Little Black Dress with Bonus Material (11 page)

She picked up the hanger and twirled the plastic shoulders around 360 degrees. Where
was
the tear? There had to be some sign of its existence. She'd viewed the damage herself not half an hour before. It had been there. How could it be gone? Had Bridget switched the black dress with another of Evie's, just to make her feel better?

Her gut told her that wasn't the case.

“You are the same dress, aren't you?” she said aloud, as if it could answer.

Holding it against her, she turned and met her reflection in the bureau mirror.

As she stared, she cocked her head this way and that. Something niggled at her. She
knew
this dress. She'd even seen it on Evie sometime ago, hadn't she?

Think, think, think.

Toni closed her eyes tightly, digging back into her memories, and a fragment from the past resurfaced. She saw the black silk against her mother's fair skin, more black surrounding them, and a heaviness descended in her chest.

“Daddy's funeral,” she said, as sure of it as she'd ever been of anything.

Evie had worn the dress the day they'd buried Jon Ashton, although it had looked different then. The silk had been without any glimmer, the fabric lifeless. It had seemed sad, if that was the right word for it, or maybe that was just a reflection of her own despair that awful day.

She drew the dress toward her face and sniffed, catching a light floral scent coming from it. Sweet pea, she guessed at first, a flower so many brides liked in their bouquets. Then she realized that wasn't it at all. What she smelled was lily of the valley.

“When did you start wearing that one, Evie?” she asked, speaking to the room itself and to the essence of her mother that lingered.

She took a step toward the dresser, where a few bottles of cologne had been arranged atop an antique brass tray. Besides the Aqua Velva and Old Spice that had belonged to Jon Ashton—which her mother had steadfastly refused to throw away—there was a single bottle of rosewater, the only “perfume” Evie had ever worn that Toni was aware of.

So the scent on the dress wasn't Evie's, and it definitely wasn't Bridget's. If anything, the housekeeper smelled of laundry soap and lemon oil.

Even holding on to the dress by its hanger gave her the oddest feeling, and Toni didn't need to feel any more out of sorts than she already did. If the black dress was possessed or haunted, perhaps she'd do better to put it away. So, to be safe, she told it, “Let's get you in the closet, okay?”

She twisted the crystal doorknob, ready to shove the dress inside, and a whiff of air, like a sigh, touched the back of her neck, causing the tiny hairs at her nape to bristle.

Quickly, she looked around as her heart raced and assured herself there was no one behind her, only her shadow on the wall and her wide-eyed image in the mirror.

“Antonia Ashton,” she whispered, “are you seeing ghosts?”

Ding dong ding dong!

The doorbell chime so startled her that she dropped the dress to the floor, the hanger clattering. She bent to pick it up and, without thinking, took it with her from the room.

Ding dong ding dong ding dong!

Her anxiety fast turned to annoyance, and she frowned as she scrambled down the stairs, wondering who the hell would decide to stop by at half past eight on a Saturday night. If it was Hunter Cummings, dropping by again to catch her at a weak moment, she might have to smack him upside his head and kick-start their family feud all over again.

When she got to the door, she flipped the switch to the porch light and pushed back the sheers on the paned glass to peer outside.

What the hell?

She blinked, sure she was imagining things. Then she threw back the locks and opened the door to the man standing on the porch, rubbing leather-gloved hands together and stomping on the outside mat, trying to dislodge snow from his polished black loafers.

“Surprise!” Greg said when she just stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

“What are you doing here?” Toni blurted out, too stunned to register the bitter cold, despite the clouds that puffed from her nose and mouth.

“I'm taking you to dinner,” he declared and brushed past her into the foyer. “I've made reservations at a place nearby that's supposed to be good for something so out of the way.”

Toni closed the door behind them, figuring she'd heard him wrong. “Reservations for dinner
tonight
?” she repeated.

“Look, I feel awful, all right?” he admitted as he tugged off his leather gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets. “I ask you to move in with me then you run off to be with your mom, and I don't know”—he smiled nervously—“I started feeling sorry for myself and then disgusted at how selfish I was acting. It seemed wrong to be in the city without you.” He reached for her hand. “So I figured I'd give you a break and take you out of this prison.”

Toni didn't know what to think. “Wow, that's so unexpected, and I appreciate the thought but I'm totally pooped and just want to crash.”

He let go of her hand and pushed up his left sleeve to check his watch. “Sorry, babe, but I'm not taking no for an answer.”

So she had no say in the matter. Would he order her entrée again for her, too?

“Go put on something nice,” he urged, and his bespectacled gaze looked over her cable-knit sweater and faded blue jeans, clearly not approving.

“I didn't exactly pack for a cruise.” Toni didn't even try to mask her irritation. “I don't have anything nice to wear except one of my old prom dresses, unless you happened to bring some of my clothes.”

“I didn't, no.” He paused then pointed at her chest. “So how about that?”

Toni glanced down, having forgotten entirely that she still clutched the hanger with Evie's black dress. The silk gleamed, pearlescent beneath the warm glow of the chandelier. “This? You can't be serious.”

“I am,” he replied and fingered the fabric. “It's very pretty, Antonia. Is it new?”

“No, in fact, it's very old, and—”
it's what Evie had on when she was taken to the hospital, and it should have been sliced in two, only it miraculously healed itself, which pretty much creeps me out,
she wanted to tell him; but that wasn't exactly an easy thing to explain without sounding like a lunatic.

“And what? Do you need help dressing?” Greg asked and raised his eyebrows. “I'll zip you up, but we need to hurry. We should've left, like, five minutes ago. So skedaddle.” He took her arms, spun her around, got behind her, and nudged her toward the stairs.

“Greg, no,” she protested.

The last thing she wanted to do was get dressed and go out. Besides, even if the black dress looked impossibly presentable, it certainly wouldn't fit her curves. Evie was half a head taller than she, plus her mother was lean as a fence post. Toni would be lucky to get her big toe wrapped up in it.

“Can't we just stay here, and I'll make grilled cheese?” she suggested.

“No. Now giddy-up!” He gave her rump a smack.

She nearly tripped over the top step.
Whoa! What am I, Secretariat?

God help me,
Toni thought, but she already had the sinking feeling the evening wasn't going to end with a spray of roses around her neck.

J
on and I didn't have a big wedding, not like the one Mother and Daddy had so lavishly concocted for Anna. There was no train trip to Chicago to shop for a trousseau, no engraved invitations sent to distant relatives I'd never met, and no dinner the eve before at the Blue Hills Social Club (newly christened the Blue Hills
Country
Club, with the addition of an eighteen-hole golf course).

Though it was over a year since the night that changed everything, I never felt right asking my parents to go through the motions for me when they seemed intent on wallowing in their self-pity. I could have felt stiffed, being that I was their firstborn daughter. But I didn't.

Jon and I preferred something private over grandiose. Nothing about our marriage had been arranged for show the way that Anna's had. The day was about us, no one else, and the love we felt for each other.

So we kept it as simple as possible, arriving at the courthouse in Ste. Genevieve bright and early on a Friday morning, our only witnesses being my parents and, of course, Daddy's friend Judge Harper, who would serve as justice of the peace. Though Jon had joked that I should don the “cursed black dress” that had brought us together, I kept it tucked away in the hatbox on my closet shelf, hoping against hope that I'd never have cause to bring it out again. I preferred to let life play out naturally rather than see my future dictated by an otherworldly piece of clothing.

Instead I wore a simple white suit and pillbox hat I'd bought in Cape Girardeau when Jon and I had gone down to visit with his mother, who had developed some kind of palsy and had been moved into a nursing home near one of her cousins. It wasn't that I was afraid the black dress would reveal another vision that would change my mind—nothing could have kept me from becoming Jon's wife—but I knew that it had the power to alter the course of
both
of our lives, if I let it.

Besides, I wasn't about to wear black to my own wedding. My heart swelled with joy, not grief. For the first time since Anna had gone and left such turmoil in her wake, I'd found a happiness all my own, and I treated it like a fragile eggshell that I didn't dare break.

“You look radiant, Evelyn,” my mother said when we were safely ensconced in Judge Harper's chambers.

Her gloved hand touched my arm fleetingly, setting down and lifting off like a butterfly. I noticed then how gray her wiry brown curls had gone and how ashen her skin appeared despite the rouge used to brighten her face. She kissed my cheek, and her eyes welled as she forced a smile.

“You have a glow about you that's very becoming.”

“It's got everything to do with Jonathan,” I replied, and I sensed tears of my own threatening, although shows of emotion weren't my cup of tea. I fiercely fought the urge to cry and won.

“I mean it, lamb, you make a lovely bride, and you'll be a dutiful wife. You were always a dutiful daughter.”

Not beautiful but dutiful.

“Thank you,” I said politely and reminded myself that she'd also called me “radiant” and “lovely.” Since my mother had rarely ever remarked on my appearance except to say how tidily I dressed or how neatly I pressed my blouses, it was those words I treasured, as I normally didn't associate them with myself, not as long as Anna had been around to serve as a comparison. My looks had never been a match for hers, something I'd accepted early on, although I can't deny it hurt, all the attention she got just for being born with more agreeable features. Without Anna standing beside me, perhaps I wouldn't seem quite so plain anymore.

Mother's nervous smile flitted off again, and her voice grew softer as she added, “I haven't always been fair to you, and I'm sorry for that. You've never given me a moment of grief, Evelyn Alice, not like she did. And still I wish—”

“I know,” I said, not letting her finish, because I did know all too well.

So much had changed with my sister gone, and I still had not grown accustomed to being an only child in any sense. Some days, in odd moments, I would say to myself, “I should ask Anna what to do about this,” or, “Anna would know which earrings I should wear.” I had never been one to make girlfriends easily as I kept much to myself, so my sister had been my best friend, perhaps my only real friend until Jonathan. No matter how different Anna and I had always been or how pale I sometimes felt in her colorful presence, I hadn't imagined getting married without her standing up for me, or, at the very least,
hearing
from her. But there was no congratulatory note penned in her flowery hand, no florist's card with a pot of lilies, not even a telegram.

Thank goodness I had Jon, as being with him soothed the ache I'd felt at so abruptly losing my sister. As our relationship had progressed, I'd come to count on him in a way I never had anyone else, and I'd begun looking ahead instead of back. I knew that once we wed, we would start our own family. Having a child would change everything. A baby would surely cheer my parents as nothing else could, and it would trigger Anna's return. The dress had shown me as much, hadn't it? And I had no reason to doubt it. What I didn't know was
when
. I only hoped we wouldn't have to wait too long for our reunion.

“You take care of my daughter, you hear me,” my father was saying to Jonathan, and I smiled, seeing him slap my groom heartily on the back in that way men did when they didn't know how else to communicate. “She's all I have in the world.”

“You have my word, sir, I will.”

I knew my parents were pleased about our union, although they didn't exactly jump up and down with the same unbridled passion they'd shown after Anna's engagement to Davis. My marriage to Jon would not reunite eighty acres of Norton grapes with my family. Jon Ashton didn't have the clout or family name of Davis Cummings. Indeed, he had offered nothing to my father when he'd asked for my hand, only that he would love me and provide for me. My parents had seemed equal parts relieved and surprised by our betrothal. Neither had been the same since Anna's departure, and I had hoped that having some good news to celebrate would shake the melancholy out of them.

I worried about the turn their health had taken. They acted less like a pair than two separate beings, each living within the same walls but apart from each other. Mother had kept more and more to herself, claiming migraines and spending hours, sometimes days lying in bed in her darkened room, skipping church, missing meals, and avoiding bridge club with the girls. My father hadn't holed up so much as buried himself in the business of the winery. I wasn't sure which was more responsible for the deepened grooves carved into his face: the vineyard, my mother's depression, or his disappointment in Anna; although I had no such doubts about the sadness in his eyes. My sister had broken his heart—both of their hearts—and nothing I did could begin to repair it.

“Do you wish she was here?” Jon had asked me the night before when he'd dropped by the house to visit after supper. He had never met Anna but probably felt as though he had with as much as I'd told him about her. I'd shown him the handful of photographs I had of my sister and me, and, seeing my wistfulness, he'd wondered aloud, “Do you think she would have come back if she'd known about the wedding?”

“Maybe,” I had said, although I had my doubts.

Was I sad not to have my sister standing up for me, as I would have for her? Yes and no. Somehow, not having Anna there made things less complicated. There would be no distractions, no drama that took away from our special day.

“Anna's free to do whatever she wants,” I'd told him, as sure of that as I'd ever been. “She never wanted to be stuck in one place or under anyone's thumb.”

Jon had reached for my hands and held them tight. “Where is she now, do you imagine?”

“Hmm, Cuzco, Peru,” I'd suggested, taking a stab in the dark.

“What's in Cuzco, Peru?”

“She read one of Daddy's old
National Geographic
s and decided she simply must go see Machu Picchu and climb all those steps. Or else she's in Venice riding in a gondola.” I had shrugged, conjuring up other names of places my sister had wanted to see. “Or on safari in Kenya. There was so much she wanted to do.”

“Well, whatever she's up to, I hope she's content,” Jon had said, and I could tell he didn't understand what drove Anna at all, no more than my parents did. “I know I couldn't stay away for so long without good reason. And I'd be miserable without you.” He had bent his head to kiss the back of my hands.

While his words and the touch of his lips had made my heart flutter, I'd still felt some primal need to defend my sister. “Anna is . . . different,” I'd futilely explained. “She's not like you or me. She doesn't see things the way we do.”

“That's for damn sure.”

“She's like a bird or a butterfly—”

Jon had scoffed. “So what are we? River rocks?”

“I think we are,” I said, which earned me a masculine snort.

It wasn't a bad analogy. He and I were rather solid and stable, unyielding, even as life washed over us like water, slowly wearing us down in the process. But I didn't tell Jon that. I worried he'd find it unflattering.

So I sighed, giving up.

Truthfully, it had become harder and harder to put myself in Anna's shoes, to reason away why she'd done what she'd done. Like Jonathan, I couldn't fathom being distant from home for so long. Much as I tried, I couldn't envision the type of life Anna was leading without us, or
how
she managed to keep living it, considering the fact that Daddy had cut her off (she could only sell Grandma Charlotte's pearls once, after all). What kept me buoyed was knowing I would eventually be pregnant with the child who would bring Anna home where she belonged.

“Ahem.”

I heard a gentle clearing of the throat and turned my head to see the judge peering at Mother and me from below bushy brows.

“Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready to proceed?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, I'd like that very much,” Jon replied and ceased the conversation he'd been having with my father.

In an instant, he was at my side, taking my free hand in his. With the other, I clutched half a dozen pink tulips that I'd plucked from the garden this morning. They still held dew inside the petals and smelled of spring and air and grass.

“Everyone take their places, please,” the judge said, directing traffic until he had us all where he wanted us. Then he opened the Bible he held to a bookmarked page.

Jon kept looking at me in a way that made me blush.

“Evelyn,” my mother whispered, nudging me, and I remembered to pass her my bouquet so Jon could take both of my hands.

His callused palms pressed firmly into my soft flesh, and I found their roughness a comfort. Maybe Jon didn't have a college degree and an eloquent vocabulary, like Daddy or Davis Cummings; but he was a strong man, a good man, and one of the few people on earth that I trusted with my whole heart.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite Jonathan and Evelyn in matrimony,” Judge Harper began, but I hardly heard the words that came after.

So many thoughts and feelings surged through my veins that I would have fallen off my pumps if not for Jon's sturdy grip. Without warning, Anna's voice played inside my head, telling me good-bye while I pretended to sleep, and then I heard water slapping against the rocks as I fell into the Mississippi while attempting to throw out the black dress. What would I have done if Jon hadn't been there? How had the black dress known he would save me? Had it realized the chain of events that would need to fall cleanly like dominoes in order for everything to happen as it did?

I shivered, and Jon squeezed my hands, drawing me solidly into the present.

“Evelyn Alice, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forth, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” I said, relieved that I hadn't missed my cue. It was a wonder I could recall my own name.

Jon kept the rings in his coat pocket, so our exchange went off without a hitch.

By the time Judge Harper had told him, “It's time to kiss your bride, son,” my legs wobbled and my chest felt close to bursting.

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” Jon said, a laugh in his voice. But his eyes were serious as all get-out when he drew me toward him and whispered, “Hello, Mrs. Ashton.”

“Hello, Mr. Ashton,” I said, amazed to realize I was his and he was mine.

Then he kissed me, his mouth firm and soft at once, the caress all too brief, as though he held something back. I closed my eyes as our lips touched, and I thought again of the vision the dress had shown me, the one where Jon and I made love, and I realized soon enough it would happen for real. My pulse thumped so loudly it amazed me that no one else could hear.

“Let's get out of here,” Jon breathed against my ear before we drew apart, and I was beyond ready to go.

“Congratulations,” Daddy told us. He patted Jon on the back again before taking me in his arms and embracing me so tightly I lost my breath for an instant. “Be joyful, String Bean,” he said, and I promised him I would be. I already was.

We left the courthouse for the Southern Hotel, where we had a room for the night. It was the same place that Anna and I had lunched the day we'd discovered the Gypsy's shop. Only this time, it would hold a different sort of memory entirely.

Jon unlocked the door and scooped me into his arms to carry me across its threshold. Once past, he kicked the door shut with his foot and made his way toward the giant four-poster bed. I held on to his neck, my cheek pressed to his shoulder, and I inhaled the smell of him: soap and sweat and something else I couldn't identify that was uniquely Jonathan.