A Lowcountry Wedding by Mary Alice Monroe

silver-framed photograph of his parents sat in a place of honor on the mantel. His parents were all the family he’d had. And now they were both dead.
    He shook out his damp, sleek raincoat and neatly hung it in the closet. Atticus was careful with his appearance. Growing up, his father, a successful lawyer, had taught him that “a man’s worth was noted not by the value of his suit or shoes, but by whether the shoes were polished and the suit pressed.” Baptist ministers didn’t wear the collar, but they were expected to wear somber attire appropriate for his profession. Atticus took pride in his appearance, and though he didn’t buy many, he bought quality suits and took care of them. He hung his black wool suit jacket beside his coat, then pulled out his phone and checked for messages.
    An hour later he had showered, put on his pajamas, and eaten the pizza. He rarely ate much at the weddings he officiated. He had to spend the evening talking to guests or, more likely, listening. If it was a Baptist wedding on the church premises, no alcohol would be served. For him, however, at any wedding, the drinking of alcohol was never an option.
    Sated, he went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. The heady scent filled the kitchen. Having poured a cup, he returned to the dining-room table. The caffeine woke him a bit and at last he felt ready to tackle whatever was in the mystery package.
    What could be from the lawyers now? he wondered as he began to tear at the tape binding. His mother’s will had been read. Her estate had been left entirely to him, her only child. His father, a high-profile Atlanta attorney, had died years earlier. He had left his widow with an estate that gave her the option to stop working and live a comfortable lifestyle. Zora Green had a successful career as a magazine editor and continued working at what she loved until the cancer that would take her life forced her to retire.
    When Atticus inherited his estate, he’d donated a significant portion to charities that helped the poor in Atlanta. He also made a generous pledge to the Ebenezer Baptist Church stewardship fund. What he’d do with the rest, however, Atticus didn’t know. He was a newly ordained minister and committed to his calling. He lived a modest lifestyle. Not married. He liked to take women to dinner at nice restaurants, take a trip once in a while. Other than that, he had no need for it. So until he received some message from God about what he should do with the money, he had arranged with the law firm to put the funds into safe investments. Atticus knew how fast that money would have flowed through his fingers if he’d inherited it when he was twenty-one.
    Atticus felt a little apprehensive when he opened the box. He pulled out a glossy black folder bearing the insignia of thePearlman & Pearlman law firm. There was also a plastic bag—filled with two bundles of envelopes of different sizes and colors, each bundle tied with red ribbon. Glancing at them, ever more curious, he set them aside and turned back to the folder. Opening it, he found a formal typed letter in the left pocket, a sealed envelope in the right. He reached out to take a sip of his coffee. It was hot, black, and sweet. Then he pulled out the typed letter to read.
    Dear Atticus,
    Following Mrs. Zora Green’s (your mother’s) instructions, we waited until all the business of the will and estate were settled before embarking on her final wishes. To date, all outstanding debts, taxes, and funeral expenses have been paid.
    Which brings us to her second request. Mrs. Green gave to our safekeeping certain letters that were to be delivered to you after her death. The said letters are enclosed. A sealed, personal letter from your mother, located in this folder, is addressed to you and should be read first. The bundles of letters in the plastic bag can be read at your leisure.
    The aforementioned letter is written in Mrs. Green’s own handwriting and signed by