by Lily Cahill
Clayton nodded with a small smile. He didn’t want an argument on his hands, otherwise he would have told them the right girl already had come along, and that he doubted the family would be fighting over wedding colors when he announced his intentions. He doubted, in fact, that they’d endorse a wedding at all.
The next day, Clayton told his father that he’d be taking a particularly long lunch break. Mr. Briggs was consumed in an international phone call about something or another, and so barely registered when Clayton walked out the door.
It was a short walk from the bank to Jenkins Jewelers. Mr. Jenkins greeted him from behind the counter. Clayton was glad no one else was in the shop today. This was something he wanted to do in private.
“What can I help you with today, Mr. Briggs?”
“I need a ring.”
Mr. Jenkins’ face glowed like the moon, his thousands of wrinkles lining up into a perfect smile.
“What sort of ring, may I ask?”
“The engagement sort,” Clayton said with a smile. As the second son, Clayton would not receive the family’s heirloom diamond engagement ring. That was happily installed on Meg’s finger. But he didn’t mind. He liked the idea of picking out something for Cora. She deserved something special—something selected specifically for her.
“Congratulations, son. That’s wonderful.”
“She has to say yes first,” Clayton chuckled.
“In my experience, that’s the easiest part of the whole marriage.”
Clayton laughed.
Mr. Jenkins beamed as he brought out several velvet trays and set them on the counter. It was dazzling seeing them all lined up like that—square cut and princess cut and round, gold and silver and platinum—all glittering up at him. At first, they all seemed to blend together. But as Clayton took a closer look, one seemed to shine brighter than the rest.
It was an antique piece. He could tell by the detailing. Filigree wasn’t particularly the style these days, but the intricate elements reminded him of his grandmother. The diamond was large and clear and round—at least two carats. It was surrounded by a gold band carved so intricately that it must have cost the designer many a sleepless night.
“Anything standing out to you, sir?”
“That one,” he said, and even he could hear the hush in his tone.
Mr. Jenkins lifted it out of the tray and handed it to him for closer inspection.
All at once he could see it on her finger. He could see himself placing it there—her in a white dress, him in a tuxedo. He could see it on her delicate hand as she cradled a baby, or nestled beside her face as she slept next to him. The ring called out for him, nearly demanding to be put on her finger. Could it really be as easy as all that?
“It’s a fine piece. One of a kind. Brought over from Austria from the collection of a duchess.”
“Really?”
“It was said that the duchess herself commissioned it to celebrate her engagement, and when the young man died before their wedding, she wore it until her death many years later, even though she was eventually forced to marry another.”
“How sad.”
“Yes. But don’t you think it speaks to true love as well?”
“Yes,” Clayton said. He felt he could be just as devoted to Cora as the princess had been to her love.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
“Very well. Let me go in the back and see if I can find the original box. Blue velvet, if I remember correctly.” Mr. Jenkins disappeared into the back room.
There was a jingling of bells at the door, and someone walked in.
“Mr. Jenkins, what do you think about the emerald pendant for the ball? The art deco piece? I think I have the perfect dress to complement it.”
Clayton knew that voice. Mr. Jenkins often loaned her jewelry, because every time she modeled a piece from his shop at a party, it had a tendency to sell the very next day. Clayton had even been with her the first time they had struck the arrangement. She was only in high school, but she had already been turning heads for years.
Clayton swiveled to see Violet, wearing a bright green hat angled on one side of her head. It somehow made her already striking features even more dramatic.
“Oh. Hello, Clay.”
“Hey, Vi.”
There was an awkward moment of silence between them. Clay didn’t want her here—had hoped to have his errand done without anyone entering the shop—but he did owe her an apology.
“Look, about the other night. I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s already forgotten,” she said, putting on a practiced smile. She had always been tough.
“I was upset. I didn’t mean what I said. We’re still friends, right?”
Her eyes finally met his. “Always,” she said.
“Good. I’m glad,” Clayton said.
“So what brings you here?” she asked, that smile returning. Then her eyes darted to the tray in front of him, to the ring between his fingers. “Oh.”
Was it his imagination, or did the color drain from her face?
“Oh, hello dear,” Mr. Jenkins said as he came back to the counter. “Let me just finish up with Mr. Briggs and we’ll decide on something for tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, regaining her composure.
As Clayton paid the bill, Mr. Jenkins put the ring into an aged velvet box—the deep blue so soft that Clayton couldn’t help but think of Cora’s eyes.
“May I give you one piece of advice?” Mr. Jenkins asked. “Find an opportunity to treat her with kindness every day.”
Clayton felt a surge of emotion at his words. “I intend to,” he said.
“If you do that, joy is sure to follow.” Mr. Jenkins handed him the box. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you, sir,” Clayton said. His head was so overflowing with the promise of his future, that he didn’t even notice Violet—didn’t think to say goodbye to her—as he walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cora
Cora had been getting a slew of orders ever since her meeting with Mrs. Briggs. It was almost more than she could handle. Today alone she’d had so many deliveries that she’d had to make two trips into town. But she was finally on the last of the orders—an order to the Briggs house itself.
It made her nervous approaching the home. She had no interest in running into Mrs. Briggs again. In fact, she’d been quite surprised to get the coconut cream pie order yesterday. But business was business, and she wasn’t in a position to turn it down. Especially not now that she intended to let Clayton help her move out. She was willing to do it for Bethany, but she felt even more determined to come into the situation with as much as she could on her own, and so needed every penny she could get.
She knocked on the door, hoping to see Mrs. Dunder, the cook. Or, if she was lucky, Clayton himself. She knew it wouldn’t be him—he was always at the bank during the day—but a girl could hope.
The door opened and Cora relaxed. It was the cook.
“Here’s the pie Mrs. Briggs ordered.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but could you wait here a moment? I’m under strict orders to send for Mrs. Briggs when you arrive.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to stay. But please give her my best,” Cora said.
“Did I hear the door, Mrs. Dunder?” The voice trailed in behind the cook’s back, and Cora spotted not one but two more faces as they walked into the large kitchen. The first was Mrs. Briggs. The second was Violet Miller, a bright green hat perched at an angle on her head. Ice crawled through her veins. What was Violet doing here?
“Please come in, Cora. I need a word,” Mrs. Briggs said. Her tone was civil, but there was an edge in her voice that Cora didn’t like. Clayton told her he had spoken to his parents, but hadn’t given her many details. Which meant it had probably gone poorly. She’d been too nervous to pry.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have time. I’m expected elsewher
e.”
“What I have to say won’t take long.”
Cora was still holding the pie and no one seemed willing to take it out of her hands. She didn’t know what she could say that would get her out of this. If she said yes, she was committing herself to another talk with Mrs. Briggs, and likely another attempt to convince her to give up on Clayton. But if she said no, she’d be angering Mrs. Briggs and upsetting Clayton in the process. Even though Cora was far less hopeful, Clayton seemed intent on her making a good enough impression to sway their opinion. And saying no would just appear willful.
“Very well, ma’am,” she said, and stepped into the kitchen.
Finally, Mrs. Dunder took the pie as Mrs. Briggs turned her back and wordlessly led Cora to the front of the house. Violet didn’t follow, just shot Cora a hard look as she passed.
When they arrived at the front hall, Mrs. Briggs reached into a walnut secretary and pulled out an envelope with her name on it. She handed it to Cora.
“What is this?”
“It’s an offer,” Mrs. Briggs said. “I’ve considered the situation thoroughly. Clayton and his father are both very stubborn people. There is no outcome to this relationship that ends well. So it’s you who must end it before you risk his future.”
“You should be speaking to Clayton about this. Not me.”
“No. I know my son. If it’s not your choice to leave, he will stick by your side and we’ll have no choice but to withdraw his trust fund.”
Cora’s heart stopped. Of course that’s how they’d finally convince him. Clayton had been rich his whole life. What other choice would he have but to leave her?
“If you stay with him, there will be no money. His father is determined not to let you anywhere near our family’s wealth, regardless of the wedge it could drive between them.” The tremble in her voice was quickly controlled. “Please understand, you will never see a penny of our family’s money. My husband would rather make his own son a pauper than see him with a Murphy.”
Money. It always came back to money.
“But I don’t want to see it come to that. And I don’t think you do either. You and I can still prevent this. Inside that envelope you’ll find a bus ticket to Denver along with a few hundred dollars to set up accommodations. You’ll also see the address of the best secretarial school in the region. If you contact them, you’ll find that I’ve offered a full scholarship on your behalf.”
“I can’t accept this,” Cora said, but Mrs. Briggs wouldn’t take the envelope from her outstretched hand.
“You can, and you will. This tryst with Clayton has gone on long enough. We both know it will end soon—whether through the natural course of things or through Clayton understanding the consequences of defying his father.”
“Mrs. Briggs—”
“You should understand before making your decision that there will be no more baking orders coming your way. Tomorrow, a story will circulate about that pie you left in my kitchen, and how it contained a dead spider inside.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not only was this woman trying to take Clayton away from her, she was also trying to destroy her business.
“Please don’t do that, ma’am. It’s the only way I have to take care of my sister. It would ruin us.”
“I’m sorry, Cora, but you’ve left me no choice. You could have ended it by now. But you didn’t, and now my son’s become overly attached. If you take the money now, you can avoid all of that and change your whole life in the process.”
Cora couldn’t deny the temptation of it. It was all she had ever wanted, right there in front of her. But she also knew she could never live with herself if she took that envelope.
“I refuse your offer, Mrs. Briggs,” she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. She wouldn’t be manipulated or controlled and she wouldn’t manipulate or control him. “Clayton can make his own choices.”
“Don’t be foolish. This doesn’t end like a fairytale, Cora. Regardless of your decision, you will not end up with Clayton’s money.”
Cora set the envelope on the secretary and looked her straight in the eye. She caught the flutter of a bright green hat down the hall.
“I don’t want his money, Mrs. Briggs. I want his heart.”
Mrs. Briggs stared at her with wide eyes. There was something else in her expression, too. It was the same look Clayton gave her after she had revealed her powers to him—which in him had been a mixture of awe and wonder and appreciation. She doubted the look meant the same on Mrs. Briggs’ face, though Cora didn’t know her well enough to tell.
“Do what you must about my business. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to counter false rumors.”
Cora walked out the door with her head held high.
“Cora, wait,” a voice called behind her. But when she turned to look, it wasn’t Mrs. Briggs calling her, but Violet.
Cora turned on her. “Are you happy with yourself?”
“Wh—what?” Violet seemed taken aback by Cora’s tone. And frightened, too. She took a step back from Cora and clutched her handbag tighter.
“I know you’ve been interfering with Clayton and I,” Cora said. She could feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but she fought them back. “You couldn’t just let us be happy, could you? Not even for a little while. You had to go and ruin it.”
Violet’s lip began to tremble. She bit down, and it was then that Cora noticed a tear trickle down her cheek. The sight annoyed Cora. Even her tears were pretty—like fat raindrops full of golden sunshine.
“He loves you, doesn’t he?” she asked. “He really loves you. And you love him? You actually love him?”
“Yes,” Cora said, exasperated. “Of course I love him.”
The tears fell faster from Violet’s eyes then. Cora stared at her, puzzled. She had everything—beauty, friends, a good family. What did she have to cry about? So what if the boy she wanted didn’t love her back? Love wasn’t a thing that could be forced. Real love was so strong you had to fight it off or it would swallow you whole. Trying to force someone to love you was the act of a selfish child.
“He fell in love,” Violet said, choking on her tears. “He wasn’t supposed to fall in love.”
“With me, you mean,” Cora said. “He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with me?”
The Murphy part of her rose up. She felt an instant desire to ruin that pretty face with her fist. But she held back. She breathed in and summoned all the Hollis in her blood.
“Well he did, Violet. We both did.”
There were no tears this time as Cora left the lofty Briggs mansion. There was only determination. The gala was tomorrow night. She’d been hesitating about whether going with Clayton was really the right decision, but now she knew that she must.
Perhaps it was foolish, as Mrs. Briggs had said. The money she’d offered would be enough to get her and Bethany out of Independence Falls and start a new life. But how could she start fresh if she was building upon a betrayal—upon a lie?
Because she loved Clayton. More than anything. More than her dreams. He had eclipsed everything she once thought her future could be. And even if it was just for tonight—even if he did ultimately choose his trust fund over her—she’d hold on to him as long as she could.
She realized she had made it to the general store without even thinking about it. And she knew exactly what had drawn her there. She needed fabric. The money she’d gotten today could pay for it.
She was going to that gala tomorrow night. She would walk in on his arm with her head held high. Maybe they’d even dance, kiss, make love. God, she hoped she could experience his touch one last time.
Eventually—probably after he dropped her off—his parents would threaten him and he would do what had been inevitable from the moment he’d first crooked his elbow through hers at the Firelight Festival. He would leave her.
But if it was to be their last night together—and she fel
t more and more certain that it was—she would do it in style.
There was only one option for what she would wear to the ball, only a single dress even close to formal enough: the dress her mother had been married in. It wasn’t a traditional wedding dress. When her parents had married, Butch was already growing inside her mother and everyone knew it. White was out of the question. A traditional wedding was out of the question. Theirs had been a courthouse union with only their fathers in attendance, followed by a honeymoon night in Josephine’s grandparents empty home. It was the same house that Cora stood in now.
She climbed the ladder into the attic and waded through the mess toward the trunk of her mother’s things. After she had died, Cora had watched as her father threw out every single one of her mother’s possessions. She had only been six at the time, but Cora managed to pull some of the items out of the trash and ferret them away to the attic. One of the few items she was able to salvage was the dress.
At more than twenty years old, it was very dated by current trends. It was constructed of dusty blue matte silk cut on the bias to create a fluttery empire-waisted skirt that was too long and too close to the body to be considered fashionable today. Fabric at the bust line was gathered into a ruched v-neckline and fanned out into loose butterfly sleeves. It looked exactly like the decade it had come out of—the early 1930s.
Cora looked at the dress and compared it to the fabric she had purchased at the store. The sapphire chiffon coordinated well with the dusty blue. And if she incorporated it into the original dress the way she had in mind, it could actually be quite stunning. But she had to get to work. It was nearly eight o’clock and she had practically an entire dress to construct in less than twenty-four hours. She might have time to pull it off if she started right away.
She began by cutting off the sleeves and modifying the neckline to turn the dress strapless. Then she started on the skirt, pinning it even closer to her body until it became a long sheath that went to her mid-calf. It was past midnight by the time she added a swath of the sapphire chiffon and draped it from the neckline to the waistline to the hem as though she were draping it on a Grecian goddess. When she saw the effect, she beamed. The dress was exactly what she had envisioned, incorporating both the old and new fabric into something lovely.