Spellmaker

Emmeline stood at the window, admiring a white dove pin, occasionally peering into the murky gray beyond the fat and fast raindrops pelting the glass. It had been raining all day, since before Elsie woke. Raining with a vengeance. But it did provide her with rare privacy for her pursuit of bridal necessities. Brookley was quiet all around, and therefore there was no one at the dressmaker’s to witness her being measured, or to ask her questions about Bacchus, or to gossip about her personal life.

She had intended to get married in one of the dresses she already owned, just as any frugal woman would. Perhaps splurge on some extra lace and ribbon to elevate her church gown. Bacchus had inquired about it yesterday after lunch, and she’d told him as much.

While I think that’s perfectly suitable, he’d said carefully, if we’d been engaged as long as the magistrate thinks, there would be plenty of time to order a dress. It might be better to have one.

He’d then handed Elsie a banknote. It was now in the dressmaker’s possession, but the guilt of it weighed on her, nonetheless.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The seamstress had her measurements on file and was fitting some muslin around her waist. A wedding gown. A simple wedding gown, given the time constraints. Elsie truly had thought she’d never wear one, after Alfred. She’d had everything planned with him. The gown, the flowers, the guest list, the honeymoon. She’d thought it all out, giggled about the details with Emmeline late at night. Sketched an assortment of hats in one of Ogden’s books. So when Alfred had cast her aside like an old flour sack, she’d felt completely and resolutely foolish. She’d hated everything about weddings. Everything white. Everything romantic.

She brushed her thumb over the ring on her finger and sighed.

It can’t happen twice, Elsie, she chided herself.

Yet part of her was sure this unexpected betrothal with Bacchus still wouldn’t pan out. That the church would burn down, or Merton would interfere, or he’d simply change his mind.

If that happened . . . She touched her bodice, reassuring herself the paper was still tucked within it.

Think about happy things. Her brother would be at her wedding. Her brother! And despite her worries, she smiled at her reflection.

Returning from the window, Emmeline practically sang, “You’ll need some white shoes and ribbon, kid gloves, and silk stockings. Oh! And a silk handkerchief.”

“It’s just a small ceremony,” Elsie insisted, and the dressmaker waved to indicate she was done. Elsie carefully stepped out of the muslin and off the stool she’d been perched on.

“I’ll start on this right away.” The dressmaker set the skirt on a chair. “Without the embellishments, I should be able to get it ready in time.”

Feeling childish, Elsie said, “I suppose we could do some embroidery . . . or lace on the sleeves.” She peered toward the dove pin in the window.

The woman smiled. “I thought so. Come back in a few days and we’ll see where we are.”

Emmeline clapped. “So good, Elsie! You’ll make such a lovely bride.”

She’d said so before, back when she’d thought Elsie would marry Alfred, but it wouldn’t do to point it out. Instead, Elsie grabbed their umbrella. “Shall we brave the winds and spare our shoes, or make a run for it and suffer the mud?”

Thunder groaned again.

Emmeline swallowed. “I say we run like we’re mad.”

They gripped the umbrella together and pushed open the door. The wind nearly wrenched the umbrella from their hands as they made a half-blind dash for the stonemasonry, soaking their stockings with mud. Emmeline squealed, which made Elsie laugh, and they were barely capable of breathing by the time they reached home. At least the empty streets meant no witnesses to their tomfoolery.

Elsie wiped rain from her eyes, pulled off her gloves, and unpinned her hat, which was wet despite the umbrella. “At least we got some good exercise.”

“I expect so.”

Both Elsie and Emmeline jumped at the new voice. None other than Miss Irene Prescott stood in the door leading to the kitchen.

“M-Miss Prescott!” Elsie paused, shoes making a muddy puddle on the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be coming! What with the storm and all.”

Indeed, she’d hoped for a reprieve.

“I am always punctual,” she said with good humor. “That’s why I employ my own vehicle. And I’ve been waiting only a few minutes. Come along, I’ve brought something exciting today.”

I doubt it. Elsie exchanged an uncertain glance with Emmeline. Should she change? But the woman had already been waiting . . .

“I’ll make tea,” Emmeline said, doing her best to clean off her shoes.