the sweetheart tree

The Valentine Wedding Dress
by Sherryl Woods


Chapter One

It had been her mother's annual Valentine's Day ritual. Now it was a tradition Lara intended to continue.
She climbed the stairs of the old Victorian house that had been her home for all of her 22 years, opened the door to the attic, and stepped inside for perhaps the first time since she'd stopped playing dress-up there as a child. The old clothes and her mother's childhood toys had been the attraction then. Now it was the locked trunk that drew her across the chilly space.
Dust motes swirled in the beams of sunshine coming through the single round ******** Using the rag she'd brought with her, Lara carefully wiped off the lid of the trunk, took the old brass key from her pocket, inserted it into the lock, then hesitated.
Whatever was inside had been her mother's private treasure, something that made Susan Calhoun nostalgic and teary every single February 14, as far back as Lara could remember. And yet she had continued the ritual, though it was obvious that it made her unhappy. It had been almost a year since her death and Lara was determined to carry on the tradition, even though not once in all those years had her mother told Lara or anyone else what was inside the trunk.
After the funeral Lara had asked her father about the mysterious *******s. He had shrugged off the question, insisting that everyone was entitled to their whims...their secrets. Her 24-year-old twin sisters, less curious and more self-absorbed than Lara, hadn't even recalled the tradition. With their big-city careers, fancy homes, and doting husbands, they rarely came home to the small Virginia coastal town where they'd grown up, much less worried about one of their mother's many idiosyncrasies. That had been left to Lara, who identified with her mother in so many ways.
Lara sat down, letting the rays of sunshine warm her, and considered whether she was doing the right thing. Was she invading her mother's privacy? Or was this something her mother would want her to do, now that she was no longer here to carry on the tradition herself?
"Mom, what should I do?" Lara whispered. "I want to understand why this trunk was so important to you. I need a sign. I really, really need a sign."
Just at that instant, her mother's beloved gray-and-white cat jumped onto the trunk and began purring. Maybe it was a sign, maybe it wasn't, but it was good enough for Lara. She reached for the key and turned it. As she lifted the lid, Prissy leapt down without protest and curled against her side, still purring as if she wholeheartedly approved of Lara's decision.
At first glance, the trunk appeared to be filled with little more than tissue paper, not yellowed with age as she might have expected, but as crisp and white as if it were brand-new...as if it had been replaced frequently with loving care. Lara lifted the top layer and then the next, then gasped as she found the treasure beneath...a wedding dress.
Like the paper, the white satin bore few of the marks of time. The tiny seed pearls adorning the neckline were as neatly in place as if they'd been sewn on the day before.
With an odd sense of reverence, Lara lifted the dress from the trunk and held it up. It was a size eight, her mother's size and her own. Her breath caught in her throat, Lara moved to an old mirror and stared, trying to imagine what her mother must have looked like in this elegant, simple gown. It had been years since she'd looked at the wedding album downstairs or even noticed the enlarged wedding snapshot on the dresser in her parents' bedroom. But gazing into the mirror she had some idea.
Not only were they the same size, but they had the same fair coloring, the same dusting of freckles across their noses if they spent too long in the summer sun, the same periwinkle blue eyes.
Tears welled up as she stared at her reflection and imagined her mother looking just like this — okay, with her blond hair tidy, not mussed from the wintry breeze outside, and without the streak of dust on her cheek — on her wedding day.
For a moment she hesitated, tempted to try the dress on to get the full effect.
"Why not?" she murmured. Who would ever know?
Quickly she stripped out of her clothes, shivering a bit in the attic's chilly air. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the folds of fabric over her head, then let the dress slip into place. Her fingers trembled as she drew the zipper up in back. Only then did she step in front of the mirror.
As she'd known it would be, the dress was a perfect fit. Gazing at her image, she felt a lump form in her throat. She looked...radiant, as if she truly were a blushing bride.
Even though there hadn't been a man in her life for months now, even though she had so many things she wanted to do before she settled down, Lara felt the most amazing sense that someone special was just around the corner, that it wouldn't be long before she could wear this very dress at her own wedding. Though her family scoffed, Lara was a very big believer in destiny, and something told her that hers was about to take the most astonishing twist.
* * *
David Lafferty normally didn't take on quick little fix-it jobs like the one he'd agreed to do today. In fact, since he'd reluctantly left his dream job with a major developer in Atlanta and come home to help out in the aftermath of his father's heart attack, Lafferty Construction had been going after major contracts with some of the area's biggest developers. He was happiest when there were major challenges on his plate.
His father had reluctantly agreed to the business expansion, but David knew he would have been happier if the company had been some small, father-son enterprise. Usually he let David decide what jobs to take these days.
But today, for some reason, his father had been insistent that David be the one to waste an afternoon driving to the next county to repair some wobbly steps. He'd gotten the distinct impression that his father just wanted him out from underfoot. Or maybe he was just tired of hearing David go on and on about Chelsea's desire to get married.
Tonight was supposed to be the big night. She was expecting an engagement ring for Valentine's Day, but David just couldn't work up any enthusiasm. Chelsea was a wonderful woman, but he wasn't ready to have a wife or to start a family, especially when he wasn't at all certain that he wanted to stay in Virginia.
Not only that, with Chelsea, there was no spark, no magic. David wanted magic and at 25, he wasn't quite ready to settle for anything less.
He rang the bell at 337 River Glen still debating whether Chelsea was going to get that ring or not. When no one answered, he rang it again, impatient to get the job done and be on his way to the meeting he had scheduled to discuss a huge office building complex that would put Lafferty Construction in the big leagues.
Suddenly he heard what sounded like a startled scream. Testing the handle of the door, he swung it open and stepped inside just as a woman dressed in a wedding gown tumbled down the stairs and straight into his arms.
He found himself gazing into vivid blue eyes and suddenly, without warning, he knew without a doubt that this was the magic he'd been waiting for. And it had literally fallen into his life when he wasn't the least bit ready for it.

Chapter Two

"Are you okay?" David couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the woman in his arms. Aside from a streak of dirt on her cheek, she looked none the worse for her tumble down the stairs. In fact, she looked amazing...as radiant as a bride.
Suddenly it dawned on him that a woman wearing a wedding dress was probably engaged to another man. The thought brought on a powerful surge of pure jealousy, an emotion with which he wasn't at all familiar. He had no idea how to deal with it except to ignore it. He was good at ignoring inconvenient emotions.
"I thought the bride was supposed to toss the bouquet, not herself, down the stairs," he said, proud of his casual tone.
"Bride?" She stared at him blankly, then glanced down at her dress as if just realizing what she was wearing. "Oh, my. That's why I tripped. I was in the attic when the doorbell rang. I was rushing and I forgot all about the dress. I must have caught my foot in the hem."
She tugged frantically at the skirt, revealing a shapely calf and probably considerably more thigh than she realized. Dave couldn't seem to prevent an appreciative survey.
"I hope I didn't tear it," she said, studying the yards of fabric.
"So, when's the big day?" he asked, his voice annoyingly tight.
She regarded him with surprise, then chuckled. "Oh, I'm not getting married."
Determined though he was to pretend it didn't matter, he couldn't stop the sigh of relief that washed through him. "You're dressed awfully formally for cleaning." He brushed at the streak of dirt on her cheek.
"Long story," she said, her gaze locked with his, her voice a little breathless. "By the way, you can put me down now. I'm fine."
Reluctantly, he set her on her feet, though he couldn't quite make himself release his grip on her arms. It was hard to tell where satin left off and bare skin began. The fabric was cooler, he decided when he finally pulled away.
She stared at him, looking as shaken as he felt. "Who are you?" she asked at last.
"Dave Lafferty. I'm here to fix some stairs. Obviously, I was a bit too late."
"Actually it's the steps to the attic that need fixing, not these. This little tumble of mine was my own doing. I'm always rushing without thinking. Come on. I'll show you. I'm Lara, by the way. Lara Calhoun."
Dave couldn't seem to shake the odd out-of-body sensation he had as he followed her to the foot of the attic steps, which were, indeed, dangerously wobbly. There was something about this Lara that seemed strangely familiar, as if he'd known her all his life, yet he knew they'd never met.
Surely he would have remembered a woman with this fragile, heart-shaped face, with hair the color of corn silk and a mouth so tempting it was taking every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from kissing her and, no doubt, scaring her to death. Better to concentrate on the steps.
"How long have they been like this?" he asked.
When his question drew nothing more than a vague hmm? he glanced up and saw that her gaze was locked on him. "Lara?"
An embarrassed blush crept into her cheeks. "Sorry. I was distracted."
He knew the feeling. He also could think of only one way to get beyond it — fill the time with innocuous chitchat. He was a master of it.
Instead, what came out of his mouth was an invitation. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked, regretting the impulsive words the instant they were spoken.
"Tonight?"
He'd done it now. He could hardly back out, now that he'd uttered the invitation. "It's Valentine's Day. Would you like to go out for dinner?"
His gaze locked with hers and he felt that odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Or do you already have plans?" It was part question, part plea. If she had plans, he'd be safe. He could go out with Chelsea, who was clearly no risk at all compared to this woman.
Lara regarded him with surprise. "You want to go out with me on Valentine's Day? Surely there's some other woman you'd rather be spending tonight with. Someone you know better."
An image of Chelsea came and went. He would have to call her — no, stop by in person — and break things off. How could he possibly go out with Chelsea when the woman of his dreams was right here in front of him, lousy timing or not?
And, he thought, allowing himself to enjoy the irony, she was already dressed for the wedding.
* * *
Lara fingered the soft, cool satin of the wedding gown and considered Dave's invitation. She didn't date strangers. She made it a rule never to go out with anyone to whom she hadn't been properly introduced by mutual friends or family. It was an old-fashioned standard, but in this day and age a woman couldn't be too careful. Her only exceptions were for men she'd met and spent a lot of time with through her job working for a restoration architect.
Funny thing about Dave Lafferty, though, it didn't feel as if he were a stranger. From the moment she'd landed in his muscular arms and gazed into his eyes, he'd felt familiar, as if their souls were somehow connected. And it was Valentine's Day. Everyone should have a date with someone special on this most romantic night of the year.
She looked into his green eyes warmed by flecks of brown and felt her heart flip over. She'd never bought into the possibility of love at first sight, but she had a feeling this man could make a believer out of her.
Still, she hesitated. "I don't know."
"Would it help if I told you that my father knows your father?"
She brightened at that, eager for any excuse to do what her heart was yearning to do. "Really?"
He grinned. "Well enough to call and ask me to come over and do this repair job, anyway."
"How do I know he didn't just get the number out of the Yellow Pages?"
"Call him. Ask."
Lara considered doing just that, then dismissed the idea. What if it turned out that her father knew nothing at all about Dave Lafferty or his father? Then she'd be forced to say no to the invitation.
"I'll go," she said in a rush.
Dave gave her a crooked smile. "Great. Just one thing."
"Yes?"
"Could you lose the dress?"
She glanced down and smiled. "Under any other circumstances, I'd probably be offended by that suggestion, but I suppose you're right. We don't want people to assume this is our wedding night."
He tensed visibly at the suggestion. "No," he said in a tight voice. "We most definitely do not want that."
He sounded as if the very idea panicked him. Too bad, Lara thought, because the idea was suddenly beginning to appeal to her....

Chapter Three

After Dave had fixed the stairs and left with a promise to be back by seven, Lara floated back up to the attic. She literally felt as if she were walking on air. How was it possible for a humdrum day to be transformed so quickly into something absolutely magical?
Of course, she had another transformation to make before seven. She was not going out tonight looking like Cinderella's poorest, ugliest stepsister.
Quickly she stripped off the wedding gown. She carefully covered it with tissue and folded it. She was about to place it back in the trunk, when she spotted the envelope, yellowed with age, the writing on the front, bold and masculine, the postmark from a town less than 50 miles away. Unable to stop herself, she picked it up and slid out the card, an elaborate valentine meant for a sweetheart.
It had been opened and read so many times over the years that it was coming apart. There were blotches, too, suggesting that it had been soaked with tears, probably more than once.
Hands shaking, Lara opened it, feeling an odd sense of trepidation.
In addition to the printed verse, there was a note in that same bold handwriting: My darling Susan, on this day of all days, thoughts of you fill my heart, replacing for a few brief hours the regrets that haunt me always. You know why I did what I did. And because of the kind of woman you are, I know that you understand and maybe, after all this time, have even forgiven me. If only things could have been different. With all my love, Peter."
Peter? Lara stared again at the signature to make sure she'd gotten it right. Who was Peter? Her father's name was Mitch. Mitch Calhoun. Lara had never heard of anyone named Peter. Certainly her mother had never mentioned the name. Why would a card with such an obviously intimate message be tucked away with her mother's wedding dress?
Suddenly Lara thought she knew. Dropping the card on top of the folds of satin, she ran downstairs, relieved that she had the house to herself, that her father wouldn't be home for hours, not until long after she'd left for her date.
She paused at the door to her parents' bedroom, took a deep breath, then stepped inside and walked over to the dresser. Swallowing hard, heart thundering in her chest, she reached for the informal wedding picture that had sat in the same spot as far back as she could remember. In it, her mother was smiling brilliantly, but it was a spring day, not winter, not February 14. There were buds on the trees and daffodils blooming beside the church steps.
And the dress? Lara's gaze swept over it in a single glance. Soft and feminine, it was trimmed in lace, not pearls. It was made of organza, not satin. Which meant that the dress in the attic was from another wedding.
She thought of the valentine. Or, she concluded, from a wedding that had never taken place at all.
* * *
"Going out with Chelsea tonight?" Peter Lafferty asked as Dave stood in front of the hall mirror and straightened his tie.
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not."
"Really? I thought that was getting serious."
Dave sighed. "She thought so, too. I told her a little while ago that I couldn't be with her anymore, that we didn't have a future." It had been the most difficult conversation he'd ever had, but he knew in his heart it had been the only fair thing to do.
"Can't say I'm sorry," his father said. "I never did think she was right for you."
Dave stared at him in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because nobody knows better than I do that you can't let other people pick the person you're going to love."
Dave was startled by the admission. He walked into the living room and sat opposite his father. "Dad, were you and Mom happy?"
For a minute, he thought his father might not answer, but he finally shook his head sadly. "Your mother was a very special woman. And she tried her best to make the marriage work. She really did. It's my biggest regret that I could never love her the way she deserved to be loved."
As his father spoke, Dave realized that he had always suspected as much. Maybe that was why he'd been so cautious about wanting to get more deeply involved with a woman. Why invest a lot in a relationship if it was destined to fail or, at best, to be a lackluster partnership?
"Why couldn't you love her?" he asked, recalling glimpses of sorrow in his mother's eyes, the way she always hurriedly covered such revealing moments with her brightest smile.
"Because my heart belonged to someone else," his father answered.
Dave felt sick inside. "How? When?"
"I made a terrible mistake once. I was engaged to someone I loved with all my heart, but one night we had a terrible row. I turned to your mother for comfort. We'd known each other since we were children. We were best friends. I knew your mother cared for me, but that night she told me she loved me. She said I had to know that before I married someone else."
He shrugged. "Maybe if Susan and I hadn't fought I would have been strong enough to resist what your mother was offering, but I didn't. It was wrong. We both knew it. We vowed to pretend it hadn't happened, but there were consequences."
Dave's heart was in his throat. "You mean me."
His father nodded. "Marrying your mother was the honorable thing to do. I truly cared about her. And I wanted my child to have my name. There was never any question about that."
"And the other woman? What happened to her?" He couldn't stop the stirring of resentment toward the woman who had cost his mother so much happiness.
"She married someone else eventually and had three girls."
"Did you ever see her again?"
"Never, but I kept up with her. Once a year I sent her a card, always on the same day." There was a look of unbearable sadness in his eyes. "Today, as a matter of fact."
"Valentine's Day?"
"It was the day we were supposed to be married."
Dave reached for his father's hand. How could he hate him for doing the right thing, for giving up a woman who had obviously mattered so much to him? It just proved what an honorable man he was. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Don't be. Your mother and I did just fine together. And you've always been a blessing. Your mother would be so proud to know that you're taking over the business, making it bigger." He met Dave's gaze. "Speaking of that, how did that job over in Monroe Cove go today?"
"Piece of cake," Dave said, standing up, relieved by the change of subject. "In fact, that's who I'm going out with tonight, Lara Calhoun." He grinned. "You should have seen her, Dad. She tumbled down the steps and straight into my arms wearing a wedding dress."
"That must have caught you off-guard," his father said. He was laughing but there was a faraway look in his eyes. "A wedding dress, huh? It didn't scare you off?"
Dave remembered that moment, remembered the sense of inevitability he'd felt as he'd caught her, the equally quick rush of panic. "I've got to admit, it gave me a bad minute or two, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from asking her out."
He glanced at his father and thought for just a second that there was a sheen of tears in his eyes, but that couldn't be. Peter Lafferty never cried.

Chapter Four

From the moment Lara answered the door, Dave knew that something had happened since he'd left that afternoon. It wasn't that she didn't look fabulous. She did. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed. Her makeup was perfect. She was wearing a red wool dress that skimmed over her curves in the most enticing way. She'd chosen sleek red heels that added two inches to her height, yet brought her only to his chin.
"You look beautiful," he said with total sincerity. He touched a finger to her cheek. "Or you would if it weren't for the sorrow in your eyes. What's wrong? Would you rather not do this?"
"No, I'm looking forward to it," she said.
"About as much as you would to having your tooth pulled," he said. "Come on, Lara, what is it?"
She hesitated, then drew him inside. The living room was smaller than his own, but cozy. He could tell at once that this was a real home, furnished with love. Photos lined the mantel of the fireplace. A gleaming piano stood against one wall with sheet music piled atop it.
"Something did happen," she confessed, looking shaken. "I don't know what to make of it."
"Tell me."
"You know that dress I was wearing?"
He grinned at that. "How could I forget?"
"It was my mother's. It's been in the attic for years, in this trunk."
So far, he didn't see the problem. "Okay?"
"But it wasn't the one she was wearing in her wedding pictures."
Dave felt an odd tingling in his chest. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Maybe it wasn't hers."
"Then why was it in our attic?" she asked reasonably.
"Could it have been your grandmother's?"
"No way. The design was too contemporary. Besides, I'm almost certain it had never been worn."
"How can you be certain of that?"
"There wasn't a spot on it, not so much as a hint of any kind of stain."
"It could have been cleaned. Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a dress."
"Not any dress," she argued. "A wedding dress." She drew in a deep breath and leveled a look straight at him. "Besides, there was a valentine in the trunk." She shook her head. "I must sound like an idiot. I'm probably making way too much of this, but there's no one I can ask. I certainly can't go to my father and say, oh, by the way, was Mom supposed to marry someone else."
Dave's heart took on an erratic rhythm. "A valentine?" he repeated in a choked voice. "What did it say?"
"The usual hearts and flowers stuff, but there was a note apologizing. Though it wasn't spelled out, it sounded like he had broken their engagement."
Dave had never fainted in his entire life, but he felt right now as if he could. As if he wanted to. Surely this was simply a crazy coincidence — his father telling him about an old romance, now Lara telling him about a valentine expressing regret over a canceled wedding.
"Was the card signed?"
Lara nodded. "Peter," she said softly. "My father's name is Mitch."
"Oh, God," Dave whispered, getting to his feet unsteadily.
Lara stared at him with obvious alarm. "What's wrong?"
"I have to go. There's someone I need to see."
"About this?"
"I don't know. Not really." He leaned down and gave her a distracted kiss. "I'll call you. I promise, Lara. I will call you and explain everything, if there is anything to explain."
If he lived to be 100, Dave was fairly certain he would never forget the confusion and heartache on Lara's face as she watched him walk out the door.
* * *
Lara absentmindedly smoothed down the skirt of her pretty red dress. Clearly Dave knew something about the valentine in the attic, but how? He'd looked so distraught, so shaken. But until he came back or phoned, there would be no answers.
Unless... Could there be something more in the trunk? she wondered. And if there was, did she really want to know? This had been her mother's secret, one she'd carried to her grave. And yet Lara was compelled to find out the rest.
She kicked off her bright red shoes and ran upstairs, turning on the low overhead light that gave the attic an illusion of cheeriness, despite all the shadows in the corners. She'd left the key in the trunk earlier and now she turned it, then lifted the lid for the second time that day.
Carefully she removed the dress, then the card. There was more tissue paper below. Lara hesitated, then lifted that out as well, revealing a square, flat box from a department store that had closed years ago. Hands shaking, she picked up the box and set it in her lap. There were answers inside. She knew it. She could feel it.
She fumbled as she removed the lid. There were more valentines inside, two dozen at least, all yellowed with age, all bearing the same signature she'd seen earlier, all expressing the same deep regret.
She was openly weeping as she reached for the last one, the biggest of them all. She wondered if they'd been in chronological order, if this lavish one had been the first one sent, all those years ago.
As she picked it up, something slid out. Even as she reached for it, she realized it was a snapshot, an old one.
Heart pounding, she retrieved it from the floor. Could this be the man her mother had loved and lost?
Lara had to take a deep breath before she felt brave enough to turn it over. When she finally did, her breath came out in a gasp.
"Oh, my God," she whispered.