The Wedding Dress(22)

But don’t worry, Emily, my eyes are only for you. Say, when you write me, can you send along a new photograph? The one I had of you was destroyed when the jitney sank in a mud hole up to the chassis and we had to dig the old girl out. The roads in Tennessee aren’t as good as the slag roads in Birmingham.





But you already know that, since your father financed the limestone mine that makes the slag.





My birthday was yesterday. Did you remember? I hope you sent me a birthday greeting on the wind. I craved my mama’s cake. I remember the last one she made for my sixteenth birthday, right before she died.





I’d say more if I knew what you were doing these days. Say hello to the folks there for me.





Remember the first night we met in the campus library? My buddies were cutting up, not paying any mind to the rules, talking mischief. You shot fire at us with your dark eyes. I said to my roommate as we walked back to our dorm, “I’m going to marry that girl.” I meant it. I’ll spend all my life making you happy. If you want me.





One final note, some of the boys and I attended church on Sunday. The preacher was a bit heavy on the hellfire and brimstone, but it got to Scully. He ran down to the altar when the call was made. For me, I just remembered why I love Him. And you.





All my love and affection,

Daniel





Emily folded the letter back into the envelope, not sure what or how to feel. Schoolboy folderol, most of it. Spend his life making her happy. Goodness. What a childish declaration. Daniel should know better since he’s a grown man.

Stuffing the letter back in the box, Emily slammed the lid shut, her engagement ring pinging against the wood, and shoved the box under her bed, way back, against the wall.

She was engaged. Why, she was practically stepping out on her intended, reading another man’s love letters. How could she be so untrue to Phillip mere hours after accepting his ring?

Emily readied for bed, then sank to her knees, where she said her prayers every night. But instead of closing her eyes, she reached under the mattress for the leather diary where she poured out her heart to Daniel when he first left with the Barons.

April 30, 1912





Dear Daniel,





I think of you, wondering where you are, praying you are well and safe. I wish you’d write to me. I miss you terribly. Who can make me laugh when I’m feeling blue? Father tries, but I’m immune to his old stories now. They only tickle Mother’s funny bone.





Yesterday, Mother and I shopped downtown, then came home to work the garden with Molly. It was a glorious day and brought to mind our walks on the campus quad.





Emily slammed the diary closed. The rest of the entry was merely pouring out her heart to herself, trying to make sense of her feelings. When Daniel left she knew she loved him, but in the passing weeks, she’d started to doubt.

Perhaps it was divine that he departed, choosing baseball over her. Phillip called on her a few weeks later and invited her to attend the Black and White Ball.

The invitation seemed more than fortuitous. It appeared divine, indeed.

Shoving her book back to its hiding place, Emily burrowed under her coverlet and sank deep into the feathery mattress, stretching her legs against the clean sheets.

A spark of ire toward Father made her bolt up in bed. Emily shoved her hair away from her face and hammered the quilt with her fist. How different this night might be if she had received Daniel’s letters. She plopped back down into her pillows and reached for the bedside lamp. Darkness rose in the room as the light faded.

She was engaged. And she’d be true to Phillip with her word and her heart.



Charlotte

Charlotte balanced Starbucks lattes in her hand along with a bag of pastries as she unlocked the shop’s back door, crossing through the old utility room to the kitchen. She set breakfast on the kitchenette table, shook her arm awake, and went back to her blue Cabrio for the box of unused invitations.

“Dix?” It was five minutes ’til opening, and the lights were on and the music played. Bach this morning and his sweet tones fitting for violins. “Dixie? I brought coffee. And food.”

Charlotte angled into the shop, listening for the thunder of her friend’s footsteps. But silence answered. Hmm, she must be upstairs.

Back in the kitchen, Charlotte dropped the invitations to the kitchen floor and reached for her latte. She had plans for those invites. Dumpster plans. But first, her breakfast.

She had a new lease on life. Yes, she did. Starting over could be good, a chance to shake things up, get focused. Maybe attend a bridal show in New York or L.A. Even better? Paris. She’d planned on a Paris trip this year until Tim swept her off her feet.

Bray-Lindsay had extended her a standing invitation and she had yet to accept.

After Tim left and Charlotte wept her soul raw, she’d managed a midnight call to Dixie, begging her to open the shop in the morning even though it was her day to come in late. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll sleep in.”

But Charlotte didn’t sleep much.

“Dixie, hey, where are you?” Charlotte walked toward the sales counter, checking the stairs and second-floor landing. The cash register was up and ready. But locked. Good. “Are you upstairs?” Charlotte stooped by the main display gown to perfect the flow of the chapel train.