The Wedding Dress (18 page)

“She’s the one who is rude and insolent.” Emily fitted her sailor hat on over her pinned-up hair. The wind tugged at the straight brim. “How Mr. Loveman sees fit to keep her in his employ is beyond me.”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Em. Mrs. Caruthers is the best dressmaker in the city and the women of Birmingham trust her.” Mother tapped the tip of her parasol on the sidewalk and raised her chin at the passing shoppers.

“I, for one, do not. Mother, please, can’t we go to Newman’s for an ice cream? I need something cool on my stomach.” Emily pressed her hand to her middle, swallowing the bile building in her throat, breathing deep so her lungs could expand.

“It’s too chilly for ice cream, Emily. How about some hot cocoa?”

“It’s never too chilly for ice cream, Mother.”

“Well, you must eat a hot lunch. A lunch of sweets will do you no good.”

“I’ll ask for hot caramel sauce. How does that sound?”

“I suppose I cannot change your mind.” Mother squeezed Emily’s hand. “You go on. I want to speak with your father. I noticed the bolts of velvet at Loveman’s, and I realized you don’t have enough velvet gowns in your trousseau. Mercy, and I’ve not ordered your tru sereced nk. I do wish you’d learn to placate Mrs. Caruthers, Emily. She is doing you a service, whether you believe it or not.” Mother stepped off the curb and onto the trolley with the river of Thursday shoppers.

Emily watched her mother go, moving to the curb, waiting for the flow of traffic to allow her to cross. She wrestled with her frustrations. Mrs. Caruthers served no one but herself, and Mother was too determined to fit into Mrs. Saltonstall’s society to see otherwise.

But now that Emily was free and making her way toward Newman’s, her thoughts roamed freely through the
other
disturbance in her soul. Phillip.

Last night they argued quietly in the shadows of Father and Mother’s porch, away from the parlor windows. When they’d exhausted all words, Phillip tried to sooth her with kisses and caresses.

“Whose ring is on your finger? Whose lips are you kissing?”

“Yours.” She could barely hear him over her pulse raging in her ears.

“Whose heart do you possess one hundred percent?”

“Yours.” He’d kissed her in a sensual, intimate manner, the touch of his hand along the top of her bodice causing her desires to flame at just the memory. Phillip certainly knew how to ignite her passions.

“I do believe I’m flattered. I made the great Emily Canton jealous.”

“Don’t get used to it, Phillip, it’s disturbing. And I’m not the great Emily Canton. I’m just a girl getting married.”

“You are the great Emily Canton. And your jealousy is intoxicating. You love me that much.”

“Do you love me that much?”

“Let me show you.”

He’d backed her against the house and moved his hand over her shoulders, lowering the top of her sleeves, kissing and caressing his way along her neck.

It wasn’t the first time he’d answered her inquiries about his love with touches, kisses, and hot-breath murmurs of sharing his bed.

Emily halted her journey toward Newman’s and pulled a card from her handbag, the gusting wind tugging at her skirt. She’d asked Big Mike to bring her the card of the colored seamstress.

Taffy Hayes
.

Gaston Hotel. 5th Avenue.

“It’s a fanciful day.” scif

Emily glanced up and into the broad face and blazing blue eyes of a man perhaps Father’s age. There was nothing exceptional about him. His hair was gray, and his tweed suit and vest were not the fashion of last year, but of the last century.

Yet the brilliant purple silk ascot at his throat spoke of something bold and regal about him. Emily felt at once a bit weak in the knees.

“Have I made your acquaintance, Mr.—?”

“Shall I escort you, miss?” The gentleman offered his arm as a courier sped past them on his bicycle.

“And how do you know where I’m going, sir?” Emily pressed Taffy’s card against her waist in case the man was sly and tried to read the address.

“For your wedding gown.” He offered his arm. “If I escort you, you’ll be safe wherever you go.”

“But I do not know you. And you do not know where I’m going.” Emily’s fingers trembled slightly as she slipped the card back into her bag. Her heart churned. She wanted to run. Yet her legs refused to carry her away.

Again, he offered his arm. “Go on, take it. I’ll not harm you. I’m safe.”

Emily hesitated, then cuffed her hand around his elbow. He hailed a cab, which pulled over for them immediately, and instructed the driver to A. G. Gaston’s hotel.

Gooseflesh pickled along her arms and down her back. “How did you know?” He must have read her card before she protected it.

“Is it where you’re going?”

“But I didn’t tell you.” She held her hands in her lap, swaying with the cab, tuning her ears to the rhythm of the horse’s
clip-clop
. The driver smacked the reins and chirruped the gelding into moving around a braking motorcar.

At 4th Avenue, the cab slowed with the flow of traffic. “Have you seen the new picture at the Princess Theater?” The man rested his hands atop his cane.

“I’ve been rather busy.”

“Planning a wedding takes time. I know.” The man nodded, gazing ahead, smiling wide. “And patience.”

“Indeed, it does.” Emily ran her hand over the multiplying gooseflesh on her arms. The gentleman seemed the sort who read the society section of the news. “You’re more than a little acquainted with my business, yet we are strangers.”

“Might I inquire of you? What is it youwidt ss im">re searching for, Emily?”

“If you must know, a wedding gown.” She cocked her head to one side, regarding him, trying to figure his angle. If she could, she’d keep him from electrocuting her heart with his blue gaze every time he spoke.

“What about in life?”

The cab
clopped
and rocked past a chain gang of convict lease workers. The white guards talked and joked while the men of color swung axes and hammers against the hard concrete of the city. Emily lowered her gaze. It must be back-breaking, near impossible, to break up what had been set and hardened with time in this city.

“Freedom.” Her answer escaped her heart all on its own. As the cab passed the line of glistening black men in the October sun, Emily turned to watch.

The cab turned onto 5th Avenue North and pulled up to the hotel. Dark eyes stared at them from the street corner.

The driver held open her door. “I’ll wait for you, miss.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.” Mr. Oddfellow offered her his arm again. Emily hesitated, then wove her hand through as she stepped down. His arm was taut and warm.

“Cakewalk Rag” played from an opened window across the avenue. Boys on bicycles raced down the sidewalk. A shop owner stepped out of his store to scold them for nearly running over his vegetable tables. The atmosphere buzzed with music and popped with laughter.

“Not what you expected?”

Heat singed Emily’s cheeks. She stole a glance at her escort. “I’m not sure what I expected.” But the gay atmosphere felt safe and homey.

“Don’t you know?” he said, a rise in his voice. “If once you’ve been bound, your freedom is much, much sweeter.”

“But they’re not entirely free.”

“Ah, in body no, but in spirit, yes.” He shifted his blue eyes from the street scene to her face. Emily’s heart churned.

“See here,” she said. “How do you know so much?”

Instead of answering, Mr. Oddfellow walked Emily into the hotel, asked for Miss Taffy Hayes, then made polite conversation with the young clerk behind the hotel desk.

After a few minutes, a tall, slender colored woman wearing a tailored, vibrant skirt and blouse appeared in the lobby. “May I help you?”

“Miss Hayes?” Emily offered her hand. “My name is Emil s naI hely Canton.”

“I know who you are. The Saltonstall fiancée.” Emily took in Taffy’s lean, dark features. Her intense brown eyes observed her with a hawklike regard. “I’ve seen you in the papers.”

“I hear you’re a dressmaker. One of the best.”

“One of the best?” She smiled. “I don’t know about that, but I do take pride in my work. The Lord has gifted me.”

“I’d like you to make my wedding gown.” Emily stepped toward her, focused, the heat churning in her soul, rising. A thin, clammy sheen moistened her forehead and neck. “Name the price.”

“I knew you’d come.”

Emily glanced around at Mr. Oddfellow. He’d escorted her here. Led her into something surreal. Bewitched her. But he was gone. Instead, a round-faced, brown-eyed man stood in his place.

“Welcome to my establishment, Miss Canton. I’m A. G. Gaston.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Gaston. It’s a pleasure.”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

Taffy waited and when Emily turned around, she was pierced by her steady gaze. She watched Emily as if trying to gauge her fortitude.

“I’ll make a gown for you, but there’ll be trouble.”

“For you or me?”

“Both, I imagine. But I’m used to trouble. Are you?”

The exchange seeped into Emily, through her skin and into her sinews and bones, swirling hot around her heart.

“I don’t know, Miss Hayes. I just have a sense you are to make my dress.”

“Do you have courage?” Taffy started down the hall. “Come, I have an idea for you.”

“For me?” Emily couldn’t lift her foot to follow. She felt nailed in place. “How?”

“Like I said, I knew you’d come.” Finally, Taffy smiled. A beautiful, perfect, white smile. “Do you have courage?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I want courage. I admire courage.” Emily jerked forward, ripping her foot from its invisible anchor on the hardwood.

“All right then.” Taffy embraced Emily with one arm as th sone="0em">ey moved down the hall.

Taffy had expected her. Emily shivered at the notion. She had little experience with God intercepting her path or the path of anyone she knew. Most of her family and friends lived simple, quiet Christian lives of doing good and filling church pews for an hour or two on Sunday. But this? God coming to her in the middle of the week?

But as her footfalls tapped the floor in unison with Taffy’s, Emily had the holy sensation of being touched by the Divine.

“Ay, Emily, where have you been?” Molly met her at the kitchen door as a friend, not a servant.

“Meeting frightfully interesting people, Molly.” Emily removed her hat, still carrying the glorious glow of her afternoon with Taffy. “I found a dressmaker for my wedding gown.”

“I thought the high and mighty Mrs. Caruthers made your gown.”

“It was ghastly. Where are Father and Mother?” Emily tucked her hat under her arm and bent to see her reflection in the shadowed part of the window, palming her hair into place, repinning loose ends.

“In the library. Your mother arrived home hours ago. She’s been fretting, wondering what happened to you.”

“I went to 5th Avenue to see Taffy Hayes.” Emily squeezed Molly’s hand.

“You don’t say, miss. By yourself?”

“Yes . . . well, no.” Emily opened the icebox for the bottle of milk. “This odd gentleman with a purple ascot escorted me.”

“You went into the colored district with a strange man?” Molly set a glass on the cutting table for Emily, then took the bottle of milk and poured for her.

“I suppose I did.” Emily pictured Mr. Oddfellow as she raised her glass. “He seemed harmless. Safe. Like I’d known him my whole life.” Or he’d known her. Emily took a long cool drink. “I’d best go speak to Mother and Father.”

Pushing through the kitchen door, she took the long hall to the library. She’d intended to meet with Taffy briefly, but once she’d shown Emily the sketches she’d drawn with her in mind, minutes turned into hours.

She was grateful the cabbie waited for her. Father had a large payment to settle with him.

Outside the library door, Emily inhaled, once for courage and again for confidence. “Mother, Father, good afternoon.”

Mo s="3man withther stood, setting aside her book. “Good afternoon? It’s nearly supper. Where have you been, Emily? When I left you on the corner, you were heading to Newman’s for ice cream.”

“You worried us, daughter.” Father shoved away from his desk and walked around, taking his timepiece from his vest pocket. He supported Mother in her inquiry but winked at Emily when Mother wasn’t looking.

“I went on an errand.”

“Where? What sort of errand?” Mother said with a look at Father.

“If you must know—” Emily lifted her chin but not so high she gazed at Father and Mother down her nose.

“Sir.” Jefferson knocked as he entered. “Mr. Phillip Saltonstall to see you.”

Phillip barged in without waiting for an invitation. “What’s this I hear, Emily? You went to Gaston Hotel? You were inside for hours. What in heaven’s name were you doing there?”

Mother gasped, reaching back for the cloth-covered arm of her chair as she melted into the seat. “Phillip, how on earth?”

“Emily, is this true? Did you go to the colored business district?” Father reached over and patted Mother’s hand. “There, there, dear. Emily must have a sound reason.”