Chapter Sixteen #3
Harper turned to face her and shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be feeling better for several more weeks.” She smiled. “I’m pregnant.”
Understanding flashed across Lauren’s face, swiftly followed by concern. “How far along are you?”
“Second trimester. Near four months.”
“And the wedding date is when, remind me?”
“The end of May.”
Lauren began counting on her fingers. “Well,” she said in a long, tentative drawl, “by then you’ll have a baby bump.
” She glanced at the gown. “With some gowns, like an A-line or Empire style, we can make alterations to the dress quite easily. But with the gown you selected, I fear it will be difficult.” Lauren grimaced.
“The bodice is intricately constructed with embroidery, and the waist is so tight.”
Tears stung Harper’s eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “I’ve been worried about that.”
“Oh, don’t cry.” Lauren rushed for a tissue. She strove for optimism. “Let’s try it on, shall we? You’re so small, perhaps we can make it work. We won’t know until we see what we have to work with, right? I’ll put you in the dress, then I’ll call for our alterations head. Alva is a miracle worker.”
Lauren was efficient at smoothly slipping Harper into the gorgeous gown, but Harper could already feel the gown pulling at the waist, where months before the folds had fallen across her frame in perfect harmony.
Harper sucked in her breath, but it didn’t make any difference.
Her baby bump was barely visible yet, but it did make the small waistline of the gown feel extremely tight.
Nonetheless, Lauren managed to fasten all the buttons.
Harper could barely breathe. She turned to face the mirror.
It was a moment she’d never forget. Her heart melted at seeing herself in the luminous gown.
The sweetheart, strapless neckline featured a heavily embroidered bodice in old-world guipure.
The bodice was corseted to fit tightly, accentuating her small waist before exploding in tulle.
Little girls, herself included, dreamed of seeing themselves in a gown such as this.
Yet seeing it again, Harper didn’t quite remember its being so . . . so the dress of a Disney princess.
“Shall we show your family?”
Harper nodded, lifting the folds of fabric as she followed Lauren into the waiting area, imagining how she would possibly move in this dress on her wedding day. The dress was heavy and constricting, especially at her waist where the stays dug into her skin.
Great shafts of light flowed into the room through the large front windows.
With the brick walls, the wood floors, and bouquets of fresh flowers, Harper felt as if she were a deer walking into an open meadow.
Carson, Dora, Mamaw, and Granny James were sitting waiting for her in the plush chairs, arms and legs crossed.
Harper pasted a wide smile on her face and walked with studied grace onto the small platform set before a wall of mirrors.
She pirouetted daintily, then dropped the fabric from her hands and looked at her entourage expectantly.
Carson’s brow was raised with indecision.
Mamaw’s head was tilted in thought. Granny James’s face was a classic study of the old British stiff upper lip.
Only Dora wore a broad smile on her face.
“Well?” Harper asked breathlessly. “What do you think?”
“I love it!” Dora exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm. “It’s so beautiful. You look just like a princess!”
Harper smiled tremulously. That was just the comment she’d been hoping not to hear. She looked to Carson.
Carson said thoughtfully, “It is a beautiful gown.” She paused and her brows furrowed. “But . . . a princess gown? Tulle? You always wear very minimalist, chic styles. I don’t know, Sis, it just doesn’t seem like you.”
Harper felt this criticism stab at her heart. Her smile fell and she looked to Mamaw, expecting support.
“It’s lovely, dear. You are a beautiful bride,” Mamaw said sincerely.
Harper heard hesitation. “But . . .”
“Well, I don’t know, dear. The dress feels so .
. . na?ve. Is that the right word? A young bride looks sweet in a cloud of white silk and tulle.
But according to Emily Post, a bride in her thirties or older might do well to choose a creamy or off-white color.
As would, perhaps, a woman who is already sharing a home with her intended.
” Mamaw paused, then said delicately, “And is in a family way.”
Harper felt the color drain from her cheeks.
“Mamaw!” Dora exclaimed, breathless with shock. “What era are you living in? Women wear all colors these days. White, cream, pink, blue, even black. And by the way, Harper’s only twenty-nine.”
“I’m aware of that,” Mamaw said, clearly ruffled. She lifted her chin. “I’m only telling you what I was raised to believe. What others might very well think.”
“I can’t believe you just said that, Mamaw,” Carson said hotly, reproach ringing in her voice. “You just shot a volley over all our bows. We’re all sleeping with our intendeds, as you put it. Does that mean none of us can wear white? And by the way, so are you! Only he’s not even your intended.”
Mamaw’s mouth slipped open in shock. “What?”