Soon, all of us fell back into our normal routines, although I noticed Whit spent more time with Henry, getting his “help” with the renovations on the other fourth-floor apartment, including Addie as often as June would allow. This meant Henry spent less time with June. And I can’t say I minded.
For weeks, the house was quiet. I saw no intruders, heard no strange noises, had no items go missing or show up in strange places, had no disturbing dreams. For the first time since coming to Dawes House, everything felt…normal.
Henry continued to grow, flourish, his cheeks rosy, his energy like a normal five-year-old boy. He washealthy.And, as much as I hated to admit it, I owed his improvement to June’s home remedies, old-world knowledge that helped him where modern medicine simply couldn’t.
As the first day of school approached, Henry’s excitement grew, and my job at the bookstore made it possible for me to buy school clothes and supplies and all the things he would need. It was a moment I’d dreaded, having to admit to my son that I couldn’t afford to give him the same things his classmates had. But Icould. And it felt damnedgood.
Whit had wanted to help, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted—needed—to do this on my own. In the end, though, I let him take Henry shopping for a new pair of shoes since he only had the one pair that still fit. And even though Whit bought him three pairs, I didn’t care. What mattered was how happy Henry was, how much he loved Whit, and that Whit was eager to be the father Henryhad never had.
Whit and I spent as much time together as possible when he wasn’t traveling for business. He always came home exhausted and often bruised. And he was as evasive about why as he had been the first time, but I didn’t press. I knew he would tell me more when he was ready. I could imagine that not all the tenants were thrilled with the idea of being relocated, even if (as I found out) Whit offered them all a sizable sum to help them find a better place to live and to pay for any moving expenses.
With every day, I realized how much I had misjudged Whit when we’d first spoken after Mr. Monty’s death, how deep his kindness ran, how unwavering his love was for me, for Henry. And I loved him. Loved him with such intensity, it sometimes frightened me. It was as if I had already loved him for a lifetime.
That’s why after one of Whit’s business trips, when we lay in each other’s arms in the darkness, I said, “I don’t want to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
I could tell he was frowning in confusion even though I couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness. I just knew every line, every curve of his handsome face by then, the way his different muscles twitched or stiffened depending on his reaction.
“To get married,” I told him. “I don’t want a big, elaborate wedding. Who would I invite anyway? I don’t have any family. And you don’t have any family outside of Dawes House that you’d want to invite except Cora. So why wait?”
He chuckled, the deep rumble in his chest vibrating against my cheek. “Using my own words against me. Well played.”
“Speaking of Cora, when do I get to meet her?” I pressed, eager to know this sister if she was someone important to Whit, someone who could help fill in the gaps about my beloved’s past that was still something of a mystery. “Will she come to the wedding? Where does she live?”
He tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t realize you’d be so interested in her.”
“Of course I’m interested! If she’s important to you, then she’s important to me.”
He pulled me back into his arms. “Then you’ll definitely get to meet her. But she lives in England, so it might be a while. And she’s not a fan of Dawes House, so we’ll probably have to visit her there.”
“Works for me,” I assured him, snuggling closer.
“Now,” he prompted, “about this wedding…”
“Would you be disappointed if we didn’t have anything fancy?” I asked, suddenly worried that perhaps I hadn’t considered whathehad envisioned for us.
“No,” he said, drawing me closer. “How could I be disappointed? I want you to be my wife, Zellie. I don’t care if we get married at the courthouse or at the cathedral in Rome. I just don’t wantyouto be disappointed.”
“I feel the same way,” I told him. “All that matters is that we’re together. The three of us.” I waited a beat before adding, “That’s why I also don’t want to take a honeymoon just yet, if that’s okay. I mean, Henry starts school next week. I don’t want to disrupt his routine so soon or be away from him very long.”
Whit kissed the top of my head. “Whatever you want. We can take a trip later, just the three of us. Anywhere in the world you want to go. Just tell me when and where. And I’ll make it happen.”
I shifted positions so that I was stretched out on top of him, and kissed him, my heart singing with joy. And when he took hold of my hips, urging me to my knees and guiding me back down slowly, I exhaled a long, satisfied sigh as I took the full length of him inside me.
Had anyone asked me years ago when I was lying on a dingey cot, cold and scared, in a church basement that doubled as a homeless shelter if I thought I would one day marry someone like Whit, that all my dreams would come true, I would’ve laughed in their faces—and then would’ve cried myself to sleep that night, angry and humiliated that they’d thought happiness was so out of my reach.
Whit was true to his word. Three weeks later as the air became a little cooler with Savannah’s version of autumn, we were married in the garden of Dawes House, surrounded by the residents—ourfamily—and Dottie. It was small, intimate. Perfect.
That day before, June and Earl cut dozens of flowers from their gardens, weaving garlands that she strung up around the patio and wrapped around the single lamppost in the yard, centerpieces for the bistro and picnic tables, and a small bouquet of crimson roses for me to carry. There was even a basket of crimson petals for Henry and Addie to sprinkle ahead of me as Junior led me down the walk to where Whit waited with Pearlie and June who were to perform the ceremony. The love in his eyes was so deep, my own eyes stung as tears of joy blurred my vision.
And then he took my hand and drew me to him, and—
A horrific image assaulted me so powerfully, it made me wince and suck in air through my teeth. It was Whit, bloodied, beaten, broken. Then a subsequent barrage of images followed, passing too quickly to fully understand. I could only catch glimpses—fire, hooded figures, blood on my hands.
“Zellie?” Whit whispered, his concern cutting through and pulling me back to the present.
“I’m okay,” I said quickly, breathless. “I’m sorry. Sudden pain in my temple. It’s gone now.”
