Eleanor Hart landed in Nashville on a gray Thursday afternoon with one carry-on, one garment box, and the tight little headache she always got when she spent too much money trying not to be a burden. She was sixty-three, recently retired from a public library in Spokane, and she had paid for her own flight because her son, Daniel, had said the wedding budget was “stretched to the bone.” So she came quietly, without complaint, carrying the Hart  family veil wrapped in acid-free tissue, a crystal cake knife from her mother’s china cabinet, and two boxed  gifts she had paid to check because shipping them felt colder than bringing them herself.