“Miss Phoebe, Mr. Harrell sent me for you,” Joel said respectfully.

Mrs. Gladys opened her mouth, completely confused. To her, I had always been a quiet, almost invisible wife, without family, influence, or a past worth mentioning.

“Wait a moment, Joel,” I said, feeling strength return to me. “I need to change.”

But Joel hadn’t arrived alone. Behind him came two stylists, a makeup artist, and a rolling rack filled with gowns sent by my father. Silk, beadwork, embroidery, and vivid colors filled the room.

I chose a long, simple red dress, without unnecessary embellishments. Then I opened my jewelry box and took out the ruby necklace my father had given me for my eighteenth birthday.