Nicole

“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

“February gave way to March, with its bursting colors of a too-early spring. Such warm weather was a welcome contrast to the near freezes of the previous year, as if this newborn century was impatient to exhibit its glory and all the unforeseen changes it would bring. Alice’s heart expanded at the sight of white snowdrops in lieu of absent snow; the vivid purples of wild petunias, pincushion flowers, and irises laced with the varying hues of tulips; and the glorious flowering shrubs---azaleas and camellias---lighting up the shade, covered entirely in blossoms as if they nurtured blooms but no leaves. She had seen the prairie carpeted in wildflowers, but this display was unlike that wild one of nature, somehow singularly intimate and welcoming, whereas the prairie engulfed and dwarfed her. There is not one thing that humankind has done on earth that is equal to one square inch of this, she thought.”
― 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

“Now, do you want a poppy?”
“A poppy? Whatever for?”
“I’ve noticed it on your cards. Is it important?”
“Oh, the poppy. It’s quite a mixed symbol---a symbol of silence, you see. How strange. And yes, it is the symbol for the ball motif. It seems that women have grown tired of the silent, subservient role. So, they have taken that very symbol to flaunt the reversal of roles for this event.”
“Would you like to flaunt it?”
Constance froze for a moment. “I think not, Alice. I am choosing to remain silent, incognito. I don't wish to call attention to myself.” She waited while Alice seemed to puzzle over her answer.
“Perhaps all the more reason,” Alice said. “Your silence is chosen, not imposed.”
“But it would draw such attention. A bright red poppy?”
“Perhaps not. What if it were not bright red?”
“Not red?”
“There is a white poppy, with an almost black center. I noticed some once in the window of a florist in Chicago. I was mesmerized. I turned around and went in to see them. The florist was a bit outdone with me that I did not buy even one.” Alice laughed. “But it could have all sorts of meanings for you.”
“Yes, and what would those be?”
“You’ve already explained why the ladies chose it for their motif. But the white poppy with the black center would be even more meaningful. All the things you’ve said---I believe I remember this correctly---plus peace.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans