The Time-Traveling Fashionista (6 page)

“Dear, is everything all right in there?” Glenda called from the other side of the Japanese screen. “Do you need help?
Marla can button you up. She used to be the personal dresser and stylist for all of the big starlets. Louise Brooks would
simply not get dressed without her.”

“Who?” Louise asked.

“Nothing, dear. Come out and show us!”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Louise took a gulp of the sweet sparkly liquid to calm her churning stomach and felt the bubbles
go straight to her head.

“Are you sure this is only cider?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Of course, sweetie,” Marla reassured her.

Louise took off her jean jacket, pulled her navy and white polka-dotted sundress over her head, and stood for a long minute
in her camisole and socks on the cool hardwood floor. She slowly pulled the garment off of the wooden hanger and held the
dress in front of her body while she looked at her image in the dusty and cracked mirror.

The dress was the perfect shade of pink: cotton candy, bubble gum, and Marilyn Monroe. She felt like she looked truly beautiful.
She smiled a great, big, open smile, and saw reflected back at her a mouth crammed full of shiny metal braces, abruptly grounding
her in the depressing reality that was her twelve-year-old life.

With a sigh, Louise picked up the pink dress and pushed her arms through the puckered sleeves and let it fall over her body
like a curtain. She heard the swishing of the fabric as it
slid down around her, she felt the soft silk and the itchy taffeta netting brush against her skin, and as soon as the garment
had moved into place she felt light-headed, spinning, dizzy… and then everything went black. Louise crumpled, unconscious,
to the floor on a pillow of rose-colored silk.

“Miss Baxter. Miss Baxter. Wake up, Miss Baxter.”

Louise opened her eyes. Her eyelids were crusted together as if after a long night’s sleep. Her head was pounding, and her
mouth felt like it was filled with bitter-tasting cotton balls.

“She’s awake! Wow, Miss Baxter, you gave us all a scare!”

A bright light blinded Louise, and she immediately closed her eyes again. Her head was killing her, the ground was spinning,
and why did it sound like this man’s voice was calling her Miss Baxter? She needed to stop the spinning feeling in her head.
Where was she? Louise tried to concentrate. She felt a cool breeze; the air smelled fresh and briny.

“Miss Baxter? Please open your eyes again, have a sip of water.”

Louise obeyed the voice. She was looking up at an unfamiliar man with salt-and-pepper hair, a full white beard, and rosy cheeks.
He was hovering over her, fanning her face with
a newspaper. A man holding an old-fashioned camera with a big flash was standing alongside him. Behind them was a crowd of
concerned faces, framed by an expansive bright blue sky.

“Miss Baxter, you gave us quite a scare for a minute there,” the strange man said again, in what Louise detected was a British
accent. He was wearing a white, buttoned-up uniform with gold braiding.

“Are we… are we moving?” Louise asked. She felt like she was lying on something hard and splintery.

“Well, I should hope so,” he replied with a chuckle. “If we’re ever to make it to New York City.”

“New York City?”

“Yes, we’re on our way to New York City. Don’t you remember, Miss Baxter?” he asked.

“Please stop calling me that,” Louise pleaded. “Who is Miss Baxter?”

The uniformed man whistled. “This is worse than I thought.” He once again offered Louise a glass of water and continued fanning
her with the folded newspaper. Louise accepted the drink, hoping to wash out the unpleasant taste that coated her parched
mouth.

“
You
are Miss Baxter, Miss Baxter,” he replied cheerfully.

Louise thought that if he said that name one more time, she would scream.

“And who are you?” she asked, completely baffled.

“Well, there, Miss Baxter. You don’t remember me, either, do you?”

Louise shook her head. No, she most certainly did not.

“I’m Edward Smith.” He pointed to his gold nameplate. “I’m the captain of this ship.”

“We’re on a ship?” she asked. The rocking motion started to make a bit more sense.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We left England this morning. Mr. Miller had just taken a group photograph for
the
Times
, and as soon as the flash went off, you collapsed here on the A Deck. The bright light must have startled you.”

“England?” Louise repeated incredulously. She must be dreaming. That was the only logical explanation.

“Yes, Miss Baxter. Don’t worry, though; we’ll be picking up Mr. Baxter at the next port in Cherbourg, France.”
Omigod! There was a
Mr.
Baxter?!
This was worse than she thought. She needed to wake up now. Louise closed her eyes tightly and pinched herself, hard, on
her right arm. It hurt.

Looking down, she saw that she was lying on a slatted wooden deck chair. She was wearing a pink evening gown and no shoes;
her painted red toenails peeked out from under the fabric. Louise tried to prop herself up, becoming a bit self-conscious
about the small crowd staring at her.

“Please don’t move, ma’am. We don’t want any more fainting spells. And I don’t want you to cut yourself on the broken glass,”
the captain said, gesturing to the floor next to Louise’s chaise. “William! Get someone to clean up this glass immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” a voice from the crowd answered.

Louise glanced to her left and saw a shattered champagne flute in pieces on the blond wood deck.

“William will help you back to your stateroom just as soon as you feel strong enough.” The captain nodded with authority.
“I must get back to my post.”

“Ummm… Thanks… Captain…” Louise whispered, squinting her eyes to try and make out the name, which she had already forgotten,
on his polished shiny nameplate.

Confused, Louise grabbed the newspaper from the captain’s hands and unfolded it to the front page.

And with that news, she promptly fainted once again.

Louise felt like she was nestled in a cloud, wrapped in something delicate and silky, and she didn’t want to open her eyes
and end this wonderful dream.

After lying still for a moment, she heard a rhythmic clicking noise and felt as if someone was staring at her. It was an uncomfortable,
penetrating feeling that forced her to open her eyes to see who was disturbing this heavenly moment.

“Ma’am, are you awake?” a girl’s British-accented voice asked hesitantly.

Louise made a grunting noise, the sort of noise you make when you’re half-awake, but you want to pretend you’re still sleeping.

“Thank goodness. Oh, Miss Baxter, I was worried sick,” she squeaked.

When Louise heard the name Miss Baxter, she immediately snapped back to her present reality. Now she remembered
quite clearly her last lucid moments. On a ship’s deck; she was on board some boat… one hundred years ago.
I must still be dreaming
, she thought hazily to herself.

Louise was tucked snugly into a comfortable feather bed, under a pile of royal blue and purple quilts that made it hard for
her to sit upright. The four-poster bed she lay in was draped in rich burgundy velvet.

She was not alone in the room. A pretty teenage girl with piercing blue eyes was sitting in a wooden chair at the foot of
the bed, knitting. A simple gray dress in an old-fashioned style adorned her slender figure, and a white shawl was tied around
her shoulders. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned back into a tidy bun. Something about her features was weirdly familiar.

“How are you feeling, Miss Baxter? You fainted again on the upper deck. I was terribly worried, ma’am.”

Louise couldn’t believe that this girl, who looked old enough to be in high school, was calling her ma’am. Actually, it was
hard to believe that anyone would call her ma’am; she was only twelve years old.

“I’ve changed you into your bedclothes. That dress was most constricting; I thought you should be comfortable,” the girl explained
eagerly.

Louise turned an embarrassed shade of scarlet, as she realized that the soft and silky feeling she’d noticed earlier was
from the satin fabric of an unfamiliar slip she was wearing. She pulled the quilt up to try and get a better look at herself.
She had never worn a silk nightgown in her life, and the thought of this stranger undressing her and changing her into one
was mortifying.