by Jan Moran
9
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, after Shane and Doyle left, Lizzie begged Fianna to look at her dress and give her an honest opinion.
“What do you think, Fianna?” With great effort, Lizzie swung around in her bedroom. As she did, the full, tiered skirt and train of her blindingly white wedding gown swooshed behind her and caught on an occasional table.
Fianna lunged and caught an antique Tiffany lamp before it tumbled to the hardwood floor. “It’s enormous. It reminds me of Princess Diana’s wedding dress. Remember the trouble she had with her gown?”
Lizzie’s lower lip trembled, giving her the appearance of a fidgeting rabbit. Her eyes were rimmed in pink and her pale golden strawberry hair was piled onto her head in a messy bun. She sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Our mam chose it. She was so certain it was perfect.” The dress billowed around her, engulfing her in tall peaks of shimmering white satin.
“It’s what she wanted, not you.” Fianna knelt beside her sister. “Lizzie, where’s your backbone?” she asked. Her tone was playful, but her words rang with truth. “Do you want to fix this travesty, or not?”
Lizzie sniffed and peered through parted fingers. “Can you really do it?”
“Sure, I can fix almost anything. In fact, there’s enough fabric here to make several dresses.”
“I wanted something slim and elegant.” She swatted the skirt back as it rose again of its own accord. “And it’s such a bright white. Can you dye it?”
Fianna chewed her lip. She didn’t have much time. “Is there anything you like about it?”
Lizzie thought for a moment and spread her hands over her torso. “I suppose the bodice fits well.”
“Actually, it does.” Fianna unzipped the back and looked inside. The silk interior had finished seams and was constructed with foundational stays and underpinnings. The gown was well made, but it would be complicated to remake on such short notice. “So, we have to deal with the color, and this giant skirt and train.”
“And the headdress and veil are far too heavy,” Lizzie added, pointing to a hat stand swathed in tulle and lace and satin. “I’m not sure I could make it down the aisle without tipping over. I’d feel like a Las Vegas showgirl wearing that.”
Fianna laughed. She stood and measured lengths of the veil by stretching it from her fingertips to her nose. “This is several yards long.” What had their mother been thinking? Poor Lizzie, who favored sweaters and slacks and tailored dresses, had been swallowed in enough satin and tulle to clothe an entire family.
Rubbing her hands together, Fianna stepped back to consider her task. She could redesign and trim it down, fit it to Lizzie, and use her mother’s sewing machine, but she was awfully short on time. “Do you have a pencil and paper? I’d like to sketch a few ideas for you to see.”
“In my vanity.” Lizzie struggled to her feet, but lost her balance and plopped back down. “I can’t even get up in this thing.” She fell to one side, and started laughing so hard tears came to her eyes.
Fianna reached out to help her, but she stumbled on the train and fell into the mound of fabric alongside her sister. “Whoops! It’s like I fell into a lemon meringue pie.”
“Can you see me tumbling and rolling down the aisle, strangled in tulle?”
“Strangled in Tulle, sounds like a murder mystery.” Soon they were both howling with hysterical laughter and rolling on the floor.
“What’s going on here?” Mary Margaret flung open the door. “Girls! What in heaven’s name are you doing to that dress? You’ll ruin it!”
Davina looked over her sister’s shoulder, clearly amused at the antics.
Lizzie sat up, her blond mane in wild disarray, and wiped tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Don’t worry, Mam, Fianna’s going to fix it.”
Their mother’s face grew ashen. “You will not touch a stitch on that beautiful gown.”
Davina smothered a laugh. “She could only improve upon it.”
“See? I told you it was hideous.” Lizzie threw a look at Fianna and then turned to face her mother. “Fianna offered to redesign it for me. This is my wedding, and I’ll wear what I want. If I have to wear this—” She flounced the fabric over her head for effect. “I’d sooner call off the wedding.”
“Lizzie, you don’t know what you’re saying. Why, I’m sure Fianna has—”
“Told me the truth,” Lizzie finished. “But I already knew it was ghastly.”
“Fianna is an expert,” Davina said.
Mary Margaret sputtered in anger. “Do what you want, you willful child. But don’t come running back to me when that gorgeous gown is ruined beyond repair. It’s your wedding.”
Fianna gazed at her mother, saddened. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mam.”
“Mary Margaret, your daughter is a talented designer,” Davina said softly. “I wouldn’t have brought her collection in for the event if it weren’t. And her last runway show was covered in both the Los Angeles Times and Fashion News Daily. Why don’t you give her a chance?”
“She’ll have to do something. Look, the train is torn.” Mary Margaret turned and huffed down the hallway.
Lizzie flung her arms around Fianna. “Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”
Fianna hugged her sister. “You did that all by yourself, Lizzie. I’m proud of you.”
“Yes, indeed, you spoke your mind.” Davina stepped inside the bedroom and helped the two girls to their feet. “I’d love to hear how you plan to salvage this, Fianna.”
“I have some ideas.” While Davina helped free Lizzie from the confines of her wedding dress, Fianna opened the white vanity festooned with hand-painted roses and found a pencil and paper. She perched on a pink velvet stool and quickly drew a few lines on the notepad.
“Here’s a simple, lean silhouette.” She added more strokes. “Or I can gather material in the back, and twist or weave it into something interesting…” Another quick sketch.
Davina peered over her shoulder. “That reminds me of an old 1950s design by Charles James, the British designer who worked in the States. It was called the Butterfly, with wings of tulle flowing from the back.” She waved graceful hands to her sides, and then arched her arms in back of her, striking a model pose.
“Wait, Davina. Hold that.” Fianna studied her for a moment, and then made a rapid sketch. Her aunt still had a dramatic sense of style, and she’d certainly maintained her figure. Fianna wished she’d wear one of her designs in the upcoming show, but Davina had been steadfast in her refusal. “What about this?” She spun the notepad around to Lizzie, who’d slipped on a thick terry cloth robe.
“It’s a smooth silhouette that skims the body in front, with a slim skirt affixed to the existing bodice so that it appears as one elongated line. I’ll widen the neckline to showcase your long neck. In the back, the fabric can be draped from the waistline in graceful folds to form a modified bustle. The flowing line will be elegant, and the cut will be supple enough to move with you.”
“Will I be able to dance in it?” Lizzie asked, her aquamarine eyes shimmering.
“All night, if you wish. I can make the back section detachable.”
“Bravo,” Davina said. “What do you think, Lizzie?”
Lizzie’s smile grew wider. “That’s exactly what I’ve dreamed of. But what about that hideous shade of neon white?”
Fianna grinned. “Leave that to me.”
After a boisterous supper with all the siblings, nieces, nephews, and neighbors, Fianna’s energy was ebbing due to the time difference and long distance travel.
After they’d helped clear the dishes, Lizzie asked, “Join me for a nightcap? It’s not often I see my sister.”
“I’m exhausted, how about we talk in the morning?” Fianna yawned and slung her arm around her sister as they climbed the stairs. “Lizzie, you’re trembling. Still nervous?”
“It seems like the world is spinning faster e
very day, and I wish I could slow time. Shane is just the opposite. He’s impatient; he can’t wait for us to be married.”
“Shane is a good guy, Lizzie. You two have always been close.”
They reached the top of the stairs and Lizzie turned to Fianna. “Sure, but is he the one?”
“Only you can make that decision.”
Lizzie’s wide eyes grew glassy. “I wish we were having a smaller, more intimate wedding.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can go through with this. Sometimes I wish I could find that escape hatch we always imagined, and drop through the earth to the golden sands of Tahiti. Remember that?”
“I sure do.” Now at a loss for words, Fianna wrapped her arms around Lizzie. She couldn’t encourage her sister to walk away from her wedding now, but neither could she suggest she go through with a marriage she had doubts about. Would Lizzie bolt?
Fianna framed Lizzie’s pale face in her hands. “Search your heart, Lizzie, and block out the noise around you. Think about what you want.”
“I look at Emily and her children, and while they’re precious, I don’t know if I’m ready for a family.”
“You don’t have to have children right away. Or at all. But you should talk to Shane now and share your feelings. Before the wedding. Promise?”
Lizzie blew out a ragged breath. “Guess I should.”
“And remember that I’m always here for you.” Fianna hugged Lizzie again and wondered what her sister would do.
The next morning, Fianna slept in, intent on recapturing the sleep she’d missed on the trip from California. But with the runway show and the wedding both close at hand, she had precious little time to waste.
She tugged on the red silk kimono she’d found in Little Tokyo near downtown Los Angeles and wrapped a swath of black satin around her waist before making her way downstairs.
Fianna padded across the newly modernized kitchen. Stainless steel appliances sparkled in the morning light. It wasn’t at all as she’d remembered it, another reminder of how long she’d been away.
When the large pine table in the kitchen came into view—the old table where they used to eat breakfast every morning—she saw her mother and Davina sitting together, their voices low, their heads bent so close their hair was touching. “Morning Mam, Davina.”
They immediately stopped talking and looked up in surprise. Her mother spilled her tea, and Davina quickly sopped it up with her napkin. Her mother seemed flustered, though she managed to raise her eyebrows at Fianna’s robe. “Why, would you take a gander at that? Well, I never.”
“Maybe you should, Mary Margaret,” Davina said, winking at Fianna. “I think that kimono is utterly marvelous. Where did you find it?”
Fianna shared a knowing look with Davina. “It’s vintage. Next time you’re in L.A., I’ll take you to Little Tokyo. You’d love the silks and slippers and sushi bars.” Fianna reached for a cup, poured milk into it first, and then added strong black tea. She slid into a wooden chair at the table, keeping her eyes on her mother. She started to ask what was wrong when Davina cut in.
“I’ve been meaning to visit you, dear. Tell me, how is my old friend Camille?”
Her aunt had smoothly changed the subject. Fianna took notice, though she went with the flow. “As active as ever, and still running Parfums Dubois.” Davina had been a spokes model for the perfume company years ago. “I had lunch with her and Dahlia. We’ve been talking about branding a perfume at some point.”
Mary Margaret bustled into the kitchen as she had for so many years. “Fianna, if you’re hungry, we have pinhead oats and boiled eggs. You should eat something.”
Fianna started to protest, but caught Davina’s eye and changed her mind. “Thanks, Mam, porridge sounds good.” Fianna watched her mother’s familiar motions in the kitchen. As she did, she noticed lines on her mother’s face where once there had been none. Her usually pink skin was ashen. Something was definitely amiss in her life.
Her mother looked tired and stressed. The pending wedding was surely an enormous strain, of course, but Fianna sensed something more. Perhaps it was the life her mother had led, one of constant worry, responsibility, and rigidity. Emily was living there with her family, and Mary Margaret was helping look after her four toddlers, as well as her own brood.
In contrast, Davina was as bright as ever, her shiny platinum gray hair full of waves, her face wreathed in a smile. All her life she’d done what she loved, traveled, and lived the life she’d wanted.
Two sisters, who’d led such different lives. What had they been like at her age? Did Mary Margaret have unfulfilled dreams? Something had changed, and Fianna decided to find out what it was.
Lizzie’s frightened words from last night came to mind. Would her sister become like their Mam someday? The notion startled her. No wonder Lizzie was nervous.
And then Fianna thought of her siblings, her father, and the large house that always seemed to be in need of repair. Her mother was strict, but she probably only wanted what she thought was best for her children.
With Fianna’s change in perspective, the wide rift that had once divided Fianna-the-rebellious-teenager from her mother narrowed.
Fianna got up and went into the kitchen. “I can make the porridge, Mam. Why don’t you sit down, have another cup of tea, and visit with Davina.” She took the wooden spoon from her mother. She was no longer a child. Maybe they could mend their differences during this visit.
Mary Margaret blinked in surprise and stepped away from the stove, albeit with some hesitation. After a moment, she poured another cup of tea and sat at the table beside Davina.
Davina nodded her approval, almost imperceptibly, but Fianna caught it. “What will you do today, Fianna?”
She lifted the pan from the flame. “I’ll keep Lizzie company. Mam, would you like to join us?”
“I’ve so much to do, you know.” Mary Margaret shot a look at Davina as she stirred her tea. “Fianna, you’re not really going to touch her wedding dress, are you?”
Davina put her hand over Mary Margaret’s. “It’s what Lizzie wants. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”
“I promise it will be stunning,” Fianna said. “I wouldn’t let her walk down the aisle any other way.” If she makes it down the aisle.
Davina rubbed her hand in circles on her sister’s back. “Relax. Your girls are grown now. They can take care of themselves. Emily and her husband will bounce back soon enough.”
Mary Margaret ran a hand over her salt-and-pepper hair. “I suppose they are, but the boys are another story entirely.”
Their rowdy, boisterous brothers were still young. After Emily, Fianna, and Lizzie were born, their father was anxious for a boy. Patrick was next, a gangly young teen now, while Dermot, Quinn, Riley, and James were stair steps in grammar school.
Though her mother passed her hands over her face, she seemed to accept the fate of the wedding dress.
Fianna smiled. “After breakfast, I’ll get to work. May I use your sewing room?”
“Of course,” Mary Margaret replied, the briefest of smiles touching her lips.
After finishing breakfast and changing clothes, Fianna made her way to the third floor sewing room. Sunlight poured through the French-paned windows. Fianna stepped inside and opened a window, letting the scent of fresh spring leaves and blossoms filter in.
Outside, birds trilled in the tall swaying trees, just as they had when Fianna was a girl. This is where she’d first learned to measure, cut, and sew, long before she’d moved to the U.S. and enrolled at the Fashion Institute for Design and Merchandising. She and Emily had made all their own clothes, and they took turns dressing up fair, blond little Lizzie like a precious doll.
She ran her hands lovingly along the long cutting board, which was padded and covered in muslin. Behind it, a rainbow of thread hung on tiny dowels affixed to the wall. She opened a sewing box that contained the sharpest of scissors, dressmaker’s chalk, steel pins, and other tools of th
e trade. She smiled as she sorted through them. She’d learned how to sew with the items in this box.
A commotion sounded outside the door.
“Here’s the dress.” Lizzie bustled in, dressed in the leotard and yoga pants that Fianna had insisted she wear. Fianna wore similar yoga pants and a white cotton blouse, and had pulled her thick curly hair into a high pony tail.
Lizzie was nearly obscured by the voluminous gown. “Let the surgery commence.” She dumped it on the cutting table.
Fianna spread out the dress, inspecting it. She glanced at her sketches, and back at Lizzie. “I’ll need all my magical powers and some sleight of hand, but I think you’ll be pleased.”
Lizzie rested her chin in her hand. “I took your advice and called Shane this morning. We’re going to meet for lunch and talk.” She flipped the switch on an old radio their mother kept near the sewing machine and turned the tuning knob, searching for a more contemporary channel.
“How’s this?” Lizzie stopped on a pop channel, where a song about heartbreak was playing. She swayed and snapped her fingers.
“That’s fine.” Fianna didn’t listen to much music besides jazz and classical music, mostly out of habit now. She’d always liked instrumental music when she was studying, and then when she was working. Her friends had always had crushes on boy groups, but not her.
“This song reminds me of Shane,” Lizzie said. “I really love him, but I hardly slept last night, thinking about us.”
Fianna hugged Lizzie. “You’re doing the right thing.” She couldn’t help but wonder if the wedding dress would even be necessary, though she didn’t want to jinx their meeting. Besides, if the dress were going to be ready on time, she’d have to start today. “I’ll need your measurements before you leave.”
The song on the radio ended, and Lizzie stood up straight, tightening her tummy, ready to be measured.
Fianna was rummaging through the sewing supplies looking for a measuring tape when another song began and a deep, familiar voice floated through the air. Startled, she whirled around, her heartbeat quickening. She jerked her head toward the radio. “Who’s singing that?”
