Little Black Dress with Bonus Material (21 page)

“Miss Annabelle needs you,” she said. “She hasn't slept in a while, and she won't eat much. She misses you desperately.”

How could I refuse? I couldn't risk her health.

So I went with Bridget despite my misgivings, and Anna lit up the moment she saw me.

“Oh, Evie! You did come! Sit, sit, I have something to ask you.” Her short hair seemed haphazardly trimmed, as if she'd taken the scissors to it herself. Her eyes looked black, the pupils fully dilated. “I've been wondering about things, important things about our baby.”

“Our baby?” I sat beside her, my hands in my lap. Her appearance worried me nearly as much as her choice of words.

“Will you baptize her in the church? Will you throw a party? Will you even put one of those silly announcements in the weekly paper? What will you do first?”

“I just want to hold her,” I said, which must not have been the answer she was seeking.

Anna frowned, a glum sigh escaping her. “You know, Evie, I envy you. You have Herman's cottage and a husband who loves you, and our father who thinks you're the one thing right he's done in the world. When I give you Antonia, you will have everything, and I will have nothing at all.”

“That isn't true.” It stunned me to hear her say that, and I didn't like where this was headed.

“Isn't it though?”

“No,” I said firmly and prayed to God she wouldn't voice my worst nightmare: that I would not get my daughter because she'd decided to keep Antonia for herself.

“I'm leaving you with the most precious thing I have,” she went on, and I sat there numbly, the lump in my throat so large I was unable to swallow. “Don't you think you should give me something in return?”

“What would you like?” I asked and braced myself, because I'd known all along what was coming.

“Give me back the black dress.”

“The dress?”

“Are you hard of hearing? Yes, the Gypsy's magic dress!” she said, the pitch of her voice rising. I saw a fever in her eyes I'd glimpsed only briefly in the months before, and it unnerved me to my core. “It is mine, after all. I bought it.”

“And you left it behind like everything else.” I straightened my spine, unwilling to bend. I would have gladly given her any other possession but that.

“If you don't give it back,” she said slowly and cupped her wide belly, “I will take something from you far more valuable.”

“Annabelle,” I breathed her name, shaking my head, sad and scared and disgusted. “You can't do that.”

“Can't I?”

I saw her mouth curl at the corners in a cruel semblance of a grin. Was she actually enjoying this?

“You have changed,” I said softly.

“We all change, Evelyn.”

No, not like this,
I thought. It was as if her time away had unleashed an insatiable spirit within her, one who could not be satisfied, could not be happy, and who seemed unable to care about anyone but herself.

So I did what I had to do. I met her demand with my own.

“You will have the dress when I have Antonia,” I said and my legs shook as I rose from the couch and looked down at her. “That day and no sooner.”

For the longest moment, she stared at me with those near-black eyes as her plump lips fell open, before she sighed quite unhappily. “All right.” She rubbed her belly in agitated circles. “Fair's fair, I guess.”

“And then will you go?” It was a question, no more. But Anna clearly took it as an attack.

Her chin jerked up, and she angrily snapped, “Yes, then I'll go and leave you to your perfect little life. That's your revenge on me, isn't it? Your way of getting back? Because I always had what you didn't, and now you have what I will not. That makes you smug, doesn't it, Evelyn Alice, thinking you've bested me? Knowing you've won.”

Oh, Anna.

I stood there silently, without words to respond, the whole of me trembling as I watched the play of mania on her face, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Good night,” I said and no more.

When Bridget took me back across in the boat, I was glad for the darkness to hide my devastation.

That night as Jon slept, I stripped down to my underwear and put on the black dress. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, desperate to dream. When the vision came this time, there was little fanfare. Just the softest ripple across my skin and a ruffling of hair at my nape, as though a breath had blown upon it. What I saw lasted only a moment, but it was enough: Anna with the baby in her arms, walking away into the pitch.

I couldn't move for a long while after. I refused to believe it meant anything, assuming instead it was a warning to keep an eye on my sister. Only how close an eye could I keep when a river ran between us?

As it turned out, not nearly close enough.

B
y dawn, half the ice grape harvest had been picked, and Toni felt stiff and tired and oddly exhilarated. Her skin seemed permanently goosefleshed thanks to a dull chill that went clear to her bones. It would take more than another mug of hot coffee to completely thaw her out. But she couldn't imagine having missed taking part.

She never quite made it into the winery's office to poke around the files. Another day would have to do. She did return to the four-seasons room to warm up, and she stood there for a long while, watching as the sun rose above the horizon, the stars and moon giving way to rich peaches and pinks that fleshed out the rows of vines she'd been stomping through until a few minutes before. It took her breath away, seeing the soldierly lines of tangled brittle-looking plants frosted over, the ground between smothered in white. No wonder her father had loved this place so much.

Hunter and most of the crew were still working, getting the last of the night's grapes crushed and pressed to remove the ice crystals so they could turn the juice into wine. Before she left, Toni made sure to track him down, manning one of the presses. She wanted to tell him good-bye in person, or at least let him know she was shoving off.

Only when she caught his eye and waved, he quickly found a man to take his place. “Antonia, hold on a sec,” he called to her and pulled on his coat and hat. Then he followed her out, walking with her to her car.

“Evie would be tickled by this,” Toni admitted as they headed around the buildings and crunched through the crust of snow. “If she wasn't lying flat on her back in the hospital, she would've been here, I'm sure, supervising from the window, wishing she could be in the thick of things.”

“I'd like to think so, too,” he said, and she caught his smile in profile. “And I know she'd be thrilled you showed up.” He gently bumped her shoulder, a clumsy move straight out of junior high flirting that made her smile, too. “I hadn't expected to see you at all, considering how you felt. But whatever made you come, I'm glad for it. It seems right that you were here, you know.”

“It does,” she agreed, thinking of Evie and her dad, wishing now she'd spent more time here with them both when she had the chance instead of resisting and squandering her last summer in a hairnet at the Tastee Freeze. “Live and learn,” she said under her breath.

He stopped in front of her VW and turned to look at her, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “I take back what I said, about you being nothing like your mother. You're a lot more like Miss Evie than I gave you credit for. You might not have believed at first, but I think you do now.”

“Thanks.” Toni blushed, taken aback by the compliment. Maybe because she'd grown up thinking how unalike she and her mother were. “I figure I owe you an apology, too—”

“No, you don't owe me a thing,” he cut her off and shook his head. Beneath the shadow of unshaved scruff, his cheeks were pink; his eyes were bright albeit underlined by lack of sleep. “In fact, I owe you something big. You and Evie both.”

“What's that?” Toni squinted at him, her breath emerging in smoky puffs. She couldn't begin to guess what he owed her, but then her brain felt sleep-deprived and not a little blinded by the rising sun reflecting off all the white around them.

“I figure it's high time I told my father what I've been up to,” Hunter said, kicking the toe of his boot against the curb. “All these secrets don't seem to do anybody any good. The longer we keep them, the harder they come back to bite us in the ass.”

“Good luck with that.” She gave him a weary smile. “I'll be home, sleeping off this crazy night.” She raised her gloved hands before her and wiggled cramped fingers. “I don't think I've ever worked so hard before, not even on the governor's daughter's impossibly out-of-control wedding.”

“You were great,” he assured her and reached up to brush windblown hair from her cheek. “You can join my crew anytime.”

“Well, hey”—a shiver dashed up Toni's spine—“that's something.”

“Go on, get in, and warm her up. I'll clear the windows,” he instructed and gave her arm a gentle push.

Toni did as told, unlocking the Jetta and climbing inside its cold interior. She started the engine, turned on the defrost, and rubbed her gloved fingers while Hunter wiped the glass clean with his coat sleeves.

She wanted to roll down the window, to tell him thank you, but the damned thing was stuck.

Hunter bent down to grin at her before patting the glass. He waved from the curb, waiting until she pulled out of the space, her tires slowly finding traction. Then he ambled away, his shoulders hunched and hands in pockets. Soon enough, the peppermint-striped hat bobbed around the corner of the front porch and was gone.

As the sun began to rise and its yellow rays peeked above the horizon, she drove toward the Victorian, the heat on high. She took care on the roads as they hadn't been plowed, bending over the wheel and fairly holding her breath till she got home. Safely arrived, she dragged her tired carcass upstairs, peeling her clothes off down to her long underwear and burying herself beneath the layers of blankets and heavy comforter.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was filled with light. As she turned her head to glance at the clock on the nightstand, she let out a skull-rattling sneeze, only to have a soothing voice say, “Bless you, child.”

Toni sat up with a start, blinking at the intrusion of sun through the opened curtains and the sight of the woman sitting in the wing chair, watching her.

“I didn't mean to startle you, Miss Antonia, but do you know it's nearly noon? I was worried you'd come down with something after staying out all night, picking grapes in the snow.”

“Bridget? How could you possibly know—”

“I just do.” She had the black dress folded over her knees and the hatbox set atop it, her hands resting on the lid. She neither smiled nor frowned, her expression trapped somewhere in between. “I see you finally found it.” She tapped the box with a thick-knuckled finger. “So you've looked inside, I'll wager?”

“Yes.” Toni nodded, drawing her knees to her chest.

“I've been thinking about Miss Evie and knowing I couldn't live with myself if, God forbid, she never woke up and I'd kept to myself all the things I'm keeping from you because of the promises I made to them. Maybe it's time we had a little talk, you and me, if that's all right.”

“You read my mind,” Toni told her. “I have plenty I'd like to ask you.”

“Well, go right ahead, child.”

Toni didn't waste any time. She blurted out, “From the moment I set foot back in this house, you led me on a wild-goose chase, forcing me to stumble over the truth on my own when you could have set me straight.” Because that's what she believed. She wasn't angry so much as frustrated. “Why didn't you sit me down like this when I first came?”

“I couldn't,” Bridget replied, eyes downcast as she traced a circle on the lid of the hatbox. “I swore to them both that I'd be quiet, and I won't break my word to either. Not even for you.”

“By
both,
you mean my mom and Anna?”

“I do.” She nodded, gray curls bobbing. “They trusted me to keep their secrets, and I will take them to my grave.”

Secrets.
Argh, Toni wanted to scream. There were always secrets, weren't there? Everyone kept them at some time or another; hid them in cupboards or attics, or behind a smile, until there were so many they would never go away.

What was it Hunter had said?
All these secrets don't seem to do anybody any good. The longer we keep them, the harder they come back to bite us in the ass.

“Tell me whatever you can without betraying them,” Toni begged.

“I'll do my best.” The housekeeper put her arms around the hatbox and hugged it like a life raft. “Where should I start?”

“How about telling me why you lied about Evie being broke and letting me think that Hunter Cummings meant to take advantage of her?” Toni asked without hesitation. “When Greg was here, he went through Mother's bank statements, and while she isn't rich by any means, she's not exactly a pauper. As for Hunter, he really is trying to help her. How could you have thought otherwise?”

Bridget's chin went up defensively. “Those weren't lies so much as excuses.”

“Excuses?” Toni had no clue what she meant. “For what?”

“Oh, child.” The woman sighed, and her eyes welled with tears. “I had to convince you to stay, don't you see? Nothing will ever be sorted out if you leave. I think Miss Evie understood that before she took ill. I believe it's why she went up to the attic for these.” She looked down at the hatbox and the dress. “She knew it was time to make her peace.”

If that was meant to tug at Toni's heartstrings, it plucked a few chords of a sad country song at the very least. But she wasn't letting Bridget off the hook so easily.

“Come over here, please,” Toni said and patted a spot beside her, “and bring those with you.”

The older woman rose from the chair with her arms full and crossed the rug to stand beside the bed. Almost reverently, she presented the box and the dress to Toni before she took a seat on the edge of the mattress near Toni's feet.

Toni removed the lid and dug inside, fishing out the photograph from Anna's seventh birthday party. She held it out to Bridget. “You knew my aunt Anna a long, long time ago and not simply because she was notorious for dumping Davis Cummings the night before their wedding. That
is
you in the picture, isn't it?”

Bridget took the photo, her expression bittersweet as she gazed upon it. “Oh, dear, so long ago.” She gave a fragile nod. “Yes, it's me.”

“Were you close to Anna?”

“I was an only child, and Miss Anna was the nearest I had to a sister.” Her thin lips pursed, Bridget rubbed a spot on her throat. “My ma began working for the Evanses before I was old enough to remember. They let me play with the girls, so we'd stay out of their hair. Miss Evie, she'd eventually get tired of being bossed around and wander off with a book, and I'd be left with Miss Anna. Lord, that girl had the wildest imagination!” She chuckled, and, for a moment, her eyes filled with light. “We were tigers in Africa one day and Arabian princesses the next. She was something back then. Her smile was pure sunshine. She had a way about her that sucked people in.
Magnetic,
that's the word for it. If she was in the room, it was impossible to ignore her.”

Toni wondered why, if Anna was so damned lovable, Evie couldn't even say her name. “Did she and my mother have a falling-out before she died?”

“Before she died?” Bridget repeated, and her eyes went wide as quarters. “Who on earth told you she'd passed?”

“My mother,” Toni admitted but backtracked when she realized that wasn't exactly true. “At least she implied it. She never specifically said the word
dead,
just that Anna was gone and never coming back. So I assumed—”

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

Anna's alive?
Toni's heart began madly thumping. How was that possible?

Needing an answer, she scrambled to ask, “Why would Evie want me to believe her sister had died if she hadn't? Why wouldn't she even let my dad mention Anna's name? That isn't”—she sought out the right word—“rational.”

“Maybe not.” Bridget touched the black dress, scrolling a finger across the silk. “But, believe me, she had her reasons.”

What on earth could keep one sibling from acknowledging the other's existence? “Did Anna murder someone?”

“No,” Bridget said, a little huffy. “For Pete's sake.”

“Then I don't understand. Anna's her blood.”

“She is that.” The woman frowned, her brow pleating. “But being born into a family doesn't make two people alike, now does it? Or make them love each other, for that matter. And they had their differences, Evie and Anna. When Miss Annabelle rejected Mr. Cummings, she made a lot of people angry, including your mother and your grandfather. I don't imagine he ever forgave her.”

“I don't think my mother did either,” Toni remarked and reached into the hatbox for the photograph of Evie and Anna, the one where Anna wore the black dress. “
The night that changed everything,
” she said out loud, having memorized the note her mother had scrawled on the back.

“Oh, yes, that was surely one of them,” Bridget agreed.

“Something horrible must have come between them,” Toni said; and, if it wasn't murder, what else might it be? “She acted like Anna had fallen off the face of the earth.”

“It's not that simple.” Bridget sniffed and set her hands in her lap. “Mr. Evans, he wanted nothing to do with Miss Anna after she ran off on Davis Cummings. The fallout afterward”—she shook her head—“it near to killed your grandpa, and he was never the same. He blamed her for so many things, including Mrs. Evans' death. Miss Evie got stuck in the middle, poor thing. It wasn't easy for her. I don't know what she would've done without your daddy.”

So Franklin Evans lost his wife and disowned his younger daughter in one fell swoop? How many other skeletons hid within the closets of the old Victorian? Toni had grown up inside these walls, yet she had never known any of this.

“Poor Evie,” Toni whispered. Why had her mother kept her pain so bottled up? Had the family “scandals” scarred her so badly that she couldn't even talk about them? Toni let out a slow breath and set her head against the headboard, as frustrated and confused as ever. “Why didn't Annabelle just return and make things right?”

“She
did
return eventually,” Bridget replied then looked away as if she were having a hard time deciding what she could say exactly. “Four years later, I found her waiting on the boat slip when my ma and I were heading home one night.” She paused to wet her lips. “She'd gotten herself into quite a situation, and we did what we could for her. Your ma tried to help her, she truly did. But Miss Annabelle did something terrible the day you were born, something Miss Evie couldn't forgive. She scared us all to death, and we understood she wasn't well.” Bridget plucked at her pants. “She needed the kind of help we couldn't give.”