I entered the house and let myself be led to the small sofa, where I was shoved against Mawmaw and a baby was plunked into my lap. Not having children of my own didn’t preclude a thorough understanding of babies. I’d been raised in a polygamist household where the more babies the better. This one was tightly wrapped in blue, so I knew which twin I had been handed. The church strictly adhered to blue for boys and pink for girls as babies.
“Hey there, little Noah. It’s good to see you.” I tested his ability to hold his head up and bounced him slightly. He met my eyes, his curious. He started wriggling, trying to get out of the blankets, far too young to be so coordinated and strong. I glanced at Mama, who was holding Ruth, and she carefully turned her eyes away. It was church-speak for “We’ll talk about these babies later. It’s private.”
Mama Carmel brought tea from the tiny kitchen and set a mug beside each of us before she wedged herself in on my other side. I was truly trapped, and happy that Esther’s place was too small for my other adult sisters, Priss and Judith.
I sipped Mama Carmel’s tea, tasting chamomile and rosehips and a trace of something else I couldn’t place. The women all had their hair bunned up and were wearing proper winter church dresses: tiered or full skirts, square or high necklines, and full long sleeves. All wore aprons. The only difference between their clothing styles when I was a child and now were the colorful sneakers they all wore. There were two pairs of yellow, one pair of blue, and two shades of pink between them. Sneakers were new footwear for churchwomen, breaking centuries of tradition.
As if I had interrupted their conversation, Mama Grace started talking about the babies and how they needed to hold a sewing bee to make some new onesies and nightgowns. I listened, adding nothing. Talk drifted to Christmas. I spotted a small fake evergreen tree in the corner on a table, decorated for the season with glass ornaments and handmade crosses and miniature manger scenes.
I hadn’t celebrated since John died, but now I had Mud. I couldn’t put off decorating the tree.Dagnabbit.I stared into the tea and didn’t even bother to hide my sigh. The room fell silent.
Mawmaw touched my arm. “I understand you don’t want to get married at the chapel?” She was using her townie accent, the one she grew up with, not her church-speak. That meant this was really important.
I froze, my eyes on the tea. “Ummm. I…” I stopped.
Mama Carmel harrumphed.
I raised my eyes from my mug to my grandmother’s face and her kind, gentle eyes. Mawmaw had married into the church, a townie girl who had fallen in love with a churchman and given up everything, literally everything and every person from her previous life, to marry him. She had been disowned by the fancy townie Hamiltons and not one of them had ever spoken to her again. Mawmaw was tough as nails and twice as strong. And there was a glimmer of something unexpected in her eyes.
Mawmaw might not be here as the family’s big gun, but as my big gun.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to be married at the church. My husband will never be part of the church. I will never be part of the church. We will be married on our land, at our house.”
No one spoke, so I went on.
“On the front lawn if it’s pretty, on the porch if it’s raining or cold. While my family and my work friends and my other friends are gathered around.”
“Fine. You’ll need a dress,” Mawmaw said.
The mamas and Esther gasped. Mama Carmel actually put a fist to her heart as if she had been stabbed. The family matriarch had just given formal permission for me to marry Occam outside of the church. A sense of wonder filled me. Tears I hadn’t realized were gathering spilled down my face.
Noah gurgled and reached for me with a hand he had gotten free from his swaddling blankets. I put a finger to his and he gripped it with surprising strength.
Mawmaw handed me a cotton handkerchief. Church folk didn’t believe in the wasteful use of tissue but in reusable, washable, sterilizable if necessary, hankies. I shifted Noah so I didn’t break his grip, took the hankie, and patted my face.
“White won’t do,” Mawmaw said, “you being married before. And pink might clash with your red hair, assuming it’s still red in a week,” she added wryly.
When I used my power, it had an effect on my hair, making it redder and more curly for a while. Today it was a halo of scarlet curls that had been hard to comb out.
“But,” Mawmaw continued, “I saw some pretty blue gray silk at the cloth shop in town. I had a bit of money put by in my cookie jar and picked up enough yardage for a wedding gown.” She pulled a scrap of cloth from her pocket. “You like it?”
I pocketed the handkerchief with a mental note to wash and return it, took the scrap of blue gray silk in one hand, and ran it through my fingers. It was soft and thin and shimmery, without being glossy. It had a good hand, meaning it would fall and drape beautifully. “I do. It’s lovely.”
“You three”—Mawmaw lifted her mug at the others—“will make a dress that Nell likes.”
It was said as a pronouncement, an order. And it meant I’d have a big say in the style of the dress. It wasn’t going to have to be a tiered skirt with square neckline and puffy-styled sleeves.
“You’ve been looking at dresses in town? In magazines?” Mawmaw asked into the horrified silence.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice rough. “Mostly online. I took some photos. Something simple. Full skirted to my ankles, butnot a circle. Petticoat to hold it out a bit. Tight sleeves and bodice, with a sweetheart neckline.”
“Can you send a picture of your dream dress to your mama’s cell phone?”
I nodded, not looking up in case more tears wanted to fall outta me.
“You’ll have to stand for fittings, but these three ladies are talented seamstresses, and while I doubt any other three women in the church could pull a wedding dress together in time, these three can.”
The mamas looked at each other and sat a little straighter. Mawmaw didn’t give out compliments often.
