they seem united. And happy. Win leans over and says something in Scott’s ear, making him burst out laughing. Scott points to something on the map, and Win nods enthusiastically.
I notice Father Romance behind me. He’s watching me watching everyone else.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
I nod and ask the question I need to ask. The one that needs an honest answer so that I don’t inadvertently hurt Henny again.
“Father…do you think… I mean, I want to tell Henny—so she doesn’t have to worry a second longer than she has to, but I’m a little bit afraid. Do you think we’ll be able to—that they’ll be able to pull it off?”
The priest puts a firm, confident hand on my shoulder—something that’s reflected in his firm, confident tone.
“Christmas miracles, son. Tis the season, don’t you know!” Father Romance says.
“Is that…a yes?”
He grins and throws his head back, his deep, rich laugh cutting through the buzz all around us.
“Yes, Bryan. That is a definitive yes. The Lord will provide—as will the good people of Mayhem, Minnesota. All you need to do is believe.”
“I do,” I say quietly. And I mean it.
…
Once I hit “send” on the text, it only takes about twenty minutes. All four of the Whiskey sisters appear with Jackson in tow. They stand just inside the threshold of the pub, mouths open and eyes wide, as if they’ve just stumbled upon a nest of leprechauns and fairies.
“Bryan? Bryan, what’s going on?” Hennessy asks, her light brows furrowed over those gorgeous blue eyes.
“This is our wedding.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hennessy, there was no way we were going to be able to pull off much more than a service and a champagne toast. Not for a Christmas Eve wedding—and not on our own. So I put out a call for help. Helen, Father Romance, Miss Lucy—everyone got the word out. I thought maybe we’d get a few volunteers…but this…” I use my hand in a wide, sweeping gesture that encompasses every person at every table in every corner of the expansive room. “What I got was a comprehensive plan for a wedding more beautiful and special than anything Jacintha could ever have pulled off.”
As Hennessy tries to process, her sisters gawk at the tables and the people. There are tears running down Jameson’s face, Walker is grinning in disbelief, and Bailey seems totally…unimpressed.
“What? You don’t think this is something special?” I ask the youngest of my soon-to-be sisters-in-law.
She shrugs. “Oh, please. I know it’s something special. I just don’t get why you’re all so shocked. ‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ right? I mean, have you met our neighbors? They’re amazing people! I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it myself.”
Hennessy pulls her youngest sibling into a huge hug.
“You would have…if we’d given you another day or two. I’m sure of it,” she says, planting a big kiss atop Bailey’s head.
When Scott spots the four of them from across the room, he stands up and gives the loudest whistle I’ve ever heard. The room quiets immediately.
“Folks, looks like the bride has arrived!” he crows, and suddenly everyone is up on their feet and applauding.
“I can’t believe this,” Hennessy murmurs, her hand covering her mouth as she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Holy crap! Is that…Win?” Walker asks over the applause when she sees Jameson’s ex-husband standing and clapping with the rest of them. “And Scott? I thought everyone was busy working late tonight!”
“Daaaaaaaady!” Jackson screeches so loud I’m sure he’s ruptured my eardrum. When he starts to squirm, his mother puts him down, and he runs across the room to Win, who’s squatting down, waiting for his son with open arms.
“Those stinkers!” Jameson looks incredulous. “They lied straight to my face, and I had no idea. And they did it together! My ex-husband…and my fiancé!”
“Well, in all fairness, Jameson, they were brothers before you came along,” I remind her, and she swats my arm playfully.
“Maaaaamaaaa!” Jackson calls out, and she’s gone to have a look at whatever bit of treasure he’s eager to show her.
I turn to Henny.
“Come on,” I coax, grabbing Hennessy’s hand and pulling her toward the tables. “I want to show you what they’re working on.”
But she holds back.
“What is it?” I ask quietly, taking a step closer to her. Crap. Maybe I’ve missed the mark here—and wouldn’t that suck right about now? “Would you prefer we didn’t? Do you—do you want me to ask them to stop? It’s your wedding…”
“No! No, that’s not it,” she assures me quickly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “I just…I can’t believe you did this. For me… But, Bryan, it’s so much…and there’s so little time…”
I lock onto her bright blue eyes with my own. These are the eyes I’m going to be looking into for the rest of my life. That makes me smile.
“Yes, we can pull this off. It might not have all the things I’d planned on—the swans, the chocolate fountain, the Miley Cyrus/Taylor Swift Guns N’ Roses cover—but there are a few things of which I am absolutely certain: we are going to be wed in the church your parents were married in, by the priest who married them, on the very same night they were married.”
“Oh, Bryan,” she whispers, misty-eyed. “You were going to get me a chocolate fountain?”
It takes me a beat—an entire contraction of my heart muscles—to realize that she’s teasing me. And I love it. I pull her into my arms so high that her feet don’t touch the ground, then I press my lips to hers and spin…and spin…and spin…as the people we love encircle us.
Chapter Fifteen
Hennessy
“Keep ‘em closed!” Jameson warns me as I sit on the couch in the living room of our childhood home. The home that she and Jackson share with Walker and Bailey since she and Win split. It’s only been a couple of days since we sent Jacintha packing, and I think I’ve aged about ten years.
“Jameson, what on earth are you doing?” I ask for the fourth time.
I hear shuffling and rustling. Bailey giggles.
“I’m going to open my eyes—” I warn.
“No!” Jameson, Walker, and Bailey all yell at the same time. I’d hold up my hands in surrender, but they’re covering my eyes at the moment, so I sigh with irritation instead. And I wait.
“All right, on the count of three,” Jameson says at last. “One…two…three!”
At first, I’m not sure what it is I’m looking at. It’s a long swath of ivory fabric, puffy with lace and beading.
It’s a wedding dress!
I immediately assume it’s her wedding dress from Win—but then I flash on an image—the memory of her delicate strapless shift dress in a pearly shade of white. This is definitely not that.
So…?
“What—I mean, whose…” And then it hits me with the force of a frying pan to the head. “Mama?” I ask in a whisper. There are tears in Jameson’s eyes as she nods.
“I found it w
hen we were redoing the basement for Walker. It was tucked away in a crawl space closet that we didn’t even know existed! I put it away for safe keeping. And now that you need a dress…”
I get to my feet and approach the garment slowly, reverently. This is the gown my mother was wearing the day she married my father.
“Look at these,” Bailey breathes excitedly, extending a long, slim bell sleeve in a sheer gauzy material.
Gingerly, I run a finger along the bodice, threaded with delicate little pearls.
“But that’s not the best part,” Walker says, giving Jameson a twirling finger gesture indicating that she should turn the dress around. She does, holding the garment high enough that it covers her entire head. Bailey and Walker gently pull the back of the skirt. And they pull. And pull. And pull. The train must be ten-feet long.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, just now aware that there are tears streaming down my cheeks. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!”
“Right?” Bailey says, practically buzzing with excitement. “The puffy shoulders will have to go—and the funky bustle at the back. But a good seamstress can work around those. I’m not sure—but I think we can also convert the high neckline to something a little more contemporary—a bateau, or a Queen Anne…even a sweetheart…”
I’m so excited that I’m stripping before she’s even done speaking. I shuck my jeans, sweater, t-shirt—everything down to my bra and panties.
“I think we should hold it up and you can get into it from the bottom,” Jameson suggests. “That way we don’t have to mess with any of the little buttons in the back.” The three of them hoist while I duck under and slide up—my arms slipping right into the sleeves at the same moment that my head comes up through the top. When they release their hold on the gown, the material brushes against my skin, creating a soft whisper as it covers my body, forming an ivory pool of fabric at my feet.
My sisters are staring at me, eyes wide, mouths hanging open.
“What?” I ask, suddenly alarmed. “What? Is it hideous? Is there a big wine stain or something? What?”
“It’s…” Jameson starts.
“Perfect,” Walker finishes.
Bailey nods silently and then, remembering something, runs back down the hallway to return a moment later with a tall oval mirror from her room. She sets it down in front of me, and slowly, I allow myself to take in the image, inch by inch. I see it then—this dress with the changes Bailey suggested. It won’t take much to make it modern…and to make it mine. And that, in and of itself, is miraculous.
“How can this be?” I murmur to no one in particular, twisting this way and that in the mirror.
The bodice is perfectly proportioned for my breasts, the waist and hips hug the curves of my body and the sleeves—though definitely in need of a little de-puffing—come to a dramatic flare at the end, the delicate cuffs edged in the same tiny pearls as the bodice. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“The fit…I mean, you’d think I’d have to let it out. Or take it in…”
“Or something, right?” Jameson adds.
“Holy crap, that’s amazing,” Walker marvels.
“It’s Mama,” Bailey informs us. “She did this. She wanted you to wear this dress.”
The three of us look at our youngest sister in stunned disbelief. Not because we think she’s insane, but because we know she’s absolutely right.
…
Within the hour, we’ve pulled out all of Mama’s jewelry, left for us after her death. We never split it up amongst ourselves, but rather opted to keep it all together, each of us “borrowing” a piece as needed for special occasions. Right now, Bailey is holding the flat, blue velvet box that we all used to ogle as children. She pries the tight spring hinge open to reveal a perfect strand of pearls nestled against blue satin. The clasp is formed in the shape of a butterfly, accented by tiny diamonds.
“These,” Bailey says before setting the box on the dining table and picking up a small black pouch. “And these,” she continues, emptying a pair of pearl drop earrings into the palm of her hand.
“And these,” Jameson jumps in, pulling the lid off a shoebox to reveal a pair of ivory heels in a peau de soie finish. I recognize them as her wedding shoes and know they’ll be an exact fit for my feet.
“Okay, well, that’s a huge weight off my mind and one giant check for the ‘to-do’ list. What can we tackle next?”
“Well,” Bailey says, “I spoke with Jessica Martinez from Curl Up & Dye. She’s the one who did my hair when I was crowned Princess Mary at the fair. She’ll come the afternoon of the wedding to do your hair—and she’s bringing a friend who can do the make-up.”
“Really?” I can’t believe how many people I barely know are coming out to help. “Wow, that’s sweet…and on Christmas Eve. Are you sure, Bailey?”
She nods happily. “Oh, yeah. Henny, everyone wants in on this wedding.”
“Well, thank goodness for that!” Jameson pipes up. “Because we need all the help we can get!”
“I wish Mama and Pops were here. They’d be loving this,” Walker adds.
She takes a seat at the dining room table, and the rest of us join her.
“They’d be so happy for you, Henny,” Bailey adds. “Too bad you can’t have butterflies, though. Mama would have loved that.”
Our mother always said that wherever we saw a butterfly, she would be there.
“Well, I’ll have the butterfly clasp on her pearls,” I say as I stroke the blue velvet box. “I’m afraid it’s a bit too cold for any other butterflies. Now if I’d had a June wedding, like Jameson, maybe. It seems to me you had tons of butterflies, didn’t you?”
“That’s because we were married outside at the arboretum. The butterfly bushes were everywhere! It’s not like I had to import them or anything.”
“Okay, okay, enough with the walk down memory lane,” I insist before I can start tearing up again. “What’s going on with your dresses?”
“Oh, excellent news there, too,” Jameson says. “Mrs. McClennan—do you remember her from high school? She’s been teaching sewing for years, and nobody’s faster at whipping up a garment from a pattern. She’s actually offering her students extra credit if they come into school now, during winter break, and help with our dresses!”
“What? Holy crap—this just keeps getting better and better. But what about the pattern and the materials? Do you guys like what she’s making?”
All three nod enthusiastically, which makes me suspicious.
“And…?” I prompt. Finally, it’s Bailey who fills me in.
“Okay, so, we found a beautiful burgundy fabric, just like you wanted. But we each picked a different pattern. And before you freak out, just listen. We all have such different shapes, there was no way we could all wear the same style and look decent. So, I’m wearing a tea length dress with ballet sleeves and a cinched waist. James is wearing an empire waist—”
“I kept thinking ‘Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice!’” Jameson interjects.
“Right,” continues Bailey, “and Walker opted for a very chic pantsuit.”
I think about how brilliant this idea is—and how much Jacintha would’ve hated it.
“No,” I say quietly. “No, that sounds absolutely perfect.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bryan
The storm system is moving much faster than anyone anticipated—including my mother and aunt, who are now stranded at O’Hare Airport with little chance of making it here for the wedding. Because, once it blows through Illinois, the “perfect storm” of snow and ice and sleet is headed right for the Iron Range of Minnesota. And the town of Mayhem.
Ironically enough, even as I’m brainstorming ways to get them here, Jacintha’s final gift shows up—all the way from Los Angeles in the back of a truck. It’s the one thing she didn’t bother to cancel—the swans. Which, I’ve just discovered, can be rather ill-tempered after a long trip through three time zones and a temperature drop in t
he neighborhood of sixty degrees.
Despite my initial surprise at this special delivery, I managed to get the four settled without too much fuss, figuring they could spend a few days with me until I could arrange for their safe transport back home to the Golden State from whence they came. The trouble started when I asked Scott and Win for help setting up a kiddie pool for my new fine feathered friends—and they thought it would be a good idea to bring little Jackson with them.
Bad. Idea. Because now, Win, Scott, and I are all standing here, holding our breath and trying not to make any sudden moves. It’s like the scene in the movie where the guy has a bomb strapped to his chest and his buddies are trying to keep him calm while they figure out how to disarm it. Only, there are no red wires to cut here. There’s only the lead swan…and the kid.
“Jax…” Win says as smoothly as he can, a slight tremor in his voice. “Jax, buddy, come here. Come to Daddy.” He squats down and motions inward to his son.
When that doesn’t work, I switch gears. Maybe Scott will have more appeal to the little boy at this moment.
“Where’s Unca Sock?” I ask in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. “Show me Unca Sock!”
But the kid’s not buying it for a second. He’s standing there in his little parka with a big orange hat on his head—one that has a huge yarn pompom on top. And now he’s stomping his little snow boots and cackling wildly.
“Hey, hey—stay still, Jackson,” his father coos to him.
Devilish chortle from the toddler.
Holy crap. I know that laugh. It usually comes right before something awful happens. Oh… Oh, please, God…
As if in slow motion, Jackson turns his back on all three of us and runs into the back of the garage…and the swans. The biggest one is hissing as the child approaches, rearing up and spreading its wings. Jeez, it must have a six-foot span!
“Jackson! No!” we all seem to scream in unison, diving, rolling, eating oil-spotted concrete as each of us tries to tackle the wayward boy before he’s mauled by the gigantic bird.
But it’s too late. I swear my heart actually stops beating as toddler and swan stand toe to toe. Or toe to…foot. Or whatever those webbed things are that swans waddle around on.