Chapter Twenty

CORA

October 1931

I believe I feel rather ill.” She parked along the curb of the central west end of St. Louis, near Forest Park. Had her car not been a luxury purchase a few years ago she feared someone might come along and ask her to “park round back.”

What a fine, fine neighborhood.

Beside her, in the passenger seat, Birch, with his fedora riding low over his brow, accentuating the fine angles of his face, whistled low. “Did you know about this?”

“Not a clue,” she said low, more to herself.

“I guess if he is one of the richest men on the river, this shouldn’t be a surprise.”

The green lawn was thick and carefully maintained. Most of the lawns in Heart’s Bend were brown due to the heat and lack of rain.

Pulling the emergency brake, Cora left the engine to idle, twisting her hands around the firm steering wheel, staring toward the grand front door centered between a row of windows.

The only sound between her and Birch was their individual breathing. After a moment, Birch shifted around, running his hand down his Sunday trousers, his tan, muscled arm peeking from behind the rolled-up sleeve of a well-worn, well-washed dress shirt. His dark tie hung loose about his neck, the top collar button open. Perspiration beads dotted his forehead and a single trickle of sweat eased down beside his ear.

“Birch.” Cora stretched her hand to his knee. “Thank you.”

He peered at her, but only for a moment. “Anything for you. You know that.”

It’d been almost two months since the shop burned. Cora moved in with Odelia while Tony Nance put together a crew to repair the place.

The fact that Odelia and Cora didn’t kill each other was a testament of God’s good grace. She’d recovered from the smoke inhalation but still battled headaches and evening fatigue.

Cora dug up her insurance policy and sent a telegram to the main office in New York. They sent an inspector who determined the fire was not arson and authorized funds for the repairs.

Daddy had his many flaws, but his insistence that she purchase insurance saved the shop in these hard times.

But none of her good fortune flowed toward her relationship with Rufus. Here she sat in St. Louis, looking for answers.

“When I was a kid,” Birch said, “my dad drove up to see the sights of the World’s Fair. He wanted me to ride along, but Mama thought it’d be too overwhelming for a nine-year-old. Years later Dad said he regretted letting her have her way on that one.”

“Daddy and Mama went too. Left me and EJ with Aunt Jane.”

“If I ever have a kid, I’m taking him to the World’s Fair. Dad said it was a sight to see and brought me a coin from the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. I still have it.”

“Really? Mama and Daddy brought us a book on the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. And I still have it.” She sighed. “Thank goodness. I can’t imagine the loss if the whole shop had gone up in flames.”

Her momentary sadness solidified into anger. The same emotional melting and freezing she experienced all weekend. Because of her foolish devotion to Rufus, she’d almost lost everything—her business, pictures, furniture, dishes, treasured memories like the book from the fair. Her future.

“We should get your book and my coin together.” He meant to be lighthearted, but Cora felt the deeper intention of his comment. And by the way he cleared his throat and stared away, he felt it too.

They’d not addressed his proposal since that day at his house. Nor on the drive up. Instead, they chatted about farming, the weather, who in the community was most impacted by the collapse of the banks. How the shop repairs were coming. The fall harvest and coming fair.

Cora brought him up-to-date on Mama since she telephoned last night.

“I still haven’t told her about the fire. I just couldn’t. Birch, you should’ve heard the happiness, and relief, in her voice. She laughed heartily when she told me about going to the theater with my aunt and uncle and getting lost during intermission. It was a melodious sound I could not crush with news of a fire. If I told her, she’d be on the next bus home. I just can’t do it to her.”

Birch agreed. Cora was handling everything well. No need to drag Esmé back.

“Well, we’ve stalled long enough for them to look out the window and see us.” Birch folded the map and tucked it neatly into the glove box. “Do you want to turn round? You don’t have to go in there.”

“But we drove all this way.”

“So?”

“Do you think he lied, Birch? Really? Why should I trust some Daughtry fella when Rufus is the man I know, love, and trust?”

“Don’t ask me. Go inside and find out.”

She snatched up her Ingber beaded bag from where it sat on the seat and popped it open, took out her gloves, and slipped them on with determination. But with each move, her nerves stirred, arousing her adrenaline and making her weak.

“Stop.” Birch placed his hands over hers. “I’m not going in there if you’re a nervous wreck. You’ll just appear to be begging and, I’m sorry, you’re better than that. Cora, I don’t understand why you can’t see yourself as you truly are—strong, independent, kind, a fine, fine Christian woman.”

“I see myself as I am. A rather tall, skinny, plain, foolish woman who needs a lot more Christ in her life.”

Birch stirred in his seat, hands clasped over his knees. “Well, if you’re determined to say everything negative I won’t try to change your mind with truth.”

“Birch, can we just get through this? Then you can scold me.”

“Let’s go.” He huffed and puffed, tugging at his tie. “I don’t promise not to punch his lights out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen him? He’s got arms like Gene Tunney.”

Birch frowned. “And have you seen my arms?” Yes, as a matter of fact she had. “I’m plenty strong, Cora.”

“Precisely. So no fighting.” Cora yanked on her door handle and there she froze. “I’m all tingly and afraid.”

“Because you’ll find out the truth.”

“You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

“Don’t I?” He brushed back his loose, dark bangs, his pale blue eyes fixed on her. “Been knowing you since we were kids. Since y’all came out to Granny’s farm for picnics and such.” He laughed, deep and rich, pressing his fisted hand to his lips. “Remember the time we went swimming in the pond and a big ole water snake surfaced and swam alongside us?” He slapped his knee as his laugh filled the car. “I swear you walked on water getting away from it.”

“Goodness, I was twelve. And hush up. You’re laughing as hard now as you did then.”

“It’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Should be in a picture show.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Laughter always helps.” He popped open his car door and walked around to her side. “Come on.” He opened her door, offering his hand. “If you want, I’ll wait out here. Might run to the drugstore for something cold to drink.”

“What?” Cora hesitated, then gave him her hand. As she rose from the car, his warm hand steadied her. Calmed her cold nerves. “You’re going to send me in there by myself? I’d have thought more of you, Birch Good.” She clung to his hand.

“If you ask me, you ought to walk in there like Gunga Din, give him what for and then some.”

“Gunga Din, huh? All right.” She stepped forward, but her weak limbs betrayed her. She stumbled against the car.

Birch slipped his hand about her waist. “Dang, long ride up here must have made your legs fall asleep.”

Her gaze met his. “In case I forget to say it later, you’re sweet, Birch. Thank you for being here.”

They walked up the three short steps to the glossy black wrought iron fence surrounding the three-story redbrick home. At the gate, Birch lifted the latch as Cora started the long walk to the front door. Once or twice, Birch touched her back ever so gently. I’m here.

She rang the bell. On the other side, footsteps hammered against what sounded like a marble floor. Then the door opened to reveal a young colored woman in a maid’s uniform, and Cora ached to see her darling Liberty.

“May I help you?”

“Y-yes. I’m looking for Miriam.” Her heart beat with each syllable.

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Miss Cora Scott.”

“It is Sunday afternoon. She spends time with her family. I’ll have to see if she can receive you.” The maid pushed the storm door open. “Wait in the foyer.”

“Th-thank you.” Cora leaned into Birch. “I think I’m going to be ill, Birch. I declare I do.” Cora drew a deep breath. Steady now, steady. Glancing about the vast foyer, indeed whoever lived here had money. The marble floor and damask curtains were merely surface indicators.

Low, murmuring voices came from the other side of the wall. “Well, here, take Rufie. Change his diaper.”

In the next breath, a slender, very beautiful woman with pearls around her neck and rich auburn hair framing her delicate face approached, her belly round with life. “I’m Miriam St. Claire. Can I help you?”

Birch’s thick arm came about Cora’s waist.

“Sorry to barge in on you unannounced. I-I’m Cora Scott.” She offered her hand, a routine, mechanical move, because she certainly had no idea what she’d say next. She’d told herself Miriam was a sister, a cousin, a girl Rufus cared nothing about, really. But she was his wife. With child!

“Birch Good.” He shook Miriam’s hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Florence said you needed to speak with me?” She rested one hand on her belly, glancing between Cora and Birch.

“W-when is your baby due?”

She smiled, relaxing. “One month.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Almost thought I lost him, or her, two months ago. Praise be . . . Well now, how can I help you?”

Could she just turn tail and run? Miriam grew more stunning by the moment. And when she smiled Cora knew then she’d been tricked, lied to, by Rufus. Who would want her, with her plain brown hair and sharp features, when this Clara Bow–like darling waited at home? Bearing him children, no less.

“Darling, I heard the door. Who’s here?”

Rufus. She’d know his voice anywhere.

Cora dug her fingers into Birch’s arm as Rufus descended the stairs, wearing dark trousers and a smoking jacket, his wild mane combed and in place.

“A Miss Cora Scott, darling.”

He stopped, the color draining from his high cheeks. A dark, wicked bolt licked through his eyes and fear bloomed in Cora’s middle. She’d never feared him. Until now.

He walked toward her with calculated, stealth movements. A lion protecting his pride. She’d invaded his lair and he’d not tolerate it.

Birch tightened his grip. She couldn’t stop shaking. How magnificent he looked. So powerful and handsome. And truly terrifying.

“Miss Scott,” he said, his tone, his eyes, his expression directing her. Do not say a word. “Miriam, is this a friend of yours from the Women’s League?” His gaze locked with hers and she could feel the draw, the pull, the intent to control.

“No, darling. She just came to the door asking to see me.”

“I’m Birch Good.” He stepped forward, offering his hand to Rufus, but the man ignored him, drilling his gaze deeper into Cora’s.

“If you’re looking for a charity donation, we’ve given our allotment for this month.” He wooed her into lying.

“Darling, we have the clothes for the charity barrel.” Miriam gave Cora the once-over. “We mustn’t forget people have fallen on hard times. Let me send Florence to box them up.” She squeezed her husband’s arm, dazzling him with her perfect smile.

“No,” Cora blurted, finding her courage, her Gunga Din. “We don’t need charity. We’ve not c-come here for a handout.”

“Oh, my mistake.” Miriam turned back to the foyer. Surely she felt the tension. “Well then, how can I help? Florence said you needed to speak to me. What is it?”

“Darling,” Rufus said. “I am parched. Can you get me a glass of tea? The sweet kind I like. With a few ice cubes.”

“Yes, I’ll just ring for Florence.” She moved to the front corner, to the damask pull hidden among the draperies. “Shall we sit? I’ll have Florence bring us all some iced tea. Have you had iced tea before, Cora? Rufus brought the recipe back to us from somewhere deep in the south. How lucky he is to travel, see the country.”

“Yes, I’ve had iced tea.”

“Miriam,” Rufus said, his voice smooth, sweet. “Please, can you supervise Florence? She didn’t get the concoction correct the last time. The tea was entirely too sweet.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Birch said, his awkward chuckle increasing the tension.

Miriam consented with a nod and a dark glance at Rufus, before disappearing down the shadowed corridor. Rufus stepped into Cora the moment she was out of sight, swearing through gritted teeth.

“What are you doing here?”

Birch shoved him back. “Ease up there, Captain.”

“My shop burned. Caught fire.”

“So you came here? Why on earth . . .” He peered out the window by the door. “You drove five hours to tell me your shop burned?”

“It burned because of you.” Cora jabbed his chest with her finger. “Because you missed dinner and I went to look for you. The wind blew the candles over.”

His laugh inspired taut, aching chills. “Don’t blame me for your carelessness.”

“Hold on, St. Claire.” Birch shoved him back. “She was concerned for you.”

“Not my problem.”

“Yes, it is your problem.” Cora crashed into him, pushing him backward. “You lying pig. You’re married.” Words flew from her lips on the wings of hurt. “How could you? How could you?”

Birch reached from behind, pulling her back, pinning her arms at her side. “Don’t give him the satisfaction, Cora. If Miriam sees she’ll blame you and defend her husband.”

“Do you think I care?” She jerked free. “You have a wife. With a child and one on the way.”

“How did you find me?”

“ ‘How did you find me?’ That’s what you ask? Not, ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Cora. I’m sorry I lied to you, Cora.’ ” She swung at him, blinded by her tears, hitting nothing but air.

“You have to go.” Rufus shoved her toward the door, his focus on Birch. “I don’t care who you are, but if you care for her, get her out of here.”

He talked over her, through her, as if she mattered not. And Birch was aiding him.

No! Cora broke free, smashing Rufus’s foot with her heel. “I’ll not be put off.” Giving Rufus her own dark glint, she ran down the corridor, emerging into a grand kitchen with an electric stove and refrigerator. “Miriam?”

A hand grabbed hold of her hair, jerking her back. “Shut up, you little witch.”

“Let her go, St. Claire.” Birch’s voice boomed through the kitchen as his body slammed against Rufus.

“Get off of me.”

Cora screamed, sinking to the ground as the men tussled, Rufus maintaining a fistful of her hair.

“Unhand her.”

Cora heard the pop of one man’s fist against another man’s jaw. Reaching up, she dug her fingernails into Rufus’s hand. “Stop it . . . Let me go.”

“What in the world . . .” Miriam said. “Rufus, unhand her. What has gotten into you?”

Rufus released Cora, shoving her to the hardwood. Pushing up from the floor to lean on Birch, she saw Rufus rubbing his jaw.

“Nothing,” he said, facing his wife. “These two are swindlers.”

Miriam adjusted the baby boy riding on her hip. “Miss Scott, why have you disrupted my home on a quiet Sunday afternoon?”

Overhead the ceiling fans peacefully hummed and whirred, stirring the hot air.

“He’s my fiancé,” Cora said, hearing the mistake in her declaration. “Well, practically. He’s promised to propose to me when—”

“This is outrageous. Miriam, darling. Why are you listening to her?”

Birch stepped up, staring down the liar. “St. Claire, let her speak.”

“How could he make such promises?” Miriam’s fake cackle trembled. “He’s married to me.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. He told me as soon as he made his fortune and he could support me in the manner I deserved, he’d marry me.”

“Darling,” Rufus cooed to his wife. “She’s lying.”

Cora recoiled, her blinders peeled back, hearing, sensing the snake oil in his voice.

“She’s not lying, Mrs. St. Claire,” Birch said.

Miriam shoved her hand against her husband with a harsh glance. “Hush up, Rufus. I’d like to hear her out. Are you his lover?”

Cora hung her head. “No.” Not that she hadn’t almost succumbed on many occasions. “But I love him.”

“And where do you live, Miss Scott?”

“Heart’s Bend, Tennessee. I learned about you when a postcard you sent to Rufus came to my wedding shop.”

“Miriam, darling, why are you listening to her? She’s a liar.”

“St. Claire, I’m warning you!” Birch inched a step in front of Cora toward Rufus. “Let her speak.”

“Are you a liar, Miss Scott? What has my husband done to you that you’d drive up from, what is it, Heart’s Bend, to tell such fantastic tales on him?”

“He was supposed to meet me for dinner two months ago. When he didn’t arrive, I went looking for him. I left candles burning and my wedding shop caught fire.”

“See, she’s an imbecile. Why would I even be seen with the likes of her? She’s plain. Unimaginative.”

The words whipped her soul, cutting, and blood oozed from her heart. “A man at the dock told me he had many women. Only I was the foolish one who’d not figured him out yet. He told me Rufus was one of the richest men on the river. So I came to see for myself.”

“Rufus? Is this true?” The hem of Miriam’s fine dress shimmied, revealing what her steel composure tried to hide. “Did you promise to marry Miss Scott? Do you have other women?”

“Miriam, I command you to stop engaging this woman in her lies. How can I lower myself to even consider your question?”

“Mrs. St. Claire, I received a postcard you sent to your husband. It came to my shop in Heart’s Bend. I inquired about you. He told me you were the wife of a mate.” The color drained from Miriam’s delicate features. Her now-pale cheeks made her large, round green eyes seem otherworldly. Cora grabbed Birch’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Birch said, pulling her back. “Have you said all you’re going to say, because you’ll never get this chance again.”

She drew a deep breath, aching to look at Rufus one more time but seeing nothing but Miriam’s expression. With her own heart on the verge of flying apart, she wasn’t sure she could find the proper words anyway.

What did it matter that she had loved Rufus with every fiber of her being? That she’d waited for him? Dreamt of their wedding day and their honeymoon when she’d give herself to him completely? That she’d endured the scorn of her mother, her friends to defend him? That she trusted him?

He was married.

If she said more, Cora sensed she’d lose a part of herself she’d never get back. Besides, she’d only wound Miriam, who was as much a victim of Rufus’s lies and betrayal as anyone. For what? Her own comeuppance?

And what of the sweet child with the ruddy cheeks and puppy dog eyes? Or the one in the womb? They deserved to have their father—no matter how wretched a man.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your afternoon, Mrs. St. Claire. I’ll be going now and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

“But is it true?” She reached for Cora’s arm. “I must know. Has he, did he, promise to marry you?” She dug in her fingers. “I can leave him. He used my father’s money to build his life on the river.”

“I heard it was his father’s money.”

“No, it was my father’s.” She turned to Rufus. “Have you been telling people it was your father’s money?”

“I can’t believe you’re siding with this . . . this . . . harlot.”

“Miriam,” Cora said. “If you leave, it will be your decision. Not because of me.”

“But it’s true? He spoke to you of marriage?”

What answer could she give? Miriam St. Claire was more the victim than Cora would ever be. “Yes, he did.”

Miriam shrank back, hand over her mouth, cradled her son closer, and hurried down a side hall, out of the kitchen and away from the truth.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Rufus growled in her face.

“No, look what you’ve done.”

Head raised, heels singing an exit dirge against the marble, Cora marched out of the house, holding herself together until she was out the front door, through the gate, and down the walk.

Beyond her, somewhere against the blue sky, birds sang their song as the wind pushed through the changing October trees.

In the car, she slammed her door and tried to ram her key into the ignition, but she trembled so she couldn’t control her movements.

“Here, here, let me.” Birch took the jangling keys from her and slipped one into the ignition. “I can drive if you want.”

“No.” Her voice sank into her chest, though she tried to hold her head high. “I-I can drive.”

“You did it, Gunga Din.”

“Did I? Really? I may have just busted up that child’s home because I had to feel justified.”

“Don’t you dare, Cora Scott. Don’t you dare take on Rufus St. Claire’s sins.” Birch reclined against the passenger door. “He wrongs a woman and somehow she feels guilty for confronting him about it? For hurting his wife, who, if you asked me, needed to know the truth.”

“But the children don’t have to be hurt by it. If she leaves him . . .”

“She won’t. Trust me.”

“How do you know? She’s got money. She doesn’t need him.”

“She won’t leave him because he’s the father of her children. Because her daddy’s money will keep him in line. Because he’s rugged and good-looking, and as long as he treats her like a queen when he’s in town, she’ll forget all about his tomcatting around when he’s away. It’s a perfect life for her. The scandal of divorce would crush her more than what you just did in there. But she needed to know. And you?” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You needed to close the door on him. Cora, you’re free of him now. You’re free.”

“Am I? Really?”

Cranking the motor, she brushed a stream of tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“The fact remains, Birch, I loved him. Still do. I wanted to make a life with him.” Cora shifted into gear, but couldn’t release the clutch and drive.

Crashing her head against the steering wheel, shaking so hard each inhale filled her lungs with pain. Sobs gathered in her chest, and when she exhaled she collapsed into Birch’s waiting arms.

“Oh, Birch, oh, Birch . . .”

He held her, catching her tears with the hook of his finger. “You are more than you believe, Cora. So much more. You’ll see, darling, everything will be right as rain. That’s it, let it all out. Everything will be right as rain.”

HALEY

Malone & Co. was a gorgeous shop. Haley loved the vibe, and Charlotte, immediately. Beyond striking, she was confident with a kind aura that helped Haley wash away the last of her confrontation with Dax.

It’d taken the two-and-a-half-hour chilly ride down I-65 and a lot of prayer to dislodge that man from her emotions.

He had nerve on top of nerve.

But now that she was in Charlotte’s good graces, Haley righted her thoughts and emotions.

She’d reviewed Haley’s business plan, giving her a thumbs-up, reminding her to budget for part-time help and shop upkeep. She gave her ideas on how to work with local businesses, enlisting their support. Ways to barter for advertising, get sponsorships.

She advised her on how to order her gowns, what items to buy outright, what items to buy on consignment. She gave insight on everything from how to steer brides to the right gown to bookkeeping to what Haley could expect to make in her first five years.

“Tennessee’s wedding business is over one billion.” Charlotte arched one brow. “You shouldn’t have trouble getting a piece of that. Do you have an opening date?”

“Sort of. The town gave me the building, but I have to have it renovated by May first with the doors open in June. Only trouble is, I don’t have all the money I need and the construction permits are held up with red tape. The town gave me twenty thousand, which I have to pay back, but it’s not enough. But then this older woman came by with her mother’s wedding dress.” Recalling the story buzzed a spark of life through Haley. “Said Miss Cora lent the gown to her but her mother never returned it. She gave me the dress and five thousand dollars. Called it interest.”

Charlotte regarded her. “Sounds like people believe in what you’re doing.”

“I guess. I just have to keep believing.” The image and sound of Dax offering to help flashed across her mind. No, no, no. Letting him in would destroy her and the shop.

Charlotte gave her a tour of her place, then moved toward the stairs, wide and grand, much like the ones in her own shop, motioning for Haley to follow.

“I love that the former bride brought her mother’s gown to you. Very sweet, but consider if you want to be both vintage and modern. Do you have the space to do both?”

“Actually, I do. There’s a small and large salon. Could one be for vintage, one for modern?”

“I like it. It’s unique. Gives you a niche.”

Charlotte detailed how she spent years building relationships with designers in New York, Paris, and Milan. How her business was built on one-of-a-kind, expensive dresses.

“I have a flair for it. My assistant, Dixie, calls me the wedding dress whisperer. But your demographic is different, your gifts and talents . . . so do what feels right for you. The vintage with modern seems really interesting to me. I’d just advise you not to go the discount or warehouse sort of route. It takes the fun out of it.”

Haley agreed. “The shop was run by the founder, Jane Scott, until the mid 1920s. Then her great-niece operated the shop until the late seventies. From what I can tell, the stories I’ve heard, they were all about community, the bride, and her family.”

“Community is key. If that’s the history of this shop, then build on it.”

At the top of the steps, Charlotte flipped on a bank of lights. “This is our grand salon.”

Haley drew in a deep breath. The recessed lights spilled down the wall, glowing, twinkling, moving her into another dimension.

“I put all the brides up on the pedestal, dim the lights, turn on the stardust,” Charlotte said.

With the flip of another switch, the salon transformed into a fairy wonderland.

“This takes my breath away.” Haley walked through the twinkling, swirling lights. “This is beautiful. How did you do it?”

“Have your contractor guy call my contractor guy because I have no idea. These lights were his genius.”

“It’s incredible.”

“But here’s the best part.” Charlotte moved another lever on the wall and the velvet voice of Michael Bublé sang over them. “Stardust melodies . . .”

“You’re killing me. Bublé?”

“He usually seals the deal.”

Haley scribbled on her notepad. “Unbelievable, un-believable. You got me wanting to get married.” Oops.

“You don’t want to get married?” Charlotte’s question was wrapped in surprise and a touch of sadness.

Haley lowered her notepad with a sigh, glancing around at Charlotte. She’d not purged as much of her Dax bitterness from her heart as she’d hoped. “No, not really. I’d rather be on this side of the wedding business.”

Charlotte squeezed her arm. “Don’t give up on love, Haley. After all, you’re in the business of love. You’re going to have all kinds of brides come through your shop, and some of them will challenge you, make you want to tell them the wedding is about the marriage, not the most expensive gown or the reception hall. You have to believe in the institution they are entering. You have to remind them about the beauty of love and marriage. I tell you, your lack of experience is nothing compared to your lack of faith in marriage.”

Haley dropped down on the suede chair, her heart racing, tears stinging to the surface. “I want to believe, I do.”

Charlotte eased down next to her. “What happened to steal your hope?”

“A really wrong decision. In fact, that wrong decision showed up in Heart’s Bend this morning. Go figure. But even so, Charlotte, I always saw myself as the bridesmaid instead of the bride, you know? I grew up with brothers so I was a tomboy. Dressed like a boy until junior high. I wanted to be girlie but no one in my family was girlie . . .”

“You don’t have to be girlie to be a woman or a bride.”

Haley peered at her, nodding, grinning. “True, true.”

Charlotte brushed her hand over Haley’s shoulder. “I didn’t believe in love either until I met Tim. I never knew my father, and my mother was killed when I was twelve. A friend of hers, cranky Gert, raised me.”

“I read about the gown you found in a trunk.”

“I didn’t find it, Haley. It found me. I went to Red Mountain to think, not sure I was ready to marry Tim, when I got caught in a bidding for this ugly old trunk. A thousand dollars. It was crazy. But the auctioneer was so persuasive, and he zeroed in on me.”

“So you bought the trunk? Did he know what was in it?”

“I think he did. He was more than an auctioneer, Haley. He was a divine interruption.”

“I could use a divine interruption.” Haley laughed, but her words were true.

“We never know how or when God will break into our lives, but we have to believe He is always working for our good. I found the dress, and it sent me on an amazing journey of discovering who I really was.” Charlotte’s story waxed sentimental. “I met two of the other women who wore the dress after my great-grandmother. I learned how the dress was divinely passed from bride to bride. How the dress fit each one who tried it on even though none of us are the same size.”

“I wonder if women in my town will bring their dresses around and, I don’t know, one day a distant relative will happen upon it.”

“Quite possible. My dress had a divine journey assigned to it. Those of us who wore it were healed in some way. It never needed to be altered or fixed up. Though it was designed in 1912, it never looked outdated. Mary Grace and Hilary look like modern brides in their pictures. The old preacher who married Tim and me was Mary Grace’s husband. He said, ‘This dress is like the gospel—never wears out, always on time, always in style, never needs to be altered.’ The dress wasn’t about me marrying Tim so much as me realizing God loved me.”

“Where is it now?”

“In my home, boxed up. Stored away.”

“Hmmm,” Haley said.

“Hmmm?” Charlotte echoed, peering at Haley through misty eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know . . .” Haley glanced down, trying to find meaning to her verbal musing. “I guess if the dress has some kind of divine journey, who’s to say it should be boxed up and stored away? Maybe you should wonder who the next bride might be.”

When she peeked over at Charlotte, her complexion had paled. Haley wished back her observation. “Hey, don’t listen to me. What do I know? I’m full of crazy ideas.”

“No, no . . .” Charlotte paced away. “It’s just . . . I always thought the dress belonged to me. That it finally made its way home. I never knew my great-grandmother or grandmother. The dress became like family.”

“You’re right, of course. You hold on to it for your daughters. It’s something you should pass on. I think I’m seeing that with the stories the old brides in Heart’s Bend are telling me. They want their gowns, their experiences to be passed on. Like the sisterhood of the wedding shop.”

“Right, exactly. For me, it was the sisterhood of the wedding dress.”

The conversation stalled. Mom always warned Haley not to speak every thought. One of these days she’d learn.

“Haley, have you ever tried on a wedding dress?” Charlotte leaned to see her face.

“What? No, no, I mean, I’m not a bride.”

“But if you’re going to sell to brides, you should know what it feels like to slip on that silky white gown.” Charlotte urged her to her feet.

“No, I can’t. No, why, why would I do that?”

Haley resisted. Charlotte was no match for big brothers, drill sergeants, or bucking privates. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not trying on a dress.”

“Haley—” Charlotte shoved aside a glossy, dark wood barn door, revealing a river of white gowns. “You have to do this.”

“But I don’t want to do this.”

Charlotte glanced over at her. “Because . . .?” The shop proprietor smiled. “Come on, it might ease whatever ails your heart about marriage.”

“Nothing ails my heart about marriage. I’m just not sure it’s for me.”

“Really? Then what’s the harm in trying on a dress?” She motioned to the row of white satin gowns. “Do you see one you like? When I opened the shop I tried on every dress.”

Charlotte removed a gown from the rack. “This is a local designer. Heidi Elnora. It’s simple but beautiful, off the shoulder with an A-line skirt. It looks like you, Haley.”

“Me? No, I’m a fatigues and jeans girl.”

“Maybe you used to be, but . . .” Charlotte deposited Haley with the dress in a triangular room with muted canned lights and a lamp in the peak of the ceiling. The deep purple carpet was plush under her feet. “Get into as much as you can, then I’ll come help with the buttons.”

Charlotte shut the door and Haley was alone. She breathed out, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

Lord, how did she get in this mess? She wanted to help brides, not be one. She’d forfeited her right to a happy ending because of the damage she’d done between Dax and his wife.

“How’s it going in there?” Charlotte’s voice slipped through the narrow door.

“Okay.” Sorta.

The dressing room door opened and in came Charlotte with a veil and a fascinator. “What do you think, this two-layer, shoulder-length blusher veil or the birdcage? You’re so petite I think the birdcage . . . Haley, you’re not changed.”

She sank down on the cushioned bench, the burden of seeing Dax, of remembering the life she’d lived with him surfacing again, so fresh and raw.

“Ever wish you’d lived some part of your life differently?”

Charlotte set the veils on the bench with the shoes and sat on the floor by Haley’s feet. “Sure. Is that what’s bothering you? I realize we just met, but I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Are you a woman of faith, Charlotte?” Haley turned her gaze to the dress hanging on the wall.

“I am.”

Haley crumpled back with a sigh. “I met Jesus when I was fourteen. I was really passionate all through high school. Only one in my family who went to church, but I believed, you know?”

“I do.”

“When I went to college I walked away some, got into some partying, but nothing too wild. Then came the air force and at the most I drank too much, maybe hooked up with a guy for the night.” She peered at Charlotte. “But that wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be that girl.”

“So asking you to wear the dress brings all that into focus?” Charlotte said.

“When I was in California, I met a man who swept me off my feet.”

“And?”

“He was married. I didn’t know at first, was mad as a hornet when I found out. But I didn’t end it, Charlotte. I believed he loved me and would leave her. I urged him to walk away from his vows and commitment.”

“So that disqualifies you from wearing a wedding gown?”

Haley stood. “Doesn’t it? Doesn’t a white dress mean something? Or isn’t it supposed to? I fought to break up a marriage, Charlotte. Who does that? I told him to leave his wife and kids. I wanted him for myself at the cost of someone else’s heart and happiness.”

The unburdening freed her.

“You can’t let your past define you, or your future, Haley. What you did isn’t who you are now or who you’ll become. Isn’t that the point of the cross, of forgiveness? Being washed white as snow.” She took the dress from the hook. “This gown is actually called Snow White.”

Haley collapsed against the wall, eyes brimming. “I can’t. I’m no Snow White.”

“Haley, take it from me, you can’t punish yourself into righteousness. If God’s forgiven you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”

“I have forgiven myself.” Until she remembered the depths to which she sank.

“Really? Then why are you disqualifying yourself when God says you’re qualified?” Charlotte walked to the door. “Now, put on the dress and shoes, choose the veil you like, and come out. I’ll fix the buttons and you, my new friend, are going to have your moment on the pedestal with the lights and stardust.”

“Charlotte, look, I appreciate—”

“Get to it.” Charlotte’s bark was reminiscent of Haley’s drill sergeant when she was in basic. The door slammed behind Charlotte, punctuating her command.

So the owner of Malone & Co. didn’t hold back any punches. What Haley wanted more than anything was to put Dax behind her. His surprise visit stirred her regret, her disdain for herself, and the life she’d lived with him. Would she ever be rid of the shame?

With a sigh of resolve, Haley wrenched off her boots, jeans, and blouse, and carefully stepped into the dress, the silk running against her legs, cooling the heat of her struggle.

The bodice slipped over her hips and sat at her waist. She worked her arms through the short lace sleeves.

Gathering the skirt with shaking hands, she wiggled her feet into the shoes. Twenties-style Mary Janes. She grabbed the birdcage fascinator and emerged into the salon, all the while avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t look . . . just couldn’t.

What would she see looking back at her? Would the Snow White gown mock her?

“Haley . . . Oh my.” Charlotte approached, wonder in her eyes, her hand pressed to her chest. “You are stunning.”

“Please, my hair’s a mess and my makeup is all runny from the drive down.”

“Stop, no more telling me what’s wrong with you. Or that I’m wrong.” Charlotte turned Haley toward the mirror. “See?”

Raising her gaze ever so slightly, Haley caught a glimpse of the dress. But stopped at her shoulders. She’d seen a picture of Dax’s wife in her wedding dress and that was the last straw for Haley.

“Step up on the pedestal. I’m going to turn on the lights and music.”

Haley hesitated. “Charlotte, there’s no need—”

“Oh, but there is.”

“Isn’t it enough I tried on the dress? I get it. It feels amazing. The rich silk against my skin . . .”

Charlotte adjusted the lights and a sparkling glow dropped on Haley. When she looked up, she saw her entire reflection in the mirrors. The gown was beautiful. And she was . . .

Stringed music entered the atmosphere and her heart began to quake, shaking her body, shifting her stones. Then the tears took over.

“I can’t . . . I can’t.” She turned to flee, but Charlotte was in the way, blocking her escape.

“Haley, I’m no prophet, but this is not about a wedding dress. This is about seeing yourself as He sees you.” She turned her around, walking her to the pedestal. “White as snow.”

A male voice began to sing softly. But it wasn’t Bublé this time. “What can wash away my sins, nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

Gritting her teeth and gripping her fists, Haley battled her tears, fought the anger burning from deep within.

“I-I wrecked a family, a marriage. And for a year I didn’t care. I wanted my man.”

“Forgive yourself, Haley. If the Lord has, then how dare you hold on to your offense?”

“Wrecking a marriage . . . It is unforgivable.” She raised her fist. “How could I? How could I? I knew better. I know better.” Haley shook so, she barely stood.

Charlotte gently touched her arm. “Let it go or it will taint everything you do in life, Haley. Everything.”

Who was this woman she barely knew lobbing truths into her soul?

Haley stumbled off the pedestal, collapsing against Charlotte, then sinking to the floor, staining the lace and silk of the Snow White wedding dress with her tears of shame, regret, and forgiveness.

Blindsided by the moment, by a woman she barely knew, this was God’s coming in like a flood, overwhelming her by His Spirit. And she was undone by the simple act of putting on a garment she did not deserve to wear.