Epilogue

Cleo stood in front of the parlor’s rosewood-framed mirror and endured her aunt’s scrutiny yet again. The wedding dress was already perfect, and still Tante Flo insisted on one more fitting, one more pin here, one more tuck there.

“Please, Tante Flo, can’t we be done with it?” A knock at the door halted Cleo’s protest. “I’ll get that.”

Her aunt stood between her and the door. “Oh no, you don’t. What if it’s Theo? You know he’s not supposed to see you in your wedding dress before the wedding.”

“That’s a silly superstition designed to keep the groom from running away out of sheer terror. The wedding’s tomorrow,” she said, yet she allowed her aunt to trot to the front door.

Fretting with a pin, she nearly poked herself when she heard her aunt screech. “Stop right there, Theo Breaux. You cannot go in there. Your bride is in her wedding dress.”

Theo’s deep voice rumbled a protest. A moment later, Tante Flo returned to the parlor, flustered.

“That man is quite the charmer. I do believe he could sell ice to an Eskimo.” She bustled about the room, pulling her best lace tablecloth out of the sideboard. “Here, cover yourself with this. If I let that man in here, I don’t want him to be able to see your dress.”

Cleo complied, then leaned toward her aunt. “Did he kiss you, too? That’s how he manages to charm me.”

Her aunt blushed beet red. “Of course not. Now don’t be silly. And none of those kisses until tomorrow after the wedding.”

Theo peered around the door. “Can I come in now?”

When Tante Flo gave her permission, the carpenter sauntered into the room. Cleo immediately claimed a contraband kiss. Then, before she would let him explain the brown paper package under his arm, she had to steal just one more.

“Someday you’re going to get tired of my kisses,” Theo said.

“Never,” she responded as she patted the place next to her on the settee.

“What are you wearing?”

“Great-grandmother Trahan’s Irish lace tablecloth. Do you like it? It’s the height of fashion. Everyone wears them over their wedding dresses nowadays.”

Theo looked her up and down, then smiled. “On you it looks good,” he responded.

For saying just the right thing, she stole yet another kiss. This one lingered a bit longer than the others.

“If I weren’t marrying you tomorrow, I’d probably need to be rushing you to the preacher tonight,” he said softly. When she leaned in for yet another kiss, he shook his head. “I need to give you this present, Cleo, and if you don’t stop that, I’m going to forget what I planned to say.”

Smiling, she leaned away. “Go ahead and make your speech then.”

He nodded. “I’d like you to have this, Cleo. Go ahead and open it.”

She accepted the package, then pulled the string to let the paper fall away. Inside she found a beautiful, leather-bound Bible. Someone had written their names and the next day’s date on the page reserved for family weddings.

“Theo, this is. . .” Words failed her. “Thank you.”

Her groom-to-be smiled and pointed to the handwriting. “Did I do it right?”

“Do what right?” She traced the names with her index finger. “Oh, Theo, did you write this?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Alphonse showed me how. Is it right?”

“It’s perfect.” The image before her swirled and disappeared as tears collected in her eyes. “Simply perfect.”

“I need to ask you something, Cleo. Something real important.”

“What?”

He laid his hand over the Bible. “I want to be able to read this book, Cleo. It’s important to me. I want to read it for myself and. . .” He paused and seemed to have difficulty continuing. “And I want to read it to our children. I want to be the head of our house and the godly papa our children deserve, and I’m going to have to call on the words in here to be able to do that. Will you teach me to read, cher?”

She cradled his chin in her hand, feeling the rough skin graze her palm. And the bride said, “I will.”