He squeezed her hand and let it go.
“Perhaps you’re right. Let’s think about happier things now.” He led her out of the graveyard and inside the little church.
About twenty pews made up the entirety of the chapel. They were glossy and wooden with maroon cushions in two sections. An aisle with gold carpet ran down the middle. “This will be perfect,” Sophie said. Stained glass windows diffused the sunlight onto the carpet in bright patches.
“I’m glad you think so. Any idea about what kinds of flowers you want? We could have some in the windows and up front, and you must choose your bouquet, of course.” John sauntered toward the front of the church and stood under a large cross that hung in front of a baptismal.
“Roses, maybe?” Sophie said, studying him. She didn’t want roses at all, but she wanted to know what he would say in response to the suggestion.
“Are you sure?” He asked, frowning slightly.
“Why not?” She asked, sitting in a pew near the front.
“I think they might be upsetting for some.” John cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze as he stared at the large cross in the front of the church.
“I don’t understand.” She felt a bit low for deceiving him, but she wanted to know why flowers were so upsetting to everyone.
“They were my mother’s favorite flowers. She wore them in corsages all the time, in her hair, and had them all over the house year round. When you smelled roses, my mom was usually near, or she had put a fresh batch in the house.”
Sophie started at the comment but said nothing.
John closed his eyes and sighed. “We don’t really remember the day she died, but Evan has never gotten over it. He is always reminded of her with roses, and they grow the best of any of his flowers in the greenhouse—for good or bad.”
“Oh, it would seem they would be a comfort to him.” Sophie rested her arms on the pew in front of her. This place was relaxing—peaceful, not dark like the house.
“They aren’t comforting to him as far as I can tell. I think they’re just too painful, but he won’t destroy the remnants from her once lively collection.” John shook his head. “I’m glad of that.”
“I see. So, it’s even stranger that someone used so many of them as decor in my bedroom.”
John gazed at her for a long moment. “I suppose it is. I’ll ask Mrs. Garson. It could have been an honest error. She’s not a spring chicken anymore, and I’m not sure she knows about how upset Evan is by seeing roses around the house. She wasn’t on staff back then.”
“Right.” Sophie stood. “Well, then, no roses. Perhaps orchids would be nicer. I’ve been to the greenhouse and seen that there are a variety.”
John gazed at her sharply. “You have?”
“Yes, just this morning. I took a walk after breakfast. I needed the fresh air.” She moved to the nearest stained glass window and studied the image of St. John the Baptist’s head on a platter. The image made her shiver—so real it seemed.
“I see. That’s Evan’s domain. He has a gift for horticulture. It’s his work, really. He sells flowers in the local market in town and breeds them, too.” John joined her near the window. “That’s a remarkable piece of art, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“The anguish in The Baptist’s eyes seems to mirror that of the world,” he said. His tone was so somber, it gave Sophie pause.
“I suppose so.”
“I hope we will be happy and know a great deal less of the anguish we have tasted so far in life,” John said suddenly, touching her shoulder. “It is my greatest wish.” He squeezed her arm, and heat flowed from his hand to her body.
Sophie wanted more than just his touch in that moment. She swallowed hard, not sure where he was leading with this declaration. “I’m sure we will be.”
He dropped his hand from her shoulder and gave her a wobbly smile.
But she wasn’t sure at all. John’s mood had grown sober for reasons she couldn’t understand, and he led her silently from the chapel. The light tone of the morning was gone, and her happiness had vanished along with it.
Chapter Six
Later that afternoon, Sophie stood in front of her full length bedroom mirror at Haven House, a length of silk tacked around her.
“I think the lace long sleeves will do nicely for the cold and the long, lace veil is a must, of course. And you’ll want a cape, too, dear?” The seamstress asked, smiling as she made some adjustments and inserted safety pins where she would need to add seams.
“I think so.”
“That would be best with the cold. I’ll make it gauzy with hand muffs on the ends.” The woman put her pins in the pin cushion and gathered her materials back up.
Sophie had chosen an ivory silk for the dress with beads and pearls to accent. The arms would be made of lace. “Thank you. I think it will be lovely.”
“You’ve chosen well, and you’ll be a gorgeous bride.” Mrs. Bechdol snapped her measuring tape up and put it in her bag. “I’ll have this ready as soon as I can. It’s my first priority. It’s my understanding you won’t be having any bridesmaids.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Heat rose in Sophie’s cheeks. She wondered if everyone in town knew that this was a hasty marriage—a marriage designed so John Granger could receive his inheritance.
“That’s fine, dear. Call me if you have any changes you want to make as I get started in the next few days. I can make slight alterations here and there. When I’m finished, I’ll call and we’ll make sure everything fits you like a glove.”
“Thank you so much.” Sophie clasped her hands together, excited in spite of her trepidation. The dress was a vision, so unlike her wedding gown when she had married David—a plain thing she had sewn herself due
