Nicole

“This ball, this gown constituted a new endeavor for women, and she was one of them, wearing these symbols that marked a new life: these pearlized lines of strength, this dove of peace, this poppy in all its complexity, this flame, this bridge. The impossible bridge across impossible obstacles. She would be wearing that bridge. No, she thought, I am my own bridge.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“The graceful lines of pearl on the bodice transported her to her father’s study, to the newspaper photo of the Brooklyn Bridge. Today, tonight, she was crossing a bridge into another sense of self, an unknown, unexplored woman, a woman incognito, even to herself. And holding those lines of strength was the dove, Analee’s handiwork, the strength of peace holding everything, there on the gown, there at her heart, again on her face, beneath her eyes, allowing her a new vision, though she herself would not be seen. Constance fingered the smooth finish of the silk, this fine fabric given to her by someone who believed in her, who mentored and cared for her, whoever she was as a woman, without the constraints of convention. She turned the gown and gazed at its train, centered with the Gothic arch of the bridge, now converted into a torch of liberty. Everything in this gown spoke of strength and transformation, nothing left behind. There were her children, the girls as shimmering fish swimming freely, even her dead son transformed into light, the light of the bridge into the unknown.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“No, you can’t see your own twinkle. Not even when you are grown up.” Isn’t that the truth? she thought. “Only someone who loves you can see it. That’s the real magic.” She joggled Maggie”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“If nothing else, Alice, you will have sight of one of the grandest buildings in the city, one of the grandest ever built, in fact. That florid thing cost three hundred eighty thousand dollars to erect! It is as ornate as a cathedral. But, oh so mixed up. A bit of everything thrown in---Second Empire, Renaissance, Italian, with Corinthian columns, no less. Gold ceiling medallions, frescoes, murals, sculptures--- even a fountain, where the futures are sold. Well, not in the fountain.” Constance laughed uncertainly. “And an ornate steam elevator… Well, just don’t bid on the cotton futures.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans