Chapter 6

“That was the best sandwich I think I’ve ever had.” Rachel wiped her mouth and placed the green cotton napkin on the matching place mat next to her plate.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m serious, Mrs. Cooper, that was really delicious. Is it the bread?”

The I told you so look Rain launched at her husband couldn’t have been any louder if she’d screamed the words through a bullhorn. “Spot on, Rachel. It’s all about the bread. A ham and Swiss sandwich is a ham and Swiss sandwich. Not a great deal of mystery to that. And, of course, the vegetables are fresh and both the ham and cheese come from the valley, but the bread is what makes it a sandwich, and I make the bread right here.”

Malcolm snorted, but Rain continued, undeterred. “Our neighbor on that next hill, A&P, she taught me how to make bread twenty years ago, maybe longer, and we just get better and better with every loaf.”

Malcolm snorted again, much louder for effect, and Rachel raised her hands. “What am I missing here?”

“Not a thing, sweetheart. My husband here has no taste buds. None. Doesn’t matter how much I insist one loaf or one recipe is different from another, he can’t taste the difference between my homemade seven-grain and a loaf of Wonder Bread. My painstakingly honed baking skills are completely lost on him.”

“And you?” Rachel gave Noah a playful elbow in the seat next to her.

“Not me. I must have been born with an extra batch of good taste. I can seriously taste Mom’s bread before she’s even baked it. Sometimes she sends me pictures of a steaming hot loaf right out of the oven. Anything to persuade me to come home, right, Mom?”

“That’s my boy,” Rain said, blowing him a kiss across the table.

Malcolm stood and began clearing plates. “Oh, give me a break. I may not be able to taste like Julia Child over there, or what’s his name, Emeril the Chef Dog Whisperer, but I can smell like a hound dog, and it’s starting to smell like you-know-what in here.”

“Malcolm Cooper! We’ve got company.”

He reached down and took Rachel’s plate. “We are who we are, right, Rachel?”

“Wouldn’t want to meet you any other way.” She grinned.

After each enjoyed a caramel-walnut brownie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Malcolm again cleared the table, kissed Rain on the top of her head, and invited Noah to join him on a trip to town. “Be gone an hour. Hitting Tractor Supply, post office, Four-Star Printing.”

Rain and Rachel waved approving good-byes as the front door shut. The women chatted about food, place settings, and chocolate as they did the dishes side-by-side. Fifteen minutes later they settled into the living room. Rain sat in a small chair she used for reading and Rachel sat in the oversized black recliner.

Rachel eyed a large, leather-bound binder on the coffee table. “Pictures?” she asked.

“Letters actually. Help yourself.”

Rachel leaned forward, picked up the heavy book and slid back into her soft chair. “Are these the Wednesday Letters?”

“Oh.” Rain didn’t mean to sound as startled as she did. “He told you?”

“About the weekly letters, yes, ma’am. He said his grandfather wrote his grandmother every Wednesday while they were married.”

“That he did. Quite a romantic, don’t you think?”

“And then some,” Rachel said, holding the book on her lap with the cover half-opened.

“Guess who else writes letters like that,” Rain said.

“Mr. Cooper?”

“The very same. He’s not quite as precise now. They don’t always come on the same day, and he’s missed weeks now and again. But I’ve got boxes of letters from that nutty husband of mine.”

Rachel couldn’t wait. “And these?” she asked as she flipped the cover over and looked at the first page. It was a letter slid into a thick plastic sheet protector.

“Those are something different. Those are my Wedding Letters.”

Rachel looked up. “Wedding Letters?”

“It’s a tradition that started with my wedding. Did I mention A&P, our friend next door?”

“You did.”

“When Noah’s dad and I finally became engaged—and that’s a long story for another day—A&P contacted just about everyone we’d ever known. Friends from town, old neighbors, people who’d stayed at the Inn, a few politicians, even some celebrities, and had them write a letter to us. She was very secretive about it. She had a lot of the letters mailed to her place. Others she drove all around the valley to pick up. And if someone even breathed the word letter in our presence, she’d get all paranoid and change the subject.”

“What a nice woman,” Rachel said.

“The nicest. She’s as much family as my own sister and brother-in-law.”

“So when did you get the letters?”

“At our reception. Right here at the Inn. A&P said she bought the nicest binder she could find and then apologized that it was just a binder. The book was wrapped like any other gift.”

Rachel looked back down at the first letter in the book. “So what are they? Letters of advice?”

“Some of them, yes. Some were just congratulatory notes. Some were funny, or clever. Definitely some advice to follow and, quite honestly, some to ignore.” She laughed out the final words.

“How many did you get?”

“I never counted, believe it or not. It felt like every time I opened the book, there was another gem. There must be more than a hundred in there. Even today, when I open the binder, I swear I see letters I’ve never read before.”

“May I?” Rachel asked as she flipped to a random letter in the middle of the book.

“Of course.”

• • •

Dear Rain and Malcolm,

I am so happy for you!!! I am so happy you’re finally doing what we all knew was going to happen one day!!!

A&P asked for a few words of advice. Mine is really simple, kids: Find out what matters to the other, what’s really important, and make it important to you.

Before Randy and I got married, I didn’t know the difference between a racecar and taxicab. When Randy told me he was addicted to NASCAR, I thought it was some kind of drug or something. The first time he dragged me to a race down in North Carolina I thought I’d found evidence of aliens on this planet. I mean have you been to a NASCAR race before? WOW!!!

But listen when I say this: I learned to love racing. I love it because Randy loves it. I love it because it makes him happy. We have been married over forty years, and I know in my heart it’s because I learned to love what he loved and he learned to love what I love.

We have been to races, we have been to beauty supply shows, we have hunted ducks together, we have made quilts every Christmas for each of our grandkids. We have done it together, side by side, sitting in front of some TV show I don’t like or some TV show he doesn’t like. But we’ve done it all together.

I love him. He loves me. I know it. He knows it. And people all around this valley know it!

I wish I had some advice more important sounding or better written down. But that’s it.

Congrats, kids!

Love,
Nancy Nightbell

• • •

To Malcolm, my second favorite brother, and to Rain, my very best friend in the world,

Is it real? After so many years and so many disasters, are you two really tying the knot? There are mornings I wake up and feel such excitement for you two that I have to remind myself it’s not my wedding. Insane, I know.

First, my advice for Rain: Be patient, dear. I know my brother better than anyone alive and I know there will be days when you want to break multiple laws and many of his bones. He will drive you mad. He has a short fuse, which you already know. But I can promise you that you will never be on the wrong end of it. The same may not be said for Ping-Pong paddles, pool cues, or cereal bowls. (Ask him about those stories sometime.)

Malcolm is a good man. A great man. He loves this town, the Inn, his family, his writing, and Brazilian food.

But there is nothing in this world or any other that he loves more than you. I’ve seen it in his eyes since you first met. I’ve heard it in his voice.

I believe with all my heart he is meant for you.

And now a few pearls of wisdom for my knuckle-chops brother:

Read what I’ve written for your new bride. If anything I said doesn’t come true, if you say an unkind word, raise a hand, stray from her, or break her heart with even the tiniest little crack, I will come down on you with the full force of the law. There will not be a country far enough away for you to hide in. Got it, bro?

I love you, Malcolm. Thank you for being the only man I ever believed could make Rain happy. Thank you for being a son that Mom and Dad could love unconditionally.

I am proud of a lot in my makeshift, make-the-best-of-it life. But nothing makes me prouder than to call you my brother.

I love you both.

Sam