The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (19 page)

Trace reached out to straighten the blue-and-white bow decorating his Katie-cat’s curls. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we? But I don’t think you need to worry, girls. Miss Fortune strikes me as just the type of woman who forgives and forgets.”

As the foursome left the house and headed for the church, Trace glanced up at the clear blue sky and murmured, “In fact, that’s something I’m counting on.”

IN THE vestry of the First Methodist Church, Monique Day clicked her tongue as she arranged the veil atop Jenny’s head. “I do wish you’d tell me what is wrong, dear. It’s as clear as the nose on my face that something is the matter.”

Jenny shook her head. “I’m fine, Monique.”

“You don’t look fine,” the sculptress said with a sniff. “You’ve a look about your eyes I do not like. I’ve told you half a dozen times already this afternoon, but I’ll tell you again. If you want to back out of this wedding, you have my blessing. I admit I’ve had second thoughts about Edmund. Perhaps we could solve this bad luck problem another way.”

Jenny shivered with a cold so deep even the steaming hot bath she’d taken hadn’t warmed her. “Redeeming the dress’s reputation will solve my troubles, Monique.”

Monique patted Jenny’s shoulders. “Well, you know what’s best. Although, I will worry about you.”

“I know.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Of course you do.”

Monique kissed her cheek, then checked her own appearance in the mirror. “La, would you look at that. I have a smear on my dress. I’ll be right back, Jenny. I must see if I can locate a bit of water to—” She was still talking as she exited the room.

Jenny inhaled a deep breath and wondered why she wasn’t nervous. She wondered why she didn’t feel anything at all. Shrugging, she studied her reflection in the mirror and examined the Bad Luck Wedding Dress with a critical eye. Even Worth himself would be envious of this gown, she decided. She still had her talent. She shouldn’t forget that.

A little flush of pride washed through her, and she welcomed the warmth.

She’d felt cold for too long, ever since Trace McBride’s visit. The extremes of emotion of the previous day—and night—had numbed her. The “train robbery” and its aftermath; Trace’s early morning visit with his shocking announcement and abrupt departure.

Murder. Jenny didn’t believe it for a second.

Well, what she thought didn’t matter now, did it? In a few minutes she’d march down the aisle to marry a man she didn’t much like, ending any possibility, slight though it might be, for a future with the man she truly loved.

Love?
Jenny closed her eyes in misery. Love. That word. That tiny four-letter, world-rocking word had slipped in despite her best efforts to hold it at bay.

God help her, it was true. She did love him; she had for some time now. She loved Trace McBride, and she was marrying Edmund Wharton.

Oh, Jenny, Trace was right. Stupid. How stupid can you get?

She stared into the mirror as if by looking hard enough, she could find the answer in her image. The mantel clock sitting on a small carved oak table against the west wall tolled the hour. Funny, she thought, it sounds almost like a death knell. Someone needs to fix the clock. Her brittle laugh echoed in the small room.

The door opened and Monique poked her head inside, a mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Your bridal attendants await.”

Jenny’s brows lifted. “Bridal attendants? What bridal attendants?”

Monique swung the door wide and three angels dressed in organdy with circlets of white roses in their hair stepped inside.

“Surprise, Miss Fortune,” Katrina declared. “We’re your bridesmaids. Aren’t we beautiful?”

The McBride Menaces dressed as angels? Jenny’s head, already muddled, began to swim.

Maribeth shrugged and said, “Kat just likes all the ruffles. The dresses are all right, but they’re not as pretty as what you’d have made us. Papa says he’s never seen dresses as pretty as those you make.”

Trace. The name twisted Jenny’s heart.

“What do you think he’ll say about our halo?” Katrina asked, lifting a hand to touch the ring of flowers in her hair.

Emma added, “He hasn’t seen our flowers, yet. Your mother gave them to us when we got here.”

“Papa will probably faint when we walk down the aisle,” Maribeth said with a giggle. “After all, the McBride Menaces wearing angels’ haloes is a pretty shocking sight.”

“When you walk down the aisle,” Jenny repeated stupidly. “Your father is
here?
”

“Yes,” Emma replied. “I don’t think he really wanted to come, but he couldn’t very well miss our grand entrance.”

Monique motioned the girls back out into the vestibule. “Everyone appears to be seated. I’ll signal the pianist to begin.” She handed her daughter a bouquet of roses, then adjusted the filmy white veil over her face. “It’s a beautiful dress. I hope it brings you the best of luck.”

Jenny swallowed an hysterical laugh. “It’s The Bad Luck Wedding Dress, Mother.”

“Yes, but you are Jenny Fortune.”

The opening strains of the wedding march sounded, and Monique led the way toward the center aisle. Jenny looked around and saw row after row of curious faces, their eyes alight with anticipation. A sense of approaching doom descended on her like a cloud.

What was she doing here? She couldn’t marry Edmund, not like this.

Not when she loved another man.

The truth was a hard slap to the face. The music drowned out her groan. Dear Lord, why now? Why not ten minutes ago? Ten days ago?

She couldn’t marry Edmund. “Mother!” she said in a loud whisper. “Mother, I can’t—”

But Monique was already down the aisle, taking her seat as the mother of the bride. Jenny stood frozen, staring at the McBride girls. She loved Trace. She loved him, and she’d given up on him way too easily. Who was she to have accused him of being afraid? Wasn’t that her trouble, too? Hadn’t she been too afraid of being hurt to really try and win him?

Katrina started down the aisle, followed quickly by Maribeth. Emma hesitated, looking over her shoulder as she said, “I hope you don’t mind too much, Miss Jenny. We did what we felt we had to do.”

What? What did she mean by that? Panic rose within Jenny. What was she going to do? She couldn’t marry Edmund Wharton!

Standing still as a fashion doll at the end of the aisle, she viewed the congregation from the periphery of her vision. Smiling faces, curious faces, judgmental faces. Oh, help. Her gaze slowly focused on the altar and her groom.

She wished he’d turn around. She could signal him to bolt. That way she’d save him the humiliation of being left at the altar. Because she wouldn’t marry him, she couldn’t.
Oh, Edmund. I’m sorry. I never intended to embarrass you
.

Jenny took a step forward. She pasted a smile on her face and stared hard at the black-jacketed back of her groom, willing him to look at her. Why wasn’t he turning around? That’s the way it was done, wasn’t it? The groom watched the bride walk down the aisle.

Maybe Edmund didn’t want this anymore than she did. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

She caught a glimpse of Rilda Bea Sperry seated in one of the back pews. The widow did look grand in that royal-blue serge. Where would she purchase her wardrobe once Fortune’s Design had closed?

Jenny’s step faltered. She couldn’t deny it. What she was about to do would undoubtedly mean the end of her business. The Bad Luck Wedding Dress’s reputation would live forever.

Swaying, she stepped forward and only then noticed the McBride Menaces had stopped dead-center, halfway up the aisle.

Less than a foot from the trio, Jenny clearly heard the whispers from their huddle.

“What’ll we do now?”

“Where’s Casey? Can we stop him?”

“Mari, this is all your fault.”

“It was your idea, Emmaline Suzanne.”

“Papa’s gonna paint the walls with us this time for certain.”

The scent of roses, beeswax, and trouble hung over the church like a cloud. Jenny touched Maribeth on the shoulder. “Girls?” she calmly asked. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Miss Fortune,” Maribeth said, “this is awful. Wonderful, but awful. We didn’t know!”

“Please forgive us,” Emma added.

“For what?”

“It’s Casey.”

“Casey Tate?”

“Maybe if we hurry we can stop him,” Katrina interjected.

The two older sisters looked at each other, then made a dash for the altar.

Jenny eyed them with concern and a good measure of hope. Had the McBride Menaces been at it again? Would they inadvertently save her? Please, yes. Let her have just one bit of good luck to go along with all the bad.

As her bridesmaids reached the front of the church, Jenny glanced from left to right, peering through the lace of her veil, looking for Casey Tate. He was obviously involved in whatever mischief they had planned, but Jenny didn’t see the boy. She did notice Wilhemina Peters, pencil and notebook in hand, and it appeared as if the entire roster of both the Fort Worth Literary Society and the Ladies’ Benevolent Aid Organization had turned out for the big event. They stared at her dress as if waiting for it to explode. Although Jenny’s customers and their husbands lined the pews, she spied not a glimpse of the boy.

Or the McBride daughters’ father.

Then she was at the altar. Taking her place beside her groom, Jenny looked straight ahead. If the girls didn’t come through for her, maybe she should pretend a faint. That might allow both her and Edmund to escape with a bit of grace.

The congregation quieted as the minister’s voice boomed, “I welcome you all on this most solemn and joyous occasion. We congregate here today in God’s presence to witness as this man and this woman are united in holy matrimony.”

Her stomach turned at the words.

As the clergyman continued his remarks, Jenny’s attention wandered. She unobtrusively lifted her hand and adjusted her veil so as to keep a closer watch on the McBride trio. Or, she should say, the McBride duo. Maribeth had disappeared.

Emma and Katrina were as white as their dresses, and—Jenny stifled a cry of distress when she saw this— tears rolled down the elder sister’s face.

Oh, no. Whatever they had done must truly be awful. But why would they have changed their minds midaisle, so to speak?

The reverend’s voice droned on, and when Jenny saw the girls share a look of alarm, she concentrated on what the man was saying. “If anyone knows a reason why this marriage should not take place …”

She braced herself, praying for a most welcome distraction. But the moment of silence following the minister’s question passed without incident. She breathed a heavy sigh of despair and leaned toward her groom. “Edmund, be prepared. I’m going to faint.”

The squeals began toward the back of the church at the same time the minister instructed the bride and groom to join hands. She moved to look over her shoulder as Edmund grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Edmund,” she protested.

From the back of the church came a woman’s screech. “Mice!”

A second voice cried, “Dozens of them!”

Dresses rustled and shoe leather scuffed against the pews as the groom’s grip tightened painfully upon Jenny’s hand. She turned to glare at him.

Emerald eyes.

Jenny didn’t move. The world stood still.

The man standing next to her wasn’t Edmund Wharton.

She dropped both her chin and her bouquet as the minister said, “Do you, Trace McBride take Jenny Fortune to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do!” he declared about the time a pair of cats streaked past him.

The minister peered over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. “I wasn’t finished yet, Mr. McBride.”

Trace made hurry-up motions with his hand as Maribeth and Casey Tate darted past them, chasing the cats.

Jenny whipped the veil back from her face and simply stared, numb with amazement. Trace was here, standing beside her and reciting marriage vows. If repeating “I do” over and over again counted as recitation.

The church, the people, and the melee of children and animals faded to the periphery of her awareness. Nothing could distract her from the man at her side.

Why? What had changed his mind? She couldn’t read the answer in his eyes. Now he refused to look at her. “Where is Edmund?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re marrying me, not him.”

“I don’t understand!”

“You don’t need to understand, just tell the preacher yes.”

“Miss Fortune?” the reverend asked. “Do you take this man to be your husband?”

She got the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question. Trace gave her hand a little shake. “Do it, Jenny. Now. All hell is breaking loose in here.”

“In church?”

“My daughters are in church.”

A warm bubble of joy swelled within her. Yes, the McBride daughters were here, as was their father. The family she’d always craved waited right here before her. All she had to do was reach out and grab it.

Following a particularly loud yelp from one of the dogs, the preacher suggested, “Perhaps we should call a halt to the proceedings.”

“No!” Jenny and Trace said simultaneously. He finally looked at her, impatience glittering in narrowed green eyes. “Get on with it,” he insisted.

She addressed the minister. “What do I do?”

“There, she said it,” Trace insisted.

The preacher sighed. “Repeat after me. I, Jenny Fortune, take you, Trace McBride, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

She waited until Trace met her gaze once more, then firmly repeated her vows. Although chaos reigned around her, the world narrowed to just her and Trace as she swore to love, honor, and cherish. He watched her keenly, as if against his will, as she promised to be true and faithful. Jenny poured both heart and soul into her words, offering him everything.

When the minister asked for a ring, Trace shook his head. “Sorry, Jenny, I didn’t think about a ring.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted, blinking back tears of happiness. “You’re here, that’s all that matters.”

“Me and the other animals,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting in a rueful grin.