Carolina Mist

by Mariah Stewart

  “Permission to come aboard, sir?” Abby batted her eyelashes with feigned innocence.

  “Permission denied, as you knew it would be.” He grinned. “Nice try, though.”

  “What are you doing there that I can’t see?” she demanded with all the impatience of a child who had been put off one time too many.

  “You’ll have to wait until Saturday to see,” he told her, “but I promise it will be worth the wait. We agreed, Abby. You take care of the wedding, I will take care of the honeymoon.”

  “But I told you what we were doing for the wedding…”

  “All the more reason why the honeymoon should hold an element of surprise.” With one foot on the dock and one foot on the Layla’s side, Alex’s body spanned the space like a living bridge. “Besides, you won’t let me see your wedding dress.”

  “That’s entirely different.” She appeared horrified.

  “Why?”

  “Because… because it is. It’s supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony.”

  And, besides, she wanted to make an entrance in Leila’s incredible wedding dress. Made of the finest Belgian lace over layers of tulle, the heirloom gown had been expertly fitted to Abby’s small frame by Sharon, Naomi’s sister, who had also helped to make the dresses for Meredy and Lilly, who would serve as flower girls. For Naomi, who would be matron of honor, they had selected a dress of pale lavender organdy from the gowns that hung, so perfectly preserved, in the attic. Abby would wear her hair up on top of her head, upon which would sit Leila’s prized white garden hat, to which Sharon had added some small amount of veiling to gently frame Abby’s face. Around the bride’s neck would wind “something blue”—Serena’s sapphires, which would also serve as “something borrowed,” since they belonged to Sunny. For flowers, Abby would carry a bouquet of soft-colored roses—cream, white, palest yellow, barely pink—with trails of ivy and honeysuckle.

  No, Alex would not be getting so much as a glimpse before the ceremony, nor would anyone, other than Sharon and, of course, Naomi.

  “Were you coming to fetch me for dinner?” he asked hopefully.

  “No. I was coming to fetch you for a fun-filled hour in the carriage house. That was before it occurred to me that, with all the lumber you and Drew have piled up in there, there is barely room to stand up, let alone to do anything else.”

  “Hmmm. Sad but true.” Alex nodded.

  “Of course, if you’d let me on the boat, then maybe we could try out that handsome stateroom…”

  “This is one time, I fear, when your persistence will not be rewarded.” He laughed, squinting into the sunlight. “At least, not today.”

  “Okay.” She tried to appear downcast but found she could not sustain a long face in the midst of the joy she was feeling. “Anyway, if you want to take a break now, we can have an early dinner. We can sample some of the neat things Naomi and I have been making for the wedding. She is so clever, Alex. She just never fails to amaze me. I can’t wait to use some of her ideas when we have teas for our guests at the inn this summer.”

  “Like what?” He turned off the radio, which had been tuned to a jazz and blues station and from which Howlin’ Wolf was doing just exactly that.

  “Like a mixed green salad with chicory flowers…”

  “Chicory flowers?” He raised an eyebrow as he pulled on the ropes that secured the boat to the dock and eased the boat in another foot or two.

  “They’re perfectly edible. And the salad looks so gorgeous, all different shades of green leaves with these sky-blue flowers. And a potato salad made with primroses, a marigold mustard to serve with the baked ham, and, for the dessert table, a rose-petal sorbet, a marigold cake, and, of course, the wedding cake will be festooned with violets, which are an excellent source of vitamin C.”

  “You don’t suppose Naomi made up that part, do you?” He stepped from the boat to the dock.

  “Of course not. And I think it’s neat. We’ll have a really unique wedding.”

  “That’s for sure.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Oh, and wait till you see the ice cubes,” she added, wide-eyed.

  “What would you possibly do to ice cubes?” He leaned toward her, forehead to forehead.

  “We froze tiny flowers in the trays, lavender and violets and rose petals, which we’ll use in the punch.” Abby wrapped her arms around his neck as she chatted.

  “Dare I ask what will be in the punch?” He feigned a look of apprehension.

  “Wine and strawberries—and geranium blooms.” She laughed.

  “Can’t wait to try it,” he said dryly.

  “You won’t have to. There’s some in the house. Unless, of course, Belle has polished it off. She absolutely loved it.”

  “You know, Ab, I can’t remember when, if ever, I’ve seen Gran this happy.”

  “Belle is having a great time. She has been right in the midst of all the planning—even suggested that, as favors for the female guests, we make some little sachets filled with lavender. A little bit of Leila, she said.” Abby stepped back from him slightly and, wrapping an arm around his waist, tugged him to begin the stroll from the dock toward the path leading back through the garden to the house.

  “Well, I notice she’s been busy making up those little lacy sacks herself. And it’s good for her, to be involved, to feel needed. I appreciate the fact that you have allowed her to be an integral part of the preparations.”

  “She is an integral part of it. And I was delighted that she thought of making the favors, and even more delighted when she volunteered to actually do it. There are only so many hours in each day, and there are a million things left to do. I don’t think I could have handled one more thing.”

  “Well, we’re almost there, you know. It won’t be long until the wedding will be behind us and will join the countless happy memories we’ll spend the rest of our lives making.”

  “We will be happy, won’t we?” She smiled up into his eyes, warm as brown velvet.

  “Absolutely.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “We can’t miss, Ab. And we will live happily ever after. I promise you that.”

  Happily ever after. I like the sound of that.

  I like it a lot.

  As they passed the ancient pine, she looked up at the initials, carved into the rough bark so long ago by a lovestruck boy for his first—and only—sweetheart.

  As they stepped onto the path that led through the herb garden, a cloud of lavender rose to engulf them, like an embrace.

  They had, Abby knew, come full circle at last.

  Epilogue

  October 2001

  The gentlest of early-autumn breezes billowed through the lace curtains, sending balloons of white lace to drift over the wide window ledge. The aged fingers, impatient and curious, parted the curtains to peek out onto the front porch of the house at Thirty-five Cove Road, where every living soul Belle Matthews cared about was gathering.

  Dressed in one of Leila’s favorite blue-and-white dimity gowns, its high-collared neck held with a cameo, Abby paused to set a tray of tea sandwiches upon the edge of the wicker table while her fingers searched the back of her head for the hairpins she could feel were slipping, allowing the auburn tendrils to escape down her back. As her guests began to arrive, she crossed the porch to greet them.

  Chuckling with amusement, Belle watched with the greatest satisfaction as a young boy of perhaps four peered around the corner of the table upon which rested a mound of presents and a mountain of a birthday cake. His small fingers traced the edge of the table until they were in striking distance of the confection that was the object of his furtive mission. Just as he slid his right hand forward to swipe at the frosting across the back of the cake, a shadow fell across the table. With guilty eyes, the boy looked up.

  “Gray, you know what your momma said about keeping your fingers out of the cake,” Meredy whispered. “Now, come along out of
there. It won’t be long before the cake is cut. You can wait a little longer.”

  Despite his obvious disappointment, the boy came out from behind the table. Meredy, so grown-up now at ten, beckoned to him with a crooked finger.

  “Let’s see if we can find your sister before she gets into trouble,” Meredy told the boy.

  The old woman chuckled. It was too late. The boy’s sister, Miss Charlotte Cassidy Kane, sat on the porch decking under the table, barely visible to all except the woman who watched from behind the curtain. With pudgy fingers, Charlotte smeared pudding from a fruit tart across her chubby cheeks. Blissfully sucking her fingers along with a slice of kiwi, she went unnoticed to all but her greatgrandmother, who laughed softly as the youngster scratched at her ear with messy fingers, spreading the pudding into her strawberry-blond curls.

  I really should tell Abby, Belle mused. But she is so adorable…

  A wave of scent, faint at first, then gradually becoming more pronounced, seemed to fill the front parlor.

  “Ah, but they are perfect, are they not?” Belle whispered. “Look at young Gray—isn’t he the picture of Granger? And little Charlotte, bless her, looks so like you, dear… what? Oh, yes, I’d say things have gone quite well, all things considered. No, indeed, not one bit more perfect…”

  Belle watched with pleasure as Naomi and Colin approached the front steps, Naomi the height of Victorian style in a dress of the palest lavender, a white straw hat with a netted brim, and a parasol trimmed with masses of creamy lace which she used as a cane. She slipped one arm through that of her husband, who made a dashing figure in a jacket of deep burgundy velvet and a black bowler. They chatted quietly, their faces close together, obviously lost for a brief moment in the romance of the era into which they were about to step. Naomi stopped on the third step and turned to hold her hand out to the toddler who staunchly insisted on walking up the steps unaided. It had seemed so right to Belle that Naomi had named her young daughter Faith. Belle doubted she had ever known anyone who had possessed more of that virtue than Naomi.

  Belle sighed heavily. “I do hope I live to see Andrew settle down as happily as his brother has, but, ah, well, all things in good time.”

  Belle’s nose twitched slightly as she frowned and shook her head. “Well, of course, dear, I know that no one lives forever, and I’m happy—grateful—to have made it to ninety-five. But if the truth were to be told, it doesn’t seem like quite the right time for me… well, I realize it’s not necessarily my choice.”

  The sound of the car door drew her attention back to the window. She watched as Abby ran down the steps to greet Sunny and her new husband—now, there was an interesting young man, Belle mused.

  “Well, you’re perfectly right, dear. Susannah had said she wanted a man who was the adventurous sort. She certainly got what she asked for on that score. And I must say that he should come as no surprise to you. After all, she is your blood…”

  The back door of Sunny’s car opened, and, to Belle’s surprise, Drew stepped out, then leaned back toward the car with an outstretched hand to assist a woman from the car.

  “Oh, dear, no, I can’t see her face, just a lot of long, curly hair. Why, yes, I do believe she is one of Susannah’s sisters… which one? Why, yes, I do believe you are right…”

  “Gran, who on earth are you talking to?”

  Belle turned from the window as Alex entered the room.

  “What? Oh, just thinking out loud, dear. And admiring those beautiful young ones. My, but they are a joy to me. As you are, Alexander.”

  “Why, thank you, Gran.” He kissed her forehead.

  “I must say that you are very handsome in that morning coat. Very handsome, indeed.”

  “Thank you, Gran. Abby thought it would be fun if we all sort of dressed in turn-of-the-century clothing in honor of your birthday.”

  “Well, it’s a lovely sentiment, and you all look wonderful. But, as I told Abby, I’ve already done that style once and am more comfortable these days in more modern clothing.”

  “Well, you look beautiful to us, no matter what you are wearing.” He smiled and took her arm. “Now, come on outside. Everyone is waiting to see the birthday girl.”

  “I’ll be along in a minute, dear,” she assured him. “Go along out. I’m right behind you.”

  “Okay, but be sure that you are. I don’t know how much longer Abby can keep the children out of the cake.”

  The screen door slammed behind him, and he crossed the porch to where Abby was trying in vain to coax Charlotte out from under the table. Belle chuckled as Abby dangled a beautifully frosted cookie under the tablecloth to no avail. Abby shrugged good-naturedly and threw up her hands, which Alex took in his own, planting a kiss in each of her palms. A look of such love passed between them that Belle beamed with pleasure.

  With a deep and happy sigh, Belle started toward the door. “Isn’t it all just too perfect? Just as we’d hoped…” Her nose wiggled, and she smiled as the smell of apple cider and cinnamon drifted toward her when she opened the screen door. She wondered if it would be her last autumn. She hoped it would not be.

  “My, but it’s a lovely day,” she whispered. “Isn’t it perfectly glorious to be alive on such a day? Oh, of course… so thoughtless of me. I do apologize. Do come along, Leila, dear. Our family is waiting.”