The Wedding Dress

by Rachel Hauck

  Emily leaned into him, though Daniel’s soapy scent and brawny strength flashed across her mind. She lifted her head as her fingers squeezed Phillip’s narrow arms and cleared her throat. “You smell like the fancy perfume shops.”

  “A fragrance I bought when I was in Paris last year. Do you like it?”

  “It’s you, Phillip. Very rich.” Though she preferred the single clean scent of Daniel’s lye soap.

  “Well”—Father cleared his throat and came from around his desk—“I need to place a call to the office. Excuse me.”

  Emily watched Father leave, a sinking sensation dragging her heart through her stomach. Once the library door clapped closed, Phillip hooked Emily to him, tilting her chin up and kissing her lips. When he lifted his head, he nodded toward Father’s desk. “Shall we tell him the telephone is in here?”

  Emily squeezed his hand. “I think he knows.” What was going on? Father leaving her alone with Phillip. His ardent kiss . . .

  Leading her to the window seat, Phillip brushed his fingers lightly along Emily’s jaw. “You are so beautiful.”

  “I’m a sight. I planned to change my dress and redo my hair before you arrived.” She leaned away from his hand, which sent waves of shivers coursing through her. It was as if he knew, knew, how to touch her.

  “I like your hair down. You must wear it like that for me.” Phillip trailed his finger over her chin and down her neck, stoking the small flame he ignited. “I never asked you, how was the suffrage meeting?”

  “It was—” Emily swallowed, scooting an inch away from his fingertip. What if Father returned to find her flushed and panting? Besides, all Phillip’s touching . . . kissing her nose . . . and the side of her lips. His movements were calculated and cunning.

  “The meeting was . . . splendid. Yes, splendid.” She jumped up, shoving the perspiration on her forehead into her hair. “It’s . . . it’s warm today, is it not?” If he continued touching her that way, she’d melt into a passion puddle on the floor.

  Mother had raised her to be a controlled, reserved gentlewoman. What would Phillip think of her if she surrendered so easily to his advances?

  “I’m sorry, I’m making you nervous.”

  “You’re terrifying me, Phillip. I’m trying to be a lady, but even a cultured Christian woman can only stand so much.”

  “And a man can only stand so much. ’Tis why I’ve come.” He reached for her and drew her back down to the bench seat, cupping her face, searching her eyes. “I’ve asked your father for your hand.” He bent down to one knee.

  “Oh, Phillip.” Emily pressed her hands to her chest, anticipation surging through her veins. “I’m wearing an ordinary day gown and—”

  “I found this in a Paris shop last fall. The moment I laid eyes on it, I knew it would be for my intended. But I didn’t know who yet.” Phillip retrieved a small wooden box from his jacket pocket. “Then I escorted you to the Black and White Ball. By evening’s end, I knew I’d marry you.”

  Nestled in the silk bed was a square-cut solitaire surrounded by smaller diamonds. The setting was an intricate, sparkling lattice weave.

  “Platinum, my dear. The diamond is an Edwardian cut surrounded by solitaires.” Phillip held up the ring. The extravagant stones soaked up the light and splashed a rainbow against the wall. And over Emily’s heart.

  “I can barely breathe.”

  “Emily Canton, will you marry me?” Phillip slipped his ring of promise onto her finger.

  “Yes, oh yes, Phillip.” She fell against him, and when he lifted her up in his arms, all the doubts, all the memories of Daniel, escaped through her heart’s open door.

  The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the last moments of midnight. Emily leaned against the front door as it clicked closed, a bit of stardust in her eyes.

  She was engaged. To Phillip Saltonstall. He was so sweet and charming tonight, never leaving her side, sneaking kisses while Mother played the piano and sang, while Father glanced the other way.

  Then he danced with her on the front porch as the moon lit the sublime night, and when the clock chimed midnight, he held her face in his hands and kissed her good night. Could there be anything as grand?

  Emily raised her ring hand into the glow of the gaslight. It was exquisite. More than she ever imagined. My, wasn’t Father merry all evening? Mother, so gay and lighthearted.

  When the Saltonstalls arrived for a family celebration and dessert, Emily thought she might explode with happiness. This evening paled even her favorite Christmas when her brother, Howard Jr., returned home from his first year at Harvard.

  The Saltonstalls appeared content and proud. “Phillip chose well,” Mr. Saltonstall had boasted. “Very well.”

  An engagement party was already in the planning.

  But Father’s rolling laughter was Emily’s favorite sound of the evening. He showed his pleasure in the whole arrangement. Especially after he and Mr. Saltonstall vanished into the library, only to come out shaking hands. “Good to do business with family, Howard.”

  Father’s exchange company would benefit from a man like Cameron Saltonstall.

  Emily moseyed up the stairs just as a door creaked at the end of the hall. She leaned to see Molly tiptoeing out of the kitchen.

  “Molly, what are you doing up?” Emily laughed when the maid jumped, clutching her robe together at her throat. Her thick hair was tied up in rags that stuck out of her head every which way.

  “Checking on you, miss. I couldn’t sleep until he left.” Molly whispered her way toward Emily and the stairs. “Tell me, did he give you a beautiful ring?”

  “See for yourself.” Emily descended the stairs, holding our her hand. “He said he bought the ring when he was in Paris. After the Black and White Ball he knew the ring belonged to me.”

  “Saints and all the angels. I could buy a village back home with such a thing.” Molly peered at the ring, then Emily. “Perhaps he’ll take you to Paris for your honeymoon, miss.”

  “Yes, perhaps.” Emily drew her hand back, examining her diamond. “We’ll stay for a month.” She shifted her attention back to Molly. Their eyes locked for a long moment. “What? Tell me.”

  “The week of the Black and White you wept in your room over Daniel Ludlow.” Molly turned slowly for the kitchen.

  “I still loved him. But that’s changed.” Emily scurried after her. “What are you trying to say, you wicked maid?”

  “Just that I heard you weeping. Care for some milk, miss?” Molly popped open the icebox.

  “Milk? Why would I want milk?” Molly acted so strangely at times.

  “Are you sure you don’t care for milk?” Molly set the milk bottle on the worktable, then went to the cupboard for glasses.

  “If I wanted milk I’d get it myself. What are you up to, Molly? You don’t like milk. I’ve heard you say it a hundred times.”

  “But you like milk.”

  In the dark kitchen Emily could only perceive Molly’s expression in the pale light of the moon. “It’s Daniel’s letters. Where are they? In Father’s den?”

  “You certainly don’t think he’d hide them in here, do you?” Molly snickered into her glass but never took a drink.

  “Then where?”

  “He’s me boss, miss. Butters me bread, and I’m kinda likin’ the taste by now.” Molly held up the half-full glass of milk. “Sure you won’t be wanting a glass of milk? Milk is very good. I miss fresh milk from the cows. Remember when we had a cow, miss? Bessy. She’d moo at all hours of the day and night. Now we have a man delivering our milk on the ice cart. I tell you I don’t miss milking the old girl meself. Ah, she was a stubborn old broad, like me Grammy Killian.”

  “Molly, stop talking about—” Emily jutted around the table, laying her hand on Molly’s arm so the milk in her glass sloshed up the sides. “The stable. Father hid the letters in the stable?”

  Molly eyed her over the rim of her glass. “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, letters
and cows and nonsense. Nothing in that stable but smelly horses and a musty ole hayloft.”

  “The loft.” Emily darted to a drawer where Molly kept the matches. The lantern already waited by the door.

  “You’re not going now are you, miss?”

  “Why wait until the morning when Father might get it in his head to move them?” Emily lit the lamp, pausing at the door.

  “Careful, miss, the hay is dry. It’ll catch afire.”

  “Molly.” Emily raised the lamp. “How do you know the hay is dry?”

  “You’re not the only lass with a love in her heart, Emily. I had me an evening with the delivery man, Mr. Dawson.” She whistled her way back to her room.

  “Molly.”

  The maid’s door closed and Emily ran smiling across the lawn, striding against the narrow hem of her gown, the flame of the lamp swaying through the darkness. So, Molly and Mr. Dawson . . . they made a fine pair. Yes, sir. At the stable Emily unlatched the lock and slid open the door.

  Father’s stable was immaculate. Five stalls on the right, five stalls on the left, separated by a wide stone aisle. The horses raised their heads as Emily marched toward the loft ladder.

  “Hide my letters from me. What right has he?” At the ladder’s top, Emily cleared a place away for the oil lamp and surveyed the mound of yellow straw. Where would Father hide letters? She inspected the walls for a cupboard or hidden door. If she were hiding letters, she’d put them in a box or sack, then stash them in a corner and cover them with hay.

  Emily kicked her way to the back corner, then dropped to her knees, searching the hay. When her hands hit a wooden box, her breath caught. She’d not considered what she’d do if she actually found them.

  Carrying the box to the lamp, she sat dangling her legs over the loft’s edge. The hay clinging to her skirt shook free and drifted down into the stall below.

  The simple box was square, made of cedar, with a small brass lock. When she tried the lock, it wouldn’t spring. She’d have to take it inside. She tucked the box under her arm and, grabbing the lantern, hurried back to the house.

  She knew where to find the key. Father kept dozens of them in the middle drawer of his desk. She’d stay up all night to find the right one if need be.

  In the kitchen Emily set the lantern on the sideboard and prepared to blow out the flame when a small glint caught her eye. A key. A small lockbox key.

  Bless you, Molly, bless you.

  Emily unlocked the box, set the key on the table, snuffed out the lamp, and snuck along the back staircase to her room.

  Chapter Five

  Charlotte

  Kristin, I can tell by the light in your eyes you’re excited for your wedding day. You want it to be special. To be about you and Oliver.”

  Charlotte sat on the sofa next to her client, the pinkish white walls casting a soft mauve hue across the plush mocha-colored carpet and the Logan Stone couch. In her lap she cradled her secret weapon. A photo album.

  “Well, we met in high school—”

  Charlotte placed the book on the coffee table.

  “—and dated all through college.” Kristin sighed and smiled. “We only broke up once.”

  “You two are meant to be, it’s obvious. How did you know he was the one?” Charlotte opened to the first page of the photo album—a collection of Birmingham brides over the last six months. Every woman wore the exact same style of dress Kristin claimed was the one for her. The gown she’d been “dreaming of since she was a girl.”

  “Oliver?” The blush on Kristin’s cheeks outshone her smile. “Like you said, we were meant to be. We belong together. We fit. We’re best friends. We love all the same things. Even in high school we completed each other’s sentences.”

  “He makes you feel special, doesn’t he?”

  “Even after dating for seven years, yes, he does.”

  Charlotte regarded Kristin for a moment. Did she feel that way about Tim? Special? Like they belonged together? When they first met, he consumed her daytime thoughts and nighttime dreams, but lately, since the engagement . . . Charlotte exhaled. What she needed at the moment was to concentrate on turning this fiancée into a beautiful, unique bride.

  “Is this the gown you’ve selected?” Charlotte produced a bridal magazine clipping of the dress Kristin wanted. “It makes you feel special like Oliver makes you feel special?”

  “Yes, yes, it does.” Kristin’s eyes glistened. “I went to a friend’s wedding a few years ago and just loved her gown. I looked everywhere to find one just like it. It’ll be perfect for me.”

  What Charlotte didn’t get about brides was why they all wanted to look alike. How could a dress just like the one Kristin’s friend wore make her feel special?

  She considered it her mission, her calling even, to dress her brides as uniquely as possible. When a bride slipped on a truly perfect gown, Charlotte’s soul rested in pure satisfaction.

  “It is a lovely dress, Kristin.” Charlotte held up the picture as if to study it. “White satin strapless gown with an A-line skirt and a chapel train.”

  “I get weepy every time I see it.” Kristin pressed her hand to her chest. Her engagement ring glinted in the afternoon haze that fell through the southern window.

  Charlotte scooted forward, inhaling, calculating her next words. Kristin was a reluctant Malone & Co. client, only coming in this afternoon because her mother insisted.

  “Well, if you want this dress, really want this dress, then buy it from the shop where you found it.” Charlotte peered at Kristin with a gracious, kind smile and tucked her photo album under her arm with exaggeration. Kristin’s lit eyes dimmed and followed Charlotte’s every move.

  “Why can’t you order this gown? I’ve seen it in several shops. Surely you could—”

  “Kristin, I don’t order gowns that are in every other shop. I dress brides from the inside out. I’m not a bridal gown mill.” She tapped the photo album. “Do you want to see what’s in here?” Charlotte scooted closer to her client, opened the album on Kristin’s lap, and turned the pages. “Do you see what I see?”

  Page after page, the same gown, just a different bride. A blonde, a brunette, young, old, skinny, chubby . . .

  Kristin took over turning the pages, the excitement in her countenance fading. “Where’d you get these?”

  “The newspaper, websites, all around Birmingham. These are from the last six months.”

  “I never realized.” Kristin’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh my . . . now what am I going to do? I thought I’d found the perfect gown. Just perfect.”

  Charlotte gently removed the photo album and closed it, placing it on the floor by the sofa. She intended to wake Kristin up. Not crush her.

  “We’re going to find the perfect dress. Trust me. When we attend one wedding at a time, we don’t realize how many of the dresses are exactly alike. But at Malone & Co. our job, our delight, is to find a gown that fits your figure as well as your heart. Kristin, finding gowns for brides that expresses them completely is my one talent in life.” Charlotte tipped her head to see Kristin’s face and laughed softly. “Don’t deny me my one, widdle talent.” Kristin broke into a smile. “Tell you what, if you don’t like the gowns I bring to you, then I’ll personally recommend you to a friend of mine who sells the gown you have here.” She tapped the magazine cutout Kristin brought in with her.

  “My mother insisted I talk to you because she said I could do better than this.” Kristin ran her finger over the image of the model wearing her once-perfect gown.

  Charlotte sat back, reading Kristin’s countenance. “I understand how you feel about that dress. All your friends looked beautiful in the same style and you want to be beautiful too. But I can find you something unique and beautiful. Will you take the leap with me?”

  “I will. Charlotte, I will.” Kristin gripped her arm. “I’m willing to try another dress. Really. Do you think you can find a dress that’s just for me?” Tears collected in the corner of he
r eyes, but she was smiling. “Just don’t get me on some kind of ugliest bridal gown list.”

  Charlotte laughed. “No bride of mine will ever be on an ugly gown list.” As she stood, Kristin snatched up Charlotte’s ring hand.

  “You’re engaged too?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I am.” Charlotte twisted the ring around her finger. The clear and sparkling diamond created a multicolored swirl of light. The switch of attention to her from Kristin made her want to turtle her emotions. Tuck away and hide.

  “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a ring like it.” Kristin smiled at the smirking Dixie standing by the refreshment bar. “Are you helping her choose her dress?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Charlotte, am I helping you choose your dress?” Dixie folded her arms and let her sarcasm drip.

  “This session isn’t about me. It’s about Kristin.” She stooped for the photo album. “The ring belonged to my fiancé’s grandmother.”

  Charlotte shot Dixie a hard glare. She’d been fussing at her all week about choosing a gown. Charlotte promised she’d get around to it. She would. Then this morning Dixie showed her the new Bray-Lindsay that just arrived from Paris, and Charlotte nearly buckled. “It’s too expensive, even with my dealer discount,” she said the moment she caught her breath.

  At eight thousand dollars the dress better make her feel like Cinderella, Princess Diana, and Kate Middleton all rolled into one. Charlotte had to feel it. Dixie insisted she try the gown on, but she had yet to slip into the handcrafted silk.

  How could she explain an eight-thousand-dollar dress to Tim? He nearly froze her out over a thousand-dollar trunk purchase.

  “Kristin”—Charlotte locked her gaze on Dixie—“you know, I think we have a gown in the shop that would be perfect for you. It just arrived this morning from Paris.”

  “Charlotte?” Dixie’s arms fell to her side and her smirk became a pinched-brow frown.

  “Dix, why don’t you prep the Bray-Lindsay of Paris for Kristin and let’s show her what it feels like to be a real princess bride.”