True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,30
bundle of compromised plastic, she lifted the bag, eased it over the edge of the trunk and lowered it to the shower curtain.
“Are you sure that’s a wedding dress? It doesn’t look white.”
“It’s white in the folds. I’ll show you.” She tried to open the bag, but the zipper was stuck. Instead she pried apart the cracked plastic on the top and pulled out a section of the dress’s dingy skirt. “See the white in the creases? Heat, dust and chemicals from the plastic have done a job on the fabric.”
“That’s too bad. Someone wanted to preserve it.” He walked around to the side of the trunk. “I’ll bet you’ll find out who the dress belonged to if you go through whatever’s in those boxes.”
Leaning over the bagged dress, she peeked into the trunk. Storage boxes of various sizes lined the bottom. A shoe box likely contained shoes to go with the dress. The rest were of various dimensions, some with flowered lids.
She glanced up, tempted to ask him to help her go through the boxes looking for clues about the wedding dress. That would make it more fun. It would also be a bad allocation of resources.
Time to activate her primary reason for bidding on him. “Ready to get the rest of the boxes down?”
“Absolutely. You said they go on the back porch?”
“Yes, please. It’s through a door at the end of the hall. You might want to prop it open before you start.”
“Alrighty.”
“And watch your head coming out of the attic.”
He grinned. “Might be worth it to bang up the other side.”
“Nick!”
He laughed and started for the door. “Just kidding.” He opened the screen and paused. “I can think of much better ways to steal a kiss.” Ducking inside the house, he pulled the door closed.
A couple of seconds later, his boots hit the stairs, creating a staccato beat as he charged up to the second floor. Clearly he hadn’t taken her suggestion about propping open the door to the back porch.
She shrugged. Reaching into the trunk, she pulled out the shoe box, popped off the lid and took out one of the snowy white satin pumps. Because they’d been insulated by the dress and protected by a layer of cardboard, they’d kept their color. A quick inspection of the soles confirmed they’d never been worn.
Her chest tightened. If the shoes hadn’t been worn, then neither had the dress. Could it have been Miss Barton’s? If she’d never worn it, her statement that she’d never been married would hold true.
Gripped by foreboding, she put the shoe in the box, closed the lid and set it aside. The trunk contained another eight boxes. Which one held the answer? And did she want to know what it was?
Maybe not, but she couldn’t stop now. She pulled out a square one and found a small picture album with snapshots in plastic sleeves. Nobody put together this kind of album anymore.
The plastic had done a number on the pictures, but the two people in them were clearly in love. In some the guy wore an Army uniform. Was that Winifred Barton with him? She squinted at the face. Maybe. Tough to match this twenty-something woman with Miss Barton.
Laying the album beside her, she reached for one that looked like a stationery box. Wedding invitations? It was about two inches thick and light. Empty?
Not completely. One invitation remained. Evidently the rest had been mailed. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Barton request your presence at the wedding of their daughter, Winifred Jennifer Barton to Gerald Wesley Sutherland, Junior, son of Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Wesley Sutherland, Senior. The ceremony will be held on…
She noted the date and made a quick calculation. The contents of the trunk had been sitting in the uninsulated attic for more than seventy years. No wonder the plastic was compromised.
Those two in the album had been Winifred and Gerald, engaged to be married. But judging from the evidence, the wedding had been cancelled.
She returned the invitation to the box and reached for another, thinner one. It had a flowered lid and was tied in a bow with a black ribbon. She pulled gently on one end and the bow came undone. Maybe the black ribbon didn’t mean what she feared it did.
The official seal on the letter and the date two weeks before the wedding explained it all. We regret to inform you…
She put the box back, scrambled to her feet and hurried to the door. Flinging it open, she stepped