wrong? Should she not have expressed the truth in such plain language? “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I am sure you would be very welcome at La Belle Demoiselle.”
“No, Camellia is right.” Lily reached out to Jasmine and pulled her down onto her lap.
Camellia relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe a prayer would help. That’s what the preacher had talked about last Sunday—about getting anything one asked for. Would God listen? Would He magically change the attitudes of her family? Asking for His help couldn’t hurt matters. Not that she meant any disrespect.
She closed her eyes.
Lord, please forgive me for my wayward thoughts. I promise to be more circumspect if only You’ll let me attend La Belle Demoiselle. It shouldn’t be too much trouble for You…. Oh, and if You’ll work this out for me, I promise to do something kind in return. I don’t know exactly what, but maybe You have something in mind. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work things out…
. Camellia hesitated. Should she add something else? She couldn’t think of anything. Amen. As prayers went, it wasn’t very eloquent, but maybe He would understand and give her her heart’s desire.
Camellia opened her eyes and glanced around. Everyone looked the same except Jasmine, who had slumped back against Lily’s shoulder and twisted her mouth into a pout.
Maybe God needed more time. She sure hoped He didn’t wait too long.
“What do you think of this color?” Camellia held up a length of gold silk for her aunt’s approval.
Aunt Dahlia tilted her head as she considered the suggestion before nodding. “It should make a stunning ballroom ensemble with a white lace overskirt and dark gold ribbons.”
Her smile widened as Camellia imagined entering a crowded ballroom on the arm of a dashing Confederate soldier. But then the dream crashed. “What if my escort is a soldier? Will the gold clash with his gray uniform?”
She held her breath as Aunt Dahlia frowned in concentration. “I don’t believe so.” Her aunt beckoned the owner of the dress shop to join them.
The tiny woman who ran the most fashionable shop in Natchez bustled over to them, a ticket book in her right hand and a pencil tucked into her elaborate coiffure. “You’ve chosen a marvelous cloth. Look at how it complements your niece’s curls.”
Aunt Dahlia nodded. “I know you won’t have any of the suiting for men’s attire, but do you have something the exact color of a soldier’s uniform? My niece wants to be certain her dress will complement her escort’s attire.” The two women walked off, chattering about flounces, buttons, and ribbons.
Camellia was so glad her aunt was the one who had brought her to town. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Lily, but her sister would never understand or pay attention to all the implications of each decision they needed to make. She looked toward the counter, where the bolts of material they had already selected were piled high. By Christmas they would be transformed into day, tea, and walking dresses of white, periwinkle, jade, and jonquil. Tan broadcloth would become a riding habit for afternoon excursions. They had also ordered chemises, petticoats, and aprons from plain white cotton. She would have a short cape of black wool for fall and spring outings, as well as a long winter cloak made from a luscious length of figured navy velvet to replace the plain black wool one she currently used.
“Look at this, Camellia.” Aunt Dahlia placed the bolt of gold silk on the counter and laid two swatches against it.
The pewter gray swatch was a nice contrast to the gold silk. The other swatch, a dull gold Camellia recognized as butternut, was more troublesome. She frowned but immediately forced her eyebrows back to a more pleasant position. She didn’t want wrinkles. She pointed at the butternut-colored square. “I don’t like that one.”
“I know. Most uniforms are closer to this color.” Aunt Dahlia picked up the gray swatch and held it in her
“No, Camellia is right.” Lily reached out to Jasmine and pulled her down onto her lap.
Camellia relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe a prayer would help. That’s what the preacher had talked about last Sunday—about getting anything one asked for. Would God listen? Would He magically change the attitudes of her family? Asking for His help couldn’t hurt matters. Not that she meant any disrespect.
She closed her eyes.
Lord, please forgive me for my wayward thoughts. I promise to be more circumspect if only You’ll let me attend La Belle Demoiselle. It shouldn’t be too much trouble for You…. Oh, and if You’ll work this out for me, I promise to do something kind in return. I don’t know exactly what, but maybe You have something in mind. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work things out…
. Camellia hesitated. Should she add something else? She couldn’t think of anything. Amen. As prayers went, it wasn’t very eloquent, but maybe He would understand and give her her heart’s desire.
Camellia opened her eyes and glanced around. Everyone looked the same except Jasmine, who had slumped back against Lily’s shoulder and twisted her mouth into a pout.
Maybe God needed more time. She sure hoped He didn’t wait too long.
“What do you think of this color?” Camellia held up a length of gold silk for her aunt’s approval.
Aunt Dahlia tilted her head as she considered the suggestion before nodding. “It should make a stunning ballroom ensemble with a white lace overskirt and dark gold ribbons.”
Her smile widened as Camellia imagined entering a crowded ballroom on the arm of a dashing Confederate soldier. But then the dream crashed. “What if my escort is a soldier? Will the gold clash with his gray uniform?”
She held her breath as Aunt Dahlia frowned in concentration. “I don’t believe so.” Her aunt beckoned the owner of the dress shop to join them.
The tiny woman who ran the most fashionable shop in Natchez bustled over to them, a ticket book in her right hand and a pencil tucked into her elaborate coiffure. “You’ve chosen a marvelous cloth. Look at how it complements your niece’s curls.”
Aunt Dahlia nodded. “I know you won’t have any of the suiting for men’s attire, but do you have something the exact color of a soldier’s uniform? My niece wants to be certain her dress will complement her escort’s attire.” The two women walked off, chattering about flounces, buttons, and ribbons.
Camellia was so glad her aunt was the one who had brought her to town. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Lily, but her sister would never understand or pay attention to all the implications of each decision they needed to make. She looked toward the counter, where the bolts of material they had already selected were piled high. By Christmas they would be transformed into day, tea, and walking dresses of white, periwinkle, jade, and jonquil. Tan broadcloth would become a riding habit for afternoon excursions. They had also ordered chemises, petticoats, and aprons from plain white cotton. She would have a short cape of black wool for fall and spring outings, as well as a long winter cloak made from a luscious length of figured navy velvet to replace the plain black wool one she currently used.
“Look at this, Camellia.” Aunt Dahlia placed the bolt of gold silk on the counter and laid two swatches against it.
The pewter gray swatch was a nice contrast to the gold silk. The other swatch, a dull gold Camellia recognized as butternut, was more troublesome. She frowned but immediately forced her eyebrows back to a more pleasant position. She didn’t want wrinkles. She pointed at the butternut-colored square. “I don’t like that one.”
“I know. Most uniforms are closer to this color.” Aunt Dahlia picked up the gray swatch and held it in her
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