The Bad Luck Wedding Dress

by Geralyn Dawson

  Fort Worth would love it.

  Doubts came back to plague her. If Fort Worth saw a wedding performed here today, that is. Jenny’s delay might well have nothing to do with McBride. Knowing her daughter, she might have decided not to go through with the marriage to Edmund. The girl had enough of her mother in her not to be entirely predictable, and Monique found that worrisome. Would she bail out on the plan entirely? Monique simply couldn’t say.

  At first she was surprised by Jenny’s apathy toward the idea of making arrangements for her wedding to Edmund. But after Trace McBride’s stirring defense of Jenny the night of their dinner at the Cosmopolitan Hotel, Monique had begun to suspect the reason. The snooping she had done since then had proved her suspicions correct.

  Her daughter had developed a tendresse for the saloonkeeper, and Monique suspected Mr. McBride wasn’t immune to her, either. The events of yesterday had proved it. First Jenny went tearing off after those girls, regardless of her expected attendance at the prewedding festivities. Then Mr. McBride hightailed it after her, even though all his chicks were safely in their nest. Even Edmund, as apathetic as he was about this marriage of convenience, had looked askance at that.

  Monique had kept her fingers crossed all afternoon and had felt real disappointment when Jenny rode back into town, her status unchanged. Still, Monique wouldn’t give up hope until the vows were said. She still had her secret weapon to fire.

  Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Perhaps the reason Jenny hadn’t arrived at the church on time was because she was being detained by Trace McBride. “I can only hope,” Monique said, rearranging a crooked blue satin ribbon bow.

  Such hopes were also the reason she’d decided to indulge her penchant for troublemaking and do everything within her power to insure this wedding reached its preferred conclusion. So was born her secret weapon. She’d concocted a sly, yet extreme, last-ditch effort to force her

  daughter and the man she fancied to confront the future they might forfeit due to their stubbornness.

  She’d invited the McBride Menaces to serve as bridesmaids at Jenny’s wedding.

  Unable to appreciate the subtlety of her plan, the girls had at first objected. But Monique, being Monique, had refused to accept their protests. Forging ahead, and with silent apologies to her daughter, she had commissioned a Dallas seamstress, a dill pickle of a woman named Baum-gardner, to create three attendants’ gowns. Twice during the past three weeks she’d arranged for the girls to be excused from school for a pair of clandestine dress fittings. The secrecy had appealed to the McBride children and finally garnered their cooperation.

  While she wouldn’t go so far as to say the girls looked forward to the wedding, they did admit their presence at the ceremony would guarantee their father’s attendance.

  Monique planned to take it from there.

  Assured that all was in readiness at the church, Monique left to make the short journey to Jenny’s house. A cool wind stung her cheeks while she walked, and Monique tried to tell herself the tears collecting in her eyes resulted from the chill.

  It wasn’t true, of course. Monique was feeling emotional for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the message she shortly must convey to her daughter. “Maybe Jenny and Mr. McBride have eloped,” she said, her hopes lifting. It would be a miracle, she knew, but it would save her from having to share a piece of news she desperately wished to keep to herself.

  Richard hadn’t made his train. Jenny’s father wouldn’t be here to escort his daughter down the aisle. She’d be brokenhearted.

  Monique wanted to strangle the man. He must have lost himself in his work one more time. Richard and his foolish experiments—she had half a notion to divorce him again over this one. No matter who the groom turned out to be, Jenny could have used her father’s support today of all days. But once again, Richard Fortune wouldn’t been there for her when she needed him.

  Monique hoped Trace McBride wasn’t a similar type of man.

  Reaching the waist-high picket fence that surrounded her daughter’s yard, Monique’s steps slowed. She took a deep, bracing breath, then flipped the gate’s metal latch. The hinges squeaked as the door swung wide, and Monique stepped toward the front porch.

  Please don’t be here. Please have eloped. She entered the cottage without knocking. “Jenny? Oh, Jenny! Are you here?”

  She walked straight to her daughter’s bedroom, where she breathed a sigh of disappointment. Jenny stood before her full-length mirror, the Bad Luck Wedding Dress fastened halfway up her back.

  Well, we still have my secret weapon. And if McBride lets us down, at least she’ll still have Edmund. She’ll have Fortune’s Design, which she says is all that matters.

  Monique knew differently, of course. But Jenny was young yet. She’d learn. Being a loving mother, Monique hoped her daughter could avoid the pain of education.

  She gazed at her offspring and smiled. “Oh, my. Don’t you make the most beautiful bride. We need to hurry, though. We’re almost out of time. The wedding is scheduled to begin in less than an hour.”

  TRACE LAY flat on his stomach on the cold attic floor, one arm stretched beneath Maribeth’s bed as he searched the smooth wooden planks for her shoe. His gritty eyes slowly closed, and he seriously considered never moving again. He was tired enough to sleep on barbed wire. The few hours of fitful sleep he’d managed weren’t nearly enough to keep a man going.

  “Is it there?”

  He opened his eyes to see Katrina kneeling beside him, her white organdy skirt hiked high in the effort to keep it off the floor. How the hell had the Menaces slipped this one past him? Bridal attendants.

  At a wedding he wanted no part of.

  Dust brought on a sneeze that caused him to hit his head on the bed. A thought sneaked in with the pain, and he realized he’d rather the Menaces choose another train to rob than carry the rose chain for Jenny Fortune and Edmund Wharton. Trace groaned.

  “Can’t you find it, Papa?”

  He turned his head and eyed his youngest daughter. Anxious furrows dotted Katrina’s brow. In that moment she reminded him of his grandmother, and a bittersweet smile touched his face. Wouldn’t Grandmother love to see the girls today? All dressed up in ruffles and ribbons. So beautiful, so spirited. So ornery.

  No wonder his Menaces held Jenny Fortune in such esteem. They were so much alike.

  His hand brushed a lace. “Here it is, Katie-cat.” He pulled the white leather slipper from beneath the bed and gave it to his youngest daughter.

  “Oh, Papa. You’re the bestest.” Clutching the shoe to her heart, her eyes shone as she added, “I looked and looked and looked and looked. I couldn’t wear my black boots in MissFortune’s wedding. You saved me, Papa. You’re my hero.”

  Leave it to Kat to dramatize a lost shoe, he thought wryly. But damned if it didn’t feel good to be somebody’s hero.

  Jenny Fortune needed a hero.

  Trace shut his eyes. He wished like hell he could roll under Katrina’s bed and hide for a month or two or twelve. The woman had been right. He was afraid. He’d been afraid for six long years. Jenny only knew half of the story.

  But you don’t want to marry me.

  Damn fool woman. Didn’t she have a lick of sense? Apparently not.

  Trace wanted to hit something. He wasn’t up to watching Jenny Fortune take wedding vows, not today and probably not ever. And why was it happening? Because of that damned dress. She was tying herself to a no-good scoundrel in the hopes of saving her business.

  Hell, she could have done that with me.

  The thought struck like a hailstone and left him reeling. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips as if he could massage away the notion. Good Lord, what had gotten into him?

  “Papa?” Concern laced Maribeth’s voice.

  He looked up. Emma and Mari stood at the top of the stairs gazing from him to Katrina and back to him again.

  “What’s the matter, Papa?” Emma asked in a serious tone.<
br />
  Maribeth added, “You were scowling something awful, and we haven’t done one thing bad yet today.”

  “I’m sorry I losted my shoe.” Katrina patted his head comfortingly, right atop the knot where he’d bumped it a few minutes earlier. “I’ll try real hard not to do it again.”

  A wave of love rolled through Trace at the sight of a trio of bright but worried faces. His mouth crooked upward in a smile as he stood. Brushing the dust from his trousers, he gave his daughters a wink and said, “I was thinking about how pretty you girls looked in these fancy dresses, and it made me start to worry about boys coming to call.”

  Katrina giggled, Maribeth snorted with disgust, and Emma’s cheeks stained an appealing pink. Observing his eldest daughter’s reaction, Trace realized there had been a grain of truth in the excuse he’d given.

  They were growing up so fast. In so many ways no longer girls, but young ladies. I would have been a good mother to your children.

  Trace’s heart began to race. Sweat broke out on his brow. Katrina grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the stairs. “We’d better hurry, Papa. We don’t want to be late. MissFortune would never forgive us.”

  Trace reached out to straighten the blue-and-white bow decorating his Katie-cat’s curls. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we? But I don’t think you need to worry, girls. Miss Fortune strikes me as just the type of woman who forgives and forgets.”

  As the foursome left the house and headed for the church, Trace glanced up at the clear blue sky and murmured, “In fact, that’s something I’m counting on.”

  IN THE vestry of the First Methodist Church, Monique Day clicked her tongue as she arranged the veil atop Jenny’s head. “I do wish you’d tell me what is wrong, dear. It’s as clear as the nose on my face that something is the matter.”

  Jenny shook her head. “I’m fine, Monique.”

  “You don’t look fine,” the sculptress said with a sniff. “You’ve a look about your eyes I do not like. I’ve told you half a dozen times already this afternoon, but I’ll tell you again. If you want to back out of this wedding, you have my blessing. I admit I’ve had second thoughts about Edmund. Perhaps we could solve this bad luck problem another way.”

  Jenny shivered with a cold so deep even the steaming hot bath she’d taken hadn’t warmed her. “Redeeming the dress’s reputation will solve my troubles, Monique.”

  Monique patted Jenny’s shoulders. “Well, you know what’s best. Although, I will worry about you.”

  “I know.”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Monique kissed her cheek, then checked her own appearance in the mirror. “La, would you look at that. I have a smear on my dress. I’ll be right back, Jenny. I must see if I can locate a bit of water to—” She was still talking as she exited the room.

  Jenny inhaled a deep breath and wondered why she wasn’t nervous. She wondered why she didn’t feel anything at all. Shrugging, she studied her reflection in the mirror and examined the Bad Luck Wedding Dress with a critical eye. Even Worth himself would be envious of this gown, she decided. She still had her talent. She shouldn’t forget that.

  A little flush of pride washed through her, and she welcomed the warmth.

  She’d felt cold for too long, ever since Trace McBride’s visit. The extremes of emotion of the previous day—and night—had numbed her. The “train robbery” and its aftermath; Trace’s early morning visit with his shocking announcement and abrupt departure.

  Murder. Jenny didn’t believe it for a second.

  Well, what she thought didn’t matter now, did it? In a few minutes she’d march down the aisle to marry a man she didn’t much like, ending any possibility, slight though it might be, for a future with the man she truly loved.

  Love? Jenny closed her eyes in misery. Love. That word. That tiny four-letter, world-rocking word had slipped in despite her best efforts to hold it at bay.

  God help her, it was true. She did love him; she had for some time now. She loved Trace McBride, and she was marrying Edmund Wharton.

  Oh, Jenny, Trace was right. Stupid. How stupid can you get?

  She stared into the mirror as if by looking hard enough, she could find the answer in her image. The mantel clock sitting on a small carved oak table against the west wall tolled the hour. Funny, she thought, it sounds almost like a death knell. Someone needs to fix the clock. Her brittle laugh echoed in the small room.

  The door opened and Monique poked her head inside, a mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Your bridal attendants await.”

  Jenny’s brows lifted. “Bridal attendants? What bridal attendants?”

  Monique swung the door wide and three angels dressed in organdy with circlets of white roses in their hair stepped inside.

  “Surprise, Miss Fortune,” Katrina declared. “We’re your bridesmaids. Aren’t we beautiful?”

  The McBride Menaces dressed as angels? Jenny’s head, already muddled, began to swim.

  Maribeth shrugged and said, “Kat just likes all the ruffles. The dresses are all right, but they’re not as pretty as what you’d have made us. Papa says he’s never seen dresses as pretty as those you make.”

  Trace. The name twisted Jenny’s heart.

  “What do you think he’ll say about our halo?” Katrina asked, lifting a hand to touch the ring of flowers in her hair.

  Emma added, “He hasn’t seen our flowers, yet. Your mother gave them to us when we got here.”

  “Papa will probably faint when we walk down the aisle,” Maribeth said with a giggle. “After all, the McBride Menaces wearing angels’ haloes is a pretty shocking sight.”

  “When you walk down the aisle,” Jenny repeated stupidly. “Your father is here?”

  “Yes,” Emma replied. “I don’t think he really wanted to come, but he couldn’t very well miss our grand entrance.”

  Monique motioned the girls back out into the vestibule. “Everyone appears to be seated. I’ll signal the pianist to begin.” She handed her daughter a bouquet of roses, then adjusted the filmy white veil over her face. “It’s a beautiful dress. I hope it brings you the best of luck.”

  Jenny swallowed an hysterical laugh. “It’s The Bad Luck Wedding Dress, Mother.”

  “Yes, but you are Jenny Fortune.”

  The opening strains of the wedding march sounded, and Monique led the way toward the center aisle. Jenny looked around and saw row after row of curious faces, their eyes alight with anticipation. A sense of approaching doom descended on her like a cloud.

  What was she doing here? She couldn’t marry Edmund, not like this.

  Not when she loved another man.

  The truth was a hard slap to the face. The music drowned out her groan. Dear Lord, why now? Why not ten minutes ago? Ten days ago?

  She couldn’t marry Edmund. “Mother!” she said in a loud whisper. “Mother, I can’t—”

  But Monique was already down the aisle, taking her seat as the mother of the bride. Jenny stood frozen, staring at the McBride girls. She loved Trace. She loved him, and she’d given up on him way too easily. Who was she to have accused him of being afraid? Wasn’t that her trouble, too? Hadn’t she been too afraid of being hurt to really try and win him?

  Katrina started down the aisle, followed quickly by Maribeth. Emma hesitated, looking over her shoulder as she said, “I hope you don’t mind too much, Miss Jenny. We did what we felt we had to do.”

  What? What did she mean by that? Panic rose within Jenny. What was she going to do? She couldn’t marry Edmund Wharton!

  Standing still as a fashion doll at the end of the aisle, she viewed the congregation from the periphery of her vision. Smiling faces, curious faces, judgmental faces. Oh, help. Her gaze slowly focused on the altar and her groom.

  She wished he’d turn around. She could signal him to bolt. That way she’d save him the humiliation of being left at the altar. Because she wouldn’t marry him, she couldn’t. Oh, Edmund. I’m
sorry. I never intended to embarrass you.

  Jenny took a step forward. She pasted a smile on her face and stared hard at the black-jacketed back of her groom, willing him to look at her. Why wasn’t he turning around? That’s the way it was done, wasn’t it? The groom watched the bride walk down the aisle.

  Maybe Edmund didn’t want this anymore than she did. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

  She caught a glimpse of Rilda Bea Sperry seated in one of the back pews. The widow did look grand in that royal-blue serge. Where would she purchase her wardrobe once Fortune’s Design had closed?

  Jenny’s step faltered. She couldn’t deny it. What she was about to do would undoubtedly mean the end of her business. The Bad Luck Wedding Dress’s reputation would live forever.

  Swaying, she stepped forward and only then noticed the McBride Menaces had stopped dead-center, halfway up the aisle.

  Less than a foot from the trio, Jenny clearly heard the whispers from their huddle.

  “What’ll we do now?”

  “Where’s Casey? Can we stop him?”

  “Mari, this is all your fault.”

  “It was your idea, Emmaline Suzanne.”

  “Papa’s gonna paint the walls with us this time for certain.”

  The scent of roses, beeswax, and trouble hung over the church like a cloud. Jenny touched Maribeth on the shoulder. “Girls?” she calmly asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Miss Fortune,” Maribeth said, “this is awful. Wonderful, but awful. We didn’t know!”

  “Please forgive us,” Emma added.

  “For what?”

  “It’s Casey.”

  “Casey Tate?”

  “Maybe if we hurry we can stop him,” Katrina interjected.

  The two older sisters looked at each other, then made a dash for the altar.

  Jenny eyed them with concern and a good measure of hope. Had the McBride Menaces been at it again? Would they inadvertently save her? Please, yes. Let her have just one bit of good luck to go along with all the bad.

  As her bridesmaids reached the front of the church, Jenny glanced from left to right, peering through the lace of her veil, looking for Casey Tate. He was obviously involved in whatever mischief they had planned, but Jenny didn’t see the boy. She did notice Wilhemina Peters, pencil and notebook in hand, and it appeared as if the entire roster of both the Fort Worth Literary Society and the Ladies’ Benevolent Aid Organization had turned out for the big event. They stared at her dress as if waiting for it to explode. Although Jenny’s customers and their husbands lined the pews, she spied not a glimpse of the boy.