We would work every day after the shop closed, with items Maman found or picked up cheap at one of the secondhand stalls. She taught me to go quiet inside, to soften my gaze and slow my breath—so very, very slow—until everything fell away and the images shimmered to the surface. Loves, losses, babies, weddings, accidents, illnesses, flicking past my eyes like pages in a scrapbook. Afterward, Maman would quiz me to see if my readings matched hers.
I was terrible at first, overwhelmed by the kinds of things that came up. I was young and found being privy to the intimate details of a stranger’s life uncomfortable, as if I’d been peering through their blinds or reading their diaries. Maman would simply roll her eyes. The echoes do not lie, she would remind me. They are a person’s memoir, stripped of fancy and self-delusion, the raw and unvarnished truth, and those truths are the foundation for everything else.
By everything else, she meant charm crafting.
A particular charm must be created for each Roussel bride, the words carefully chosen and shaped into a kind of verse, meant to dissolve specific impediments and ensure a happy outcome. The writing of a binding charm is considered sacred work and is to be entered into reverently. Never in haste and never, ever with the intent to bend the will of another. Both lovers must come willingly to the union and must have full faith in the charm’s binding power. Faith is the cornerstone of all magick. Without it, even the most powerful charm is useless.
When the charm is complete, it is sewn into the dress, discreetly worked into the seam that will lay closest to the bride’s heart. The words should be wrought in white silk thread, the stitches nearly invisible to the naked eye, as a guard against copying and misappropriation. Binding spells call on powerful magick, and in careless hands can do harm that is difficult if not impossible to reverse. But in skilled hands, a thoughtfully worked binding assures both protection and happiness. On the wedding day, when the lovers exchange vows, their union is said to be envo?tée—spellbound.
This part of the training came hard for me. I was impatient, which made me clumsy, perhaps because I found the work so achingly dull. I longed to make dresses, beautiful, shimmering gowns like the ones pictured in La Joie des Modes. But Maman refused to let me do more than pin a hem or trace a pattern until I had mastered charm crafting.
I thought her terribly unfair. At fifteen I was already as good with a needle as she, perhaps better, and had a sketchbook full of ideas I ached to bring to life. Voluminous princess skirts, tightly nipped waists, bead-encrusted bodices, and wide satin bows with sashes so long they skimmed the floor. They were gowns meant to celebrate the female form, offering glimpses of shoulder and back and bosom.
Maman detested them all, pronouncing them fanciful and vulgar, fit only for the stage. Her opinion stung more than I let on, but one day after yet another harsh critique, I informed her that her shapeless confections were très démodé—dreary and outdated. No woman, I snapped sullenly—not even the ones who need our help—wanted to walk down the aisle in a dress that looked as if it had been fashioned from her mother’s best tablecloth, and certainly not at the prices we were charging.
She responded as I knew she would, by pointing out that our clients weren’t paying for fashion but peace of mind. Still, I scorned the idea that a Roussel bride should have to choose between fashion and la magie. I saw no reason they couldn’t have both. If she would only let me make up a few of my dresses and display them in the salon, she would see that I was right. But Maman was not persuaded. And so I began to sew in secret, working every night after her light went out, dreaming of the day women would walk down the aisle in gowns bearing my name on the label.
Now, years later and an ocean away from where I began, the memories are still raw, but it was work that helped put me back together again after Paris and all that came after. Daniel is right. Despite it all, I managed to make a name for myself and carried on the Roussel legacy in a way I hoped would make Maman proud. With my shop, I found my feet. And I found myself. Selling it, no matter how long it’s been sitting empty, would be like letting go of all of that—like letting go of me—and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
FIVE
SOLINE
Always, there must be free will. It is not for us to impose our beliefs on others or to endeavor to persuade one to the practices of our faith. We do not seek those who need our help. Rather, they must seek us and request our assistance.
—Esmée Roussel, the Dress Witch 31 May 1985—Boston