by Holly Bush
“Oh, don’t be coy, Emmaline,” Nettie said when a few quiet moments had passed. “Everyone is very excited for you, you’ve just always believed that no one noticed your existence. This is a great accomplishment.”
Emmaline swallowed. “I . . . I . . .”
“Adam has written me several letters about the day you found out that your story would be published. He is so proud of you,” Eleanor said and squeezed her hand. “But I would like to hear the story from you, please. Tell me about the day that you found out and about how you decided to become a writer.”
Emmaline felt a curious tightening of her throat and stared at her hands. He was proud of her? She dared not look at Eleanor for fear of voicing all the frustrations and all the fears and all the doubts that she’d carried with her for what seemed like forever. “Adam wrote you letters about my books?” she asked quietly without lifting her head.
Eleanor scooted closer. She touched Emmaline’s cheek, bringing her face up, and waited until Emmaline looked into her eyes. “He did. I haven’t heard him talk joyously about anything since . . . well, for quite some time. He thinks you must be exceptionally clever and is hoping one day you’ll allow him to read some of your stories. For now, he’s patiently, or impatiently waiting for the edition of Beadle’s that includes Andrew Bartholomew Pans for Gold.”
Emmaline took slow, deep breaths, hoping to settle her heartbeat. She glanced at Nettie, who raised her brows, as if to say, I told you so, and allowing Emmaline to get past the lure of tears and self-pity.
“I started writing down stories as soon as I was able to write, maybe when I was eight or nine years old. I stole paper from my father’s desk until I’d used all of his and he caught me one day sneaking out of his office. He asked me what I was doing with it, and I told him I was writing a story about a family who lived in a small town and whose children were forever getting into trouble. I told him the mother was a bit silly but lovable nonetheless and that the father was perfect in every way.”
Nettie laughed. “You didn’t say that to him!”
“I did.” Emmaline smiled at her sister. “He kissed my head and told me to keep writing, that I mustn’t make the father too perfect because it wouldn’t be believable. He told me I was going to be . . . I was going to do . . .” But she couldn’t finish for the foolish tears. “Damn it. I never cry.”
Nettie’s lip was trembling. “Of course, he told you that. He was the very best daddy.”
“Mr. Somerset was a wonderful father and husband, and a dear friend to the Gentry family. I think he would be exceptionally pleased that we are related now twice over,” Eleanor said.
“But you haven’t told us, dear, about the day you received the letter,” Fiona said kindly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
Emmaline recounted the day, embellishing the story a bit to draw some laughter. “And then I called to Adam to come into the room and he picked me up and spun me around. He wasn’t even sure what the news was, and yet he was so happy for me, even when I told him I wanted to go to the Clair School in Philadelphia. That’s when I started thinking that my chance to go there was actually real and that I would show up on the doorstep wearing a frayed gray skirt, mended drawers, and an ink-stained blouse. I decided I must have some new things and knew I wasn’t qualified to choose them.”
Eleanor laughed and hugged her. “You have come to the right place. Washington has a number of fashionable dressmakers. We’ll visit at least two of them and see which one suits your style.”
“I don’t know what my style is,” Emmaline said.
“We’ll find out, though, and we have several other exciting things planned for you all,” Fiona said. “We’re going to have such fun!”
“WHAT DO you think of this fabric, Mother?” Olivia asked the following morning as they browsed at Mrs. Finch’s Dress Shop and Millinery.
“It’s lovely. Are you thinking of a dress for yourself?”
“I’ll need a few things for church that will fit me for the next few months and thought I’d place an order while I was here. There are so many beautiful and different fabrics. Bessie is making me some everyday skirts and dresses.”
Nettie was already speaking to a young woman and holding a shiny burgundy silk up to her neck as she looked at herself in a full-length mirror. Emmaline didn’t know where to begin.
Eleanor caught her by the arm and escorted her to a glass counter at the back of the store. “Ah, Mrs. Finch,” she said when a petite blonde came through the curtain. “My daughter-in-law needs a new wardrobe and I’m hoping you can help us. And we’ll need a few ready to purchase items as well.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Finch said and came out from behind the counter, turning Emmaline this way and then that. “Come. Let’s take your measurements and then I will show you and your mother-in-law what options you have, and you can tell me what you like and don’t like and what your everyday habits are.”
Soon, Emmaline was standing on a platform in front of several mirrors in her chemise and drawers with Eleanor in a chair off to the side of the room. Mrs. Finch took one look at Emmaline’s underthings and sent a young girl into a storeroom.
“Well, you’ve got the figure to wear just about anything,” Mrs. Finch said. “Tell me about what you do regularly.”
“I sit at a desk and write. I do little cooking, thankfully no cleaning, although I’ve only been married for a short while. I imagine there’ll be times of the year I’ll need to help the staff with large jobs,” Emmaline said and looked at Eleanor, who nodded.
“So, you’re not doing morning calls or receiving in the afternoon, then. Do you and your husband plan to entertain much?”
Emmaline shrugged. “I don’t dress to receive callers if that’s what you mean, and I really don’t know if Adam intends to entertain much or not. I’ll be away in Philadelphia for six months soon.”
The young woman returned and handed Emmaline silk underthings and took the ones she was wearing from her hand after she’d changed behind a paneled screen. The fabric slid over her skin and was feminine with some lace at the neckline and the edges of the legs.
“I think you will need three day dresses, at least six or eight skirts and blouses, two dressier dresses, and the gloves, hats, and jackets to match.”
“She’ll also need a winter coat suitable for church or visiting, and I think we’d be wise to order at least ten skirts and blouses, perhaps some vests and shawls, too.”
“All the undergarments, of course,” Mrs. Finch said.
“And filmy night clothes,” Emmaline said as Olivia, Nettie, and Fiona came into the dressing room. “My husband told me to buy silk stockings and filmy night things.”
Olivia covered her mouth with her hand, and Nettie’s eyes widened.
Eleanor Gentry cleared her throat. “Yes, dear. You really didn’t have a trousseau, did you?”
“A full selection of bedroom attire then?” Mrs. Finch asked.
Emmaline swallowed. “I guess so.”
“Let me show you some ready-made dresses that you can take home now or later today if there are alterations to be done,” the dressmaker said.
“COME IN,” Emmaline said to a knock at the door of her sleeping room the following morning.
Olivia and Nettie came through quickly and closed the door behind them. “You’re almost dressed,” Nettie said.
“A message has come from Mrs. Finch. The alterations are done on some of your ready-to-wear items,” Olivia said. “We thought the three of us could go ourselves, without Mother and Miss McKellar.”
“There’s no need to bother them,” Nettie said quickly. “Hurry up and put your shoes on.”
“What’s the rush? I haven’t eaten anything, and I’m starved.”
“There are muffins in the breakfast room that look delicious. You can take one of those with you. We have already asked Miss McKellar if we may call for her coach and it’s coming from the carriage house right now.”
“Where is
Eleanor?” Emmaline asked.
“She and Miss McKellar like to take a morning walk,” Olivia said. “Mother said she’s not as active here as she was at home and likes to get some exercise before the heat is oppressive.”
Emmaline followed the two women, and soon they were off to Mrs. Finch’s. She was looking forward to having new things, which was strange for her, but she’d been imagining knocking on the door of Clair House in one of her ink-stained blouses and now she could see herself instead in the navy twill skirt and the cream blouse with the navy trim and embroidered cuffs. Olivia and Nettie were both staring at the passing houses and people rather than chattering as they usually did.
“I received a note that a few items in my order have been finished,” Emmaline said. “I’d like to pick them up now, please.”
“Certainly,” a young woman said. “Let me get them for you.”
Mrs. Finch came through the curtain a few moments later followed by the young woman with a stack of wrapped packages and boxes. “Mr. Underwood, the shoemaker, sent this pair of half boots for you until he could complete the rest of your order. Aren’t they darling?”
“They’re perfect,” Emmaline said after trying them on and admiring them in the mirror. “And you have the address to send the bills?”
“Mrs. Gentry has given me your Winchester address, yes. Some of your other items will be done within the next few days, hopefully before you travel home, but the bulk of the custom-made things will be shipped to the address we have for the bill. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“I don’t think—” Emmaline began.
“I’d like to add a few items to my order,” Nettie said.
“I would also,” Olivia added.
“Would you ladies like to see more designs or other fabrics?”
Nettie shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’d just like to purchase some . . . bedroom attire.”
“Yes. I would like to order some as well,” Olivia said, a blush creeping up her neck. “I’d like to pay you in cash now, if it’s suitable. I don’t want my husband to receive the bill for, perhaps, two gowns with matching robes.”
“I have cash money, too,” Nettie said. “Do you have anything with feathers?”
CHAPTER 11
“I thought you were going to buy some new clothes while you visited Mother,” Adam said as he walked into the main room and saw Emmaline with her head bent over papers, her pen flying. “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll come back when you’re finished.”
“No,” she said. “One minute . . . just one more minute.”
Adam waited patiently, watching her, glad she was home, in their house. There was something distressing about her being away, although he wouldn’t share that with a soul, and he wondered if she felt the same. She laid down her pen and shrugged out of the old stained blouse she wore, and he had a visceral reaction below his waist as she did. She stood and turned to him then, in a full dark blue skirt with a small bustle, and a starched white shirt with a scoop neck and matching blue roped embroidery around the neckline and cuffs.
“Well, don’t you look like a most accomplished lady,” he said eyeing her from the top of her hair to the new, shiny boots sticking out from under her hem. She smoothed some imaginary wrinkles from her skirt and looked at him, waiting, he supposed. He took both her hands in his, kissing the back of them, and smiled at her. “You really are very beautiful.”
She blushed and then smiled. “I think this is my favorite. Do you like it?”
“I do. I hope you bought plenty of pretty things if they make you smile like this.”
“I like all my new things, although many of them will be shipped here because they weren’t complete. Your mother insisted on me buying much more than I planned.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I can’t imagine how much that bill will be.”
“You are my wife. It’s my privilege to see your needs, and we are not beggared. Tell me about you trip.”
Her face lit up with excitement. “Oh, Adam! I had such fun. I have so much to tell you. I’ve asked Mabel to make us a tray of lemonade and cookies on the patio so that we can sit and talk. Do you . . .?”
He kissed her then, midsentence, pulling her to him with his arms around her waist and hers hanging at her side. He’d promised himself while she was on this trip to be more spontaneous, more cheerful, more focused on her than he had been so far in their marriage. He was private about his remaining grief for Josephine, and for the child they’d lost, but it hung on him he knew, and even though he’d pushed it aside to engage her in conversation, he thought she knew there was a cloud above him sometimes. Knew that sometimes when he read the same page over and again as they sat beside each other in the evenings, that she knew he was thinking of the past and what might have been.
He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips and pulled her tightly against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She’d missed him, too, he thought. Yes, she had. He lifted his head and looked at her eyes, half-closed, at her lips, rosy and wet, and the gap between her teeth that drove him crazy with lust for some reason. “I missed you, Mrs. Gentry,” he whispered.
“I missed you, too.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “And I did buy everything you told me to buy, even the winter coat and the silk stockings.”
He kissed her ear and ran his tongue around the edge of it. “You ordered silk stockings? Embroidered chemises?”
“Oh, yes. Lace drawers and filmy night things, too.”
He groaned, feeling himself get hard against her stomach. She laughed softly against his cheek. “Come,” he said. “Let’s find this lemonade.”
“And I went to a literary soiree! I met all sorts of interesting people and Miss McKellar introduced me to everyone as a published author. It was exciting and terrifying,” she said with a laugh after they’d seated themselves outside on the benches on the stone patio. “Mr. McKellar, her brother, is smitten with your mother, although Olivia said that you and Matt may not like to hear that.”
“What is he like?”
“He’s attentive to everyone. The first night I met him, he was at the house for dinner several evenings, and escorted us to the theatre, oh my, the theatre, it was wondrous, and to a garden party at the home of a friend of Miss McKellar’s, and on other visits, too. I was so glad some of my clothes were ready in time, so I didn’t have to make my greetings in rags,” she said, her eyes shining. “But I was saying, the first night I met him, he sat down beside me and asked me all kinds of questions about my writing and my family. He is the kind of person who draws out confidences and makes you feel as if you are the only person in the room. He’s very attentive to Eleanor without ever seeming cloying and she is her same steady, unperturbed self, other than . . .” she trailed off and blushed.
“Other than when?”
“When we were at the dressmaker’s, Mrs. Finch, the owner, and Eleanor were listing all the different things that I would need, and I said my husband didn’t want me to forget silk stockings and . . . filmy night things.”
“Well,” he said and chuckled. “What did Mother say?”
“She cleared her throat and her ears were a bit pink and she said something about me not having a complete trousseau. Mrs. Finch said that I’d need a ‘full selection of bedroom attire.’ I was mortified at the time but there wasn’t anything to be done about it, so I said, yes, a full set. You should have seen Nettie’s and Olivia’s faces!”
“Your sister and mine were there, too?”
“Yes, and then they dragged me back to Mrs. Finch’s early the next morning without Eleanor or Miss McKellar and both ordered bedroom attire for themselves. Nettie asked if they had anything with feathers, of all things! What would someone do with feathers in the bedroom?”
Adam found himself dreading seeing his mother or sister or Nettie but also imagining Emmaline stretched out on their bed while he ran a feather up her creamy white thigh. He smiled at her then and thought their intimate life woul
d be fine and if that was all they ever had between them, he hoped it would be enough.
He smiled at her then in such a way as to make her think that he knew exactly what to do with a feather in the bedroom. “What was she like?”
He tilted his head. “What was who like?”
“Josephine. What was she like?”
“She’s gone from my life, Emmaline. You are my future.”
“You think about her still.” She shrugged. “Not all the time but you still do. What was she like?”
Adam looked off into the trees at the back of the Paradise property, and she thought he was imagining Josephine’s face. It hurt a little. Not that she had expectations to replace the love of his life but still, it hurt a little. She wondered if it would always be like that. Would a dead woman always be between them?
“She was sophisticated and dedicated to her charities and to intellectual pursuits. She hosted a literary salon with her brother once a month that drew the best and the brightest and the most interesting persons from Washington. She was tall and slender. She was not a classical beauty, but she was very handsome and attractive” He turned his head to look at her. “But she was not you, Emmaline.”
She harrumphed. “Obviously. I’m not tall and slender, and I wasn’t even sure what a literary salon was until last week and the only charity I boast is when I don’t kill my youngest brother. She must have been something. Really something to catch your eye and devotion.”
“I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning when I met her for the first time,” he said quietly and then looked at her and shook his head. “I shouldn’t be saying this to you. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. You wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true and I think, I really think, you and I are going to have to be truthful with each other if we’re going to be happy, or at least, not unhappy for the next few decades. I’ve been hiding behind bluster for a lot of years and look where it got me. Expecting a child and not married to the father, whom I’d just met before letting him, well, you know. God, I’m mortified to think about that night and what a posturing ass I was, pretending to be sophisticated and knowledgeable and able to handle a few kisses and touches.”
