The Wedding Dress

by Mary O'Donnell

  “I can’t wait to see this dress,” said Kate, “especially the crocheted parts.”

  “Maybe we can arrange something when I get it back from the cleaners,” said Annie. “The labels make it even more interesting, I think. I wondered if you had ever heard of Amanda McKay Grey, Stella,” said Annie.

  “I don’t recall that name,” said Stella. “The only person named Grey who lived in Stony Point that I’ve ever known of was Captain Grey, but McKay is a well-known name in Boston. Maybe she was a sister-in-law or something.”

  “Then how did it get to Grey Gables?” asked Alice. “Are you sure Captain Grey never married?”

  “I didn’t say that he hadn’t married,” said Stella, “only that when I knew of him, he was alone. I guess he would have been older than I am now when he died, so he lived the major portion of his life before I was even born.”

  “Did you ever check at the library to see if you can find any information on him there, Annie?” asked Mary Beth.

  “No—I haven’t had a chance yet,” said Annie. She thought of Andrew Gareth, whom she was certain had a wealth of information, if only she could get him to share some of it. She didn’t mention him to the others. No one, besides Alice, had asked yet, so she assumed that news about the painter hadn’t leaked out yet—otherwise Peggy, at the very least, would have been seeking information about him.

  The hour had passed. Peggy had to return to work at the diner, and a tour bus had unloaded its passengers on Main Street, so Mary Beth and Kate were suddenly busy with a crowd of shoppers. Stella remained in her chair and continued to knit. Annie and Alice both decided to look around the shop a bit.

  Annie wanted to browse through the pattern books to see if she could find something suitable for Dervla’s shower. She knew that she could crochet a few dishcloths and hot pads with cotton yarn in no time flat, but since the less-experienced teens were going to provide those, she’d thought she’d like to make something for Dervla that would be more of a keepsake than entirely practical. The question was, what could she make that was special but could be finished quickly? She couldn’t seem to find anything that would suit her criteria. There were a couple of patterns she really liked, but she knew from just looking at the instructions that she could never complete either one in the time allotted. She decided she would look through her grandmother’s collection of crochet books in the library and see if she could find something appropriate.

  Annie and Alice left A Stitch in Time at the same time, so Annie asked Alice if she wanted to have lunch with her at The Cup & Saucer. Alice answered that she would have liked to, but she had to make a presentation at a Devine Décor party that afternoon, and didn’t have the time.

  “Why don’t you come over for dinner this evening?” asked Annie. “I can tell you about Andrew’s visit yesterday.”

  “That would be great!” said Alice. “What can I bring?”

  “Nothing—I’ll whip up something fabulous.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” said Alice, trying to maintain a straight face. “I’m thinking you could serve baked filet of sole with Lobster Newburg sauce, over a bed of rice pilaf with a nice watercress/Boston lettuce salad on the side, and flambéed pears and frozen gelato served with espresso for desert. Can you handle that?”

  “Of course. I may have to substitute a can of tuna for the filet of sole, and a can of cream of chicken soup for the sauce, but I’m sure I have a box of Rice-A-Roni. We can try to light a can of fruit cocktail on fire, but it may not be quite the same.”

  “On second thought, I’ll just let you choose the menu tonight,” said Alice.

  “A wise choice,” said Annie, laughing. “I’ll see you later—come on over as soon as you get home.”

  * * * *

  When Annie finally finished her errands, the afternoon had flown away. Her last stop was Magruder’s Groceries, where, along with the other things she already had on her list, she picked up green-leaf lettuce and cucumber for a salad, a container of lemon sorbet for dessert, and for the main course, fresh cod, which she would bake and serve with homemade lemon-butter sauce. She planned to prepare rice pilaf from scratch, just to surprise Alice. The menu might not include Lobster Newburg, but she was sure it would be a good meal.

  Shortly after Annie returned to Grey Gables, Tony and Dervla returned from their hiking expedition. Both their complexions reflected the hours they had spent out in the sun, despite their use of sunscreen. Dervla’s skin was naturally fair and tended toward freckles, and her nose had gotten quite red; it would surely be peeling in a couple of days. They’d had a wonderful time hiking through the natural beauty of Maine.

  Seeing them together, laughing as they described the day’s activities and just being gloriously happy in each other’s company, Annie unwillingly remembered Gwen’s harsh comments at the Hook and Needle Club meeting that morning. The contrast between Gwen’s hardened expression and the look of bliss on the faces of the young couple was like night and day. She hated to think that Gwen’s attitude might squelch their chance to share that happiness throughout their lives.

  Meredith and Frank and their children had gone on to Wedgewood, where the plan was that the adults would get ready to go out that evening with Tony and Dervla and leave the grandkids with Gwen and John. After visiting with Annie for a bit, Tony left to walk over to Wedgewood to get a shower and change clothes. Dervla went upstairs to do the same.

  Annie decided to wait until the next day to tell Dervla what she’d learned about the wedding dress. Tony was leaving in the morning to drive down to Massachusetts for a few days. He still had an apartment in Cambridge, and had a couple of job interviews to go to in Boston, so there would be plenty of time to tell Dervla all the details after he was gone. She was thinking that she’d have to figure out a way to work on her project without Dervla seeing it. Of course, she hadn’t figured out what it was going to be yet. One bridge at a time, she thought.

  Alice arrived while Dervla was upstairs. She helped herself to a tall glass of lemonade and sat at the kitchen table while Annie prepared dinner. Annie told Alice that she had offered the dress to Dervla for the wedding, and that Dervla had tried it on and it was a perfect fit. They also discussed the labels on the dress, and Annie’s idea that Amanda Grey was responsible for all of the crochet.

  “So, is there any way to prove that the crochet is newer than the dress?” asked Alice. “Sort of a carbon dating for fibers?”

  Annie laughed. “I don’t think there is for something so recent,” she said. “That is, unless you could determine age of the crochet thread by the process by which it was made, or by the content, say if it contained particular manmade fibers … but then you’d have to be able to tell the exact age of the wedding-dress cloth too. It’s a moot point anyway. I don’t think there was much use of the new man-made fibers in clothing until the 1930s. There must be another way.”

  At that moment, Dervla entered the kitchen looking lovely in an empire-waist dress with swirling, mottled ocean blue fabric reaching down to her ankles. Annie didn’t think she had seen Dervla looking so happy since she had met her, only four days ago. Funny; it seemed to Annie that she had known Dervla for years. It was uncanny the effect that the girl had on people. Well, on certain people, she thought. For just a moment, the shocked look on Andrew’s face when he saw Dervla in the wedding dress flashed in Annie’s mind, but her thoughts moved on quickly to Gwen’s stern expression at the Hook and Needle Club meeting. She really couldn’t understand the disliking that Gwen and John had taken to Dervla. But then, as far as Annie could tell, they hadn’t really even tried to get to know her. She remembered the effect Gwen’s frown and severe words had on her friends at the Hook and Needle Club meeting. She could imagine the effect that same attitude would have on a stranger, especially a young girl wanting to make a good impression. Oh, I wish I could make Gwen see what she’s doing, thought Annie.

  Dervla and Alice conversed while Annie continued to work on dinner. Soon th
e doorbell sounded. Assuming that it was Tony, Dervla wished Annie a good evening, and Alice saw the young couple off at the front door.

  When Alice returned, she commented on the change in Dervla’s demeanor after a day of outdoor activity and fun with Tony and his sister’s family. “That girl is just a delight. I’d take her for my daughter-in-law any day of the week.”

  “So would I. Pity neither one of us has a son,” said Annie with a smile. “But then I do think that she and Tony are a good match—I just wish Gwen could see that.”

  “She will someday,” said Alice. “At least, I hope she does. I hate to think that those two might not end up together, or that Tony and his parents might end up estranged because of this. It would be a real shame.”

  Annie asked Alice to set the table in the dining room for a change—instead of eating in the kitchen—and when dinner was ready they both sat down to enjoy a leisurely meal. Annie told Alice about Andrew Gareth’s visit during the storm, including his reactions to Dervla in the wedding dress and to the initials on the hatbox.

  “That’s rather bizarre,” said Alice. “I need to meet this guy. Are you sure he’s on the up and up?”

  “Yes, Alice, I’m sure he is. I told you about seeing that program on TV and going to his exhibit in Texas.”

  “Yes,” said Alice, “but are you sure it’s really him? Did you ask for ID?”

  “No, I didn’t ask for ID,” said Annie, “but I’m sure it’s really him. First of all, I’m sure that Ian has checked him out. And second, I just know it—by the way he talks about his work, and you should have seen the drawing he was working on in the library. It was amazing what he did, and so quickly.”

  “Well, a lot of people can draw, Annie. I think you should make sure he’s who he says he is,” said Alice.

  “What do you want me to do? Steal his wallet?” asked Annie.

  “It’s a thought,” kidded Alice. Then she said in a serious tone, “Just be careful, Annie. Sometimes you’re just too trusting.”

  When they had finished dinner, they cleared away the dishes and settled in the living room to talk about their plans for Dervla’s hope-chest shower.

  “I’ve been working on embroidering some tea towels,” said Alice, “but I’m not sure they’re what I want to give her. Something with an Irish theme might be nicer. There’s an Irish symbol, called a claddagh. It has a heart that stands for love in the center, with a crown on top that stands for fidelity, or loyalty; there are two hands, one on each side, holding the heart, and those stand for friendship. It’s a symbol that’s often used on wedding rings. I was thinking I could make a runner or a table topper—not too large—out of linen, and embroider that symbol in each corner, maybe with some tracery work on either side. Or I could place the claddagh symbol in the center and just the tracery work in the corners, sort of like fancy brackets. I’m not sure what to do yet.”

  “That sounds fabulous, Alice,” said Annie. “You could do what Gram always did, draw it out on paper both ways and then color it in to get a sense of how it’s going to look. Then you can choose what you like the best before you invest all the time and materials in the actual embroidery. I have some graph paper in the library, and colored pencils and markers too. And I’m pretty sure Gram has a book about all kinds of symbols—maybe we can find that one. Let’s go have a look.”

  Annie and Alice went to the library, and while Annie was retrieving the drawing materials from her grandmother’s desk, Alice scanned book titles, looking for one that might have the symbol she had described.

  “Here it is,” said Alice, “or I should say, here they are … she has several on signs and symbols.” Alice pulled three large-size books off the shelf. Looking at the covers, she said, “This one says it’s about Christian symbology, and this one is called … Semiotics: The Philosophy of Symbols. That sounds a little too deep for me.” She laid down the first two books and flipped through the third one. “This is more like it—it’s full of drawings and seems to be categorized according to culture. Let’s see—there’s a section on Assyrian symbols, and Egyptian, Greek, … Roman, … Germanic, Scandinavian, … here we are! Celtic symbols, including a four-leaf clover, Celtic knot work, and … it’s here! The claddagh ring! This is perfect!”

  Alice sat down at Betsy Holden’s desk to begin to plot out her ideas on paper. While Alice was working, Annie thought she would try to figure out what she was going to make for Dervla by looking through her grandmother’s collection of crochet pattern books. Then the flower guide caught her eye. There was still the matter of the unidentified flower on the hatbox lid. She pulled the flower guide and the book next to it off the shelf, the one she had almost looked at the day before—The Language of Flowers.

  She flipped through it to see what it was like. The book was old. Gram must have bought it from a library sale or something—Annie didn’t remember it being in the library during the summers of her youth. There were no photographs inside, but instead beautifully drawn illustrations of all kinds of flowers, in all stages of their growth—from the bud just peeking out of the calyx, to the flower in full bloom, and in some cases, the drooping flower as the petals began to drop off. Beside each illustration was the Latin name of the flower, along with whatever common names were given to it. Underneath the name were meanings associated with the individual flowers.

  “What have you got there?” asked Alice, looking up from her paper.

  “It’s a book about flowers and what they mean—I noticed it the other day when I was in here with Andrew. It has beautiful illustrations.”

  Annie turned the pages back to the introduction at the front of the book and read aloud, “Going back as far as the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans in ancient times, certain meanings were assigned to individual types of flowers, as well as herbs and other types of greenery that were valued for their appearance and the scents that they emitted. People in ancient cultures made bouquets, wreaths, and garlands, and used them in their rites of passage—birth, coming of age, marriage, and death. Flower symbols were woven into mythologies and became associated with particular meanings.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Alice, as she continued to work on her cross-stitch graph.

  Annie read silently through several pages about the multiple layers of meaning that continued to be added to flowers and various plants by people in the Middle Ages and during the Renaissance, and then about changes that occurred after the discovery of the New World with the new varieties of plants found there. Eventually she came to a section about the meaning of flowers in the Victorian age. After reading through the section, an idea occurred to her.

  “Alice, listen to this,” said Annie; from the book, she read aloud: “‘The Victorians rediscovered the ancient language of flowers, and it became popular to send secret messages to one’s sweetheart by means of a bouquet.’ You know that hand-painted bouquet on the hatbox—what if it’s more than just a pretty picture?”

  “You mean you think someone might have been trying to send an illicit love message with a hatbox?” asked Alice. Answering her own question, she said, “Hmm. I don’t know—it’s an intriguing idea.”

  “Well, as pretty as it is, it is an unusual combination of flowers for a bouquet, don’t you think?” asked Annie.

  “I’ve only seen it the one time—I can’t exactly remember the flowers that were on it,” said Alice.

  “I’m going to go get the box and bring it down. I’ll be right back,” Annie said. She went upstairs to retrieve the now-empty hatbox and brought it back to the library and sat it on her grandfather’s desk.

  “So now what?” asked Alice. She laid down the marker she had been using to add color to her drawing, stood up and walked over to stand beside Annie to look at the painting on the hatbox.

  “Now we’re going to figure out what this last flower on the hatbox is,” Annie replied. “I have Gram’s old flower guide,” she said as she picked up the book from where she had laid it, “and then we can use The Lan
guage of Flowers book to see what each flower means.”

  Looking at the hatbox, Annie and Alice took note of the unidentified flower. It had clumps of small pink petals and long spindly things that stuck out below the petals. They looked through the flower guide until they found a picture that resembled it. Annie read out loud: “Cleome hassleriana, commonly known as the spider flower, so-called because of the long, thin seedpods that project from under the petals. An annual plant with five-point leaves and compound flowers, which may be purple, pink, or white.”

  “The spider flower,” said Alice, “ick—that doesn’t sound like it could mean anything too pleasing.”

  Putting aside the flower guide, Annie sat down at her grandfather’s desk, opened the side drawer, and got out a medium-size notebook with lined paper and a pen. In the form of a list, she began writing down all the varieties of plants that had been painted on the hatbox, beginning with the greenery, and then the flowers, placing the spider flower at the bottom of the column.

  While Annie wrote, Alice moved the other desk chair next to her. Alice grabbed The Language of Flowers book and sat down to begin the task of looking up the first plant. “According to the book,” said Alice, “the wreath of ivy around the edge symbolizes friendship, fidelity, and marriage.” Annie wrote down “friendship, fidelity, and marriage” next to “Ivy.”

  Second on the list was “Fern”—the book said it symbolized sincerity; Annie wrote “sincerity” in the second column. Alice and Annie continued on to the next word on the list. Both had expected the four-leaf clover to mean “good luck,” but were surprised when the book said it meant “be mine.”

  Then they began to look up the flowers. The book informed them that pansies “remind the recipient to think of the one who sent the flowers, and to tell her that she occupies his thoughts.” They guessed it was assumed by the author that the sender would be a man, and the recipient a woman. Violets were said to express “faithful love.”