The Wedding Dress(15)

“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 gown, 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





Kristin, 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 followed Charlotte’s every move.