Chapter 36 – Six months later . . .
Chapter Thirty-Six
LOUISA
SIX MONTHS LATER . . .
I slide the drawer to Rosie’s dresser open. I know what I’m looking for, I only wish she’d been here to help me get ready. To see her life’s work stand at the end of the aisle to wait for the love of his life.
There’s a small white box at the back of the right-hand drawer. The lid is inscribed with the letter L. This one is for me.
Sliding it from the drawer, I flip the lid off.
Another handwritten note sits atop a bundle of items.
First, I open the note.
Louisa,
If there is one thing a mother is certain of about their child, it’s the day they find the other half of their soul. It’s not something to take lightly and must be treasured. It’s as if that one person simply locks into place for them. They feel it. I saw the shift in my Harry, the day I first met you.
You remember the day, I’m sure. It’s my guess you felt the same way my son did. Does. That’s one thing I’m certain will never waiver in his brilliant mind, his commitment to you.
It never has.
On that note...
Something old ~ my crystal hair pin. It was my mother’s and hers before. That’s as old as anything has the right to get.
Something new ~ don’t tell Harry but I splurged a little after we bought the ranch. I bought one for me and one for you. A silk handkerchief. I figured we’d need them in the near future.
I let the box slide from my lap and pluck out the pin and handkerchief. It’s smooth and luscious, with an L embroidered in silver thread. The tears that welled in my eyes with the first half of the note slip over my cheeks. I sniff them back, desperate not to spoil my makeup, as basic as it is. Rosie was right, as she always was—I’m in need of a fine handkerchief today. And I’m yet to see Harry.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, I continue reading the note.
Something borrowed ~ well, this one was a little harder to come by, and it must be returned. Mama lent her finest cake slide to you and Harry for the cutting of the cake. And if it’s a quiet little affair, like I suspect both of you will want, make my boy something sweet. He mentioned something about a chocolate cake you made him once? Maybe that.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Rosie and Mama had exchanged the cake knife before I’d asked about buying the restaurant. Was that why they were so easy about the arrangement?
Something blue ~ ah, now this one might be my favorite. The best thing I have to give to you meeting this requirement is the long, steady gaze that will meet you at the end of the aisle. The shade varies with his mood, and we all know he has those in spades, but I promise you, they will always be yours.
A sob chugs from my throat.
My makeup is absolutely ruined, tears flowing freely now. God, I wish she was here. To see Harry stand at the end of the aisle. To witness all her sacrifices blossom into a big, beautiful life. She founded this. Us. Without Rosie, her cooking lessons request—when I knew she clearly just wanted to find a way to have me in their life—her soul-deep faith in the two of us, her gumption ’til the very end, I wouldn’t be sitting in this house that is about to be my home for the rest of my days. About to take her last name and stand beside her son.
She has handed over the helm.
I could never take her place. But I will make certain I live up to her legacy every day as Mrs. Harry Rawlins.
A soft knock snaps me from my reverie.
“Honey? You ready? The preacher is waiting. Harry’s getting more fidgety with every minute.”
My mother stands in the doorway to Rosie’s room, her long, slightly silvered blonde hair tied up in a French knot. Her Sunday best still fits her like it did ten years ago, on the day of the last service I attended with her. Her green eyes, the exact replica of my own, travel my tear-stained face. She pushes off the frame and comes to sit beside me.
“I realize your father and I haven’t been around much. But I am so glad you found your home here. I kind of always expected you to.”
Her words only make my tears turn from a stemmed smolder to a searing flow. I grip my face with both hands. I don’t want to be puffy-eyed and splotchy on my wedding day. I don’t want to look a mess for Harry.
“What’s all this?” Mom asks.
I show her the note, and she reads it quickly. Her face pinches, and she scrunches her nose up. Her eyes line with silver as mine did.
“She was one hell of a woman, that Rosie Rawlins.”
“Yeah?” I don’t understand why the word comes out a question. I already know she was.
“Gosh, the woman was a saint. Putting up with that man. Raising a boy like Harry to the man he is today. I can tell you that was no accident. She gave up a lot.”
“She did.” More than my own mother, or anyone else, will ever know.
I take grounding breaths, straightening out my lacy dress and wiping my face dry. I channel my inner Rosie Rawlins and stand. Mom helps me fix the items in place and I do one last check in the old vintage mirror on her dresser before I crook my arm and escort my mother into the hallway.
“If I could be half the woman Rosie was, I would be happy. And you taught me well enough to make it happen.” I kiss Mom’s cheek, and she nudges my shoulder with hers.
“Well, let’s get you married.”
“Let’s.”
We walk through the back door to the yard. The old willows sway in the breeze, stoically surrounding the handful of people in attendance. The way Harry and I wanted it. My parents, the preacher, Mama and Papa Mancini, Ned, and the girls from the diner rise from the cluster of wooden chairs when the single violin I commissioned from the town band plays the first note of the wedding march.
Everyone is dressed in their best. Dad meets me a few feet from the back door of the homestead, and Mom hurries to her seat at the front. But the only person I want to see stands, hands clasped behind his back and eyes burning into me, at the end of the aisle. And they are, in fact, the most brilliant shade of blue. Just as Rosie promised.
Harry stands in new dark jeans, a sport coat, and a tie, a new hat on his head, and the sweetest smile I think I’ve ever seen him crack.
Dad and I walk slowly toward the small gathering. The violin plays a steady tune that tangles through the green curtains of the willows. Harry stands by the preacher. I set my gaze to his and hold it there.
“You sure about this, Louisa?” Dad whispers.
I look up to see him wink.
I slap his arm that currently has mine woven around it. “It may have taken me a while to work it out, Dad, but I got here eventually.”
He chuckles and dots a kiss to the crown of my head. “Yes, you did, my girl.”
Is that what Rosie was talking about? Did my parents know all this time who Harry was to me?
A thought rocks me... Everyone in my life saw him and me as inevitable. I was the only one who needed a second look.
The next heartbeat finishes with me coming to a halt in front of Harry. Dad shakes his hand and sits by Mom.
When I look back at the man before me, his jaw is clenched, his eyes rimmed with silver. The rugged, rough, and moody Harry Rawlins has a soft spot.
And I am so grateful it’s me. Even more that he waited for me to find my way home.
“We are gathered here today...” the preacher starts, his hands on the Bible.
Harry’s jaw feathers.
My face curls with emotion. The preacher’s words drown out. With our hands clasped together, we recite the words that will see us through the rest of our days together.
* * *
“Congratulations, sweetheart.” Ma kisses my cheek and hugs Harry.
We stand holding hands as each person congratulates us in turn. It doesn’t take long with our intimate gathering, and I’m grateful for the fact as my nerves and the day’s emotions take their toll.
“Something you forgot to tell me, Lou?” Harry whispers into my ear as Brad steps through the back door, heading for the small crowd.
Oh my god.
What the hell?
“He your last-minute invite?” Harry’s expression is playful.
“I—” My gaze swings between Harry and Brad. “No, he is not.”
“Harry,” Brad says in lieu of hello.
“Bradley. What are you doing here?”
“Sorry.” He looks around suddenly realizing he has, in fact, intruded. “This came up. It’s important. And I didn’t want you to have to wait.”
My husband—good lord, it feels good to call him that—braces, pulling me into his side. “What’s more important than our wedding day, Connors?” His words have turned harsh.
Brad shifts on his feet and flicks his attention from the small crowd of people and the preacher back to us. “Sorry, if I’d known...”
“Spit it out.” Harry’s patience wears thinner.
Brad simply hands him an envelope.
Untangling himself from me, he opens it without a word. I glance at the paper, to Brad, and then back to Harry as his mouth gapes, his breathing shortening as he runs a hand through his hair.
My stomach plummets.
But then, a smile grows over Harry’s face.
“What? What is it?” I ask.
Harry hands me the paper. I skim it and then make myself read it from top to bottom.
Holy heavens above.
She did it.
Rosie, you will never cease to amaze me.
The paper is an account of bonds come due, for the sum of almost two hundred thousand dollars. The recipient in the case of her death, Harrison John Rawlins.
“This will tide us over for years,” I breathe.
“Sure would...” His voice is far-off.
“Apparently, your mother had money invested on her behalf when she turned eighteen. Decades later, this is the outcome. It takes a few weeks for the paper trail to catch up. Otherwise, the funds are yours to do whatever you see fit.” Brad gives a nod and smiles before turning to leave. A second later, he spins back. “Sorry for the intrusion. And... Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
He waves us off as he walks back through the house.
When the shock wears off, I turn to find Harry staring at me.
“What?”
He chuckles, hands resting on my face. “Nothing, Mrs. Rawlins.”
“I like the sound of that.” I drag his mouth down to my lips.
Harry wastes no time. His hunger for me never changes. I don’t care that every person in our yard is watching. Cheers from the small crowd echo through the old trees guarding our home, and I smile against Harry’s lips.
He leans back. “You’re happy, darlin’.”
“Of course I am. I’m home.”
“’Bout damn time, woman.”
I sigh a happy sound. “ Now , Harry, you can walk me over that threshold.”
So, he does. Sweeping my dress and skirts up, he strides around the side of the house until the front porch is at the toe of his boots. I slide my arms around his neck.
“Well, go on then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We walk over, and his mouth drops to mine the second we pass the imaginary line. The one I ran from once upon a time. All those years ago.
There life goes, giving me what I need. It just so happens, this time it’s also what I want.