The Wedding Dress(95)

“Then she died.”

“I miss her.” Charlotte tipped her head back, dropping her arm over her eyes. “And now I have so many questions only she can answer. Like, why, why, why did she not get along with my grandparents? Why did her mother leave her father? We moved to Birmingham from Tallahassee when I was three and never went back. Only saw my grandpa twice afterward.” She peered out from under her arm. “What did you find out from her? Colby’s wife?”

“All I asked for was her address and if she’d be willing to talk to you. This is where my journey ends and yours begins. But if I’m right, your mom was in love with Colby and she moved here to be near him. Maybe to get support or a chance for him to see you.”

“Oh my gosh, Tim, all the times we picnicked up at the Ludlow estate.” Charlotte sat up, fingers pressed to her temples. “There’s a side service road.”

“I know the one.”

“We’d park, then hike just to the edge of the estate and spread a blanket, eat a bucket of chicken or McDonald’s. Never once did she mention knowing the Ludlows or speak of them at all. Just, like, ‘Isn’t that an amazing house, Charlotte?’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to live in a house like that, Charlotte?’ When I was in junior high, we took a class trip up to the estate for a civics class. We learned”—she faced the dress—“that Emily Ludlow was the first southern woman to wear a wedding gown by a black designer. And, Tim, I grew up to deal in wedding dresses.”

“Yeah, you did. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, but . . . but, Tim, why did this dress come to me?”

He cleared his throat. Because she was supposed to get married. But he foiled the divine plan. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Because, Charlotte, Emily Ludlow is your great grandmother.”

“My . . . great grandmother. But we don’t really know. It’s all speculation. I’m not sure I want to know, Tim. I’ve learned to live with the life I’ve been given.”

“We all need to know where we come from, Charlotte. We can’t live in a vacuum. You mean to tell me it’s fine for you not knowing? No idea of your family heritage or who might have come before you? That’s got to be an amazing feeling, to be related to Emily Ludlow.”

“Tim, you seem to think I’m missing something I once had. I never had family. Just Mama. That was my world. Yours is brothers and cousins and friends from first grade, racing motorbikes and fortieth wedding anniversaries. I like my solitude. It’s okay. It’s what I know.”

She stooped to pick up the torn pieces of Tim’s note. “What was her name?”

“Noelia Ludlow. Do you have tape?” Tim eased off the couch, poised to follow her directions.

“In the kitchen.”

Together, they stood at the counter and worked the tape.

“I didn’t go looking for this, Charlotte.”

“Then why did you call Monte?”

“Okay, maybe I did go looking for this, but Monte said he didn’t know anything, so I let it alone. Then he brought over the box. I saw the Ludlow pictures. The clippings. The pieces seemed to align.” Between them, on the counter, sat the taped note. Tim inched it toward Charlotte. “I don’t think this was my idea, Char. I think it was God’s.”

She was silent for a moment, her chest rising and falling with her breath. “Why now?”

“How should I know? But, Charlotte, you’re the one who redeemed your own inheritance.”

“I bought a trunk.”

“Charlotte, you bought your great grandmother’s dress. Out of the blue. The idea boggles my mind. It’s incredible.” Tim walked to the door, pulling his keys from his pocket. She stood in the kitchen, watching him. “I was stupid to let you go.” He twisted the knob and opened the door. “This is my way of saying I’m sorry.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be.”

Tim paused in the open door. “But some things are. We just have to be smart enough to recognize them.”



The next afternoon, Charlotte sat in Mary Grace and Thomas’s warm apartment, fragrant with Bengay.

She wished the AC would kick on but didn’t have high hopes. Thomas wore a thick sweater and Mary Grace, a robe and wooly slippers. Breakfast dishes sat on the tables next to their chairs. A church broadcast played on the TV.

Charlotte had been neck deep in a new shipment of dresses, not thinking about Tim, Cleo, Colby Ludlow, and his wife when Mary Grace called.

“I want to tell you the rest of my story.”

When Dixie reported in, Charlotte escaped the shop and headed for Kirkwood by the River.

She welcomed the break, the step back into time, the inviting blue sparks emanating from Mary Grace’s eyes as she talked.

“The dress came to me almost the same way it came to you and the other woman.”

“Hillary,” Charlotte said.

“Yes, Hillary. What a lovely name, don’t you think so, Tommy? When you came the other day, I couldn’t help but think about that dress over and over. It just took me back, reminding me of when I was young and vibrant, when I walked without a cane. Back when we traveled doing the Lord’s work.” Her voice softened. “Oh, how He loves us.”

“How did you two meet?” Charlotte remained on the edge of the sofa seat, fanning herself with one of the residence social programs.