In the corner was a dressmaker’s headless mannequin wrapped in a dusty sheet that draped to the floor; it was topped with a ghastly looking hat. Annie could never remember her grandmother wearing a hat, but she knew that all well-dressed women used to wear hats to church, at the very least, and if they were going into town to shop. How times had changed! She just hoped her grandmother had never worn that particular hat. Annie peeked through a small gap in the sheet and discovered that there was some sort of garment underneath. If the hat had anything to do with it, it probably wasn’t worth bothering with.
At the present, it was just in her way. Considering the number of things she needed to move, she decided that it could be taken down to one of the empty bedrooms. At least the boxes could be stacked to take up less space. She lifted off the hat, looked inside to determine that there were no spiderwebs, and perched it on top of her head. She thought to herself, I must really look ridiculous now! She managed to wrap her left arm around the waist and carefully lifted the mannequin from its spot. Then she negotiated it through the narrow, somewhat winding path among the contents of the attic to the stairs. She decided it would be best to back down the stairs to avoid getting tripped up in the trailing sheet. Hanging on to the banister with her right hand, she slowly made her way down to the second floor of Grey Gables. She was relieved when she successfully delivered the mannequin and the hat to one of the extra bedrooms.
Annie lightly climbed back up the attic stairs, encouraged by the little bit of progress she was making. Returning to the corner where the mannequin had stood, she saw a round box topped with a matching-size piece of cardboard in the place where the mannequin had been standing. She hadn’t noticed the box before since the sheet on the mannequin had hidden it. She removed the cardboard to uncover a beautifully decorated hatbox.
Someone had painted a mixed bouquet of flowers, tied together with ribbon and lace, on the top of the lid with a wreath of ivy around the edges; Annie recognized a couple of the varieties in the bouquet from her walks in the woods and fields above the shoreline. Gram made sure that Annie learned the name of each kind of wildflower, and she had never forgotten those lessons. Some were common garden flowers; there was only one type of flower she couldn’t place.
She wondered if that awful hat she had just worn downstairs had been carried home in that beautiful box. That would be ironic, … or would that be incongruous? … or just a disagreeable coincidence? … Whatever … it just seems wrong. She had an overwhelming desire to look inside the box. She told herself it was probably empty. Picking up the hatbox, she decided to take it to the bedroom to reunite it with the mannequin. She’d get to it later.
Annie spent the next hour or so working in the attic until she heard the faint sound of the doorbell below. She had made some good progress, and she thought there was enough room for Wally to get started. After they exchanged greetings, Wally followed Annie up to the attic as she explained what she had done that morning. He seemed to think he could manage for the time being on his own, so she left him to his work. He would be carrying in tools and the electrical supplies needed, along with some battery-powered lights since the electricity would have to be turned off in that part of the house; he would have to run an extension cord from other parts of the house to power his tools.
Annie planned to stay out of his way. Since it was Tuesday, she thought she’d run some errands downtown before heading to A Stitch in Time for the weekly meeting of the Hook and Needle Club. Feeling hot and grimy after her workout in the attic, she took a quick shower and dressed casually in gray slacks and a light blue blouse.
Thinking about what she needed to do before she left the house, she noticed she had left the door ajar to the bedroom where she had deposited the mannequin and the hatbox. Since Annie returned to Grey Gables, she had taken to sleeping in her grandmother’s old bedroom for a couple of reasons: She felt comforted being in the room where her grandmother had slept, and it had the best view of the ocean. There were three other bedrooms on the second floor; one had been her mother’s childhood room, and another had been Annie’s during the summers. The “visitor’s bedroom,” as her grandmother had named it, was where she placed the mannequin. She automatically went to close the door, but had a second thought.
“I’d better make sure I don’t shut Boots in there,” she said out loud.
It had happened before that she had unintentionally shut Boots in; she didn’t want to do that again. It made for one unhappy cat. She checked between the pillows on the bed and under it. It was possible that Boots had scooted out the front door when Wally arrived. It was hard to keep up with her sometimes.
Annie was about to leave the room when the mannequin caught her eye. She had plenty of time before the club meeting would begin, and she didn’t have that many errands to take care of. Why not see what the garment looked like now? How bad could it be? She could take a closer look at the hatbox too.
She had placed the hat back on the top of the mannequin, but she moved it now to the top of the dresser. She looked to see how the sheet was attached; it was wrapped around the figure like a Greek chiton, only with a flap over the top of the neck. It was held together with a few strategically placed safety pins. Annie started undoing the lower pins, working her way up, so that she could remove the sheet with one dramatic flourish. When she was sure no other pins remained, she undid the final one, and grabbing a corner of the sheet, gave it a tug. Intending to say “Tah-dah!” she was stopped in mid “Tah” by what she saw.
Annie had uncovered a beautiful and elegant dress. It was obviously from a time before her grandmother’s; it looked like something Annie imagined a Gibson girl from the turn of the last century might have worn. Though the formerly white fabric had yellowed to a soft ivory with age, Annie could see that it must have been expensive and was still very lovely. The dress had a high collar, puffy sleeves with long cuffs, a very narrow waist, and a wide ruffle around the bottom hem. Covering the cuffs and the collar, extending over the shoulders ending in a V shape on the front and back of the bodice were the most beautiful pieces of hand-crocheted threadwork she had ever seen. Each piece was delicately made, and the thread shimmered in the light. Annie thought it might be silk, but she was used to working with yarn more often than thread, so she wasn’t sure.
Annie turned to the hatbox. After taking another admiring glance at the painting on the lid, she removed it, and gasped with delight at what she saw inside. From the box she carefully lifted a hand-crocheted wedding veil that appeared to be about waist length, and a pair of crocheted gloves, all clearly fashioned with the same fine hand that had worked the pieces of crochet that were sewn to the dress. Annie laid the ivory veil across the dark-color bedcover to have a better look. The top portion of the veil was tightly gathered and attached to the back of a flexible wire circle that was covered with meticulously crocheted mint green leaves and tiny pale pink flowers. Where the lower part of the veil flared out, Annie could see scattered images of flowers and birds. It was a picture made in crochet.
Annie had seen filet crochet pieces before. She always marveled at the way scores of filled-in blocks and open spaces were positioned to make intricate pictures and sometimes words. She had never tried to make anything like that herself. Her first attempt at crocheting with thread was the set of curtains that were now hanging in her grandmother’s bedroom. She had used size 10 cotton thread and a size 6 steel hook. The curtains had taken weeks to make, and she was pleased with the results. But as she looked at the workmanship on the dress, the veil, and the gloves, she was aware that the woman who had made these articles was more than a casual needleworker—she was an artist.
Annie considered the dress again. Obviously, it was meant to be a wedding dress. She knew it hadn’t been her grandmother’s; that was in a box in the bedroom closet. She’d found it there when she was going through her grandmother’s personal belongings after she arrived in Stony Point following Gram’s death. A picture of Gram and Gramps on their weddi
ng day was on the mantel in the living room. Besides, this dress appeared to be from a completely different era.
Annie gently arranged the slight train at the back of the dress so that she could get a complete picture of the dress, the veil, and the gloves. In her mind’s eye, she formed an image of a woman in the dress, with alabaster skin and dark upswept hair encircled by the pink-flowered garland, the veil draped down her back. In her tiny gloved hands she held the same bouquet of flowers that was illustrated on the lid of the hatbox. Annie imagined her as she walked down the aisle beside her father, a distinguished, bearded, older man in a navy blue suit …
Suddenly, Annie came out of her reverie and realized that time had been passing quickly while she was imagining how the dress might have looked when it was worn—or had it been worn at all? The wedding ensemble presented Annie with many questions: Why did Gram hide it away in the attic? Did the crocheter make the gown for herself, or for someone else? Who was she? Looking at her watch, Annie realized she’d have to save all her questions for later. She’d better get going if she was going to get to the meeting on time. She was looking forward to sharing what she had found with everyone at the Hook and Needle Club.
2
Annie entered A Stitch in Time through the frosted- glass front door, feeling as she always did, that she had entered needlecrafters’ heaven. The sight of soft, richly colored yarn combined with a wall display of pattern books seemed to call her to browse and to purchase new yarns and patterns, even though at present she was already working on a couple of projects: a close-fitting cloche with a matching “lapghan” from cotton yarn for a friend back in Texas who would soon be undergoing chemotherapy, and a soft green-and-yellow baby blanket to donate to a local organization that provided supplies to expectant mothers who needed help. Normally, she only liked to work on one project at a time, but lately there seemed to be several needs that she wanted to help fill with comforting gifts. Thinking of that, it was sometimes hard to resist the pull of acquiring new yarn for a future project.
But she did resist for the time being, directing her attention to the circle of comfy chairs where the ladies of the Hook and Needle Club were already gathered. By the time Annie had gotten out of the door at Grey Gables, and stopped at the post office and bank, she was several minutes behind schedule.
Mary Beth Brock, the owner of the shop, was standing by the polished-wood counter and greeted Annie warmly. After Annie’s longtime friend Alice, Mary Beth was one of the first people to really make Annie feel welcome in Stony Point. Not only did she invite Annie to join the Hook and Needle Club, but she proved to be a good friend through several rough patches with some of the other ladies when Annie was a newcomer.
Annie took her place among the circle of ladies, looking at the faces of her friends. Alice was there, concentrating on embroidering a floral tea-towel edging. Alice had always admired Annie’s grandmother’s cross-stitch creations and had never really taken to crochet the way that Annie had, so it was natural that she gravitated to the needlecraft practiced by the woman who had always been so kind to her.
Kate Stevens, who worked for Mary Beth in the shop, was taking advantage of a momentary lull of customers,sitting at the edge of the circle working on her own design—a high-waisted, orchid-color crocheted top with short sleeves. When finished, the design would be displayed in the store for all to admire. Kate’s talent for design was becoming quite well-known among customers who liked to crochet and wanted her patterns, and among others who just wanted to purchase Kate’s finished pieces.
Peggy Carson, wife of handyman Wally, was appliquéing pink and lavender fabric pieces onto a cream-color fabric square. Annie knew that the pieces would fit together to form the image of a ballerina; Peggy’s little daughter, Emily, had dreams of being a dancer when she grew up and loved having her mother’s quilted blankets, pillow covers, and wall hangings to decorate her room.
As usual, Stella Brickson, the oldest member of the group, sat ramrod straight in her chair as her knitting needles clicked rhythmically, pausing only occasionally when she gave her variegated blue and green yarn a yank as she added another row to her afghan. Her silver-gray hair should have softened her appearance, but Stella’s severe-style choice only served to emphasize her air of no-nonsense.
The final member, Gwendolyn Palmer, seemed especially vibrant that day. She looked immaculate, as she always did—her blond hair perfectly styled, her classic-style clothing perfectly neat with never a wrinkle, and of course, her matching accessories—earrings, necklace, bracelet, and silk neck scarf—completed her look. Though Annie could dress up with the best of them, Gwen’s everyday ensembles sometimes made Annie feel like her outfits represented the “don’t” picture in a fashion magazine.
Looking up from the beautiful gold/green/purple Fair Isle pillow cover that she was knitting, Gwen said, “Oh, Annie, I was waiting for you to come. I have some great news to share with everyone. Our youngest son, Tony, is coming home for a visit.” Looking at Annie, she said, “I don’t think you have met him yet. He just finished his MBA at Harvard and has been touring the British Isles for the last month. Since he’s been in college and working part-time, he hasn’t had the opportunity to come home very often—just at Christmas usually—but he called on Sunday to say that he was heading back to the States and would be stopping in Stony Point for a while. He said he’s bringing home a surprise for me. I just can’t wait to see him! We’re so proud, of course. There was some talk that he might join his father at the bank, but he’s had offers in Boston and New York, so I guess it’s probably too much to hope that he might settle here. Still …”
Gwen’s face was just radiant as she continued to talk about her son. Annie didn’t think she had ever seen Gwen so animated. Gwendolyn and John Palmer were among what might be called the “upstanding citizens” of the town. He was president of Stony Point Bank, and both of them were involved in numerous community organizations. Their home was a reflection of everything else in their lives—it was perfectly kept, in the midst of a well-manicured lawn and formal flower garden. In fact, the Palmer house was located just around the hill from Grey Gables on Ocean Drive. When Annie first saw their home from the outside, she thought how shabby it made Grey Gables appear. It made her all the more determined to return Grey Gables to its former glory.
Gwen continued, “Next Saturday afternoon, about two, we’re planning to have a few friends and family over to the house to welcome him home and to celebrate him getting his degree, and I would love it if all of you could come. Please don’t bring gifts; we just want to have a nice get-together. Cards are fine; they make a nice remembrance of the day. I hope Wally will be able to come too,” she said, looking at Peggy, who was the only other one of the group with a husband, “and Emily too. Tony’s flight will be coming into Boston on Thursday, and he’s planning to drive up to Stony Point on Saturday morning.”
“I’ll have to check with Wally, but I think we’re free to come,” Peggy said. “So, you have no idea what your surprise might be?” Peggy was always on the lookout for the latest news she could share over at the Main Street diner, The Cup & Saucer, where she worked as a waitress. “It could be something really cool like I’ve seen on that TV shopping show; they always have such beautiful woven items—wool shawls and throws from Scotland, or table linens from Ireland—those are gorgeous. Or he might even bring you an English porcelain tea set!”
“I’m sure that whatever it is, it will be wonderful. All I really care about is to have him home for a while. I love all of my children, but I think the youngest is the hardest to let go. Even though he’s an adult and has been out of the house for a long time, I still sometimes think of him as my little boy.” Gwen stopped for a moment, slightly embarrassed that she had made that admission.
Stella made a sound that resembled “Harrumph!” Annie inwardly said, Oh no—she was sure they were all about to hear one of Stella’s tirades. It wasn’t that Stella meant to step on toes; she just didn’t
seem to even realize that she might bruise someone’s feelings with her “frankness.” Annie had been the recipient of Stella’s direct words more than once, and sometimes it had been hurtful, but nevertheless, she understood, as did the others, that it was just Stella’s “way,” and that underneath it all she really had a good heart.
“That’s the problem with young people these days,” Stella began. “They remain children for far too long. When my husband finished college, he didn’t go off dilly-dallying on some extended vacation. He went right to work, and worked every day, except Sundays of course, for the next fifty years. That’s what it means to be an adult. Tony needs to stop running around and settle down and get to work. He can’t always expect you and John to take care of him.”
“We don’t ‘take care of him,’” Gwen sniffed. “Certainly, we have helped him as we have helped all of our children get started. He has worked long and hard to complete his graduate degree, including working part-time during the school year and as an intern over the summers. He deserves a break, and if we can afford to provide that for him, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“Of course there isn’t,” said Mary Beth, hoping to soothe Gwen’s ruffled feathers and change the direction of the conversation. “I’m sure that making the choice of where to work and settle down has been on Tony’s mind all the time. It’s a big decision to make. It would be great to have him here in Stony Point. I saw him last year just before Christmas when he came in the shop to find a special present for you. He’s such a nice young man, and so handsome—he would really be a great catch for some lucky girl. Does he have a girlfriend?”
The Wedding Dress Page 2