Part 8 (2/2)
”Great friends? I don't think that's very likely.”
”Not likely, but possible.” She paused, as she always did when gathering her thoughts to make a point. ”Think of it as your very own Good Samaritan a.s.signment.”
”Yes, but the Good Samaritan helped a man who had been beaten and robbed, left penniless and broken. In all likelihood he was a perfectly nice man and was grateful for the help, and he didn't have the ability to help himself. Miss Montgomery, however, is not a very nice woman. It may not be her fault what happened to her in her childhood, but it is most definitely her fault that she doesn't have any friends now, and she likely has more money than all of us combined will ever see in our lifetimes.”
”None of that means she's not alone and in need of someone who cares. Sometimes it's the ones who seem like they are most in charge who really are the ones who need the most help. They're just too proud to ask for it. Think of Zacchaeus.”
”He's the short guy who climbed the tree to see Jesus?”
”Yes, but he was also a tax collector and rich. The fact that he was so short meant people had probably made him a bit of an outcast from an early age. The fact that he was a tax collector definitely made him an outcast as an adult. But somehow I doubt very much that he was walking around with his head down, you know what I mean? I'll bet he was going around in fine clothes and jewels and rubbing it in everyone's faces that he was rich and powerful, and they weren't.”
Lauren had never considered this point before. But quickly another thought came to mind. ”And probably there were people who tried to be his friend. Some of them probably even did it because they thought they felt compa.s.sion for him, but their true motivation might have been to have a rich and powerful friend. What if my motive in befriending Miss Montgomery is to get a look at her Angelina Browning gowns? I mean, I think I want to be nice to her for niceness's sake, but I wouldn't be honest if I didn't say I would kill to see her dress collection. I don't want to be a user. What if I do it by accident?”
”The fact that you're aware of those feelings is a good thing. You need to pray for right motives with every single interaction you have with her. But I am convinced you are supposed to interact with her.”
”She doesn't want that, though.”
”Zacchaeus didn't even call out to Jesus for help, he just climbed up to get a peek. Jesus had to call out to him first. He was up in that tree and would likely have watched the crowds go by, climbed down feeling even lonelier than he was in the beginning, and acted all the more obnoxious because of his pain. If Jesus hadn't seen him and taken the time to call him down, it could have ended very differently. Hurting people who hide behind their pride can't ask for help; it makes them vulnerable. Zacchaeus remained hidden in the tree, his way of protecting himself. Just like Miss Montgomery's way might be closing herself inside that gigantic home and tearing out flowers that people who are trying to be nice might plant.”
”Maybe you're right. I'd never really thought of it that way.”
”I think maybe it's time you do.”
Once again, Lauren worked on the Browning gown until late in the night. Finally she made herself set it aside and begin the work on repairing the aqua gown. The gray dress was simply an experiment, and she knew she shouldn't allow it to take up all her time. In spite of this knowledge, as soon as she finished the aqua gown, she went right back to the gray and worked until the night sky began to lighten and the stars faded into nothingness with the dawning of a new day. She finally went to bed to get at least a little rest.
A few hours later, she definitely felt the effects of staying up most of the night hunched over fine needlework. She did a few minutes of stretching before she stepped out of the cottage to do her beach walk.
On her way back from the beach to the cottage, she glanced toward the Victorian house. ”I do want to help her. Please test my heart for the right motives. Always.”
There was no sign of movement. She looked at the empty dirt out in front-all that was left of her previous attempt at kindness. Would a rest.i.tched gown fare any better? Could she bear the thought of doing all this work and having it ripped out and thrown away? She resolved that yes, she would indeed take that chance. She went back to the cottage and went back to work on the beading.
Many hours later, she made her way across the street. When Frances opened the door, she seemed surprised when she saw both dresses in Lauren's hand. ”What's this? Miss Montgomery donated this one, remember?”
”Yes, she did. But the thing is, this dress is so beautiful, and then I had an idea about how to fix it, and I did. She may not like it, and if that's the case, then I will take the repaired dress to the school and donate it, as per the original intention. To tell you the truth, it just hurts my heart to think of throwing this beautiful piece of art into the mix of pirate hats and feather boas.”
”We were led to believe that no one could do this kind of work these days.”
”It is definitely a dying art, but one of my favorite professors had a fondness for this type of work. Since I was interested, she taught me the basics. My skill is not to the level of the original, but I believe that I have been able to repair it so that it is not obvious.”
Frances held out the dress at arm's length. ”This is amazing. It looks as good as new. I'm sure Miss Montgomery will be thrilled.”
”As I said, if she doesn't like it, I will take it to the school. You can just let me know, and I'll come get it.”
”Wait just one moment, I'll go check with her. She's still in her room and not ready to receive guests, but I will speak with her about it.”
Frances closed the door, leaving Lauren alone on the porch.
seventeen.
Charlotte was sitting in her bed, reading a leather-bound copy of Jane Eyre. Again. How she loved the cla.s.sics. Yet why was it, she wondered, that these old stories always involved some beautiful, poor girl falling in love with a rich man who would take care of her and love her and protect her? Why was there never a wealthy heroine who found a man who adored her for who she was, not what she had or what power she did or didn't possess? She supposed that was too outlandish, even for a work of fiction. In real life, wealthy women were stepping-stones to be used and then discarded when the goal was reached.
She heard the sound of approaching footsteps followed by a quick knock and the turn of the k.n.o.b. Charlotte set the green satin ribbon bookmark into place and looked up, wondering what had prompted this disturbance.
Frances entered the room, a huge smile on her face, swinging the gray Browning gown around her as if she were doing some sort of flamenco dance. ”You're not going to believe this. Look what Lauren did with your dress.”
Charlotte grabbed the dress as soon as it was close enough to reach. The ridiculous way Frances was swinging it around meant she couldn't see anything. She held it at arm's length, stunned by what she saw, then pulled it closer. She reached down into the basket beside her chair, pulled out her magnifying gla.s.s, and examined the newly repaired beading and embroidery. ”But this can't be. Every reputable tailor I've ever taken this to has said that this type of dress could not be mended.”
”When she brought it back, Lauren did say that it was a technique that wasn't really taught anymore. She learned it from a teacher who had studied the dying arts and thought she'd try her hand at it.”
”But why? This dress was worth a fortune, even in its previous condition. It's worth even more now. You told her that I was donating it and she was under no obligation to return it to me. Why would she go to all this trouble?”
”I can't say, ma'am, but I will say that she has done a beautiful job.” Frances cleared her throat.
Charlotte continued to look through the magnifying gla.s.s. Except for the fact that she'd looked at it so many times that she knew it all by heart, she would have sworn this dress was in its original condition. ”How much did she charge for this?”
”I can't say for sure. When she brought back the white wool she said that there wouldn't be a charge because it was such a privilege to work on such amazing clothes. I told her that you wouldn't see it that way. She didn't really fight me on it, but when she brought this back today, she asked me to see if you liked it. She said that she will donate it to the school as per the original plan if you are not pleased with the work.”
”What do you think she is hoping to get out of this? This intricate work. She must have some sort of angle she is playing. What is it?”
”Maybe she's just a very nice girl. Have you ever thought of that?”
”Thought of it and dismissed it out of hand.” Charlotte gave the dress back to Frances so she could hang it in the closet. Then she had another thought. ”Frances, will you please pay her for the repair work she has done on my gowns-at whatever rate we were paying that other tailor.”
”Yes, ma'am.”
”Also, please tell her . . . tell her that Richard is planting some purple sage around the house for me next week. Tell her that she may use any remaining for herself-and that she is welcome to plant some outside my fence, if she would like to, as long as she uses my supplies. I don't want to be left owing her anything.”
”Richard is planting purple sage? Next week? I thought you told him no when he suggested purple sage.”
Charlotte frowned at Frances, owing her no explanation and not planning to give one. ”Give her a key to the potting shed and tell her . . .”
”Tell her?”
”Reiterate again that she must use my supplies for any work she does on my property. Give her the key and show her around the potting shed. Go right now and do it. Make sure she understands that I do not want to be beholden to her.”
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