All the Blue of Heaven (6 page)

           
“True. So he better send him out while he’s young and energetic,” he said,
chuckling.

                                                           
***

           The
sky was heavy with dark clouds and the air was oppressively still. The door of
Morton’s Fine Clothing swung closed behind them, accompanied by a light tinkle
of bells strung on a ribbon. The noise of the street cars was muted by the
heavy shop door, but a billow of muggy heat followed them into the dim
interior.

           
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Hathaway,” Mr. Morton said, hurrying
forward and taking Allie’s proffered hand. “I have every newspaper article that
mentioned your successes. Is it true that you painted the portrait of President
William McKinley?”

           
Allie glanced at her mother’s pinched expression and wished Mr. Morton had not
asked.

           
“Yes, his wife asked me to paint his portrait when they came to California. She
wasn’t well and I think he was trying to make her happy.” Her lips quirked up
in a half smile. “He told me that I should buy a camera because no one was
going to buy paintings anymore. And he never stopped moving.”

           
“So, so sad to hear he was assassinated,” Mr. Morton said, shaking his head.
“But it must have been especially terrible for you, since you were friends.”

           
“Well, I wouldn’t say we were friends, Mr. Morton,” she began but he held up a
finger. 

           
His gaze flicked up and down her dress. “Is this still the fashion in San
Francisco? We are a bit ahead of the styles, but this,” he motioned toward the
straight line falling from the high waist, “and this large puff sleeve, is
rather old fashioned. It is now more fitted.”

           
 “I’m sure you’re correct, Mr. Morton. Most of my gowns were lost in the
earthquake and this was in my trunk at home.”

           
“Ah, yes, about eight years old, then?” He narrowed his eyes and looked again
at the fabric. “I can adjust the style, perhaps add some trimmery. And you
would be wanting other dresses made, I assume.”

           
Mrs. Leeds stepped to Allie’s side and said, “She will need at least five
everyday dresses and four gowns for the mid-winter social engagements. I expect
she will be quite busy this season.”

           
“Excellent,” he clapped his hands and turned to the counter. “My wife will be
in presently and she will help with your measurements. Please, do walk through
the merchandise and examine the fine cloth. We have just received a large order
from London. Now, unless you have a particular want, the current style is an
overlayer of gauze, satin or soft silk, with quite a lot of embroidery. It
would be terribly theatrical if the color was not so subdued.” His voice
trailed away as Allie bent down to listen to little Janey.

           
“Aunt Allie,” Janey whispered, “am I going to need a ball gown, also?” Her blue
eyes were wide with wonder, her features glowed with hope.

           
“I don’t think you need one, dearest.” Allie hated speaking the cold truth as
Janey’s smile sagged. “But you will most definitely need a party dress for
Christmas.”

           
The excitement was back in her eyes as Janey asked, “May I go look at the
fabrics?”

           
“Yes, but don’t touch. Some of these are very, very expensive.”

Allie watched Janey walk to the
ribbons, her face raised in pure delight. Her mother followed swiftly, as if
worried that Janey did not know how to behave. Allie wondered why she and Jane
had not visited a dress shop in San Francisco.
Because I was too busy
painting. It was so much easier to send someone else to buy her a dress.
With a sigh, Allie turned back to Mr. Morton.

           
“Excuse me,” she apologized, “we were discussing fabrics. I don’t have many
particular needs, but I would like a higher neckline than the one I am wearing
now.” She touched her throat, adjusting the scarf.

           
“But the fashion is really much lower,” he protested.

           
“I understand. For every day, I would prefer the neckline to be higher, here,”
she said, motioning again.

           
Mr. Morton was silent for a moment. “Well,” he said, voice pitched low, “the
ball gown must have a low neck and sleeves, true. But sometimes a young woman
has quite a thin neck or unfortunately bony shoulders. There is such a girl
here in town and what we have done is drape a soft illusion at the top to
disguise the defect.”

           
Allie grinned. “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”

           
“Don’t be anxious,” he said, patting her hand. “As there are quite a few young
women who have found wealthy husbands despite being too thin.”

           
“Yes, thank you, that’s very encouraging,” Allie murmured. A thin neck was the
least of her worries, but it was good to know that Mrs. Gibson’s breakfasts
would be put to good use.

           
“Again, my wife will be in presently,” he said, motioning for her to begin
examining the cloth.

           
Allie wandered away, stopping near a display of fancy lace. So very expensive,
but she marveled at their intricate designs. She yearned to spread the lace on
the counter and trace the pattern. Being surrounded by color and texture and
artistry was almost too much to bear. She closed her eyes to block it out,
willing herself to focus on the task at hand: choosing a gown for the grueling
social season ahead.

           
“I heard she’s best friends with that actress, Maxine Elliott. They traveled
California together.” A nasally voice interrupted Allie’s thoughts, bringing
her back to the shop with a thud.

           
“Armand Felix told me she was singing in a club to support herself.” Another
voice chimed in, breathless with excitement.

           
“I heard that she was part of the traveling circus.” The third one sounded
bored.

           
“All those years spent living a heathen lifestyle and we’re supposed to welcome
her back into the fold as if all is forgiven. It’s too much to expect, really.
And you know she will set her sights on all the best men. Like Thomas Bradford
for one. She will attempt to lure him in immediately. Although, I would never
ride in his motorcar. What would all that wind to do a proper girl’s hair?”

           
There were murmurs of agreement.

           
“I’m not very concerned with the gossip, but...” There was an expectant pause,
“but I heard she had a new lover every month!”

           
There were three identical gasps of surprise. Allie frowned, wishing these
small town biddies would take their gossip somewhere far away. She didn’t want
to hear who was after Thomas Bradford.

           
“I heard it was every week, and that they lived with her in that studio she
kept.” The nasal voice was back, and this time Allie felt a chill slip down her
spine. They couldn’t be talking about her… could they?

           
“Now, Louise Lloyd, that’s just terrible. Even if it is true, which it is not,
how can you repeat such a thing?” Another girl’s voice had joined the
conversation and it was clear and strong. Something in it reminded her of home,
of her childhood.

           
Allie lifted her head, attempting to see past the racks of lace. She sucked in
a breath, surprised to see Thomas standing in the open doorway, his hand
clutching the knob. His dark gray suit was replaced by a deep blue pinstripe
with contrasting vest. His hat was set at the same jaunty angle, but there was
no familiar, crooked grin. It was plain by his expression that he had heard the
entire conversation. His face was etched with distaste, his lips a thin line.

****

           
Thomas felt every muscle in his body freeze as the words filtered through his
thoughts. Young women loved to gossip, to throw out hasty words that ruined
characters and reputations. He knew it mattered very little whether a woman
could defend herself.

           
But this was too much. He worked to control his fury, forcing his feet to move
from where they seemed nailed to the floor. His fingers gripped the door knob
like it was the neck of the liar who said these cruel words so easily.
         

           
Thomas raised his eyes, hoping his face wasn’t contorted with anger, and swept
the room for the culprits. Of course. It was Louise Lloyd and her gang of
empty-headed friends. They had nothing better to do than creep around,
spreading lies. He regretted asking Louise to the governor’s picnic a month ago.
In fact, he’d regretted it within the week. The girl’s sweet face hid a sour
and vindictive personality. If there was any honorable way to break his
commitment, he would. As it was, he was bound to the social engagement. 

           
In the next moment he caught a glint of chestnut curls against brightly flushed
cheeks, eyes wide with surprise. Allie stood behind stacked fabrics, mere feet
from the group of gossips, listening to her character being maligned in broad
daylight. Thomas felt fury bubble up within, and he wrestled with his first
instinct, which was to stride over to Louise and give her a piece of his mind.

           
No. That was not what Allie needed, or wanted, surely. She shook her head a
little, mouthing 
no
. The look in her eyes begged him to be silent and
to not acknowledge her presence just yet. She was proud and stubborn, but he
had no memory of her arguing in public with anyone. Thomas gritted his teeth
and forced his face into an impassive mask. She was a grown woman used to
taking care of herself. She didn’t need him to ride in on a white charger and
rescue her reputation. Perhaps this was not a battle he could win and it seemed
by her expression, she didn’t want him to try.

****

           
“Auntie Allie, why are you hiding back there?” Janey was suddenly at her elbow,
little head tilted in consternation.

           
Allie tried to hush her, motioning to the back of the store, but Janey was a
stubborn thing. “Auntie, Grandma Leeds asked me to bring you to the front. Mrs.
Morton has arrived to take your measurements.”

           
Allie raised her head very slowly and met Thomas’ gaze. His pained look was
gone, replaced by a distant smile. She stepped from behind the row of lace and
felt the gaze of every person in the store.

           
“Miss Hathaway,” Thomas said, a bit too loudly, tipping his hat. “I was
intending to call on you and your mother at Bellevue but I saw the carriage
outside. I wanted to inquire after you, whether you had recovered from your
fainting spell...”

           
“Yes, thank you. I was just tired.” Allie could hardly meet his eyes and her
face felt hot. Could he possibly believe those gossips?

           
Mr. Morton hurried to greet him, his small hands rubbing nervously together.
“Mr. Bradford, please come in. Your mother’s order of linen has arrived. Let me
go fetch it for you,” he said, his rotund body zipping around the long counter
toward the storage room.

           
“Allie?” A lovely woman approached them, curious blue eyes peering out from
under her hat, several elaborate feathers gracefully bobbing above it. “It’s
Sarah Varness. Well, Sarah Deacon now. Do you remember me?” Her tone was
hesitant, but as Allie’s face split with a wide smile, Sarah launched herself
into Allie’s arms.

           
“Oh, Sarah!” she cried, blinking back tears. “It’s so good to see you again.”

           Sarah
leaned back and appraised Allie’s short, dark locks. “Let me look at you. What
have you done to your hair?”

           
“Oh, just a new style,” Allie said, blushing. Her gaze flicked to Thomas,
standing silent and somber.

           
“Well, you always were the first to try anything new,” she laughed. She grasped
Allie’s gloved hands and sighed, her eyes gleaming. “I have so much to tell
you. But listen to me! I’m sure you have more tales than I can imagine.”

           
A soft snort came from behind Sarah and Allie noticed a beautiful young woman
barely out of her teens standing there. Her bright blond hair shone against a
straw hat trimmed with matching yellow ribbon and her dress was a light yellow
silk painted with trailing roses. Allie had never disliked the color yellow so
much in her life.

           
Sarah frowned, turning. “Allie, this is Louise Lloyd. Her father is John Lloyd,
our mayor.”

           
Allie nodded and dipped her head politely, but Louise barely tilt her head. Her
large, golden brown eyes focused intently on Allie’s face.

           
“I see you and our Mr. Bradford are already acquainted?” Her expression was
simpering, her nasal tone almost insolent.

           
Your Mr. Bradford?
Allie opened her mouth to speak but he interjected
quickly, “Yes, I fetched them from the train station yesterday.”

           
“I see.” Louise sent significant glances toward the two well-dressed young
women on either side of her. “These are my friends, Millicent Holliday and
Isabelle Landry.” Millicent looked rather timid and her eyes repeatedly sought
Louise for approval, while Isabelle seemed to wear a permanent frown. She
seemed to catalogue everything about Allie’s appearance, from her strange hair
to her old fashioned dress to her heavy gloves.

           
“Alberta, where are you?” Mama’s voice carried to her from a few feet away.

           
“It was nice to meet you, Miss Holliday and Miss Landry.” Allie nodded again
and turned to Sarah.

           
“Come to see me, we have so much to talk about. You’re married.  Do you
have...” her voice trailed off, realizing that most of her old friends could
have children by now.

           
“Oh, yes!” Sarah laughed, a soft curl slipping loose from her bun as she
gripped Allie again. A familiar lilac perfume wafted around them. “He’s just
wonderful, and we have two little boys. Quite a handful, but I’m so happy.” She
nodded at Janey. “This is Matthew’s little girl? Mrs. Gibson showed me a
picture once.”