After selecting a lovely blue fabric for a wedding dress and arranging for the seamstress to fit her that afternoon, Amelia rejoined Carrick at the front of the store. "Everything satisfactory," he asked. "Very. Mrs. Wilson has been most helpful." Carrick nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"I need to speak with the blacksmith about some repairs. Would you mind if I left you with the seamstress for an hour?" Not at all, Amelia assured him. I have plenty to occupy me. After arranging to meet at the small cafe for lunch, they parted ways.
The seamstress, a sharpeyed French woman named Madame Bouvier, clucked disapprovingly at the haste required, but promised a simple but elegant wedding dress by Saturday. For Msure Montgomery, I make exception, she declared, pins in her mouth as she measured Amelia. Good man, deserves beautiful bride. By the time Amelia met Carrick for lunch, she'd received similar assessments from half a dozen towns people. Everyone spoke highly of him, his work ethic, his fairness, his willingness to help neighbors.
It painted a picture of a man deeply respected in his community. At the cafe, a small establishment with checked tablecloths and savory aromomas, Carrick pulled out Amelia's chair. "How was your morning?" he asked once they were seated. "Educational," she replied honestly. "Your neighbors think quite highly of you."
A flush colored his tan cheeks. "Small towns, everyone knows everyone's business. They seem like good people. They are mostly." He hesitated.
Was it overwhelming meeting so many at once? Amelia considered this a bit, but they've been welcoming. Good. He seemed relieved. I was concerned after what you told me about Boston.
That I might face similar judgment here. Amelia shook her head. No one here knows my past, Carrick. And based on what Mrs. Wilson said, I believe they're more interested in welcoming a new neighbor than in scrutinizing her. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the cafe owner, a robust woman who introduced herself as Edith Parker.
"About time you brought your bride to meet us properly, Carrick Montgomery," she scolded good-naturedly. "We were beginning to think you were hiding her away." "Miss Foster only arrived 2 days ago," Edith Carrick reminded her with patience that suggested long familiarity with the woman's forthright manner. Well, she's here now and prettier than rumor had it. Edith turned to Amelia.
You must join our lady's aid society. Dear, we meet Thursdays at the church. Nothing formal, just sewing and more gossip than is probably godly. I'd be delighted, Amelia said, genuinely touched by the invitation. After a hearty lunch of beef stew and fresh bread, they continued their errands around town.
Carrick introduced Amelia to the banker, the preacher's wife, and several other prominent citizens. By mid-afternoon, she'd received more warm welcomes and invitations than she'd had in her last year in Boston. Their final stop was the small church where they would be married. It was a simple white structure with a modest steeple surrounded by a picket fence. Not as grand as Boston churches, Carrick said as they stood before it.