The Time-Traveling Fashionista (17 page)

“What do you mean?” Louise asked. She jerked the pin to the right and heard a clicking sound. Eagerly she turned the knob.
It didn’t budge. “Darn,” Louise cursed under her breath.

“I think she longs for something she isn’t getting in her life. Something more. Of course she would never tell me any of this.
I don’t think she confides in anyone.”

“How awful. I guess there are a few things we actually do have in common.” Louise was surprisingly moved by Anna’s story.
If she ever saw Brooke again, she would have to tell her absolutely everything. Not that she would
ever
believe this.

“I guess everyone wants to be leading another, more glamorous, more exciting life,” Louise mused. “The life you imagine that
you’ll be living once your real life begins. Do you think that exists, Anna?”

“Do I think what exists?” Anna asked, seemingly confused.

Louise didn’t have time to explain. They were interrupted by some muffled shouts and a key scratching in the lock. The door
swiftly swung open, letting in a stream of light. Louise shielded her eyes and palmed the hairpin. Captain Smith stood in
the doorway holding a large ring of keys while Dr. Hastings hovered over his shoulder like a dark shadow.

“How dare you lock my niece and her maid up in this cell?” Mr. Baxter shouted, pushing his way past the other men, his round
face purple with rage. “My dear, are you hurt?” he
asked, without giving Louise a moment to answer. “You have locked them in here like common criminals. Like animals! We are
first-class passengers. I would have been worried sick looking for them, had one of your decent crew members not alerted me
to the situation!” Mr. Baxter shouted, a sheepish Christopher standing a few feet behind him.

“But she’s not Miss Baxter. She’s a witch pretending to be her. I would bet my reputation on it!” Dr. Hastings protested.

“A witch? Have you absolutely lost your mind?” Captain Smith asked.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I can prove it. Look in the mirror!” Dr. Hastings shouted while pointing to where the mirror
had been.

“What mirror?” Mr. Baxter asked as he looked at what was now just a bare white wall. “Perhaps you should prescribe something
to rid yourself of these hallucinations.”

Louise was stunned. Someone had removed the mirror. She turned to see Anna smiling, her gaze cast shyly down toward the floor.

Christopher’s face had grown an even deeper shade of red. He had saved them! He must have done it for Anna, Louise realized.
And judging by the smile on Anna’s face, she knew it, too.

“But it was hanging there before,” Dr. Hastings stammered, pointing his long crooked finger. “I saw it.”

“Oh, go eat some prunes,” Mr. Baxter answered in disgust.

“I am so sorry, Miss Baxter. Please accept my humblest apologies. Anything I can do to make up for this,” Captain Smith said,
embarrassed.

“Let me find another mirror. I swear I can prove it,” the doctor pleaded desperately.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Mr. Baxter roared, his veins bulging out of his neck. “And if you so much as come within a hundred
meters of Miss Baxter or Miss Hard, I will make sure that you never practice medicine again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear,” the doctor seethed through clenched teeth, giving Louise a searing look.

Louise returned the glare.

“Well, there is one thing you can do for me,” she said as she turned to the captain.

“Anything. A bottle of our finest champagne, perhaps?”

“She’s only seventeen!” Mr. Baxter practically exploded. “She doesn’t drink!”

“I would like for you to change the course of the ship,” Louise said bluntly. “We are going to hit an iceberg if we continue
on this path.”

“Not this again!” Captain Smith said as he threw his hands up in frustration.

“Please excuse her,” Mr. Baxter interrupted. “She has been
locked in a broom closet for God knows how long and doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Mr. Baxter took Louise by the hand and hastily escorted her and Anna out of the navigation room and into the fresh sea air.
It was a particularly chilly evening, and the sun had already begun to set. He led them back to the stateroom in silence,
rushing them through the maze of corridors, dragging Louise by the hand, with Anna following close behind.

“I’m coming,” Louise said, annoyed, shaking off Mr. Baxter’s hand. She didn’t want to be trapped back in the stateroom, either.
They needed help. She desperately needed to find Marla and Glenda!

When they arrived at their door, Mr. Baxter pulled a gold pocket watch from his tweed vest. “Well, at least we haven’t missed
supper. We are expected in the à la carte dining room in half an hour. Why, what in heavens are you wearing?” he asked, looking
Louise over with a puzzled and disapproving gaze. Louise glanced down at her coarse, shapeless dress and shrugged.

“Uncle Baxter, I assume Anna will be dining with us tonight? As she has suffered through this horrible ordeal with me.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear. I have no objection,” he said, sounding exhausted.

“Let’s not mention this unfortunate incident again,” he
added, unlocking the room and then ushering them inside. “I’d rather forget about all of this. Understood?”

“I’m going to get dressed for dinner,” Louise said, trying to sound relaxed as she walked through the bedroom and sitting
room and into the dressing room. She had already begun to think of the next plan.

“I’ll be there in a moment to help you with your corset,” Anna called after her.

Louise closed the closet door behind her and was surprised to find some unexpected visitors.

“How did you get in here?” she asked excitedly.

“We know when we’re needed. Darling, don’t you look fabulous?” Glenda rasped in her husky voice. She was sitting at Miss Baxter’s
vanity table holding up the silver-framed portrait of Miss Baxter in the pink dress. “Doesn’t she look simply fabulous, Marla?”

“Oh yes,” Marla replied from the back of the closet, “just like an Old Hollywood movie star. Isn’t this what you’ve always
wanted, sweetie?” Marla was rummaging through Miss Baxter’s clothes, occasionally picking out a coat or dress, only to toss
it carelessly on the floor.

“Yes—I mean, no,” Louise stammered from the middle of the room.

“Well, what is it, darling, yes or no?” Glenda asked.

“Not like this! Not on the
Titanic
.”

“Oh, that.” Marla let out a low chuckle. “Details, details!”

“How do I get back?” Louise asked. “I don’t want to be Miss Baxter anymore.”

“How did you get here?” Glenda asked as she spritzed herself with some of Miss Baxter’s fancy French perfume. It was starting
to give Louise a massive headache, and she needed to keep on her toes.

“I don’t know, you tell me. The last thing I remember I was putting on the dress in your store.”

“Interesting,” Marla purred. “I thought you said you wanted to try on that dress.”

“As a matter of fact,” Glenda interrupted, “she was quite demanding about it. Wasn’t she, Marla?”

“Why, yes, I believe she was. We tried to warn you, sweetie, but you insisted.”

“But it was only a dress,” Louise began sobbing. “How was I supposed to know that all of this would happen? That I would end
up stuck on a sinking ship! Does this concern you at all?”

“Only a dress,” Glenda mimicked, powdering her face with the poofy white powder puff.

“Garments have a history of their own, my dear,” Marla explained, tossing another chiffon gown on the floor. “We thought
you
, Louise, in particular, would have paid closer attention to what the fabric was trying to tell you.”

“Fabric can’t speak,” Louise protested miserably, frustrated
that these strange women were speaking in riddles at a time like this.

“Oh, why does everyone take things so literally?” Glenda pontificated. “I personally would think twice before buying a tattered
dress that smelled of seawater.”

“Although the ocean breeze was quite lovely this afternoon,” Marla said, fanning herself with a Japanese paper fan she had
found in the steamer trunk. “I’m rather getting used to this sort of travel.”

“Please help me get home. I never asked to be on a sinking ship. I miss my home. I miss who I was. Please.” Louise was near
tears.
Why is this happening to me?

“Ah, isn’t that sweet? Our fabulous starlet is homesick.”

“I’m only a little girl,” Louise begged. “I need my mom.”

“Well, dear, you certainly don’t look like
only a little girl
to me,” Marla exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, lowering her glasses and carefully looking Louise over from head to toe.

“You would have a hard time convincing a jury of that one,” Glenda added.

“But you know this isn’t me. I’m not Miss Baxter! I saw you at the vintage sale….”

“Yes, yes, we hear you. It’s just hard to feel sympathy when you look so darn gorgeous. What I wouldn’t give for a figure
like that.” Glenda whistled. Both women started laughing.

Louise felt her eyes get watery. “You can have it,” she cried.
“I want my old body back. I want my old life back. I was happy as Louise.” And as soon as she said it, she knew it was true.
She thought about her room with her canopy bed and her goldfish, Marlon, and her closet with its cozy reading nook, and she
even longed for the familiar taste of her mom’s infamous boiled, vinegary dinners. She needed to go home.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

“It’s not quite so simple, dear. We can’t always get what we want, when we want it, can we?”

“Why did you pick me?” Louise asked.

“You found us, sweet pea,” Glenda responded huskily.

“But why me? Why didn’t Brooke get an invitation?”

“We saw that you understood the power of vintage. Some girls feel it, and some don’t. We noticed the way you handled the fabric
with respect, the way you felt the texture between your thumb and index finger. I don’t think your friend has ever bought
anything off the sale rack, let alone a vintage store. Although that didn’t seem to stop her from showing up sans invitation!”

Louise laughed; that was true. She shook her head, snapping back to her new frightening reality.

“Are you witches?” she asked hesitantly.
Are Marla and Glenda magical? Is the dress?

“Now, that’s simply rude, dear. Didn’t your mother teach
you any manners?” Marla asked curtly, trying on a floppy straw hat with a wink.

“Let’s say we’re stylists,” Glenda said. “And we’ve worked with the best. You should be honored that we would even consider
dressing you for a middle school dance.”

“Honored? Look where that got me!” Louise yelped, looking around at her present surroundings. “It will be a miracle if I even
make it to the dance.”

“You’ll make it to the dance, sweetie. We’ll explain more once we know that we can trust you as one of our girls.”

“Your girls?”

“Our Fashionistas. All in due time, my dear.”

“Oh, look at the time,” Marla exclaimed quickly, not looking at the time at all. “We really must be going.”

“No! Please don’t leave me!” Louise beckoned to them. “You still haven’t told me how to get back to Connecticut.”