Category:

She'd even used her word, almost bringing tears to Bailey's eyes. Appreciation was there, yes. But on the other hand, Miss Jackson never once had offered to give her a raise in the two years she'd worked there. The Regal Gown wouldn't run effortlessly without Bailey at the helm. Without Bailey's hard work and dedication, Miss Jackson wouldn't be able to sit across the street at Georgia's Diner in her favorite booth, having coffee, reading the paper, and glancing over her spectacles for all comings and goings. Bottom line, she was still Miss Jackson's colored gal, regardless of what fancy French name she called herself. When the ire reared its ugly head, Bailey told herself to be grateful she had a job. There was no place she'd rather be.

Business hours started at 10 A.M. Bailey used the spare time to make herself a cup of tea and plan her workday.

She slung the white sewing apron over her head before turning on the lamp in the storeroom. The bulb overhead flickered on slowly to reveal the storeroom, where a cast-iron sewing machine sat in the corner. She plugged it in and listened for the whir of a motor ready for action. She took a moment to study the garments, neatly tagged and in the order of the customers' appointments.

Her heart quickened with a snag of anxiety when she saw one tagged E. Grimes hanging among the garments. No doubt Elsa would be bursting through the golden doors first thing, even though her appointment wasn't until later in the week. The girl wasn't giving up without a fight.

Therefore, it made sense to swap projects to plan for the intrusion. E. Grimes now became first on her list of things to do. If... when Elsa arrived, she'd hand her the gown, complete with alterations, and send her on her way. 

As she sipped her tea, Bailey mentally went down the line. She'd have to skip over the work for the lady who wanted peacock feathers sewn around the neckline of a beige cashmere coat. There was Miss Marion, who had an appointment for her second fitting. Much later would be Lucinda Ralph with the red cocktail frock, though Bailey was sure Miss Lucinda had only purchased the dress to talk to Bailey about her husband, who she suspected of having a pretty young thing on the other side of the train tracks.

Bailey had explained she couldn't read a thing happening on the other side of anything. For her ability of sight to work, she'd have to touch Mr. Ralph, skin to skin, and that wasn't likely going to happen unless he needed a dress hemmed, and she would bet he did not.

Bailey moved things one more time, only to see the feathers from the cashmere coat spit fuzz on the black evening frock. Swap. Switch. Move. Then back again.

This was why order was so important. Order made things less complicated. To have Elsa's dress finished right along with the others, Bailey would simply have to work fast and efficiently. What else was new? Miss Jackson had hired her for her efficiency. There'd been a test at the time, no different from what she was doing now. Her home economics teacher would be proud of her—cutting, ripping threads, and putting pieces back together in record speed on the machine. For the intricate details, her hands worked in knotted vigor. The ridiculous feathers caused her to sneeze every few seconds as she sewed steadily, ignoring the occasional pinprick through her thumb guard. All the while she continued to tell herself, This day too shall pass.

CHAPTER THREE

Elsa Grimes camped out at the top of the spiral staircase, not wanting to get in the way of the shuffling tradesmen whose boots were squeaking on the shiny floor. Activity. Movement. Her wedding was in five days. But this shift of bodies was owed to the pre-party before the party.

WELCOME TO THE ENGAGEMENT OF ELSA AND NILES, the engraved plaque read. The plaque had been installed above the arched entryway with screws. No one thought of or cared about the holes that would be left behind.

The staff and deliverymen took their orders from Elsa's mama—Miss Ingrid. One point or wave of her slender ivory-hued hand and her will was done.

Elsa grew up witnessing how folks drooped like water-starved flowers in her mama's presence. She knew exactly how it felt. She was an inferior version of Mrs. Ingrid Grimes, having missed her mother's genetic bonanza of grace, charm, and exquisite taste in clothing and jewelry. Those fine trappings were necessary to make a lady a ma'am. But they never took with Elsa, and she certainly didn't ever want to be called ma'am.

Elsa preferred wearing tattered dungarees and oversize plaid shirts. Her favorite shoes, shredded at the edges, were her oxfords. If she could figure out how to wear them for the ceremony, she would. She wobbled in anything with a heel. For the wedding she'd at least been approved to wear low-heeled white Mary Janes, since she and Niles were nearly the same height.

"Not here, over there," Ingrid snapped. "The library will be used as the coat check. Move the Steinway to the far-right corner of the ballroom just past the fireplace. This space will occupy the six tables with ten chairs each. Now follow me over here." Her graceful steps in kitten heels gave the impression she was charming and ladylike, but Elsa knew different. The manners and dignity her mama wore could easily be removed like an itchy sweater.