The Bride Wore Blue (33 page)

Vivian laid it out flat on her lap. “It’s
Harper’s Bazar
.”

“The September issue.” Kat tapped her chin as she was prone to do when nervous.

“You wrote an article about Ida and her business?”

Kat shook her head.

Of course. Her landlady. Kat was probably rethinking the article, concerned about Vivian’s sensibilities. “Miss Hattie’s involvement with the Women for the Betterment of Cripple Creek.” She looked Kat in the eye. “If you included things about the seedier side of Cripple Creek, you needn’t worry about my—”

Kat shook her head. An auburn curl swept across her forehead. “The article is about you.”

Vivian’s mouth went dry, but she managed to respond on a whisper. “Me?” She’d done nothing noteworthy. At least nothing she wanted recorded for all time and eternity. “What?” The word sounded as if it had been squeezed through a sieve.

Kat pointed to the magazine. “Open it.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but she trusted Kat’s judgment, if not her taste in subjects. She opened the cover and studied the first pages. An article on manners. A poem about love. An advertisement for Wilkie Collins’s novels. All seemingly harmless.

“Keep going.” Kat rolled her finger.

Vivian kept turning the pages until her sister’s hand stilled. Vivian’s gaze shot to the bold headline: “Premier Eastern Designer Relocated to Cripple Creek!”

She gasped. “You didn’t!” It couldn’t be her. Sewing clothes for family members did not a fashion designer make. Let alone one considered
premier
.

“I didn’t write the headline, and the article I wrote was much smaller than this, but yes, I did write about you.”

Pencil sketches of her designs framed paragraphs about her childhood dream of designing clothes for princesses and entertainers. Kat
and her editor had also written about the attire Vivian had designed for up-and-coming businesswomen and sang praises for her highly fashionable wedding gowns. Missing was the fact that she’d done all of it for her own sisters.

This had to be a daydream. Vivian blinked, but nothing changed. She met Kat’s tender gaze. “This is unbelievable. I can’t believe you did this.”

“My editor did exaggerate some, but it is true that you’re a talented fashion designer from the East and you’re now living in Cripple Creek.”

“No, I meant this was so …” Her lips quivered. “Sweet of you.” Vivian ran her finger over the design for Kat’s wedding gown.

“I was trying to help,” Kat said. “You really are a creative designer, and you would’ve eventually been at the top of your field if Etta Ondersma hadn’t been too shortsighted to hire you.”

Vivian wiped her wet eyes. If sister love were a thread, it would be more binding than any rope out there.

“I just thought the world that reads
Harper’s Bazar
should know about your talent.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not.”

“I only hoped the article would help you find work doing what you love to do.”

“Thank you.” Vivian laid the magazine on the table and pulled Kat into a tight embrace.

She wasn’t sure how many women in the Cripple Creek Mining District cared about having their clothing designed and crafted specifically for them. Nor could she say how many women here even read the fashion magazine, but her sister’s gesture was priceless.

Forty minutes later, Vivian and her sisters stepped onto the boardwalk on Bennett Avenue in front of the National Hotel. A landmark of her deceit, yes, but also a reminder of God’s amazing grace and her sisters’ sweet forgiveness.

“I thought we might start at the mercantile on Second,” Nell said, swinging her reticule at her side.

“Then we can check the new one on the other end.” Kat’s voice had already gained energy in her brief respite from motherhood.

“Sounds good to me.” Vivian strolled up the street between Ida and Nell. “I just hope someone has what we need.”

Ida giggled. “Carter wouldn’t care if you wore a flour sack.”

“True enough, but I do.”

Nell stopped midstride. “It seems only fair that Vivian gets the dress of her dreams. After all, a premier designer from the East fashioned ours.”

They all giggled. Vivian looked up just in time to see a woman on the boardwalk ahead of them stop, divert her gaze from Vivian, and bend toward her husband’s ear.

Vivian stilled. They weren’t the first to stare and whisper at the sight of her. No doubt many more were nattering behind her back, and she couldn’t blame them. “Perhaps we should cross the street now.”

“In the middle of the block?” Ida asked. “Whatever for?” She followed Vivian’s gaze up the street. “Oh.”

Ida and Nell locked arms with Vivian, and Kat laced her arm through Nell’s.

“We will do no such thing,” Ida said. “Hold your head high, sis. ‘You’re forgiven’ has no boundaries.”

Vivian blinked back tears, squared her shoulders, and fell into step.

Sisterhood. A very strong bond indeed.

By the time Vivian and her sisters had finished their shopping and returned to the boardinghouse, they were all weighed down by paper-wrapped packages. Yards of silk and chiffon. Rolls of lace and ribbon. Hosiery. Even a new pair of white ankle boots, a gift from her sisters.

Hattie met them at the door, her finger pressed to her lips. “Our little prince and princess are slumbering.”

Judson stood beside her, drinking from a coffee mug. He studied them and cocked a thick eyebrow. “A successful shopping trip, I see.”

“Yes.” Nell giggled and kissed him on the cheek.

Vivian felt her face grow warm. In just six weeks and three days, she’d have a husband of her own to kiss on the cheek. She’d liked having Carter close by while he was recuperating. Today was the first day she hadn’t seen him since he’d found her up at Ute Pass. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since Tucker took him away in the wagon? Too long.

“Did William behave for you?” Nell asked.

Judson lowered his cup. “Turns out I’m a pretty boring father. My boy slept through most of our time together.”

Nell tittered and swatted his shoulder on her way into the parlor. Judson was anything but boring. Vivian followed Nell, and they set the packages on the sofa.

Hattie was untying the strings on a smaller sack when she suddenly twisted toward Vivian. “I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you that Etta Ondersma telephoned for you, Vivian!”

“She did?”

Her landlady nodded, her eyes glimmering. “She did indeed, and she asked that you reply as soon as you returned home.”

“My guess is that she received her copy and has seen the error of her ways,” Kat said.

Vivian’s pulse raced. “You really think that’s why she telephoned?”

Hattie motioned toward the kitchen. “Best way to know for sure is to talk to her yourself.”

The closer Vivian got to the kitchen, the slower her steps came. The article, even the parts of it that weren’t enhanced, didn’t change her past. Once Mrs. Ondersma knew the truth about her, the businesswoman would change her mind. And Vivian wouldn’t blame her. She couldn’t expect the widow to risk losing business because of who she employed.

When Vivian finally reached the telephone hanging on the kitchen wall, she stopped and lowered her head. The prayer was quick but intense. If Mrs. Ondersma was actually interested in hiring her, Vivian knew she had a lot of explaining to do. Not the least of which involved making straight the ramblings of a rogue editor who had never even met her.

Please give me the right words, Lord
.

She pulled the earpiece from the hook and gave the crank a quick spin. It was strange, talking to one of the girls at the telephone exchange. “Yes, please connect me with Mrs. Ondersma at Etta’s Fashions in Victor.” Clicks and buzzes followed.

“Hello, Vivian? ”

“Yes, Hattie Adams said you telephoned and asked for me.”

“I did indeed. I read the article about you in
Harper’s Bazar
.” Her voice fairly danced across the words.

“About that, Mrs. Ondersma.”

“I had no idea you were so famous.”

“I’m not really famous. My sister wrote the article, and an editor who hasn’t seen but a couple of my sketches made up the headline.”

“I know the writer is your sister, but it’s still quite impressive, all of it.”

She didn’t care that the article was basically a family advertisement? She would care about the rest of it. Vivian drew in a deep breath. “There’s more.”

“Articles?”

“No, not that. Things have changed for me since I was in your shop. You should know that I—”

“If you’re concerned about that Homestead House business, don’t be.”

Vivian gasped. “You know about that?”

“Carter Alwyn saw some of your sketches and telephoned to recommend that I hire you. He said your talent was what I needed to grow my design business.”

Vivian blinked back tears. “And he told you what happened?”

“Yes. He felt I should know, and hear it from someone who knew the truth.”

Oh, how she missed that man.

“It’s what we do in our future, dear, that decides how important our past truly was.”

Vivian wiped a tear from her cheek. “But people talk.”

“They do indeed. And I think they’ll care more about you being featured in a national magazine than they will about a stint on Myers Avenue that was no longer than a gnat’s tail.”

Vivian liked this woman and had from the moment she’d stepped out of the back room of her shop wearing bicycle bloomers.

“What do you say to working as a fashion designer and seamstress in my new Cripple Creek shop? The town has grown so much I think it deserves a designer of its own.”

“Yes. Thank you!” Vivian jumped up and down. She was being given far more than she deserved.

Thank you, Lord
.

26 October 1897

V
ivian opened the worn family Bible that lay on the table in front of her. Nearly eight weeks had passed since Carter proposed, and the day of the wedding ceremony had arrived amidst a flurry of activity. Vivian and her sisters had scoured the valley to find fabric and lace that would complement the wedding dress she’d designed. Ida’s sister-in-law Willow returned from Colorado Springs, and she and Miss Hattie had joined the sisters in taking turns sewing the dress and rocking babies.

Willow stood in front of a mirror, baby Hope drooling in her arms. Kat sat at one end of the dining room table, arranging a bridal bouquet of purple asters and white daisies. Baby William slept in a bassinet behind Nell, who sat next to Vivian and sipped a cup of tea.

“This was a wonderful idea, Vivian.” Ida seated herself across the table and looked down at the oversized Bible.

“I think so too.” Vivian turned the gold-trimmed pages to the “Family Records” section. “I thought it would be fun to make the updates together as sisters. A new tradition.”

Miss Hattie walked in carrying a tray of deviled eggs and cinnamon rolls. “I’m going to miss having a Sinclair sister living here. Attending a wedding has a way of brightening one’s whole year.” Blowing a strand of gray hair out of her eye, she set the tray on the table in front of Kat. “And it’s been glorious having love floating about the old house again.”

Nell looked at Willow, a familiar twinkle in her blue eyes. “You
are
an honorary Sinclair sister, you know.”

Miss Hattie brightened. “Oh, that’s right!”

Willow met their gaze in the mirror and shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I have no intention of carrying on the Sinclair tradition of at least one wedding a year.”

“Neither did I.” Vivian pressed her finger to her chin and smiled.

Ida passed luncheon plates around the table. “I also know from experience that God’s intentions rarely match our own.”

Willow turned to face them, her eyes a deeper shade of green. “True enough, but I’m focused on spending time with my parents, and I have a long list of sights I have yet to paint.” Her finger traced baby Hope’s forehead. “Besides, I’ve had my turn at love, and the memory of Sam is still too fresh.” She directed her attention to the lady of the house. “If you want to talk about second chances at love, Miss Hattie,” she said, an eyebrow raised, “I think you’re a better candidate.”