I drove us through the lush green mountainous miles to the village. Whereas Biltmore House was extravagant and gorgeous—and original—Antler Hill was fairly new, more of an ode to George Vanderbilt’s farming roots, so it had a very rustic-chic, barnyard-at-its-best kind of feel.
We made our way down the pebbled concrete path to the frontdoor of the Biltmore Legacy building. With a stone foundation, wood accents, and a mansard roofline, it very much had the feel of a converted barn and silo. We paused at the pair of wooden front doors. “Are you ready?”
Babs crossed her arms. “For what? For you to realize how wrong you are? Yes. Yes, I am. For heaven’s sake, Julia. My mother was gifted that veil by a Russian woman.”
“How in the world would she have gotten it from a Russian woman?” I asked as I held the door open for her and followed her inside.
“Sweetheart, do you remember Gran? I wouldn’t put anything at all past her.”
As if by instinct, we both walked straight to the display of the reproduction of Cornelia’s wedding outfit, ensconced in glass. We walked around the side of the case to get as good a look at the veil as we could.
“It’s the Juliet cap that really gets me,” I whispered. “The two rows of pearls at the bottom, one at the top, that intricate lace in the middle.” Spotlights shone on the delicate piece of tulle and lace that spread behind the Cornelia mannequin. Just seeing it made me feel nervous, like I was in the presence of greatness.
“And the embroidery around the trim of the veil,” I said. “I’ve never seen it anywhere else. Except—”
“Yes, but I would imagine it was a popular style at the time,” Babs said.
“Aha!” I whisper-exclaimed. “So you agree they look similar!”
Babs said, “It’s a wedding veil, Julia. There are millions of them. The chances that two of them look the same are pretty good.”
“Yes. Because I’m certain Cornelia and Edith just grabbed any old thing off the rack.” I crossed my arms and gave her my serious,police-interrogator look. “Don’t you rememberanythingelse about how Gran got the wedding veil?”
She just shrugged. “Julia, I am nearly eighty-one years old. I’m grateful I remember my own name.”
And that’s how I knew that Babs remembered more of the story than she was letting on.
CORNELIAA Place for StrangersNovember 30, 1929
Cornelia had put off this difficult conversation for as long as she could, but as much as she didn’t want to have it, she knew she needed to. Four years ago, her twenty-fifth birthday had felt like an answered prayer. Her fortune was finally hers. The house—and their family—would be saved. But then, a month ago, the unthinkable happened: the stock market crashed. Of course, it went without saying that Cornelia’s family found itself in a vastly better position than most. But, after years of fun and freedom, they found themselves needing to tighten their belts once again to keep Biltmore afloat.
As she walked in the direction of the back stairs, determined to go down to the butler’s pantry before she lost her nerve, she stopped in the doorway of the oak-paneled drawing room when she saw the man she was in search of: Mr. Noble. She paused to watch him, empty sleeve dangling as he methodically dusted the etchings over the fireplace, one after the other.
“That really isn’t your job, you know,” she said, causing him to turn abruptly and smile. “These days everything is my job, ma’am. We must all work together.”
His proclamation made what she was about to do all the more difficult. Cornelia sat down on the off-white settee perpendicular to the fireplace and motioned for Mr. Noble to sit in the chair flanking it.
“I really shouldn’t, ma’am,” he said.
“Please,” she practically whispered.
Her friend and most faithful servant acquiesced.
“I wish I were here to tell you that the tide has turned, that our troubles are behind us and we can rehire those we have let go.”
“I presume that is not the news,” Mr. Noble said gently.
Cornelia noticed how his jacket, which had once been thick and new, was starting to show signs of wear. The brass and silver buttons, however, still gleamed due to his precise daily polishing.
Cornelia shook her head and was embarrassed to find that tears sprung to her eyes. “We are either going to need to let another member of the staff go or dock everyone’s wages accordingly.” She looked down as she said, hoarsely, “Even yours.”
Shame washed over her as she thought about the great lengths Mr. Noble had gone to keep Biltmore in as good a shape as possible. She looked up at him again. “I do understand if you need to go elsewhere, Mr. Noble. I truly do. It is unfair of me to ask you to continue to do the massive amount of work you do here for even less—”
Mr. Noble cut her off. “With all due respect, ma’am, I am aware of the world and my current lot in it. I know the service industry is dying. I know that men and women have no food, no coal, no work. So please accept my great gratitude. Room, board, and reducedwages are far superior to no room, no board, and no wages at all.”
Cornelia was embarrassed by the tears now running down her face and, wiping them away, said hastily, “It would break my heart if you left.”
“Leave you?” he said, smiling. “After all your family has done for me? I would never.”
