“Next,” Violet continued, oblivious to Cora’s lack of engagement in this conversation. “We will visit the cobbler, who will get you fitted for custom-made shoes that will perfectly complement your dress. And then we’ll meet Alfred at the haberdasher to get his apparel in order. Of course, he will need to see the style you’re wearing before choosing his own garments.”
Cora gripped the side of the wagon, afraid that she might fall off the wagon from her state of dizziness. This was all too much and too fast. Violet mistook her silence for financial distress, and she patted her on the knee.
“Now don’t you worry, Cora. I know that you and your father live a… modest lifestyle, his being a small-town sheriff and all. Rest assured, the Mills family will be taking care of everything for you.”
Cora knew she was meant to feel grateful, but instead she was offended at the off-hand remark Violet made about her father’s profession. To Cora, there was nothing wrong with living a modest life. They didn’t have extravagancies, but they also never did without. And Cora maintained her belief that she would rather marry in a simple wedding gown, even a hand-me-down dress, if it meant she were marrying for love and happiness.
Of course, she no longer had any prospects in that regard. Alfred Mills was her only potential suitor.
They made their first stop at the seamstress in Magnolia Grove and were greeted by a woman who looked to be about ten years Violet’s senior, wearing a simple gray dress that revealed a slight hunch in her upper back.
“Welcome,” the woman said in a voice that seemed unsteady from age. “I’m Eliza White. How may I help you two ladies today?”
“We have come to get fitted for a wedding dress,” Violet said, and her voice was crisp, very much unlike the excess friendliness she had used up to this point, when her only interactions had been between Cora and her father. Cora wondered if it had anything to do with this woman’s obvious status as a member of a lower class.
Eliza used the tape measure to assess the size of Cora’s waist, bust, arm length, and other parts of her body that she wouldn’t have thought would be necessary, taking notes the entire time. The woman moved slowly, her frail hands shaking as she wrote, and Violet tapped her foot with impatience.
“Pardon me for asking,” Violent interjected as Eliza was finishing the measurements. “But I seem to remember a different woman working here the last time I visited this shop. She was quite… younger.”
Cora was appalled by Violet’s blunt manner in questioning this woman.
“You must be thinking of my grandniece,” Eliza said kindly. If she recognized Violet’s condescension, she gave no indication. “This is actually originally my shop, but she took over the business in my old age. However, she’s on a vacation in the mountains with her new husband for a few weeks, so I offered to hold down the fort.”
“Isn’t that nice,” Violet said sweetly, although through clenched teeth. She was making no effort to hide the obvious inconvenience that Eliza’s grandniece’s travel plans had had on her perfectly planned itinerary.
“Well, no matter, now that we have the measurements, how about we take a look at your design book? We can select a style, and when your grandniece returns, she can get started on the dress.”
“Certainly,” Eliza said, handing them the book.
Cora and Violet flipped through the pages. As they examined the styles, Violet made frequent grunts and scoffs of disapproval. Cora did her best to ignore her while focusing on a style that caught her eye. Even though she didn’t want to get married to Alfred, she had to admit that selecting a beautiful wedding gown had its appeal, nonetheless. She tried to imagine that she was choosing a gown to wear for someone else, someone who she loved, and that made the process more bearable.
Suddenly Cora stopped on a page, eyeing the picture of a dress that seemed perfect for her personal style. It was a simple, natural white dress that ran straight down to her ankles, hugging her natural curves without adding any excess fluff. The sleeves were made of lace with floral imprints, and they stopped just above the elbows. The floral imprints flowed down the length of the dress, adding texture.
Cora traced the picture with her pointer finger, imagining herself walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, the man of her dreams waiting for her at the end of the aisle. But Violet’s sharp voice interrupted her fantasy.
“Cora, we talked about this. A dress like this wouldn’t flatter you. It would just draw attention to your lack of womanly curves.”
“Perhaps I’m okay with my ‘lack of womanly curves,’” Cora surprised herself by speaking defiantly. “I think this dress quite suits me.”
Violet clicked her tongue and turned the page, pointing at another dress. “This is the one. This is the kind of dress a woman with your figure needs.”
The dress in question could not be further from Cora’s personal style. It looked to be inspired by dresses popular in upper class, Victorian England, with an excess of ruffles and a large bustle to exaggerate the size of her rear. It was paired with accessories that did not interest Cora in the slightest, such as a matching parasol and large, matching white hat.
“I’m not certain that this fits my style,” Cora said hesitantly, wanting to stand her ground without offending the woman who would be footing the bill.
“Nonsense!” Violet exclaimed. “How can you know your style when you haven’t spent any time living in high society? Once you marry Alfred, you will be part of that world, and you will need to become used to dressing the part.”
Without waiting for Cora to reply, Violet waved her hand to flag Eliza over. “This is the one. Put us down for this one and make a note that we will need this complete within three weeks’ time.”
And that was that. Cora left the seamstress with a satisfied Violet, feeling like she was not truly present, like she was watching someone else’s life happen, and she was helpless to change the trajectory. Cora once again felt like she had completely lost control of her life, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The same type of situation played out when they went to get the shoes fitted. The lovely, silken white flats that Cora chose elicited a scoff from Violet, who insisted upon heels adorned with ruffles across the top. It was increasingly apparent that Violet and Cora had vastly different styles, and Violet’s opinion was the only one that mattered.
Finally, later that afternoon, they left the haberdashery where they had met Alfred to ensure that the dress and shoes complemented Alfred’s. The last thing Cora wanted to do was complement Alfred. Thankfully, this was the last stop of the evening before she would finally be able to retreat back to her waiting bed at home. She climbed into Violet’s wagon, but as the driver took off, Cora caught sight of a familiar face standing on the sidewalk.
It was Roy, and he had stopped in his tracks as soon as he noticed her. Feeling her stomach sink to the floor, desperately wanting to protect herself from getting hurt again, Cora looked away, willing the wagon to put as much distance as possible between her and the man who had broken her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
