Save The Date Part 50

She fluttered her eyelashes like a true Southern belle. "Since you put it like that, of course I will."

Epilogue.

Afterward, Ellie Lewis, the wedding coordinator, would swear that this was the sweetest, most romantic wedding she'd ever witnessed. But in the middle of the melee, she merely swore.

When she arrived at Cabin Creek shortly after five that sunny day in early October, all was chaos. She found the bride in the barn, dressed in blue jeans and a faded T-s.h.i.+rt, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the tables for the reception, and the groom, also clad in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, standing at the top of a ladder, fastening the last of the vintage-wagon-wheel chandeliers he'd made under Cara's tutelage.

A pair of nearly identical fluffy white dogs lounged in the vicinity of the kitchen, staring with hopeful black b.u.t.ton eyes at the crew of caterers who were starting to chop the pork b.u.t.ts that had been on the smokers all afternoon.

Each of the fifteen handmade tables was draped in an artfully paint-spattered canvas dropcloth, and Cara was buzzing from table to table, fluffing the centerpieces of local wildflowers mixed with sunflowers, pink and coral dahlias, and lime-green bells of Ireland arranged in a variety of mismatched antique white ironstone vases, pitchers, and jugs.

"Cara!" Ellie was out of breath by the time she caught up with the bride. "What are you doing? Your guests start arriving in an hour. You've got to get dressed, get your hair and makeup done...."

"Almost done here," Cara a.s.sured her, pinching a less-than-perfect petal from a stem of blue salvia. Cara stood back, hands on hips, and nodded in approval. "Okay, that's it. Now I can get dressed."

"And you!" Ellie stood at the bottom of the ladder, staring up at the groom. "Jack, you were supposed to finish those chandeliers last night. You promised, after the rehearsal dinner..."

"They're done now," Jack said, climbing down. "Anyway, it's Cara's fault. She decided at midnight last night that we had to wire vines and flowers and moss around those old wagon wheels. And by we, she meant me."

"Scoot!" Ellie made shooing motions toward the open barn doors. "And what about your brother? And your sister and Harris? And Torie? Are you telling me that not a single member of my wedding party is here yet?"

Jack grinned. "Torie's up at the house nursing baby Betsy." He glanced at his watch. "Ryan ought to be back any minute. He just made an emergency bourbon run. Meghan and Harris? h.e.l.l, I don't know." He jerked his chin skyward. "Check up there in the hayloft. Everytime I look for those two I seem to find them in some kind of compromising position."

His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged barn. Sure enough, a moment later, Harris Strayhorn poked his head over the loft railing, frantically b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt. "Hey, I heard that! We were just, uh, checking the acoustics up here. For the bluegra.s.s band."

"Since when does a sound check require the removal of clothing?" Jack demanded. "You better not be dishonoring my baby sister up there."

Meghan Finnerty peeked over Harris's shoulder. "Mind your own business, Jack Finnerty!" She deftly plucked a stalk of hay from Harris's hair. "And don't you say a word to Mama or Miss Libba, or I'll tell both of 'em what I caught you and Cara up to in that hay wagon after the rehearsal last night."

"I don't care what any of y'all have been up to," Ellie screeched. "I need everybody who is going to be in this wedding to get up to the house right this minute and get themselves cleaned up and dressed for this wedding."

Harris scrambled down from the loft, with Meghan following a moment later. He turned, caught her by the waist, and swung her to the ground, his hand lingering at her waist just a second longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Tell 'em, baby," he urged.

"Tell us what?" Jack asked.

Meghan gave a quick shake of her head. "Nothing." She grabbed Harris's hand. "Come on. Ellie's right. My mom will have a fit if I'm not dressed and ready for the photographer in fifteen minutes."

"Wait." Jack grabbed Meghan's left hand and held it up. A large diamond solitaire twinkled in the late afternoon sunlight. "What's this?"

Meghan gave Harris an exasperated look. "It was supposed to be a secret. Until after the wedding. I don't want anybody to think we're trying to upstage you and Cara...."

Jack pounded Harris on the back. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h! Congratulations! That's great." He gathered his sister into a hug. "Do Dad and Frannie know?"

"I managed to get your dad alone to ask his permission after the dinner last night," Harris said.

"Daddy burst out crying!" Meghan said. "And when Mama walked over and saw Daddy crying, she started in...."

Harris rolled his eyes. "Which will be nothing compared to the way my parents are gonna react when we tell them...."

"You can tell everybody later," Ellie said. "After the wedding. Which starts in forty-five minutes." She fumbled in the pocket of her all-purpose light blue wedding-reception dress and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "I swear, I am never doing another wedding professional's wedding. Ever again." She popped a pill, swallowed, and mopped her face with a crumpled lace hankie.

Torie Fanning Finnerty tucked her slumbering infant into the ba.s.sinette, kissed her fingertip, and touched it to her daughter's velvety cheek. She turned and gave the bride an appraising look followed by a smiling thumbs-up.

"You are absolutely the only girl I know who can get away with wearing an antique pink wedding gown and still manage to look fabulous," she said.

"Thanks." Cara turned with her back to her almost sister-in-law. "Can you zip me up? My hands are sweating, I'm so nervous."

Torie grasped the metal zipper and slid it upward. "How old is this thing, do you think?"

Cara turned around and tugged at the dress's heavy satin bodice, revealing an additional inch of her cleavage. "Hmm. Well, portrait necklines and cap sleeves like these were all the rage in the fifties. And the full ballet-length skirt with the tulle petticoats were in back then too. So it's at least sixty years old."

"Do you think somebody dyed this wedding gown this shade of pink?" Torie asked.

"Oh no. This is the original color. And it was a c.o.c.ktail dress," Cara said. "I bought it years ago, when I worked at a vintage-clothing shop in Columbus. It's a knockoff of a Pierre Balmain, who was a famous couturier back in the day."

She fluffed her skirts and stepped into her pink satin pumps. "And I'll tell you something I haven't shared with anybody else. I bought this dress thinking I would wear it to my first wedding. But Leo-and my dad, and Leo's mom-were appalled that I'd even consider not wearing white ... or a brand-new bought special wedding gown."

Cara shrugged. "So I did what I always did back then. I gave in and bought this big, stupid expensive virginal white dress that made me look like an overdecorated lampshade."

Cara twirled in front of the three-paneled mirror in Libba Strayhorn's guest bedroom, and smiled when she caught her own reflection in the mirror.

"When Leo and I moved down to Savannah, I couldn't wait to donate my wedding dress to Goodwill. But I kept this one." She smoothed her hands over her hips. "It's been tucked away in pink tissue paper all these years. Just waiting for the right moment."

"And the right guy," Torie said. "And here you are." She reached for the velvet-lined box on the dressing table and carefully lifted a single strand of pearls from the satin lining and fastened it around Cara's throat. "Here's your something new. Jack's dad gave me a set of pearls just like this the day I married Ryan."

The bathroom door opened, and Meghan hurried into the room, dressed in bra and panties. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," she singsonged, grabbing her deep coral dress from a hanger and slipping it over her head. She turned her back to Torie. "Zip me?"

Torie picked a piece of hay from her sister-in-law's hair and held it up for Cara to see. "Can you guess where baby sister's been and what made her late?"

"I don't judge," Cara said, laughing. She gave Meghan a wink. "What goes on in the barn, stays in the barn, right?"

"Mmm-hmm." Meghan leaned into the mirror, a mascara wand poised in her right hand.

"Hey!" Cara said, grabbing Meghan's left hand. She held it up to Torie.

"Whaatttt?"

"You're engaged?" Cara asked. "Since when? I can't believe it!"

Meghan smiled and flashed a set of dimples. "Harris asked Daddy's permission last night, at the rehearsal dinner. But he didn't bother to ask me, until just now, in the, er, barn."

Torie held Meghan's hand and studied the ring with an experienced eye. She held her own left hand up to Meghan's. "Baby girl, that is a serious ring. Bigger than my diamond, for sure."

Cara held her left hand on top of the others. Her engagement ring was made up of a circlet of smaller stones, with a single raised one-carat cus.h.i.+on-cut diamond in a platinum band. "Mine too," she said carelessly.

"Way bigger than the ring Harris gave Brooke," Torie pointed out. "By at least a carat."

Meghan frowned for only a moment. "This was Harris's grandmother's engagement ring. She left it to him in her will, but he bought a new ring for Brooke, because he thought that's what she'd prefer."

Torie gave Meghan an apprehensive glance. "Has anybody heard anything from, uh, her?"

Meghan laughed. "It's okay. You can say Brooke's name in front of me."

Cara said, "We text. That's the only way you can communicate with Brooke. She's still down on c.u.mberland Island. I think the thing with Pete, the park ranger, is heating up, but she says she has no plans to marry anytime soon. She's working for the Georgia Conservancy, and is still feuding with the Park Service over any issue she can think of. I think Brooke is finally in a good place."

"I'm glad," Meghan said earnestly. "Because of her, Harris and I found each other. And that's the best place of all, for me."

"This ring is beautiful, Meghan, and it's totally you," Cara said. She hugged Jack's little sister. "I'm so happy for you. Have you set the date yet?"

"Nope," Meghan said. "And I made Harris promise that he will not go around talking about it today at your wedding. Although I can't promise he won't, because he is so excited."

"He should be excited," Torie drawled. "After everything he's been though these past few months. Have you told Libba and Mitch yet?"

"Libba caught me coming into the house from the barn just now. She admitted she knew something was up when Harris 'casually' asked her where his grandmother's ring was last week."

"I'll bet she's over the moon," Cara said. "And Mitch too."

"She was very, very happy," Meghan admitted. "She wants us to have the wedding here, too, of course, and I promised her we would. Oooh. I almost forgot."

She disappeared into the bathroom and came out with a small creamy satin drawstring bag, which she handed Cara. "Libba thought you might want to borrow these." Cara untied the string, and a pair of diamond-and-pearl earrings dropped into the palm of her hand.

"Gorgeous," Torie said, picking up one of the earrings. "And real, too."

"I don't know," Cara said. "I've got my little fake pearls I was going to wear...."

"No way," Torie said, pus.h.i.+ng her gently down onto the dressing stool. She handed the earrings back to Cara. "It's just a loaner. I'll be in charge of getting them back to Libba after the wedding."

The bedroom door opened, and Frannie Finnerty stepped inside. She was dressed in a short sage-green velvet c.o.c.ktail dress that accentuated her hazel eyes.

"My girls!" she exclaimed, beaming. "My three, beautiful, amazing girls!"

Baby Betsy stirred in her ba.s.sinette, and Meghan scooped her up and handed her to her grandmother. "Four."

"That's right," Frannie murmured.

The door opened again and Ellie Lewis poked her head around the doorway. "Everybody dressed and ready? The photographer wants you all out in the foyer for a few pictures before the guests start stampeding."

Cara took a deep breath. "All ready."

"Oh, just one more thing," Frannie said. She picked her gold pocketbook off the bed, opened it, and handed Cara a frilly, beribboned garter. "Here's your something blue. It's probably not really your style, but my sister Betty made it especially for you...."

"I love it," Cara a.s.sured her. She hiked up her dress and slid the garter above her knee.

"Good. Now, can we please get moving?" Ellie said, dabbing at her damp face with her hankie. The other women filed out of the bedroom, with Cara bringing up the rear.

"Wait," Ellie said. "Where's your bouquet? We can't take your picture without your bouquet."

"Bert was bringing it," Cara said. "He insisted on making it himself, as a surprise for me. Isn't he here yet? I swear, if he's late today, I'll..."

"You'll what?"

Bert stood in the hallway at the end of the guest wing. He wore a pair of dark green linen pleat-front trousers with dark red suspenders, a billowy cream-colored dress s.h.i.+rt, a vintage brown tweed three-b.u.t.ton vest, and a brown felt fedora.

"You'll fire me? You can't fire me, now, I'm your business partner, remember?"

"Oh, never mind," Cara said, remembering her vow to stay calm. "Did you bring my flowers?"

Bert had been standing with one hand hidden behind his back.

"Ta-da!" he said, bowing deeply.

Cara had been holding her breath. But she exhaled slowly now, holding the bouquet in both hands, turning it slowly to take it all in.

"Oh, Bert," she breathed. "It's exquisite."

"Better than Martha Stewart March 2009?"

"Better than anything, ever," Cara said.

And this was no exaggeration. The bouquet was an explosion of creamy coral roses, light and deep pink dahlias, and hyperic.u.m berries. Tiny sprigs of white feverfew and celosia plumes were interspersed with the larger flowers. The flower stems were tightly wrapped with coral pink satin ribbon and fastened with a sparkly pink vintage starburst rhinestone brooch.

Cara inhaled sharply. "My mother's pin! This is just like her favorite pin. How did you..."

"You didn't think I'd skip our trademark Bloom touch now, did you?"

"But ... where did it come from? My mother used to wear this when my parents had a fancy-dress party to go to. I used to call it her fairy-princess pin. I haven't seen it in years...."

Cara hadn't seen any of her mother's belongings since before her funeral. She'd come home from college the day before to find that all her mother's possessions, her clothes, books, paintings, everything, had been removed from the house, overnight.

Valerie, her mother's best friend, confided in Cara that she'd done the packing at the Colonel's request. "It's too painful for him," Valerie said. "Seeing her clothes in the closet, her hairbrush on the dressing table, it was just too much. He thought it would be easier for you this way too."

"Easier," Cara had mumbled, her mind numb with the pain and confusion of her mother's sudden death. "Yeah, probably so."

But in the months and years that followed Barbara Kryzik's funeral, Cara would silently pine for anything that would be a tangible reminder of her mother.

"The pin was Jack's idea," Bert admitted. "He thought you might like to have something of your mom's. You know, for something old."

"I still don't understand how he found it," Cara continued, shaking her head.