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“I thought so too,” he said, sadness creeping into his eyes, even though he was still smiling. “Emily showed me the worst side of you all. She showed me things I don’t think the rest of you know about yourselves.”
“Like what?” I asked, forgetting all about dancing.
He laughed and led me back into the dance. “There’s plenty of time to get into all that, but today is about celebrating. Like I said, Emily showed me the worst side of witches. But you and Iris and Ellen, and hell, even Oliver, y’all have shown me the best. You risked your life to save me. Besides, in spite of it all, I love that impossible uncle of yours. No matter what.”
Peter had been pulled aside by his buddies and was being fed whiskey chasers for the champagne he’d already been downing. “Not too much there, buster,” I called as Adam waltzed me past him.
“Just married and she’s already calling the shots,” one of Peter’s friends said and slapped him on the back.
“That’s fine by me,” Peter said and stole me back from Adam, but not before I’d placed a kiss on the detective’s cheek. Adam surrendered me to my husband, and Peter smiled down at me, holding me tight in his arms. And I, well, I had never felt more love before in my entire life. I knew toasts had been made, I knew we’d cut cake at some point, and I had vague recollections of being pulled in one direction and then the other by a photographer who was bound and determined to capture every moment. But I knew those moments would be the ones I’d always remember—standing in Peter’s arms, enjoying a golden, happy blur with everyone I loved around me, and the fine people of Savannah, even those who would not truly call themselves my friends. Before I realized it, the sun had slid to the western sky and was sending its light down at an angle that announced twilight would follow not far behind. And as the jigs had given way to waltzes, in fine Celtic tradition, with the setting of the sun, the waltzes gave way to a few tearful laments.
“We should get going soon,” Peter leaned in and whispered in my ear. I nodded my agreement. As an anchor, I couldn’t travel too far from Savannah for a honeymoon, so Oliver had arranged for us to enjoy a week’s stay on Sea Island. No one in their right mind would complain about that, but I would have settled for Tybee as long as I had Peter with me.
“The only thing left,” I said, “is to toss the bouquet.” I loosened the ribbon around the flowers and removed the baby rattle Claire had wanted me to carry.
“What’s that?” Peter asked, reaching to take it from my hand.
“Just something old from your mother. You go find her and give it back to her, okay? I’m going to go hunt down Jilo. She’ll never forgive me if I toss the bouquet and don’t aim it in her direction.”
“I think you are right about that,” Peter said and leaned in to kiss me. “I’ll meet you beneath the climbing tree?”
I nodded. “Always and for the rest of my life.” He had a hard time letting go of me, but my hand finally dropped from his as he headed toward the bandstand in search of his parents. My eyes followed him, not wanting to lose sight of him, but finally I turned my mind toward finding Jilo. I had little trouble picking her out as I scanned the field. She had moved away from the crowd, and was sitting in a white folding chair that had been moved into the shade of a live oak.
Her eyes were partially closed, giving her the appearance of a napping cat. “You sure are a beautiful girl,” she said, raising her head as I neared. “You Jilo’s girl, you know. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise, you hear? Jilo, she love you as sure as if she’d carried you.” I hiked up my skirt a little and knelt down before her. “You get up now,” she scolded. “You gonna ruin yo’ pretty dress.” She reached out and traced her hand along my cheek.
“My dress will be fine,” I said to her. I took her hand. “Peter and I need to leave soon. I’m going to toss the bouquet. Thought you might like a shot at catching it.”
The old woman of the crossroads laughed. “Girl, the last thing Jilo needin’ is another man to take care of. She done had more than her fair share, so you keep those flowers of yo’s good and far away from Mother.” She scanned the park, taking in the dappled light, the lingering crowd, and the last few strains of music. She drew a deep breath and sighed it back out. “You gonna be all right now, girl,” she said and shuddered. Her eyes glazed over; her hand went limp in mine.
FORTY-TWO
Out of all the stories people tell about Savannah, the one that truly embodies the spirit of the place is this: Sometime around 1800 a fire broke out during a Christmas party at the home of Josiah Tattnall. By the time the servants discovered the fire, Josiah realized it was too late to save the house, so he took his guests outside to continue the party by the fire’s glow. To me, the moral is that even though life will take the things and the people you love from you, you should never, ever stop celebrating that you are alive. Josiah’s guests toasted life and each other and shattered their glasses against a large tree to show that they planned to move on and not hold on to a past that was gone.
The place where Josiah’s house once stood is now part of Bonaventure Cemetery, where stones mark my grandparents’ final resting place as well as the newly dug grave where Tucker lay. The morning had been spent memorializing Ellen’s lost love. Now, a mere spitting distance from the plot where he rested diagonally across from my birth mother’s empty grave, we Taylors, Tierneys, and a sole Cook gathered to honor the memory of Mother Jilo Wills.
Jilo’s actual burial had been a Wills family–only event held out on Sapelo Island. I’d wanted to attend, but after decades of rancor, her people hadn’t quite been able to wrap their heads around the way she and the Taylor family had bonded at the last hour. Martell had promised to say a prayer at the service on my behalf.
Oliver had a picnic basket filled with champagne flutes, and he set it down as we neared the part of the cemetery that had been laid out in a pattern representing the All-Seeing Eye. He opened it and handed a glass to each of us. Peter followed behind him, filling everyone’s glasses but mine with champagne. He paused before me and fixed his eyes on mine. My soul leaned in and touched his strength. His soul touched back, and then he moved on. Adam opened a bottle of cider for me and filled my flute.
“No,” Ellen said to Peter when he reached her. “I’ll have the cider as well.” I tried not to let my relief show. I prayed turning away from alcohol would be easier for her this time than the last.
With all our glasses filled, Peter returned to my side and put his arm around me. I leaned into him and wrapped my arm around his waist. I’d manage to stand on my own tomorrow. Today, I was just happy to have him there to hold.
“Who would like to begin?” Oliver asked.
“I would,” Iris said. She bit her lip for a moment. “Jilo, I know you can hear this.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I am sorry our friendship blossomed late, but I am so glad that it did.”
Iris lowered her head, a signal that she had finished, and Ellen stepped forward. “Jilo, I thank you for looking out for all of us. Most people will never know what a debt Savannah owes you, but we do, and I, for one, will always be grateful to you.” She stepped back and placed her free arm around Iris’s shoulders.
“Oh, hell,” Oliver said, reaching down and pulling out a bottle of scotch from the picnic basket. He opened it. “Listen up, you old buzzard,” he said, emptying it on the ground. “This is 1937 Glenfiddich. Just don’t haunt me, okay?”
I laughed in spite of myself, and then all eyes turned toward me. “Mercy?” Iris prompted me. “What would you like to say to Jilo?”
What did I want to say? I had been struggling to find the words that would sum up how I felt, but the right ones would not come. I wanted to say I loved her. That there would be a hole in my heart forever where she had once been. That she had scared the hell out of me, irritated me beyond belief, and I didn’t know how I could possibly face the weight of the magic that was now mine without her support, her strength, her churlishness. I felt my hand shaking, so I raised my glass. “To Mother,” I said.
“To Mother. To Jilo,” the voices echoed around me. I drank the cider in a single draught and hurled the glass against the nearest tree.
