“Nah. It’s fine where it is.”
“Okay. Call me when you find the one.”
I quickly left the dressing room behind, and went outside. The cool air was a blast of relief on my skin, and I didn’t even realize how hot it must have been in there.
Most of the nearby storefronts were empty, but I walked up to each one anyway, peering into dirty windows to see what had been left behind. One store still had a bunch of racks and display shelves with what looked like old pharmacy bottles stacked high against the wall. I could only imagine what the old labels would say.
Tearing myself away from the window, I walked farther up the street and found the antiques store we had passed on the way in. It was small, and looked like it was crammed with junk, but with the way Beth was going, it looked like I was going to have plenty of time to kill. Why not give it a shot?
So I went in.
Chapter Sixteen. THE PERFECT DRESS
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black …
– “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
Old toys and busted-up junk filled the shelves of Clutter and Cobwebs Antiques, a cross between a really bad estate sale and a going-out-of-business dollar store. As I looked closer, I could see remnants of yard sale stickers here and there. “Nice,” I muttered.
It seemed like a waste of space, and I was just about to leave when a steamer trunk caught my eye. It was pushed out of the way, half buried under a pile of moth-eaten fur coats in the back of the clothing section. But there was something about it that drew my attention. …
The trunk looked old. A lot older than any of the other stuff surrounding it, and it was covered in faded stickers. Shoving the coats out of my way, I knelt in front of it. The stickers were from everywhere-Madrid, Ireland, France, Turkey, Indonesia, Brazil.
A white piece of fabric hung out of the corner, trailing forlornly down the side. It looked really fragile.
I had the briefest notion that it was a wedding dress. That I’d just found someone’s long-forgotten wedding dress, but as I lifted the lid and removed an old wooden tray filled with handkerchiefs and gloves, I saw that I was wrong. It was a gown. A ball gown.
Digging deeper, gently pushing my way past petticoats and nightgowns, I pulled at the edge of the silvery-white fabric. It felt like gossamer in my hands.
Slowly, ever so slowly, it came free, and I lifted it up from the trunk. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.
A full, flowing skirt fell away from the front in a graceful V shape, the color of a fresh pearl. Little silvery capped sleeves looked dainty and ethereal, while a black lace overlay ran from the corseted bodice down to the floor. It almost looked like someone had taken two dresses and put one on top of the other, then taken scissors and cut away the front so that the bottom dress could peek through. It was stunning.
I pulled it close, and a faint wave of rose scent drifted up to me. Closing my eyes, I was suddenly lost in a flood of hazy images.
Waving good-bye as your beloved goes to sea … Waiting for him, handkerchief in hand, stained with fresh tears … Red roses, given at a Christmas dance, now dried and pressed for all eternity … A watchful bride, walking the shore as she prays for her sailor to find the bottle she’s tossed into the waves … A stolen kiss …
Pulling the dress away from me, I stared down at it.
That all felt so … real.
Which was crazy. I had no idea where this dress had come from or who it had belonged too. And yet something … something was calling to me. Even now, as I pushed it away, my fingers kept creeping back into the soft fabric.
It felt like mine. It felt like home.
Hardly daring to breathe, I looked at the tag. It was marked with pencil, and had an odd size on it. I didn’t know how it compared to my size, but I couldn’t let the dress stay there. I had to try it on. A sign by the front register said that dressing rooms were in the back, so I headed there.
Once inside the small room, I barricaded the door and hung the dress on the metal hook on the back of the door. Soft folds of fabric fell gracefully to the floor, whispering for me to try the gown on.
I took my clothes off swiftly. Carefully unlacing the front of the bodice, I tried not to pull too hard in case the strings were fragile. It opened easily, and I stepped inside, pulling the dress up over me. I held my breath until every last fold was in place and the front strings had been tightened once again, before daring to look in the mirror.
It wasn’t me. And yet … it was.
I looked closer, staring hard into the reflective surface. Somehow the dress had given my waist definition and had magically created an impressive amount of cleavage that certainly hadn’t been there before. Tiny capped sleeves graced my arms, while the black lace netting gave it a decidedly wicked look. The full fabric of the skirt rustled delicately as I turned from side to side to admire every angle. It was Gothic. It was Victorian. It was Gothic and Victorian all rolled into one, and I was in love.
But what would I wear it for?
It wasn’t right for Ben and the Hollow Ball. The red flamenco dancer dress suited him better. But this one? This dress was pure romance and lost love. Pure … Caspian.
As soon as that thought entered my mind, I knew. I knew what the dress was for. This is what I would wear somehow, or someway, for him. For when we could be together on November first.
His death day.
I reached for the front laces slowly, and began to carefully undo them. I wiggled my arm out of the right sleeve first, and then the left. As I pulled the dress over my head, the bottom rustled past me and I caught an odd sound as it went past my ear. Almost like a crinkling.
Did something just rip? I turned it over to look at it.
The hem looked fine. It wasn’t ripped. And there weren’t any leaves or dirt that could have caused the sound. Flipping it up, I examined the other side. There was a small slit. But it didn’t look like a tear or hole. It was a perfectly clean slit. Like someone had cut it.
Pulling it closer, I peered at it. Then I held it up to my ear and moved the fabric around. The rustling noise came from within.
I stuck my finger into the hole and felt something wedged inside there. It was hard to get it loose, but eventually I turned it the right way, and a slip of paper drifted out. It was tiny, old, and yellowed, with spidery cursive writing. I knelt to pick it up.
Holding the paper up to the light, I read the words:
“Wow,” I whispered. Those words were beautiful. And someone had thought so much of them that they’d tucked them into their clothes to carry around with them? I folded the paper back up and put it inside my pocket. I would keep it close to me, too.
Grabbing the dress, I draped it carefully over my arm and went to go find out what it cost. It didn’t matter what the price was. Somehow I’d find a way to pay.
The store clerk was a mousey-looking old man, who peered up at me from behind the counter with thick-lensed glasses, and a hearing aid in each ear. “Do you want that?” he asked me as I approached.
“I didn’t see a price on it anywhere,” I said. “I was wondering-”