“You’re welcome, dear. It’s always wonderful to work with a happy bride-to-be.” The woman walked out of Sophie’s bedroom, leaving her pondering the words. Was she happy? She didn’t know, but she fervently wanted to be.
* * * *
It was only four o’clock when the seamstress left, so Sophie decided to lie down for a nap before dinner. She had checked on Maya an hour or so earlier, and she was napping. Carla was going to see to her through dinner time anyway, so Sophie was relishing the break.
She stretched out on the bed, sighing. After the dress fitting, she could almost imagine that she was marrying for the first time and wildly in love. Sophie laughed softly. How far that was from the truth! She set her alarm clock in time for dinner and snuggled under the covers. It was frigid inside in spite of the heat running and a low fire burning in the bedroom fireplace. The temperature had dropped to nearly five degrees this afternoon, and the forecast was for zero by evening.
Sophie drifted into sleep. She became aware of the cloying scent of roses all around her. In the dream, she was in her bedroom, and a woman stood before her—a gorgeous woman with flowing dark hair and compelling brown eyes. She wore a long black dress as if she were in mourning, and her expression was sad. “Go. Save yourself,” she whispered.
Sophie fought to wake up. The perfume of the roses was now a stench—the smell of putrid decay and death. “Who are you?” She asked the woman.
“You know. The woman of the roses. Save yourself as I could not do.” The woman faded before her eyes.
Sophie struggled into wakefulness and sat up on the bed. Tears wet her cheeks. “What happened to you, Mona Granger? What are you trying to tell me?” She wiped her face with a tissue from the nightstand and tried to gather her wits.
It was only a dream after all—the product of an overactive imagination and seeing the woman’s grave earlier in the day, hearing of her tragic death. But Sophie remembered Thaddeus Granger’s words about seeing “her.” Was the her he referred to his dead wife?
She shuddered, hugging herself tightly. Was coming here a mistake? Why would a ghost warn her away?
“There are no ghosts. This is just the result of stress and an overly active imagination. Pull yourself together,” Sophie whispered to herself, feeling foolish.
Trying to forget the woman in black in her nightmare, Sophie looked in the wardrobe where she had hung her few pitiful dresses. She brightened, remembering that the seamstress had fitted her for a few pre-made dresses she had thought would be close to her size. Two of them had fit nearly perfectly, so she had left them there for Sophie. It had been a nice touch from John who had asked that Mrs. Bechdol look through the stock in her dress shop for dresses Sophie might like.
Sophie ran her fingers over the two dresses and chose a gold one that brought out the highlights in her red hair. It was long sleeved and fell to mid-calf length. She put it on, smiling at her reflection as she looked through her paltry jewelry stash and chose a pair of large copper studs and a chain bracelet to match. “There. That’s perfect.” She wanted to look nice as a thank you to John. Her spirits lifted a bit as she studied her reflection. Her skin was glowing, and she was looking healthier—not so gaunt as she had when she’d arrived. That could be credited to a better diet—more food in general and a better selection of it.
“I did the right thing for Maya and me.” Sophie nodded at herself in the mirror. Then, she moved to the makeup table and put on a light coat of peach lip gloss, brown mascara, and some blush. She was ready to face dinner, come what may.
She had her hand on the door to leave her room when she heard angry whispers.
“I don’t understand.” That was Carla’s voice.
“I’ve told you before. You just don’t want to understand, Carla.”
Sophie recognized Evan’s voice and felt some relief. Perhaps Evan and Carla had been the ones she’d heard quarreling the night before and not Carla and John.
“I think I do,” she said, laughing lightly.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, a threatening note in his voice.
“I guess we will,” she said.
Their voices faded as they moved down the hall toward the stairs.
“Darn it!” Sophie said, wishing she could have heard the whole conversation. What had they been arguing about? Were they lovers? It wouldn’t surprise her. Carla was undeniably attractive.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. John skipped dinner due to a migraine headache, which Sophie found extremely disappointing. She wondered if it was true or a ruse. It was the first time they would have all been together at the dinner table.
Carla and Evan were quiet but shooting glances toward each other throughout the meal. Overall, the environment was uncomfortable. Sophie felt overdressed and silly.
“So, when is the big day?” Carla asked as they reached the dessert course—a delectable key lime pie.
“I’m not sure yet. We’re still...waiting on some details.” She wondered if they all knew about those details.
Evan laughed shortly. “Don’t wait too long. Dear old dad isn’t getting any better.” He popped a bite of pie in his mouth.
She shot him a look of venom. “Why are you determined to hate me?”
His eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t read. “I don’t hate you. I pity you. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Perhaps you could tell me, then.” Sophie said, refusing to back down. Her pulse hammered in her temple.
“You’ll figure it out soon enough, I suppose,” Evan said. “I just hope the family fortune is all worth it.”
She stood up and threw her napkin to
