The Wedding Dress(52)

Sliding off the sofa, she stood by the dress form, shoulder to shoulder, wiggling her toes under the hem. The skirt length fell to the top of her toes.

Maybe if she tried it on, it would fit. Maybe. But she didn’t dare. Her heart didn’t need the hope of a wedding or an amazing, storied gown. Charlotte moved away from the dress. It had to be a second or third generation, handed down from mother to daughter. The timeless style and the enduring fabric were incredible.

What she needed was another clue. But Charlotte was horrible at mysteries. She hated games. Mama had loved them because Mama had always won.

She could go through all the Millers in the Birmingham phone book. Might take her months to call all the names. There had to be over a thousand Millers crowded together across four pages. She’d looked for the obvious, Joel Miller or Joel C. Miller. Maybe there was a senior or a junior. But in all of Jefferson County, there was no Joel Miller.

Oooh, could there be something else in the trunk? Charlotte dashed back to her room and knelt to the floor. One by one, she removed the pieces of tissue paper, smoothing, folding, and stacking them. She felt around the bottom like Tim had done, knocking on the sides of the smooth and fragrant cedar.

When she found nothing, she called Bethany. “Was there anything else in the sachet?”

No, nothing else. Charlotte looked in the linen bag where she found the gown. Nothing. She shook the piece as if the threads were purposefully keeping her from answers. Then, on an impulse, she reached deep and turned the bag inside out.

A rectangular business-sized card floated free and landed by her foot. It was faded pink, with embossed magnolia petals in the corners and raised lettering across the middle. Mrs. Lewis’s Famous Pie Co. 2nd Avenue North. Downtown Birmingham.

Mrs. Lewis’s. Charlotte ran her finger over the letters. She knew this place. Tim did a fabulous remodel of the corner building that had once been the pie company.

He had turned it into an office space with upstairs lofts. Charlotte almost bought in there before she found her place in Homewood.

She auto-dialed Tim without considering the cost or implications. She needed answers. To sound this out.

“You know that building you remodeled on 2nd Avenue? You showed it to me when we walked downtown on New Year’s.” That had been a fun night, their sixth date but their first kiss. Standing under a string of red, blue, green, and orange lights.

“I remember.” He cleared his throat.

“Didn’t it used to be a bakery?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Lewis’s Famous—”

“Pie Company. Right. Gert used to talk about them.”

“My grandma worked there when she graduated high school. The Lewises also had the Lewis Bakery. So, what’s this sudden interest in Mrs. Lewis?”

“I found her card in the trunk. In the linen sack.” Charlotte waved it in the air as if Tim could see it.

“The plot thickens.” Now he sounded relaxed, fun.

“Tim, oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were busy. Are you busy?” Charlotte dropped down to her bed. Broken or not, talking to him always felt like home.

“I’d have told you if I was. So, you think Mrs. Lewis owned this dress?”

“Good question. Her daughter or granddaughter. And oh, I have dog tags.”

“Dog tags?”

“I know, crazy. I found them in the sachet.” Charlotte gave Tim the brief history, to which he whistled and said, “Man, that’s incredible. When I searched the sachet I found nothing. Weird.”

“Tim, do you think you can find out who owned the pie company building last? Or who might have worked there? Is there anything in the city records?”

“Yeah, there’s plenty of buying and selling info in the records. Let me see what I can do.”

“You’re my hero. Let me know.” Even in jest, the words “you’re my hero” carried a weight she’d not intended. She coughed, slid her foot over her polished hardwood, and figured to end the conversation quick. “Thanks. Call me if you find out anything. Or e-mail. No rush. I know you’re busy.”

“I’ll check tomorrow.”

Hanging up, Charlotte wandered back into the living room and tucked the pie company card in the empire waist’s sash. She dropped to the sofa and pointed her phone at the dress. “I’m going to help you find your way home. You just wait and see.”



Emily

In the upstairs sewing room of the Canton home, Emily stood on a stool in her bloomers and corset while Taffy Hayes slipped the unfinished gown over her head. Mother stood vanguard, arms crossed, lips pursed.

The western windows were ablaze with the glory of the setting sun, which warmed the chilly October air in the room.

“I just love to see the fabric against a girl’s skin.” Taffy’s slender, dark hands tucked and pinned with quick skill. “What do you think, Mrs. Canton? This ivory satin is lovely with her skin tone and the rich chestnut color of her hair.”

Taffy spoke so respectfully, kind and gentle. Not like that boisterous, arrogant Caruthers woman.

When Taffy stepped aside, Emily caught her reflection in the mirror. The dress, her wedding dress, came to life. This was exactly how she pictured herself as a bride. The gown was light, easy on her shoulders. The round neck sat just below her collarbones. Not up under her chin, desperate to cut off her wind.