The Wedding Dress (41 page)

“Thank you for letting us come on short notice.” Charlotte stepped inside the house and introduced Hillary.

Noelia bustled about, gathering her long, straight hair away from her face with a hair tie. When she sat in her chair, she exhaled. “I am so sorry for what Colby did to you and your mama.”

“Please, I don’t think it was your fault,” Charlotte said. Sitting in the room with Noelia had a surreal, right feel.

“Yeah, baby, it was. It was my fault.” Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. “It was.”

Everything she’d known about her life was paling in the light of all these new revelations. Two days ago she was just Charlotte Malone. Plain. Simple. Nothing fancy. Alone. Except for Dix and Dr. Hotstuff.

Now Charlotte was part of this network. Hillary, Mary Grace, and Thomas. Noelia.

She had a father with a name and reputation. Her great grandmother broke laws for the sake of her convictions. Her great grandfather, Daniel, was a revered Birmingham banker and philanthropist.

Her family tree was revealing fine, thick branches.

When Noelia halted the conversation to serve iced teas, the pleasantries took over. Weather. Summer vacations. News tidbits.

But when Noelia settled back in her chair, Hillary dove right into the meaning of their visit.

“Noelia, what happened?”

“Oh, so many things can happen in a marriage. Especially ones with cracks like mine and Colby’s. We didn’t have children so we were both more devoted to our careers than each other. When Colby had the chance to teach at FSU, we both agreed he should take it. I’d stay here and continue my work with the Alabama Fine Arts Institute. We’d visit on weekends and holidays. It was only for a year. We’d been married over twenty, so we believed we could endure. But then, all the cracks started spreading.”

“Do you know why he took up with Mama?” Charlotte held her tea without sipping. She felt anchored to the cold glass in her hand.

“Sure. She was young, beautiful, intelligent. Called Colby out on his stuff and didn’t let him run roughshod over her. Colby always did like a good challenge.”

Charlotte smiled. “Sounds like Mama.”

“From what I gather,” Noelia said, “she fell pretty hard for Colby. He was fascinated with her, but coming out with a student affair would’ve ruined his career. Darn near ruined our marriage, but trust me, he cared more about his career than either Phoebe or me.”

“Then why did he risk it all?”

“Midlife crisis? Wanted to feel young again? What would you do if you were a forty-five-year-old man and a beautiful twenty-one-year-old was willing to give herself to you? Colby had many strengths, but at that time, resisting temptation was not one of them.”

“Did you ever meet Mama?”

“No, I didn’t. While Colby and I weren’t happily married, I loved him and didn’t want to meet the woman who nearly stole him from me. Then I learned about you.” Noelia eyed Charlotte while reaching for an envelope. “She sent Colby a registered letter.” She passed the letter to Charlotte by way of Hillary. “She wanted support so she could buy a bigger house in a nicer neighborhood. She wanted Colby to recognize you. Admit you belonged to him.”

Charlotte’s hand trembled, fumbled, to read the letter. All the surreal rightness of this visit began to slip away. The cold sensation of the tea glass raced frgla0em" om her hand to her heart.

“But I didn’t want her, or you, in our lives,” Noelia said. “We’d patched a few of the cracks and were getting along. We had a life planned, trips to take, and frankly, at fifty, I didn’t want half my weekends spent with a little girl consuming my husband’s time. I tore up the picture she sent, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the letter.”

“You never showed it to Colby?” Hillary set her tea on the coaster and angled to read over Charlotte’s shoulder.

“No, but, Charlotte, he did know about you. Unfortunately, out of sight, out of mind. We sort of arrived at this unspoken settlement that your mother surely had moved on, found a good man, married, birthed more children. It’s what I wanted to believe. Since Colby never said otherwise, I assumed he did too. I heard Phoebe died about a year after the fact. A friend of Colby’s brought word.”

“So you knew she died? That I had no one? Yet you still kept my father from me.” The woman who drew Charlotte in with her inviting, mama-like appearance left her trembling and angry.

“I’d convinced myself you were better off. That you didn’t need to know Colby. Why interrupt everyone’s life?”

“I was twelve. I had no life. And what little I did have was interrupted by someone crashing into my mother’s car and killing her.”

“I’m not proud, Charlotte.” Noelia’s voice trembled with watery emotion. “Just being honest. When Colby and I divorced, I realized how selfish we’d both been, but it wasn’t my place to tell him to get in touch with you. Or my place to tell you about Colby.”

“But it was your place to hide my mama’s letter? To make sure he didn’t get in touch with Mama or me?”

“When I was his wife, yes. I protected what was mine. But not a month went by I didn’t think of you.”

Charlotte walked around the coffee table. Sitting made her ache. But her legs were putty and her knees barely held her steady. “I’m not sure what to do with all of this . . . I . . .”

“I sent you some money last year.”

Revelation dawned. Pieces fell into place. “The hundred grand,” Charlotte whispered.

“Just something . . . just something . . .” Noelia brushed the first flash of tears from her cheeks, supple and slightly lined. She looked younger than her seventy-something years, but her shoulders rounded with the burden of her story. “After the divorce, I moved to Florence to be near my sister’s children. I spent a lot of money on a house too big for me and spoiling my nieces and nephews. One day while looking for some bank papers, I found your mother’s letter. I thought, mercy, where did the years go? thema’So I looked you up on the Internet. I didn’t expect to really find anything, but I discovered your shop. I felt proud for you. So I had my bank wire a hundred thousand dollars to you anonymously.”

“Then I’ll pay you back.” Now that Charlotte knew where the money originated, the sheen was off the prize.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“I don’t want your guilt money.”

“It’s not guilt, Charlotte. I could hardly spend away my guilt, or even pretend to buy affection from a girl who didn’t even know me. It was a gift. Hardly enough to compensate growing up without Colby.” She smiled. “He’d have liked you.”

Charlotte stared out the window, over a lush summer lawn, a heaviness rising in her chest. A hundred thousand dollars. A gift from her father’s wife. She’d trade it all for a chance to have met the man face-to-face.

On the edge of the manicured grounds of the Ludlow Estate, Charlotte paused for a pure, deep breath. Blue sky, summer trees, sunlight bouncing off the sparkling windows.

Three months ago she’d driven up here to think, to feel closer to heaven. To Mama. Little did she know the ridge was burdened with secrets.

The mountain was quiet except for the wind. Charlotte made her way up the walk to the house and let herself in, standing in the expanse of the house her great grandparents built. The house where Emily had raised her grandfather.

The house where her father had played.

“Charlotte, what are you doing here? Did you bring my dress?” Cleo’s walk hammered across the gleaming, spotless foyer hardwood.

“I’d like to see the library.”

“All right.” Cleo eyed her for a lingering moment before turning with a quick motion. “I’m working on the subpoena for the dress.”

“What’s the delay?”

“The judge wants more proof.” She ruffled. “Seems just a picture isn’t enough.”

Charlotte pulled two photos from her purse as she broke into the bright, white library, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing a breathtaking view of the valley.

“I thought you’d like to see these.” She offered the pictures of Mary Grace and Hillary in the gown. “Emily gave the gown to Mary Grace, who left it for Hillary. If a picture is proof of ownership, what areshipic you going to do with these?” She pulled out Mama’s letter to Colby. “And this certified letter from my mother to Colby asking for child support? His wife gave it to me.”

“Oh mercy, what in the world . . .” Cleo walked to the window, reading the letter in the light. When she finished she turned to Charlotte. “So you’re going to take this beautiful estate from the city? Claim your inheritance? It’s probably too late. Besides, you can’t manage this place, Charlotte. Once it becomes private, the public funds go away.”

Charlotte laughed low. Poor Cleo. She had too much of her identity in her job. “I don’t want this place, Cleo. All I want is the dress. The legend is that—”

“What legend?”

“The legend that the dress fits every bride who is supposed to wear it. It’s never been altered.” Charlotte walked along the wall of pictures, trying to grasp the faces and names that somehow belonged to her.

She paused in front of Colby. An image from his professor days. She could see something of herself in his eyes. “Do you think he’s rolling over in his grave because his daughter didn’t go to college?”

“Most likely . . . Charlotte, Noelia said you are Colby’s daughter?”

“Yes, she did.” Charlotte stopped in front of the picture of Emily in her wedding gown. “This is the one she was going to wear?”

“When she was to marry Phillip Saltonstall.”

Charlotte turned to Cleo. “Did you know Hillary Saltonstall wore the dress in 1968? Phillip was her great-uncle.”

Cleo buttoned her lip, her chest deflating. Her fight waning. Charlotte smiled. God had a way of weaving a lovely tapestry.

“Well then. What are you going to do with the dress, Charlotte? Sell it? You can’t do that . . . it’s . . . it’s not right.”

“Sell it? No, Cleo, no. I’m not going to sell it. I’m going to wear it.”

Tim
Tim swept the last of the dust and grime from his garage. The hollow emptiness of the three-car space made him feel a bit empty. Out of sorts, maybe. But unbelievably free.

He leaned on the broom handle, peering toward the sunset that ribboned through the trees. With or without Charlotte, it was time to grow up. Maybe when and if he had kids, he could take up moto-cross again.

When he’d loaded his last bike into the truck bed of his final custhisain.

He was free. He thought racing made him free, took the edge off, allowed him to burn off stress and energy, be adventurous. No. Racing kept him in bondage. He couldn’t
not
race. Other factors in his life had gone cold, waiting on back burners, for him to get around to them.

Like taking up his guitar again. Giving more attention to his career. Settling down. Marriage. Time with his friend, Jesus.

A truck motor hummed in the driveway. Tim looked up as David cut the engine and stepped out.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, making his way toward the garage.

“Like I lost fifteen hundred pounds.”

“I can’t believe you did it.” David smacked Tim on the shoulder. “Good news. The downtown commission loved your designs for the remodel of the old Saltonstall offices and furnace, including the bronze memorial to convict labor.”

Tim smiled, clapping his big brother a high five. Good. It was all good.

“And . . . ready for more good news? Brody Smart called on my way here. There’s some new developments going on west of the city. He wants us to bid. Said unless we submit children’s drawings, we have the job. They
want
to give it to us.” David did a funny jig around the garage. “Finally, our ship is coming in.”

Tim put the broom into action, unsure of the stream of emotion in his chest. One act of obedience and God opened up heaven. His garage was empty but his heart was full.

“Want to come to the house for dinner? Katherine is making sloppy joes and tater tots. Your favorite.”

Tim shook his head. “She’s going to have to get used to the idea that she’s only married to you, Dave.”

“Don’t be like that, Tim. You’re a brother to her. She wants the best for you.”

“If she did, then she’d have loved Charlotte.”

David stared toward the street, his hands on his belt. “Are you going after Charlotte again?”

“I don’t know. Got to see if she’s still talking to me after telling her Colby was her dad.”

“I’m with you if you do, Tim. Whatever you need.”

The brothers chatted a few more minutes, then David checked the time and said he had d st>

to get going. Tim set his broom in the corner, flipped on the radio, and pulled a lawn chair to the center of the garage, facing the neighborhood.

Space. Glorious space. He was ready for whatever God raced his way next.

His neighbor zipped past on his motorcycle, beeping his horn, waving. Tim answered with an easy wave. He didn’t envy the man at all. Not one tiny bit.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 
Charlotte

 
I
n the warm lamplight of her bedroom, Charlotte slipped the gown from the dress form. In ten seconds she’d know.