The Wedding Shop Read Free Page B

supper.”
    “How long have you two been married again?” Cora said, falling in step with her assistant. Odelia was an Aunt Jane find. Hired her when she first opened the shop in 1890.
    “Since Jesus was a baby.” She examined one of the white satiny dresses. “If Lloyd’s old blanket left a mark, I’ll crown him.”
    But in the light of the mezzanine, the dresses were perfect, the white skirts shimmering with purity and beauty. No one in Heart’s Bend could work a needle and sewing machine like Odelia.
    “I’ll get the display cases set up.” Cora headed down the stairs. The grand staircase with the carved, glossy, wooden spindles divided the shop in two—the grand salon on the left, the small salon on the right.
    The grand salon Cora treated like a Hollywood living room, at least from what she could tell from the movies and magazines, covering the hardwood with plush carpet and the walls with bold paper.
    In the light of the front display window, she positioned ornate chairs around the long, curved davenport made of a polished wood and covered with heavy gold upholstery. Here she sat her clients and their mothers, grandmothers, sisters, cousins, friends, aunts, and nieces. Here they waited for the bride to descend the staircase in her wedding gown.
    If the bride was so inclined, the bridesmaids also descended the stairs, modeling their gowns for the other women. Once in a while, a father insisted on joining the party. After all, they protested, weren’t they the ones footing the bill?
    In the small salon, the display cases housed a variety of veils, gloves, sachets, clutches, stockings, and every other sundry a bride might desire. Dress forms and mannequins modeled wedding gowns, going-away dresses, and a very modest style of lingerie.
    At the bottom of the stairs, Cora paused. What was she setting out to do? Oh yes, the display cases. And she needed to run and get the pastries from the bakery. But she paused at the front door, peering through the etched glass, unable to quell the stirring in her heart. It moved from taut anticipation to a burning restlessness.
    Rufus, where are you?
    In his last letter, he said he’d be on the Cumberland this spring. “Look for me in March.” But it was already the first week of April, when the dogwoods bloomed in Gardenia Park and down First Avenue.
    She feared he’d been hurt, or fallen ill. Or worse, his boat had hit the snags and sank, a swift current trapping him beneath the surface.
    “Do we have time to dawdle at the window?”
    Cora turned to see her mother crossing the small salon, patting her hand against her hair, then smoothing her hand down the front of her skirt. “I was just checking the temperature.” Cora rapped her knuckle on the cool glass in the direction of the thermometer. A blessed coincidence.
    “Checking the temperature? Or watching the river?”
    Mama liked to think Cora was an open book. One she could read well.
    “I’m fixing the display cases before going to the bakery. Can you open the top panes of the windows, let in the fresh air? When the Dunlaps arrive it will get warm in here. They are a large party.”
    “You know, staring out the window pining for him won’t make him arrive any faster, Cora. Or make him a man of his word.” Mama unlocked the window next to the door and pulled open the pane.
    “You’re being unfair. He is a man of his word.”
    “Well, when he can change it at will and convince you it’s the truth, then I suppose you’re right. Did you say something about the bakery order? I glanced in the pantry and only saw Odelia’s cinnamon buns.”
    “Yes, after I set up the cases I’ll head over to Haven’s. Will you start the coffee and tea at five till?”
    “I’ve been hosting this shop since before you were born. I know when to start the coffee and tea. What I don’t know is what to do with Odelia’s buns. The woman can sew dry grass into a beautiful gown, but her baking leaves much to be desired. No wonder