The Wedding Dress (35 page)

“Well, I’ll be going. Mr. Canton, I came to talk to you. Didn’t expect the privilege of accusing Saltonstall to his face.” Daniel stepped backward to the door. “Just tell her, Saltonstall. About the arrest.” He bunched his hat smaller and smaller in his hands. “And about the Italian Garden.”

“The Italian Garden?” Phillip jerked forward, dropping ashes to Mother’s carpet. “You!” His neck and cheeks flared red. “It was you. The ballplayer. You’re the Daniel Emily went around with at the university?”

“One and the same. I saw you at the restaurant with Emmeline Graves. My friends have seen you with her twice since.”

“Why, you lying—”

Not even Father could block Phillip’s rage. He smashed his head into Daniel’s chest, wrapped him up, and crashed over the chair, knocking over Mother’s Tiffany lamp. The men hit the floor with a thunderous thud along with the shrill shatter of glass.

“Stop, both of you! Stop.” Emily held her arms and fisted hands stiff at her sides, her heart careening, her eyes full of tears. “You are gentlemen.”

Father grabbed her and pulled her back against the wall of books. “Let them go.”

Daniel shoved Phillip off, scrambling to his feet, circling around the room. “I don’t want to fight, Saltonstall.”

“You started it with your words.” PhilworYou!lip ran at Daniel, aiming a blow at his eye, but Daniel ducked under Phillip’s crossing jab and swerved out of his way, bouncing from side to side.

Phillip swung at Daniel again, tripping over the fallen lamp and landing on the floor face-first.

“Get up, Phillip,” Father said with no mercy. “On your feet.”

With a loud moan, Phillip shoved to his hands and knees, pulling himself upright. “Get Ludlow out of here.”

Emily stood pressed against the bookcase, pulse throbbing, tears surging around her heart and behind her eyes.

“Daughter, you’ve heard both sides.” Father righted Mother’s broken lamp. “Ask your questions. Make your decision.”

“I . . . I don’t . . . know.” Eyes on Father, she backed out of the room. Her whole body ached. Sharp pains shot through her chest. “I need to think, Father. You said to think.”

“Emily.” Daniel’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t lie to you and you know it. Not for love. Or revenge. It’s a cheap way to win a girl’s heart.”

“Daniel, you cannot accuse a man without proof. It’s uncivil.”

“I have proof.” He nodded at Phillip. “Oh, I have proof.”

“You have nothing. Don’t listen to him, Emily.”

“Silence, Phillip.” She whipped around to him. “Daniel’s never lied to me. But you . . . I’m not sure I can say the same.”

“Emily! This is preposterous. How can you believe him?”

She didn’t know what or who to believe. Whirling out of Father’s library, Emily held her head high though her heart sank. Rounding the broad staircase, she scurried up the stairs. Below, Father’s and Daniel’s voices reverberated in the hallway. Then Mr. Saltonstall’s and Phillip’s.

Pausing on the second-floor landing, Emily peered down into the foyer. Daniel hesitated in the doorway, looking up at her. One second, two, then three. His steady gaze burned the truth into her soul. Her fiancé had her arrested.

“Good night, Emily,” Daniel said. The closing thump of the front door vibrated in her chest, forming a wide canyon.

She spun toward the hall, starting for her room. If Daniel was right, then she’d be a fool to marry Phillip. But as much as she wanted to believe she was strong, like Mother insisted, and admit the truth, she was weak.

She’d given her word. Made a pledge. Not just to Phillip but to the Saltonstall family. The papers announced her engagement. Society waited. In ten days she’d become Mrs. Phillip Saltonstall.

Emily broke into a run. In her bedroom she sank to the floor.
Oh, Lord, what have I done?

Chapter Twenty-Two

 
New Year’s Eve

 
S
teady now, Emily. Last photograph.” The photographer ducked under the black cover and snapped the picture. The smell of sulfur burned Emily’s nostrils.

Mother and Father had turned Birmingham upside down to give her this day. Mr. and Mrs. Saltonstall ordered orchids from a greenhouse in Florida and decorated the Phoenix Club with grandeur and opulence.

So why did Emily feel as if she were slowly sinking down a long dark hole? She moved to the window and struggled to open it.

“Here, darling, what are you doing?” Her maid of honor, Bernadette, raised the window. “You’ll catch your death standing in the cold air.” She cupped her palm to Emily’s forehead. “You look pale.”

“I’m so warm in this gown, Bernadette.” After the confrontation with Daniel, Emily surrendered all fight. She’d marry Phillip in the gown Mother wanted. “I’m not sure I can make it down the aisle.” Emily stuck her head into the late-afternoon air. It was Sunday. A day for love.

Loving the Lord. Loving one another. Loving Phillip. Tonight she’d be Mrs. Phillip Saltonstall. Emily gave up her fight, and Phillip turned into a crooning, wooing dream after the altercation with Daniel. Kind, considerate, yielding. Tender.

He maintained his innocence. He did not have her arrested. Not now. Not ever. Emily drew a deep, cleansing breath.
I believe you, Phillip
. As for Emmeline? A thing of the past. Over. Done.

I believe you, Phillip. I do. I must
.

The clank of chains drew her attention down the avenue. A line of colored men crossed the road, their stride burdened by the short length of their bonds.

Hopeless.

Emily stiffened at the sensation whirling in her chest and brought her head back inside. “Where’s Father?” She put on a wide smile for Bernadette. “He should be here. He’ll be giving his daughter away in a quarter of an hour.”

Bernadette grabbed Emily’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful bride, Emily. You rest. I’ll find youn="e. alr father.”

Emily sat on the settee in the church parlor of the First United Methodist Church, shivering but perspiring under her thick satin gown. She tugged at the high, tight collar. Oh, to be free of this monstrosity. Taffy’s dress hung on the coatrack in the corner, waiting for Emily after the wedding.

Just gazing at it made Emily’s heart yearn, feel free, feel light, feel loved.

If she could do it all again, she’d forego this pomp and circumstance and marry at home with only friends and family. Molly, not Bernadette, would be her maid of honor. But Emily couldn’t very well have the maid of the house stand up with her for the biggest society wedding of the season.

The door opened and Father stepped in, but not with a smile. Handsome and commanding in his black tuxedo and white carnation boutonniere, his high brow was furrowed and concern shadowed his eyes. “The church is brimming. The governor and his wife just arrived.”

“Oh, Father, mercy.” Emily’s pulse fluttered. “So many people making time for us on New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s a grand excuse for a party.” Father kissed Emily’s forehead and hugged her, then stood back, holding her at arm’s length. “You are the image of your mother when I married her. Beautiful and sweet.”

“Then why aren’t you smiling, Father?” Emily pinched his chin. “You’re not losing your girl but gaining another son.”

“Yes, I know.” Father walked to the window, his hands behind his back, and leaned out. “It’s a clear, cold night,” he called, his voice slightly raised. “A holy night.”

Emily laughed low. “Father, who are you talking to, the street sweepers?”

He turned from the window. “Do you remember Ward Willoughby? Perhaps not. You were but a baby girl when I met him. I’d just started my exchange business and was in need of capital. He came along and offered to partner with me.”

“I thought Uncle Lars became your investor.” Uncle Lars wasn’t really an uncle, just a wise man who believed in Father and invested in his future.

“He did, but not until I cut away from Willoughby.” Father paced the length of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped in front of Taffy’s dress draped over a dressmaker’s form. “This is the one from Mrs. Hayes? Quite becoming.”

“I’d rather be standing in it now than this gown. I declare, the weight is giving me a headache.”

“Willoughby was quite the man about Birmingham in those days.” Father went on with his words and walking. “Our city was young and eager to grow. He came doow. size="3">wn from Philadelphia, like your mother and I; a grad of Haverford, like me. He liked what I was doing, starting a bank. He wanted to join in, invest his money. He offered me a solid sum as an investor.”

Something about Father’s manner started Emily’s heart churning. “Go on.”

“He was the kind of man folks wanted to be around. Your mother and I would lie in bed at night marveling over our fortune of having made the acquaintance of Ward Willoughby.”

“What happened?”

“The man came with conditions. If I wanted his money and support, I had to sign over Canton Exchange for the first three years. Or until Willoughby earned back his investments. But when it came right down to it, I just couldn’t bring myself to sign the papers. I knew your mother and our small staff at the exchange would be disappointed. The city was growing so quickly. If I didn’t move fast, I might lose a great opportunity. I went into town the next day, unhappy with my indecision, but I knew I had to turn Ward away. I couldn’t give Canton over to his control. It was another five years before Lars came along. I didn’t know if I could make my inheritance last long enough to keep the business going and a roof over our heads. But Lars rode up one afternoon, strode into my office with an expression that said, ‘Well, I’m finally here.’”

“What happened with Ward, Father?”

“He’d planned to invest in the bank with worthless bonds. I’d have lost it all if I’d signed with him, Emily.”

“Father, I’m about to be married and you’re speaking to me of worthless men with worthless bonds.” Emily crossed the room to stand with him by the window.

“Sometimes you have to trust your gut.”

“What if that means letting a lot of important people down?”

“Occasionally, we don’t care what others think.
You
have to do what’s right for you.” Father rocked back and forth on his heels, looking straight ahead.

“How can one tell the difference between cold feet and trusting your gut, Father? How did you know your instincts about Willoughby were correct?”

“That’s called faith. Trusting God.” His voice waffled. “We must be ready to hear from Him and respond, at any moment, no matter what the consequence.”

“Father, please.” Emily pressed on his arm, turning him to her. “What are you really trying to tell me?”

“Emily darling, are you ready?” Mother swept into the room, pretty and young in her crimson and fur gown. She had a Christmas dress made every season and was delighted to wear this year’s for Emily’s wer Et="0em">dding. “Howard, Bernadette has been looking for you. Oh, Em, you look absolutely divine.” Mother’s eyes misted. “Your gown is perfect.”

“I’m not wearing this dress, Mother. Unhook me, please.” Emily turned her back to Mother, reaching to remove her cathedral-length veil.

“Not this again, Emily. You’re a grown woman. Stop acting like a child. I declare, you were more behaved when you were three.” Mother fussed, grasping Emily’s hands, then smoothing the veil pins securely in place. “Besides, it’s too late to change.”

Emily smiled at Father. “It’s never too late to change.”

Tim
The July sun seemed closer up on the ridge than down in the city. Tim’s loafer heels clapped against the stone pathway as he walked toward the house through the cool rush of air up from Jones Valley.

It’d been a few years since he’d come up here, but the sight of the stone-and-beam structure got him every time. It was an extension of Red Mountain, coming out of the mountain rock and woodlands.

Skilled hands tamed the wild and crafted nature’s elements into an architectural masterpiece.

He twisted the knob, the heavy walnut door opened, and Tim stepped inside the glass-and-hardwood splendor where natural light lit the entryway. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley.

Tim gazed out over the treetops, smiling when his belly dropped, feeling as if he were floating high above the city. It must have been incredible to live here.

The place was an architectural marvel. He’d studied the design in college.

“Hello, may I help you?” Cleo Favorite greeted him. She was a classic southern woman with perfect blond hair and pearls about her neck. “Tim Rose, what brings you up here? Are you bringing my photo back?”

“Not yet. I’m heading to a meeting with it in a few hours.” He knew Cleo from the city’s restoration council. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Colby Ludlow.”

“Don’t see why not.” She regarded him, waiting for more. “I don’t get handsome men up here often. You still engaged?” She chuckled softly and motioned for him to follow her.

“No, ma’am.” Tim followed her along a back hall that curved like a hideaway under the stairs, alongside the kitchen, then burst into a bright, windowed library. His stomach dropped again at the sensation of standing on treetops.