Page 33 of Beyond Montana's Sky
She flexed her fingers before donning her gloves. Not long after arriving in Sweetwater Springs, she’d given up wearing her diamond wedding ring so had no need to wear a glove with a slit.
After the church service ended. Edith discretely looked around for Cai but didn’t see him, nor any other Anderson that she could identify. She didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.
With kisses on Charlotte’s cheeks, Edith and Maggie parted from Caleb and Ben, who walked home with the baby.
Jed drove the ladies to the Norton-Bellaire or Bellaire-Norton—however one wanted to call it—mansion. Delia’s father, Andre Bellaire, built the home for himself and his daughter, son-in-law, and honorary grandson—Reverend Joshua’s son, Micah.
For the first time, Maggie officially set aside the mourning blacks she’d mostly worn since Oswald Baxter’s death, even though only six months had passed. They hoped the Boston relatives wouldn’t discover Caleb and his betrothed hadn’t waited a proper year before marrying.
Truthfully, Caleb was to blame for an early wedding, wanting to be joined in marriage to his beloved in the shortest time convention would allow. Maggie couldn’t deny she was in complete accord.
Today, Maggie wore a full-sleeved, crimson gown given her by Caleb—the only nod to propriety the black accents: broad lace covering the wide lapels of the bodice; the braid on the cuffs and collar; aVof appliqués on the skirt; and the lacy black fringe on the hem. The color brought out the best of her Slavic looks—high cheekbones, slightly tilted brown eyes, sooty eyebrows and lashes, and olive skin.
Jed guided the horses to an intersection and turned left on Second Street. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves sharpened when the dirt road changed to the pavement of Sioux quartzite bricks in front of the mansion.
The three-story house was unlike any home in town. A round tower with a copper conical roof jutted on one side. Andre Bellaire chose to build with the same pinkish-brown Sioux quartzite Caleb used on the hotel, but in large, rough bricks instead of a polished façade.
While they waited for Jed to come around and open the door, Edith turned to Maggie. “This is the last social event in Sweetwater Springs before I leave, where I can relax and enjoy the company. The wedding and reception will be such a whirlwind, I’ll barely be able to greet everyone, much less have time to converse.”
Maggie patted Edith’s hand, understanding in her eyes. “You stay as long as you want. That is, if you don’t mind walking home by yourself later. Or I can send him back at whatever time you want.”
“I’m capable of walking home alone. I’m not saying I’ll need extra time…” her words trailed off. Edith wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to convey. Finally, she settled for an elegant shrug.
Just as Edith and Maggie stepped from the surrey and signaled Jed to drive on, the dressmaker, Miss Constance Taylor, and her young assistant Miss Elsie Bailey, walked up the street to join them.
Miss Taylor was another recent addition to Sweetwater Springs. The talented dressmaker was raised in Chicago by her aunt, then traveled in Europe and lived in Italy for several years before reuniting with her father, the livery stable owner. She opened a dress shop to great success.
Edith envied the woman’s foreign experience.Perhaps someday, I can travel abroad with my new husband. Maybe a honeymoon journey.
Miss Taylor and the town’s new doctor originally clashed over tight corsets and gowns of purple or green hue, which turned out to be made with poisonous dye. Dr. Angus Cameron even lectured Edith on several occasions, until she’d reluctantly given in and stopped wearing shades of purple and mauve—favorites of hers. Green, at least, was never her color.
But, as Edith tartly told Dr. Angus, she wasn’t about to give up her tight corsets—at least in public. She took pride in her small waist. If her rib cage and organs were squeezed together, so be it. The damage was done a long time ago. She did concede enough to the doctor’s advice to wear loose sacque gowns at home more often, forsaking corsets altogether.
She’d ordered several more elegant tea gowns from her modiste in Boston for the week of the relatives’ arrival. The packages were delivered on Friday, although she hadn’t had a chance to wear any of the new garments.
A vision of wearing a lacy tea gown for Cai Driscoll came to mind. If one desired a tryst with a lover, the garments were notoriously easy to remove. No need for dour Mrs. Graves’s services. Edith imagined his rough hands on the silky fabric, and her body heated.
Therefore, her smile of greeting was broader than the polite turn-up of her lips she’d always used before. She saw a surprised expression in Miss Taylor’s green eyes, quickly suppressed.
Like Edith, Constance Taylor gave in to Dr. Angus’s strictures and stopped dressing in her customary green hues. Today, under her swans down cape, she wore royal blue in a military style, with silver trim and buttons, and a felt cavalry hat in the same shade. A blue peacock feather sprang from the side of the crown instead of the top like Edith’s.
The four women exchanged greetings, and Elsie’s exuberance about attending her very first tea party made everyone smile.
Both Miss Taylor and her assistant were careful to address Edith asMrs. Grayson, although the dressmaker called Maggie by her given name. Elsie, being sixteen or so, correctly addressed both of them more formally.
A gust of wind tugged Edith’s hat slightly askew, and she paused to pull out the hatpins and anchor it more firmly in place—all the while remembering the storm, the ruined feather on her topper, the cozy cabin, the miraculous kisses at the start of the journey home. Her heart gave a twist at not seeing Cai again today.
Maggie waited with her while Miss Taylor and Elsie walked ahead and entered the house.
Her hat back in place, Edith and Maggie moved up the long walkway made of Sioux quartzite bricks.
The home was too new to have a grassy yard. Instead, planters of the same brick edged broad swaths of dirt. A lone aspen stood in a far corner, the golden leaves shivering in the breeze.
Edith used the knocker on one of the carved, double doors, giving a slight nod to the elderly Negro butler who answered. “Rufus.”
With a slight bow, he opened the door wider. “Come on in, Mrs. Grayson, Mrs. Baxter.”
Maggie was friendlier, smiling at the man. “Good afternoon, Rufus. How are you today?”
