The Wedding Dress

by Rachel Hauck

  “Well,” Daniel began, slow and deliberate, his eyes on her face. “We lost to the Memphis Turtles in a doubleheader and the boys were pretty riled about it. They were smoking and swearing, drinking, and the jitney smelled like a sewer after a hot, rainless summer, and I had to ask myself, ‘Why do I prefer these lugheads over my favorite girl?’ Who’s Phillip, Emily?”

  “But you love baseball, Daniel. What about your chance at the plate, to swing the bat at whatever fancy pitch you choose, to ‘feel the thrill of wood cracking’ . . . Isn’t that what you told me you loved about the game?” Emily popped the air with a pretend bat, smiling, trying to sell Daniel on his own dream, trying to move him away from querying her further about Phillip. She’d not planned for this interaction today. Or tomorrow. Or ever, if she were honest. Oh, Daniel.

  “I didn’t think you were listening to me all those nights we walked the quad at school.”

  “I heard every word. I loved our evening walks.”

  “If I’d had money, I’d have taken you to a picture show or fancy dinner.” He turned his pockets inside out. “What’s a poor college boy to do with a beautiful girl like you? Baseball was all I had to make me sound important.”

  “You need not sound important to me. Walking the quad was a fine date, Daniel Ludlow. I still think of those times.”

  “So do I and that’s why I quit baseball, Emily. Playing didn’t make sense anymore when I thought of you. Which was all the time.” His breath thinned as his voice became thick. His eyes searched hers. “I don’t love baseball. I love you.”

  “Love me? How can you love me? I’ve not seen or heard from you since April.”

  “I mailed five or six letters every Saturday asking you to wait for me.” He regarded her from under the bill of his cap. “You really didn’t receive them?”

  “Would I say I didn’t if I did?” Emily walked around him, toward the swing hanging from the elm. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her Mother would be serving supper soon, but she couldn’t leave Daniel yet. She pushed her toes against the grass, setting the swing into motion. Daniel leaned against the trunk of the tree.

  “Would I say I wrote to you if I didn’t, Emily?” Daniel removed his cap, and his tangled mop of thick brown hair curled over his forehead and around his temples. Emily used to pull his curls free to tease him after he’d worked so hard to slick his hair into place. “I’d like to come calling later this evening if it’s all right with you.”

  Emily kicked her feet and raised the swing higher. The August evening hosted an array of colors—pink, purple, orange, and blue—and gave her no ideas on how to tell Daniel, dear Daniel, the news.

  Daniel watched her, smiling, but inquiring of her each time their eyes met. May I come calling? Finally he caught the swing and lowered his face to hers.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “I didn’t receive your letters, Daniel.” Panic swirled in Emily’s chest and around her thoughts. She slid off the wide wooden seat, trying to press around Daniel into the open yard, but he trapped her in his arms.

  “But I’m home now. Letters or not, I feel the same. I’ve secured a job and a large apartment in the Ridley house . . . Emily, I want to speak to your father.”

  “Father?” Emily unlocked his arms from around her. “The Ridley?” Did he intend to propose marriage and bring her to live in the Ridley?

  “The Ridley is a fine apartment. Not a mansion like your father’s . . .” He waved the cap in his hand toward the large stone house where a cut of the blue day seemed to rest on the dark roof. “But it’s a good, fine place for couples in love to start out. I don’t plan to be a teacher forever, Emily. I have plans to—”

  “Phillip—there’s the matter of Phillip, Daniel.”

  “W-what do you mean? Phillip who? I thought we had an understanding, Emily.” A sad confusion weighted his expression and his inquiry.

  “But you left.” Emily spun away from him. Oh blast, how could she tell him?

  “I’ve been gone five months, not five years.” Daniel touched Emily’s shoulder and gentled her around to face him. “You gave up on me so quickly?”

  “Daniel, we took a few turns around the campus quad, attended dances and fraternity socials, but . . . it was hardly an understanding.” Emily pressed her hands together. Did her words sound convincing? She’d spent the last five months telling herself what she had with Daniel was infatuation, not love. “Phillip and I became reacquainted at the Black and White Ball. In May.”

  “I see.” Daniel averted his gaze as he pressed his cap onto his head.

  Stinging tears washed Emily’s eyes when she saw the red tinge on the tip of Daniel’s nose. She covered her exhale and quivering lips with her hand.

  “Daniel, listen to me, be serious for a moment. Did you really believe we’d marry?” She stretched her hand to him but pulled back without touching him. “We were and always will be college friends. Nothing more.” Please agree, Daniel. Please agree.

  “No, we were much more. I believed we’d marry. That’s why I quit the Barons and returned home.”

  “But we made no real declarations. No promises.” No, she did not betray him.

  “How could I ask you to marry me when I was riding off in a jitney? But it was understood, Em. Wasn’t it? That we loved each other and wanted to be together?”

  “Phillip and I . . . we’re right for each other. Our families have been friends for years. We have the same—”

  “Social connections? The same opulent wealth?” Daniel’s tender pleading about-faced to sour and snarly.

  “You knew when we met who I was, where I came from, and what expectations might be upon me.”

  “Yes, but I thought I met a girl with a mind and will of her own. One who would choose a life and husband she loved.”

  With mustered courage, Emily stepped into him. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. There’s more to marriage than college memories. More than rib-splitting laughter and juvenile affection.” Surely he knew a girl like Emily had to consider social standing, her privilege, wealth, and education. Her family.

  “Is that all we were? A good time? Tell me, are you in love with him?” Daniel’s voice wavered ever so slightly as he backed toward a tan and black mustang tied to Father’s hitching post. Father’s bay had poked her head out the stable window, curling her lip at Daniel’s pony, flirting.

  “Daniel, I—” Emotion rose from some hidden room of her heart. “Yes, I love him, whatever that means. Love is a subjective sort of thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “No, I would not. It’s an action verb.” Daniel jerked forward, reaching up to slip his fingers along the curve of Emily’s face. “One I’m willing to do. Love you for the rest of your life. I’m willing to speak to your father right now, Emily. I’m a man he can trust with his daughter. I’ll prove myself more worthy than Saltonstall.”

  She stepped away from him, a cool ire mingling with her hot tears. “I can’t do that to him.”

  “But you can do it to me?” Daniel’s feelings displayed on his high cheeks and square jaw. Even a few paces away, she could see the rise of his chest, sense the beating of his heart.

  “You left me. I had no other choice but to move on or go crazy loving you.” Emily gritted her jaw and confessed, “It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “No, Daniel. We are over. Phillip is a wonderful man, kind and considerate, well-spoken and well-read, educated and respected in this city.”

  “Respected? Saltonstall?” He laughed, low and cold. “I tell you what he really is, Em. Phillip Saltonstall is a—” Daniel halted, pressing his lips into a taut line. “He has many . . . he is quite the—”

  “He’s quite the what?” Emily crossed her arms, the breeze cooling her skin but not her heart. “Say what you have to say, Daniel. You seem to know so much.”

  “I have nothing to say.” He backed away, one step, two steps, slowly at first, then faster
. “Good-bye, Emily.”

  But instead of racing across the lawn, he surged forward, gripped her shoulders, and kissed her, passionate and tender.

  Hot emotion brewed on Emily’s lips and in her heart as she watched him sprint toward his mount and ride off. The clip-clop of hooves echoed in the hollow chambers of Emily’s heart . . . the places where she’d once believed love for Daniel Ludlow bloomed.

  She reached for the fir tree branches, bracing herself, not caring if the needles bit into her palm. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she whispered, praying the wind would carry her words and comfort him. But he was too late. Emily had committed her affections, her mind, to marrying Phillip Saltonstall. It was all for the best, really.

  Daniel Ludlow was simply too late. Too late.

  Chapter Four

  Emily stood at the kitchen sink, pumping cool water over her fingers, the last of her tears dripping from the edge of her jaw into the sink and swirling down the drain.

  The five o’clock sun draped reddish-gold ribbons through the trees and left thin, dark shadows on the ground. A warm honeysuckle breeze blowing through the open window did a jig with the curtains.

  Splashing water on her face, Emily rubbed her eyes, washing away the heat of tears and the image of Daniel. How dare he come back and interrupt her life? Phillip was expected for dinner soon and she must compose herself.

  She snapped a towel from the bar below the sink and dabbed her face dry. If Daniel sent her letters, what happened to them? Where did they go?

  “Here ye are, miss.” Molly entered the kitchen from the outside, her apron loaded with tomatoes. “I’ve been searching for ye. Where’d you get off to after the meeting? What’d ye think? Are ye ready to march for the vote?”

  “I don’t know, Molly. It all seems rather . . . Has Mother been looking for me?” Emily kept her back to the kitchen maid and cook, composing herself. “It’s warm today, isn’t it?”

  “A broiler. Yes ma’am, a bee-roil-er. Umm hmmm.” Molly’s singsong words alerted Emily. The woman had a secret. “Yer mother’s not been looking for you.”

  “Molly, did you see me just now?” Emily folded the hand towel and draped it over the dowel rod.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Molly dumped the tomatoes into the sink. “Do ye think I have time to stare out the window so’s I can catch you kissing a young man that ain’t Mr. Saltonstall?”

  “Oh, Molly, you did see.” Emily came around the worktable to face Molly. “He kissed me. I did not kiss him.”

  “Sure looked like you were kissing him to me.”

  “I wasn’t kissing him. He just . . . grabbed me.” Emily slapped her palm against the thick board where Molly worked. The woman was five years older, and at twenty-seven, she was more like a sister than a servant.

  Mother had hired Molly when she was sixteen, fresh from Ireland, with nothing more than a change of clothes in her valise. While shopping downtown one afternoon, Mother overheard Molly inquiring for a job and stood aghast as a transported Bostonian, who had no use for the Irish, mocked and cruelly rejected Molly. Mother hired her on the spot.

  That evening at dinner, Mother told Father, “A pretty girl like that would find herself in the dance halls. What would the good Lord charge against me if I let such a travesty happen when it was in my power to do good?”

  “Daniel kissed me, you hear.” Emily angled forward to grip the burnished-haired maid by the shoulders.

  “Saints and all the angels.” Molly pulled away from Emily, her hazel eyes snapping. “That was Daniel? Where’s he been keeping himself for these past five months, leaving you to wonder and weep in your pillow?”

  “I didn’t weep, Molly. Where do you get such ideas?”

  “I got ears, don’t I? And Big Mike can hear a bird chewing on a worm, don’t you know.” Molly took her knife to the first tomato, cutting it into quarters and tossing the slices into a bowl.

  Molly’s room was just below Emily’s. And Big Mike, Father’s liveryman, came into the stable one afternoon when she’d gone up to the loft to hide her tears in the hay.

  “He said he wrote letters,” Emily said, sinking slowly down to the kitchen stool. “He came here today to tell me he’d quit baseball and had secured a job and an apartment.”

  “Letters, you say? Ah, look at me mess.” Molly motioned to the soupy tomato juice on the cutting board as she added the slices to a bowl. “This knife must be dull as—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that knife, Molly.” Emily put her hand on the woman’s arm. “Don’t you get the mail every day?”

  “Miss, if you want a rundown of my household chores, speak to yer mother. I must be getting to this supper.” Molly averted her gaze, twisting her arm out from Emily’s hand. “What your father won’t say to me if his summer salad and tomato pie isn’t on the table.”

  “Molly, spill it.”

  She sliced another tomato with quick motion, her lips tight and pale.

  “What happened to Daniel’s letters?”

  Slice, slice, slice. “Ain’t nothing like a lovely salad on a hot summer evening. I ordered ice cream from the iceman for tonight. Mr. Saltonstall is coming to dinner, you know. In fact, I believe he—”

  “Where are they, Molly?”

  Molly whacked the next poor innocent tomato.

  “Oh—” Emily pressed her hand to her chest. “Father. Did he—tell me he didn’t toss them into the incinerator?”

  Now Molly gazed at her, a bit of spit-and-vinegar in her eye. “Think of your father, Emily. Would he do such a thing?”

  “I’d think not, but then why did he take them in the first place? Or was it Mother?”

  “Blessed saints, no. Not your mother. She’ll be a saint one day for saving me.”

  Emily fussed with her slipping pompadour, removing the long hairpins, letting her hair fall free, controlling her ire at Father for hiding her personal property. It wasn’t like him. “Molly, the letters.”

  The kitchen door swung open and Father’s man, Jefferson, entered. “Miss Emily, there you are.” Jefferson wore a light-colored suit with a string tie. Perspiration dotted his limp white shirt and bled through his vest. “Your father is asking for you. He’s in his library.”

  Emily slid off the stool. “All right. What kind of mood is Father in, Jefferson?” She pinched a slice of tomato off the salad, eyeing Molly.

  “Quite jolly, Miss Emily. Has a spark in his eye.”

  “Good. I’ll be right there.” Emily turned to Molly as Jefferson backed out of the room with a bow. “I’m not done with you.”

  “Let it go, miss.” Molly clutched her arm. “It’s spilt milk. Think of Mr. Saltonstall.” Her tone waxed soft and dreamy. “He’s a fine, handsome man who is suited to you and your station. He adores you, clings to your every word. Mr. Ludlow is also fine, I’m sure, but your father worked hard to give you this life, the very best of everything. Why marry a common man like Daniel Ludlow when Phillip Saltonstall is after your affections? Love only lasts so long when there’s no food on the table or money in the bank and the children are crying. Trust me, I know.”

  Emily considered Molly’s words, reaching for the door. “It is better to marry Phillip, isn’t it? He’s kind and charming . . . educated.” As was Daniel, on all counts.

  “Educated at a fancy northern university too. Yale.”

  “Phillip is handsome and witty.” As was Daniel. But it helped to list Phillip’s wonderful attributes. What a short memory she had. “He’ll make an excellent father.” But Daniel, too, would be a strong, loving father. “Our parents adore one another.” Emily built her argument. “We’ll have his parents’ house up on Red Mountain.”

  “I think ye know what to do, miss.”

  Yes, yes, she did.

  Daniel’s mother had died when he was fifteen. His father was a police officer in Birmingham and often left Daniel and his brother to fend for themselves. But he’d done well. Gone to college, played baseball, secured a teaching position at
the city’s most prestigious school, and now rented an apartment at the very reputable Ridley House.

  But Phillip was heir to the Saltonstall fortune. He’d be a captain of industry, a leader in Birmingham. Emily would be involved with the women’s league or whatever charity or cause she chose. She’d have her heart’s desire, including an estate up on Red Mountain the size of four or five Ridley house apartments.

  “Yes,” she said out loud. “Phillip is the logical choice. The best choice for overall harmony.”

  “Good, glad we cleared that up. Now, go see what your father be a-wanting and get out of my kitchen. You’re distracting me, and your mother will want to know why dinner is not ready.” Hazel tears glistened in Molly’s eyes. “I’m happy for you, miss.”

  At the hall mirror, Emily paused to smooth her hair over her shoulders and clip the stray hairpins to her waistband. She tucked in her shirtwaist and dusted her hands over her skirt, satisfied that the evidence of her tears was gone. After she visited Father, she’d wash and change for dinner.

  Molly’s weepy smile boomeranged in her mind. I’m happy for you, miss. But so much emotion over Emily deciding Phillip was the better choice? She had no time to ponder. She was at Father’s library door.

  “Afternoon, Father.” Emily entered the grand, cool room without knocking. Father spent his mornings at his exchange office, returning home in the afternoons to work in the comfort of his library. Beyond the large windows, a stand of cottonwoods shielded the windows from the sun’s setting summer rays.

  “Emily, my dear.” Father rose from his chair, but he was not alone in the room. Phillip also rose as Emily entered.

  “Phillip, you’re here.” She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. She must look a sight. After seeing him in the city, she rode the dusty trolley home. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” She glared at Father. “Why didn’t you have Jefferson tell me?”

  “I arrived early to speak with your father.” Phillip was handsome and fragrant, poised and confident with a constant glint of merriment in his eyes. He crossed over to her and kissed her cheek in a gentlemanly fashion—one he did not observe when they were in his carriage alone.