The Wedding Dress(66)

“It’s been raining . . . the streets are muddy.” Emily dashed up the stairs with a backward glance at Molly before Mother could probe further.

“Would you like some cake, Mrs. Canton?” she heard Molly say. “The last piece of chocolate is under the tin.”

Oh, thank you, Molly. Mother would do just about anything for chocolate cake. Especially yours.

Emily washed and changed, her thoughts wandering to a thick slice of jellied bread, when she heard the front bell chime. She peered out her window. A police wagon waited in the circular drive. Father? Or . . . Big Mike? Mother was right, she was going to get someone hurt by going to the coloreds’ district.

Emily hurried from her room and down the stairs.

“Good evening, we’re sorry to disturb you.” Somber male voices swept through the foyer.

“Officers.” Jefferson held the door open for them. “How may I assist you?”

Emily stepped off the bottom stair into the foyer. “Is everything all right?” She gazed from one officer to the next. “It’s not my father, is it? Or Big Mike?”

“No, ma’am.” The officers exchanged a joyless glance. “We’re here to see you.”

“What’s all this?” Mother came out from the kitchen. “Officers, please, won’t you come in? Can I offer you tea or coffee? Mr. Canton isn’t home but we do expect him soon.”

“Ma’am.” The tall one with serious blue eyes removed his cap. “We’re here on official business.”

“What sort of official business?” Mother faced them, hands grasped at her waist.

“We have a warrant for the arrest of Miss Emily Canton.”

Emily froze, her heart careening to a stop. “Me?” The word exhaled on a thin, weak breath.

“Arrest my daughter? On what charge?” Mother stepped in between Emily and the officers. Emily collapsed to the step with a thud. Jefferson pressed his hand against her back, kneeling on the step beside her.

“Violation of the law, ma’am. She was seen down at the Gaston Hotel this afternoon. The charge is fraternizing with the coloreds, threatening to stir up insurrection.”

“Insurrection.” Mother stomped her well-heeled foot. “Taffy Hayes is my seamstress. Are you saying we can’t do business with my seamstress because she’s colored?”

“Not when it’s believed trouble’s brewing. There are some who want to remind us whites and coloreds are separate but equal.”

“So they make a spectacle of my daughter?” Mother’s words fired like a Fourth-of-July canon.

Emily clung to Jefferson as the tall, leading officer produced a warrant. She tried to read the document but the words simply swam. Mother snatched it from the officer.

“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it.”

“Miss, you’ll have to come with us.” The officer reached for Emily but Jefferson held on. Don’t let me go, Jefferson.

The officer apologized with his eyes as he wrenched Emily from his grasp. “Mother?”

“This is an outrage.” Mother followed them down the porch stairs. “Jefferson, telephone Mr. Canton’s office. Now.”

Emily tripped toward the wagon, her legs out of her command, the toes of her shoes dragging along the pavement, her thoughts like dead leaves in the fall wind.

Mother ran alongside. “Now you listen to me.” She gripped Emily’s face in her hands. “You are a Canton with Woodward blood. Be strong and courageous.” Mother’s eyes glowed with anger at the officers. “I’m sure these men will treat you as the lady you are. I’m right behind you. Jefferson will drive me in the car.”

“Oh, Mother.” Emily collapsed against the officer, going limp as he steered her into the wagon. “I just wanted a wedding gown that made me feel free, and loved. Beautiful. Like a princess.”

“Emily, be strong.” Mother raised her up straight, shaking her shoulders. “This will be over by dinner.”

The officer helped Emily into the backseat of the wagon. When the driver chirruped to the horses, Emily’s hot tears burned a trail from her eyes to her chin, dropping like hot coals to her icy hands.





Chapter Seventeen



Charlotte





The waiting room needed more light. Why did architects insist that grieving, scared, nervous people sit in the dark? Charlotte walked to the window overlooking the city, grateful for the lingering sunlight claiming the early evening hours.

She arrived at the hospital the same time as Mr. and Mrs. Rose and Katherine. While they talked with the doctor, she stood by the chairs, waiting. The brothers, David, Jack, and Chase, were on their way, bringing their bikes home from Huntsville.

Tim was wheeled into surgery, and in a punctuated silence, Charlotte waited with the family for more news, making small talk, trying to piece together details from David’s scattered, anguished call.

Hit a double. Came down wrong. Landed on another bike. Tim’s bike went airborne and landed on him. He was pinned between the two in a painful heap.

The news made Charlotte crazy. Why did grown men behave as if they were invincible boys? Mrs. Rose, who had lived though many accidents with her sons, patted Charlotte’s arm.

“Tim will be fine.”