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A truly vintage wedding dress from the 1940s, ivory silk with a cowl neckline and a low-draped back. A bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangeas. Both from Ellen. Iris had loaned me the pendant necklace I was wearing, which had been passed down through more than a hundred years of Taylor women, a diamond-encircled cabochon emerald above a drop-shaped emerald. Iris had also made me a gift of a new pair of emerald and diamond earrings, the emeralds’ color an astonishingly close match to the antique ones in the necklace. From Maisie, I stole a kiss, as she continued to live in her dreams.
Oliver, of course, would give me away. His other contribution to the event was that he’d convinced the justice of the peace and the parks authority with just three days’ notice to let us perform the service in Forsyth Park, where Peter and I had first met. Peter had the idea that we should marry at the foot of the oak we’d always called “the climbing tree,” the one with the lowest and sturdiest branches. No groomsmen, no bridesmaids. Just the two of us before God. Iris had balked at first when Peter and I had said we wanted a simple wedding, no fancy reception, just cake and a band in the park. In the end, she’d capitulated and had even taken out a full-page ad in the Savannah Daily News welcoming the whole darned town.
We had taken over a suite of rooms at the Mansion, and a team of hair and makeup artists were surrounding me, turning me into a fairy-tale princess, an image I’d never re-create under my own steam, even with magic. I loved every minute of it, though, because this day wasn’t just for me. It wasn’t even just for me and Peter. It was for the whole family. My aunts and uncle had arranged everything, devoting their attention to even the smallest details, although I had a surprise to spring on them as well.
“Shame on you,” I said as that surprise trudged into the room, dressed in chiffon the color of blue morning glories and a purple hat large enough to shade half of Savannah.
“Why shame on Jilo?” she asked, scanning me to try to find a place to land a kiss without messing up my hair or makeup.
I popped up and kissed her instead. “You know you aren’t supposed to outshine the bride.”
“Well, darlin’, Jilo can’t help it if the Lord has bestowed such blessings on her. Wouldn’t seem right to hide them.” She laughed, and took a seat on the foot of the bed. “Are you happy, girl?”
Tears started welling up in my eyes just as Ellen and Iris entered the room. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. I am very, very happy.” Jilo nodded in reply.
“Oh, now, now,” Iris said reaching for a tissue. “No waterworks until after the photos,” she said. Then she noticed Jilo. “Oh, Jilo. I am so glad you liked the hat. I knew it would suit you perfectly.”
“I love it. Thank you,” Jilo said softly and smiled. So much for my ability to surprise anyone. I looked at these three beautiful women. Each of them, in her own way, was a mother to me.
“Let’s loosen her hair a bit,” Ellen said to the stylist. Then she turned to me. “I’ve got a crazy idea,” she said. “It’s only that the thought of you and Peter marrying here in the park reminds me of when you were still a scrawny little tomboy. Well, since you aren’t wearing a full-length gown, how would you feel about doing this barefoot?”
A knock at the door interrupted the decision. “May the future mother-in-law come in?” Claire asked. We hadn’t seen each other since the day Ryder and Josef had barged into the bar. I hadn’t been purposely avoiding her, I had just been busy. I knew from her tone that she was concerned that I might actually turn her away.
“Of course,” I said, waving her in. “Would y’all mind if Claire and I had a moment alone?”
The assistants dropped everything as soon as I made the request, but my aunts exchanged a look before moving. Jilo grumbled a little under her breath, but then she worked her way off the foot of the bed. Once the room had been cleared, Claire stepped closer. “You, my dear girl, are breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. “I am so sorry, Claire. For what I did to Peter—your natural son Peter, that is.” Heck, I should probably apologize for what I’d put her adopted son through as well, but I would spend the rest of my life doing my best to make it up to him.
“No, I am the one who’s sorry. It was only my grief and confusion talking. I know that you tried to help him and that he was already dead when you put your hands on him. I know,” she said, tapping her hand against her heart. “Listen, I have realized that the Fae did live up to their promise, just that time must move a bit differently in their world than in ours.” She paused. “When the police found him outside the powder magazine, he was wearing a heavy overcoat.”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“A fortune in gold and jewels had been sewn up in its lining. A fortune befitting a prince.”
“Yes, Jilo picked up on that and told me.”
“Well, Colin and I have been discussing what we should do with the proceeds from this unexpected windfall. We have decided to donate everything to the research of children’s cancer, because that, in the end, is really what took our Peter from us. We are donating everything he carried with him except this.” She opened her purse and pulled out a silver baby’s rattle, monogrammed with the initials PDT, Peter Daniel Tierney. “This belonged to him. We sent it with him,” she paused. “I cannot explain why—I don’t understand it myself—but it would mean the world to me if you’d carry this with you today, if you could find it in your heart to include our other Peter in your marriage to my adopted son.”
“I would consider it an honor,” I said, taking the rattle from her.
“I love you, Mercy Taylor,” Claire said, tears bursting from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
“That’s Mercy Tierney,” I said.
Claire smiled through her tears and reached out with both hands to grasp my stomach. “And you too, you little monkey. Grandma loves you.” She stood and walked to the door. “I’ll send your entourage back in.” She smiled at me once more, then left.
I’d experienced the magical warping of time many times over now, but it couldn’t begin to compare to the way natural time moved on my wedding day. One moment I was sitting in the hotel, getting the final touches to my makeup and hair, and the next I stood in the park beside Oliver, waiting for the musical cue to start toward the climbing tree. “You good?” he asked, leaning back and taking in the full view of a niece so done up he could barely recognize her.
I lifted my bare foot and wiggled my newly polished toes. “Never better.”
Iris took honors as the first mother-of-the-bride. I watched as her new boyfriend, Sam, escorted her up the aisle. Ellen followed her as the second mother-of-the-bride. I had expected Peter’s buddy Tom to serve as her escort, but as I squinted against the sun, I realized that Ellen was holding on to Adam’s arm. It shocked me to see him there. He’d told me he was done with us, all of us, and I had believed it to be true. I didn’t know what had led to his change of heart, and frankly I did not care. I squeezed Oliver’s hand. “You good?” I asked.
His eyes were wide with surprise. “Never better,” he said, his face beaming.
Finally, Jilo, the third mother-of-the-bride, proceeded between the rows of white folding chairs on the arm of her great-grandson, Martell. As she settled into her seat, I heard big Colin call out to the band, “Strike ’er up, boys!” “Haste to the Wedding” came from the temporary bandstand Peter himself had helped build. Oliver looked at me with questioning eyes. I nodded once, and we wound our way through the open field. There, waiting beneath its sheltering limbs stood the man I loved, the man I had always loved, my Peter. I looked into his mismatched eyes and everything else faded away.
