Tiffany Girl (58 page)

“Cinched in by an overly wide band of ivory satin at her waist, her skirt was draped with four strips of exquisite scalloped lace bordered with rose designs and tied by true-lovers’ knots.” 
⁴¹

CHAPTER

84

W
inter passed and spring blossomed. The affection and love Reeve had for Flossie multiplied exponentially as he courted her with single-minded determination. Much to his surprise and pleasure, she responded to his wooing with equal amounts of warmth.

He stood in the Public Hall of the Y with her, humbled and heart full. Her mother and Maman had overseen the hall’s transformation into a bower of pastel blooms and noble palms. An array of food along the east wall drew a crowd of men. A display of gifts along the west wall drew the women.

Two years ago he wouldn’t have had a single friend to invite to his wedding. Today the room was filled with men who lived at the Twenty-Sixth Ward YMCA, teammates from his basketball and baseball teams, fellows from work, Holliday and Nettels, and even a handful of new neighbors.

The Tiffany Girls arrived in full force, Mrs. Driscoll included. Miss Love, Mrs. Klausmeyer, Flossie’s art-school mates, and many friends of Flossie’s parents all made appearances.

He’d been hugged, clapped on the back, and poked in the ribs. He’d been congratulated, badgered, and toasted. The melee was much more than he was comfortable with, but the party had only
begun. It would be past noon before he could abscond with his wife.

IT WAS EVERYTHING FLOSSIE
had dreamed of and more. Papa had spared no expense and Mother had outdone herself on the dress. Cinched in by an overly wide band of ivory satin at her waist, her skirt was draped with four strips of exquisite scalloped lace bordered with rose designs and tied by true-lovers’ knots.

Mirroring her waist, a tall collar of lace encased her throat, a bouquet of orange blossoms pinned to its left side. Softly draped satin sleeves of great width gathered to her elbow, then hugged her arm, extending low on her short white gloves. She fingered a slender branch of her wedding day chatelaine made up of orange blossoms and falling artfully along the right side of her skirt. It was the only time in a woman’s entire life when she could wear orange blossoms. Flossie couldn’t believe her day had finally come.

Reeve rode a hand along the lower curve of her back, staking his claim and looking marvelously handsome in his black cutaway and double-breasted formal white vest. He smiled, he greeted, he thanked people for coming, but she could tell he’d have preferred a quick ceremony and an even quicker getaway with his bride.

She smiled at him, appreciating his sacrifice in letting her have her day.

He gave her a wink, then squeezed her waist. “For a magpie, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“For a newlywed groom, you’ve been awfully patient.”

His eyes darkened. “Only because I’ve been thinking that once I get you to myself, I just might forgo all the fuss of a train ride and honeymoon and simply keep you locked in my house for the next thirty days.”

Her eyes widened, goose bumps skittering over her body.

“Mrs. Wilder, you are the loveliest bride I have ever seen—
second only to my own, of course.” Her former boss approached them.

Flossie placed a hand against her throat. “Mr. Tiffany. My goodness, how do you do? Thank you so much for coming.”

“My pleasure
.
”

She’d done a lot of growing up at Tiffany Glass and Decorating Company. She’d learned what it was like to be a New Woman on her own. It wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. Oh, she’d been free from the normal restrictions put on the fair sex, but with the lifting of those restrictions had come responsibilities.

The responsibility of taking care of herself on a streetcar full of resentful men. Of walking home alone in the dark during a snowstorm. Of paying her rent when hard times came. Of realizing that she couldn’t take everyone at face value simply because she wanted to believe the world was full of good people.

She’d take away the lessons she’d learned at Tiffany’s and enter into life as a wife and, hopefully someday, a mother, with joy instead of resentment.

One thing was certain, she would always be proud to have been a Tiffany Girl. She felt sure it would be something future Wilder generations would be proud of, too. And if that weren’t enough, she still had her painting. She’d always have her painting.

Reeve extended his hand. “Reeve Wilder.”

Mr. Tiffany pumped his hand. “It’s an honor. I confess my daughters were quite envious of me and made me promise to ask for an autograph from Mr. Claire, if I could be so rude as to impose.”

Reeve pasted a smile onto his face. “I’m certain that can be arranged.”

Flossie bit her cheek. Somehow word had leaked out that Reeve was the one and only I. D. Claire. It was inevitable, since everyone at 438 had known his identity after the big argument she’d had with him that long ago day. Annie Belle had heard
their quarrel through the wall and had wasted no time in informing the rest of the boarders.

More recently, with the huge success of
Beneath a Sheltering Tree
, the men he worked with at the newspaper had somehow found out. But it was the fellows here at the Y who gave him the hardest time—throwing in as many “I declares” as possible into their conversations.

Reeve tolerated it as best he could, but she knew he hated to call attention to himself, and even more, he hated the pseudonym. Still, it wasn’t every day Mr. Tiffany asked for an autograph.

A bit after one o’clock, when only Mother, Papa, Mrs. Dinwiddie, and their very best friends were left, Reeve helped her up into a carriage complete with white horses.

He shook Papa’s hand, kissed Mother’s cheek, and pulled Mrs. Dinwiddie up into a bear hug. The woman whispered something into his ear that made him laugh. He put her down, kissed her flush on the lips, joined Flossie, and shook the reins.

Twisting around, she waved at her parents as the rice they threw pebbled the carriage.

CLAPBOARD HOUSE 
⁴²

“Reeve pulled the horses to a stop in front of a clapboard house with a white picket fence and a shaded front porch.”

CHAPTER

85

R
eeve pulled the horses to a stop in front of a clapboard house with a white picket fence and a shaded front porch.

“Oh, Reeve,” she said, catching her breath. “It’s beautiful.”

Her parents had seen it, Mrs. Dinwiddie had seen it, his friends had seen it. Only she hadn’t seen it. It was his wedding gift to her, and she’d not been allowed to have her first glimpse until she shared his last name.

The yard was more dirt than grass, but there were three bushes, a good-sized shade tree, and he’d built the place with his own two hands. A sense of well-being rushed through her. This would be the house she’d live in for the rest of her life. The house she’d birth their babies in. The house she’d welcome their grandchildren to. Of a sudden, she wanted it to be the house she consummated their marriage in.

“How much time do we have before our train leaves?” she asked.

Setting the brake, he hopped down. “Hours, I’m afraid. I didn’t want you to be rushed at the reception, so we won’t need to leave until almost dark.”

Placing his hands on her waist, he lifted her from the carriage. She’d not changed into her traveling gown, but still wore
her wedding dress. He’d told her in advance that he wanted to be the one to remove it. Mother had been quite scandalized, but it was the only request he’d made. He’d allowed Mother, Flossie, and Mrs. Dinwiddie to plan everything else. So she’d stood firm against Mother’s objections.

At the door, he swooped her up into his arms and crossed the threshold. “Welcome to our home, Mrs. Wilder.”

With her arms about his neck, she surveyed the living area. Two rockers sat before a red brick fireplace. One large and brown. One dainty and upholstered in a flowery brocade. Cat had curled up on the brown one, not deigning to even acknowledge their intrusion.

“She thinks it’s her chair.”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s good to see her. I’ve missed her.”

“Well, don’t bother calling. She won’t budge unless bodily moved.”

On the mantle, right in the center, her Christmas card held center stage. Her heart warmed and she wondered how long it had been there. “You never replied to my Christmas card.”

“That’s because I was busy writing the novel that very card demanded.”

“I didn’t demand it, and you could have at least acknowledged the candy and fruitcake.”

“I did. Don’t you remember in chapter eight of the book? I ate them rather enthusiastically while I watched Miss Cherie flitting about her garden.”

“Miss Cherie.” She rolled her eyes. “That woman was always so cheerful. Everyone loved her, she never did anything wrong. I thought it an awfully high bar to live up to. Couldn’t she have been average? You know, flawed?”

His kissed her forehead. “She was flawed, but the story was about him.”

“I see.” She adjusted his collar. “Speaking of Cheery Cherie
and Marylee Merrily, I do declare but I’m stating here and now that I will choose the names of all our children.”