The Wedding Dress(72)

“Never heard of them.” Hillary took up the story. “But he went to school with another Talbot. When you’re in the same homeroom with a guy from first grade to twelfth, you find out things. The Dr. Talbot I knew put me in touch with Harry, who is Thomas and Mary Grace Talbot’s great-nephew.”

Dixie whooshed a “wow” from her desk perch. “Do you think Mrs. Talbot wore the dress before you, Hillary?”

Charlotte hung up the last dress in the shipment. “Let’s go find out.”



Kirkwood by the River was a retirement village nestled on wooded acreage by the Cahaba River. As Charlotte parked and walked with Hillary toward the main entrance, Hillary talked.

“He’s ninety-four, suffers with some dementia. She’s ninety-three, sharp as a tack. At least, according to Harry.”

Passing through a golden sun spot on the stone patio, Charlotte stopped. “I’m not sure I want to go in.”

“What? We came all this way. Isn’t this why you found me?” Hillary sat on a wrought iron two-seater with flowered cushions.

“What if she knows nothing about the dress? What if this is a dead end? You were the last one who wore it and we have no idea who came before. We won’t know if the bride before you was in love or if she married out of convenience. Or if she was made a widow like you. There are three more wars to contend with here. I’m not sure I want to reach the end of the line. To know I’ll never know. There’s too much unknown in my past already. I don’t want to add the dress.”

“Charlotte, it’s not the asking that leaves us in the dark—we’re already there, right? If we come to a dead end in the history of the dress, then at least we know we tried. No guarantee of answers in life.”

“But I can pretend.” Charlotte eased down next to Hillary. “If I don’t talk to Mrs. Talbot, then I can make up the rest of the story. A lovely girl, a handsome groom, a simple wedding. And she’s wearing your dress.”

“And your dress.” Hillary started for the entrance. “You missed your calling, Charlotte. You should’ve written romance novels.”

“It’s not about romance, Hillary. It’s about life. Who doesn’t want to be loved? To be safe? To have a place called home and family.” Was that what she wanted so desperately? To be safe? To have a home with a family? Charlotte had never framed her fear with words before. Was that why she harbored doubts about marrying Tim? Because she wasn’t sure her heart would be loved with him? Or that home meant family? Katherine sure didn’t see her fitting in.

“Sounds like you want perfect love, Charlotte. The kind that doesn’t mess with your heart or your fears. Let me tell you, that love doesn’t exist. Let’s say we walk through those doors and find that neither of the Talbots has recollection of the dress. Know nothing about it. Do you know they’ve been married seventy-two years? Seven decades plus two. That’s twice your age and then some. Maybe we don’t find another woman who wore that gown or find out how it got in my parents’ basement, but we will find someone who knows how to love. It’s that kind of love that’ll drive out your fears. Not the kind you think you’ll find by running and hiding.” Hillary shoved her shoulders back, navy square. “Now let’s go.”

Without a word, Charlotte followed. A young, dark-haired resident assistant met them and escorted them down a long hall, past the TV and dining rooms, to Thomas and Mary Grace Talbot’s door.

“Are they expecting you?” He knocked lightly. “Mary Grace? Thomas? It’s George. You have visitors.” He twisted the knob.

Around the opening door, Charlotte spotted Mrs. Talbot, thin and lost in her sweater and slacks, moving across the room with her cane. “Let them in, George.” Charlotte’s heart swelled with expectation. Mrs. Talbot smiled, and Charlotte recognized the aura of the younger beauty in the photograph. “Come in, come in. Thomas, our guests are here.”

George quick-stepped across the room, offering aid to a frail man coming from the bedroom. “Darn legs giving me fits. Don’t get old, young ladies.” He wagged his finger, bending to sit in his rocker-recliner. “It don’t pay. It don’t pay. I’m good with the Lord . . . don’t know why He won’t come get me. Ain’t no use to Him no more down here.”

“Except to keep me company.” Mrs. Talbot moved back toward another chair, George lending a support hand. “You’d miss me if you went on to glory, Tommy.”

“Sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on going without you. You’ve been with me through it all. The spoils are yours as much as mine.” His spotted, veined hand dropped over the side of his chair and grasped hers. “Now, what can we do for you young ladies?” The light in Thomas’s eyes was kind. Wise and patient. Charlotte loved him at once. If he suffered from dementia, it hadn’t surfaced today.

“I’m Charlotte Malone, Mr. Talbot. This is Hillary Warner.”

“We go by Thomas and Mary Grace around here.”

“I’m the one who spoke to you on the phone,” Hillary said, half rising as Mary Grace started to exit from her chair. George had gone, and it wasn’t clear what the older woman wanted. “Can I help you?”

“There’s hot coffee brewing in the kitchen. Can you bring it ’round? I’d do it, but by the time I shuffle there and back, it’ll be dinnertime.” Her laugh denied her age.