The Wedding Dress(64)

Charlotte sat back—no words she could conjure would fit the moment. Then, at last, “Hillary, I have the dress.”

“If you opened the trunk, then I guess you do. Please tell me you’re not getting married in it.”

“No, I’m not getting married. But the gown is . . . like new.” Charlotte started for another muffin but drew her hand back. “It’s like it’s never been worn.”

“I wore it, Charlotte.” Hillary eyed her, brows raised.

“Did you alter it?”

“Didn’t have to. That was the strangest thing. My mother and grandmother couldn’t get over it. The dress fit like a glove. Like it was made for me.” Hillary cradled her mug against her chest. “The style was timeless. I loved it. Tell me, does it still have an empire waist with pearls and—well, I guess it does if it’s been in the trunk all this time.”

“Yes, it does. It’s perfect.”

“I wanted to burn that dress. But Daddy wouldn’t let me. I was just about to set fire to the trunk, the dress, and the dog tags when he caught me. I was crazy with grief. I didn’t even get to see Joel’s dead body, to kiss his cold, blue lips. I would’ve too. I wouldn’t have cared if his spirit wasn’t really there. After the funeral I fired up the blowtorch and welded the lock. I didn’t want anyone to ever, ever wear such a sad gown again.” Her gaze snapped to Charlotte. “I never thought I’d find love again. Then I met my husband, Greg, right after I turned forty. He saved me. I tell you, he saved me.” Hillary opened her fingers and peered at the dog tags. “It’s incredibly hard to be wedded to a ghost.”

“Hillary, where did the dress come from? Do you have any idea?”

“The house. The trunk and the dress belonged to the house.”

“To the house?” Charlotte turned slightly in her chair for a better angle at Hillary.

“I found it in the house. I left it in the house. It belonged to the house. How did you find it?”

“I bought it at the Ludlow Auction. Up on Red Mountain.”

“Forty-four years later, that dang trunk makes its way up to Red Mountain.” Hillary squeezed her fingers around the dog tags. “We moved when the house was razed to make room for a shopping center. I never asked Mama what she did with the trunk. I was gone, half crazy by then.”

“So you have no idea how the trunk wound up at the Ludlow auction forty years later?”

“None whatsoever.”

Dead end. And she’d been doing so well. Charlotte jumped when her phone broke the contemplative moment. She fumbled for it, not recognizing the number that paraded across the screen. “Hello?”

“Charlotte, it’s Jared.” Dr. Hotstuff. “Dixie gave me your number.”

“Jared, is everything all right? Is it Dix? The shop?” Charlotte turned cold in the warm, bright room.

“Dix is fine. She’s too stubborn to get hurt. The shop is fine as far as I know. But again, you left Dix in charge.” He sighed in a way that raised chills on Charlotte’s arm. “I just arrived for my shift and, Charlotte, it’s Tim. He’s been airlifted to the hospital. I thought you’d want to know.”





Chapter Sixteen



Emily





Taffy slipped the final fitted gown over Emily’s head. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation of warm rain on a hot summer afternoon wash down her arms and swish into a pool about her feet.

“I don’t know that I feel altogether right about this, Emily. Your mother seemed rather insistent about wearing Caroline Caruthers’s gown.”

“I feel perfectly right about this. I’m the bride. Not my mother. Isn’t this my day?”

“You’re not so na?ve as to believe it’s not about families too.”

“No, but this is a simple little thing. I’m not stubborn, Taffy. But this is my wedding day, my wedding dress. I’m. Choosing. This. Gown.” Emily gazed into the seamstress’s mirrors. “I feel loved in this dress.”

“And is your man the one who loves you?” Taffy knelt to measure the hem, coughing over her shoulder. She’d canceled her visit to the Cantons’ due to sickness. So Emily found Big Mike and made the trip to 5th Avenue. “Miss Emily, hold still so I can get this done. And get you on out of here. I don’t want anyone catching us together, getting you in trouble. Plus, I don’t want you carrying my sickness to your mama’s house.”

“I won’t get in trouble.” Emily smoothed her hand over the bodice. Yes, her man loved her. Didn’t he? The dress was beautiful. Shiny, silky, and if possible . . . “Taffy, I do declare this dress appears to beam light.”

“I sewed it with gold thread.”

“Gold?” Emily examined the hem of the fitted lace sleeve. “What on earth? Real gold?”

“I get it here and there. I save it from some piecework I do. Things can be had in this city, even to a colored, if she wants it and knows how to get it. Sometimes I just ask the Lord to bring me what I need.”

“What did you ask Him for while sewing my dress, Taffy?”

“To bring you what you need.” Taffy patted Emily’s leg. “Turn so I can keep pinning.” She bent away again, coughing, her chest rattling.