The Wedding Shop (17 page)

H
ALEY

W
hen she wanted something from her parents, she hovered. Haley couldn't remember exactly when this habit started, but for most of her life it had worked, more or less.

The parents were big readers. Instead of watching the eighty-ninth season of
Survivor
or
CSI Dubuque
, they actually read books. Dad read naval novels; Mom, medical journals, how-tos, and memoirs.

“What is it, Haley?” Mom didn't even bother to look up.

She'd been leaning against the wall of their den, tucking her hands in her jeans pockets, commenting every once in a while how much she loved the plush leather reading chairs.

“I need to talk to you.” She bolted in, sitting on the edge of the matching leather sofa, the tip of her boots disturbing the golden angle of Dad's reading lamp.

Mom removed her reading glasses and closed her book, keeping her place with her thumb. “Is this about the shop?”

“Yes. Look, I know y'all—”

Dad held up his finger. “Hold on, Hal, let me finish this paragraph.” He could never stop reading in the middle of a sentence. “Okay, now, what is it?” He set his book on the end table and leaned forward, arms on his thighs, his focus on Haley.

“I need money.”

“I knew it.” Mom slapped the wide wooden arm of her chair.
“What did I tell you, David? There's no way Haley can renovate that shop without help.”

“Did you talk to the bank?” Dad said.

Haley nodded. “This afternoon. They are happy for me to have the shop. They are not happy to give me a loan. I have no collateral.” She glanced from one parent to the next. “You two could cosign for me.”

“Nope, we did that with Aaron and we'll never do it again.” Mom lived by the rules she set. Dad claimed it was her way of feeling secure. She was fifteen when her father died, and it was the rules and the boundaries her mother set that helped her feel safe.

“I'm not Aaron.” Oldest brother Aaron asked the folks to cosign on a sprawling place in north Atlanta five or so years ago. But his wife wanted a bigger house, and after that Haley only knew about some kerfuffle over money and being upside down and defaulting. Brother Seth said the tension was pretty thick for over a year. Haley missed the fun by being in Afghanistan and California. “I have twenty thousand from the city as well as some of my own money. Ten grand. I've earmarked that to get the business going. Website, advertising, inventory, blah, blah.” Haley leaned forward. “Cole Danner's going to be my foreman.”

“Cole?” Mom said. “How can you trust him after what his father did?”

“Joann, come on.” Daddy's rebuke was subtle but unmistakable. “Cole's a good contractor. A good man.”

“I agree. Don't blame him for what his dad did, Mom. Look at his mother, Tina. She's running Ella's like a well-oiled machine.”

“Then maybe ask her for a loan.”

“Right. ‘Hey, Tina, my wealthy parents can't see their way to give me a loan so they sent me to ask you.' ” Sarcasm rarely worked on Mom, but Haley employed it anyway. “You know I'll pay you back.”

“How much do you need?” Daddy, the engineer of the family, always asked for the details and facts.

“Eighty grand.”

“Eighty grand!” Mom fired out of her chair. “David, don't even think about it. No.”

“Why not?” Haley stood, arms wide. “Look at this place. You have a beautiful home, nice cars, a pool, a maid and lawn crew, a country club membership. You go to Hawaii or Europe every other year. You're successful people. I know you have money in the bank. I'm your daughter. Why can't I have a loan?
Loan
. I'm not asking for a freebie.”

The three of them stood in a triangle of silence. Cold, stone silence. Daddy jiggled the change in his pocket while studying his old, worn slippers. Mom stared at the loaded built-in bookshelves, her hands resting on the back of her hips.

“Okay, well, thanks.” Haley started for the door. Weirdness from the parents wasn't unusual. They were kind and thoughtful, loving, but lived by an unusual set of ideals. Dad said it went back to Mom's teen years, but Haley figured Mom got it naturally, born in her genes. She paused at the door. “Is this about grad school?”

“No.” Daddy's clipped response raised more questions.

“Then what?”

“Joann, you want to field this?”

Haley waited, her pulse deep and steady in her ears. “Mom, is something wrong? Is it your practice? Are you sick or something?”

“I'm not sick. And it's not my practice.”

“But you just don't want to help your only daughter with the shop.” Haley stated it plain, leaving no room for doubt, pulling her “only daughter” card. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Mom faced her. “I do not want you opening the old wedding shop. Let them raze it to the ground and put up the stupid parking lot. Akron wants to bring a lot of business to Heart's Bend, Haley. That wedding shop is only going to service a small portion of the population. You'll employ, what, one or two people? Akron will employ hundreds.”

“You're more concerned about Heart's Bend's economy than your daughter's personal venture?”

“Of course not. But I
am
concerned that a wedding shop doesn't make sense. This is not 1890 or 1930 when women dress up to go into town to buy a slab of beef or a pair of stockings. Brides order online today. They go to Atlanta or New York for gowns. No one buys a trousseau anymore. How are you going to make it work? Huh, tell me?”

“I'll make it work. I have a plan. The wedding market is a billion-dollar industry.” Haley glanced back and forth between her parents. Something was up. Mom's opposition wasn't about Haley. Or the shop. “Are you two in with Akron?”

“No, we're not in business with Akron,” Daddy said.

“But you agree the corner of Blossom and First needs to be a big parking lot? Makes no sense. Daddy, you're on the Downtown Restoration committee. You supported me at the town council meeting. Mom, you used to be on the board of the Historical Society.”

“Joann, tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

“There's nothing to tell.” Mom disappeared from the room, leaving Haley surfing a wave of confusion.

“Daddy, help me out here.”

“Hal, I'll support you any way I can, but that's my wife who just left the room and I have to be on her side. Can you understand?”

“Why is there a side, Dad? I'm not
against
her.”

“I know. I know. But she's got something on her heart that bothers her and this shop just pokes at it.” Dad gave her a gentle shoulder squeeze. “Buck up. She'll tell you when she's ready. I've been telling her it's time.”

“Tell me what? What does the wedding shop have to do with Mom?”

“That's her story.” Daddy leaned to see down the hall.
“Sometimes the things that hurt us don't make sense, but they hurt all the same. Your mom is a stellar woman. A rock. Raised you kids while starting her career, then her clinic.” Dad wagged his finger in the air. “But she's got a pain deep in her craw she doesn't talk about. It shadows her decisions sometimes.”

“I'm only asking for a loan, Daddy. Me, your daughter.”

“I know, kiddo, and I'd give it to you in a heartbeat if this thing didn't touch a deep chord with your mother.”

“Then tell me. What is it?”

“It's not for me to say.” Daddy kissed her forehead. “As for your shop, I remember a young woman of faith in this house who took her brothers' teasing without so much as batting an eye when she came home from a church camp with Tammy saying she'd met Jesus. Trust in your prayers and your God. If it's meant to be, the money will come.”

Haley leaned against the doorframe. For a man who didn't see the need for God or faith in his life, who only attended church on Christmas and Easter, Daddy spoke an awful lot of truth.

“To be honest, Daddy, I'm not sure where my faith got off to the last few years.”

“Then hunt it down. Bring it back. And don't let it go.”

C
ORA

July 1931

THE WEDDING SHOP PROVIDING FOR BRIDES FACED WITH HARD TIMES

BY HATTIE LERNER

Brides from all over Heart's Bend and Cheatum County are swarming The Wedding Shop this summer as Cora Scott, owner and operator, extends a helping hand to those unable to afford a wedding gown or trousseau.

How does she do it? this reporter asked.

“We take donations,” Scott said. “If any woman has a dress she no longer wears, or a wedding gown not intended for a daughter or niece, consider donating it to our shop. We remake them for brides in need. We sincerely want every bride to feel special and beautiful on her big day.”

Scott went on to say she and her assistant, Mrs. Odelia Darnell, and her mother, Mrs. Esmé Scott, wife of former banker Ernest Scott, will serve any bride who comes to them, cash in hand or not.

She just had to mention Ernie, didn't she?” Mama moved from hovering over Cora's shoulder, reading out loud even though Cora was perfectly capable of reading the article on her own.

She was beginning to understand more and more why grown children needed their own homes. Or apartments.

“When she wrote about me running down First like a mad woman, you said it was good for business.”

“What do I know?”

In the third-floor alcove, Mama fried eggs on the stove, slamming the cast iron against the burners.

“Really, it just gets my insides. She knows how humiliated I am, we are—”

“Leave it be, Mama. Aren't we doing well?”

Mama had turned the apartment into a lovely home, finding beautiful secondhand pieces of furniture and a rather rich-looking chandelier from an abandoned home near Nashville.

“I suppose we are.” Mama joined Cora at the table, diving into her breakfast.

Cora set the paper aside. “Shall we say grace?”

Mama raised her gaze as she bit into her toast. “Grace? Thanking the Lord for taking everything away from us?”

“Yes.” Cora reached for her mother's hand, but she withdrew, curling her hand against her plate. Mercy, when did they switch roles? Cora was the mama and Mama was the errant child. “Weren't you the one who taught me ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away'? Look at all we have despite the bank's closing.”

“Say your prayers, then. Be quick about it. I hate cold eggs.”

Cora could endure Daddy leaving and Mama growing bitter. But she refused to leave her faith. What other hope did she have if not in the Almighty?

When Cora said amen, Mama squeezed her hand. “You keep believing for us both, won't you?”

These weak moments were rare, but occasionally Mama cracked and Cora saw the goo of her wounded soul.

“Always, Mama.”

By the kindness of Birch, Mama planted a garden at his farm, though this first year it wasn't near the size she plowed up at the homestead. Nevertheless, the crops she planted were yielding well. She also started raising chickens, half for fryers and the other half for eggs.

To preserve gas, Mama rode her bike six miles six days a week to care for her garden and feed the chickens. On Sundays, Birch threw the chicken scratch to give her a day off. Cora slipped off to church while Mama slept in.

Daddy had been gone seven months now. And his last letter was four months ago. Even Rufus wrote more frequently. He even visited in March for three days. It was heavenly. What fun they had taking walks down by the river and going to the pictures.

His latest letter rested under Cora's pillow. She read it nightly as she fell asleep.

My darling Cora, I think of you so much my mind hurts. But what lovely thoughts . . .

“Cora.” Odelia marched into the apartment without knocking. “Avril Kreyling is out on the front steps. Says she wants to talk to you.” Odelia held up a tin of something delicious smelling. “I brought in my cinnamon rolls.”

“Good. I was needing a new paperweight,” Mama said, stabbing at her eggs.

“You're one to talk, Esmé. I've tasted your pecan pie.”

Odelia sat down, joining them at the small table that had once been on the front porch of the old house, reached for a knife, and opened her tin of rolls. “I tried to get Avril up here but she was glued to the front steps.”

“Well, what does she want?” Cora set aside her napkin. Avril
was a bride of Aunt Jane's back in 1919 or 1920. A friend of Cora's from high school and a mama of three little ones.

“Could hardly get a word out of her. Esmé, these cinnamon rolls are fluffy as a feather. Look at this.” She dropped one onto Mama's plate.

“Odelia, careful, you'll crack my good china.”

“I'm going to check on Avril. You two . . .” Cora motioned between Mama and Odelia. “Behave yourselves. If I find bloodshed when I come back up, I'm not calling the doc.”

Their laughter followed her down the steps and across the mezzanine.

In the foyer, Cora unlocked the door, swinging it wide, letting in a flood of July light.

“Avril?” She stepped out, joining the woman on the stoop. The early morning was crisp and beautiful, the brightness soaking the breeze-laden trees. “Are you all right?”

Avril cast her a sideways glance, her arms folded over her knees, her lean hands gripping her elbows.

She was thin, and a small section of her sleeve had ripped away from her housedress. Faded stains dotted her once white apron, and her toe nearly peeked out of the scuffed toe of her brown shoes.

“We had big plans, Billy and me. Oh boy, we were going to take on the world.”

“I remember. The two of you were really going places.”

“He was so handsome. Charming. Swept me off my feet.” Avril peered at Cora, her eyes sad pools of mud in a dry, sunken earth. “Do you remember, Cora? All the girls wanted to go with him, but he chose me. Me, Avril Falk.”

“I do remember. He was everything you say. But none of the girls stood a chance. He was head over heels for you.”

“But now look at me.” She rubbed at a stain on her hand, pulling her skin tight. “I'm old before my time. I'm only thirty, but I
have lines and wrinkles on my face. I move like a fifty-year-old.” She pressed her hand against her unkempt, dry hair. “Ain't been to the beauty parlor in two years. None of my clothes fit.” She pulled at the loose waist of her dress.

“Avril, where's Billy?”

“Gone. Took all the money and nearly all our food. Everything I put up last summer.” She retrieved a note from her pocket and handed it to Cora. “He left this.”

Cora hesitated, her hand trembling, the buried sensation of when Daddy left rising to her skin. “I know how you feel, Avril, but he'll be back.”

“I know you know. That's one of the reasons I'm here.”

Cora glanced at Billy's elongated, even handwriting, smooth, nothing like what she imagined for a farmer.

I can't take it. I'm sorry, Avril. I'm sorry.

“He can't take it. Well, what am I supposed to do? Tell me that, Billy boy?” Avril brushed her weathered hand against her wet cheeks, then reached for the note as Cora handed it back, her fingernails broken and dirty. “You're sorry but you take all the money. Take precious jars of food, vegetables, and fruit that were supposed to feed our family. I got three kids at home, Cora, and no money. Who does he think is going to feed them?”

“Avril, what drove him away?” Cora kept busy with the shop but knew banks foreclosed on homes, businesses, and farms weekly.

“The bank took our land but said if Billy agreed to farm it, they'd pay him. Slave wages, I tell you. Pennies on the dollar for backbreaking work.” She steadied herself with a tight grip on Cora's arm, her thin, pale fingers trembling. “I thought he'd come home . . . I thought he'd come home.”

“How long's he been gone?”

“Spring. First of. I tried to go ahead with the planting, but even with the eight-year-old helping me, I can't get it done. My dear Willie thinks he's got to be the man now. You should see him, getting up
before the rooster crows, hitching up the plow to old Brutus, doing the chores, then coming in and making coffee while I tend the littler ones. My eight-year-old son, doin' a man's work 'cause his daddy can't take it.” Avril balled her hands into fists, shaking, shimmying, clenching her jaw. “It ain't right, Cora. It ain't right. He should be in school, learning, running round, playing baseball.”

“You're right. He should. Hard times are no respecter of age.”

Avril tapped her thumb to her chest. “But I am. I know what it's like to lose your childhood to work. My mama worked in a factory when she was ten years old, down in Birmingham.” Avril held up her hand, with the first two fingers bent. “Lost two fingers and they put her back on the line the next day. My daddy sent me to the factory when I was ten. Without my mama knowing.”

“Avril, really. I never heard this before.”

A smile of remembrance tugged on her lips. “She marched into that place, dragged me off the line, and gave the owner a string of words that'd peel paint from a wall. That night my folks had a blow out. Mama said if he ever sent me to the factory again, she'd kill him. Six months later he got a job at the feed plant up here and we moved to Heart's Bend. Life was good after that. I got to be a normal girl. Met Billy. Got hitched. I never imagined I'd be faced with seeing my children go hungry, Cora. Never in all my born days.”

Cora slipped her arm around Avril's shoulders but she remained stiff and unmoved. “Would you like to come in for some coffee? Mama will make you some eggs. Odelia brought in her cinnamon rolls.”

Avril shook her head. “Am I so hard up as to eat Odelia's rolls?” A slight laugh gurgled in her chest. “Daddy broke his tooth on one during a potluck dinner a few years back. Dern things are like rocks.”

“Well, Mama makes a mean batch of scrambled eggs. We have toast and coffee too.”

Avril sobered. “I can't eat eggs when the children had dry toast
for breakfast.” She glanced back at her. “How long has your daddy been gone?”

Cora withdrew her hand, folding her arms about her waist and leaning forward, eyes fixed toward the Cumberland and the port where Rufus would return one day soon. “Seven months.”

“Does he write or call?”

“He used to write but it's been awhile.”

“A bank president and a farmer . . . who'd have thought? Men who went to war yet neither one cut out for hard times.”

“Billy loves you, Avril. He'll return. Daddy left twice before. Came back both times.”

“Oh, Cora, what times do we live in? Men abandoning their families with not two nickels to rub together. Banks closing. Crops failing. Drought.” A fresh wash of tears struck her cheek. “I been holding in my tears 'cause there ain't nothing worse than a crying mama. Can't even cry into my pillow at night because I'm afraid they might hear me.”

“Avril, let me give you some of our stores. Mama has a decent garden out at the Good farm.”

Her soft smile was small. “I can still taste her blueberry pie at the county fair. She always did have a lovely garden, your mama.”

“Then you must take home some of her preserves.”

“I didn't come here looking for a handout, Cora. Or seeking pity.”

“Then why did you come? How can I help you?”

“I just . . .” Her lower lip quivered, erasing her words. She breathed in, then out, batting away her tears. “I just wanted to remember the happiest time of my life, save for my kids being born. Wanted to go to a place where all my dreams were possible. When I was young and beautiful, and so in love with Billy. Your shop, Cora, your wedding shop was about the happiest I've ever been.” Avril leaned forward, wiping her nose on the edge of her apron. “The war was over, our boys were home, and finally, Billy and I could start our life. I loved every moment I spent in this shop.
Every moment planning my wedding. There was so much joy. I laughed and laughed.” Her voice faded to melancholy as she added, “I can't remember the last time I laughed.”