The Wedding Dress(47)

Wainscot, the friend of willowy Emmeline. “I see. I didn’t know you regarded marriage as such a killjoy. Whatever made you propose in the first place? You’re getting married, not being carted off to prison.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Emily, and you know it.”

“I know nothing but you barging in here and accusing me of all kinds of misbehavior. I know nothing but you dancing in the shadows with—”

“Not that again. We’ve been over and over the dance with Emmeline. She was feeling faint and wanted fresh air.” Phillip tightened his words. “Do you believe you’re marrying a fool, Emily? If I did fancy that narrow waif, and I do mean if, I’d hardly carry on with her at my own engagement party.”

“No, I suppose not.” See, she was being girlish and immature. How could she doubt him?

Phillip’s eyes flashed as he grabbed Emily and pressed himself into her, drawing her up on her toes, kissing her with a consuming fervor. He held her so tight she couldn’t inhale. Or escape his hold.

His lips explored hers until Emily couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began. “Come away with me tonight, Emily. Be with me.”

“Phillip—” She pressed her palms against his chest. “Remember your good Christian upbringing. I’ll be yours soon enough. Nothing good will come from sneaking off with you.”

“Besides appeasing my hunger?” The fierceness of his tone cooled Emily’s passions.

“Phillip, I’m not a two-bit dance hall girl. We’ll be married soon enough.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” He released her and fell back against the window. “I apologize, my love.”

“Goodness, what will come over you when I’m completely yours and we’re not arguing but speaking sweet nothings?” Emily bent forward to see his face, smiling.

“Yes, well . . .” He stared at the cigarillo burning between his fingers, reaching for Father’s ashtray. He dashed out the smoking stick. “I must be going.” Phillip took her hand into his. “But, Emily, do not go to the Gaston Hotel again. There are laws, dear, laws we must abide by, whether we like them or not.”

So, the conversation had come full circle. Emily withdrew her hand from his and moved behind the wingback chair.

“Do you know why I was so long at Miss Hayes’s this afternoon? Because she felt like a sister to me. As if I’d known her my whole life.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What on earth could you have in common with a colored dressmaker?”

“Fashion and fabric. Books. Music. Jesus. We spoke of fall afternoons and love for our families. We’re both sad over the injustices in our city, with chain gangs, with women’s votes, with separate but equal. We talked about weddings, marriage, and babies.”

Phillip laughed, slipping his arm around Emily and twirling her around the room. “Now you’re talking. Marriage and babies.”

As the issues of her heart came alive with her words, Emily felt open and vulnerable to Phillip. Though she’d known him her whole life, she’d never expressed her fears and dreams to him. Or shared her thoughts on the world, people, faith.

“You’re trembling.” Phillip stopped turning about, his voice soft and a bit bewildered.

“Phillip, do you truly want to marry me?” She kept her right hand locked in his, her left arm looped about his neck. “Do we truly know each other?”

“Emily, oh, sweet Emily.” Phillip cupped the back of her head and kissed her forehead. “You’re something else, Emily Canton. Of course I want to marry you. But I must stand by my own conviction. I can’t have my fiancée going to a colored man’s hotel or working with a colored dressmaker. People talk. It’s bad for business.”

“I won’t change my mind. Miss Hayes—Taffy—is making my gown. Phillip, it’s beautiful. The one Mrs. Caruthers made is horrid.”

“Then if you don’t care about me or yourself, consider Miss Hayes and old man Gaston.” Phillip lowered his hands, letting Emily go. “People will think you’re breaking the law, maybe even stirring up the Negros against the whites.”

“That’s outlandish. Why would I do such a thing?”

“You went to a suffrage meeting, didn’t you?”

“Suffrage is not about stirring up riots.” Emily paced the room. “What is wrong with people?”

“Nothing. We simply like our boundaries and we have the community and the greater good to consider. Phillip and Emily Saltonstall can make great strides in Birmingham if we play the game right.”

“I’m sorry, Phillip. I didn’t realize how much it would upset you and your business.” Emily fit her head against his shoulder as he smoothed his hand down the length of her spine. “I’ll not go to the Gaston Hotel again.”

“That’s my good girl.” Phillip lifted her chin with the tip of his finger and lightly brushed his lips over hers. “I came in angry but, Emily, you make me forget myself.”

Emily shied away from his second kiss, pressing her cheek to his chest. Emily had experienced a bit of heaven on earth in the company of the seamstress and she’d not deviate from her course. If she couldn’t go to Taffy, she’d have Big Mike bring Taffy here. To Highland Avenue.