The Dress Shop on King Street

by Ashley Clark

  Hope mingled with despair in the most unexpected way. Harper smiled, not because she was particularly happy, but because what else was there to do?

  “We’ll see.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. She hesitated a moment, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears as she shook her head. “Sounds like an adventure. At least you’ve got the shoes for it.”

  I’ll add them to my collection of therapy heels.

  Harper reached for the bag and turned from the register. Then she took a deep breath of that dress-shop air in hopes it would sustain her, in hopes she could somehow remember, return to it, on the coming nights when she wondered what in the world she was thinking.

  Because, really—what in the world was she thinking?

  Harper spent the rest of the day as a tourist in Savannah because that was what she now considered herself—a woman passing through. She had the clearest sense of closure that her time here had come to an end, sad as it made her to admit.

  She’d finally broken down and spent the money on a trolley tour and learned a surprising amount of history about the city. Then she strolled down River Street, watched the taffy roll through the old candy machines, and got ice cream at Leopold’s before dropping off her new shoes in the apartment she shared with Lucy. Her friend was out of town for the next couple of days, so at least she could avoid a face-to-face retelling of the humiliation that’d come from her best-laid plans.

  But there was one person she couldn’t avoid calling any longer.

  Harper adjusted her polka-dot umbrella as gentle rain fell, then settled onto a bench—crossing her legs at the ankles and using her free hand to take a sip from her to-go cup of mint sweet tea.

  Before her stretched Forsyth Park in all its majesty. Spanish moss dripped from sprawling, long-settled oak trees, and Harper wondered why those trees seemed to have so little trouble planting themselves deep.

  Muted sunbeams suggested the final hours of daylight as the streetlamps flickered on.

  Harper set her tea down on the bench and unlocked her phone just as it began to ring. The name “Dad” appeared. His ears must’ve been itching. She took a deep breath as a few rogue raindrops slipped down her ankle toward her feet.

  “Well, sweetheart, how’d it go? You left me hanging all day!” He spoke as if it was such a sure thing. As if he hadn’t a doubt in the world she would succeed.

  Harper held a little more tightly to the handle of her umbrella. “I’m afraid my update is pretty disheartening.”

  He waited a long moment before saying anything. She didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He would fill in all the gaps, as he always had, and simply knowing she needn’t say more brought a sudden sense of relief.

  “I’m leaving Savannah tomorrow. I’m sorry, Daddy.” Harper closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. Her heart ached with the disappointment of her glorious, unfulfilled dream.

  “Harper Rae, there’s nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Except talking about yourself like this.”

  “I was foolish to spend your money on such an expensive school.” She opened her eyes and looked up as the clouds above deepened into a darker grey. But even the drizzle didn’t stop all the passersby from posing for pictures in front of the fountain at the center of the park. “At the time, I thought this degree would make me more marketable—but what if I was being selfish? I should’ve done something more practical. I should’ve been an accountant.”

  “Sweetheart, and I mean this with love”—Daddy sounded like he was holding back a chuckle—“ain’t nobody going to trust you with their finances.”

  Harper laughed for the first time all day.

  “God’s timing don’t always match ours, and that’s okay.”

  She slowly blew out a deep breath.

  “Sometimes we believe a lie about ourselves is the truth because we’ve got its identity wrong. We trust it and give it far more than its fair share of our energy.” He hesitated. Harper had a feeling she already knew what he was about to say. Was he waiting until she was ready to hear it?

  “What about you go back to Alabama for a while? Stop by that inn you’ve always admired from the other side of the pier.”

  “No.” Harper shook her head. “Not now. I’m ready to move on from dressmaking and find something new.”

  “I’m not saying you ought’a take sewing lessons with her again. I know you’re not a kid . . . just go there, Harper. You’ll feel better. You’ve always wanted to stay at the inn, haven’t you?”

  She pinned the phone between her shoulder and chin to reach for her tea. She had always imagined what it would be like to stay overnight at the place. And she did adore the owner . . . even if the woman had birthed Harper’s love of dressmaking. The very love she was currently trying to forget. “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “Just think about it, would you? Sometimes you have to look for the next good thing. Maybe this is yours. Give you something to look forward to.”

  The grassy square and old oaks took on a rosy hue, and Harper smiled softly. The world was always more beautiful after a good, steady rain.

  FIVE

  Fairhope, Alabama, 2011

  “Harper Girl, how many times have I told you to stop sewing when you’re half-asleep? One of these days, you’re gonna get hurt.”

  Harper blinked several times as the fishy smell of her father’s clothes perked her senses, and the blurry outline of the Cranberries poster above her sewing machine came into view.

  He flipped the switch of the lamp on her table, and Harper squinted. Too much light. Way too early in the morning.

  She groaned. “Daddy . . . I have to do the dresses.” Harper pointed toward the bed where ten formals lay in a perfect stack in the exact spot where she should be sleeping.

  “Nighttime is for sleep. The dresses can wait.”

  “You should take your own advice.” She turned off her sewing machine and stood to move the dresses from her bed to a chair by the window.

  Daddy sighed. “You know it’s Jubilee.”

  Harper shimmied under the worn quilt Mama had made years ago. Before their family became just her and Daddy.

  “I can catch and sell enough to buy you that dress you want for the dance, Harper Rae.”

  Harper looked over at the dresses she had promised to alter for other girls at school. She’d carefully calculated how much she would need for the fabric to make her own gown, and she knew very well that Daddy could use a nice pair of shoes now that he had a new job at the office. All the money from the extra fish caught during Jubilee should go to his shoes. She could manage just fine.

  “You use it on yourself, Daddy.”

  “Nonsense.” He tucked the edge of her sheets around her elbow as if she were six and not sixteen. Then he kissed her forehead and started toward the lamp. But her words stopped him halfway across her shag rug.

  “I want to go to college. A design school in Savannah, Georgia. It’s called SCAD.”

  Harper didn’t know why she’d picked the three o’clock hour to blurt out the words she’d been holding inside for days. Maybe the tiredness took her filter, or maybe she knew he had to leave soon to beat other folks out to Jubilee. But either way, she’d said it, and there was no going back now.

  He had always told her she could have the moon if she wanted it. But this . . . college and money they didn’t have . . . it may as well be in a fictional galaxy.

  Daddy sighed so long, it was a wonder he had any breath left in him. “Lord only knows where the money is gonna come from.”

  She clutched the seam of the bedsheet, soft from so many washings. He had never been one to give much advice, so when he did, she paid attention.

  “But if God gave you a dream, you’d better listen. You just remember that God knows the how and the why, though the when may be frustrating. ’Cause, Harper, if I know one thing about life, it ain’t always Jubilee.”

  Daddy switched the lamp off, and moonlight flooded the room. “No matter ho
w long it takes, sweet girl, when your great tide comes in, make sure your nets are good and ready.”

  Daddy filled three nets’ worth of crabs that morning. Plenty of provision to cover the price of her dress and his shoes, plus a nice dinner for the two of them that evening. Harper took the fancy lace tablecloth she and her mother once used for tea parties and shook it outside. It caught the wind, as if it had a message to send to anyone watching.

  Mama and Harper had always loved that tablecloth, already an antique when they’d gotten it as a gift—already with a story to tell. The old fabric was woven from hopes and secrets that had endured for generations. Harper liked to think that now she was part of that larger story.

  She gathered silverware and two cloth napkins to set up a real cozy spot on the patio of their home. The house was modest, to say the least, but waterfront property was never shabby, and Harper loved the view of the charming inn across the inlet.

  The sun had just set over the water, dripping color in pinks and reds and blues from the heavens until the first star appeared.

  Daddy was finishing up with the crabs inside while Harper poured tea into their glasses, staying as far from the kitchen as she could. She never could stomach the sight of crabs boiling, even after years of it. Daddy said her heart was sensitive. But truth was, she’d just never been comfortable with anything dying . . . not even crustaceans.

  She started to put a napkin down in her mother’s spot before she thought better of it, then blinked, staring at the chair. She would never get used to it, would she? Her mother should be here. Her mother had always loved Jubilee.

  Harper looked up to find the twilight had deepened. She hadn’t noticed as it happened, distracted as she was by readying the table. But she would need to turn the porch light on if she and Daddy wanted to see their food.

  An outline caught her attention as she started toward the door. Harper squinted. A figure stood at the edge of the pier across the water. Though she couldn’t make out many details, the man seemed young and dejected. Oh, she was projecting the dejected part, but truth be told, something in the slump of his shoulders seemed particularly sad. No, that wasn’t the right word. Hopeless, perhaps?

  Harper frowned, the sight of him so unexpected. She’d never stayed the night at the inn herself, though Lord knew she wanted to if money ever allowed. But most folks who came through seemed to find peace and joy in the place, if the laughter that flitted across their pier was any indication.

  Such wasn’t the case with this man.

  Harper stepped toward the back door and creaked it open just as Daddy appeared with a bowl full of crabs in one hand and an empty bowl for scraps in the other. She scanned the place settings for the salt and pepper shakers and made sure she’d remembered to put a paper towel over the top of the hush puppies to keep them warm.

  Daddy set the bowl of crabs down and ruffled the top of her hair. “Hope you’re hungry.” He took a seat.

  Harper pulled out her chair and followed his lead. She scooped a heap of hush puppies onto her plate and reached for the crabs.

  “Careful,” Daddy warned. “They’re still pretty hot.”

  She opted for the old fork-and-knife-combo trick and safely moved a crab from the bowl to her plate. “These look delicious.”

  “Jubilee usually is.” Daddy twisted off a claw and dropped it in the scrap bowl.

  Harper’s gaze traveled over the gentle pull of the tide between them, toward the young man on the pier. “Daddy, you know anything about that guy? Seems sad. Something about his shoulders.”

  Daddy looked up at her from his plate. “Imagine he is. Kid lost his mother.”

  Grief tugged Harper closer to the stranger. “How do you know?”

  “Gary told me out on the boat today.” Their neighbor Gary might as well be the town hairdresser for how well he kept himself updated on everyone’s happenings. “Sad situation. I’m not sure how he knows the innkeeper—family friend, I think? Anyway, the boy’s mother died tragically in a boating accident this year. Guess the stepfather thinks real highly of himself and can’t be bothered since the kid isn’t kin to him by blood. There’s also some kind of drama about a family business and the young’un wanting to make his own way in life. It’s a shame. Gary said he seems like a good kid.”

  Harper forced herself to swallow the hush puppy she’d been chewing. Poor guy. She knew the grief of losing a parent, but to be practically disowned by the other . . . that part she couldn’t imagine. “How could he do that to his own family?”

  Daddy seemed to sense there was more to Harper’s empathy. He reached across the table and gave her hand a big squeeze. “Don’t know. Some folks aren’t worth their weight in salt if you ask me.” Daddy glanced over his shoulder toward the boy on the pier.

  Harper pulled a claw off her crab and used it to point toward the other pier. She’d never even met the stepfather and was ready to throw the crab claw right in his face.

  “Sweetheart.” It was a your-compassion-is-acting-up-again warning, not an admonishment.

  Harper blinked, forcing herself back to the present. “You’re right. This dinner is a celebration, after all. You caught enough this morning to feed the whole county.” She smiled at Daddy, proud of how hard he worked, then looked back down at the crab and slowly broke off the other claw. She hesitated when it made an unexpected pop.

  “You’re thinking about that crab getting caught, aren’t you?”

  Harper set the food back down on her plate and let her laughter go free. “How did you know?”

  Daddy grinned. “That’s my girl. Always considering the oxygen-deprived crustaceans.”

  Harper took a long drink of tea and let her gaze move across the water once more. “What’d you say his name was?” She didn’t know why she asked that, or why it even mattered. But for some reason, she wanted to put a name to the person—for she had already shared his posture on her own side of the pier.

  “Who, the boy?” Her father scooped several hush puppies from the basket. “I think it was Peter.”

  “Peter,” she murmured quietly, and the name of the net-casting disciple rolled toward the other side of the water, then back again once more.

  SIX

  Charleston, 1946

  Mama paced back and forth along the skinny wooden slats of their living room floor. “You did what?!”

  Millie’s decision to explain what happened with Harry at the soda fountain had proven to be a slip in judgment, to say the least. But she did have sense enough to know she shouldn’t answer that question. That another one would be forthcoming.

  “Do you realize what could’ve happened?”

  Millie was just going to let that second question slide by too.

  Her mother turned to face her. The pacing stopped. She reached her aging hands toward the tear in Millie’s dress, where the hasty stitches had now come undone.

  Mama sighed. A deep sort of sigh. The sort of sigh that carries the weight of the world and sends it into the air, where the weight of the world can catch wings.

  After a moment’s pause, her mother touched Millie’s arms gently. “I shouldn’t have . . . ” She cleared her throat. “If something had happened to you, Millie, I wouldn’t be able to breathe . . . ”

  Too choked up to say any more, Mama simply folded Millie into her arms. Arms where Millie had always known comfort. Security. Safety. Arms that seemed to grow in reach as Millie grew in stature and need.

  “It didn’t, Mama.” Millie pulled back from her mother and looked straight into her eyes. “You hear me? I’m fine.”

  But Mama’s gaze kept trailing back to the tear on the shoulder of Millie’s dress.

  She was quiet—too quiet for too long. Mama wasn’t usually one to hide how she was feeling.

  “Mama?” Millie finally muttered. Her bare foot tapped against the floor, her body a bundle of nerves over the rebuke that was coming. Mama was clearly gathering thoughts, about to let her have it.

  And she dese
rved it, didn’t she?

  Her mother was right. Any number of awful things could’ve happened to her because of what she told Harry.

  Shouldn’t she know better, after what happened to Daddy?

  Millie swallowed. Her stomach turned when she thought of the men responsible. Men who hadn’t even been prosecuted because they said it was self-defense, but really, they were angry her Italian father had loved Millie’s Black mother, and especially angry the two of them had a baby. Angry Millie was playing with their own kids, and angry Daddy stepped in the way when they reached for Millie to teach her a lesson. So in their rage, they killed him.

  And now both Mama and Millie were broken in pieces, and Millie couldn’t imagine that sort of thing might ever be mended. That either of them might ever be the people they were before the violent grief had torn them in two.

  Mama’s full lips parted. “You said no one knew? Everyone thought you was white?”

  Millie nodded. “You don’t need to worry. I—”

  Mama shushed her with a wave of one hand. “Now, hush up. You realize what this means?”

  Should she?

  “What’d you think would happen if you went back to that soda fountain?”

  Millie shrugged. “They don’t know the truth . . . They’d probably welcome me.”

  Mama paused. “Exactly.” She held her darker forearm against Millie’s. “You see this? You’re lucky, Millie.”

  “Lucky?” Because she didn’t quite belong anywhere? Black folks thought she was privileged, and white folks had to be tricked? Lucky when no one would accept her wholly, honestly, as one human being with two distinct parts of her heritage?

  “Yes. Lucky beyond what you know. You’ve got options, sweet girl. Choices.” Mama brushed her hand along Millie’s face and held it there lovingly. Almost as if she was saying good-bye to something.

  “If you don’t belong somewhere, Mama, I don’t either.” But even as she said the words, Millie wondered—what choices does Mama mean?