The Wedding Dress(53)

The skirt, or what Taffy had fashioned so far, just barely touched her shoes in front while the back swept around to a petite train.

“I have in my mind to add two flounces over the skirt, like this.” Taffy demonstrated with a run of fabric. “Sort of swag down to give the skirt some character and depth. I figured an empire waist will accentuate your figure”—she smiled softly—“and I’ll sew it up with pearls.”

“And the bodice?” Mother’s condescending tone drew a sharp glance from Emily.

“Same material as the skirt but with lace. The sleeves will be lace and silk. I do love to work in silk. My, my, Mrs. Canton, Miss Canton is as pretty as a Gibson Girl, even more so, I declare, with that thick hair and hourglass figure.”

“The gown is lovely, Taffy,” Mother said. “What I can see of it.”

“I’m glad you like it. I haven’t sewn for a—” Taffy pursed her lips. “For a wedding in a while.”

“What color gowns do you sew for colored brides, Taffy?”

“Emily.” Mother snapped her shoulders back, dropping her folded arms.

Emily looked at her mother in the mirror. “I mean no disrespect. I’ve never been around a colored girl before.”

“Colored girls what can afford a wedding dress, and there ain’t many, like white satin or taffeta. Some choose ivory. Most of them get married in their church dress. If they have a little bit of money, they might get married in a new walking suit.”

There was no envy in her voice. Just a resolve, a resolution, to the way life was for colored girls in Birmingham.

“Most of the poor girls in this city marry in their church dresses,” Mother said, as if to minimize Taffy’s confession. “It’s not restricted to coloreds.”

“I didn’t say otherwise, Mrs. Canton.” Taffy stood back, taking in the shimmering fabric. “Mr. Saltonstall will be weak-kneed when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

Mother ran her hand along the skirt, taking in the dropped neckline. “It’ll make more of an evening dress.” Her gaze lowered to the straight skirt. “Maybe you can change into it for the reception.”

“Mother, no—”

“Emily, we can’t tell Mrs. Caruthers ‘never mind,’ now.”

“Caroline Caruthers? She’s a fine seamstress. We were taught by the same woman, Madam Sinclair.”

“See there, Mother.” Emily ran her hand over the silk waist. “Mrs. Caruthers’s dress makes me feel as if I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’ll suffocate in it. Faint on Father’s arm.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Emily.” Mother walked to the sewing room door. “Taffy, please excuse us. I’d like a moment with my daughter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Taffy walked to the door with her measuring tape around her neck, stabbing the straight pins into the cushion strapped around her wrist.

“There’s cake and milk in the kitchen,” Mother called after her. “Tell Molly I sent you down.”

Emily stepped off the stool when Taffy closed the door. “Don’t, Mother. I know what you’re going to say.”

“Then why are you behaving like this?”

Emily walked to the window and peered out. She wasn’t sure she knew the answer. In the yard below her window was the tree where Daniel surprised her two months ago.

Since seeing him at Newman’s, she thought of him now and then, just memories she’d shove aside. But with her next breath, Emily knew she missed him. Something about the day, about being fitted with Taffy’s dress, stirred her longing for him.

When she looked at Taffy, listened to her talk, Emily felt a kinship with the older colored woman. More than just a common faith in Jesus, but a sense of feeling . . . trapped. Locked in by society, expectation, and the wants of others.

“Emily.” Mother touched her arm and bent her head to see Emily’s face. “Tell me, dear, what are you thinking to have that expression on your face?”

Smiling, Emily tapped the windowpane. “Remember when we first moved here and Howard Jr. and I dug up the backyard to make a fort?”

“Mercy, I do.” Mother pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’d just joined the garden club and was to host my first meeting. My prize lawn and roses were destroyed.”

“We were terrified.” Emily laughed, pointing to a far willow tree. “We hid up there trying to decide if we were going to run away or not. We just knew Father would strap us.”

Mother smiled. “But you two didn’t mean it. I knew you didn’t.”

“You told Father you handled it and he merely gave us a stern look at dinner and reminded us to behave, that we lived among a different kind of people.”

“Something we can never forget. Something you must remember now, Emily. Is it our society that’s bothering you? Our friends?”

“I do admit, Mother, it feels as if you and Phillip, even Father, are trying to fit me in a mold so society will like me.” Emily moved away from the window, the soft swish of the silk around her legs. “It’s my wedding. I want to wear a gown I love. I don’t care if the seamstress is the one the Woodward or Campbell girls used. Or if she’s colored.”

“Now, you listen to me.” Mother’s heels thudded as she crossed the floor. “You will wear the gown Mrs. Caruthers made, and that is the end of it. As soon as the wedding is over, you may change into this gown Taffy is making.”