The Wedding Dress(73)

Hillary moved toward the kitchen, pointing to Charlotte. “Start the story.”

Charlotte angled a bit more toward the couple, leaning on the arm of the sofa, meeting Mary Grace’s eyes, blue and clear as a southern summer sky.

“I found a wedding dress.” The air of the room shifted. Charlotte’s eyes watered with unbidden tears. “In a trunk I bought at an auction.”

“So, you found the dress?” Mary Grace’s fingers remained linked to her husband’s. “The silk one with the satin skirt, pearls about the waist, and the shimmer of gold thread.”

Hillary darted out from the kitchen, a coffee cup in each hand. “Yes, that’s the one. Who takes cream and sugar?”

“Black over here.” Thomas raised his shaking hand.

“One dollop of each for me.” Mary Grace scooped an invisible spoon through the air, her spirit, her youthfulness, threading through Charlotte.

“Charlotte?” Hillary said.

“Water for me.” Caffeine would only jack her up. Her nerves were buzzed enough from the excitement and trepidation of this meeting. “Mary Grace, you know about the dress?”

“Surely. I wore it for my own wedding.”

“Prettiest bride Birmingham ever saw,” Thomas said, clear and strong.

“Hush, Thomas.” Mary Grace took the cup Hillary handed her. “He still plies me with sweet nothings. Tell me, what do you do, Charlotte?”

“I . . . I own a bridal shop in Mountain Brook.” Mary Grace wore the dress. Charlotte reached for the water Hillary offered. The cool ceramic cup felt good against her hands.

“And you found my gown.” Mary Grace smiled, then let it fade. “But that gown is not to be sold. It must be worn by the one who finds it.”

“Well, yes, you see, Mary Grace, I think I’m the one to find the next bride.” Charlotte brought the mug of water to her lips and took a sip. “Perhaps someone will come into my shop and I’ll know she’s the one.”

“You’re the bride.” Mary Grace pointed at her, slow and deliberate, almost like she was poking something invisible and buoyant.

“Told you,” Hillary whispered out the side of her mouth.

“Hush.” Charlotte slid to the edge of her sofa cushion, fixed on Mary Grace. She’d help her understand. “My job is to help brides get ready for the biggest day of their life. It’s my gift, you might say. I’m good at what I do.” Even to her own ears, her argument sounded shallow. Who was she kidding? She had no idea why she redeemed the dress.

“I’m sure you are, but that gown has never been for sale. It’s been gifted from one bride to the next.”

Hillary froze with her coffee mug in the air. “But I found the trunk in my parents’ basement.”

“I know.” Mary Grace rocked gently in her chair. “I left it there for you.”

“You left it there . . . I was ten years old.” Shock and surprise blended over Hillary’s angular face.

Charlotte could see that Hillary still hadn’t completely settled the issue of Joel in her heart, so she moved the topic away from the dress for a moment.

“Thomas, I hear you were a preacher.”

“Yup, yup, fifty-two years. Preached the gospel of the kingdom from Maine to Hawaii, down on into Mexico and Guatemala. Up to Canada and Alaska.”

“He still preaches,” Mary Grace said. “To me and all the residents here. Our poor cleaning lady gets a sermon every week for sure. And the man who brings our groceries is about to get born again, I know it. Then there’s our dear George who insists he’s an . . . what’s he again, Tommy?”

“Agnostic.”

“Yes, that’s what he says he is. Imagine, believing in nothing. What hope is there in that?”

“Exactly. If you got good news, you best tell it.” Thomas laughed softly. “Don’t make no sense to be quiet.”

“He’s a gifted preacher,” Mary Grace said. “He led many a lost soul to the foot of the Cross. Why, there was the time we were preaching in a tent out in the middle of a Kansas prairie and—”

“Mary Grace, where’s my coffee?”

She picked it up from the table between them and handed it to him. “It was hotter than anything that summer and the flies were just thick as could be. Let me tell you, no wind was sweeping down the plain that night. But the folks came out to hear the preaching.”

“Most folks didn’t have TV in those days.” Thomas sipped his coffee and set it back down. “It was right after the war and the country was ready for some good news. A message of hope.”

“But the heat just melted folks right in their chairs. Hand fans were just a-going, then Thomas started preaching and fifty words into his message he suddenly stopped.” Mary Grace pressed her palms against the air, her eyes on her husband. “He stood right in the middle of the stage, spread his hands, tipped back his head, and closed his eyes.”

Mary Grace’s story stirred a bubbling sensation spreading in Charlotte’s chest. The Talbots spoke like young, energized believers. No sign of fading. Of dementia.

“There Tommy remained, center stage, arms spread, face toward heaven, and he said in the most even, calm, but oh-so-sure voice, ‘Lord of heaven, who calmed the seas and rebuked the storm, I ask for Your mercy on these humble folks who drove for miles and miles to hear Your Word. Please send us a cool, gentle rain.’”