Pleating for Mercy

responsibility I felt toward her grew with every passing day.

Luckily I could practically sew in my sleep, and I nearly did, once again working into the wee hours of the morning, this time on Ruthann’s bridesmaid dress. I thought the finished product was absolutely stunning.

I hoped she would think so, too.

At ten o’clock, she showed up for her final fitting. She was wearing her golden hair in a bun. She had the welldefined cheekbones to pull off such a severe look. “I thought you were finishing Josie’s gown first,” she said as she glided in.

“That was the plan, but I needed a break.” I’d realized over the years that people told you what they wanted you to know, which was rarely all of the story. I was no exception. I did want a break from the yards and yards of ivory silk and the endless hand pleating of Josie’s bodice, but I also wanted an excuse to talk to Ruthann alone.

Within minutes, Ruthann was behind the screen, shimmying into her body shaper, a style that hit just below her breasts. The result would be the illusion that there was a bit more in the bust than there actually was. Ruthann was gazelle-like, all limbs and very graceful, but she didn’t have any extra padding. Anywhere.

The dress I’d designed was a perfect match for her. The full skirt would hint at curves. The vertically pleated tube bodice with the fitted sash just under the breasts would substitute for cleavage. I helped her slip into the dress, checking the fit and the length, then finally marking the back closure so I’d know exactly where to place the zipper.

When I released her, she glided over to the full-length mirror, did a one-eighty, and froze as if she’d looked into Medusa’s eyes.

Oh, God, she hated it. I’d stayed up most of the night and had felt my energy flow right into the fabric as I’d sewed. I didn’t know Ruthann, but I’d been sure this dress would make her feel more feminine and powerful than she’d ever felt before.

“Ruthann?” I moved closer until I stood behind her, slightly to one side. I looked like I’d stayed up all night. My hair, pulled into my usual two low ponytails, looked dull and lackluster. Even the blond streak had lost its shimmer. The bags under my eyes were smoky gray and my skin looked sallow.

Ruthann, on the other hand, looked like she’d been lit up from the inside by a firefly. The strong olive green chiffon made her skin sparkle with life. Effervescent. There was no other way to describe how she appeared.

“How?”

This was my first made-to-order dress. It was almost completed. A simple bridesmaid’s dress and I’d botched it. “How what? You don’t like it?” I hurried on, hoping to convince her this was better than what we’d originally discussed. “I know we talked about a sheath. And you wanted that wraparound dress, but Ruthann, this . . . this is you.”

I held my breath, waiting for her to say something. Anything. Then the corners of her mouth lifted and her lips parted. She plucked the fabric on either side, holding it out like she was ready to curtsy. And her face lit up further. “How did you do this? It’s . . . it’s . . .” She trailed off, and spun around, gazing over her shoulder at the unfinished back of the dress. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

My skin pricked with excitement and my knees buckled with relief. I stepped back, letting her absorb her reflection. I didn’t cry easily, but when I saw how thrilled she was, my eyes blurred and I came awful close to tears.

After a moment, I turned a critical eye to my construction and design. I jotted a few notes in my sketchbook, reminders to check the measurement from waist to hem all the way around the full chiffon skirt and the silk skirt underneath. They needed to be exactly the same so that one wasn’t longer or shorter than the other.

“How did you do it?” she asked again.

“I’ve had a lot of training,” I said after I was satisfied that I knew exactly how I would finish Ruthann’s dress. “I worked with Maximilian for a long time. Graduated with a degree in fashion design—”

“No.”

I glanced up from my sketchbook.

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Do they train you to make a person feel different?”

“What do you mean?”

A few strands of her hair had slipped from her bun, softening the hard lines of her face. She shook her head, glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you always see yourself one way. The tall girl sitting home alone instead of going to prom. I never even had a homecoming mum.” She spun around again and for a second I thought she was picturing the oversized Texas version of a corsage. Then I saw her face and realized she was gazing at her reflection as if it was the first time she was seeing herself.

To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Shocked. How could someone as stunning as Ruthann have grown up thinking she was an ugly duckling?

If I reached out, I felt sure I’d be able to touch the emotion pouring out of her. I suddenly realized why I hadn’t liked the wraparound dress design for her. The idea of crisscrossing two pieces of fabric over her body felt like I’d be constricting her. All the feelings she was experiencing at this very moment had been bottled up inside her forever. A wraparound dress would have kept them sewn up tight. But this dress freed them instead.

“But now?” she said, looking at me in the mirror. “Who cares about a silly mum? All those people who thought I was stuck up won’t believe it. It’s like you knew just what I needed.”

I knew it now, but it had been pure instinct—and the fabric had led me. “I guess it’s like women’s intuition,” I said with a smile. To make people feel the way Ruthann felt at this very moment. This was what Meemaw had taught me and this was why I’d wanted to design clothes.

“I wish Nell could have felt this way,” Ruthann said, her voice simmering with regret.

“You don’t think she did?”

Another strand of hair fell from her bun. “I know she didn’t. If she just could have . . . maybe it would have been different for her.” She turned her back to the mirror. “What kind of dress would you have made her?” she asked.

She’d died before I’d had a single idea that seemed to fit. “I honestly don’t know. I couldn’t get an image of her. It’s almost like I—” I broke off, a cold chill sweeping over me. It was almost like I’d known she wouldn’t be alive long enough to wear a dress I designed.

“She was such a wild child, you know. So much fun. She liked things that were colorful and vibrant.” Ruthann’s voice drifted into remembrance. “She always wore things that made people do a double take, but she wasn’t really like that on the inside.”

I knew people often projected one thing while inside they were something entirely different. I’d only seen Nell in her cutoffs and knotted plaid shirt, but she was a businesswoman. She had to have been smart, committed, and savvy to make her shop stay afloat. There had definitely been more to her than met the eye. “How long did she own the shop?”

“She only bought it about six months ago. She was really frugal. Always saving, you know? She rented, and the landlord finally made a deal with her.” She shook her head. “It’s so unfair. Just when everything was starting to go really well . . .”

I unpinned the back of her dress and she slipped out of it with a fond glance at the garment.

I hung her dress on the second dress form in the workroom. “I heard she had a will,” I said as Ruthann disappeared behind the privacy screen.

Like a jack-in-the-box, her head popped out from behind the screen. “No, she couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

A look of hurt came over her. “I guess I just thought she would have told me something like that. We shared everything.”

“That’s right—you two were close.”

She smiled. “Yes, we were.”

“Ah, well, who knows if it’s true,” I said.

“Oh, it probably is,” she said quickly. “Nell was very shrewd. She knew exactly what she wanted and she worked hard to get it. I can see her not wanting to leave anything to chance, especially considering her upbringing.”

I stayed busy at the dress form, needle and thread in hand, finishing the slip stitch on the sash. I slid the