considering she’d married and sort of tamed Sam Houston, Texas’s most radical historical figure. “But yes, Mrs. James was—is—fine with adding Gracie. Like I said, we were going to write the pedigree—”
“No reason, dear,” Trudy said, steering me toward a row of sewing machines and sergers.
“Two without,” Fern mumbled behind me.
She had a bad habit of talking under her breath and it was beginning to get on my nerves. I bit my tongue, barely stopping myself from blurting out something I’d regret. They didn’t even know Gracie. I couldn’t hardly stand them judging her. The gowns on the headless mannequins suddenly felt like fashionable nineteenth-century female soldiers closing in. “Two what?” I asked, heavy on the accent, my tone somehow light and friendly.
Trudy shot her sister a hush up look, then said, “Just that Margarets usually come from more… established families, shall we say? Families like the Kincaids—”
“The Kincaids?” I said with a scoff.
They’d
beenwrapped up in a murder not that long ago. They weren’t all that upstanding anymore.
“Gracie Flores isn’t your typical Margaret, is all,” Fern said, backtracking.
“But then again, Ferny, are there any typical girls, anymore?” In perfect sync, they both bowed their heads for a moment of silence over the lack of perfect Margarets.
As they raised their gazes again, I could suddenly picture Gracie in my mind, clear as a bell, dressed and primped in the sage green gown from Meemaw’s armoire. That would be her Margaret dress, I decided. No matter who it had once belonged to, it was going to have its second coming with Gracie Flores.
Chapter 10
The second I stepped through the flower-covered archway into my front yard, the scent of homemade cinnamon rolls encircled me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the ribbon of sweetness, letting it nearly lift me up and carry me up the porch steps. Nana must have let herself in, I realized as I took the little handmade sign saying I’d be back at eleven o’clock off the hook to the right of the door. Buttons & Bows wasn’t the type of shop scads of people happened by. It was a destination shop, a place you came if you wanted a custom dress made, or were hoping for a designer off-the-rack outfit. Closing every now and then to run errands wasn’t going to put me out of business.
I followed the cinnamon aroma through the dining room, stopping short in the kitchen. “Nana?”
My grandmother was not there baking pastries. “Mama?” I peeked through the door next to the butter yellow refrigerator. The washer and dryer sat just beyond the kitchen. The clothes that I’d moved into the dryer that morning were now neatly folded in a wicker laundry basket sitting just outside the utility room. “Mama?” Coming in and finishing my laundry wasn’tsomething my cowgirl mother, Tessa, tended to do, but was something Nana would do. But Nana’s Nubian goats followed her everywhere, a definite drawback to her charm. And they took the majority of her time. I didn’t think she’d take time from her new goat milk pomegranate moisturizer lotions to fold my wash and make cinnamon rolls.
No, the kitchen was empty, but the sweet smell lingered. As I shut the mudroom door, the sweet smell of the cinnamon rolls quickly hit a high note and then, as if someone had snapped their fingers, it simply vanished.
“Meemaw,” I whispered under my breath. Of course.
The faint whisper of a laugh floated in the room.
“I went to see the Lafayette sisters today,” I said to the empty room. I had taken to chatting with my great-grandmother, filling her in on my days. Meemaw was my secret, but one I’d have to share with Mama and Nana before too long. A thread of guilt wound through me each time I saw them and didn’t reveal that Loretta Mae wasn’t quite as dearly departed as they thought.
The soft sound of whispered words came to me, but dissolved into the air before I could make them out.
“No reason, dear,” Trudy said, steering me toward a row of sewing machines and sergers.
“Two without,” Fern mumbled behind me.
She had a bad habit of talking under her breath and it was beginning to get on my nerves. I bit my tongue, barely stopping myself from blurting out something I’d regret. They didn’t even know Gracie. I couldn’t hardly stand them judging her. The gowns on the headless mannequins suddenly felt like fashionable nineteenth-century female soldiers closing in. “Two what?” I asked, heavy on the accent, my tone somehow light and friendly.
Trudy shot her sister a hush up look, then said, “Just that Margarets usually come from more… established families, shall we say? Families like the Kincaids—”
“The Kincaids?” I said with a scoff.
They’d
beenwrapped up in a murder not that long ago. They weren’t all that upstanding anymore.
“Gracie Flores isn’t your typical Margaret, is all,” Fern said, backtracking.
“But then again, Ferny, are there any typical girls, anymore?” In perfect sync, they both bowed their heads for a moment of silence over the lack of perfect Margarets.
As they raised their gazes again, I could suddenly picture Gracie in my mind, clear as a bell, dressed and primped in the sage green gown from Meemaw’s armoire. That would be her Margaret dress, I decided. No matter who it had once belonged to, it was going to have its second coming with Gracie Flores.
Chapter 10
The second I stepped through the flower-covered archway into my front yard, the scent of homemade cinnamon rolls encircled me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the ribbon of sweetness, letting it nearly lift me up and carry me up the porch steps. Nana must have let herself in, I realized as I took the little handmade sign saying I’d be back at eleven o’clock off the hook to the right of the door. Buttons & Bows wasn’t the type of shop scads of people happened by. It was a destination shop, a place you came if you wanted a custom dress made, or were hoping for a designer off-the-rack outfit. Closing every now and then to run errands wasn’t going to put me out of business.
I followed the cinnamon aroma through the dining room, stopping short in the kitchen. “Nana?”
My grandmother was not there baking pastries. “Mama?” I peeked through the door next to the butter yellow refrigerator. The washer and dryer sat just beyond the kitchen. The clothes that I’d moved into the dryer that morning were now neatly folded in a wicker laundry basket sitting just outside the utility room. “Mama?” Coming in and finishing my laundry wasn’tsomething my cowgirl mother, Tessa, tended to do, but was something Nana would do. But Nana’s Nubian goats followed her everywhere, a definite drawback to her charm. And they took the majority of her time. I didn’t think she’d take time from her new goat milk pomegranate moisturizer lotions to fold my wash and make cinnamon rolls.
No, the kitchen was empty, but the sweet smell lingered. As I shut the mudroom door, the sweet smell of the cinnamon rolls quickly hit a high note and then, as if someone had snapped their fingers, it simply vanished.
“Meemaw,” I whispered under my breath. Of course.
The faint whisper of a laugh floated in the room.
“I went to see the Lafayette sisters today,” I said to the empty room. I had taken to chatting with my great-grandmother, filling her in on my days. Meemaw was my secret, but one I’d have to share with Mama and Nana before too long. A thread of guilt wound through me each time I saw them and didn’t reveal that Loretta Mae wasn’t quite as dearly departed as they thought.
The soft sound of whispered words came to me, but dissolved into the air before I could make them out.
Similar Books
