The Wedding Shop

by Rachel Hauck

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CORA

  March 1932

  A glorious day. Truly glorious. Spring’s promise pushed back the dreary chill of winter and Cora felt like celebrating.

  She’d spent a grand five dollars on an ad in the Tennessean and $1.35 on an ad in the Heart’s Bend Tribune announcing The Wedding Shop’s reopening after a cruel fire.

  Ha
ttie Lerner did a quick write-up in the Tribune’s society section with a sweet headline:

  THE WEDDING SHOP REOPENS FOR BRIDES EVERYWHERE.

  Thank you, Hattie.

  Cora folded the paper, tucking it under her arm, content with her ads, content with getting back to work. Moving forward and forgetting the last eight months.

  Other than Daddy losing her childhood home and leaving the family, getting over Rufus had been the most trying time of her life. She despised her naïveté. Worse, the embarrassment of weeping on Birch’s shoulder, then of confessing the truth to Odelia and, finally, to Mama, who graciously refrained to only two, “I told you. I told you,” during the initial dialogue.

  Well, it was all done now. Over. A thing of the past.

  Leaving the newspaper in the pantry, breathing in the scent of new lumber and paint that sweetened the shop . . . it made the shop feel new again. Revitalized.

  Cora hurried up to the mezzanine, grateful ruined things could be restored, and pulled the key from her skirt pocket, unlocking the storage door.

  A drop of joy spilled on her heart. While the new part of the shop was being painted, Cora had the storage room spruced up. The fresh pink wall was contrasted by a row of white wedding gowns. At the end of the room, on the far wall, a window captured the outside in. The room was fresh, bright, airy, and full of everything Cora loved.

  She’d splurged, yes she did, ordering all sorts of new things from New York—gowns, veils and gloves, shoes. She paid Odelia and her seamstresses an extra three dollars each for going-away dresses and wedding-night apparel.

  If she couldn’t be a bride, she’d be the best bride’s maid anywhere. Let the brides commence shopping.

  Cora walked the length of the room, inspecting each milky-white gown. And weren’t the going-away dresses such bold colors this season? Reds, blues, and purples.

  At the window, she paused to look out, then with a burst of energy shouted against the glass, “I’m back and going to win the day.”

  Whirling around, ready to work, Cora gathered two mannequin heads and the box of veils, taking a quick survey of the room. What else would she need? She’d come back for the shoes. She had a lovely idea to display them along the staircase—a pair on each step.

  The fire, as shocking as it was, turned out to be a blessing. The purging flames awoke her to her foolishness, purged her really, from the evils of Rufus St. Claire.

  Her first Sunday in church after the fire, Cora begged God’s forgiveness, begged for His balm on her sorrow. While she sensed His touch, there were dark waves throughout her day when a memory surfaced, or a longing, and she’d break down.

  How could she have been so blind? Could she ever trust her heart again?

  At the display case in the small salon, Cora fashioned the veils on the mannequin heads, then opened the front door, allowing the morning breeze to sweep away the stale air of the night. To clear her mind of cobwebs of shame.

  She raised the window sash and saw Odelia walking down the street. “Did you pick up the pastries?” she called.

  “Right here.” Odelia raised two large boxes over her head.

  “Cora, please, stop yelling like a heathen.”

  She turned to see Mama gliding down the stairs, so lithe and sophisticated in her New York Saks Fifth Avenue dress, her hair the color of the morning sun and permanent waved.

  She returned home when Odelia wrote her about the fire. Cora had planned to leave the tale for another time, when things were right again. But Odelia thought different. And Mama thanked her for it.

  “If Daddy could see you now, Mama.”

  She smiled, raising her cigarette to her lips. “I sent him a photograph of me right after I had my hair done, wearing this dress.”

  “Has he written?” Cora asked. She’d not heard from Daddy since Christmas

  Mama’s smile faded. “No, but it’s to be expected.” Smoke from her cigarette swirled around her hair. Despite her thin, exotic appearance, Mama could not keep her despair from reflecting in her eyes.

  “Pastries are in the pantry.” Odelia came from the back, tying on her work apron. “I heard at the Women’s Club that quite a number of the town’s younger women want to come out, take a look. They have no hope of affording a wedding trousseau, but they’d like to dream.”

  “This danged Depression can’t last forever,” Mama said. “President Hoover must do something to help.”

  “The president can’t make it rain, Mama. Nor does he care about brides in Heart’s Bend, Tennessee, but we do. We can help them afford some sort of trousseau.” Cora’s rejuvenated mission welled within her. “We’ll find a way.”

  “Yes, and if you’re not careful you’ll run out of money before it’s all over. You can’t keep giving stuff away,” Mama said, disappearing into the new pantry, her favorite place in this whole shop. So she said.

  Now that she’d worked a real job for a few months in a big city, she was more of an expert on everything than before. And not timid at all about sharing her opinion.

  “The usual, Cora?” Odelia said, heading up to the mezzanine.

  “Yes, dresses from New York on the mannequins. And let’s bring down the entire inventory for the new built-in racks in the grand salon.” Another idea from the reconstruction. Cora installed dress racks in the grand salon. She and Odelia wouldn’t have to put it all away at night. “On the dress forms, put your favorite pattern dresses. Oh, I saw an ad in Vogue last fall with shoes positioned on the staircase. It looked marvelous. Let’s do something similar, shall we?”

  “We shall.” Odelia hustled up the stairs. “I think someone is in love.”

  “In love?” Mama came from the pantry with a cup of coffee and a fresh cigarette. “Who’s in love?”

  “Cora.”

  “What on earth? I am not in love.”

  “You’re mighty chipper lately. Especially when Birch Good comes around.”

  Mama sipped her coffee, peering at Cora over the rim. “I agree. I declare you officially Rufus-free. Thank goodness.”

  “Fine and dandy, but that does not mean I’m in love with Birch.” Good grief. Two crazy old ladies . . . That’s what she was dealing with here.

  Sure, Cora liked Birch. Very, very much. She adored him, really. He’d been a lifesaver the past eight months, but love? No, no, no.

  He was a farmer. He lived by the will of the sun and the rain. The land was his master. She wanted no such life.

  She was about to head up to help Odelia when a young man dressed in a messenger uniform appeared at the door. “I’m looking for Mrs. Scott.”

  Mama stepped in from the small salon. “I’m Mrs. Scott.”

  “I’ve a registered mail for you, ma’am.”

  Mama anchored her cigarette between her lips, handed Cora her coffee, and signed for her letter. Cora dug a quarter from her pocket for a tip.

  “Mama, what is it?”

  Standing in the sun-filled foyer, Mama scanned the letter. “It’s from your father.”

  “Daddy? What does he say?” Cora set Mama’s coffee on the small planter between the windows and tried to read over her shoulder.

  “H-he wants a divorce.”

  “A divorce?” Cora snatched the letter. “He can’t mean it. He can’t.”

  He had written over Christmas saying he was well, thinking of them, but couldn’t bring himself to face the shame of Heart’s Bend and all he’d done to their friends.

  But divorce. Had he lost his mind? It was scandalous.

  Yet there before Cora’s eyes, in black and white, was a writ of divorce.

  “He can’t do this, Mama. The courts won’t let him. He deserted us, not the other way around.”

  Mama’s hand trembled as she drew a long puff from her cigarette. “If he wants a divorce, then why would I stand in his way? He’s left me, us, three times, Cora.”

  “He’ll come home again.”

  “Cora, darling, you’re so hopeful. But not this time. It’s been
well over a year.” Mama turned for the stairs. “Now, how can I help Odelia? Shall I arrange the shoes?”

  “Mama, how can you be so blasé? This doesn’t bother you? It’s one thing for Daddy to leave, but another to divorce you.”

  Mama sighed. “If you must know, he wrote to me already asking if I wanted to divorce him. I said I would not put my good name through the courts that way, but if he wanted to divorce me I’d not stand in his way. Now, let’s get to the grand reopening of The Wedding Shop.” She turned to call up the stairs. “Odelia, don’t forget the long satin gloves. Those are so lovely.”

  Mama started up the stairs and Cora chased after her. “Mama, how are you not sad? How can you be all right with this?”

  At the top of the stairs, Mama pulled another cigarette from her pocket. Cora snatched it from her fingers.

  “Not around the dresses.”

  Mama sighed. “Cora, I’ve thought a lot about this and I want to move on. Is that all right with you? Plenty of women get divorced. I’ll be more than fine.” She punched the air with her fist. “I’m a feisty one.”

  “Plenty of women? Who, Mama? Who do you know in this town who’s gotten divorced?” Cora couldn’t think of anyone. “And who cares about other women. You’ve loved Daddy since you were sixteen. Married him at eighteen. How can you be all right with this?”

  Mary Denton got divorced, but her husband went to jail for fraud. The Andersons got divorced a few years back, but she was a drunk. Other than that . . .

  “Cora, leave it.” Mama patted her shoulder. “I want to be happy today.”

  “But are you happy, Mama?” Cora touched her arm. If losing Rufus hurt like the dickens, how must Mama feel losing her husband of more than thirty-six years?

  “You make me happy. This shop makes me happy. Cora, don’t fret over me. Now, let’s get those shoes lined up on the stairs.”

  The grand reopening started slow but ended with the shop full of women young and old celebrating the shop’s return. Cora had three appointments on the books for next week and fully expected more.

  When she closed the shop and shut off the lights at seven, Mama and Odelia met her in the foyer with a glass of tea. Mama hoisted her glass. “To our success!”