The Wedding Dress(24)

“Are you kidding me? You’re stunning. And charming. Who needs to flirt when they’re as smart as you? Tim’s darn lucky you gave him the time of day.” Dixie sat back. “Snob. That’s what he is, a snob.”

“I was the lucky one. He’s not a snob, Dixie. He’s honest. Would you have wanted Jared to marry you if he had any reservations?”

“No, I guess not.” Dixie sighed, sitting back, sleeking her hand down the length of her ponytail. “This makes me sad.”

“Yeah, but maybe Tim’s right.” Charlotte’s weak smile trembled. “We moved too fast.”

“Well, he can blame himself for that, Charlotte. Don’t you take that on. Do you think that’s why you never picked a dress? You knew, somehow?”

“Who knows.” Charlotte rested her head against the wall, swallowing the swell of emotion in her throat, wanting this day to be years behind her. The harsh overhead light of the kitchen made her feel cold and exposed. “It’s just that when it was my turn to be the bride, I didn’t know how to make myself ready. In the back of my mind, I thought the dress, the day, the pieces of the wedding would just fall into place. That I’d know it was right.”

“But you didn’t know, did you?”

“I used to have this recurring dream about my wedding. It started right after high school and my ‘one true love’”—Charlotte air-quoted the phrase—“broke up with me. In the dream, I’m walking down the aisle toward my groom. I’m alone because I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle. No father, brother, uncles.”

“The Roses are nothing but men.”

“Yeah, I know.” Charlotte sat forward, rubbing her fingers over her eyes. She’d not bothered with makeup today. Just a swipe of concealer and a brush of powder. “When Tim told me he had four brothers, I literally laid awake that night begging God, ‘Teach me about men.’” She laughed low. “I was so afraid I’d regard them like caged lions at the zoo. But I wanted to do the guy’s-girl thing and play kickball—”

“Football.”

“Whatever.”

“Back to the dream. What happened as you walked down the aisle?”

“I’d spin around and run out of the church.” Charlotte gazed at the wall, picturing Tim and his brothers. A man’s man each and every one, but men who accepted her like a sister. “Usually somewhere between the sanctuary doors and the altar, I’d run out, yelling, ‘Nooooo!’” Charlotte tore at the edge of her napkin. “I woke up from that dream two or three times a year. Until—”

“Maybe it’s a sign you’re not supposed to marry Tim.”

“—I met Tim.” Charlotte sighed, her gaze on the latte, then on Dixie.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh.’” Charlotte stood, wrapping up the coffee cake. “Now what? How will I know Mr. Right?”

Dixie dropped to her knees and drew Charlotte into her embrace. “Faith, girl, faith. At the end of the day, that’s all we have.”

Charlotte rested her cheek against her friend’s firm shoulder, releasing the last of her morning tears. Then she sat back, reached for a napkin, and wiped her face. “Let’s get to work, Dixie.” Charlotte stood, straightening her suit, brushing her hair away from her face. “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.”





Chapter Seven



Emily





In all of Birmingham, Mrs. Caruthers was the most renowned dressmaker. Mother made an appointment with her the morning after Phillip proposed. And now, eight days later, Emily walked into her rich quarters in the Loveman’s of Alabama downtown department store.

A green gilded wallpaper covered the fitting-room walls and a Persian rug brightened the dull, scarred hardwood. A midmorning light fell over the shiny horsehair settee and sounds from the street below bounced off the closed windowpanes.

A clanging trolley drew Emily to the window. Down on 19th Street, downtown Birmingham hustled and bustled past the broad stone department store. Emily loved the city and came down from Highland whenever she could. Once, she suggested taking a position at Father’s exchange, but he promptly rebuked her.

“You’re a lady of society,” Mother had chimed in. “You employ others. You, yourself, are not employed.”

“Then why send me to college only to have me squander my time at home? I’m not too much of a lady to kneel in the dirt and plant a garden.” She’d shot an eyeful at Mother, who insisted Emily learn to garden.

“You garden for your family,” Father had said with a soft smack of his palm against the table. “You will not go to the city and punch a time clock, working for wages beneath your training and station.”

So Emily sat at home, college educated but trained for nothing, and waited. With Daniel gone and her friends either married or touring Europe, boredom drove her to the brink.

When Molly invited Emily to a suffrage meeting, she jumped at the offer. Something to do. Then Phillip called on her and her desperate heart yielded.

Emily’s engagement ring tapped against the glass as she angled against the window to see farther down the bustling avenue. Now she was getting married and she’d have a home of her own and be able to determine her own mind as Mrs. Phillip Saltonstall.