He waved a hand.“Nothing too bad will happen to me, either way.I talked to my father about my pursuit of being a novelist.”
“Really?What did he say?”
“He was surprised, but not unhappy,” Maddox said.“I’m almost finished with my manuscript.”
“Will I get to hear about this enigmatic novel soon?”I asked.
“Soon,” he said vaguely.
Maddox stayed and chatted the rest of the afternoon until we finished the pastries and the kittens began nodding off.
“Hey.Thanks for coming and bringing the cats,” I said when he was halfway out the door.“Thank you for last night, too.Thanks for...a lot of things.”I felt a blush rise to my cheeks at how stilted the words came out.I half expected Maddox to make fun of me for my poor attempt at vulnerability, but he only smiled and shrugged.
“You’re welcome.”He lifted the basket.“If you ever need more emotional support, come by the abbey some time.”
I watched him disappear down the dim hall of the boarding house, feeling oddly more energized despite the hour growing late.Perhaps it was the sugar in the pastries.Perhaps it was something else rushing through my veins.
I turned back inside and grabbed my satchel.With a deep breath, I braced myself and flipped it upside down.A cascade of items spilled onto my creaky mattress at once: sketchbooks of dress designs; portfolios of pattern pieces; tins of chalk and pins; tangled balls of measuring tape; half-finished garments and fully finished garments; loose packets of trim, which unraveled as they fell.I was sure I would get noise complaints from the downstairs occupants the next morning.The mountain of things grew so high that some tumbled to the floor, the peak of it almost touching the ceiling.I had to climb onto a rickety stool to release the last wads of fabric from the satchel.
At last, it tumbled out.
The soft blue dress I made out of my bedsheet.The first dress I ever sewed.I shook out the garment, running my hands over the worn cotton, soft to the touch.The gathers on the skirt were horrendously uneven.The bodice was limp, laced up with lopsided loops, but I still remembered the giddiness coursing through my body as I made it, how it felt watching a piece of fabric transform into a garment.I remembered my pride when I put it on.The gratitude I felt when Grandma taught me how to sew properly, and how she had watched over me when I spent the following night redoing each seam, finishing them so the raw edges were properly enclosed.
I sat down beside the pile, reaching for another garment.
For the rest of the night, I pored over every single piece I had ever made.
31
One month later
“Ilove it.”
Narcissa spun slowly on the raised platform before her mirror.The sunlight that shone through the tall windows of her dressing room lit the ends of her hair a fiery red, a vibrant contrast to the soft ivory white satin of her wedding gown.
“And it fits well?”
