The Wedding Dress (38 page)

“I’m not trying to impugn her character, Char, but Colby Ludlow taught at FSU one year when he took a sabbatical from UAB. And the picture is yours. Keep it.”

Cleo folded her arms, “I told you so” on her lips. “I knew Colby and his wife, Noelia. She was a fine, classic woman of Birmingham society. Colby was his own man, but an adulterer? I hardly think so.”

Tim sighed and angled his shoulder away from Cleo. She was wearing him thin. “Once I started piecing things together, I made a few calls of my own. Including one to Noelia Ludlow.” Tim passed a slip of paper to Charlotte. On it he’d written Noelia’s name, address, and number.

“You called her? Tim, what? Why? Why are you doing this?”

“When I asked her about Colby’s year at FSU, she sighed. Know what she said?”

“What? What did she say, Tim?”

“She said, ‘You want to know about Phoebe Malone?’”

Charlotte swatted at him. “You’re lying. There’s no way some seventy-year-old woman knows about my mother from 1981.” She tore up the paper and tossed the pieces at Tim. “Just stop. What is wrong with you? What right do you have investigating in my life without my knowledge? Huh?” She slammed around him, clipping his shoulder with hers. But he remained steadfast and planted.

He exhaled and took it. Letting her steam.

“I’ll just be going with the dress.” Cleo dared reach for the back button. Charlotte’s hand clamped down on her arm.

“Stand back. Get your hands off my dress. It’s mine. And if you don’t believe me, hunt down the little man in the purple shirt who sold it to me. He’ll tell you.”

“What little man in a purple shirt?”

“The one who sold me the trunk. At
your
auction.”

“What do you care about this dress?” Cleo cackled. “You’re not getting married. Even if you were—and boy, Tim, it looks like you escaped this briar patch—you own a bridal shop, Charlotte. Designers were probably begging you to wear one of their gowns. This old one means nothing to you.”

Tim stepped forward and hooked his hand under Cleo’s elbow. She needed to go. Upsetting Charlotte had never been his intention and he could see she was speeding for the edge.

“You’d better go, Cleo.” He picked up her attaché as he swept her across the room to the door. “If you want the dress, you’ll have to get a court order.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She shook free of his grip. “You have no proof Colby Ludlow is Charlotte’s father. None. A picture and the supposed testimony of his ex-wife? I’ve got more than that on my side.”

The door slammed. Tim moved back into the living room. Charlotte sank down to the edge of the sofa, staring at the dress.

“All I wanted was to go to the mountain to think and pray. Look what happened.”

“I’m sorry. I thought . . . I don’t know.” Tim brushed his hand over his hair. “When I saw all those Ludlow clippings in the box, it just struck me as odd.”

“You should’ve talked to me first, Tim.”

“Yeah, I get that now. I wanted to do something nice for you, Char.” He perched on the sofa next to her. She smelled like summer. When she turned to him, there was a hint of forgiveness in her eyes.

“I was six or so when I first realized I didn’t have one of those father-man-things in my house. I’d gone on my first sleepover at Gracie and Suzanna Rae’s, and their dad was a firefighter. He took us for a short ride on the fire truck, then for ice cream. For dinner, her mother made fried chicken and biscuits with big tall glasses of the sweetest tea this side of heaven. We were halfway through dinner when Mr. Gunter got up for something and when he walked by Mrs. Gunter, he kissed her and said, ‘Love you much.’ She said, ‘Love you more.’ My little heart started pounding and I watched them with wide eyes the rest of the night.” Charlotte crashed against the sofa cushion. “And I thought, ‘What is this?’”

“Your mom never said a word about your dad? Not even a hint?”

“When I came home from Gracie and Suzie’s, I asked Mom, ‘Where is my firefighter daddy?’ She said my father loved me but was unable to be my daddy. I don’t know, I just accepted it. When I got older, I asked more questions.”

Tim brushed the tears from her cheeks, sorry his gallant act had turned into this.

“Once
Gilmore Girls
, I could’ve sworn the producers lifted the show from our lives.”

“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 s’ be reomething 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 yo and his wof 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.

“We were kids in school together. Oh, Charlotte, you should’ve seen him.” Mary Grace’s vigor and energy wasn’t absent in her tale. “So strong and handsome with this crazy mop of curls. He could outrun all the boys.”

“Because there was some grown-up chasing us with a switch, I tell you.” Thomas opened one eye and winked at Charlotte.

“Tommy, now, be serious.”

“It’s a good thing I was a fast runner, or I’d never’ve caught you, Gracie.”

“Mercy, listen to you, I was standing flat-foot still, waiting.” She gazed at Charlotte. “Fifteen years I waited, but he was worth it. I was twenty-one when he finally proposed.”

“I’d done sowed all my wild oats. The feed bag and my heart were empty.”

“Thomas’s best friend drowned in the Black Warrior River, you see?”

“The day we graduated from the university, ole Cap, Fido, and I—we called him Fido ’cause he looked like a bulldog and was as tough as one too—we went up to the river, took to drinking as fraternity men often did, even in those days. The water was swollen over the banks from spring rains, but we thought we’d beat Mother Nature and take out Cap’s daddy’s fishing boat at midnight. Such foolish boys . . .”

“Cap fell overboard and was lost, Charlotte,” Mary Grace said, low, like a whisper.

“It was my come-to-Jesus meeting right then and there.”

“Thomas, that must have been so difficulen ng t.” Charlotte noticed his dry lips and went to get him a glass of water, collecting dishes along the way.

“Thomas decided to go to seminary.”

“But not alone. No sir, I was going to take the prettiest girl God ever created. I knew she could handle me and the ministry. She stood by me during the afterward of Cap’s death. When the police investigated. When my daddy was so angry with my foolishness he couldn’t speak to me for days. Mary Grace was the one whispering prayers over me. How could I go wrong with a woman like Gracie?”

Charlotte set the glass of water on Thomas’s table.

“So he proposed. And I said yes.” Mary Grace rocked in her chair, a serene, peaceful expression on her face. “My mother didn’t want to waste money on a wedding dress. My father worked for the Coca-Cola company and we needed every penny of his paycheck to make ends meet. He was kindhearted, but gruff. Liked his whiskey, you know. So Mother insisted I get a nice practical suit for my wedding. There was a depression on, you know, and a nice suit would go a long way for a seminarian’s wife.”

Thomas reached for the water glass Charlotte had set beside him. His hand trembled as he slowly brought it to his lips. “But Mary Grace had been dreaming of her wedding for a long time.”

“And I didn’t want to get married in a dress that would suit a funeral either.”

Charlotte smiled. Relaxed. Kicked off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her on her chair. She loved this story. So much better than the one Tim told her the other day about Colby Ludlow being her father.

“I worked as a shopgirl at Loveman’s and had some money saved, but it was going to linens and household things. Mama was not letting me squander one red penny. But you know, one afternoon I was working and Mrs. Ludlow—”

“Emily Ludlow?” Charlotte said.

“One and the same. She came into the store and stopped at my counter. She was one of my best customers. Her husband had just taken over her father’s financial business, and she was always seeking to do good in the Magic City. Such a good, good woman. She’d heard I was engaged and don’t you know, she offered me her dress. Bold as you please, I said yes.”

“But her mama’s Irish pride just about ruined the whole thing. She’d have none of it,” Thomas said. “None, I say.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

 
Mary Grace

Birmingham, 1939