The Wedding Dress

by Rachel Hauck

  The cab turned onto 5th Avenue North and pulled up to the hotel. Dark eyes stared at them from the street corner.

  The driver held open her door. “I’ll wait for you, miss.”

  “Thank you. I won’t be long.” Mr. Oddfellow offered her his arm again. Emily hesitated, then wove her hand through as she stepped down. His arm was taut and warm.

  “Cakewalk Rag” played from an opened window across the avenue. Boys on bicycles raced down the sidewalk. A shop owner stepped out of his store to scold them for nearly running over his vegetable tables. The atmosphere buzzed with music and popped with laughter.

  “Not what you expected?”

  Heat singed Emily’s cheeks. She stole a glance at her escort. “I’m not sure what I expected.” But the gay atmosphere felt safe and homey.

  “Don’t you know?” he said, a rise in his voice. “If once you’ve been bound, your freedom is much, much sweeter.”

  “But they’re not entirely free.”

  “Ah, in body no, but in spirit, yes.” He shifted his blue eyes from the street scene to her face. Emily’s heart churned.

  “See here,” she said. “How do you know so much?”

  Instead of answering, Mr. Oddfellow walked Emily into the hotel, asked for Miss Taffy Hayes, then made polite conversation with the young clerk behind the hotel desk.

  After a few minutes, a tall, slender colored woman wearing a tailored, vibrant skirt and blouse appeared in the lobby. “May I help you?”

  “Miss Hayes?” Emily offered her hand. “My name is Emily Canton.”

  “I know who you are. The Saltonstall fiancée.” Emily took in Taffy’s lean, dark features. Her intense brown eyes observed her with a hawklike regard. “I’ve seen you in the papers.”

  “I hear you’re a dressmaker. One of the best.”

  “One of the best?” She smiled. “I don’t know about that, but I do take pride in my work. The Lord has gifted me.”

  “I’d like you to make my wedding gown.” Emily stepped toward her, focused, the heat churning in her soul, rising. A thin, clammy sheen moistened her forehead and neck. “Name the price.”

  “I knew you’d come.”

  Emily glanced around at Mr. Oddfellow. He’d escorted her here. Led her into something surreal. Bewitched her. But he was gone. Instead, a round-faced, brown-eyed man stood in his place.

  “Welcome to my establishment, Miss Canton. I’m A. G. Gaston.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Gaston. It’s a pleasure.”

  “Please, make yourself at home.”

  Taffy waited and when Emily turned around, she was pierced by her steady gaze. She watched Emily as if trying to gauge her fortitude.

  “I’ll make a gown for you, but there’ll be trouble.”

  “For you or me?”

  “Both, I imagine. But I’m used to trouble. Are you?”

  The exchange seeped into Emily, through her skin and into her sinews and bones, swirling hot around her heart.

  “I don’t know, Miss Hayes. I just have a sense you are to make my dress.”

  “Do you have courage?” Taffy started down the hall. “Come, I have an idea for you.”

  “For me?” Emily couldn’t lift her foot to follow. She felt nailed in place. “How?”

  “Like I said, I knew you’d come.” Finally, Taffy smiled. A beautiful, perfect, white smile. “Do you have courage?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? I want courage. I admire courage.” Emily jerked forward, ripping her foot from its invisible anchor on the hardwood.

  “All right then.” Taffy embraced Emily with one arm as they moved down the hall.

  Taffy had expected her. Emily shivered at the notion. She had little experience with God intercepting her path or the path of anyone she knew. Most of her family and friends lived simple, quiet Christian lives of doing good and filling church pews for an hour or two on Sunday. But this? God coming to her in the middle of the week?

  But as her footfalls tapped the floor in unison with Taffy’s, Emily had the holy sensation of being touched by the Divine.

  “Ay, Emily, where have you been?” Molly met her at the kitchen door as a friend, not a servant.

  “Meeting frightfully interesting people, Molly.” Emily removed her hat, still carrying the glorious glow of her afternoon with Taffy. “I found a dressmaker for my wedding gown.”

  “I thought the high and mighty Mrs. Caruthers made your gown.”

  “It was ghastly. Where are Father and Mother?” Emily tucked her hat under her arm and bent to see her reflection in the shadowed part of the window, palming her hair into place, repinning loose ends.

  “In the library. Your mother arrived home hours ago. She’s been fretting, wondering what happened to you.”

  “I went to 5th Avenue to see Taffy Hayes.” Emily squeezed Molly’s hand.

  “You don’t say, miss. By yourself?”

  “Yes . . . well, no.” Emily opened the icebox for the bottle of milk. “This odd gentleman with a purple ascot escorted me.”

  “You went into the colored district with a strange man?” Molly set a glass on the cutting table for Emily, then took the bottle of milk and poured for her.

  “I suppose I did.” Emily pictured Mr. Oddfellow as she raised her glass. “He seemed harmless. Safe. Like I’d known him my whole life.” Or he’d known her. Emily took a long cool drink. “I’d best go speak to Mother and Father.”

  Pushing through the kitchen door, she took the long hall to the library. She’d intended to meet with Taffy briefly, but once she’d shown Emily the sketches she’d drawn with her in mind, minutes turned into hours.

  She was grateful the cabbie waited for her. Father had a large payment to settle with him.

  Outside the library door, Emily inhaled, once for courage and again for confidence. “Mother, Father, good afternoon.”

  Mother stood, setting aside her book. “Good afternoon? It’s nearly supper. Where have you been, Emily? When I left you on the corner, you were heading to Newman’s for ice cream.”

  “You worried us, daughter.” Father shoved away from his desk and walked around, taking his timepiece from his vest pocket. He supported Mother in her inquiry but winked at Emily when Mother wasn’t looking.

  “I went on an errand.”

  “Where? What sort of errand?” Mother said with a look at Father.

  “If you must know—” Emily lifted her chin but not so high she gazed at Father and Mother down her nose.

  “Sir.” Jefferson knocked as he entered. “Mr. Phillip Saltonstall to see you.”

  Phillip barged in without waiting for an invitation. “What’s this I hear, Emily? You went to Gaston Hotel? You were inside for hours. What in heaven’s name were you doing there?”

  Mother gasped, reaching back for the cloth-covered arm of her chair as she melted into the seat. “Phillip, how on earth?”

  “Emily, is this true? Did you go to the colored business district?” Father reached over and patted Mother’s hand. “There, there, dear. Emily must have a sound reason.”

  “You went to see that dressmaker, didn’t you?” Mother pulled away from Father, her jaw set, ire forming in her eyes.

  Emily stepped back, into Phillip. The confidence and courage she’d inhaled before entering the library evaporated. “I did, yes. Miss Taffy Hayes. She is going to make my gown.”

  “You have a gown.” Mother’s taut tone belied the decorum of a Southern lady. “We’ve paid Mrs. Caruthers, Emily. Her gown cost your father seven hundred dollars.”

  “Taffy’s gown, along with dresses for all the bridesmaids, will only cost five hundred.”

  “Five hundred dollars. For all those dresses?” Mother grabbed Emily by the arms. “I’ll not have you walk down the aisle in a shoddy dress with the seams coming undone.”

  “Mother’s right. You get what you pay for, Emily.” Father didn’t wink at her this time.

  “Father, Miss Hayes will not deliver shoddy work. You should’ve see
n the designs she sketched for my gown. Before I even arrived.” Emily absently rubbed the tingle from her arm.

  “Excuse me.” Phillip interjected his presence in the room. “To devil with the price of wedding dresses. Your daughter, my fiancée, spent three hours this afternoon with a Negro woman, in her establishment, in their business district. The news is all over the Highlands and Red Mountain by now. What were you thinking, Emily? You could’ve been raped or kidnapped.”

  “Raped or kidnapped? By whom? Good men, fathers and sons, trying to earn a decent living? I found the people kind and cordial, good folks just like us. Are you telling me Birmingham society is whispering a sigh of relief for my safety? Or because they are disappointed I wasn’t maimed?”

  “They’re whispering over your utter stupidity.”

  “Phillip,” Father said. “Let’s calm down, get our wits about us.”

  “My wits are fine, Howard.” Phillip paced in short circles, his hands on his waist, holding back his blazer. “I’m not so certain about your daughter.”

  “Insult me again, Phillip, and I shall leave the room.”

  “What were you thinking, going to the colored district? Convicts work there, right downtown where you were.”

  “Chained together, overseen by men with guns and whips. I could’ve walked down that street naked and been safer with those colored convicts than with those white guards, I tell you. And dare I say half the smarmy businessmen of Birmingham.”

  “Emily.” Mother looked as if she might faint.

  “Phillip’s the one who brought up rape, Mother.”

  “You mock me.” Phillip faced Emily, his expression stern and set. “I’ll not have you going about the city, into the colored district, because you get a wild idea about a new frock. We are the Saltonstalls.”

  Emily sank slowly into the horsehair parlor chair. “I meant no disrespect to the Saltonstall name, Phillip.” She fidgeted, wrapping her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Nor to the Canton name, Father.”

  “But you didn’t think, Phillip said.”

  Emily snapped her eyes to him. He must stop insulting her. One more time and she’d—

  “Tell them the rest, Emily,” he said, taking a cigarillo from his waistcoat pocket. “Tell them you didn’t go alone.”

  “Indeed I didn’t.” Emily stood as Phillip prepared to strike his match. Gently she cupped her hands around his, took the match, and lit it for him. Smiling, gazing into his eyes, she touched the flame to his cigarillo. “I had an escort.”

  “A male escort.” Phillip lowered his lit cigarillo, holding on to the cold glint in his eyes. Emily blew out the match, squeezing his hand. She didn’t know much about men, but she’d learned a few things about Phillip. Without fail, he responded to her touch. To her batting eyelashes. “Y-you worsened the situation, Emily.” Phillip’s handsome features softened. “When you travel with a man we do not know.”

  “Who was your escort?” Father asked, his tone low and steady.

  “A kind old man I met on the street corner after Mother took the trolley. I called him Mr. Oddfellow because he never gave me his name.” Because his name was divine. Something beyond earth. At least that’s what Emily surmised on the ride home.

  “Emily, what has gotten into you?” Mother’s tone sounded exasperated. “It must be the stress of the wedding.” She slipped her arms around Emily’s shoulders. “Maybe you should go lie down. I’ll have Molly bring up a cold cloth for your head.”

  “I don’t need to lie down, Mother.” Emily turned to Phillip. “How did you know I went to the colored district? How did you know about Mr. Oddfellow?”

  “I have my ways.” Phillip dragged on his cigarillo so the ashes on the end burned a bright orange. “But if you must know, I saw you with my own eyes.”

  “Were you following me?” Emily gently pushed him around to face her. “For what reason?”

  Father stepped close. “Phillip?”

  “I have people, friends of the Saltonstalls, employees and workers. They watch out for us.”

  “But you said your eyes saw me.” Emily narrowed into him.

  He grinned, a cocky, sideways grin that caused bubbles to rise in Emily’s middle. “I saw you enter the cab, alone, with your Mr. Oddfellow. He wore a hideous purple ascot.”

  “What were you doing downtown at two o’clock in the afternoon?” Emily said.

  “I was on an errand.”

  Mother sighed and collapsed into her chair. “Was everyone on errands this afternoon that took them to another part of town? Howard?”

  “Not me, Maggie. I was in my office as usual.”

  “Phillip, what kind of errand?” An image of Emmeline filled her thoughts. “There’s nothing in that part of town but a print shop and furniture store. You send your people to do menial tasks.”

  “I occasionally do my own bidding. Do you think I just sit in my office and make demands of others?” He planted the cigarillo between his lips, smoke puffing about his face, his chest rising and falling with each shallow puff.

  “If you saw me, then why didn’t you call out to me?”

  “It was too late.”

  “Emily, stop badgering the man.” Mother stood, smoothing her hand over her skirt, plumping her hair. “I don’t know why you have to be so defensive.”

  “And I don’t know why you have to defend him instead of your own daughter.”

  “All right now.” Father stepped between Emily and Phillip. “This sounds like a young couple’s quarrel. Phillip, Emily is a fine, levelheaded girl. Even more so than some men I know.”

  Thank you, Father. Emily glared at Phillip. He was hiding something. Something deviant.

  “Phillip, I’m sorry for the trouble Emily may have caused you.”

  “Not to worry, Mrs. Canton. We have connections. We’ll make sure any rumors are squelched.” Phillip sauced up his grin and Emily felt weak. When he shot her a brown-eyed wink, she breathed deep, tucking in her shirtwaist and smoothing a wild hair away from her face.

  “Good, good.” Mother patted Phillip’s arm. “Now, Emily, I want to settle the issue of the dress. You will wear the gown Mrs. Caruthers made. As will your bridesmaids, I don’t care the cost. That is the end of it.” Mother started for the door, hitting the carpet hard with her thick heels. “Howard, I’ll see to supper. Phillip, you’ll dine with us, of course.”

  “Thank you, but not tonight, Mrs. Canton. I’m otherwise engaged. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Otherwise engaged? On a Thursday evening?” Emily watched as Father closed the library door behind him and Mother. “Are you going to the Phoenix Club?”

  Hues of the pink and orange sunset broke through the shade tree limbs and settled in the tense pockets of the library. The breeze snuck through the open window and inspected Father’s papers, lifting them from his desk, then back down again.

  “I’ve made arrangements with some friends. Wainscot and Powell. We’re having a gentlemen’s night. I’ll not have many once we’re married. We’re coming up on the social season, then the holidays, and our wedding will be here before we know it. This might be my last chance.”

  Wainscot, the friend of willowy Emmeline. “I see. I didn’t know you regarded marriage as such a killjoy. Whatever made you propose in the first place? You’re getting married, not being carted off to prison.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Emily, and you know it.”

  “I know nothing but you barging in here and accusing me of all kinds of misbehavior. I know nothing but you dancing in the shadows with—”

  “Not that again. We’ve been over and over the dance with Emmeline. She was feeling faint and wanted fresh air.” Phillip tightened his words. “Do you believe you’re marrying a fool, Emily? If I did fancy that narrow waif, and I do mean if, I’d hardly carry on with her at my own engagement party.”

  “No, I suppose not.” See, she was being girlish and immature. How could she doubt him?

  Phillip’s eyes flashed as he
grabbed Emily and pressed himself into her, drawing her up on her toes, kissing her with a consuming fervor. He held her so tight she couldn’t inhale. Or escape his hold.

  His lips explored hers until Emily couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began. “Come away with me tonight, Emily. Be with me.”

  “Phillip—” She pressed her palms against his chest. “Remember your good Christian upbringing. I’ll be yours soon enough. Nothing good will come from sneaking off with you.”

  “Besides appeasing my hunger?” The fierceness of his tone cooled Emily’s passions.

  “Phillip, I’m not a two-bit dance hall girl. We’ll be married soon enough.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right.” He released her and fell back against the window. “I apologize, my love.”

  “Goodness, what will come over you when I’m completely yours and we’re not arguing but speaking sweet nothings?” Emily bent forward to see his face, smiling.

  “Yes, well . . .” He stared at the cigarillo burning between his fingers, reaching for Father’s ashtray. He dashed out the smoking stick. “I must be going.” Phillip took her hand into his. “But, Emily, do not go to the Gaston Hotel again. There are laws, dear, laws we must abide by, whether we like them or not.”

  So, the conversation had come full circle. Emily withdrew her hand from his and moved behind the wingback chair.

  “Do you know why I was so long at Miss Hayes’s this afternoon? Because she felt like a sister to me. As if I’d known her my whole life.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What on earth could you have in common with a colored dressmaker?”

  “Fashion and fabric. Books. Music. Jesus. We spoke of fall afternoons and love for our families. We’re both sad over the injustices in our city, with chain gangs, with women’s votes, with separate but equal. We talked about weddings, marriage, and babies.”

  Phillip laughed, slipping his arm around Emily and twirling her around the room. “Now you’re talking. Marriage and babies.”

  As the issues of her heart came alive with her words, Emily felt open and vulnerable to Phillip. Though she’d known him her whole life, she’d never expressed her fears and dreams to him. Or shared her thoughts on the world, people, faith.