“Meredith, calm down,” Babs said. “You too, Alice. She just wants to see the veil; she isn’t getting back together with Hayes.”
“I just have this weird feeling,” I began, taking a breath, “that our wedding veil is actually the long-lost Vanderbilt veil.”
Mom and Aunt Alice burst out laughing.
“Julia, you and your imagination,” Alice teased. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“I do not share Julia’s feeling,” Babs picked up, making an exaggerated nod toward me, “butsomeoneis having a guilty conscience about keeping it after seeing how similar it looks to Cornelia Vanderbilt’s, which is absurd because I’m certain my mother told me a Russian woman with pink hair gave it to her.”
Babs filled Alice and Mom in on all the details.
“I thought Gran found the veil on a tree,” Aunt Alice said, sitting down beside Babs on the sofa.
“A tree!” Mom said, laughing. “Not a tree. It was atrain.”
“Oh no,” Alice said sadly. “I’d had this vision my entire life of Gran running away from her marriage proposal into a tree, the veil draped elegantly in its branches, blowing in the wind, stopping her in her tracks.”
We all laughed.
“What’s this about pink hair?” Mom asked when we composed ourselves.
Alice cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “You know… I think Cornelia Vanderbilt dyed her hair pink in her thirties, right before she fled Biltmore.”
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry. What now?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “With what? You could dye your hair pink in the 1930s?” That hadn’t even occurred to me, or I would have looked into it as soon as Babs texted me.
Alice nodded authoritatively, and the beating in my chest became very loud. “When you’ve done as many weddings at Biltmore as I have, you learn a thing or two about the family.”
“See!” I said to Babs. “I told you I had a feeling.”
Babs raised an eyebrow. “It’s a little strange; I’ll give you that. But it isn’tproof.”
Mom got up and I heard her footsteps on each stair as she made her way into her bedroom, into her closet, to retrieve the heirloom.
She returned with it draped over her arms like she was holding a precious baby. I got up and studied the Juliet cap, the lace around the edges. Babs did the same. She shrugged at me. “I don’t know how we’ll ever know. It’s not like we can take it to Biltmore, compare the two, and casually leave.”
Our eyes locked, and Babs said, “I can just see my mothercurled up on the sofa, telling me the story of running away from Daddy, while he was still down on one knee—without so much as a suitcase—and meeting a pink-haired Russian woman on a train who promised her that this veil would bring love and luck to all who wore it.” She looked so wistful as she spoke. She was appealing to my emotions. “It meant so much to her. It means so much tome.”
I laughed. “Okay, Babs, fine. If you want to keep the veil, you keep it. But I’d like to hear you say it.”
She looked me dead in the eye. “Fine. I guess it’spossibleit’s the veil.” She lifted her head higher. “But I’m still not giving it back.”
“Wait just a minute,” Mom said. “You were thinking about giving this veil back? Are you kidding me? This is our family veil. It’s a symbol of good luck, hope, and eternity. Do you know what I have been through so as not to tarnish this veil’s peerless reputation? It has guided more than a few decisions about my marriage.”
In an instant, Babs went from haughty to heartbroken.
I had grown up hearing the tale of the great family wedding veil and the beautiful love stories it had cemented. I had imagined it as the key to happiness.
But seeing my family’s tortured expressions, I realized that maybe this veil, this family symbol of good luck and great love, didn’t mean as much to me as it did to them. Maybe I wasn’t the one who had the say in whether we kept it or not. Then and there, I decided to wash my hands of that decision. I wanted to do the right thing. But I wanted the women I loved most to be happy even more.
“I’m starved,” Mom said. I assumed that meant we were shelving the conversation.
I wasn’t sure why, but as they discussed the pros and cons of local eateries, I flipped the Juliet cap over in my hand, running my finger around the seamless silk. There was no doubt about it: this was a perfectly constructed garment. My finger caught on a loose corner, and I lifted it curiously. Then I jumped up out of my chair. “Oh my gosh! Oh. My. Gosh.”
“What?” Alice asked.
“Initials. There are initials under this piece of silk. It just lifts right out and there they are!”
