Wild Fire
Page 98
“Back then, the style was full skirts, and lots of lace. Neither suited either my personality or my figure, and so Ruth adorned the hem and bust with the finest Belgium lace, but left the rest plain. The bust is beaded over the lace. Few designers were doing beads then, but Ruth had always incorporated beads into her drawings. Of course the strapless bust was totally risqué. Some designers were doing it, but they covered the shoulders with a small jacket or lace so the bride would be decent in church.”
Isabeau laughed. “Mary, you were a rebel.”
“No one back then paid much attention to Ruth’s designs. They told her she would never amount to anything. Only men could have their own businesses. Women were supposed to stay home and mind the children. It made me angry. So I asked her to come up with the design, and our friends helped to find the right materials. We had to send away for everything, and it was so expensive. Now the money would be laughable, but then, it was a pretty penny and with the way we lived, difficult to find.”
“Were you a sensation in it?”
Mary grinned at her. “Doc couldn’t take his eyes off of me. The ruche satin made my waist incredibly small. I thought I looked like a princess.”
“Who wouldn’t in such a beautiful dress?”
“Turn it around. I love the buttons.”
Isabeau carefully turned the dress around to expose the back. Tiny satin buttons adorned the back all the way down to the bottom of the small train.
“At first Ruthie was only going to put them to the waist but she wanted to accent the line of the dress, so in the end, she attached them all the way to the hem. Just so you know, sitting isn’t all that comfortable. You have to position the dress just right, but it’s so beautiful, who cares?”
“It is beautiful.” Isabeau had to blink back tears. “What if it doesn’t fit me?”
“It will fit. And I can take it in or let it out if I have to, but I think you’re very close to what my size was back then. And Ruthie is on her way over to help, so if I can’t do it, believe me she can.”
Isabeau frowned, a thought occurring to her. “You aren’t talking about Ruth Ann Gobel, the famous designer, are you?”
Mary laughed. “That would be Ruthie. She’ll love that you recognized her name. Her dresses—now considered vintage—have grown popular over the last few years. She barely made a living in her day.”
“Mary, this dress is worth a fortune. If it’s the first dress she ever designed and sewed, with the condition it’s in, the dress is priceless. I can’t accept . . .”
Mary patted her hand. “I insist. What’s it going to do, stay in a box? It was meant to worn, to be special, to make a woman feel wonderful. You wear that dress today and you’ll be making two old women very happy.”
Mary was a very slender woman now, her bones small, her hair gray, but her eyes were bright and the few wrinkles looked more like laugh lines. Isabeau could see a timeless beauty in her, the bone structure, the skin, the ready smile. Or maybe it was her inner spirit shining through.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Isabeau was afraid Mary didn’t understand the treasure she had. “Perhaps a granddaughter . . .”
Mary shook her head. “This is for Marisa. I want to do this. We spent so many hours talking about it and planning it, and if I do this for me, I’m doing it for her as well. And Ruthie was so pleased when I told her you might wear the dress.”
Conner’s mother had touched so many hearts. She was an exceptional woman and she’d raised an exceptional son. Isabeau felt humble that she was reaping the rewards of Marisa’s friendship with Mary.
“Thank you, Mary. I accept gladly.”
“Let’s try it on then.”
Isabeau couldn’t wait. Suddenly she was very excited about her wedding day. She wouldn’t be wearing jeans and a tank top, she’d be wearing the first dress the famous designer Ruth Ann Gobel had ever made. She knew she would feel like she was in the midst of a fairy tale.
Mary led the way to the back of the house to an empty guest room. Isabeau was extremely careful, half afraid that she might rip the dress. The material felt alive under her hands. She stripped and stepped into the dress, wiggling until she could pull it over her breasts. The moment Mary began to close the buttons, Isabeau could tell it fit like a glove, as if it had been made for her alone. Knowing the history of the dress only made it all the more special to her.
Very slowly, nearly holding her breath, she turned around to face Mary. She felt magical, beautiful, even extraordinary, and she hadn’t even seen herself. Mary’s eyes grew bright as she blinked back tears.
“Oh, my dear, thank you for this moment. You’re stunning. I knew I’d feel as if I had a daughter, and I do. Look in the mirror.”
The looking glass was full length on a wooden stand. Mary turned it slowly until Isabeau’s reflection stared back at her. She gasped and brought both hands to cover her mouth. “Is that really me?”
Mary brushed a hand through Isabeau’s hair. “You’re so beautiful. I think your man is going to be very happy that he wanted an actual wedding ceremony for you.”
Isabeau’s fingers creased in the dress. “Don’t tell him about this.” The dress made her feel more than romantic and beautiful—she felt sexy. Really sexy. A wild temptress. Maybe Ruth Ann Gobel had woven in a spell the way some of the newspapers claimed when they talked about her work. Women felt different in her designs. Isabeau certainly did.
Isabeau laughed. “Mary, you were a rebel.”
“No one back then paid much attention to Ruth’s designs. They told her she would never amount to anything. Only men could have their own businesses. Women were supposed to stay home and mind the children. It made me angry. So I asked her to come up with the design, and our friends helped to find the right materials. We had to send away for everything, and it was so expensive. Now the money would be laughable, but then, it was a pretty penny and with the way we lived, difficult to find.”
“Were you a sensation in it?”
Mary grinned at her. “Doc couldn’t take his eyes off of me. The ruche satin made my waist incredibly small. I thought I looked like a princess.”
“Who wouldn’t in such a beautiful dress?”
“Turn it around. I love the buttons.”
Isabeau carefully turned the dress around to expose the back. Tiny satin buttons adorned the back all the way down to the bottom of the small train.
“At first Ruthie was only going to put them to the waist but she wanted to accent the line of the dress, so in the end, she attached them all the way to the hem. Just so you know, sitting isn’t all that comfortable. You have to position the dress just right, but it’s so beautiful, who cares?”
“It is beautiful.” Isabeau had to blink back tears. “What if it doesn’t fit me?”
“It will fit. And I can take it in or let it out if I have to, but I think you’re very close to what my size was back then. And Ruthie is on her way over to help, so if I can’t do it, believe me she can.”
Isabeau frowned, a thought occurring to her. “You aren’t talking about Ruth Ann Gobel, the famous designer, are you?”
Mary laughed. “That would be Ruthie. She’ll love that you recognized her name. Her dresses—now considered vintage—have grown popular over the last few years. She barely made a living in her day.”
“Mary, this dress is worth a fortune. If it’s the first dress she ever designed and sewed, with the condition it’s in, the dress is priceless. I can’t accept . . .”
Mary patted her hand. “I insist. What’s it going to do, stay in a box? It was meant to worn, to be special, to make a woman feel wonderful. You wear that dress today and you’ll be making two old women very happy.”
Mary was a very slender woman now, her bones small, her hair gray, but her eyes were bright and the few wrinkles looked more like laugh lines. Isabeau could see a timeless beauty in her, the bone structure, the skin, the ready smile. Or maybe it was her inner spirit shining through.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Isabeau was afraid Mary didn’t understand the treasure she had. “Perhaps a granddaughter . . .”
Mary shook her head. “This is for Marisa. I want to do this. We spent so many hours talking about it and planning it, and if I do this for me, I’m doing it for her as well. And Ruthie was so pleased when I told her you might wear the dress.”
Conner’s mother had touched so many hearts. She was an exceptional woman and she’d raised an exceptional son. Isabeau felt humble that she was reaping the rewards of Marisa’s friendship with Mary.
“Thank you, Mary. I accept gladly.”
“Let’s try it on then.”
Isabeau couldn’t wait. Suddenly she was very excited about her wedding day. She wouldn’t be wearing jeans and a tank top, she’d be wearing the first dress the famous designer Ruth Ann Gobel had ever made. She knew she would feel like she was in the midst of a fairy tale.
Mary led the way to the back of the house to an empty guest room. Isabeau was extremely careful, half afraid that she might rip the dress. The material felt alive under her hands. She stripped and stepped into the dress, wiggling until she could pull it over her breasts. The moment Mary began to close the buttons, Isabeau could tell it fit like a glove, as if it had been made for her alone. Knowing the history of the dress only made it all the more special to her.
Very slowly, nearly holding her breath, she turned around to face Mary. She felt magical, beautiful, even extraordinary, and she hadn’t even seen herself. Mary’s eyes grew bright as she blinked back tears.
“Oh, my dear, thank you for this moment. You’re stunning. I knew I’d feel as if I had a daughter, and I do. Look in the mirror.”
The looking glass was full length on a wooden stand. Mary turned it slowly until Isabeau’s reflection stared back at her. She gasped and brought both hands to cover her mouth. “Is that really me?”
Mary brushed a hand through Isabeau’s hair. “You’re so beautiful. I think your man is going to be very happy that he wanted an actual wedding ceremony for you.”
Isabeau’s fingers creased in the dress. “Don’t tell him about this.” The dress made her feel more than romantic and beautiful—she felt sexy. Really sexy. A wild temptress. Maybe Ruth Ann Gobel had woven in a spell the way some of the newspapers claimed when they talked about her work. Women felt different in her designs. Isabeau certainly did.
