March 1924
Amethyst strolled casually through the aisles of Hartwell’s Grocery, glancing at Silvie’s list and doing a quick mental calculation. Forty or fifty guests, she figured. The ham and turkey were already baking—one in the new oven Silvie complained about all the time, and the other in the old wood stove on the back porch. By this afternoon, the layers for the wedding cake would be cooled and ready to frost, and the bread would be finished. All she needed was a sack of sugar, a good selection of fruit for the salad, and some of those little pastel-colored candies to decorate the table.
“Gordon,” she called as Hartwell passed by in his stained apron, “is there any chance you’ve got some strawberries?”
“Local ones won’t be in till later in the season, Miss Amethyst,” he said. “My supplier brought me some from down in Florida yesterday, but they’re not cheap.”
She smiled and patted him on the arm. “I only plan to do this once, Gordon; cost is no object.”
“Yes ma’am!” He grinned at her. “They’re in the cooler out back. I’ll go get ’em for you. How many do you need?”
“As many as you’ve got.”
Amethyst stood there, inspecting the apples and bananas, while she waited for Gordon to return with her strawberries. The market was nearly empty, and from behind her, she could hear the whispered voices of two women, hidden from view on the other side of a display of oranges.
“Can you believe it? She’s really going to do it. She’s going to marry that . . . that man.”
“That monster, you mean. Do you suppose she’s . . . kissed him? I couldn’t stand the thought.”
Amethyst felt a knife twist in her gut. After all this time, she should be accustomed to people gossiping about her, but to hear the man she loved called a monster—
“You don’t suppose they’ll try to have children, do you? Can you imagine?”
“I know. Even if the poor babies did turn out to be normal, what kind of life would they have, looking at that and having to call him ’Daddy.’”
“Well, what else would you expect, Edie? She must be nearing thirty, and she lives all alone in that big house with that colored woman and those deformed boarders. Who else would have her?”
“Twenty-four,” Amethyst corrected in a firm voice.
The voices fell silent.
“Twenty-four,” she repeated. “I turned twenty-four years old last week.”
Amethyst stepped around the grocery display and found herself looking into the weak, watery eyes of Edith Layton, the mayor’s wife. Edith’s companion, a shriveled little woman named Beatrice Manning, stood with her gaze fixed on her shoes.
“My husband-to-be, Mrs. Layton,” she said with ice in her voice, “is not a monster. He is a kind, gentle man with a loving and tender heart—qualities you must find impossible to comprehend, given your own marital status.” She let her eyes rove up and down Edith Layton’s frame and thought briefly that the woman reminded her of a sausage stuffed a little too generously into its casing. At last her gaze came to rest on the woman’s floury, pockmarked face. “If it’s any of your business, we love each other deeply, and that love is not dependent upon physical appearance.”
Edith Layton’s eyes bulged out, and a vein in her neck went rigid. “Well, I never!”
“No, I don’t suppose you have,” Amethyst countered. “But I sincerely hope you do, someday.”
Gordon Hartwell had returned with the strawberries, and he stood there with a look of terror on his face, as if he feared a catfight might reduce his store to rubble. “I’ll—I’ll just charge this to your account, Miss Amethyst,” he stammered. “Want this stuff delivered?”
“That would be lovely, Gordon. Thanks so much.”
Edith and Bea gaped at Amethyst as she pushed past them.
“The wedding is tomorrow at four-thirty,” she called over her shoulder with a smile. “You’re both invited, if you’d care to come.”
When she had put on fresh sheets and sprinkled them with the fragrance of lilacs, Amethyst smoothed the quilt on the ancient four-poster and smiled. She had spent her last night in this bed alone. And contrary to convention, she was not the least bit apprehensive about sharing it with Harper Wainwright.
She gave a little chuckle and plumped up the pillows. A real lady, she thought, would show some trepidation about her wedding night—or at least pretend to be nervous. But then, as Silvie had pointed out to her on numerous occasions, she was not and never would be a real lady. She was Pearl Noble’s granddaughter after all.
Amethyst went to the tall wardrobe, took out her wedding gown, and hung it on the door. It was a beautiful dress—white satin, with a high neck and simple lines, a touch of lace, and seed pearls sewn into the bodice. The only thing missing was—
She took in a breath and stifled a rush of tears. She had told herself she would not get emotional about the thought of Grandma Pearl’s brooch. After all, the brooch had been gone for years. Yet despite her best intentions, she felt saddened by its loss, especially today. This was her wedding day, and she knew from Pearl’s journals that on the night of her birth, her grandpa Silas had pinned it on her baby blanket and prayed a blessing upon her. That blessing had been fulfilled in a hundred ways, and she was grateful. Still, she wished she could walk down the aisle with the heart-shaped amethyst at her throat. . . .
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was 3:15—time she started getting ready.
But she couldn’t seem to settle down to the task. She wandered into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She rearranged a shelf, went back into the bedroom and smoothed the comforter for the second time, then finally left the room altogether and went upstairs.
On the courting porch above the main veranda, Amethyst gazed down into the front yard. Chairs had been set up on the grass, and a wide white runner spanned the walkway. At the end of the walk, an old man stood gazing up toward the house. Probably one of the workers Harper had hired to set up, she mused. Well, he could be proud of his handiwork. The place looked absolutely wonderful.
Her eyes followed him for a moment or two as he made a slow circuit of the yard and came toward the porch. He was thoughtful, at least, making sure not to track up the white runner with his boots. As he drew closer, she could see him more clearly—gray hair, a grizzled beard, a haunted, empty expression about the eyes. His jacket was worn thin at the elbows, but underneath he wore a satin vest, stained and ragged, with a button missing—almost as if he had once had money but had since fallen on hard times. Poor old fellow. It was just like Harper to give a job to a man down on his luck.
As Amethyst watched him disappear under the porch roof, she was suddenly overcome with an awareness of the richness of her own life. How petty she had been, shedding selfish tears over not having Grandma Pearls brooch to wear! A pang of remorse jabbed at her heart, and she offered up a prayer of gratefulness, asking God to bless that man, whoever he was. The old fellow could obviously do with a blessing or two. From now on she would try to keep him and those like him—those less fortunate—in mind whenever she was tempted to take for granted all the Lord had given her.
She went back down the stairs and into the dining room, where Silvie’s cousin Esther was setting out food for the reception. “Can I do anything to help?” she asked as Esther came in bearing an enormous tray of baked ham.
“Law, no, Amethyst!” Esther reprimanded. “This is your wedding day, and your guests will be coming in less than an hour. Now get on back in there and get dressed!”
Amethyst gazed around, feeling totally useless. “Has anyone seen Harper?”
“He’s been in and out, gettin in the way just like you’re doing now But don’t you be looking for him, neither. Don’t you know it’s bad luck for a bride to see her groom on their wedding day?”
Amethyst meandered into the parlor, where every horizontal surface, it seemed, was stacked with wedding presents. The wide mantel over the fireplace had disappeared under an avalanche of white boxes and bows, and gifts were stacked on all the tables and in the corners of the room. Only the small marble-topped coffee table had been left empty, so guests could place their cups and plates on it during the reception. But now even that space bore a gift.
Amethyst sat down on the love seat and picked up the small, delicately wrapped box. She should put it with the rest of them, she supposed, but instead she scrutinized it, turning it over in her hands. It was covered in satiny paper and tied up with a gold ribbon. The tag read, Amethyst. Not Mr. Harper Wainwright and Miss Amethyst Noble, like the others. Just Amethyst.
“Girl, what are you doing out here? Why aren’t you dressed?”
Amethyst looked up to see Silvie glaring down on her. “Well, good afternoon to you, too,” she chuckled.
“Don’t you ’good afternoon’ me, missy! Do you know what time it is? Get in there and get that wedding gown on. We still have to fix your hair.”
Amethyst held up the box. “What is this?”
“What is what?” Silvie stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “It’s a wedding present, I’d reckon.”
“But who’s it from? And why does it only have my name on it?”
“Amethyst, I don’t know. And right now I don’t really care. You need to get yourself—”
“I’m going to open it.”
Silvie rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “All right, then, open it.” She came to sit on the love seat with Amethyst. “But don’t blame me if you’re late for your own wedding.”
Amethyst untied the bow and removed the wrapping, then lifted the top of the box and gave a little gasp.
“Lord, have mercy,” Silvie breathed.
It was a heart-shaped amethyst brooch, a little larger than a quarter, surrounded by small pearls.
“Your grandmother’s amethyst,” Silvie murmured. “How on earth—?”
“No, it’s not my grandmother’s, although it’s almost exactly like it. The one I lost had one of the pearls missing.”
Silvie reached out a finger and stroked the table of the stone. “It has to be a gift from Harper. Nobody else would give you something like this.”
“Harper never knew about the brooch,” Amethyst protested. “I never told him.”
“Then that man must have one direct line to heaven,” Silvie countered. “You are going to wear it, aren’t you?”
“I certainly am. But I need to talk to him about it first.”
“You can’t.” Silvie tugged at her arm. “For one thing, you don’t have time. For the second, it’s bad luck—”
“To see your bridegroom before the wedding. I know. Esther already told me. I guess it will have to wait, then.” Amethyst gazed at the brooch, and tears filled her eyes. “It’s beautiful. But somehow I wish a pearl were missing. I wish it were my grandmother’s.”
“And you’re sure it’s not?”
“How could it be? It’s impossible. Grandma Pearl’s brooch disappeared years ago with Father.” She shook her head resolutely. “Well, I guess we’d better get moving. Don’t want to be late for my own wedding.”
Then she turned the gemstone over in her hands. On the back, in tiny, cramped writing, were engraved the words: Sincerity, Purity, Nobility.
Noble House had never looked so festive—except, perhaps, the day Grandpa Silas and Grandma Pearl celebrated their wedding on this same front porch. The walkway was lined with budding azaleas, and yellow daffodils surrounded the base of the massive magnolia tree. Dogwoods and redbuds bloomed profusely. White ribbons and huge bows swagged between the tall square columns. Pots of gardenias flanked the steps, sending out their delicate fragrance on the afternoon breeze.
If Amethyst lived to be a hundred—as she resolutely hoped she would not—she doubted she would ever experience a day quite as perfect as this one.
Uncle Enoch and several of his friends had rolled the piano out onto the porch, and Rod Powell, who had come down from Memphis for the occasion, played softly as the guests gathered. At 4:15, Amethyst slipped from the bedroom and went around to the back porch to await the cue for her grand entrance.
“Do I look all right?” she asked Silvie for the hundredth time. Her hands went to her neckline, as if to assure herself that the amethyst brooch was still in place.
“You look wonderful. The brooch is perfect.” Silvie adjusted the flowing skirt of the wedding dress and stood back to admire it. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for choosing me as your maid of honor.”
“Who else would I ask?” Amethyst huffed. “You’ve been my best friend since we were babies.”
“You sure you want me to stay on after today?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Amethyst put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Silvie, Noble House is our home, not just mine. And it’s also our business. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
“I just thought—”
“Well, don’t,” Amethyst interrupted. “Harper and I will take the big bedroom downstairs, and everything else will remain exactly the same. Besides, I need you here to manage things while we’re gone to New Orleans for our honeymoon. We’ll be back in a week.”
Silvie ducked her head. “I guess I was wondering if, once you were married, Harper might not take over running the boardinghouse.”
Amethyst let out a laugh. “And be underfoot all day while you and I are trying to get our work done? Heavens, no. He’s keeping his job with Bainbridge Metal. We’re in love, Silvie; we’re not joined at the hip.”
The two embraced, and Amethyst whispered, “No more talk about leaving, all right?”
“All right.” Silvie brushed aside a tear.
“And by the way, you are absolutely stunning in that dress.”
Silvie did a graceful little pirouette. “Do you think so?”
Amethyst looked her over. She had always known her friend was beautiful; she just hadn’t thought about it much. But today, in the lovely flowing gown, with the pale blue tulle against the soft toffee shade of her skin, Silvie looked positively radiant. “You’re a knockout. That blue is perfect with your coloring. I almost wish I’d put you in a gunnysack—you’re going to steal everyone’s attention from the bride.”
Silvie was about to respond when Enoch appeared around the side of the house. “We’re ready.”
Amethyst took her bouquet from her maid of honor and linked her arm through Enoch’s crooked elbow. “A colorful wedding,” she quipped. “Just like Grandpa Silas and Grandma Pearl’s.”
Enoch smiled down at her. “Your grandparents would be proud of you, Amethyst.”
Amethyst touched the heart-shaped brooch at her throat. “I know, Uncle Enoch. Believe me, I know.”
The chairs in the front yard were nearly filled, and the white runner up the sidewalk had been strewn with rose petals. Enoch, Silvie, and Amethyst made their way around the back of the crowd and stood waiting behind the magnolia tree until the music began.
Amethyst scanned the crowd. Pete Hopkins sat on the porch in his wheelchair, taking up his position as best man. Steven Bird was on the front row with Lyle Constable and his family. Larry Summers and his wife were there, as were the last of Grandma Pearl’s clan, including Marshall Avery and his family. All the black Warrens had come, with children and grandchildren in tow. The white Warrens, descendants of the original plantation owner, remained conspicuously absent. Brown faces and white; men, women, and children; the blind and the sighted; folks in wheelchairs and braces and crutches side by side with people of strong limb and active body.
As it should be, Amethyst thought. As God intended it to be.
Her gaze rested for a moment on two ridiculous hats—one bright blue, with an artificial bird perched on the wide brim, the other deluged in flowers. Who? she wondered, and then one of them turned.
It was Edith Layton, spiffed up to the nines in a blue silk dress that made her look for all the world like the fat bluebird on her hat. The woman beside her had to be Beatrice Manning.
Edith caught her eye and gave a brief wave, her expression a composite of pained humiliation and abject shame. Amethyst waved back, offering her most brilliant smile. On impulse, she left Enoch’s side and slipped over to where the two women sat.
“Thank you for coming,” she said softly, letting her hand come down lightly on Edith’s shoulder.
“I—oh, my, I—” Edith jumped and squirmed in her seat. “Amethyst, I—I don’t know what to say. We had no right to be gossiping like that, and—”
“Shhh,” Amethyst interrupted her. “It’s all right. You will stay for the reception, won’t you?”
“We hadn’t planned to.” Edith shook her head. “We didn’t exactly think we’d be—”
“Welcome?” Amethyst chuckled. “Look around, Mrs. Layton. Everyone’s welcome here.”
The comment brought a wan smile to Edith Layton’s face, and Amethyst’s heart warmed. “Do stay, please. I’d like you to meet Harper—really meet him.”
“I’d like that,” Edith murmured. “Thank you.”
Amethyst heard the music stop for a moment; then the strains of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” floated out on the breeze. “That’s my cue,” she whispered. “I’ll see you both later.”
Silvie glided up the walk, a bouquet of pale blue hydrangeas in her arms, the very portrait of elegance and beauty. Amethyst stood watching, her arm linked through Enoch’s. When she looked up at him, she saw an expression of pure bliss on his handsome black face.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?” Amethyst murmured.
He nodded. “Yes, she is.” Enoch squeezed Amethyst’s arm. “Both my girls are.”
The music crescendoed, and Amethyst began the long walk down the open-air aisle. This wasn’t a house of worship—many of the guests would not have been welcome inside the walls of the Presbyterian church, where she worshipped every Sunday. But it was a holy place nevertheless, as holy as any sanctuary. As she raised her head and saw Harper smiling at her from his place on the porch, Amethyst’s breath caught in her throat.
The congregation stood in her honor. On the porch, Pete Hopkins raised himself up on his powerful arms, lifting himself off his wheelchair; he stayed that way until everyone else sat. As Amethyst came forward, he nodded and grinned at her, and she thought she saw a single tear track down his cheek and lodge in his beard.
From that moment on, however, she had eyes only for Harper. By now she had memorized every crevice of that dear face. She let her gaze linger on his scarred cheek, his crooked grin, the way his right eye twisted upward when he smiled. And with the transcendent sight that looks into the soul, she saw only beauty—the splendor of love realized, the glory of two hearts made one.
The vows went quickly Amethyst’s mind was so full of Harper that she could barely remember what she said. But as the minister pronounced them man and wife and Harper leaned down to kiss her, she knew that the words didn’t matter. What mattered was the gift God had given the two of them.
Harpers blue eyes held hers as he drew near. And then, just as his lips touched hers, he murmured, “Thank you for being my miracle.”
The sentence resounded in her soul, a mighty bell ringing with the solemn toll of truth. It was the kind of sentiment, she was certain, that Grandpa Silas might have uttered to Grandma Pearl. She would never forget it, nor would she forget the look of pure love in his eyes as he said it. In that moment, as she lifted a brief, silent prayer of gratitude, she could almost feel her grandparents smiling down upon them. Approving their union, sharing their joy.
Amethyst looked up into her husband’s eyes. “And thank you,” she whispered, “for being mine.”