“If you laugh, you know I can shoot you,” I grumbled, sliding the curtain between the mercantile and Mrs. Maycomb’s living area at the back.
I’d come to the store with Emma and Ann first thing with Quinn, one of the ranch hands, escorting us. We were in Travis Point, the town with the better mercantile for ladies ready-made wear. I had trusted their judgement on this, and I now looked down at myself. Pale blue gingham covered me from neck to wrist to waist, then belled out in a full skirt that was large enough to hide my unladylike boots.
“We will not laugh,” Emma said through the curtain.
I wasn’t so sure now that insisting I wear a dress to my own wedding had been a good idea. I felt ridiculous. I had never worn a dress, let alone gingham or pale blue in all my days. It was practicall
