I stopped in the middle of the stairs and tried to block his view of my mother. “Daddy, the groom shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. It’s supposed to be bad luck.”
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my comment. “I’m the luckiest man in the world. I get to give my beautiful daughter away in marriage to a man I actually like and admire, and then run back to the end of the aisle and return with the woman of my heart and get married again. I’m living the dream.”
With an exaggerated sigh, I continued walking down the steps until I stood in front of my father. His eyes were damp as he looked at me. “I’m so proud of you, Melanie. I know I didn’t give you the childhood you deserved, but you managed to become the woman and mother you are today. I couldn’t be prouder.”
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Dad.” I turned toward the sound of the string quartet warming up. “Have you seen Nola? I can’t walk down the aisle without my maid of honor.”
“I’m here!” she shouted, racing from the kitchen. “I had to rinse the bottles out, because Mrs. Houlihan is crying too hard to see straight. I told her to go sit down and I’d take care of it.” She gave us an exaggerated shudder. “Ew. I think a few drops touched my hand.”
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I’d told her that as my maid of honor she could pick her own dress, and she had, although it was obvious that both my mother and Sophie had been heavy influences. The shift dress with the empire waist and cap sleeves was a beautiful pale blue eyelet that made her eyes look even bluer. But to make sure that nobody would think she didn’t have her own sense of style, she wore it with purple stockings and matching purple high-top sneakers. I thought she looked amazing and so did Cooper, apparently. He’d been allowed a sneak peek at her ensemble long before I’d been trusted enough to see it.
My mother kissed me on my cheek, then left to be escorted down the aisle by one of Jack’s cousins, a younger version of Jack, and seated across the aisle from Amelia and James. They would be seated directly in front of Yvonne, who had stopped by earlier to give her best wishes, looking lovely in a large yellow hat with matching netting, her reading glasses and chain noticeably absent from around her neck. I’d asked that she be placed with family because, in essence, she was.
Daniel, the wedding planner, hustled after Nola from the kitchen. “Your flowers! Don’t forget your flowers!” We’d included Daniel in the wedding, but not Rebecca or Marc. I still couldn’t forgive Marc for making an offer for my house. Our house, I corrected myself.
Daniel handed Nola a small basket filled with the petals of Louisa roses, then handed me my bouquet filled with the same fragrant blooms. The scent was so pungent I could almost believe that Louisa was still with us. The string quartet began playing the opening strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, sending Daniel into a minor frenzy. “Hurry, hurry! You don’t want to miss your big march.”
Nola looked at me and rolled her eyes, then followed Daniel out onto the piazza and into the garden dotted with white chairs filled with friends and family. I stood with my father as Nola began her slow walk down the white runner that ran the width of the garden and ended at the old oak tree, where Jack waited, looking absolutely devastating in his black tuxedo. Our eyes met, and everything else seemed to disappear and it was just the two of us standing in the garden of the old house that had witnessed so much of life over the years. And there was still so much to come.
He winked, bringing me back to the sound of the violins and cellos and the people in the chairs watching Nola scatter the Louisa rose petals—acting as flower girl, too, since Nola said every wedding needed one—and then Sophie, my matron of honor, following sedately behind her in the toga that looked perfect on her.
Then my father was leaning toward me and asking me again whether I was ready. I nodded and we began the longest and shortest walk of my life. I forced myself to look at everyone except for Jack, afraid that I would trip because of suddenly rubbery knees. I smiled to myself, finally knowing that I had the same effect on him.
I saw Thomas Riley and Dr. Wise, who seemed very happy to be sitting together, and spotted a man who looked vaguely familiar until I realized it was my plumber/contractor, Rich Kobylt. He was actually wearing a suit and, I was relieved to see, a belt. He was with his wife, Claire, whom I’d met only once, but I could tell she was the one in charge. I saw Joyce Challis, the new receptionist, sitting next to my boss, Dave Henderson, and his wife, Robin, and beside them an empty chair. Nancy Flaherty had recently retired after it was revealed that she was one of Tiger Woods’s flings that had ended his marriage. She had taken her golf obsession one step further and decided to move to Florida to be near him.
I almost stumbled when I spotted Suzy Dorf in the back row, wondering who had invited her, and then remembered that I had, at the suggestion of Detective Riley, in the hopes that she’d finish up her column on a positive note.
My father and I slowed our pace as we passed Chad, who, instead of leaving the babies in their pram, had a sleeping baby cradled in each arm like a natural. I couldn’t wait until his and Sophie’s daughter was born so we could watch our children grow up together and one day swing below the branches of the old tree. My chest ached at the sight of JJ and Sarah, surprising me again at how much love a mother’s heart could hold.
It all seemed to go so fast, yet at the same time like I was in slow motion, watching a silent reel of an old film. And then I was at the end of the aisle and my father was telling the minister that he would be the one giving me away. With a final kiss to my cheek, he stepped back and sat down next to my mother, who was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Then I was looking up at Jack, and he was looking at me as the sun sent dappled light through the branches of the oak tree like a gentle benediction. I was vaguely aware of the minister’s voice, but I must have made the right responses, because when we were finished, he pronounced us man and wife. Again. Jack bent his head and kissed me slowly and sweetly, allowing for a cheer and clapping from the audience, and a groan and gagging sound from Nola.
The quartet began to play “Ode to Joy” and Jack reluctantly pulled away, his eyes sparkling. He crooked his arm and I took it; then we marched back down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Jack Trenholm.
He didn’t stop at the end of the aisle, but pulled me into the back garden by the kitchen door, where we were partially obscured from the guests by the corner of the house.
“What are you doing, Jack? My parents are about to get married.”
“I’m sure they understand that we need a few minutes.”
“For what?”
The words were barely out of my mouth before Jack’s lips were on mine again, but this kiss wasn’t sweet or slow, but hungry and needy. I opened my mouth to him, kissing him back with all the promise of what was to come.
He pulled away, his hands still around me, his eyes dark.
“I love you, Mellie. I promise to remember to tell you that often.”
I smiled. “I love you, too, Jack. And I promise to remember to show you how much as often as I can.”
“Together always, right?”
“Always.”
I imagined I heard the sound of rope against bark, and looked back to where the old tree waited for us, its branches spread out over the people and the garden like a mother’s arms. I moved my head, seeing Louisa and a young Nevin by the swing, and they were smiling.
They turned and walked toward the garden gate, vanishing as they passed through it, his small hand in hers, together for eternity.
“Did you see that?” Jack asked softly.
“Did you?” I asked with surprise.
He nodded. “Does that mean Louisa approves of my living here?”
“It must. That’s what Mr. Vanderhorst said to me the first time I came here and I saw his mother in the garden.”
“Good. Because I intend to live here with you forever. And maybe even longer than that.”
He kissed
me again as a strong breeze teased the brims of the ladies’ hats, making the shawls of moss that hung from the tree shimmy their approval. Jack took my hand, then led me back toward the garden full of friends and family and memories, ready to start our lives together.
And above the sounds of conversation and the rustling of leaves in the breeze I thought I could hear the applause of a multitude of unseen hands, and my grandmother’s voice. Finally.
EPILOGUE
Charleston Post and Courier
Could This Really Be the End of the Story?
Last weekend Melanie Middleton, owner of the Vanderhorst house that has been the subject of this column for several months, married bestselling local author Jack Trenholm in the garden at 55 Tradd Street.
For those following this story, it is unlikely that this was the anticipated outcome. DNA results confirmed the inheritance claims by New Yorkers George and Irene Gilbert, yet the house remains firmly in heiress Melanie Trenholm née Middleton’s hands.
The Gilberts have refused comment, but one can only speculate what must have transpired for them to relinquish their claims. Perhaps help from beyond the grave? No one is talking, although an anonymous note was delivered to this newspaper claiming that there are more bodies to be found on the property (as if three weren’t enough!) and that we haven’t heard the last from the house on Tradd Street.
We will wait and see. Until then, we will redirect our attention to other houses and families in the Holy City, where the living, and the dead, seem to coexist in peaceful harmony. For now.
Suzy Dorf, staff writer
Karen White is the award-winning author of sixteen previous books. She grew up in London but now lives with her husband and two children near Atlanta, Georgia.
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Karen White, Return to Tradd Street
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