Read Online The Marriage at the Rue Morgue (A Rue and Lakeland Mystery) by Jessie Bishop Powell - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessie Bishop Powell
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sanctuary and bought the suit entirely to fit its current wearer. Mama would need to take in a little in the jacket to make the arrangement work, but the length was perfect.
Thus, it wasn’t too surprising that Lance had asked, “Not fitting seems like a pretty big problem, doesn’t it?”
Unsurprising, but annoying. I had wished for my mother-in-law. If she had been present, Lance wouldn’t have been able to argue with me. He would have been too busy keeping her bad behavior under control. But Sophia pled a migraine. Personally, I thought she had a hangover. She had flown in the night before, and after a quick dinner with my folks, had been picked up by some girlfriend from Columbus.
“Maybe if it were too
little.
” I had twisted to follow his movements. He circled me in a half arc, stopping so he wouldn’t have to dodge the dress’s modest train. “But too big is really easy to fix.” Why couldn’t Sophia be here to irritate and distract her son? She liked to flit. She had friends from Lance and Alex’s days at Ironweed and she was using her two weeks’ stay to get together with several of them. She had arrived home early that morning and gone straight to bed. I was simply relieved she had stayed the night with her buddy rather than either of them driving home after whatever they drank the night before.
“Is that the
only
thing you don’t like?”
“
I
don’t know!” Lance suddenly flopped down on the sofa. “I want you to have a dress of your
own.
Don’t you think we can afford that?” He made us sound like paupers. Our salaries at the sanctuary didn’t leave much room for extras, but we were frugal, and the answer was that if I had wanted to buy a new gown, we could have covered it. But it was both an expense I didn’t desire, and an argument with my mother I could safely avoid.
All in all, Mama was more fretful about the upcoming ceremony and about this dress in particular than either Lance or I. She had just wanted to get started pinning and measuring. In contrast, once I accepted the gown, I lost any interest the subject had held and wished Mama could use a dressmaker’s doll as a stand-in for the living bride.
Growing up with a seamstress parent,
I
knew that if Mama felt she could perfect the dress in two weeks, then it would really only take one. She had made prom dresses for my sister Marguerite and me while running a successful sewing business out of the house I grew up in. Altering my grandmother’s gown while enjoying semiretirement would be quite simple. Still, her peace of mind mattered to me, and I liked the gown.
I sat beside Lance, forcing him to jerk his legs out of my way. “Have you ever priced out a wedding dress?” I asked. Two could play the pauper game. “I’d rather have a nice reception. And I like this. It suits me.”
“Don’t you look like a pair of dolls,” Mama had rounded the corner into the parlor. I supposed so, I in my then ill-fitting dress, Lance in Art’s white tuxedo.
Lance and I sank deeper into the couch, holding hands. Without looking at Mama, Lance said, “It seems like the dress is so important in the wedding. I don’t want you to have somebody’s castoff.”
“Just because Nana never got to use it, that does
not
make this dress a castoff,” I snapped. When Bill Cox skipped town the same day of his wedding to my grandmother Franny, the town gossips had a field day speculating whether the two had ever wedded at all. They had not. Mama remained prudently silent. We contemplated these words for a little while before I added, “I think the dress looks fine. The dry cleaner can get out the yellow, and Mama can take in the seams. It’s not like you aren’t wearing somebody else’s clothes, too.” Probably a falsehood, but he hadn’t worked that out yet. “The suit and dress will go together,” I went on, “and that’s all we needed to figure out today anyway. I’m not so far out of date, and you’re not so very trendy that we
Thus, it wasn’t too surprising that Lance had asked, “Not fitting seems like a pretty big problem, doesn’t it?”
Unsurprising, but annoying. I had wished for my mother-in-law. If she had been present, Lance wouldn’t have been able to argue with me. He would have been too busy keeping her bad behavior under control. But Sophia pled a migraine. Personally, I thought she had a hangover. She had flown in the night before, and after a quick dinner with my folks, had been picked up by some girlfriend from Columbus.
“Maybe if it were too
little.
” I had twisted to follow his movements. He circled me in a half arc, stopping so he wouldn’t have to dodge the dress’s modest train. “But too big is really easy to fix.” Why couldn’t Sophia be here to irritate and distract her son? She liked to flit. She had friends from Lance and Alex’s days at Ironweed and she was using her two weeks’ stay to get together with several of them. She had arrived home early that morning and gone straight to bed. I was simply relieved she had stayed the night with her buddy rather than either of them driving home after whatever they drank the night before.
“Is that the
only
thing you don’t like?”
“
I
don’t know!” Lance suddenly flopped down on the sofa. “I want you to have a dress of your
own.
Don’t you think we can afford that?” He made us sound like paupers. Our salaries at the sanctuary didn’t leave much room for extras, but we were frugal, and the answer was that if I had wanted to buy a new gown, we could have covered it. But it was both an expense I didn’t desire, and an argument with my mother I could safely avoid.
All in all, Mama was more fretful about the upcoming ceremony and about this dress in particular than either Lance or I. She had just wanted to get started pinning and measuring. In contrast, once I accepted the gown, I lost any interest the subject had held and wished Mama could use a dressmaker’s doll as a stand-in for the living bride.
Growing up with a seamstress parent,
I
knew that if Mama felt she could perfect the dress in two weeks, then it would really only take one. She had made prom dresses for my sister Marguerite and me while running a successful sewing business out of the house I grew up in. Altering my grandmother’s gown while enjoying semiretirement would be quite simple. Still, her peace of mind mattered to me, and I liked the gown.
I sat beside Lance, forcing him to jerk his legs out of my way. “Have you ever priced out a wedding dress?” I asked. Two could play the pauper game. “I’d rather have a nice reception. And I like this. It suits me.”
“Don’t you look like a pair of dolls,” Mama had rounded the corner into the parlor. I supposed so, I in my then ill-fitting dress, Lance in Art’s white tuxedo.
Lance and I sank deeper into the couch, holding hands. Without looking at Mama, Lance said, “It seems like the dress is so important in the wedding. I don’t want you to have somebody’s castoff.”
“Just because Nana never got to use it, that does
not
make this dress a castoff,” I snapped. When Bill Cox skipped town the same day of his wedding to my grandmother Franny, the town gossips had a field day speculating whether the two had ever wedded at all. They had not. Mama remained prudently silent. We contemplated these words for a little while before I added, “I think the dress looks fine. The dry cleaner can get out the yellow, and Mama can take in the seams. It’s not like you aren’t wearing somebody else’s clothes, too.” Probably a falsehood, but he hadn’t worked that out yet. “The suit and dress will go together,” I went on, “and that’s all we needed to figure out today anyway. I’m not so far out of date, and you’re not so very trendy that we
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