The Wedding Shop (19 page)

“None worse for the wear, I see. The shop's bones are still here. Strong bones.”

Haley leaned toward her. “Did you get your wedding trousseau at this shop?”

“Indeed I did.” She nodded, a dreamy quality in her voice. “Back in the day, the large room there was called the grand salon.” The woman pointed ahead of her, then behind. “That there was the small salon.”

“That's what I've been calling them,” Haley said, smiling at the woman, feeling the smallest ping of confirmation. Her sixth-grade research was coming to bear.

The woman sighed, resting her hands on her lap. “This is good. So very good. You're the one to be here. You're the one.”

“I'm the one? W-what do you mean?”

“Let's see, the brides would come down the stairs wearing their beautiful wedding gown for their mothers and grandmothers to see, and all the women kinfolk and friends.” The woman pointed to the stairs, moving on with her story. “Everyone would ooh and aah. It was such a
thrilling
moment.”

Haley peeked up the stairs toward the mezzanine, envisioning bride after bride in her wedding gown descending the stairs. “It must have been beautiful.” She faced the woman. “How can I help you, Mrs.—”

“Peabody. Lillian Peabody.” She motioned to the door. “My daughter-in-law left a suitcase on the porch. Young man, can you get it?”

Cole jumped up, easily lifting the vintage case and setting it at Mrs. Peabody's feet. He made a face at Haley.

What's this about?

I don't know.

“Peabody? Are you any relation to Linus Peabody?”

“He's my nephew. Now, don't let him go giving you a hard time.” Mrs. Peabody motioned for Cole to unlock her bag. “My mother married in 1934. Her folks lost everything when the banks failed. She had a job as a teacher, but turned over most of her salary to support the family. When harder times hit, the women teachers lost their positions so the men could stay on, supporting their families. Anyway, when my father proposed, my mother had it in her head to have a church wedding. Well, her daddy couldn't afford a church wedding with a proper wedding dress, flowers, and cake. My grandmother insisted my mother put aside her foolishness, put on her Sunday dress, and get married by the preacher in the farmhouse parlor.”

“Something tells me she refused,” Haley said.

“So you knew my mother, then?” Mrs. Peabody laughed softly, giving Haley a slow wink. “ ‘My Sunday dress?' says my mother. ‘I wear that rag every week. Everyone's seen me in it a hundred times. I'm not getting married in a faded blue print dress.' ”

“I don't blame her.”

“My father offered to buy her a dress, but my grandfather wouldn't hear of it. Even though he was barely feeding the family, he was a proud man. So my mother set about figuring a way to get her a wedding dress.”

“So she came here? To the shop?”

“You're a bright girl. Don't let this one go, young man.”

“Oh, we're not—”

“We're friends. We're just friends.”

“Friends make the best lovers. Now, where was I?”

Haley bit back her laugh. Racy Mrs. Peabody!

Mrs. Peabody tapped the box with her cane. “The dress my mother wore is inside. And I'm returning it.”

“Returning it?” Haley resisted the urge to glance at Cole every
time Mrs. Peabody amused her. “I don't understand. Why would you return it?”

“My mother never could come up with the money to buy a dress. She scrimped and saved for a few months, but Daddy wasn't willing to put off their wedding much longer. So my grandmother went to Miss Cora asking her to
lend
Mama a wedding gown.” Mrs. Peabody gazed off into the distance. “Mama never returned it. I think there was some ill will between the two of them, Miss Cora and Mama.”

“Maybe Miss Cora gave it to her,” Cole said.

“No, it was a loan. I remember hearing my grandmother talk of it. When I was a girl, if the family had a wedding to attend, Granny would say, ‘Janice, did you
ever
return that gown to Cora?' And Mama always answered with a curt, ‘No.' When I got married I asked her about the dress . . . Worst thing I ever said to my mother. Shew wee. So I bought a new gown. Right here in this shop. Daddy insisted, but Mama never came around with me when I tried it on. Said she trusted me.”

“Sounds like she and Miss Cora had a falling out.”

“If they did, she never spoke of it. Right before she died, we were going through her things, and don't you know? I found her dress. The one Miss Cora loaned her. ‘Mama, your dress! I thought it was lost.' ” Mrs. Peabody captured Haley with her storytelling. “Mama's eyes watered, and she shook her head. ‘I did Cora wrong. I should've returned her dress. I stole it from her.' ” Mrs. Peabody tapped the suitcase with her cane. “I made up my mind that if the shop ever opened again, I'd bring the dress back around, leave it here for another bride. Maybe she'd have some happy memories with it.”

Haley raised the lid to find a beautiful dress with a V-neckline and a high pleated collar in the back nestled in a lining of gold satin. The skirt was plain but long. Haley raised it from the case.

“Mrs. Peabody, it's beautiful.”

“It's a bit yellow and needs a good cleaning, but I think the gals today like older clothes. Vintage, I think they call it.”

“Vintage is all the rage.”

Under the dress was a tarnished silver tiara with a small row of sparkling jewels.

“Mrs. Peabody, you don't have to return this. Cora's been dead a long time. The shop's been closed for over thirty years.” But Haley could see the older woman's pride in her eyes. She could feel it. “I don't have any money to pay for it right now anyway.”

“I didn't come to get money from you, Haley.” Mrs. Peabody reached in her pocketbook and passed Haley a white envelope. “It's not much, but that should cover the interest on the price of a gown. In 1934, a dress like Mama's cost a whopping three hundred dollars. Can you imagine?”

Haley immediately offered the envelope back. “Mrs. Peabody, I can't take your money. Especially if you're returning the gown. It wasn't even my shop when your mother was here. And it didn't belong to anyone in my family or in any of my friends' families. I'm not even related to the Scotts.”

“Then consider it for the shop.” The woman shoved the envelope toward Haley. “Consider my money as an investment. I'm giving back the dress Mama stole, and I want to make it right.”

Haley peeked in the envelope. “Five thousand dollars. Mrs. Peabody, really, I can't take this.”

“Please, darling. My Gilbert did all right. I don't know your plans for the place, but it looks to need some work. Are you rich? Don't you need some money?” Mrs. Peabody tapped her hand to her heart. “I felt right here that I was to bring you the dress and this money. Like I said, Gil did all right. We put a good bit by. On behalf of my mother, the Peabody and Cook family debt is settled.”

Haley peered back at Cole, a wash of tears in her eyes.
What do I do?
If this happened on her watch in the air force, she'd know
what to do. Follow regulations. But now she was out in life on her own, figuring the regulations out as she went.

“I found these and thought you'd like them.” She reached into her bag again, retrieving two photographs, passing them to Haley. “I had sons, and their wives are more interested in their own mothers' wedding gowns than mine.” The old bride, a shop alumnus, tapped the picture on the right over two photographs. “This is me in my dress. Miss Cora helped me pick it out in 1955.”

A much younger version of Mrs. Peabody stared back at Haley from the world of black and white. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, showing her slender neck. The off-the-shoulder bodice was made of lace and sat atop a wide tulle skirt.

“Mrs. Peabody, what a beauty.”

“Me or the dress? I tell you, the dress stole the show.”

“Where is your dress now?”

“Gil and I moved a good bit in our younger years, and somewhere along the way it was lost. Breaks my heart to think of it. I'd bring it here if I still had it.”

“I'd love to hear more about Miss Cora.” Haley handed the pictures to Cole, who stored them in the suitcase with the gown. “From people who actually knew her.”

“Well, plenty of folks in town knew her. She was something. A handsome woman. Tall, thin-boned. Not especially pretty on the outside but a beauty in her heart.”

“Did you know her parents? Or her husband?”

“Saw her mama around town and her husband, heard stories—you know how townsfolk do—about her being in love with a riverboat captain. Quite the tale. How she and her mother lived up top the shop in the thirties after all the banks closed.”

“Here? They lived here?”

Mrs. Peabody squinted at a muted memory. “My memory ain't what it used to be, but seems I heard her father done like
my
father-in-law when hard times hit—bugged out on the family. Mr. Scott
ran a bank, which was caught up with a chain that closed. They lost everything. The whole town was affected when Heart's Bend Mutual closed.”

“Did he ever return?” This part of Cora's story was new to Haley.

“Not to my recollection. Now, my father-in-law wised up and skedaddled on back home.” She laughed, pressing her slender, age-formed fingers to her lips. “My husband was born nine months later. No, now wait. I think Mr. Scott died during the Depression years. Least that's what Mrs. Scott said. But there were whispers. Something about a divorce. No one ever saw Mr. Scott again, but he's got a headstone in the churchyard. We didn't see much of the Scotts. Just in church now and then.”

The front door opened and a regal-looking blonde in a dress with heels peeked in. “You ready?”

“Haley, my daughter-in-law, Beatriz. Beatriz, this is Haley. She's bringing back the wedding shop.” Mrs. Peabody moved toward her daughter-in-law with the aid of her cane. “Haley, it was a pleasure.”

“No, Mrs. Peabody, the pleasure was all mine. Please come again.” Haley aided the woman to the door, then tried to give the check to the daughter-in-law. “She gave me money but—”

“Then you should take it. We've not seen her this excited about something in a long time. I think Linus let you have the shop just to make her happy.” Beatriz folded her hand over Haley's. “Take it. Keep it. Use it to open the shop. I don't understand, but the old place means a lot to her.”

Haley closed the door behind her surprise guest, a swirl in her chest, the push-pull of opposing emotions. With the check from Mrs. Peabody, Haley understood opening this shop was no longer her idea. It was about more than fulfilling a childhood pledge.

God was in this. And He'd made Himself known.

“Well, there's your first bottle of oil, Haley.” Cole reached for
the check, then handed it back to Haley. “That gut sense you have just might be right. And . . .” He picked up the pictures. “I have an idea for these.”

“I'm shaking.” Haley sat next to him, absorbing what happened in her heart, in her thoughts, through her skin.

“Over pictures? I was just going to frame them. Make a pictorial history. I bet we'll find more. Maybe if we can get that locked room opened.”

“Goofball. I mean over this money.”

He bumped her with his shoulder, grinning, locking up the suitcase, setting it beside the staircase. “Yeah, I know. Pretty amazing.”

“I said I'd have faith for it and wham, some lady walks in and gives me five thousand dollars. Who does that?”

“Who knows? But I've always heard when you're doing God's will, all kinds of crazy things can happen.”

“Is that it, Cole? Am I doing God's will?” Haley reached for his shoulder, turning him to face her. “When I think of my past, I feel like the least likely candidate to be blessed by God.”

“You and every other sinner in the world.” Cole regarded her for a moment, a slow smile tipping his lips, his shoulder slightly touching hers. “Want to pull more nails out of the floor?” He offered his hammer.

She laughed, reaching for the well-used tool. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

He grinned. “Thanks. I like to think it's my superpower.”

C
OLE

A
fresh snow whitened Heart's Bend Wednesday morning as Cole and Gomez, along with Haley and the crew, finished cleaning up the shop from the demo. Now all they had to do was wait for the permits.

He'd run into political red tape for permits before, and he hoped this project wouldn't fall between the cracks at the Department of Codes & Building Safety.

Was it too good to be true that the council gave Haley the shop so easily while Akron barked on their heels?

He'd keep an eye out. In the meantime, he called on a couple of the bids he put in before Christmas. But everyone said, “We're holding.”

Yeah, the winter was slow but this was ridiculous. No one wanted to pull the trigger on new projects?

Standing on the front steps of the shop, he stared toward the freshly plowed streets. He had a whole day ahead with nothing to do.

Cole waited for the rise of anxiety, the shiver of panic, but instead, a warm it's-gonna-be-all-right wrapped him up.

The shop door closed behind him and Haley came out, zipping up her jacket, taking her gloves from her pocket. “I hate waiting.”

“I'm president of that club.” He roped his arm around her shoulders, purely in a brotherly fashion, and gave her a squeeze.
But touching her made his heart hammer in his chest. “Want to be my vice president?”

“I don't know. How much work is involved?”

“Ah, not much. A little worry here, a little worry there, a sleepless night or two.”

Haley laughed and he peeked sideways at her. She'd always fascinated him, the pretty little sister of his friend Seth. The baby girl in a family of boys. She grew up rough and tumble but she looked like a china doll. Petite, but with wide eyes and full lips cast in her delicate features.

“What?”

He'd stared too long. Cole shook his head, stepping off the porch. “Nothing.”

“Do I have something on my face? You looked like I might have something on my face.” She followed him, wiping her hands under her eyes, across her cheeks, and down to her chin.

“No, your face is fine.”
Beautiful.

Cole made a beeline for his truck. What was this sensation? Wanting to stare at her, touch her, think about her. For crying out loud, she was Tammy's best friend.

Tammy's not here.

At the truck he pulled his keys from his pocket, an idea rising. “Hopefully we'll get the permits next week.”

“We better. It's already the middle of January and the town council's clock starts ticking in a couple of weeks.”

“If they take too much longer we can ask for an extension.”

“We can, but I get the feeling Linus Peabody won't budge. Not with Akron willing to pay so much for the land.”

“So what are you up to the rest of the day?” Cole said, his idea solidifying.

“I have no idea. I wanted to head down to Birmingham to see Charlotte Rose, but she's out of town. I've been working on design ideas for the shop. I want to capture some feel of yesteryear. How
the world might have looked in Miss Cora's day. Give it that twenties and thirties feel.”

“Hollywood regency?”

“Right. You remembered.”

“So, you want to go shopping? I know some antique malls . . .”

She shook her head. “Not until I have the money. It will only depress me if I find something I can't buy.”

“Credit card?”

“No can do.” She glanced away, down the avenue, shaking her head. Cole knew that move. One born of regret. Of wishing for wiser times. “I'm using my own money to get the website going, buying inventory. The furniture I want might have to wait. Cole?”

“Haley?”

“Am I crazy for wanting to do this?”

Cole leaned against the passenger side door of his truck. “Why would anyone be crazy for pursuing a dream?”

“Because it's a dumb dream? I know you don't want me to mention Tammy, but—”

“It's okay.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “She never really mentioned the shop to you?”

“No, she didn't. But—”

“But what? If she changed her mind I look all the more foolish.”

“Maybe you look brave. And devoted.” He searched for a word to match the feeling in his chest. “How many people would pursue something like this out of devotion to a friend? To a pinky promise?”

Haley tugged on her gloves. “When I got out of the air force I was pretty lost, banged up from a relationship. Tammy had just died . . .” The wind pushed her hair back from her face. “So I sold everything, hopped on my bike, and drove across the southwest, trying to clear my head and heart.”

She paused and he waited, resisting the urge to fill the space with some trite comment.

“I'd just crossed the Texas line on my way to visit friends when I heard ‘Go home' rattle across my mind. I knew it was God, but I resisted at first. Because going home meant living with the parents. At least in the beginning.”

“What changed your mind?”

Her laugh was low with resolve. “My heart knew it was right. And I actually didn't know what else to do. It's getting cold.” She smiled at Cole, walking backward toward her bike. “Check you later?”

Cole walked with her, working up the nerve to deploy his idea. “What are you doing today?”

Ever since she'd whispered, “
But I want you
,” in his ear that morning at the diner, a small flame ignited in his soul, catching him off guard. But it was waking up desires he'd buried long before Tammy died. It was making him
want
her.

Don't get mixed up over pleasure and business.
She wanted a contractor, not a boyfriend.

“Research, I guess. Call around about inventory. Which I hate because I'm not really sure what I'm doing yet. I sound stupid to the designers.”

“So how about doing something fun?”

She regarded him with a narrow gaze. “Define fun.”

He laughed. “Oh no, you have to trust me on this. Are you game or not?”

Seeing her inner debate in her expression, he was pretty sure she'd say yes. If memory served, she wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

“Game. Let's go.” She shook her head, making her way toward her Harley. “You hit my Achilles heel.”

“My place. Follow me. I live down River Road.”

At the house, she parked her bike in the shade of his detached garage. Removing her helmet, she followed him as he opened the bay doors and scanned the property.

“I love this place. Wasn't this the old Good farm?”

“Yep. A distant cousin inherited the place, second cousin once removed or something, and he parceled up the land and sold it. However, he wanted the house and six acres to stay together.” Cole grinned back at her. “I was in the right place at the right time. He gave me a great deal.”

“Wow, that's weird.” She followed him into the garage. “I'm getting the wedding shop and you have the Good farm. Spooky.” She paused, hands on her hips. “So what are we doing here? Please don't tell me we're going to clean your garage.”

“Spooky?” He made a face. “What's spooky about me getting the farm and you the shop? And yes, ta-da, we're going to clean out my garage.” He swept his arm toward an immaculate, pristine space.

“Ha! If I'd had men like you in my unit . . .
Sigh
. It would've been glorious.” She stood in the doorway, her slight frame haloed in the midmorning sunlight glinting off the snow.

She was gorgeous. He'd not allowed himself to see how much so before now. Nor since fifth grade when she socked him.

But as Tammy's BFF and little sister of his friend Seth, Haley had always been off-limits. Until now.

“Yeah, it's spooky. You bought the Good farm. Now I'm buying the wedding shop.” She laced her fingers together, demonstrating some kind of point. “Those two places are intertwined. Birch and Miss Cora. Me and . . . you . . .” Her voice trailed off and she diverted her attention to his workbench. “Seriously, you're a freak, Danner. This place is spotless. Every tool is in place.”

“Makes them easier to find.” Birch Good and Miss Cora? He'd forgotten they had a story. It wasn't anything to pay attention to, was it? He heard bits from the second cousin when he signed the final papers but . . .

His heart ran hot under his churning thoughts, sensing some kind of cosmic connection neither one of them planned. Glancing toward Haley, he didn't know how to form his feeling into words,
so he shook the sensation to the ground and moved to the storage closets.

Unlocking the doors, he reached inside and tossed Haley a flak jacket and a pair of goggles. “Heads up.”

She caught the bundled gear with one hand. “What's this?”

“Paintball.” Cole handed her a Tiberius T9.

“Paintball?”

She stared at the gear, her expression sober, and for a moment he wondered if he'd treaded over a wartime memory she wanted to forget.

“Look, Haley, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking . . . I don't know how Bagram went for you . . .”

She glanced up. “Sorry?” Her grin waxed his heart. “Dude, let's do this.”

Shoving her way into his storage closet, she chose her own gear—an old fleece of Cole's and a pair of his brother's camo pants—which were too big for her small frame, but she hitched them up by tying scarves to her thighs.

Then she inspected the guns. “I want to make sure you're giving me the best one. Not some piece of garbage where the paintballs get jammed.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. She was right. He would. But not today. Not when he wanted a fair fight. When he wanted to just be with her. And laugh. He really needed to laugh.

When they'd geared up, Haley headed out, leading the way with the Tiberius anchored on her hip. For the baby in the family, she was bossy. “Let's go, Danner. I'm going to paint you like a Rembrandt.”

Yeah, this was going to be a fun. “We'll see about that, Morgan.”

On the edge of the drive, Haley paused to tie a bandana over her head, then added a worn wool hat. “Ready?”

“I gotta tell you, Haley, you're scaring me a bit.”

“Be afraid, Cole.” She cocked her gun. “Very afraid.”

In that moment, his heart cracked open a little bit more.
What if . . .
Cole cauterized the notion, unwilling to entertain any possible answer. So why entertain the question?

He grabbed the University of Tennessee flag and headed toward the stand of trees, detailing the boundaries and the rules.

“The game is capture the flag.” He raised the flag.

“I know the game, Cole.”

“Just reminding you of the rules. Besides, you've been to real war since we last played and I want to make sure you know
my
rules.”

“Whatever. Go on.” She jogged ahead of him, turning, running backward. “I'm ready to play.”

“I'll set this in the center of the stand of trees, in the mini woods, not more than a couple hundred yards square. Once I do, give me ten Mississippis to get to my base and start the game. The goal is to capture the flag and return to your base without getting shot. We'll go three rounds. Winner take all.” He held up two scarves. “Red or blue?”

“Blue.”

He tossed Haley the scarf. “Pick your home base and tie this to the tree. If you get painted trying to capture the flag, you're dead for five seconds, giving the other team time to take the flag and run. You have to count the Mississippis out loud when you're dead. If you shoot and miss, it's another five seconds.”

Cole heard the pop of the gun and felt the sting of a close-range shot against his arm.

“You're dead. Start counting.”

He made a face. “That shot doesn't count.”

She walked on. “What's the prize when I win?”

“Bragging rights. And the game hasn't started yet.”

“But you're holding the flag.” She paused, anchoring her gun on her hip, pointing the muzzle skyward.

“Yes, so I can set it up on the field of play.”

“But you didn't say anything about a
field of play
.” Before he could blink, she fired again, painting a green splash on his leg. “That's two. I think I'm going to need more than bragging rights. Maybe dinner. Or free labor for the shop. Ooh, can I keep this gun?”

“No, you can't keep the gun.” Cole leaned over her, staring her down, trying not to laugh. “My toys, my rules. Right now all you're doing is wasting shots.”

“I'm only going to need three.”

“You have to hit me three
separate
times, with the flag
in my hand
, to win. If I get it to my base without getting painted, that's ten seconds of dead time for
you
.”

“Won't happen.”