The Hidden - Jessica Verday [63]
It wasn’t right for Ben and the Hollow Ball. The red flamenco dancer dress suited him better. But this one? This dress was pure romance and lost love. Pure … Caspian.
As soon as that thought entered my mind, I knew. I knew what the dress was for. This is what I would wear somehow, or someway, for him. For when we could be together on November first.
His death day.
I reached for the front laces slowly, and began to carefully undo them. I wiggled my arm out of the right sleeve first, and then the left. As I pulled the dress over my head, the bottom rustled past me and I caught an odd sound as it went past my ear. Almost like a crinkling.
Did something just rip? I turned it over to look at it.
The hem looked fine. It wasn’t ripped. And there weren’t any leaves or dirt that could have caused the sound. Flipping it up, I examined the other side. There was a small slit. But it didn’t look like a tear or hole. It was a perfectly clean slit. Like someone had cut it.
Pulling it closer, I peered at it. Then I held it up to my ear and moved the fabric around. The rustling noise came from within.
I stuck my finger into the hole and felt something wedged inside there. It was hard to get it loose, but eventually I turned it the right way, and a slip of paper drifted out. It was tiny, old, and yellowed, with spidery cursive writing. I knelt to pick it up.
Holding the paper up to the light, I read the words:
When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
—William Shakespeare
“Wow,” I whispered. Those words were beautiful. And someone had thought so much of them that they’d tucked them into their clothes to carry around with them? I folded the paper back up and put it inside my pocket. I would keep it close to me, too.
Grabbing the dress, I draped it carefully over my arm and went to go find out what it cost. It didn’t matter what the price was. Somehow I’d find a way to pay.
The store clerk was a mousey-looking old man, who peered up at me from behind the counter with thick-lensed glasses, and a hearing aid in each ear. “Do you want that?” he asked me as I approached.
“I didn’t see a price on it anywhere,” I said. “I was wondering—”
“It’s just an old dress, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Clothes are ten dollars. You got ten dollars?”
Ten dollars? Of course I had ten dollars. “Are you sure? That’s all this is?”
He chuckled roughly. “If you want to give me more, missy, you can.”
“Ah, no, that’s okay.” I didn’t want to rip him off, but if that was the price, then that was the price. I fished out a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and passed it over.
“Do you want a bag?” he asked, taking my money. He held up a white plastic grocery bag, and I knew there was no way in hell I was stuffing my dress into that tiny thing.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just carry it.”
Suddenly he stood up. Peering closer.
“Did you get that from the trunk?” he asked, eyes turning sharp.
“Which trunk?” I said defensively. I didn’t know if he was going to try to get more money out of me.
“Steamer.” He waved a hand. “In the corner. With the tags on it.”
I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over at it. “Yes,” I said reluctantly. “Why?”
“Came from a lady.” His eyes narrowed. It looked like he was trying to remember. “A widow. She lost … She lost her …” His eyes grew cloudy again. “She lost her husband. At sea, I think.”
A chill ran down my spine. Lost her husband … waiting, by the sea …
Just like I’d pictured it. And even if he was wrong, even if the trunk hadn’t been hers, just the idea that he thought it might have been was eerie.
“Okay,” he said suddenly, back to the present again. “You enjoy it. Bye-bye now.”
I nodded and slowly walked to the door, dress clutched tightly in hand, and that little slip of paper tucked safely in my pocket.
When I found Beth back at the dress store, she was standing in line, trying to juggle my red dress and a black dress, while simultaneously pulling