The Wedding Shop (13 page)

Councilman Patz met Cora at the food table. No doubt his laundry-basket belly was eager to be filled with chocolate cake. “Your father's a good man putting on this shindig every year. Saves the town a good bit of money. What do you have there, Cora? A chocolate layer cake?”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Patz.” She set the plate on the dessert table.

“You think I might have a small sample?” Hunger echoed in the man's words.

“Of course.” Cora set a slice on a chipped plate brought over from the church pantry. “Don't let anyone else see you.” She covered the cake, politely shooing him away.

Then she surveyed the party. The sun rested behind the clouds, kind enough to give them a bit of shade, but the sky was blue and the breeze off the river made the temperature pleasant.

Lovely, so very lovely.
Oh, Rufus, I so wish you were here.
She was lovesick.

The lawn stretched out toward Mama's garden, then around the trees toward the river where tonight Captain Alderman of the Heart's Bend Fire Department would light up the night sky with fireworks.

“Cora, woo hoo, Cora.” Odelia shuffled toward her, waving her hand in the air. She and her band of wedding shop seamstresses had exceeded everyone's expectations. Since the June bombardment of orders, the women had completed fifty of the orders.

“Slow down, Odelia. Look at you, all flushed.”

“I just saw Miss Maddie Crum.” Miss Crum was a bride from the spring getting married later this month, come all the way from
Murfreesboro. “She's in town and wants to pick up her wedding dress if it's ready.”

“What? Today? Is it ready?”

“Thank the Lord I finished it last night. She said she'd meet me there—” Odelia pressed her hand to her heart. “Oh my word, I can't draw a clean breath.”

“Sit, sit, please.” Cora led her to a semicircle of wooden lawn chairs. Across the way, an army of women marched four abreast toward the food table, plates and dishes in hand. No one in Heart's Bend ate any better than they did on the Fourth of July.

On the Fourth, they were all free. One people. Not rich or poor. Not black or white. Not young or old. Just Americans grateful for their independence—however limited and troubled.

“I can't believe I just ran all the way from downtown.”

“You ran from downtown?” Cora said. “That's over two miles.”

“Don't look so shocked. I played basketball in high school.” Odelia fanned her face with her hands, her breathing growing steady. “I thought you could drive me back into town.”

“Odelia, surely she doesn't need her dress today. It's a holiday.”

“I know, but I promised her. It's over a two-hour drive from their place. I hate to see her have to come back because we couldn't spare a few minutes to get her dress. Consider it good customer service.” Odelia made her case with sweat trickling down her cheeks.

“All right, you win.” Cora caught hold of little Claire Olinski as she ran past. “Claire, get Mrs. Darnell an iced tea.” She peered down at Odelia, still catching her breath, reclining in the lawn chair. “You rest. I'll
drive
to the shop to meet Miss Crum myself.”

“You're a peach, Cora. I don't care what your mama says.”

Cora headed for the house, smiling as Claire sloshed tea over the side of a tall glass, her pink tongue sticking out of her mouth.

Inside, Cora gathered her pocketbook, keys, and driving gloves. She shouldn't be more than twenty minutes. She'd barely miss the fun. Most folks were still arriving.

She paused in the hallway, voices billowing, pressing from behind a closed door. Daddy and Mama's room.

Suddenly the door flung open and Daddy burst into the hall with Mama trailing after. “No, Ernest, no. I just don't see the need.” Mama stopped short when she saw Cora. “Cora, what is it?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Why, of course. It's the Fourth of July,” Daddy said. “What do you need, sugar?”

“I'm going to the shop. Odelia promised Miss Crum she could pick up her dress.”

“On a holiday?”

“They're in town and thought if the dress was ready it'd save them the trip.”

“Well, invite them out,” Daddy said. “Invite them out.”

“I best see to our guests.” Mama pressed around Daddy, smoothing her hair in place. He watched her, his wide smile not reaching his eyes.

“Daddy?” Cora said.

“Everything's good, darling.” He kissed her cheek. “Get that worried look off your pretty face.” He stepped through to the kitchen, whistling “God Bless America,” wearing a pair of light wool knickers with knee socks, glossy brown shoes, and a vest over his short-sleeve white shirt. To mark the occasion, he wore a bright red tie.

Mama popped out from the kitchen, a platter of hardboiled eggs in her hand. “Hurry on now so you can come back for the opening prayer. Reverend Oliver from the colored church is giving the invocation this year.”

“I'll be back in a jiff. I promise.” Cora stepped outside, then turned back, a swirl in her middle. They were fighting again. But about what? Mama sounded worn-out.

At thirty, Cora had to admit that their fighting bothered her nearly as much as when she was a kid. A twinge of panic seeped
from her thoughts into her bones and even the heat of the sun resting on her shoulders couldn't reach the chill.

It's nothing. Daddy assured her. Just a lover's quarrel. She was an adult now and surely understood marriage came with its struggles. Her parents were, after all, human.

Moving down the front walk, she saw her car was blocked in by a row of cars lining the road. “Of all things.” The south lawn was designated for parking, as well as the road.

“Need a lift?”

Cora jerked around to see Birch pulling up in his wagon, hitched to his mule, Uncle Sam.

“Are you spying on me, Birch Good?” She squeezed between the cars, meeting Birch in the road, stroking Uncle Sam's soft nose. “How are you, old boy?”

“He's fit as a fiddle. I figured it was clever of me to bring him out on such an occasion as this.” Birch motioned to her handbag. “You need to go somewhere? I can drive you.”

“Birch, could you? Odelia made an appointment with a customer—”

“On the Fourth?”

“Yes, and let's not run through that rigmarole again.” At the buckboard, she offered her hand. Birch clasped onto it, a cord of muscle twisting down his tanned arm, easing her up and onto the seat next to him. Just like that, her peace returned. Mama and Daddy would be fine. Of course. Why be blue when today was the Fourth? A happy day.

Birch chirruped to the mule. “I had to enter Uncle Sam in the buggy race this year. Have to defend our title. First place four years running.”

“You and your races.”

“They're fun.”

“You just like to win.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Cora glanced sideways at him. The wind tossed his dark brown hair over his forehead, creating a contrast for the pale blueness of his eyes. His jaw was firm, like it could take a solid punch.

He'd forgone his overalls for his church trousers today, and a white oxford with pale yellow stains under the arms. If he had a wife, she'd take some bluing to that thing and straighten it out. But it was clean, and the scent of soap and aftershave wafted from his skin.

“What?” he said, catching her staring, a saucy grin popping on his full lips.

“Nothing.” The steam of embarrassment straightened her around, facing forward, and concentrating on the motion of Uncle Sam. What was it about Birch that made her flush and blush? Silliness, really. He had a way about him, that's all. Half the girls in town dropped their jaws when he passed by. But did he notice? No. Not one blame time.

“Sure didn't
look
like nothing.”

She pursed her lips and squared her shoulders. “Just haven't seen you in your Sunday clothes is all.”

“You see me every week. In Sunday school.”

“I guess I never noticed.”

“Well, how-do, if that don't warm a fella's heart.” Birch turned Uncle Sam onto South Broad and headed to town.

“Well, it's not like you notice me.”

“Every week, Cora. Every week.”

They exchanged a curt glance and she slid an inch away from him. What else was she to do with such a confession? If he had intentions for her other than friendship, she'd do well
not
to encourage him.

South Broad ended at First Avenue, which bustled with cars cruising through around the square, overflowing with teenagers and the like. Flags flew from the shops and lamp poles.

A convertible Model T eased past, a gaggle of young men
and women clinging to the sides, laughing, waving, singing “My Country Tis of Thee” at the top of their lungs.

“Makes me feel old.” Birch motioned to them with his chin, pulling up to the wedding shop. “Like I never got a chance to be young. Went to war when I should've been cutting up in a Model T with my friends.”

“The war aged us all, Birch.”

“These kids don't know. War won't ever come to them.”

“We can only pray that's true.”

He pulled up to the shop, hopped out, and walked around Uncle Sam to help Cora down. Another car of young ones glided past with cute Smithy Fetterman behind the wheel, slowing down to whistle at a young woman with a flouncy skirt and heeled sandals.

Here Cora stood on the side of the street with sensible shoes and a condemning heart. She'd missed her day to ride around in an open car, singing at the top of her lungs.

Has life passed me by?

“Well, hello, beautiful, I was just on my way to find you.”

Cora whirled around at the sound of
his
voice, her heart booming in her chest. “Rufus!” She was in his arms, pressed against him as his vice grip raised her up and twirled her around. “I can't believe it. I can't believe it. You're here. Oh, darling, my darling . . .” She trembled against him, a freight train of sobs controlling her so she couldn't breathe.

“Shh, I'm here. I'm here. I've got you.” He wrapped his arms tighter and tighter.

Cora clung to him, fearing he might vanish or that this was just a dream and she'd wake up any moment. “I-I can't believe . . . I can't . . . Darling, oh my Rufus.”

“There, there, why all the tears? Shh, my sweet Cora, hush.” His warm breath blew against her ear and fanned the energy of her emotion.

She slid to the ground, her face pinned to his chest, weeping, her fists gripping the loose sides of his blouse. “Rufus, Rufus . . .”

“I told you I'd come.”

“Yes, but, darling . . .” Her words had no power, no real tone. She was weak from letting her soul go into his arms. Fresh tears built behind her eyes as her heart ached with joy and relief.

She shimmied as she cried, no awareness of anything but the block of man against which she leaned, the scent of pipe smoke and a thick, fragrant masculine scent that reminded her of the sea more than the river.

“Darling, are we to stand here all day?”

She nodded with a slight chortle, wiping her cheeks with her hand. She must be a sight.

“I've been dying for a kiss,” he said in her ear for her and her alone.

Cora tried to lift her head but she couldn't move. She was wobbly from releasing a year of tension, of all the strength she'd mustered to hang on and believe.

“All right, we'll stand here.” He gathered her to himself, kissing her cheek, resting his chin on her head. “So I guess I don't have to ask if you're surprised to see me.”

Cora sputtered a laugh, the ballast to her sobs. “Oh, Rufus, I can't imagine a more glorious surprise.” She inhaled him, memorizing the curves of his chest beneath her face, the rough, strong edge of his scent, the feel of his breath in her ear, and the resonating bass in his voice. “I'm so very happy to see you.”

“Cora, my beautiful Cora.” Rufus clung to her. “I was in St. Louis for the holiday and found it my fortune to hop a packet coming this way.”

“You came? Just for me?”

“Just for you.” He stepped back, cupping her face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over her tear stains. “I've missed you.”

He bent toward her. Not caring who looked on, Cora rose up
on her toes, hungry,
aching
for his kiss to fill her, energize her, and burn away her sensibilities. He loved her and she'd field no doubt or discouragement from anyone, including her own heart, from here on out.

But his kiss was sweet. Tentative. Why was he spoon-feeding her milk when she was starving for the bread of his passion?

Cora gripped his shoulders, holding on, pouring her heart into his kiss. In the distance, she heard a car horn and the whistles of passersby. She didn't care. Let the town talk. She refused to let him go, kissing him as a woman in love, willing to completely give herself to him. If only he'd ask.

Then he responded, his breath a sensual rhythm as his kiss found her again and again, declaring his own hunger.

When they broke apart, she was unable to stand, let alone move toward the shop. “Darling,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

Rufus rewarded her with his swashbuckling smile, tapping his forehead to hers and blessing her with another kiss. “And I you, dearest Cora.” He released her but she clung to his arm. “So, now tell me.” He touched the end of her nose with his finger. “What are you doing in town on the Fourth of July? I thought the Scotts had a great party on their property.”

“Yes, we do. Oh, wait until you see it. Everyone is there. I came into town to meet a customer. You can blame Odelia for that. She promised Miss Crum she could pick up her dress.” Cora took a step for the shop, still clinging to Rufus, when she remembered Birch. She stopped, spinning around. “Oh, darling, this is Birch Good. A friend of my father's.”