To Mend a Dream by Tamera Alexander Read Free Book Online Page B

of all sizes as young Alice had. Still . . . she felt a hesitance she couldn’t account for. Except that for all the dreams she’d dreamed in this bedroom, for all the paths she’d thought her life might someday take, very few had come to fruition.
    Hearing footsteps on the staircase, she guessed Miss Sinclair had returned early from her shopping trip, and she hastened to her task, smiling to herself as she playfully checked the bedside table for a tiny key like in the story.
    As she measured the windows and recorded the dimensions in her notebook, she waited for Miss Sinclair or Mrs. Pruitt to pop into the bedroom at any moment. No matter where she went in the house in recent days, one of the two women always seemed to be either in the room with her or in another close by. At this rate, she could come here every day for the rest of her life and never find what her father had hidden.
    She glanced about the room, noting the subtle changes from when she’d last lived here. The entire house had been given a thorough cleaning. Yet it was comforting to still see familiar scuff marks on walls and slight dents in the wooden floor that she’d personally authored.
    But the lacy undergarments peeking from the wardrobe and the black silk nightgown draped over the chair in the corner were most definitely new additions. She didn’t even want to think about whether Mr. Bedford had seen them.
    And yet, she did wonder.
    Purposefully refocusing, she moved to the next window.
    Draperies for the dining room were already being sewn in the shop in town. She’d stopped by before coming this morning to make certain her coworkers understood the instructions on the ruching and trim. For a Monday morning, and so early an hour, the shop had been in a flurry. But a happy one.
    To say Miss Hildegard was ecstatic with how the project was progressing was like saying a fish tended to prefer water. And why not? Miss Sinclair was asking for nothing but the best. The cost of the rich blue silk for the dining-room draperies was more than Savannah earned in a year, never mind the beading and tassels. For that reason alone, she hoped Aidan Bedford was a wealthy man. Because his fiancée was spending money almost faster than she could keep tally.
    But his generosity to his future wife would also pay for Andrew’s new leg braces. “They’ll be much better and less cumbersome than your old ones,” Andrew had quoted the doctor.
    So thank you, Mr. Bedford.
    Though, much to her relief, she hadn’t been alone with him since that day by her grandparents’ old cabin. She’d seen him in the house along with Miss Sinclair or Mrs. Pruitt, and he’d acted completely normal. Whether it was just an act or he truly hadn’t noticed how taken with him she’d been that day, she was grateful. Either way.
    She stood back and eyed the double windows, still loving the curtains she’d sewn years earlier, although the blue-and-yellow floral was a tad girlish now. But they’d soon be gone. Because next on the list were the draperies for this room—soon to become the guest quarters—once Miss Sinclair approved the design. Miss Sinclair had requested that every room in the house be measured for floor coverings as well. Carpet was to be installed wall to wall in some of the rooms, and new Persian rugs had been ordered for others.
    Savannah had identified the woman’s taste early on, a skill honed from years of learning to set aside her own preferences and see the project through her clients’ eyes. Miss Sinclair loved everything French and expensive and “unlike anything Nashville has ever seen.” Savannah found it quietly amusing that so many of Miss Sinclair’s “unique conceptions” were nearly identical to drawings in the latest editions of Godey’s , Harper’s , or La Mode Illustrée.
    Personally, she appreciated fashion as much as anyone. But why was it that so