The Bride's Curse (9 page)

Here she was, in her own little house, her own business. All hers. In a beautiful bayside town where people came from miles and miles away just to spend a few days’ or weeks’ vacation. And she never took advantage of her surroundings. No playtime.

No playmate.

Brett. His image was so clear in her mind that for a moment, she wondered if he was actually there—she felt she could almost reach out and touch him. How she wanted at that moment to put her arms around his neck, to feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt … and his hot mouth on hers. Memories of their very first meeting and their very first kiss filled her with heat and longing.

She wondered how Noelia coped, living alone, her husband long dead in that boating accident, her children flown on to their own life paths. Which led her to wonder again how her assistant made enough money to live a comfortable lifestyle even after putting her three children through college. It certainly wasn’t on the small amount Kelly was able to pay her for working at Wedding Bliss.

The middle-aged woman was always reticent about her personal life. She chatted proudly about her children and occasionally, usually on the anniversary of his death, she would talk about her husband. Kelly knew she also belonged to the Catholic Church in Marina Grove and helped out with the churchwomen’s activities.

Was that enough to fill a life, much less pay for it? And wasn’t Noelia lonely, or had the love she’d shared with her husband been enough to see her through the lonely years after his death?

Brett nodded a friendly hello to the young woman on the reception desk at the Holywell Home, the nursing home where his aunt was recovering from her bout of pneumonia. She smiled and blushed a little as he told her she looked very pretty today.

“Pink is definitely your color,” he teased. “How is Aunt Mary doing today?”

“Oh, pretty much the same as she was yesterday when you visited. Wanting to know when she’s going home.” The receptionist lowered her voice and leaned toward Brett. He caught the lush scent of roses in her perfume. “I have to say that she’s been so much happier since you have been home and visiting. Mrs. Sasha Atwell Montgomery didn’t come often—I think because they tended to have words each time she was here.”

Brett clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Sasha and my aunt Mary have never got along. Mary thinks my sister is flighty and Sasha thinks Mary is a prude. They are two very different personalities.”

“Yes, and your aunt is a different generation. Young woman are different now than when your aunt was in her twenties.” Sandy Lewis smiled conspiratorially. “Mind you, sometimes she has this hilarious sense of humor. One of the nurses told me yesterday that Mrs. Atwell was threatening to turn Dr. Frazer into a duck … because she thought he was a quack! Get it?”

Oh yes, Brett got it. He managed a weak smile, all the while wondering how Sandy would react if she knew his aunt really believed she could cast spells. Surely it was a harmless fantasy, he told himself.

Brett bade her goodbye and went off through the double doors that led to the elevators and his aunt’s room on the second floor. He never quite knew what to expect these days. Mary had always been a bit mercurial as long as he’d known her. He wondered what she had been like as a young woman in love, before the disaster of her wedding had turned her into a virtual recluse.

He decided to take the short flight of stairs rather than the elevator. He was happy to be back in Maine but he knew he didn’t get enough exercise and missed the hard, outdoor life of his non-profit organization work in some of the poorest parts of the world.

He wished he could get Red out of his mind. He wished he could reassure his aunt, who was still firmly convinced she wasn’t long for this world. He wished his sister Sasha would grow up and act like a responsible adult.

Conversely he wished he never had to leave the peace and beauty of Maine. A wish that was maybe tied in with his recent meeting with a certain red haired beauty. On impulse earlier he had called into a local florist intending to send her a dozen red roses. He was thinking red roses for Red but common sense stopped him at the last moment. Red roses were the symbol of love and it was way too early for such a declaration. He smiled as he considered how Red’s eyes would spark at such over-the-top and way-too-early behavior.

He wished life could be simpler.

Most of all he wished he could untangle the problems that had arisen, turn back the clock and have him and Kelly meet at a party, a dance, the theatre, through friends … and begin a calm, uncomplicated relationship that could bloom …

Then he had a wonderful idea. After the talk they’d had at dinner, he’d learned one thing that Kelly would like far more than flowers …

• • •

Kelly thought that perhaps the only good thing that had happened to her that day was that there was no need to pore over back copies of the
Marina Grove Telegraph
in the rather dank, gloomy basement of the newspaper. The managing editor told her proudly that “the whole shebang, back to our genesis” was now available through the library archives.

So, trudge, trudge, heart down, off she went to the local library branch. The part she needed used to be the town hall way back when, and it still boasted the original elegant woodwork and tall, deep windows of its Victorian heritage. The effect was one of dignity and scholarship, a calming atmosphere that she always enjoyed.

Area libraries had recently received funding to transfer historic documents to computer, and a smiling librarian told Kelly that the year she was looking for, 1972, was now available digitally.

It took only a few clicks of the computer mouse to find the society pages in each issue starting in May of 1972, the date of the receipt for the Cursed Bridal Gown. She worked slowly and steadily through page after page until a photograph on the second week in July’s issue stole her breath away.

A beautiful young woman, petite and slender, face radiant with dreams, stood on the steps of a church Kelly recognized as being in a Derry parish. She looked glorious in a beautiful floor length gown with a delicate lace veil, two small chubby cheeked flower girls in attendance. A silver-haired man who the caption stated was Mary Atwell’s father, Richard, stood proudly beside her.

In a second photograph, the weeping and disheveled bride, her face turned away from the camera, clutched onto her father and mother for support as they appeared again on the church steps.

The headline read:
Heiress Mary Atwell Left at the Altar!

And the sub-heading:
No Sign of Missing Groom at Fairy Tale Wedding—Did Childhood Sweetheart Scarper?

Tears pooled in Kelly’s eyes and her heart went out to this long ago bride, seeing in her the ruined dreams and broken promises she’d known herself when Wayne ended their engagement.

At least he’d done it before their wedding day. The rat.

Dammit, if she found Mary Atwell’s groom, she’d probably punch him on the nose.

How satisfying it would have been to punch her own erstwhile groom when he’d broken their engagement, but she had known even then that wouldn’t have mended the crack in her heart, shored up her battered self-esteem, or fixed her broken trust.

One thing was sure—Mary Atwell was wearing the Cursed Bridal Gown at that long-ago wedding. That distinctive French designer styling and sumptuous fabric was unmistakable to a trained eye like Kelly’s.

One look at that broken bride and it seemed obvious why that gorgeous fifty-year-old wedding dress might be cursed. The next question would be to find Mary Atwell and see what could be done about the ill luck that dogged the gown before it wrecked the hopes and dreams of yet another couple. Despite what Daria Welcome insisted about not believing in curses, Kelly wasn’t at all sure disbelief took away their power.

The question in her mind was whether Mary Atwell’s wedding turned into a disaster because of the gown, or whether she had cursed that wedding dress in her grief. If she had been the one to lay the curse, then Kelly thought she probably wouldn’t like Brett’s favorite aunt very much. Which was a pity because she liked Brett. A lot.

“She must be one powerful witch to lay a curse that would last half a century,” she muttered to herself, and felt suddenly cold.

The only good thing she could think of was that at least she had established a connection that pointed to the reason the dress appeared to be so unlucky. She noted the name of the groom. Troy Matthews. Chewing on her bottom lip, she wondered if the Old Man on the Bench was actually the ghost of the long lost groom. If Brett was Mary’s blood relative, then that would explain the connection, the way the ghost disappeared whenever Brett appeared. This seemed such a cozy explanation, before she remembered that the ghost had claimed to have hurt
two
people.
Assuming Mary Atwell wasn’t into a
ménage a trois
, just who could the other person be?

She was so deeply engrossed in these thoughts that she jumped visibly when a hand came down gently on her shoulder.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” library staffer Rachel Riley cried, her green eyes wide. “I just brought over the copies you wanted printing and I couldn’t help but notice you were looking at that page about the Atwell wedding that never was.”

“If this is about that wedding dress everyone says is cursed, Rachel … ”

The librarian laughed. “Don’t be silly—I really don’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo. But obviously some folks do.”

Kelly glanced around, grateful to see there were no other readers in the records room. No one to hear and spread further speculation about the Cursed Bridal Gown.

“Don’t I know it. I’m sure some people have been avoiding Wedding Bliss while all this talk has been going on,” she answered.

The librarian, a tall, serious-looking woman, slapped an open book down beside the keyboard on the computer desk. “I’m not talking about those silly women who think they see ghosts and goblins everywhere.”

Who says you’re silly just because you see ghosts?
Kelly wanted to snarl, but discretion being the better part of valor, she just asked instead, “What do you mean?”

Rachel pushed her glasses up on her nose and pulled up a chair from another workstation. Tapping the book cover, she said, “Well, you know a couple of hundred years ago there was all this witch hunting and stuff going on?”

Kelly snorted. “Yes, but Marina Grove isn’t exactly Salem’s Lot.”

“Of course not. But we did have a few women accused of witchcraft way back then. And guess whose ancestress was among them? Mary Atwell’s great—several greats—grandmother.” Rachel grinned at Kelly’s startled expression.

“What? You’re kidding me?”

“No, it’s all here in this book.
East Coast Witches & Wizards
.” Rachel tapped the book again.

“That’s an actual book? You mean, someone actually researched and wrote a book on this?”

“Oh, yes, and connected the dots right to the present day descendants.”

“But wouldn’t a wealthy family like the Atwells sue over something like this? I mean, who wants to be accused of being the descendant of a crazy witch, even now?”

Rachel laughed again. “Mary Atwell’s grandmother, I think, Gracie Hollowell, fancied herself as a movie queen, back in the day. She actually played on the glamorous side of being a witch in order to get publicity to help her career.”

“And did it? Help her get famous, I mean?”

“Only in Maine, I guess. She finally gave up and married respectable and very wealthy Mr. Atwell. Wonder if Great Grandma several times removed passed her magical powers onto her great-whatever granddaughter who went and turned her missing groom into a toad?”

Kelly could think of no better fate for Mary Atwell’s missing groom than to be turned into a toad. Although that was perhaps maligning toads. “Can I check the book out? I mean, it’s not in the reference section or anything, is it?”

Rachel went over to the librarian’s station and hit a few keys on her computer. “Good heavens, m’dear, seems this book hasn’t been out of the library for darn near forty years! Makes sense, I suppose, because I found it in a stack in the basement when we were clearing out. It was in such good condition and there is a lot of interest in the area’s history, so I put it back on the shelves. Hasn’t seen much action, though … do you have your library card?”

Kelly dutifully handed over the little plastic card, thanked Rachel, and left the building with a stack of printouts and the book on witches.

• • •

She was researching available flowers from local florists for the Parker wedding on the computer in the back room of Wedding Bliss when she heard voices in the store. Noelia poked her head around the door with a great big grin on her face.

“You have company, honey,” she said, ducking back into the main store before Kelly could ask who was there.

She got up and moved toward the connecting door, and the words “I’m really busy right now” died on her lips. Standing in the center of the store, looking ultra-masculine surrounded by all those pretty lacy things, was Brett Atwell.

He looked tanned and fit, wearing a sleeveless tee that molded itself to his chest in a way Kelly would like to mold herself at that moment. The sun had brightened his already fair hair to a golden color and his skin glowed.

“What … what do you want?” Her mouth went dry as she caught his look, an expression that flickered long enough to tell her she was what he wanted.

“I’ve come to whisk you away for a couple of hours—you can leave the store, can’t you?”

“Well, no, I mean … ”

“Sure she can,” Noelia spoke over Kelly’s stuttered excuse, winning a death glare from her boss.

“Good, let’s go before it gets too late.” He hoisted a wicker hamper from the floor at his feet.

“We’re going on a picnic?” Kelly’s eyes narrowed.

“Just what you need: some sun, fun, and relaxation.” Noelia handed Kelly her lightweight windcheater jacket. “Off you go now.”

“But … ”

“Come on, Kelly. It’ll be fun and we’ll only be gone a couple of hours.” Brett grabbed her arm with his free hand and towed her toward the door.