The Wedding Shop (14 page)

But he was gone and Uncle Sam along with him. “Well, how do you like that?” She turned back to Rufus. “I'll have to pinch myself to believe you're really here.” She squeezed his arm. “Are you real? My heart is all aflutter in my chest.”

“This heart? Right here?” Rufus tapped his finger in the V of her dress, between her breasts, igniting a flame.

“Rufus, please. We're in public.” But the sensation was intoxicating. Weakening her resistance. She wanted his kisses, his touches, and everything that came with loving a man.

“Let's go inside, then.” He led her to the shop, taking the key from her hand and working the lock. “What's this you're about? You said meeting a customer?”

“She's coming by for her wedding gown any minute.” Cora retrieved her keys from his hand, her whole being tingling when his fingers brushed her palm.

He kicked the door closed behind him and they were alone in the hot, stale shop, away from the curious eyes of First Avenue.

“The light switch . . . It's right over here.” Cora motioned to the wall just inside the small salon. They were alone. Completely alone. She was thrilled while trembling with terror.

As she reached to snap on the light, Rufus snatched her around, pressing her against the wall. “My darling, you're so lovely.” He lowered to kiss her neck.

Cora fell into him, leaning on his massive arms to stay upright. His lips, fiery and silky, burned along her collarbone.

“Rufus . . . darling . . . th-they'll . . . be . . . here.” She swooned and he swept her up into his arms, his lips finding hers, each kiss more ardent than the last.

“Forgive me, but for the life of me I can't remember why I delayed seeing you for so long.” He lowered her feet to the floor, his hand running gently down her side. If this was love's passion, may it never end.

“Here . . .” He pulled a glistening gold trinket from his pocket. “Ten karats. For you.”

“Oh, Rufus, you shouldn't have.” The chain with a heart-shaped pendant rested against her palm and her heart sank a little. Was this his proposal? Was he not offering a ring of some kind? Not every man did, but . . .

Rufus turned her around, brushed her hair aside ever so
slowly with his kisses, and clasped the piece around her neck. “Let me see. Yes, very fine indeed. I saw it when I was in New York. Tiffany's.”

“You were in New York! You never said.”

“I had it inscribed. ‘My darling Cora.' See?”

She peered into his blue eyes for a long moment. “I see all I need right now. You, Rufus. You.”

He gathered her to him, letting his passionate kiss be his reply.

“Darling.” Cora leaned back. “Did you get the postcard I enclosed in my letter? From a Miriam? She seemed desperate to talk to you.” He'd not mentioned it in any of his letters. “Who is she?” She kept her tone soft, inquiring, far away from accusation.

“What?” His eyes searched hers. “Miriam? What are you—Oh, Miriam. Yes, the wife of a mate. She wanted to surprise him for his birthday. It was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Come now, I want to kiss you, not talk of other women.” His lips brushed hers as his arms drew tight around her.

“Yoo hoo, Miss Cora?” The front door's pealing chimes shot them apart. Rufus, gasping for air, a lock of his blond hair dashing over his brow, disappeared in the shadows of the small salon, tucking his shirttail into his trousers.

Shaking as if doused with cold river water, Cora steadied herself before coming around the small salon wall. Between the passion of her tears and the passion of Rufus's kisses, she had no idea of her appearance. She tucked her hair into place, well aware of the perspiration clotting along the collar of her dress.

“Miss Crum, do come in.” Cora stood aside as the women entered, so grateful for the breeze. It barely cooled her hot skin and did nothing to quell her lover's embers.

“Miss Cora, thank you so much for meeting us.” Maddie Mae Crum greeted Cora with a hug. “I'm so delighted Odelia had my dress ready. Oh, your skin is hot as blazes.”

“Your cheeks are all red.” Mrs. Crum gave Cora the prune face once over. “Sunburn? Take care this afternoon. Don't want that pretty skin of yours all red and blistered.”

“Thank you. Of course. How kind of you, Mrs. Crum.” Cora exhaled, trying not to laugh but relieved to keep her secret.

“Oh, your shop is just darling. I say that every time, don't I?” Miss Crum peeked into the small salon. Cora scooted around in front of her, blocking her view in case Rufus was sitting in the corner chair by the window. “We're so busy at the farm we can hardly get to town. This is such a treat.” The Crums were middle Tennessee farmers, and Miss Crum ordered her dress through the
Modern Priscilla
. “Where are all the dresses?”

“Here, in the big salon. Just a few samples.” Cora escorted Miss Crum to the grand salon, where her carefully selected gowns hung on dress forms and mannequins. “I'm sorry I have no refreshments for you, but please be seated.”

“Oh no, not at all. We understand we're infringing on your time.”

“I'll get your gown.”

“Are these the stairs the brides come down when they try on their dresses? I heard about it from a friend.” Miss Crum did not stay seated as Cora directed.

Cora stopped halfway up the stairs. “Y-yes, it is.”

“Oh, please, do you think I could try on my dress and come down the stairs? Mama's here . . . and you.” Miss Crum's brown eyes sparked with excitement. “It would mean the world to me.”

“Me as well.” Mrs. Crum stepped forward. “I didn't have a wedding myself, and I'm sure glad Maddie Mae is getting her day.”

Cora sighed but held on to her smile. “Then she must make her way down the stairs in her gown. I'm sorry it's so warm in here.” She descended the stairs, reaching for the window, tugging down the top pane.

“Never you mind. I'll crack a few windows and raise the lights
while you get Maddie Mae all duded up.” Mrs. Crum set her pocketbook in the chair by the large display window and started off, opening windows as Cora's heart trumpeted,
Rufus, hide.

“Go on up, Miss Crum. I'll be along in a jiffy.” Cora peeked in the small salon. Empty. Where did he go? She checked the pantry and the powder room. Empty. The closet? No, he was gone. Through the mudroom, Cora peeked out the back door. Rufus stood against a tree, smoking his pipe, winking at her when she caught his eye. She held up her hand.
Five minutes
. He nodded, blowing her a kiss.

Well, in that case, four minutes.

Cora dashed up to the mezzanine, where Miss Crum waited, and helped her out of her dress. Just knowing Rufus was waiting fed the thick thunder of her pulse.
Focus, Cora. Customers are the lifeblood of your business.

But oh, Rufus was finally here.

When she had Miss Crum snapped and buttoned into her gown, Cora snatched a veil from the closet and pinned it to her head. Then raced down the stairs, put a record on the Victrola, and joined her mother in the grand salon.

“Come on down, Miss Crum.”

“I think I'm going to cry.” Mrs. Crum dabbed a wrinkled handkerchief under her eyes. “Look, isn't she beautiful?”

“She most certainly is.”

“Are you married, Miss Cora?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, look what awaits you. Maddie Mae, I declare Norbert's eyes are going to pop out of his head and roll down the altar.”

Cora observed the mother and daughter scene, letting them have their moment, sure as shooting convinced that Rufus
must
propose to her tonight. Their passion, rare and beautiful, only intensified with each meeting. Surely he could delay no longer.

And when he bent to one knee and asked for her hand, she would declare “Yes!” with every fiber of her being.

B
IRCH

A
t high noon, Birch sat on his buckboard, letting Uncle Sam graze, a heaping plate of food in his hand. Best food in the county. Made by the best cooks. Collard greens, butter beans, black-eyed peas, corn on the cob, cornbread, pickled eggs and beets. Roasted pork, beef, and chicken. Pies and cakes of every kind.

However, none of it appealed. Not even the demanding rumble of his stomach could rouse his taste buds or his desire to eat.

Instead, he chomped on the image of Cora in the arms of that big riverboat
billboard
, kissing him in broad daylight like she was some kind of nighttime floozy.

Her brazenness made him boil with anger—no,
disgust
—all the way back to the Scott homestead. So much so he plum near went straight home, foregoing the celebration, the food, the good company to sulk all alone.

But no! If she was so rude as to ignore him that-a-way, why let it spoil his celebration? He'd been looking forward to this picnic all year.

Who was he kidding? He looked forward to seeing Cora anytime he could clap eyes on her. He wanted to side with her in the three-legged race, hear her laugh in his ear, see how the sun caught the auburn shine in her chestnut hair.

All right. Be honest.
What he felt in his gut wasn't anger or disgust, but pure, sinful jealousy.

So if he went home, he'd be letting jealousy win. Letting his emotions take control, and Birch refused. If he learned anything from his pa, it was to control his emotions. Sit right down on them. Not let his heart rule his head.

If Cora preferred that river jockey, hats off to her. She'd not see Birch standing on the shore pining for her.

“Birch Good, what are you doing sitting out here all by your lonesome? Look at that, your plate is full.” Janice Pettrey leaned on his knee, gazing up at him from the ground, her perfume clogging his nostrils, her blonde hair bouncing over her shoulder. “I made my famous pecan pie.”

“You know how I love your pie. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

“Since when is Birch Good not hungry? Wanetta Cash, can you believe Birch has not yet cleaned his plate?”

“What's a matter, Birchy, something upset your tummy?” Wanetta stretched to tickle his belly but he batted her hand away.

“I told you not to call me Birchy.”

Wanetta hoisted up her skirt—showing the clip of her girdle holding on to her stocking—climbed up the wagon wheel, and plopped down on the buckboard. He glanced away, feeling his cheeks run red.

“Birch, come on, I was just having some fun with you. Janice, run round to the other side and hop up. Birch, slide my way, give her room.”

“You always this bossy?”

“Now, how long you known me? Since kindiegarden? I bossed you round then too. There, Janice, limber as a cat.”

Janice curled against Birch, but not because she didn't have enough room. The soft curve of her breast pressed his arm and his pulse snapped like a firecracker. He scooted a little closer to Wanetta, though that notion scared the what's-it out of him too.

“Who you going to sit with during the fireworks tonight?” Janice said.

“I reckon ole Uncle Sam here will need some comforting.” Birch pointed his fork at his mule. “He don't much like big noises.”

“Then Janice and I will keep you company,” Wanetta said.

As if he understood—and Birch believed he did—Uncle Sam raised his nose with a
hee-haw
, tossing his head, stamping his feet.

The girls laughed. “Uncle Sam, we're excited too.”

Birch peeked a gander at Janice. She was nothing like Wanetta. Pretty. Sweet. Petite figure. A teacher over at the elementary school. He liked her company. They had a good talk after Sunday-night Bible study once about the preeminence of Christ. He'd never heard such a thing until she started spouting her highbrow doctrinal understanding.

He chewed on their conversation for a month, searching the Scriptures, finding it to be true. Christ was righteous, excellent, and first in all things. He didn't bow to no one. Everyone bowed to Him. Yet He went on to die for the whole world anyway.

The girls were laughing about something and Birch dug into his dinner, suddenly a might hungry now that he had the good fortune to sit with two pretty ladies.

Not that he had a lot of experience with the fairer sex. Didn't have no sisters. Worked the farm after school since he was old enough to walk behind a plow. Farming was in his blood.

The only sport he played was football because Dad let him off his chores every fall. Which Coach appreciated.

“Birch is one of the toughest offensive tackles I've ever seen.”

But Birch adored the fairer sex, and maybe it was time to get on with selecting a wife.

The girls chatted and little by little drew him into the conversation, sharing town gossip, wondering who was next to jump the broom.

“I can't wait to have my turn at the wedding shop. I've been going by those front windows every Saturday since the cow jumped over the moon, just dreaming for my own day,” Janice said.

“Well, what gal hasn't?” Wanetta sat up straighter, fluffing the hem of her skirt. “My aunt Pam married when I was six, and even though she had a small wedding at my grandparents' home, she bought her dress and trousseau at the wedding shop. From Miss Jane. Mama took me with her once for a fitting and that was all she wrote. My daddy was on the hook for a fancy wedding dress and a trousseau.”

Birch chewed, glad his mouth was full of food. Otherwise he might just ask what they'd think of the shop if they knew Cora was making love with the riverboat captain right there in broad daylight.

“What do you think, Birch? You ever been to the wedding shop?”

“Janice, what business would Birch have at the wedding shop?” Wanetta waved her off, laughing softly.

“I've been.” He cleared his throat, reaching for a cold tin of water. “Helped Cora out a time or two.”

“See there, Wanetta. That's the kind of man he is.”

Birch still found talking to women a strange venture. Except when he was around Cora. It was like something broke inside. He became free, remembering all kinds of jokes and stories, wanting to talk about his life. He loved to listen to her, all the while longing to be her strong man. Yet she never saw it. And he never figured a way to make her see it.

“When are you going to settle down, Birch?” Janice held no reserve and marched right over his private ground.

“When I find the right girl.”
Or when she realizes I'm the right man.

“When you find the right girl?” Wanetta touched his chin, turning his face to hers. “Look around, Farmer Good. You got two of Heart's Bend's finest right here. Ready and willing.”

“Are you saying you're in love with me?” He guffawed. “That's a good one, Wanetta.”

“Fine. Maybe I'm not, but I'd like a chance to try. So would Janice.”

“Wanetta, please, leave him be.”

What could he say?
I've loved Cora Scott since she dunked me in the river when she was fourteen.
He'd been nineteen at the time, horsing around with her brother, EJ. Not knowing in a few years they'd be off to war.

Anyway, next thing he knew, Cora had him facedown in the current. He laughed about it now and it was his favorite memory of her. He knew her will and strength that day. Maybe that's why seeing her with the captain killed him on the inside. If Cora Scott decided for him, weren't nothing going to turn her back till she won him.

But he had to forget her. For now. “How about a piece of your famous pecan pie, Janice?”

He stood, ready to jump to the ground, when a blasting horn blew against him. He whipped around with a start, seeing a convertible Model T pull up, depositing Cora and the riverboat captain onto the Scotts' back lawn.

She stumbled out, laughing, her neat hair wild and mussed, coming free from the bobby pins. The captain caught her, his hand tight around her waist, riding high and intimate under her breast.

Birch stepped over the buckboard to the back of the wagon. “Everything all right, Cora?”

“Birch, where did you go?” Her eyes drifted from Birch to the women sitting with him. “Janice, Wanetta, what are you two doing?”

“Keeping Birch company while he eats his dinner.”

“I turned to look for you, Birch, but you'd gone.” Cora stepped toward them, her gaze on him, but Rufus held tight to her waist.

“Didn't seem to be needed no longer.” A sour swirl launched
in his belly and he wished he'd not eaten so much barbecue. “Anyway, the girls and I are going to watch the fireworks show together.”

“That's right, and I'm Uncle Sam's date.” Wanetta stretched forward to slap the mule's hindquarters. The old beast raised his head with a
hee-haw
and pawed the ground.

Janice's soft twitter tickled Birch and he couldn't help but join her laugh. And the joke. “She and Janice flipped for it. Janice lost. Got stuck with me.”

Wanetta laughed, popping her knee, and Cora broke into a slow, confused smile. “Funny.” Her gaze locked with Birch's, but he couldn't discern what she was saying behind those golden-hazel eyes.

“Nice to see you all, but Cora, darling, I'm starved.” The captain lifted her off the ground and her laugh resurrected the jealousy Birch thought he'd conquered.

“He's so handsome.” Janice sighed as Cora walked away with her man.

“What?” Birch sat down hard down on the buckboard. “That slimeball riverboat captain?”

“Jealous, Birch?” Wanetta said, nudging him with her elbow.

He shoved her away. “No.”

“Yeah, well, I see the way you look at her every Sunday, and if you ask me, she's perfect for that
slimeball
, doing you the way she does, ignoring how you feel.”

Birch peeked at his bossy friend, their eyes meeting on the plane of understanding and truth. “Well, it's hard to fight a riverboat Douglas Fairbanks.”

“You can do better. Look, you have the two of us.”

“Yeah,” Birch said. “But one of you is dating my mule.”

H
ALEY

January 15

Friday morning Haley got a call from Linus Peabody, asking her to meet him at the city manager's office at ten o'clock.

She headed over on her Harley, the wind cutting through her winter gear like a knife through butter. Riding the bike had always been a good way to clear her head after a fight with Dax. Or some other disappointment.

Like when she left the air force. The bike became her companion, her anchor, when she drove to visit friends in Texas, then on to Florida.

But now that she was home in Heart's Bend, in the dead of winter, the bike felt more like an albatross. A reminder of her foolishness.

“Haley, come on in.” Linus opened the door before she could knock. “Thanks for coming my way. I have several meetings I can't get out of, and I thought you'd want to hear our decision.”

She inched toward his desk, waiting, her heart pulsing.

“Well, young lady, congratulations, you're the owner of 143 First Avenue.” Linus dangled a set of keys from his hand. “These were the ones Keith Niven had, and be warned they're the only set.”

Haley reached for the keys, smiling. “You're giving me the shop? I mean, really giving me the shop? What's the catch?”

“Yes, we're giving you the shop. Frankly, I wanted to side with Akron, but the others wanted to side with you. I got an earful from my favorite aunt about this business too. She bought her trousseau from Miss Cora and is adamant the tradition should go on for the young women of Heart's Bend if someone is willing to reopen the old place.”

“I can't believe it . . .” Haley tightened her fist around the keys,
pressing the hard metal into her palm. “I-I won't let you down.” By the grace of God she wouldn't. “Do I have to sign something?”