The Wedding Shop Read Free Page A

to college, then maybe join the Marines or something—”
    “The Marines! I’m not joining the Marines.” Tammy’s protest was sure. “But I’ll run this shop with you.”
    “But first we go places, see people, visit Hawaii, then buy this shop.”
    “Best friends forever.” Tammy hooked her pinky finger around Haley’s.
    “Best friends forever.”
    “We’ll come back here one day and own this wedding shop.”
    “Pinky promise.”
    “Pinky promise.”
    The lightning flickered, kissing the front window again. Haley jumped up and ran screaming around the shop with Tammy in pursuit.
    Because make-believe was what best friends did. But make-believe ended.
    Best friends were forever. And pinky promises could never be broken.

Chapter One

    C ORA
    April 1930
    Heart’s Bend, Tennessee
    T he morning began like every other weekday, with Cora making her way up the back walk to the shop, unlocking the door, and clicking on the lights.
    But today the spring sun’s brightness drifting through the trees stirred a sense of hope. A vibrant anticipation.
    Let today be the day.
    Hanging her sweater and hat on hooks in the mudroom, Cora entered the small salon and stood at the nearest window, pushing the lace sheer aside. She gazed toward the cut of the Cumberland River visible through the trees and wished for him .
    While she treasured spring’s green and gardenia perfume, she missed the unobstructed view provided by leafless limbs. In the winter, she could see for miles from her shop’s perch on the hill. Despite the cold gray days of winter, its barrenness enhanced her perspective.
    But now spring had arrived and, still, he had not. She so ached for a glimpse of his long, lean stride coming up from the port, boldly taking the avenue with his broad physique, his mass of blond hair tangling about his face while the loose sleeves of his white blouse billowed about his thick arms.
    Come today, darling.
    “Cora?” The back door slammed, drawing her away from her post. “I’m here.” Odelia, Cora’s shop assistant and seamstress, entered with a gust of cold wind and the scent of cinnamon. “Sorry to be late. The buns were still in the oven.” She chuckled, shifting the weight of the garments in her arms. “The buns . . . get it? I should’ve been in vaudeville. Anyways, couldn’t get the old car started so Lloyd drove me in on the wagon.”
    Cora leaned over her shoulder. “Hmmm, those smell divine. And no rush. We’ve an hour before they arrive. Mama’s on her way.”
    “Good, good. Ain’t no hostess like your mama.” Odelia set the hot buns in the first-floor pantry, where Mama would set up a service of tea and coffee along with pastries from Haven’s bakery. She’d have to delicately decide what to do with Odelia’s buns. “Even your Aunt Jane said she couldn’t out hostess Esmé. Now, let me get the rest of the dresses out from the wagon. Lloyd has work back at the farm and he don’t cotton none to being held up.”
    “I’ll help you.” Cora followed Odelia out of the shop and down the walk to Blossom Street. “Morning, Lloyd.”
    “Cora.” He jutted his chin her way, then lowered his hat over his eyes, handing her several dresses swinging from hangers. “Got work to do.”
    “Now, shush. What do you think we’re doing here all day, playing tiddlywinks?” Odelia anchored her toe on the wagon wheel and lighted into the bed, taking the dresses from her man. “Don’t hold them against you. They’ll go smelling like horses and pigs.”
    “Odelia, here, hand them to me.” Cora reached for three more dresses.
    The woman was a backbone to the shop with her seamstress skills, yet a constant mystery. Part Irish, part Cherokee, she was a workhorse with smooth brown skin that defied her age. Mama said she’d stick a needle in her eye if Odelia was a day under sixty.
    When they’d unloaded the dresses, Lloyd took off. Odelia called after him, “Come get me, you old coot, or there won’t be no