Beside her, Bridget chuckled. “You don’t need to whisper. Let me turn on more lights so you can see the place. It’s a real time capsule.”
The harsh glare of fluorescent lights made Athena blink again. Now she could see they were standing in a small entrance to the huge cave that stretched out before her. To her right loomed an oven big enough to roast an ox.
“This is the decontamination chamber.” Bridget moved briskly forward. “That oven is the incinerator where we would have burned our clothes.” She glanced back, her wide smile splitting her pale face. “I guess they would have been naked as the day they were born until they got to the bedroom.”
Athena burst out laughing. “The Clayworth men running around naked. Now, there’s a sight half the women in Chicago have dreamed about seeing.”
Bridget shook her head. “Those boys are too good-lookin’ for their own good. I fear half of those ladies have had their dreams come true.”
And I’m one of them.
She felt herself getting warmer.
Bridget shot her a sharp, inquisitive look. “Are you all right?”
“Great! Love it. What’s next?”
“The bedrooms.”
Athena followed Bridget into a room lined with rows of bunk beds and one appropriately green-tiled 1950s-style bathroom. Beyond she saw a kitchen with appliances in the same color and a Formica dinette set, straight out of a vintage television sitcom.
“What kind of clothes did you find here when they decided to turn it into their Secret Closet?” Athena asked. The curator in her was already planning an exhibit of what would have been worn in a fallout shelter like this one during the Cold War.
“Don’t know. Back in the day they must have planned to have somethin’ to wear while they were here.” She pointed to a chain-link fence holding back small boulders stretching out for six yards beyond the kitchen. “The idea was to stay down here for two years. Then tear apart this fence holdin’ back rocks. Dig their way out into what was left of the world.” Bridget shook her head so hard the gold clip holding up her white-streaked strawberry curls came loose. With a yank she shoved it firmly back in place. “Whole thing was crazy. But the vault was the craziest of all.”
Totally entranced, Athena followed her deeper into the cavernous underground shelter. They passed row after row of the store’s famous glass-window wagons and a fleet of electric broughams, all with the famous John Clayworth and Company logo brazened in gold letters on the side.
They stopped in front of the largest safe door she’d ever seen, even in pictures of the U.S. Mint.
Using both hands, Bridget turned the giant tumbler. “They built this to keep the credit records of all the store’s customers.” She snorted. “Like anyone would care about their bills when the world’s comin’ to an end.” She swung the door wide open. “Now all that foolishness is behind us, they store Bertha’s gowns in here.”
A golden glow fell out into the gloom. Light glistened off rhinestones, silver cord, and gold beads.
The four Bertha Palmer dresses beckoned Athena into their world, the way mythology had, when her father made it come alive. Her senses dazzled by the dresses worn by one of her mother’s idols, dresses that when used properly could make her dreams come true, Athena rushed past Bridget into the vault.
Struck by a blast of warm air, she gasped. “The temperature in here should be better controlled. And these dresses shouldn’t be on mannequins. They should be in their own specially built archival boxes.”
“Good golly, you almost sound like your old self.” Bridget laughed. “That’s the spirit. You and your sisters used to give those boys hell when you were youngsters. They need to be put in their place once in a while.”
Part of her would like nothing better than to tell the Clayworths what she thought of them for casting her father aside so cavalierly, but she had to put the past behind her to get what she needed.
Maybe I’m wrong again.
She slowly shook her head. “Maybe it’s just me. It’s probably cool enough. I’m just so thrilled to be here, I’m feverish with anticipation. It’s an honor for the museum to have the opportunity to establish the provenance on these dresses.”
Bridget cocked her head, slanting a long glance into Athena’s deliberately blank face. “Sure you’re all right with all of this?”
“Sure. Can’t wait to get my fingers on these dresses.” She tried to beam good cheer but felt naked not being able to hide behind the glasses she’d rammed into the lab coat pocket. She turned away to slip on the coat and rubber gloves. “I’ll get to work. I don’t want to keep you here all day.”
“I’d best leave you to it, then.” Bridget sighed. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen doin’ paperwork.”
Athena nodded without looking around. She sensed Bridget wanted to say more, but Athena couldn’t discuss her dad now. It still felt too raw.
Determined to push away every thought except these dresses, she stepped in front of the first mannequin. Her breath caught in a tremble of excitement before she spoke into her tiny handheld tape recorder.
“I’m here in the Clayworth family Secret Closet to establish provenance on four Bertha Palmer gowns. I am starting with a dress of black corded grenadine with green and pink stripes over green taffeta. Trimmed with loops of narrow pink satin and green grosgrain ribbons.”
Unable to resist, she delicately traced the bodice with her fingertips. “The bodice is made to look like a corselette of black satin with jet passementerie interlaced with narrow pink satin ribbon outlined with one-and-one-fourth-inch double-faced satin ribbon.”
She dropped to her knees to peer up into the sleeves, again reverently touching the exquisite, delicate fabric. “The small leg-of-mutton sleeves are lined to the elbow with green taffeta.”
Wanting to better view the workmanship, she stretched out on the concrete floor. The cold seeped through her lab coat, thin cashmere sweater, and cotton skirt.
Shivering, she carefully lifted the hem of the gown and peered up inside. “The skirt is gored with gathers at the back. Blind pocket of white taffeta lined with soft green fine rep silk taffeta. The construction is exquisite. There are twelve bones in the bodice. Each is sewn with stitches so tiny and fine I can barely see them.”
Something kept irritating the back of her throat, and she stifled a cough. “Bertha Palmer wore this gown in the summer months, and it is reported to have been one of her favorites.”
Her voice hoarse from holding back the cough, she slid out from beneath the gown to clear her throat. She brushed at her cheeks, trying to get rid of whatever tickled her skin.
The second mannequin, the one on her right, began to shimmer, giving it the sudden, odd appearance of movement.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. Instead the world spun slowly around and a rush of euphoria made her giddy. Happier than she’d felt in months. She didn’t understand what was happening to her, but right now, here, she didn’t care.
She giggled, doing a little dance to the gown. Her body tingled with recklessness, daring her to do something forbidden. Like the time she dared Drew to go skinny dipping with her in the pond at the far end of the Clayworth estate in Lake Forest.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Away with you! she commanded. But the memory wouldn’t obey. She just kept swelling and swelling with the same excitement and fear she’d felt then, knowing if her parents found out she’d be sent to boarding school. She ripped off her gloves to stroke the heavy champagne silk satin gown with her bare fingers.
She’d seen countless pictures of this famous Worth gown when Mrs. Potter Palmer wore it at the Court of Saint James’s in London, but the photos didn’t do it justice. It mesmerized her. Totally irresistible.