The Wedding Dress (23 page)

Daniel didn’t bother to inspect Ross’s choice—every gal in a gown was a looker to him. As he buttered his bread, he took a coy survey of the room.

The Italian Garden was a soft lit, romantic place, with an Italian band playing songs from the home country. But at midnight the joint went ragtime and jazz. There were quite a few lovelies around, but most seemed connected to a fella.

“Can’t believe you quit baseball to marry Emily and she dumped you for Saltonstall.” Alex shook his head. “Don’t envy you, son.”

“Worse, the society sections of the
News
and the
Age-Herald
report practically every blade ofevet baseball grass crushed under their feet.” Ross squinted down his nose, raising his chin. “Mr. Phillip Saltonstall and his fiancée, Miss Emily Canton, attended a dinner at the Strasburg home in Red Mountain in honor of their engagement. Miss Canton wore a lovely evening gown of—”

“Chum, have a heart. We get it . . . you can read.” Daniel stuffed his bread in his mouth, then punched Ross’s shoulder.

After Emily’s engagement he’d avoided the society section, even the business pages where some article usually focused on the Saltonstalls. Or Howard Canton.

“Have you met Saltonstall?” Alex said, intrigue in his voice.

“Not in person. Just read about him. Did you hear Saltonstall mines had the largest number of labor gang deaths than any of the other mines? Can’t find that in any of our fine newspapers. Why don’t you do some digging on that, chum.” Daniel motioned to Ross.

“If it’s not in the papers, then how do you know?”

“A friend of Dad’s is a guard at one of their mines,” Daniel said.

“When you got that kind of money”—Alex tore off another bite of bread, elbows on the table—“you can get away with whatever you want.”

“You got that.” Ross swiveled around when the music started, snapping his fingers to the ragtime beat.

“Enough to make a man think women do need the vote.” Daniel raised his voice above the music.

Ross snapped his head around, eyes wide. “Now you’re just talking nonsense, Ludlow.”

“I’m just saying
maybe
suffrage makes sense.” He reached for more bread, resisting the urge to consume the remaining slices. The years his mother spent drilling manners into him had permanently stuck.

“Call the doctor, Alex, Ludlow’s lovesickness has muddled his brain.” Ross tapped his temple.

“I’d love for a dame to come around and muddle my brain,” Alex said, shoving bread into his mouth, trying to catch the attention of the women sitting at the neighboring table.

“I’m neither muddled nor lovesick,” Daniel said. “I’m a thinking man.”

“Oh, come now, chum—” Ross scoffed.

Their banter worked its way around the table, back and forth, moving from suffrage to sports and the end of the Barons’ season. When the waiter arrived with their food, Ross sat back, patting his belly. “Delightful, Angelino. How about a round of vino?t a rounvin

“Certainly, Mr. Kirby.” The waiter backed away, his olive skin, dark eyes, and thick hair revealing his Italian lineage.

Daniel picked up his fork and twirled his noodles into a thick ball, inhaling the aroma of garlic and tomatoes. The first bite—hot and delicious—warmed his bones and energized his emotions. But talk of Emily only made him miss her more. A dozen times he’d gone to the phone room at the Ridley House to place a call to the Cantons, but hung up before the operator could take his request.

“Tonight, we get you dancing, Ludlow. On your feet, twirling over the dance floor with a pretty belle in your arms. Yes, we will.” Ross cut up his meatballs.

“So you’ve said.”

“Nothing like a gal to make you forget another.”

“Unless the first one is unforgettable.”

Ross made a face at Alex. “I told you, pal, call the doctor. Danny-boy is lovesick.”

Daniel released his angst with another forkful of pasta and a slow grin at his buddies. Ross had been his best friend since their Phi Delta pledge days at the university. More than anyone, save God, Ross understood Daniel’s struggle over Emily. He’d been the first to hear the news when Daniel returned to their quarters after his first date with her. “She’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

Ross kindly listened, without snickering, and did not consider him a fool. Even now, he didn’t recall Daniel’s silly, failed, romantic notions in front of Alex. The dinner talk moved to work—Daniel’s students and his position at the Institute, Ross’s reporting at the
Birmingham Age-Herald
, and Alex’s banking aspirations—then back to the true longing of the gents’ hearts.

“The only feminine thing I touch these days is the tip of a woman’s glove as I pass her money across the counter at the bank.” Alex brought his fork to his lips for an exaggerated kiss. “How’d I do, boys? Think I can remember how? What’s a fellow to do for a date these days?”

“Have money,” Daniel confessed before he’d considered his words. But he didn’t repent. It’s what won Saltonstall Emily Canton’s hand.

“Look at it this way, Danny boy. If all it takes to win Emily is money, what kind of girl is she anyway? Deep down where it counts? What kind of wife and mother would she be? What would happen if you fell on hard times? The first rich, debonair man to come along would steal her affections while you were out breaking your back to make ends meet.” Ross stabbed the air with his fork, his dark hair falling loose from his hair cream and flopping over his forehead. “No, no, you’re better off, chum. Believe me. Best you find out now the kind of woman Emily is.”

“That’s the thing. The Emily I knew
wouldn’t
marry a man for his money.”

“That’s what she had you believing, chum. I see it like this . . .”

Back and forth, debating, laughing, deciding if one married for love or money or beauty. If a woman could marry for money, why couldn’t a man marry for beauty?

“The more money in a chap’s bank account, the lovelier his bride. It’s the way of the world,” Alex insisted. “I see it every day.”

Talk of love somehow morphed to talk of sports. The discussion was serenaded by the clink of glasses and the clank of silverware against porcelain plates, scented with the aroma of melting candle wax, garlic, hot bread, and fruity wine.

The warm room, with music and laughter, sank into Daniel’s soul, lifting his tired spirits. Ross and Alex proved to be far better chums than he’d been lately. They were right. Emily wasn’t the only beautiful, kind, smart, loving gal in Birmingham.

It’s just . . . Daniel downed the last ounce of his wine. It’s just that the melody of her laugh still sang him to sleep at night.

She’d been the center of all his dreams and plans. Sometimes when he looked up from grading papers by the evening gaslight, he felt as if only half his heart were beating.

As the waiter cleared away their plates, Ross mused over his life plan and what he might do for his future. Daniel mentioned rather off the cuff he might continue his education, perhaps seek a professorship. Politics interested him.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to envision the future, Emily’s face proved to be the most distracting roadblock.

In the middle of Alex’s dissertation on rising through the banking ranks, he let out a low, slow whistle, nodding toward the door. “Now there’s a blessed feller. Moneyed, by the cut of his suit, and escorting a goddess of a woman. I’ve just got to get some of my own money to flash around.”

“Chin up, Alex, it’s not all about—” Daniel’s exhortation ceased as he turned toward the door, his eyes landing on the man beneath the top hat and tuxedo. All the light in the room narrowed onto his face. “That’s Saltonstall,” he whispered.

What was he doing here after midnight? And with
her
. He’d not seen them on the street since the day he spoke with Emily at Newman’s and tipped her off.

Nor had his police officer father and brother seen or heard anything of Phillip Saltonstall’s extra activities.

“Saltonstall? Which one—the father or the brother?” Ross angled around for a better look.

“That’s not a brother. Or father.” Daniel quick about-faced, putting his back to the door. What a lowdown scum. “That’s Phillip.”

“Phillip? The one engaged to your gal?” Alex whispered far too loud, rising up, craning his neck to see. “So that’s Emily? No wonder you’re lovesick, chum. I’m sick for you.”

“That’s
not
Emily.” Daniel shoved his wineglass out of the way, reaching for his water goblet. His mouth was a desert and his heartbeat shoved his nerves to the edge.

“Are you sure that’s Phillip? You said you never met him.” Ross glanced again at the door.

“Not in person, no.” Daniel pressed his hands on the table and stood. “But that’s him.” The linguini had cemented in his belly so all of his movements felt slow and stiff, but he’d not let Saltonstall get away with his deceit. “And it’s high time I did.”

“What are you going to do?” Ross said.

“I don’t know.” Daniel maneuvered through the check-clothed tables and long, thin candlelight.

Across the front of the restaurant, the maître d’ led Phillip and the woman through the low shadows. For a moment Daniel considered giving Phillip the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps the woman from the street was indeed a cousin or a friend. Yet the intimate position of his hand on her hip told him otherwise. Drawing close, Daniel cleared his throat.

“Paul! Excuse me, Paul. It’s me, Daniel.”

Phillip drew up, glanced back, moving his hand to caress the woman’s bare shoulder.

“Paul, don’t you remember me?” Daniel smiled large and offered his hand.

“I’m afraid I don’t. You confuse me with my brother.” Phillip shook Daniel’s hand in one hard clasp.

“Yes, of course, Phillip. Begging your pardon. I’m Daniel Ludlow.”

“The ballplayer with the Barons. I’ve seen you pitch.”

“Have you now?” Any other time, he’d be flattered. But not tonight. “Shall I bow in triumph or shrink away in shame?” Daniel hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets, bowing toward the woman. She was beautiful, willowy, and fair, with crystal blue eyes and ruby red lips.

“Take a bow. You pitched a no-hitter,” Phillip said with a trumpet of admiration.

“Then it was a good game.” He turned to the woman. “Sor woing hiry to have disturbed you, miss.”

“Not at all,” she said with refined Yankee diction. “Phillip and Paul do favor one another. They’re both so handsome.” She snuggled into Phillip and Daniel expected to see him stiffen or move away, but he only drew her in closer.

“Come along, my dear.” Phillip turned her toward the waiting maître d’ and the open door of a private side room. “We’ve a table waiting.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Daniel reached for her fingers, bowing to kiss her hand. “Miss . . .”

“Graves. Emmeline Graves.”

Emmeline
. “I hope to make your acquaintance again sometime.”

“Of course, Phillip, maybe he could join us?” She giggled as Phillip squeezed her and inched her toward their private room, protesting her suggestion with a husky whisper.

Back at his table, Daniel yanked out his chair so the legs rattled against the stone floor. The band played a slow dance number.

Alex looked up from reading the dessert menu. “Is she a vision up close?”

“Quite becoming.” Daniel peeked back to the spot where he’d met Phillip and Emmeline. “He, however, is a prig.”

“So, what are you going to do, chum?” Ross’s expression matched the shadows in the room. “Sit there and grumble?”

“You have to tell her. Emily, I mean.” Alex hammered the table with his fist. “Be her hero. Win her back. Let her know what a scoundrel she’s marrying.”

“She already knows.”

“She knows? Then why is she with him?” Alex spoke too loud, gesturing to the waiter as he passed by. “Three slices of chocolate layer cake please.”

“I saw him with her on the corner of 19th a few months back, getting a little cozy. In broad daylight, mind you. Then I ran into Emily. Turns out she saw him too. She asked me if Phillip had a mistress and I said yes. Then she called me a liar.” Daniel surveyed his friends. “So I tell her about tonight? She doesn’t want to know. Besides, it’ll humiliate her and gain me no favor. ‘Hello, Emily, I was out with Ross and Alex last night and saw Phillip with a strikingly beautiful woman named Emmeline. Would you like to go to the Strand for a picture show?’” Daniel shook his head, running his fingers over his curls. “No, I can’t do it.”

But he had to do something.
Lord, what am I to do?

“I suppose you’re right. Can’ rid, what win there, can you?” Ross said.

“Not one iota.” Daniel was trapped. Darned if he did. Darned if he didn’t. “I can just hope she finds out, right?”

“More like pray she finds out,” Alex said.

Daniel sat back, considering the evening, a sudden, warm smile tapping his soul. If he’d had his way, he’d have stayed home tonight and read a book. But instead, he yielded to Ross’s insistence that he get out, have some fun. Daniel clapped his friend on the back. “I owe you, chum. For making me come out tonight.”

Sometimes luck put a man in the right place at the right time. Sometimes, a good friend. But more often than not, Daniel mused, it was the providence of God and His never-ending grace.