Wednesday of the following week had been chosen as wedding preparation day, to be indulged in and savored at the Forrester house.
Molly’s gown was finished, down to the very last thread, and ready to wear.
Much of Molly’s everyday existence here had been blighted with scandal, spread by the gossip-mongering tongues of residents who apparently didn’t have enough to do. The townsfolk were shocked that she had not immediately donned full mourning attire, from veil to gloves to parasol, to grieve the sudden death of her (worthless) husband; they were equally shocked to hear that she would be remarrying so quickly, ignoring the requisite year of quiet and seclusion when no single man should even be allowed admittance to the house.
Those same busybodies would topple right off the edge of normal society when they first got a glimpse of the color this freshly widowed widow had chosen for her gown.
Molly had pledged Mrs. Semple, her seamstress, to absolute secrecy concerning any details about her wedding dress. Since no one had angrily confronted the soon-to-be bride in the street with recriminations, it was to be assumed that that pledge had been kept.
With Letty’s help, Molly slipped into her finery and wafted down the stairs and into the parlor, to a chorus of oh’s and ah’s of admiration. Made of amethyst brocade, the slight shawl collar plunged daringly far past where it should, and the tightly fitted bodice and long skirt with train had been trimmed with several poufy organza roses. It was a beautiful dress, a stunning dress, of Molly’s own design, and it suited her vibrant personality to a tee.
“What do you think?” She turned slowly, allowing for full impact. “Will Paul be impressed?”
“Honey, his eyes will just about fall out of his head,” said Camellia. Then she giggled.
Hannah’s opinion was, as always, more practical. “We’d better keep a bottle of smelling salts on hand, just for his use. Can’t have him fainting dead away before your wedding night!”
Then all four Burtons began to laugh hysterically.
Soon, with Molly changed back into her everyday attire, they moved into the kitchen and got down to serious business. Her sisters, who would be serving as attendants, could, she assured them, wear any pretty dress they liked. As long as the color didn’t clash with her own.
“Huh,” said Letty, disgruntled. They were partaking of Camellia’s favorite Earl Grey tea and nibbling on a delicious nut bread while plans were being made; Hannah, as secretary, was industriously making notes as needed. “So. No blue? No green? No red?”
“Purple isn’t the easiest shade with which to coordinate,” agreed Camellia thoughtfully. “I suppose we might try yellow. Or pink.”
“I do have this smashing orange outfit,” teased Letty.
Then there was the question of flowers. Any favorites? And did Molly want some sort of reception afterward, in the church hall? Come to think of it, how many guests was she inviting? And which ones? And were she and Paul going away somewhere, once the festivities were over?
Camellia interrupted the general discussion to disappear silently but suddenly out the back door. Concerned, Hannah raised one brow. “Did we offend her?”
“Morning sickness,” offered Letitia, with an air of having knowledge the others did not. “She told me she’s been sick now and then for the past couple of months, usually before she can even get out of bed. But it’s tapering off now, and not happening so often.”
“But—that can’t be good for her! No wonder she’s looking thinner. If she can’t keep her breakfast down, she must be losing weight.”
“It’s perfectly normal.” Once her sister had made her thrilling announcement, Letty had pored over the doctor’s medical journal for information, and then had taken her puzzlements to Gabe for explanation. “Her body is having to get used to the baby, that’s all. She’s also been very tired. But her second trimester should be less difficult.”
Both girls stared with amazement. This was a new, different Letitia, one they hardly recognized. Who could follow just where her path might take her from here? After she had settled in with Reese—or Cole—anyway, whenever that might be. All of the immediate family was privy to the details of the past and the present concerning Ben’s brother; all would do what they could to lend assistance and support.
Camellia, looking wan and pasty, reappeared as silently as she had left. “My apologies, girls.”
“My dearest.” Hannah rose to envelope her sister in an unaccustomed but fervent embrace. “I had no idea what you’ve been going through. Please, Cam, when things get to be too much, please let us know. We’ll
do everything we can for you.”
As always, the close-knit clan came together for one of its own in travail or one in trouble—it mattered not which. That was what being part of the family meant. It’s what a family was for.
The rest of the day was spent, not just in making arrangements, but in girl talk, the easy ebb and flow which filled their hearts and lives to overflowing. It helped so much, reflected Letty, looking around the kitchen table at those so similar in appearance and personality, that they could live here within such a short distance of each other. How would she have survived the continuing tension of her days right now, without their nurturing presence, otherwise?
The waiting time extended for another week.
When nothing can be done about external affairs so deeply affecting your way of life, you simply put your head down and barrel your way through, however you can. A special brand of courage is required, and both Letty and her beloved were discovering new depths to be plumbed.
Paul sent a reminder telegram to his counterpart out west; the marshal replied in a taut,
slightly miffed tone. Have a little patience, please, he urged. Rome wasn’t built in a day. A complicated case, four years gone, requires a good deal of digging. In case Sheriff Winslow hadn’t noticed, there were other pressing San Francisco matters to deal with.
Not very encouraging. And, no, Sheriff Winslow hadn’t noticed. Had Marshal Westley noticed how far northeastern Texas lay from his own city?