by Rachel Hauck
“Charlotte, wait—” His voice weakly trailed her out of the room.
She was halfway down the hall, her throat thick with swallowed sobs, before she realized she’d left her purse in the chair by Tim’s bed.
But there was no way she was going back to get it now.
Sunday morning Charlotte woke up early, the sunrise bright over the mountains, and for a second all was right with the world.
For a second.
Then she remembered. Tim and Kim. Cute, huh? Tim and Kim. They deserved each other.
She popped out of bed, without allowing herself to dwell on the pain in her heart, and showered for church.
Finding a seat in the back, she worshipped with the early service congregation, eyes closed, arms held wide, her heart offering it all to the One who wooed her with love and grace. Unconditional and uncompromising. Perfectly done on His part, not so much hers.
But she could trust Him. He’d not switch His gaze from her when another walked into the room. It was the miracle and beauty of Jesus—fixed, unwavering affection. A smile started in Charlotte’s belly and floated to her lips. She was His favorite one.
I am Yours, I am Yours
She opened her eyes when a masculine body scented with sandalwood took the seat next to her. “Hey, Jack.”
“I heard.”
“Heard what?”
“Kim showed up.”
“Thanks to Katherine.”
Jack heaved a sigh as the music faded and the woman in front of them scowled over her shoulder. “He wants to see you,” Jack whispered in Charlotte’s ear.
“He saw me. Yesterday.”
“Charlotte, come on, don’t let Kim kick you out of the race.”
“Never fear, Jack. Kim can’t kick me out of the race.” She patted his shoulder and bore her gaze deep into his. “Because I’m not competing.”
She faced forward as the next song shifted from verse to chorus. Jack didn’t move.
Saturday night Charlotte had spent the evening munching on a bag of baby carrots, resisting the overwhelming urge to order a large pizza and eat the whole thing herself. With her carrots-of-comfort, she watched movies and talked to the dress. Hillary’s dress. The dress from the trunk. The dress she was charged to care for until she could find its next bride.
“Then this Kim chick comes into the room. Dress, are you listening? Comes in like she owns the place. A second earlier she’d have caught us kissing. Yeah, I know. He asked me to kiss him, but he had a date with her.”
“What do you want me to tell him?” Jack said as the worship song rose in power, the chorus transitioning to a glorious tag. Our God reigns, our God reigns. The band drove the music hard and tight, and Charlotte wrapped her heart in the power of the melody.
“Tell him to get well.” Charlotte closed her eyes, feeling the drums and bass in her chest, prophesying to her spirit, encouraging her soul.
Our God reigns. Our God reigns.
“He loves you.” Jack’s declaration wrenched Charlotte’s soaring spirit.
She popped open one eye for Jack. “He has a funny way of showing it.”
“Tell me about it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” The third oldest Rose boy hooked his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders for a one-arm side hug, then slid out of the row.
Trembling, Charlotte sank to the pew. She’d been in a good place, enjoying God and worship. Now she was back to the swirl and whirl of heartbreak and the other woman. She picked her bag off the floor—asked a nurse to retrieve it for her—grabbed her Bible, and headed out.
When she pulled into her Homewood loft, thinking today would be a good day to eat a whole cheese pizza, a woman called her name. She turned to see Hillary hurrying toward her, a tan leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder.
“Hillary? What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I called your bridal shop after you left yesterday. Your friend told me where you lived. I hope you don’t mind.” She met Charlotte at the building’s entrance wearing Joel’s tags around her neck. “My mind was reeling with thoughts of you, the dress, Joel and me. When Greg came home, he found me sitting in the middle of pictures, reliving the whole ordeal, crying. I just never figured out why. Why did I marry Joel, only to lose him? I didn’t realize I was still so angry.” The truth of her confession sat in the taut and deep lines of her face.
“Hillary, I should’ve never come to you. I was so wrapped up in needing to know about Joel and how he related to the dress, I never considered how it would impact you. Not really. I was a bit obsessed.” Charlotte pressed her hands over her middle. Dix had tried to warn her. “One day I had an old gown in my possession. The next I was deep into this mystery of a man whose life was summed up in five lines on a dog tag and a few details on a website.”
“I’m glad you came to me, Charlotte. I needed you to come to me.” Hillary’s hair buoyed in the wind. She wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, Go Navy, and khaki shorts with the same white sneakers from yesterday. “Even my husband knew this day of reckoning had to come. He said he’s known for years I wasn’t finished saying good-bye to Joel. Maybe now I have a chance to find that elusive closure.”
Charlotte jiggled her keys in her hand. “I was about to order a thin-crust cheese pizza.”
“Are you informing me or inviting me?”
Charlotte watched her through narrow eye slits. “Depends on your answer. Do you like pizza?”
“I love pizza. Any kind.”
“I’m on the fourth floor.”
“Lead the way, my dear.”
Taking the stairs to the fourth floor, Charlotte unlocked her loft, remembering the gown was in the living room as Hillary rounded the short hallway wall. She gasped, one hand cupped over her mouth. The other over her heart.
“I’m sorry, Hillary. I forgot the dress was out in view.”
“I never thought I’d see this thing again.” She circled the gown, brushing her cheeks dry and gently lifting the silky folds of the skirt. Lowering her face to the material, she closed her eyes and inhaled. “The skirt always smelled like a thick fragrant oil to me.”
“It seems to always catch and hold the light to me.” Charlotte lightly slipped her hand along the sleeve. “I love the gold threads.”
“It’s still the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.”
Charlotte sat on the edge of the sofa, crossing her legs, relaxing into the moment. “I’ve seen a lot of wedding gowns, many of them exquisite, but none compare to this one.”
“It’s special,” Hillary said, her voice and eyes filled with emotion.
“Why do you think it’s so special, Hillary?” Charlotte propped her chin in her hand. Seeing the gown through Hillary’s eyes broadened Charlotte’s heart and determination to find its next bride. She must be a special woman indeed.
“Because it’s only for those who accept it. Who can wear it.”
“What do you mean? Only for those who accept it?”
“I don’t know what I mean . . . it’s just here.” She tapped her heart. “You have to accept this gown, to believe in it. Have faith, if you will.”
“It’s just a gown.”
“No, it’s a destiny.” Hillary’s face brightened, the hue in her eyes the same as the hue of the threads. “I’m so glad you found the trunk, Charlotte. Oh my—” She pressed her hand over her heart, letting her eyes water and leak down her cheeks.
Charlotte swallowed the emotion rising in her chest. “The man who sold me the trunk mentioned something about 1912 and a bride. He handed me a receipt stamped REDEEMED. Do you know what that means? Do you know if you’re the only one to wear it, Hillary?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I had this feeling when I put it on, I wasn’t the first bride to wear it.” She peered over at Charlotte, hard. “And I have a pretty good idea who might wear it after me.”
“Ho, not me.” Charlotte stood, hands surrendered. “I’m going to find the right
bride, but trust me, she is not me.”
“Mercy, you protest so loudly.”
“When people talk crazy, I have to speak up. Now, let’s order pizza.”
Charlotte snatched up her cell and phoned in their order, then changed into jeans, leaving Hillary alone with the dress, alone with her memories.
When she came out of her room, Hillary stood by the window, staring northwest toward the city. She cradled a black framed picture against her belly.
“You have a great place here, Charlotte,” she said, turning back into the room.
“The west edge of the mountains have some lovely sunsets. But you said you were in the navy—did you live on a ship? You must have seen some great sunsets.”
“I lived in quarters smaller than your closets. But, yes, I saw some spectacular ocean sunsets. And sunrises. Even an ocean storm is fiercely beautiful. Been through a few of those.” Hillary crossed over to Charlotte. “I have something for you.” She offered her the picture. “Joel and me on our wedding day.”
“Hillary—” It was a color-faded snapshot. The background images were fuzzy and grainy. But in the center of the eight-by-ten photo stood a handsome, athletic-looking lieutenant with his arm curled tight around his bride, a beaming, bright-blond Hillary, perfectly sculpted into the wedding gown that now hung on the dress form. Charlotte glanced across the room and if she didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn the gown exhaled. Must have been the shift in the late-morning light falling through the window. “You’re so beautiful. Joel looks just like I imagined.”
They were young with their chins held high and eyes aglow with big love. Their smiles wide with big hope. He, a conquering hero. She, a conquering Southern beauty queen.
“Keep it. Please.” Hillary pressed the frame toward Charlotte when she tried to give it back.
“No, I couldn’t.” Charlotte traced her finger over Joel’s face, forever young. “Don’t you want it?”
“I want you to have it. Joel belongs to both of us now. You brought him back to me. For all the good reasons. He captured you the same way he captured me.” Hillary’s countenance softened as she spoke. “For the first time since he died, I was glad I married him. I remembered all the good and happiness. And I owe that to you.”
The doorbell rang, the delivery of pizza interrupting the moment. Charlotte paid, refusing the money Hillary held out.
“Smells good.” Hillary opened cupboards. “Um . . . plates and glasses?”
“By the sink.” Charlotte pointed from the pantry where she gathered napkins. “I have iced tea, water, milk, juice, Diet Coke. I drink the fake stuff around here.”
“I’ll have iced tea.” Hillary stopped. “Is it sweet?”
Charlotte grinned, opening the pizza box on the dining table. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Good enough. I don’t want to know more.”
The women ate the first few hot bites of cheese and sauce in peace. Then Hillary reached for a napkin. “How’s your friend in the hospital?”
“We’re talking about me now?”
“Might as well. That dress practically makes us family.”
Family. The word smacked Charlotte’s chest and burned through to her heart.
“He’s fine. Had an accident racing motocross.” Charlotte wiped tomato sauce from her fingers.
“Is he someone special?”
“He was. We were engaged, but he called it off.” Charlotte reached for her soda. “Well, he wanted to postpone the wedding. Said he wasn’t ready. But how do you go from being engaged and planning a wedding to just . . . waiting. Being in limbo.” Charlotte swigged from her Diet Coke. The drink, the conversation, went down well with pizza. “We moved too fast. Engaged two months after we met.”
“Some of the world’s best loves stories are about men and women who met one day and married the next.”
“Yeah, like who?”
Hillary balked. “I don’t know, you’re the wedding consultant. But I’m sure it’s true.”
Charlotte laughed. “You’re a horrible liar.”
“Maybe I am, but you know you’ve heard the stories of fast love. And I get the feeling you don’t really want to say good-bye to this fella.” Hillary chose a piece of pizza from the remaining slices.
“Didn’t want my mama to die at thirty-five either, but she did. Can’t always have life the way we want it. But there’s always pizza.” Charlotte took a big bite of a small slice. By forging into Hillary’s past, she’d given permission for Hillary to forge into hers.
“Before Joel was killed,” Hillary said, “we’d write letters and pick a day to look at the moon together. We were twelve hours apart, so one would look at the night moon, the other during the day, if we could find it. The night of his funeral the moon was bright and full, like a dancing globe in the sky. How dare the moon shine when my heart was so dark. I lost it, ran up to my room, tore the dress from the hanger, scooped up Joel’s dog tags, and headed down to the basement. I had no idea what I was going to do until I spotted the trunk. I threw the dress in, back where it came from, stuffed Joel’s dog tags into the little bag, and dragged it outside. I had every intention of burning it to ashes. Then I ran right into my daddy.”
Charlotte brushed crumbs from her fingers and listened.
“‘Shug,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you want to do that.’ But I didn’t listen. I was going to burn that stupid trunk and everything it represented. I wanted nothing that reminded me of Joel. Daddy talked for a while. ‘Now you listen to me.’” Hillary wagged her finger as her father might have done that night over forty years ago. “‘You’re hurting now, but you won’t always feel this way. You just might want this dress again. Another Joel will come along.’ Oh mercy, that sent me right over the edge. How could he say such a thing? There was only one Joel. Only one man for me. But some bit of reason sank in, so after Daddy left, I went to his workshop and found his blow-torch and fired it up. Teach him to make me take shop class in high school. I welded the lock until it glowed like the fires from the Sloss Furnaces. Then I collapsed. Woke up in my bed in the morning with bandages on my hands from torch burns.”
Hillary got up from the table for her black bag and pulled a picture from the front pouch. “I found this when I was going through all the photos.” She offered Charlotte a black-and-white image. “That’s my mama and daddy, and next to them, the previous owners of our house.”
“The one where you found the trunk?” The woman, perhaps in her midthirties, was beautiful in her Sunday suit. “Do you think they’re connected to the dress?”
“I have no idea. Their names are on the back. Thomas and Mary Grace Talbot. That’s my mama’s handwriting. Darn near perfect, isn’t it? I remember Thomas was a preacher, and they’d just purchased a big tent to hold revival meetings across the country. He told Mama he had the gift of healing. I thought he was the weirdest man I’d ever met.”
“Really? Because of the healing thing?”
“I was a future nurse, so yes, even at ten, I didn’t believe any man could heal.” Hillary arched her eyebrows. “What do you think?”
“I think God uses imperfect people to do whatever He wants. He uses me to help brides get ready.” Charlotte gazed at the picture again, touching their faces with the tip of her finger. “Thomas and Mary Grace Talbot. Where did you wander to?”
“I guess they’d be in their late eighties or early nineties now.”
“If they’re alive.”
Hillary took up a piece of pizza. “They’re alive.” She grinned. “And I think I can find out where they live.”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte unpacked a new shipment of dresses Wednesday after lunch. The winter gowns she’d ordered were beautiful. Dealing in her treasured merchandise always righted her tilted emotions.
Jesus Culture played from her iPad dock, and on days like today, Charlotte believed the storeroom of her shop was her most holy sanctuary.
Footsteps echoed over the shop�
��s hardwood floor. “I’m here.” Dixie. “Your relief.” She came into the storeroom and sat on the old wooden packing and shipping desk, gathering her hair into a ponytail. “Jared said Tim is doing well, by the way. He’ll probably go home today.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Monday, over a two-hour lunch, Charlotte had delivered the weekend details to Dixie—who demanded to know everything, starting with the first H in “Hey” to the trailing “e” in “Good-bye.”
“Jared said Tim’s blond restaurant girl has been there every day.”
“It’s nice to have someone care for you when you’re hurting.”
Dixie slammed her hand on the desk. “Would you stop being so nice? Get angry. Blow up. Shake your fist. ‘I’ll never go hungry again.’” She put on her best Southern-belle tone. “Fight for him, fight for what’s yours.”
Charlotte smirked, rolling her eyes. “Very dramatic, Miss O’Hara. Where would shaking my fists get me? Just riled up about something I can’t change.” She’d done her share of fist waving, and it only made her more mad and more sad. She had peace at the moment, and she’d kind of like to ride that river for a while. “I can’t fight for a man who doesn’t want me.”
“But you said he—”
“Yes, he said some stuff. But when she walked in it was like I faded into the shadows.” Charlotte held up a new Bray-Lindsay. “How do you like the dresses? I love every Bray-Lindsay gown.” She wanted to hold it to her and meld with the silky threads and pure, creamy whiteness.
“They do exquisite work. Don’t let Tawny see them. She’ll change her mind.”
Charlotte shook out the next gown, a new one from a local designer, Heidi Elnora.
The front chimes pealed through the shop followed by a high pitched, “Hello?”
“I got it.” Dixie stepped out of the room, returning a few moments later with Hillary.
Charlotte hung the gown on the rack. “Hillary, hey, what are you doing here?” She motioned for her to come in. “Dixie, this is Hillary.”
