The Wedding Dress

by Mary O'Donnell

  “A girl like what, Gwen?” said Annie, starting to get angry herself.

  “Tony told me—he met her in a pub—where she was performing with some sort of band. Her parents were ‘artists.’ I doubt they ever did a day’s work in their lives. She was orphaned young. She couldn’t have had a very good upbringing.”

  Now Annie was livid. “You don’t know her at all! You’ve made no effort to know her! You decided as soon as she walked in your door that she wasn’t good enough for your son. Let me tell you something, Gwen. I have gotten to know Dervla, and I think that it may be the case that she is entirely too good for your son. She’s at Grey Gables right now making a plane reservation to fly home to Ireland. She loves your son so much that she’d rather go than cause him or his family pain, even though it’s breaking her heart. Every assumption you’ve made about her and her ‘upbringing’ is dead wrong.”

  Gwen was stunned into silence. Annie had never talked to her that way before; in fact, no one had ever talked to her that way before.

  Annie calmed down a little since she’d had her say. “Tony dropped the engagement ring in the yard during the fight. That’s why I came here today—to bring it back to him. I didn’t tell Dervla that I had it. Would you please see that he gets it? I’ll see myself out.” With that Annie handed Gwen the ring, stood up and walked out the front door, and back down the street to Grey Gables.

  16

  Annie was glad that she had the walk back to Grey Gables to cool down after what Gwen had told her. She decided not to tell Dervla anything about the conversation. It would only hurt her more than she had already been. Annie tried to think what she could do to set the record straight with Tony; even if she could contact him, how could she tell him that his mother had lied to him? She wondered if her friendship with Gwen could ever be repaired.

  While Annie was at Wedgewood, Dervla had made her airline reservation. The best price she could get was a week from Tuesday, so she asked Annie if she could stay another week, and offered to pay for her room and board.

  “Nonsense,” said Annie, “I’d just keep you here if I could. It’s been so much fun having another person in the house. I’m going to miss you when you go. You’re always welcome here, Dervla, and I hope that someday you’ll come and visit me again.”

  “Thanks, Annie,” said Dervla. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I know there’s a reason for everything that happens. Maybe our friendship was the plan all along. God moves in mysterious ways.”

  * * * *

  Andrew called Annie the next morning while Dervla was in the shower. Annie asked how he was feeling.

  “I look terrible,” said Andrew, “but I feel much better today. I slept almost all day yesterday. I’m over at the studio now. How is Dervla? Have you heard anything more from Tony Palmer?”

  Annie thought it was only right that Andrew should know the complete situation, since it had led directly to his injuries, so she told him everything. He listened, saying little.

  When she had filled him in on all the details, he said, “I’m sorry for Dervla’s sake that it didn’t work out, but she may be better off in the long run. She’ll find someone who’s right for her—I’ve no doubt about that.” He paused and said, “The real reason I’m calling is to invite you and Dervla over to the studio for lunch today. Even though I’m pretty scary looking, I’m really fine, and I know you have a lot of questions about the photographs and what I told you about my family. I’d like to fill you and Dervla in on some other details. I’ve tidied the place up and ordered some takeout from Maplehurst’s restaurant, so I promise it will be edible.”

  Annie laughed and said, “I’ll check with Dervla, but I think we’re both free.”

  “Great!” said Andrew. “Unless I hear otherwise, I’ll see you both around noon.”

  * * * *

  At five minutes to twelve, Annie and Dervla arrived downtown and found a parking space not far from Dress to Impress. Annie led the way to the side door that Andrew had unlocked on Saturday night. He had told her there was a doorbell, and she located it and pushed it. She was just about to push it a second time when Andrew opened the door.

  She almost gasped, and Dervla actually did when they saw him. The bruising on the left side of his face had spread and was more colorful than before—purple, blue, pink, green, and even yellow. It looked painful, and Andrew did wince a bit when he smiled and said, “Don’t be concerned, ladies—it only hurts when I laugh.”

  Annie pretended to groan and said, “You mustn’t be too bad off if you can make that old joke.”

  They followed him up the stairs into the studio. The window blinds on the north side of the room had been pulled up to let in the sunlight without too much brightness. The studio still had the look of creative chaos, but Andrew had straightened up the tables. One was covered with a white cloth and set with table service from Maplehurst Inn. He’d done more than order “takeout”—it looked like he had the waitstaff come over and set up a real dining experience. There was a salad at each place setting, a crusty loaf of French bread with a crock of creamy butter, and in the middle of the table was a covered tureen—the aroma coming from it was making Annie’s mouth water.

  “This is super, Andrew,” said Annie. “I wasn’t expecting such royal treatment.”

  “It’s the least I can do for your kindness and cooperation since I’ve been here. I have to admit it’s been a bit more … uh … adventurous? … than I’m used to, but I can’t say it hasn’t been interesting.”

  Andrew looked pointedly at Dervla. “I wanted to thank you for being my model, Dervla. You were tremendously inspiring. The first time I saw you, I was a little … shocked, actually. I think you both noticed I wasn’t quite myself. By way of explanation, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

  Andrew walked over to the shelves that held his books and picked up five small volumes. All appeared to be the same size with green-leather covers and gold lettering on the spines. A couple of the books looked older, as if they had been looked at more, and the green leather was somewhat faded. Annie could see the front cover on the top book; it was embossed with a Celtic interlace pattern in the center. At the top there was the title in gold—Mystic Verse, and she could read the author’s name below: Cara O’Connell. Andrew handed the books to Dervla.

  She looked puzzled. “Why do you have copies of all my mother’s poetry books?” she asked.

  It was Annie’s turn to be shocked.

  “Open the top one,” said Andrew.

  Dervla opened the book and read aloud the inscription that was written on the title page. “To Andrew: Dear one, you’ve touched my life, and without your encouragement to follow my dreams, the book you hold in your hands would not have existed. Thank you. I wish you the best as you follow your dreams. I wish we could have followed that path together, but you are right—that life is not for me. I will love you always, Cara.”

  Dervla’s eyes teared up as she read the words her mother had written.

  Andrew said, “She sent it to me about a year after I had returned to the United States. I loved your mother, Dervla, but your father was the better man for her. I never met him, but I know she was happy. She sent me a note shortly after she married him. That was the last time I heard from her. I bought her other books myself, as my way to keep up with her from afar.”

  Annie asked if she could see the books. Only the top one said “Cara O’Connell”; the remaining four volumes showed the author’s name as “Cara O’Keefe.”

  Andrew continued, “When I saw you at the top of the stairs, I only saw your mother’s face, wearing a dress that looked so much like the one from my great-grandmother’s photograph. I was so stunned—I thought you were a ghost! I know that sounds foolish, but in the moment it was all I could think.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before?” asked Dervla.

  “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, and you seemed to have so much going on otherwise. But after all that�
��s happened, and now—Annie says you’re heading home next week—I couldn’t let you go and not tell you. I hope we can spend some time together this week before you go. We can swap stories about your mother.”

  Dervla smiled. “I’d like that. Since my grandmother died, there’s really been no one that I could talk with about her.”

  “That’s settled then,” said Andrew. “Now, I think we’d better have lunch before it gets cold.”

  The tureen held a flavorful bouillabaisse that all three enjoyed. Dervla seemed relaxed and talked at length about her mother, and her father too. Hearing about them helped Annie see how much they had shaped her into the person she was. It made her wish that she had been able to know them. Andrew listened attentively, and his eyes seemed to mist a bit. Annie wasn’t sure if it was because he was thinking about the past as it was, or because he was thinking about the road he hadn’t chosen.

  After lunch, Andrew showed Dervla the canvases he’d painted on Saturday since she hadn’t had the opportunity to see them. Her reaction was almost identical to Annie’s. Then he showed her Lydia Grey’s baby picture and the wedding photograph that showed Amanda in the wedding dress.

  “So, where did the crocheted trim, and the veil and the gloves come from?” Dervla asked.

  “I wasn’t sure until Annie told me about the label she found inside the dress with Amanda Grey’s name and the year 1918 embroidered inside,” said Andrew. “I think that she must have added the crocheted trim to the dress, and made the other items, with the intention that Lydia would wear them when she got married.”

  Annie started to say something, but Andrew began to fill in more details. “But Lydia didn’t wear it. You see, she married Philip Randolph Gareth in 1918, shortly after he returned home from serving overseas during World War I ...”

  P.R.G.! The image of the hatbox flashed in Annie’s mind. “And did Lydia Grey and Philip Gareth elope, by any chance?” asked Annie.

  Andrew looked puzzled and started to say, “How did …” but broke off as if he realized what had happened. “You figured out the painting on the hatbox, too, didn’t you?”

  At this point, Dervla spoke up. “What do you mean ‘figured it out’?” she asked.

  Annie told them how she and Alice had used Betsy’s flower books to decode the message of the bouquet on the hatbox, which had been painted, she now realized, by Andrew’s grandfather, Philip Gareth.

  “Did you know that your grandparents had eloped?” asked Annie.

  “I did know. But I didn’t know about the secret message that Philip had sent to Lydia, that is, until you pointed out my grandfather’s initials on the lid of the hatbox. I know a good deal about the symbology of flowers—it’s one of those things that, as an artist, I’ve studied. Once I knew the initials were there, it just sort of hit me all at once. It really caught me off guard. I don’t think anyone else in the family knows about the hatbox.”

  “Do you have any idea why they eloped?” asked Annie.

  “According to family lore, Lydia was the only child that Amanda and Zacharias were able to have, and they provided her with all the best that they had to offer. She was well-educated, and her parents’ plan was that she would marry someone of the upper classes—wealthy, in other words. She was twenty years old when she met Philip Gareth. They fell in love, but he wasn’t considered a good match. He was one of the Army Corp of Engineers artists who was sent to Europe to record the events of World War I in paintings. He was wounded and sent home a few months before the war ended. An injured Army veteran, whose main skill was artistry, didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in his ability to support a wife in the manner to which she was accustomed in her parents’ minds. But Lydia loved him, and he was hardworking and keen to make his mark in the world. Captain Grey told Lydia there would be long years of struggle ahead for Philip, and he didn’t want that kind of life for his daughter. He forbade the marriage. But Lydia knew her heart and couldn’t be deterred from following it. So, they eloped. The Captain refused to see them, and Lydia’s mother, Amanda, conformed to the wishes of her husband.”

  “Why didn’t she stand up to him?” asked Dervla. “I can’t imagine refusing to see your own daughter. Did they never see her again?”

  Andrew answered, “It was a different time, Dervla. Wives were expected to comply with the wishes of their husbands. Women didn’t even have the right to vote yet, at least in this country. Amanda died the same year Philip and Lydia were married, and they moved to the other side of the country—out to Washington—not very long after that. I don’t think they ever came back to Maine. It saddens me to think that Zacharias lived and died so alone when he could have been surrounded by his family—grandchildren and even a few great-grandchildren by that time.

  Andrew looked at the photograph of his great-grandfather. “I haven’t been able to find anyone still alive that knew my great-grandfather very well. There are people in Stony Point who knew of him, but it seems that not that long after Amanda died, he gave up seafaring altogether and closed himself off from other people.”

  “It’s difficult when you see people just give up; makes you wonder what was going on inside his mind,” said Annie.

  “I guess we’ll never know why he made the choices he did,” said Andrew. He paused for a moment and then asked, “Would you care to see photographs of Lydia and Philip?”

  “Yes!” said Annie.

  Reaching again into his bag, Andrew pulled out a small folded frame. Once opened, Annie could see in the left-side frame Philip Gareth, a solemn young man in a soldier’s uniform, his jacket neatly buttoned up under his neck, and his sandy-color hair carefully parted on one side and combed down. In the right-side frame was a young woman with dark, upswept hair. Annie smiled when she saw the familiar dark eyes. She now saw clearly how much Andrew resembled his grandmother and his great-grandmother. That was the resemblance she had noticed when she looked at the second painting Andrew had made.

  “Because they eloped, they didn’t have a wedding picture made,” said Andrew, “but these were taken near the time they were married.”

  Annie decided to share more of what she knew about Amanda Grey and her concern for her daughter. “There is something else that might help you to understand your great-grandmother better, Andrew,” said Annie. Then she told Andrew and Dervla about the prayer that had been discovered when the veil was taken apart for cleaning, and that she had photographs of it.

  “I don’t think Amanda gave up on Lydia,” Annie said, “but just put it in God’s hands. She must have put the dress away after Lydia eloped, and it was left untouched at Grey Gables until Gram came across it and moved it to the mannequin where I found it. It belongs to you, Andrew—and your family. Just let me know when you want to take it, and the hatbox.”

  “Thanks, Annie. I’m sure that my family will want to see the dress and the painting on the hatbox.” To Dervla he said, “I don’t know what the future holds for you, but when you do get married someday, I hope you will still want to wear the wedding dress—it’s perfect for you. … And if you need someone to ‘give you away,’ I hope you’ll think of me.”

  With that, Dervla gave him a big hug and said, “Thank you, Andrew. That means the world to me.”

  * * * *

  The next day, Annie entered A Stitch in Time just a few minutes before the Hook and Needle Club meeting was to begin. Gwen hadn’t come, but the others were seated and working on their projects for the shower. Word had gotten around about the fight in Annie’s front yard, and there were a lot of questions that she answered if she could and fended off if she felt it would only lead to more hard feelings or just be fodder for gossip. She didn’t want to reveal what Gwen had told her; she hoped that somehow that rift could be mended, though she didn’t see how. There was still no word from Tony Palmer.

  Annie told the others that it appeared that the engagement was off and that Dervla was leaving in a week, but was still going to be in town on Saturday, the day they’d planned the
hope-chest shower. Even though there might not be a wedding with Tony Palmer, she thought they might go ahead with the shower. The concept of a hope chest was still a good idea, even if a wedding was not in the immediate future. It would also be a nice way to say goodbye to Dervla. The vote to go ahead with the shower was unanimous, and each member showed the work she had done on her gift.

  Alice was making good progress on the ivory-color linen table topper she had planned out in the library at Grey Gables. She was embroidering the claddagh symbol using several shades of gold floss and the embellishments in the corners with various shades of green floss.

  Stella was knitting a bed scarf—a smaller version of an afghan, made wide enough to cover the width of a bed but just tall enough to cover the area over the feet. The yarn was variegated in jewel-tone colors of blue, green, and violet. It was a bulky-weight yarn, and she was using large needles, so the project was progressing rapidly.

  Kate was crocheting a lacy half-length vest from ivory-color fingering-weight yarn. The front and bottom edges had a woven pattern, like Celtic knot-work. She was nearly finished and explained to the group that she only had to add the collar. It was her own design, and to Annie it looked complicated, but Kate was an expert and it was amazing how quickly she could work. Kate told them that Mackenzie had stayed overnight with Vanessa over the weekend; they’d stayed up late watching movies and were able to each finish a pot holder and a dishcloth.

  Mary Beth was working on a doily made of green variegated thread that featured shamrocks in repeating rounds. She told the group that if she finished this large one in time, she was going to use any remaining thread to make coasters to match.

  Peggy had found a fabric panel for a wall quilt that was printed with the image of a Celtic cross. She had machine-sewn on borders, and was hand-quilting around the intricate details of the panel. She was glad that Emily was working on her woven pot holders in the evening, since it gave Peggy a chance to sit and get some quilting done.