The Wedding Veil(26)

I took off my dress so I could start working on my tan and followed him.

We stretched out on the loungers on the front deck. The sun felt warm and perfect.

“Do you mind if we cruise a little?” he asked. “I thought we’d go to Soggy Dollar for lunch.”

I lit up. I had read all about the famous local beachfront bar. “Yes, please!”

It occurred to me then that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to be in another country with a man I barely knew on a boat that wasn’t even his. But I was lulled into contentment by the drink and the sun and the gentle water, so I let the worry pass by and focused, instead, on how great my tan was going to be.



* * *



Three hours later, waves crashed over the dinghy, threatening to capsize our little boat as we made our way to shore again. “I should have had Axle bring us in,” Conner said, laughing as the spray drenched us again.

Axle. The first mate. I wondered how many people actually worked on this boat.

“But then what kind of adventurers would we be?” I practically shouted over the noise of the angry surf. The water farther out was calm, but the breakers were huge despite the clear skies.

Once we—somehow—made it to shore, I helped him pull the boat up onto the sand.

The white maxi dress that had seemed so chic this morning now clung to my skin, feeling disgusting. I wasn’t sure if I could go to the bar in just my bathing suit, but even still, this would never do. I peeled my dress off and spread it on the side of the dinghy to dry. “Can I go in like this?” I asked Conner, peering up at the open-air space to see what other people were wearing.

“Can you go to the Soggy Dollar Bar in your bikini?” he asked. “I believe that’s the dress code.”

He reached out to take my hand and led me to an open table where he plopped down in a plastic chair. I wished I had brought a towel, but it probably would have gotten drenched too. I looked at the chair warily.

As I sat down, a goat—an actual goat—jumped up on top of the low table and peered at me curiously.

I burst out laughing. “I only take you to the finest places,” Conner said.

But this was what I had really imagined when I dreamed of the islands—laid-back bars, random livestock, colorful, open-air settings.

Conner pulled the goat by the collar he was wearing—which, I noted, bore the insignia of my rival university, UNC—but he stood firm, bleating sorrowfully at him.

We both dissolved into hysterics. “He wins,” Conner said, sitting back down.

“A goat isn’t the worst dining companion I’ve ever had,” I said.

At that moment, I had the most distinct urge to write a letter to my grandmother—something I did very, very often. I wanted to tell her that I was having so much fun that I had forgotten all about the wedding drama and home and work. Everything, really, except for Conner and this magical day. And I knew I would do it all over again if he asked me.





EDITH Higher Ground

July 16, 1916





Edith could barely see, the rain was coming down so hard. She was soaked through her clothes, her poor horse so wet that she could hardly balance atop his saturated skin. Dear Lord, please let it stop, she prayed. The storm the week before had caused Asheville’s French Broad River to rise considerably. But after just four dry days, here they were again, drowning in rain just as fierce. Noble, who’d insisted on riding beside Edith, called over the noise of the driving rain, “The paper said yesterday brought more rain to the Blue Ridge than had ever been reported in a single twenty-four-hour period in all of the United States! Can you believe that?”

As the drops pelted Edith’s face, she called back, with a hint of irony, “Well, Noble, I really can.”

No one knew what would come next. But what they could say with certainty was that the water was rising. In addition to Edith and Noble, more than a dozen men on the estate had ridden out on horseback to help relocate families away from potential flooding.

Cornelia, the head housekeeper, and Edith’s lady’s maid, had stayed at the house to get organized, much to Cornelia’s consternation.

“I need to get Rose!” Cornelia had protested when Edith had told her she was to stay home. She was very concerned about her closest friend from the village.

“Her family is coming, my dear. I talked to them yesterday. You need to be here as families come in search of higher ground.”

Cornelia hadn’t been thrilled but she had relented and, with the house staff, was now rushing about gathering cots, making pallets, and utilizing all available beds to house as many estate workers—who mostly resided in Biltmore Village—as possible. Women and children in some rooms, men in others.

Edith and Noble had already spent two days riding from house to house, knocking on doors, sending those with no place to go—including Rose and her family—to Biltmore. Edith was exhausted, proud, devastated, and terrified all at once. She couldn’t bear to think of those who refused to leave their homes. What would become of them?

She stayed atop her horse as Noble banged furiously on the last door on their route. Once. Twice. Three times. “I think we’ve done all we can,” Edith called to him when they received no answer. “Let’s go home!”

He nodded and mounted his horse again, following Edith. She felt terribly unsettled as she made her way back to the main house. If the skies closed and the floodwaters receded, they might be okay. But if not… Well, Edith was no stranger to tragedy.