The Wedding Dress by Rachel Hauck Page B

reached under the mattress for the leather diary where she poured out her heart to Daniel when he first left with the Barons.
    April 30, 1912
    Dear Daniel,
    I think of you, wondering where you are, praying you are well and safe. I wish you’d write to me. I miss you terribly. Who can make me laugh when I’m feeling blue? Father tries, but I’m immune to his old stories now. They only tickle Mother’s funny bone.
    Yesterday, Mother and I shopped downtown, then came home to work the garden with Molly. It was a glorious day and brought to mind our walks on the campus quad.
    Emily slammed the diary closed. The rest of the entry was merely pouring out her heart to herself, trying to make sense of her feelings. When Daniel left she knew she love Kknethe entry d him, but in the passing weeks, she’d started to doubt.
    Perhaps it was divine that he departed, choosing baseball over her. Phillip called on her a few weeks later and invited her to attend the Black and White Ball.
    The invitation seemed more than fortuitous. It appeared divine, indeed.
    Shoving her book back to its hiding place, Emily burrowed under her coverlet and sank deep into the feathery mattress, stretching her legs against the clean sheets.
    A spark of ire toward Father made her bolt up in bed. Emily shoved her hair away from her face and hammered the quilt with her fist. How different this night might be if she had received Daniel’s letters. She plopped back down into her pillows and reached for the bedside lamp. Darkness rose in the room as the light faded.
    She was engaged. And she’d be true to Phillip with her word and her heart.
     
    Charlotte
    Charlotte balanced Starbucks lattes in her hand along with a bag of pastries as she unlocked the shop’s back door, crossing through the old utility room to the kitchen. She set breakfast on the kitchenette table, shook her arm awake, and went back to her blue Cabrio for the box of unused invitations.
    “Dix?” It was five minutes ’til opening, and the lights were on and the music played. Bach this morning and his sweet tones fitting for violins. “Dixie? I brought coffee. And food.”
    Charlotte angled into the shop, listening for the thunder of her friend’s footsteps. But silence answered. Hmm , she must be upstairs.
    Back in the kitchen, Charlotte dropped the invitations to the kitchen floor and reached for her latte. She had plans for those invites. Dumpster plans. But first, her breakfast.
    She had a new lease on life. Yes, she did. Starting over could be good, a chance to shake things up, get focused. Maybe attend a bridal show in New York or L.A. Even better? Paris. She’d planned on a Paris trip this year until Tim swept her off her feet.
    Bray-Lindsay had extended her a standing invitation and she had yet to accept.
    After Tim left and Charlotte wept her soul raw, she’d managed a midnight call to Dixie, begging her to open the shop in the morning even though it was her day to come in late. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll sleep in.”
    But Charlotte didn’t sleep much.
    “Dixie, hey, where are you?” Charlotte K”t sil walked toward the sales counter, checking the stairs and second-floor landing. The cash register was up and ready. But locked. Good. “Are you upstairs?” Charlotte stooped by the main display gown to perfect the flow of the chapel train.
    “Charlotte, you’re here.” Dixie came around the corner, from the direction of the reveal salon. She grabbed Charlotte’s hand and pulled her along. “Close your eyes.”
    “And run into the wall? No thanks. What’s going on? I brought lattes and pastries.”
    “Okay, great, but first, close your eyes.”
    Charlotte skidded along with Dixie, her knees trembling. The high-octane adrenaline of “taking her life back” that fueled her morning shower and Starbucks drive-through was evaporating. And the depleting fumes of hope, of tomorrow being another day, ran thin. She’d fooled herself into believing this was a