Wyoming True - Diana Palmer Page 0,65
woman there. Well, except for me,” she added with a gamine smile. “But I’ll be in white. You look very nice, Maude. The color truly suits you.”
“Thank you,” Maude said. “And for the dress. I’ve never had anything so pretty.” Her eyes were very bright. She turned away and went back to the saleslady.
Ida shifted so that she could put her cheek against Jake’s broad chest. “You really are a kind man,” she said gently.
His big, lean hand smoothed over her back. “Maude’s a treasure. I’m sorry I didn’t think about this sooner. I know what it is to be poor. So do you. There were never any extras in our household. I went to school with holes in my pants that weren’t made deliberately as a fashion statement, and boots that often had holes in the soles.”
“We had plenty to eat, because we lived on a ranch and we grew our own vegetables and beef and pork. But shoes were always a problem because my feet grew so fast.”
He looked down and smiled. Her feet were encased in neat pink sneakers that matched the silk blouse under her long leather coat. “Cute little feet,” he remarked.
She looked down and chuckled. “I’ll bet you have to wear the shoeboxes,” she whispered.
“Big feet, big heart,” he retorted with mock haughtiness.
She laughed.
“While we’re here, you need to look at wedding gowns, Ida,” he added.
She was hesitant. “Are you sure?” she asked, worried. “I’m not a young girl and it’s not a first wedding. Besides, it’s just going to be a small wedding...”
“We’ve already had this discussion,” he reminded her. “Warm winter white. Something flattering. And with a veil.”
She remembered that he’d insisted on that. Neither of her other two husbands had wanted anything resembling a proper ceremony. She looked up into Jake’s soft eyes and gave in. “Okay,” she said. “White it is. And a veil.”
She left Jake sitting while Maude searched for other necessities to go with her bridesmaid’s gown, and she went to the couture wedding department, her eyes full of stars.
She looked through what felt like oceans of white, until she was almost blinded by the choices. But one particular gown caught her eye. It had a keyhole neck, trimmed with antique lace, tight in the bosom and the waist, flaring out into a wide, ankle-length skirt, and with a train. It was satin with a lace overlay, puffy sleeves, and intricate embroidery on just the bottom of the skirt, around the hem, in pastel colors. Those were echoed in trim around the band of the sleeves, and the neckline. The veil was antique lace, and its hem had the same fine, pastel embroidery. It was like something out of a fairy tale, Ida thought as she studied herself in the three mirrors in the fitting room.
She sighed, worrying that she was too old for a gown like this and should choose something simpler.
But the saleslady came in and saw her in the dress and caught her breath. “Ma’am,” she said softly, “I’ve never seen a bride look so lovely in a gown. That’s by a new designer, too, and he has some of the prettiest gowns you’d ever want to wear.”
Ida let out the breath she’d been holding. She laughed. “I was worried that I’m too old for it,” she said. “I’ve been married twice, you see...”
“Nobody is too old for a beautiful wedding gown like that,” she replied, and she smiled.
Ida took one more look in the mirror and had to agree. She smiled from ear to ear. “I’ll take it,” she said.
* * *
MAUDE WAS LET out at her house, so that she could put up her dress after showing it and her other purchases to her husband.
Jake and Ida, sitting in the back of the limousine, waited for her patiently, exchanging idle conversation while Fred, the driver, kept glancing in the rearview mirror, as if he was impatient to go.
“Getting jumpy, Fred?” Jake teased. “We’re not robbing a bank, you know. Although, the way you drive sometimes, you remind me of a wheel guy,” he chuckled.
Fred smiled, but in an odd way. “I guess those guys have to be pretty good at the wheel,” he said.
“Very good, I should think,” Jake agreed, nodding. Then he turned back to Ida. “How about the symphony tomorrow night? Supper before.”
“We don’t have a symphony in Catelow,” she said blankly.
“Well, no, but there’s one in Manhattan, and I happen to know that they’re doing Debussy.”
Her breath caught. “How did