patronize me!”
Truman’s eyes filled with kindness. “I wouldn’t do anything of the sort, Helene. If you have an issue with what happened today, you can file a report.” But as he said it, his face took on a worried cast.
Helene shook her head, finally capitulating. “There doesn’t need to be an investigation, Truman. I know the truth now.” Her usually haughty expression dimmed belying an emotion I’d never seen her reveal.
It’s almost like she’s going to cry.
I wanted the icky twilight-zone feeling to go. Because I was feeling something I’d never felt. A genuine flash of sympathy for Helene Pierce, my mortal enemy.
Now that she couldn’t command Truman to give her the veil, the weight of defeat wilted Helene more than the intensity of the midday June sun. Her narrow shoulders sagged in capitulation. A trickle of sweat marred her carefully powdered countenance. Her lips actually puckered, the coral lipstick bleeding into her frown lines. Her dowager-empress façade frizzled in the heat. She usually looked so composed, icy, and mean.
She was still impeccably dressed; that is, if the time machine that looked like it brought Claudia back from the late 1700s made a pit stop in the 1980s and picked up Helene. But all her shoulder-padded elegance and imperiousness had wilted. Also, she bore a second expression that belied something I realized I’d never seen before, in addition to her sadness.
Helene looks downright scared.
The might and main of being the biggest mover and shaker in our little corner of the world was turned upside down. I couldn’t help but feel a smidge of compassion for the woman who had once been slated to be my mother-in-law, even though she rarely sent a speck of kindness my way.
But it was short-lived. Helene seemed to stiffen and change course.
“My business here is done. But Claudia, I’ll have you know, you will not be setting foot on that reenactment field.” Helene had lost the battle over the veil and resumed her original fight with Claudia over women participating in the mock battle at Cordials and Cannonballs.
“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try to stop me.” Claudia stepped forward and pushed her sleeves up and readied her fists.
“Over my dead body.” Helene issued her threat as a hiss, and the crowd audibly gasped. But Helene wasn’t done. “I will get you fired, Mallory Shepard, from your event-planning duties at Cordials and Cannonballs if a single woman sets foot on that field.”
I snorted at her threat. This was the Helene I was used to. I was even able to tamp down a flash of worry that Helene would get me fired. Helene hadn’t been happy I’d been appointed to do the event, but she’d played nice. Well, nice for her, which translated to icy indifference and well-timed sighs and eye rolls about my planning choices. Which was downright cordial considering our past feuds. I’d offered my event-planning services to the town at a steep discount and was happy to do it. Helene had tried to meddle with my past events, but it wouldn’t work.
Elvis the basset hound had been napping a comfortable distance from Bev. His long leash allowed him to doze in a patch of shade under a nearby store’s awning. I wished I could have snoozed during this whole show, too. Elvis chose this moment to awaken like a doggie Sleeping Beauty, execute a magnificent stretch, and settle down at Bev’s feet with a luxurious yawn.
The crowd laughed at his seeming dismissal of Helene, and I couldn’t help but join in. Maybe this was the bit of levity we needed to end this charade. The laughter seemed to snap Helene out of her funk. She stormed off without the veil, her suede kitten heels striking the sidewalk with angry force. The crowd parted around her like the Red Sea, no one eager to get in her way.
I felt the defensive energy that was racking my body flow out in a whoosh.
“That was intense.” I turned to Bev and witnessed her shoulders sag, too.
“Not what I expected after the lovely morning we’d had planning my wedding.” Bev gave a shiver.
I turned to Pia. I needed to salvage what we’d set up inside the Antique Emporium. “Are you still interested in interviewing for the assistant position tomorrow? I promise my interactions usually aren’t as fraught.”
Pia laughed, then toned down her voice to avoid the now-napping baby Miri. The little one had been surprisingly unfazed throughout this whole ordeal. The sweet baby had slipped into a blissful snooze midway. “Those were some crazy fireworks we just witnessed. We need to keep those for the festivities surrounding Founder’s Day and the Fourth of July.”
Bev’s eyes twinkled merrily. My friend seemed to have recovered somewhat from the last half hour. “Or save those fireworks for a joint wedding with me!”
I groaned at my friend once more pushing me to move up my wedding.
Truman happily took Bev’s bait. “When are you two finally tying the knot?” The few passersby laughed and finally moved along. It was the town joke apparently that the wedding planner couldn’t seal the deal on her own wedding. I thought this dramatic melee would finally get people’s minds off of my lack of a finalized date with Garrett. I sent my soon-to-be father-in-law a withering sigh and an arched brow as my answer.
Bev and Truman roared with laughter, and I found myself joining in. It was a lovely, if now too-hot day, the sky a vivid and cloudless periwinkle. The little crowd had finally completely dispersed. Pia and Miri, Claudia and June returned to their store, with firm plans for Pia to interview for the assistant’s position the next day. All was well.
For now.
I couldn’t shake the incongruous look of fear in Helene’s eyes.
“Here.” Truman motioned me over and gently and reverently divvied up the two jagged halves of the veil to Bev and me.
I glanced down at the swath of lace. It was still lovely, except for the violently ragged edge where it had been torn asunder.
“Is this even possible to mend?” Bev moaned. She sent a glance down the sidewalk, seeming to expect Helene to reappear out of the ether. “Why don’t you keep my half with yours in your safe?” She reunited her piece of the veil with mine, seemingly happy to offload the veil we’d both desperately wanted just a bit ago.
I wrapped the scraps of ancient, delicate fabric in what was left of the ripped plastic Antique Emporium bag and deposited the lot into my own bag. The light lace veil seemed to weigh heavily within. The coveted fabric had not been rent carefully with Bev’s capable seamstress’s shears, but by the hands of Helene, administered with her white-hot anger. I couldn’t suppress a shiver.
* * *
“Truman’s right, you know.” My mother whirled around from her stance at my kitchen sink and sent me a smirk. She dried her hands on a pretty floral apron embossed with cheery sunflowers and daisies. The apron occluded her more formal business look beneath. Today she’d donned a purple sheath dress with matching jelly sandals and a poplin headband. Her temporary look with the summer floral apron echoed Bev’s wedding style. “You need to hurry up and get hitched, missy. What in the world is keeping you two from following through?!”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
I didn’t suppress my eye roll as I took the delft blue pitcher from my mother’s hands. I was rewarded
