The Wedding Dress(87)

She didn’t know what or who to believe. Whirling out of Father’s library, Emily held her head high though her heart sank. Rounding the broad staircase, she scurried up the stairs. Below, Father’s and Daniel’s voices reverberated in the hallway. Then Mr. Saltonstall’s and Phillip’s.

Pausing on the second-floor landing, Emily peered down into the foyer. Daniel hesitated in the doorway, looking up at her. One second, two, then three. His steady gaze burned the truth into her soul. Her fiancé had her arrested.

“Good night, Emily,” Daniel said. The closing thump of the front door vibrated in her chest, forming a wide canyon.

She spun toward the hall, starting for her room. If Daniel was right, then she’d be a fool to marry Phillip. But as much as she wanted to believe she was strong, like Mother insisted, and admit the truth, she was weak.

She’d given her word. Made a pledge. Not just to Phillip but to the Saltonstall family. The papers announced her engagement. Society waited. In ten days she’d become Mrs. Phillip Saltonstall.

Emily broke into a run. In her bedroom she sank to the floor. Oh, Lord, what have I done?





Chapter Twenty-Two



New Year’s Eve

Steady now, Emily. Last photograph.” The photographer ducked under the black cover and snapped the picture. The smell of sulfur burned Emily’s nostrils.

Mother and Father had turned Birmingham upside down to give her this day. Mr. and Mrs. Saltonstall ordered orchids from a greenhouse in Florida and decorated the Phoenix Club with grandeur and opulence.

So why did Emily feel as if she were slowly sinking down a long dark hole? She moved to the window and struggled to open it.

“Here, darling, what are you doing?” Her maid of honor, Bernadette, raised the window. “You’ll catch your death standing in the cold air.” She cupped her palm to Emily’s forehead. “You look pale.”

“I’m so warm in this gown, Bernadette.” After the confrontation with Daniel, Emily surrendered all fight. She’d marry Phillip in the gown Mother wanted. “I’m not sure I can make it down the aisle.” Emily stuck her head into the late-afternoon air. It was Sunday. A day for love.

Loving the Lord. Loving one another. Loving Phillip. Tonight she’d be Mrs. Phillip Saltonstall. Emily gave up her fight, and Phillip turned into a crooning, wooing dream after the altercation with Daniel. Kind, considerate, yielding. Tender.

He maintained his innocence. He did not have her arrested. Not now. Not ever. Emily drew a deep, cleansing breath. I believe you, Phillip. As for Emmeline? A thing of the past. Over. Done.

I believe you, Phillip. I do. I must.

The clank of chains drew her attention down the avenue. A line of colored men crossed the road, their stride burdened by the short length of their bonds.

Hopeless.

Emily stiffened at the sensation whirling in her chest and brought her head back inside. “Where’s Father?” She put on a wide smile for Bernadette. “He should be here. He’ll be giving his daughter away in a quarter of an hour.”

Bernadette grabbed Emily’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful bride, Emily. You rest. I’ll find your father.”

Emily sat on the settee in the church parlor of the First United Methodist Church, shivering but perspiring under her thick satin gown. She tugged at the high, tight collar. Oh, to be free of this monstrosity. Taffy’s dress hung on the coatrack in the corner, waiting for Emily after the wedding.

Just gazing at it made Emily’s heart yearn, feel free, feel light, feel loved.

If she could do it all again, she’d forego this pomp and circumstance and marry at home with only friends and family. Molly, not Bernadette, would be her maid of honor. But Emily couldn’t very well have the maid of the house stand up with her for the biggest society wedding of the season.

The door opened and Father stepped in, but not with a smile. Handsome and commanding in his black tuxedo and white carnation boutonniere, his high brow was furrowed and concern shadowed his eyes. “The church is brimming. The governor and his wife just arrived.”

“Oh, Father, mercy.” Emily’s pulse fluttered. “So many people making time for us on New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s a grand excuse for a party.” Father kissed Emily’s forehead and hugged her, then stood back, holding her at arm’s length. “You are the image of your mother when I married her. Beautiful and sweet.”

“Then why aren’t you smiling, Father?” Emily pinched his chin. “You’re not losing your girl but gaining another son.”

“Yes, I know.” Father walked to the window, his hands behind his back, and leaned out. “It’s a clear, cold night,” he called, his voice slightly raised. “A holy night.”

Emily laughed low. “Father, who are you talking to, the street sweepers?”

He turned from the window. “Do you remember Ward Willoughby? Perhaps not. You were but a baby girl when I met him. I’d just started my exchange business and was in need of capital. He came along and offered to partner with me.”

“I thought Uncle Lars became your investor.” Uncle Lars wasn’t really an uncle, just a wise man who believed in Father and invested in his future.

“He did, but not until I cut away from Willoughby.” Father paced the length of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped in front of Taffy’s dress draped over a dressmaker’s form. “This is the one from Mrs. Hayes? Quite becoming.”