The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Had her landlady come to evict her? If so, Eva could not blame her.

  “When I was here helping with Mercy’s gown, I took the opportunity to study your work. Your embellishments on her old gown were second rate at best. I also looked at the daydresses you’ve begun to make. Simple design. Simple pattern. Imperfect construction. Too much fabric allowance, too wide at the hems, and the ties! La! Have you never heard of a button? And don’t get me started on your stitching.” She tsked and shook her head.

  Eva looked down at the floor.

  “As I mentioned, your drawings for the ill-fated gown for Miss Brockwell were most impressive,” she said. “Though your execution left a great deal wanting.”

  “I know,” Eva murmured, hoping acquiescence would end the woman’s reprimand more quickly.

  “You said yourself that you have had no formal apprenticeship,” Mrs. Shabner added. “Quite presumptuous, if I may say so, to hang out your shingle as a dressmaker having never been apprenticed to an experienced mantua-maker. I myself worked as Mrs. Warwick’s apprentice for four years. And she would make me unravel every stitch if she found an imperfect one.”

  Bon sang! Eva thought. Would this tirade never end? If she was going to evict her, could she not get to it already? Eva knew she deserved it, but must the woman heap shame and criticism upon her head?

  “You are young and pretty, I grant you. And people like you, which is surprising really, considering your rough start here.”

  “Yes,” Eva acknowledged. “I am surprised as well.”

  “It says a lot about your amiable nature. A dressmaker’s ability to develop relationships with customers, to earn their loyalty, is worth a great deal. And you have a talent for design and millinery. Your new bonnets and hats are excellent.”

  Was this the woman’s way of letting her down gently? Trying to soften the blow?

  “Do you want me to leave, Mrs. Shabner?” Eva asked. “I have been considering doing that very thing, so if that is what you’ve come to tell me, I will understand.”

  “No. I am here to offer you a bargain.”

  Eva looked up warily. “What sort of bargain?”

  The older woman extracted a card from her pelisse pocket and held it up for Eva’s inspection.

  On it was neatly written Misses Shabner & Victor, Dressmakers and Milliners.

  Eva looked up, mouth parted. “Are you serious?”

  “I am. You would serve as my apprentice, of sorts. But you are not a true beginner, so I think a year will do, if you are agreeable.”

  “But . . . I thought you were happily retired?”

  “Retired, yes. Happy, no. Bored out of my wits.”

  “Would you live here with me?”

  “Yes. Too inconvenient to drive back and forth from Wishford with Mrs. Burlingame, and I have no horse of my own. I should warn you that I’ve been told I snore. Exaggerated, no doubt. Though now I think on it, my last girl slept with cotton wool in her ears.”

  Eva bit her lip.

  “If the shop does well, I will pay you better wages than the usual adolescent apprentice. So in time, if you prefer, you could afford to rent out the apartment over the circulating library, where our former banker lived. With the two of us working together, I have every confidence the shop will be profitable.”

  Eva’s thoughts whirled. “Do you indeed?”

  “Yes.” Louise Shabner stuck out her hand. “So . . . have we a bargain?”

  chapter

  Fifty-Two

  On a cloudy summer morning, Miss Mercy Grove left spinsterhood behind to marry the man she loved. On that day, she gained not only a tall, handsome husband, but also many brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, and nephews.

  After the wedding in St. Anne’s, the bride and groom walked hand in hand down Church Street, followed by friends and family in a festive parade of well-wishers.

  Mercy winced up at the sky, seeing the ominous clouds above. Would a rainstorm ruin her wedding breakfast on Ivy Green as her mother predicted? It was too late to move everything to the Fairmont now. Plop. A drop of rain hit her nose. Oh no. Lord, please.

  Joseph squeezed her hand, clearly guessing the direction of her thoughts.

  Hopefully their guests could at least eat something before the rain chased them home.

  Together, she and her bridegroom led the way past Ivy Cottage and its walled garden, festooned with garlands of flowers and ivy as she’d always imagined. Reaching the adjoining green, Mercy drew up short and turned to gape at Joseph.

  He looked as surprised as she was.

  There on Ivy Green stood a massive tent bearing patches of every color of the rainbow. This must be the Earl’s Menagerie marquee, Mercy realized. Its canvas sides were tied up to create an open-sided shelter. Mercy had heard the tent had been damaged in the recent hailstorm, but somehow it had been repaired.

  Relief and gratitude washed over her, her stomach tickling with delight. She smiled deeply into Joseph’s eyes, then looked around for someone from the troupe to thank.

  Instead, among the first to follow them onto the green were several women from the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society.

  Mercy gestured toward the marquee. “I didn’t know this would be here. I thought the menagerie tent was too damaged to use.”

  “It was,” Mrs. Snyder said. “But several of us ladies joined forces with the troupe and the Kingsley brothers and stayed up half the night repairing it.”

  Mrs. Klein said, “As you can see, our sewing abilities leave something to be desired.” She pointed up at the hodgepodge of patches. “Be glad we weren’t the ones sewing your dress.”

  Mercy slowly shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Oh, Mercy.” Mrs. O’Brien squeezed her hand. “You know we would do anything for you. How could we not, when you have done so much for us?”

  The bride hugged one after the other, and then walked over to thank members of the troupe, lingering on the far edge of the green. She invited them to join in, but most were hesitant to intrude. They did, however, accept the refreshments brought over to them by Mr. Basu and Agnes.

  Beneath one end of the tent, a buffet table awaited, overflowing with platters of food of all descriptions, including a dish of curry, a large cake, and a bowl of punch. The bride cake was decorated with icing and sugar flowers. Aunt Matty had helped make it, under Mrs. Craddock’s supervision. The tall cake was a tiny bit crooked but she knew it would be delicious.

  On the other end of the tent stood a makeshift platform, where musicians from The Bell played—two of Jane’s ostlers and Colin McFarland. Mr. Victor and a few others from the troupe joined in, forming quite the orchestra, if a cobbled-together band playing jigs and ballads could be called an orchestra.

  Chairs borrowed from every house in the village ringed the tent. People filled plates and sat down to eat from their laps or at one of the tables spread here and there. Mercy saw several elderly women from the almshouse, dressed in finery that had recently graced Miss Victor’s display window. They looked like wealthy London dowagers. Mercy giggled at the cheery sight.

  Her husband brought her a plate, and Mercy ate a few bites she barely tasted. She was too happy to savor much of anything beyond the beauty of this moment and this day. Rain speck-speckled the canvas, but the bride and bride cake remained dry.

  Hand in hand, Mercy and Joseph walked from group to group, person to person, thanking them for coming and accepting congratulations and well-wishes.

  On the gift table, Mercy glimpsed a new wooden sign from Becky Morris:

  THE FAIRMONT BOARDING & DAY SCHOOL

  PUPILS ACCEPTED, REGARDLESS OF ABILITY TO PAY.

  MRS. MERCY KINGSLEY, HEADMISTRESS

  Among the other gifts were a large wheel of cheese from the Bartons, hand-sewn gifts from her former schoolgirls, handwritten copies of favorite recipes from Aunt Matilda and Mrs. Timmons, and a lovely potted palm from Mrs. Bushby. Last was an unattractive puce vase from George and Helena, which Me
rcy was fairly certain she’d seen gathering dust in the Ivy Cottage attic.

  George saw her looking at it and said sheepishly, “I know it’s rather homely, but I thought you might like a memento of Ivy Cottage.”

  Mercy was too happy to feel offended. She smiled at her brother. “Thank you, George. I shall keep flowers in it, and it shall look very well indeed.”

  Something homely from Ivy Cottage made beautiful, she thought. It seemed fitting.

  In the distance, Eva heard the church bells ring. She hoped the wedding had gone well. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision. Then she washed, put on one of her better gowns, and walked up Potters Lane, umbrella raised. She had missed the ceremony but was hopefully not too late to join the wedding breakfast.

  Reaching Ivy Green, she stopped and stared. The troupe’s tent stood there, protecting the tables, guests, and musicians from the rain, patched with a kaleidoscope of fabrics to rival Joseph’s coat of many colors. Damaged by hail, the marquee had been one of the things her father had stored in Ivy Hill’s tithe barn while the troupe traveled elsewhere, but now here it stood, in makeshift repair. Her father’s doing, she guessed.

  Eva helped herself to two pieces of cake and then went to find him among the troupe members lingering on the edge of Ivy Green.

  Eva handed him a piece of cake. “Thank you, Papa. It looks like you saved the day.”

  He accepted her offering with a nod of thanks. “The tent you helped fashion years ago saved the day, but I was happy to do my part.” He fondly tweaked her chin. “And happier still to be reunited with my beloved daughters.”

  “Yes. I am so very thankful.” Eva looked across the green to where Henrietta sat with her husband and daughter—and a second child on the way. Her father followed the direction of her gaze. Patrick took Betsey from Hen so she could eat and lifted the child into the air to the little girl’s glee. Henrietta ate her cake and watched the pair with a fond smile.

  Then Eva felt her father’s gaze return to her profile.

  “Have you made your decision?”

  Eva took a deep breath. “I have, Papa. The town’s former dressmaker has offered to come out of retirement and take me on as her apprentice. So I am glad you see me as ‘at home’ here, because I’ve decided to remain in Ivy Hill. For now.”

  “For now?”

  Without intending to, her thoughts returned to Jack Gander. “Yes.”

  “I understand. How wonderful to be so near your sister after your long separation.” His expression turned wistful. “It’s perfect.”

  Eva said, “I hope you are not too disappointed, Papa. Perhaps you ought to settle down in Ivy Hill too.”

  “Me? Settle in one place? No, my dear, the traveling life, the show, are in my blood. I am not ready to leave it. Besides, the troupe members need me, as do the animals.”

  “Of course they do, Papa. But you will visit us, now that you know where we are, won’t you?”

  “I will indeed. In fact, I think it’s time to put Ivy Hill on our annual circuit.”

  “Excellent idea. And perhaps you can visit us over the winter lull. You’ll want to meet your new grandchild, after all.”

  His eyes misted over again, and he held out his hand to her. “Indeed I shall.”

  “Miss Victor!”

  Eva turned at the sound of someone calling her name.

  Miss Morris waved, and Julia Featherstone patted an empty chair beside her at a table filled with members of the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society. “Come and sit with us!”

  With a quick squeeze of her father’s hand, Eva walked over to take her place at the table.

  Sometime later, the rain stopped, and the sun shone amid blue skies.

  Mercy sat down to catch her breath and rest her feet from all the dancing. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much. Across the tent, her groom stood talking and laughing in a huddle with his brothers. Her brothers now too.

  Seeing her alone, Mr. Drake walked over to join her. “Well, Mrs. Kingsley, I wish you happy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Drake. And thank you again for coming back to attend the wedding.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it. Alice made a lovely young bridesmaid, did she not?”

  “She did indeed.”

  “We plan to travel as far as possible today, so we can reach Drayton Park tomorrow. So we can’t get too late a start . . .”

  “Oh. You’re leaving now.”

  He nodded. They turned as one to pick out Alice among the crowd. There she was, dancing with Phoebe, Sukey, and Jeremy Mullins. She looked charming in her pink dress and crown of flowers in her golden hair, a broad smile on her face.

  He said, “I will let her finish her dance, of course, but I’m afraid we must then take our leave.”

  “I understand.”

  “I am sorry to cast a shadow on your happy day.”

  “James Drake, you have nothing to be sorry for, I promise you. I am truly happy for Alice, and for you.” She chuckled. “And for me!”

  He squeezed her hand, held her gaze a moment, and turned to go.

  The set ended, and the musicians called for refreshments and a short respite. Mercy watched as Mr. Drake walked over and bent to whisper in Alice’s ear. The girl’s smile dimmed a bit, but she did not look surprised or sad. Instead, she searched the crowd, her gaze fixing on her. Mercy lifted a hand, and Alice skipped buoyantly toward her, as though still dancing.

  Mercy held out her arms. Alice ran into them, and the two embraced for several moments.

  Alice said, “We have to leave, Papa says.”

  “I know. You have a long trip ahead. Did you have a good time?”

  “Oh yes! It was the best wedding ever. I loved the dancing and the cake and the music.”

  “Me too. And I especially enjoyed having everyone I love here to celebrate with me. I am so glad you were able to share my special day and serve as my bridesmaid. And now I wish you every happiness in your new home.”

  “Will you come and visit us? And Mr. Kingsley, of course.”

  Joining them, Mr. Drake spoke up, “You would be very welcome at any time, Miss . . . Mrs. Kingsley. And I mean that sincerely. I am not just being polite.”

  “Thank you. That is very kind. And I hope it goes without saying that you will always have a place to stay with us when you visit Ivy Hill. You will visit, I hope?”

  “I cannot promise, I’m afraid. My father’s affairs will keep me occupied for some time, and . . .”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And I feel as though this chapter of my life is at an end. I would not change my experiences in Ivy Hill for the world, for here I found my daughter. But I am ready to start anew.”

  “You found friends here as well, JD. Never forget it.”

  He grinned at her use of his nickname. “I shan’t.”

  “God bless you, James Drake.”

  “And you, Mercy Kingsley.”

  Mercy watched them leave.

  Noticing, Joseph came and stood beside her. “All right?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and found that she was. “Yes, perfectly.”

  He took her hand, and together they walked over to join his brothers.

  Seeing them approach, Aaron and Esther made room for them in their circle.

  Joseph sent her a rueful glance. “I apologize in advance for my unruly family.”

  Mercy smiled. “No need. I am blessed to count myself as one of them.”

  Joseph put his arm around her and said low in her ear, “You, Mercy Kingsley, are my nearest and dearest family. My wife. My heart.”

  Filled with joy, she reached up on tiptoe to kiss him, to the cheers and catcalls of the Kingsley brothers.

  The wedding party continued for several hours, guests relishing each moment and reluctant to see the occasion end.

  Jane’s gaze swept over the tent—the dancers, chatting guests, laughing children, and radiant new-wed couple. Her heart expanded with aching joy. She was thoroughly delight
ed for Mercy and Mr. Kingsley. If God blessed them with children, how tall and handsome they would be!

  What a memorable wedding it had been, and so touching to see the women of Ivy Hill come together not only to make Mercy’s dress, but to repair the tent as well. Jane looked up again at the patched marquee and chuckled. How wonderfully gracious was God’s provision to bring the troupe to Ivy Green in time to save Mercy’s wedding breakfast.

  Eventually, people began to say their good-byes to the bride and groom, and then drift away in twos and threes until only the Kingsley family continued to dance. Hetty joined the musicians so Colin could dance with Anna Kingsley. Then she returned to sit with her husband, daughter, and in-laws. After a time, Eva joined them too.

  Finally, the dancing ceased altogether, but the musicians continued to play more softly for their own enjoyment and the pleasure of their listeners.

  At a nearby table, the Brockwells sat with Nicholas Ashford and his mother. Another wedding in the near future, Jane guessed. How good to see her dear friends Rachel and Timothy so happy together. Even the dowager Lady Brockwell looked pleased and relaxed surrounded by her family.

  Family . . . Bittersweet tears heated Jane’s eyes at the thought. She’d had her father back in her life so briefly, and now the doctors said his heart was giving out. He might have a few months, a year at most, they solemnly estimated, all the while acknowledging that it was only an educated guess, and that God’s will might dictate otherwise. Jane was deeply grateful that her father had come back to England, to her, for his final days. Oh, Lord, thank you! And thank you for Jack Avi! Yet her gratitude was threaded with poignant awareness of impending loss.

  She scanned the tent for Miss Matty, guessing she would see the same wistful regret in her expression. The lost years. The what-might-have-beens. Matilda held her gaze, then crossed the tent to her. She extended her hand.

  Jane rose and took it, throat tight, and for several moments the two stood there, hand in hand, watching Mercy among the Kingsleys, smiling and laughing, Joseph’s arm around her waist.

  Matty looked fondly on the couple. “How happy they are.”