The Wedding Dress (7 page)

“You certainly don’t think he’d hide them in here, do you?” Molly snickered into her glass but never took a drink.

“Then where?”

“He’s me boss, miss. Butters me bread, and I’m kinda likin’ the taste by now.” Molly held up the half-full glass of milk. “Sure you won’t be wanting a glass of milk? Milk is very good. I miss fresh milk from the cows. Remember when we had a cow, miss? Bessy. She’d moo at all hours of the day and night. Now we have a man delivering our milk on the ice cart. I tell you I don’t miss milking the old girl meself. Ah, she was a stubborn old broad, like me Grammy Killian.”

“Molly, stop talking about—” Emily jutted around the table, laying her hand on Molly’s arm so the milk in her glass sloshed up the sides. “The stable. Father hid the letters in the stable?”

Molly eyed her over the rim of her glass. “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, letters and cows and nonsense. Nothing in that stable but smelly horses and a musty ole hayloft.”

“The loft.” Emily darted to a drawer where Molly kept the matches. The lantern already waited by the door.

“You’re not going now are you, miss?”

“Why wait until the morning when Father might get it in his head to move them?” Emily lit the lamp, pausing at the door.

“Careful, miss, the hay is dry. It’ll catch afire.”

“Molly.” Emily raised the lamp. “How do you know the hay is dry?”

“You’re not the only lass with a love in her heart, Emily. I had me an evening with the delivery man, Mr. Dawson.” She whistled her way back to her room.

“Molly.”

The maid’s door closed and Emily ran smiling across the lawn, striding against the narrow hem of her e s hem ofgown, the flame of the lamp swaying through the darkness. So, Molly and Mr. Dawson . . . they made a fine pair. Yes, sir. At the stable Emily unlatched the lock and slid open the door.

Father’s stable was immaculate. Five stalls on the right, five stalls on the left, separated by a wide stone aisle. The horses raised their heads as Emily marched toward the loft ladder.

“Hide my letters from me. What right has he?” At the ladder’s top, Emily cleared a place away for the oil lamp and surveyed the mound of yellow straw. Where would Father hide letters? She inspected the walls for a cupboard or hidden door. If she were hiding letters, she’d put them in a box or sack, then stash them in a corner and cover them with hay.

Emily kicked her way to the back corner, then dropped to her knees, searching the hay. When her hands hit a wooden box, her breath caught. She’d not considered what she’d do if she actually found them.

Carrying the box to the lamp, she sat dangling her legs over the loft’s edge. The hay clinging to her skirt shook free and drifted down into the stall below.

The simple box was square, made of cedar, with a small brass lock. When she tried the lock, it wouldn’t spring. She’d have to take it inside. She tucked the box under her arm and, grabbing the lantern, hurried back to the house.

She knew where to find the key. Father kept dozens of them in the middle drawer of his desk. She’d stay up all night to find the right one if need be.

In the kitchen Emily set the lantern on the sideboard and prepared to blow out the flame when a small glint caught her eye. A key. A small lockbox key.

Bless you, Molly, bless you.

  Emily unlocked the box, set the key on the table, snuffed out the lamp, and snuck along the back staircase to her room.

Chapter Five

 
Charlotte

 
K
ristin, I can tell by the light in your eyes you’re excited for your wedding day. You want it to be special. To be about you and Oliver.”

Charlotte sat on the sofa next to her client, the pinkish white walls casting a soft mauve hue across the plush mocha-colored carpet and the Logan Stone couch. In her lap she cradled her secret weapon. A photo album.

“Well, we met in high school—”

Charlotte placed the book on the coffee table.

“—and dated all through college.” Kristin sighed and smiled. “We only broke up once.”

“You two are meant to be, it’s obvious. How did you know he was
the
one?” Charlotte opened to the first page of the photo album—a collection of Birmingham brides over the last six months. Every woman wore the exact same style of dress Kristin claimed was
the one
for her. The gown she’d been “dreaming of since she was a girl.”

“Oliver?” The blush on Kristin’s cheeks outshone her smile. “Like you said, we were meant to be. We belong together. We fit. We’re best friends. We love all the same things. Even in high school we completed each other’s sentences.”

“He makes you feel special, doesn’t he?”

“Even after dating for seven years, yes, he does.”

Charlotte regarded Kristin for a moment. Did she feel
that
way about Tim? Special? Like they belonged together? When they first met, he consumed her daytime thoughts and nighttime dreams, but lately, since the engagement . . . Charlotte exhaled. What she needed at the moment was to concentrate on turning this fiancée into a beautiful, unique bride.

“Is this the gown you’ve selected?” Charlotte produced a bridal magazine clipping of the dress Kristin wanted. “It makes you feel special like Oliver makes you feel special?”

“Yes, yes, it does.” Kristin’s eyes glistened. “I went to a friend’s wedding a few years ago and just loved her gown. I looked everywhere to find one just like it. It’ll be perfect for me.”

What Charlotte didn’t get about brides was why they all wanted to look alike. How could a dress just like the one Kristin’s friend wore make her feel special?

She considered it her mission, her calling even, to dress her brides as uniquely as possible. When a bride slipped on a truly perfect gown, Charlotte’s soul rested in pure satisfaction.

“It is a lovely dress, Kristin.” Charlotte held up the picture as if to study it. “White satin strapless gown with an A-line skirt and a chapel train.”

“I get weepy every time I see it.” Kristin pressed her hand to her chest. Her engagement ring glinted in the afternoon haze that fell through the southern window.

Charlotte scooted forward, inhaling, calculating her next words. Kristin was a reluctant Malone & Co. client, only coming in this afternoon because her mother insisted.

“Well, if you want this dress, really want this dress, then buy it from the shop where you found it.” Charlotte peered at Kristin with a gracious, kind smile and tucked her photo album under her arm with exaggeration. Kristin’s lit eyes dimmed and follow Ced s fed Charlotte’s every move.

“Why can’t
you
order this gown? I’ve seen it in several shops. Surely you could—”

“Kristin, I don’t order gowns that are in every other shop. I
dress
brides from the inside out. I’m not a bridal gown mill.” She tapped the photo album. “Do you want to see what’s in here?” Charlotte scooted closer to her client, opened the album on Kristin’s lap, and turned the pages. “Do you see what I see?”

Page after page, the same gown, just a different bride. A blonde, a brunette, young, old, skinny, chubby . . .

Kristin took over turning the pages, the excitement in her countenance fading. “Where’d you get these?”

“The newspaper, websites, all around Birmingham. These are from the last six months.”

“I never realized.” Kristin’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh my . . . now what am I going to do? I thought I’d found the perfect gown. Just perfect.”

Charlotte gently removed the photo album and closed it, placing it on the floor by the sofa. She intended to wake Kristin up. Not crush her.

“We’re going to find the perfect dress. Trust me. When we attend one wedding at a time, we don’t realize how many of the dresses are exactly alike. But at Malone & Co. our job, our delight, is to find a gown that fits your figure as well as your heart. Kristin, finding gowns for brides that expresses them completely is my one talent in life.” Charlotte tipped her head to see Kristin’s face and laughed softly. “Don’t deny me my one,
widdle
talent.” Kristin broke into a smile. “Tell you what, if you don’t like the gowns I bring to you, then I’ll personally recommend you to a friend of mine who sells the gown you have here.” She tapped the magazine cutout Kristin brought in with her.

“My mother insisted I talk to you because she said I could do better than this.” Kristin ran her finger over the image of the model wearing her once-perfect gown.

Charlotte sat back, reading Kristin’s countenance. “I understand how you feel about that dress. All your friends looked beautiful in the same style and you want to be beautiful too. But I can find you something unique
and
beautiful. Will you take the leap with me?”

“I will. Charlotte, I will.” Kristin gripped her arm. “I’m willing to try another dress. Really. Do you think you can find a dress that’s just for me?” Tears collected in the corner of her eyes, but she was smiling. “Just don’t get me on some kind of ugliest bridal gown list.”

Charlotte laughed. “No bride of mine will ever be on an ugly gown list.” As she stood, Kristin snatched up Charlotte’s ring hand.

“Y C3"> up Charou’re engaged too?”

“Yes . . . yes, I am.” Charlotte twisted the ring around her finger. The clear and sparkling diamond created a multicolored swirl of light. The switch of attention to her from Kristin made her want to turtle her emotions. Tuck away and hide.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a ring like it.” Kristin smiled at the smirking Dixie standing by the refreshment bar. “Are you helping her choose her dress?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Charlotte, am I helping you choose your dress?” Dixie folded her arms and let her sarcasm drip.

“This session isn’t about me. It’s about Kristin.” She stooped for the photo album. “The ring belonged to my fiancé’s grandmother.”

Charlotte shot Dixie a hard glare. She’d been fussing at her all week about choosing a gown. Charlotte promised she’d get around to it. She would. Then this morning Dixie showed her the new Bray-Lindsay that just arrived from Paris, and Charlotte nearly buckled. “It’s too expensive, even with my dealer discount,” she said the moment she caught her breath.

At eight thousand dollars the dress better make her feel like Cinderella, Princess Diana, and Kate Middleton all rolled into one. Charlotte had to
feel
it. Dixie insisted she try the gown on, but she had yet to slip into the handcrafted silk.

How could she explain an eight-thousand-dollar dress to Tim? He nearly froze her out over a thousand-dollar trunk purchase.

“Kristin”—Charlotte locked her gaze on Dixie—“you know, I think we have a gown in the shop that would be perfect for you. It just arrived this morning from Paris.”

“Charlotte?” Dixie’s arms fell to her side and her smirk became a pinched-brow frown.

“Dix, why don’t you prep the Bray-Lindsay of Paris for Kristin and let’s show her what it feels like to be a real princess bride.”

Dixie regarded Charlotte through a narrowed gaze. “It’s quite expensive, Kristin.”

“Price is no problem.” Kristin jumped up, an eagerness in her tone. “My parents will buy whatever I want. I’d love to see this Bray-Lindsay.” She clasped her hands together. “A gown from Paris. Wonderful.”

“All right then, let me get it ready for you. Charlotte, can you give me a hand?” Dixie hooked her hand around Charlotte’s elbow as she headed out the door, dragging her along. “Kristin, there’re refreshments on the bar. Please help yourself.”

“Do I see steam coming out of your ears?” Charlotte asked, tripping along with Dixie as she thudded down the stairs to the reveal salon.“Do I snt>

Dixie’s auburn hair was slicked back into a perfect ponytail and her Malone & Co. suit clung to her curves in all the right places. Charlotte could hate her—raw, honest truth—if Dixie wasn’t so smart and sweet. And fun. Dixie Pryor was an amazing friend and an excellent bridal consultant.

“Enough steam to curl your hair.” In the salon Dixie flung open the storage closet doors and took the Bray-Lindsay from the rack. “This was your dress, Char. We ordered it for you.”

“
You
ordered it for me. I never said I wanted it. It’s perfect for Kristin. Think about it, Dix—the gown is too frilly for me.”

“Too frilly? You said the Maggie Sottero was too plain. The Bray is the perfect blend of simple and intricate.” Dixie carefully prepped the dress to be draped over the dress form on the gleaming, dark-wood center platform. Sofas and lounge chairs circled the mini stage.

“The blend is perfect for Kristin. Really, Dix, how can you doubt me after five years of watching from the shadow of my genius?” Charlotte laughed, easing down to the nearest sofa, watching Dixie work. The silky, luxurious fabric of the gown cascaded over the dress form. The skirt swished and swirled toward the stage floor, a pure milky river. The scene made Charlotte’s heart palpitate. But her joy faded when Dix didn’t even crack a smile.

“Want to know what surprises me?”

“If I say no, will you tell me anyway?”

“What surprises me is that you’re getting married in two months, you haven’t selected a dress or tuxes, and you’re acting as if that’s normal.”

“Oh, speaking of, Tim said he’d be by one day this week with Dave to pick out tuxes. How’s that for normal?”