Veiled in Death. Stephanie Blackmoore
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it?” Pia seemed to call her mother back from somewhere far away.
“Of course! It certainly is a pretty lace veil.” June looked up and graced Bev and me with a warm smile. “I’m glad it’s found a good home. Twenty is a fine price, Pia. After all, this lace will need a bit of repairing, even though it’s mainly intact.” June observed her daughter carefully folding up the veil. “Ladies, you’ll spend a pretty penny with a fabric restorer if you choose to go that route.”
Bev and I produced ten dollars each and solemnly handed the bills over to Pia. She rang us up and handed me the receipt and the veil ensconced in a clear plastic bag, the brick red curlicue script logo of the Port Quincy Antique Emporium printed on the front. It was a done deal.
“You know what this veil is?” Bev pointed to the bag with a jab of excitement. “A sign!”
Uh-oh.
Bev was beginning to sound like Delilah, her fiancé’s tarot-card-reading mother.
“We should have a double wedding! Look at this fabric, it screams summertime, with the flowers and the trim of embroidered stars. It’ll be a perfect tie-in for my wedding a few days before the Fourth of July. And if you’re going to wear this veil, too, and divide it up, you may as well coordinate your look!”
“I love the idea of getting hitched this summer, and there’s no one I’d want to share a wedding with more than you.” I beamed at my close friend. “But I’m enjoying my engagement to Garrett, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a wedding planner, it’s not to rush things.”
I watched Bev deflate before me. I did wonder if today’s events were some kind of sign. First, I recalled the enchanting sundress at the back of the store, which I’d just pledged to buy. It was really suited to a casual summer wedding, just the kind Bev was having. I could almost see it. A double wedding with one of my best friends would be both silly and wonderful. I had promised in a weak moment, after I’d gotten engaged, to have my own wedding featured in a glossy bridal magazine. This would be a good hook. But more importantly, it would be good fun.
June seemed to pick up on my wordless considerations. “If you marry this summer, the sundress would work, Mallory. I could remove it from the dress form and have it sent over.”
Bev frowned at the idea of me wearing a dress that didn’t come from her shop, but seemed to like her double-wedding idea more. “I’d be happy to do alterations on the sundress.” She sighed. “Though I thought we all agreed it would be better as a rehearsal dress.”
But I couldn’t get the vision of myself standing in the garden at Thistle Park, my inherited mansion-turned-B-and-B, out of my head. I could picture my sandy curls peeking out from half of the swath of that gorgeous lace, a champagne-colored chiffon wrap adorning my shoulders to tie the aged lace and retro sundress look together. And I’d be married to the love of my life sooner, in the summertime, no less.
Darn it. I knew I’d end up marrying at my house. Maybe I’m destined for no separation of life and work after all.
A nagging voice in the back of my head cautioned me from following the whims driven by serendipitous finds at the Antique Emporium. I loved working as a wedding planner, marrying the analytical with the creative. I always encouraged brides and grooms to find inspiration around them and from their personal histories and to build new memories and celebrations around those experiences. But I also advised them to be practical with the funds and the logistics of planning a wedding and reception. This practicality part seemed to be missing for me, as I was changing up plans fast and furious based on the things I’d found in this very antique store one random June morning.
“I need to run this all by Garrett.” I felt a rueful smile tick up the corners of my mouth. “Contrary to popular opinion, the other half actually does have a say.” Some brides and families assumed it was their show, with no input needed from their partners.
June sagged, perhaps seeing the sale of the sundress slip away. But Bev was triumphant, no doubt thinking she could dazzle me with some dress in her store’s stock. I guess she wasn’t as invested in her momentary plan for a double wedding as she initially appeared. It was probably better this way. It had still been a productive day shoring up the details of Bev’s wedding theme, and we’d found the lovely veil to boot.
“Ready, friend?” I gave Bev a warm smile. There was still time to sort out all the details.
Bev nodded, and we bade the Battles women goodbye. And were nearly taken out by a human cannonball barreling through the storefront door.
“Out of my way!”
In rushed Claudia Battles, dressed head-to-toe in colonial-era soldier’s garb. June’s mother, the matriarch of the Battles family, sported a tricorn hat knocked askew and a brown homespun outfit. She flew through the door as if being pursued by the British. She carried what looked like some kind of ancient gun, perhaps a rifle. Claudia’s wispy bun was disheveled and about to unravel, with strands of snow-white hair peeking out, probably once the same red as the other women in her family. She must have just come from the practice battlefield. My event-planning duties for this summer included a new gala celebrating Port Quincy’s founding as a town. We’d christened the event Cordials and Cannonballs. The big day would feature a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle waged over two hundred years ago right here in Port Quincy. It appeared that Claudia had been practicing in earnest.
Before we could ooh and aah, the look of consternation on Claudia’s face was suddenly understandable. She slammed the glass door behind her, and it snapped shut on the silhouette of my nemesis and once-upon-a-time almost mother-in-law. Hurricane Helene Pierce pushed the heavy glass door open with her bony hands dripping in rubies and pearls and made a nimble beeline after Claudia with her kitten heels striking hard on the wooden floor.
June quickly unsnapped the baby carrier and handed baby Miri to me. The little infant seemed to instinctively cling to my front and I shielded her from the wrath of Helene. I drank in her baby smell and gently bounced her up and down as I planned a quick exit if necessary.
Bev leaned over with a conspiratorial smile. “You’re a natural, Mallory.”
Good grief. Not with the baby talk again.
And in that moment, I realized why all of the seemingly good-natured comments about hurrying up and finally getting hitched and growing a family were getting to me. I confronted the issue that Garrett and I hadn’t discussed the possibility of kids. I hadn’t had the heart to bring it up, partly because I was so busy and partly because it would change the dynamic between Garrett, his daughter Summer, and myself. And mainly because I was scared of what his answer would be, either way. I gulped and held baby Miri closer.
“Women are absolutely not allowed to participate in the Revolutionary War reenactment.” Helene punctuated her decree with a little stamp of her kitten-heeled foot. Her vicious tap made her ubiquitous nude pantyhose pool a bit around her bony ankles.
“Fiddle-faddle.” Claudia righted her tricorn hat and dismissed Helene’s statement with a wave of her hand. Her nonchalance only made Helene even more furious. “I will be participating as a soldier this weekend, and nothing you can do will stop me.”
“I took a vote!” Helene sputtered, her usual command of the situation faltering.
Interesting.
“A vote that the town council agreed did not count.” Claudia’s lined face took on a particularly sour cast. She rolled her eyes in consternation. “Did you really think you could pull off making up some tale about a fire alarm and canceling the meeting, then holding it at your house with the only other two misogynists left on the historical planning commission board? It doesn’t count if you jury-rig the vote. You violated the sunshine law!” Claudia jabbed the air with this claim and succeeded in making Helene flinch. “Thankfully, the other members are more forward thinking and voted the correct way. Four to three, women can participate in the reenactment battle.” Claudia drew herself up to the impressive full height that June and my friend Tabitha had inherited, but Pia had not. “Now get the