“Huh. I must have imagined it . . .” she said, trailing off. She turned back to the dress form, lifted the hem of the dress, and slid the needle into the fabric.
I watched Gracie, baffled, wondering exactly what she’d felt—and why.
The bells on the front door jingled. I tucked my bewilderment away to think about later as Miriam Kincaid finally walked in, a teenage girl on her heels.
Chapter 36
“I don’t have much time,” Miriam announced before they’d even closed the front door. “This is my daughter. My mother said you’re making her a dress—”
I gaped at the two of them darkening my doorway, stunned into silence. Another one? Did nobody understand what went into designing and making a dress? I couldn’t spout some incantation, wave my magic wand around, and voilà!, someone was suddenly clothed in the most spectacular dress she’d ever seen.
Before I found my voice and said exactly what I was thinking, Gracie catapulted off the stool, leaving her needle hanging from the hem of Karen’s dress. “Really?” she exclaimed as she hugged Holly. “You’re in the wedding, too?”
Holly Kincaid didn’t look nearly as excited as Gracie. “My grandmother just decided there needed to be a flower girl. Guess who they chose,” she said glumly, flinging her arms wide.
Gracie’s lower lip slipped out in a pout. “But flower girls are little kids.”
Holly slouched against the front door looking like she wished she could just disappear. “Exactly my point.”
“That’s enough,” Miriam said. “We both just have to hush up and make the best of it.” She tossed her coral cashmere cardigan onto the chaise in the seating area, grabbed her daughter by the wrist, and dragged her forward, stopping short when she noticed Will bent over the shelf.
It felt like a junior high moment, full of angst and emotional despair, only I didn’t know if the feelings were Miriam’s . . . or mine.
“Miriam, good to see you,” Will said, nodding at her, then going straight back to work.
“You, too, Will.” No emotion, which was odd considering the history.
So I guess the feelings were mine.
Gracie whirled around, falling into step beside Holly. “Harlow Cassidy,” she said when they passed the French doors, “this is Holly Kincaid. Holly, this is Harlow. She’s, like, totally amazing.”
I thought I heard Will mutter something, but he was intent on the bottom of the shelf, still working with the screwdriver. Good thing. I didn’t want to know what he was thinking—probably that I was one step away from crazy, a so-called descendant of an old-time train robber with a goat-whisperer grandmother.
Holly had been bred with good manners. “Nice to meet you,” she said.
I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Gracie dragged Holly to the dress form. “Just look at this,” she said. “It’s for one of the bridesmaids. Isn’t it gorgeous? I’m hemming it right now. Then it’ll be done.”
They whispered as Gracie showed Holly Josie’s gown and Ruthann’s dress. Miriam shifted from one foot to the other, as though she couldn’t quite find a comfortable position. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. Miriam had arrived but was almost an hour late, there was a funeral to go to, and now I had another dress to design.
Nana slid my sketchbook across the cutting table. “You’re biting off a lot, girl,” she said, nodding at the book. She held my gaze. Had she seen the list of murder suspects in the back of the book, or was she talking about the flower girl dress that had been added to my workload?
“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I won’t, Nana.” I’d planned to go to the funeral, but with my nearly doubled workload, I was reconsidering that idea.
“Gotta get back to my goats now,” she said, padding out of the workroom. She threw me a look over her shoulder. “Don’t you hold back, child. Ask for help. You’re going to need it.”
Oh, yeah. She’d seen the list.
“She has me,” Mama said from her spot at the Singer.
Gracie’s arm shot into the air. “And me, don’t forget!”
Will’s arm stayed conspicuously down. He wasn’t part of my cavalry.
Nana gave me a wink. “Don’t forget about the cheese,” she called. “Spicy pecan, Tessa. Your favorite.”
Mama whipped her head around, but Nana had already disappeared into the kitchen. The door slammed shut and a moment later we saw her mosey through the gate leading to her property.
Mama shook her head, an exasperated smile tickling her lips. “That woman is full of—” She broke off, darting a glance at Gracie and Holly. “Vinegar,” she finished, amending one of her favorite expressions to the PG version. She bent back over her pleats, but I saw her shoulders still shaking with laughter.
“I only have a few minutes. What do we do now?” Miriam asked. Her skin was sallow and black circles ringed her eyes. It looked like something had interrupted her sleep. I’d avoided the mirror that morning when I’d caught a glimpse of myself and my own drawn face. Whenever these dresses were done, whether there was a wedding or not, I was going to sleep for twenty-four hours straight. It looked like Miriam needed some extra shut-eye, too.
“But you just got here.”
“I know. I have to help set up the reception, though. Sorry.”
I swallowed a sigh as I flipped open my sketchbook and showed her the designs I’d drawn. The one I kept coming back to for her was a simple drawstring halter A-line dress. The shape of the cut, narrower on top and gently flaring out at the bottom, would be perfect for her figure. The mint green linen I’d found in Meemaw’s fabrics had a subtle sheen and would complement the rusty highlights in her hair. With any luck, it might even eradicate her sour disposition.
She barely glanced at it. “Looks good.”
Not the reaction I’d hoped for. I’d thought long and hard about the style. It had to complement the other bridesmaid dresses and Josie’s gown, but it also had to fit Miriam. I’d always seen her as the artsy type and a little bit of a misfit in her own family.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that this had been a last-minute addition to my workload. All I could do was my best. Hopefully that would be good enough.
I pulled out a tape measure. “I need to take your measurements.”
We went behind the privacy screen. She held out her arms and I got to work. She was thinner than Karen, but healthier than Ruthann. Really, she looked almost like an exact replica of her mother. One by one, I took the measurements I needed, jotting the number down after each one. Waist. Hips. Bust. “Are you going to the funeral?” I asked as I let the tape drop from her waist to her knee.
She nodded, glancing at the clock. “I’m sure the whole town’ll be there, just itching to get any gossip going around.”
I changed position and measured from her waist up to her underarm. “Did you know Nell very well?”
She shifted her weight. “We were . . . friends,” she said.
I peered up at her, not knowing what to make of her hesitation. She stared out the window, a pained expression on her face. “Are you okay, Miriam?”
Her lips quivered, but she quickly jammed them together as if that would stop the emotions from spilling out. “Ye—” She broke off, her lips parting as she prepared to say more. Then her whole body convulsed, as if a spirit had jumped in and taken possession. “No,” she said with a hiss. “Not even close.”
I knew death often brought out people’s fears of their own mortality, but I wasn’t sure if that was what Miriam was feeling. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.