The Wedding Dress(104)

Tim smiled, clapping his big brother a high five. Good. It was all good.

“And . . . ready for more good news? Brody Smart called on my way here. There’s some new developments going on west of the city. He wants us to bid. Said unless we submit children’s drawings, we have the job. They want to give it to us.” David did a funny jig around the garage. “Finally, our ship is coming in.”

Tim put the broom into action, unsure of the stream of emotion in his chest. One act of obedience and God opened up heaven. His garage was empty but his heart was full.

“Want to come to the house for dinner? Katherine is making sloppy joes and tater tots. Your favorite.”

Tim shook his head. “She’s going to have to get used to the idea that she’s only married to you, Dave.”

“Don’t be like that, Tim. You’re a brother to her. She wants the best for you.”

“If she did, then she’d have loved Charlotte.”

David stared toward the street, his hands on his belt. “Are you going after Charlotte again?”

“I don’t know. Got to see if she’s still talking to me after telling her Colby was her dad.”

“I’m with you if you do, Tim. Whatever you need.”

The brothers chatted a few more minutes, then David checked the time and said he had to get going.

Tim set his broom in the corner, flipped on the radio, and pulled a lawn chair to the center of the garage, facing the neighborhood.

Space. Glorious space. He was ready for whatever God raced his way next.

His neighbor zipped past on his motorcycle, beeping his horn, waving. Tim answered with an easy wave. He didn’t envy the man at all. Not one tiny bit.





Chapter Twenty-Seven



Charlotte





In the warm lamplight of her bedroom, Charlotte slipped the gown from the dress form. In ten seconds she’d know.

Did the dress fit her? Was she the next bride?

“Charlotte, what’s taking you so long?” Hillary banged on the door.

“Do you need help?” Dixie said.

“Hush up, give me a minute.”

She’d showered. Donned clean undergarments. Then approached the dress. Slowly. Carefully. The dress held the hearts of three other women. The history of a hundred years.

It wasn’t until Charlotte stepped into the skirt that she realized how much she wanted to be a part of their story, of the gown’s history.

Please fit. Charlotte hesitated as she drew the skirt over her hips. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

“Oh, merciful me, it’ll fit, Charlotte.” Hillary. Without doubt. “You think all this happened just so you could give it to someone else? It’ll fit. Trust me.”

“If it doesn’t, you’ll find the perfect bride, Char. It’s what you do.”

“Shush, Dix, what kind of thing is that to say? She is the perfect bride.”

“Well, if she’s not, she’ll find one. Hillary, you’re freaking her out.”

Charlotte grinned at the banter on the other side of the door, slipping her arms gently into the sleeves, and settling the bodice on her shoulders. She loved Hillary like a sister, no, like a mother, already.

Gathering the dress in the back with her hands, Charlotte held her breath. Would it fit?

The waist of pearls pulled against her middle, hugging her ribs. Perfectly. It fit. The dress fit. I won’t cry, I won’t cry.

But her heart raced and when she tried to speak, tears weighted her words. “It fits, y’all. It fits. Come button me up.” The bedroom door crashed open.

“I can’t believe you doubted me.” Hillary went right to the back buttons.

“Oh, Char.” Dixie stood back, a wide smile on her face, a sheen in her eyes. “It’s gorgeous. You are gorgeous.”

“But how? Emily had to wear a corset. Mary Grace said she was thin. Oh, Hillary, the waist is going to be too tight.”

“Charlotte, stop fretting and start thinking of what you’re going to do when you see it does fit.” Hillary hooked the rest of the buttons in silence. Only the sound of the women breathing.

Charlotte watched in the mirror as the dress formed to her figure, the bodice accenting her curves. The scoop neck nestled just under her collarbone. The pearls at her waist rested in a neat row, not strained or taut. The bell shoulders tapered to fitted sleeves and dropped just below her elbow.

“Here, put on these shoes.” Dixie set down a pair of cream pumps from the shop. “The heel is about what Emily would’ve worn.”

“All buttoned.” Hillary angled around to see Charlotte’s face, gently gripping her shoulders. “Exhale,” she whispered.

When she did, her ribs rested against the sides of the dress and every fiber settled into place.

The mirror reflected more than a woman in a beautiful gown. It reflected Charlotte’s heart. And instantly she knew . . . she’d risk her heart again.

“I have to go.” Charlotte yanked her purse off the bedroom floor.

“Go where?”

“After love.” Out of the loft and down to her car, it was all so clear to her heart and mind. She didn’t belong to the dress. She belonged to Tim. That’s what the dress had been trying to tell her all along, since that day up on the ridge.