My dearest Nell,
You are right. I have pined for my home country more times in more ways than I can ever say. But now, it is only for you I long in the very depths of my soul. That first night I laid eyes on you, something changed in me, something shifted. And you became the purpose in my life; you became the reason for living. I feel as though you are going through a stage, my darling, much as our boys do, and I have to think that you will snap out of it. When you do, I will be here waiting, at the place you love most, protecting your legacy and enacting your will. And if you do not return, it is stillhere that I will always be waiting, for it is here that I can be with you, even if you are gone. I meant what I wrote all those years ago. In my mind, in my memory, I am still Mark Antony. You are Cleopatra. And the two of us are, forever and always, Companions to the Death.
All my love, devotion, and fidelity forever,
Jack
Maybe that reply would have changed something. Maybe not. But, either way, now Nilcha ran her hand through her newly pink hair and took a deep breath, lilting her order in a southern accent that contrasted starkly from its British counterpart. Across the café, she met the eye of a man who smiled, one who didn’t know she was Cornelia Vanderbilt, one who had never seen her in the papers, had never heard of Tarheel Nell. Remembering, she got the slightest pang for her old life, could smell the magnolia tree that was hers, the one that was planted in her honor in earth that bore secrets and lies, truths and, for some, the freedom that Nilcha never seemed to find. She could always go back if she wanted, she told herself, even though she knew it was impossible.
As the moon started to rise in the still-blue sky, she, beginning to feel guilty about simply abandoning the place that had meant so much to her father, said, aloud, “We’re still under the same moon, Daddy. Always. But I need a fresh start.”
Here, now, in this café in London, she could be anyone she wanted to, someone of her own making, free of the pressures and confines of her previous life. What’s more, she had broken her children free, prevented them from feeling the suffocating weightof saving a home that was perhaps beyond saving. She pushed away the thought of all the pain she had caused her mother, her husband, her sons. She caught the eye of the man again. All she could think of now was a fresh start. Nilcha, in spite of herself, smiled.
BABSA Sky Full of Stars
If a few months ago we had been fugitives, now Julia and I were a couple of bandits.
“You know, Babs, we could just explain to one of the curators what happened and turn the veil over.”
I stopped the car in the parking lot outside Biltmore and looked at her in disgust. “Julia, who raised you, child? Where is your sense of adventure? What fun would that be?”
She laughed. “You’re right. You’re totally right.” Then she added under her breath, “Breaking into Biltmore at night seems like a much safer plan.”
“Safe is for the birds!” I trilled, musing at how the woman I had become was so different from the one I had been when I was young, who had craved safety at all costs, who had pinned her entire life on it. “And if we get caught?” I asked, not as a question but to confirm she understood the facts.
“I start speaking Spanish, you start speaking French. Very loud and very fast and at the same time.”
I nodded. “Good girl.” We had left Miles at the house, cell phone by his side, in case we needed someone to get us out of jail. First rule of law-breaking: Always know who has the bail money. That he didn’t argue with this spoke volumes about our future.
“Are you sure about returning the veil?” Julia asked. “I feel like I’ve pushed you into this. We can change our minds. We haven’t done anything yet.”
“Well, let’s see,” I said, counting on my fingers. “Edith Vanderbilt’s grandfather battled dementia for decades, her grandmother lost her daughter and her husband—who left four orphans, Edith’s first husband died way too young, as did her sister Natalie’s, Cornelia was so unhappy she fled her life never to return, and she pawned this damn thing off on my poor, unsuspecting mother.”
“I think we’re lucky to have avoided its curse!” Julia said, laughing.
What I didn’t add was that this godforsaken veil had contributed to my poor daughter fighting her entire life to stay with a man she wasn’t happy with. Because of aveil. Well, maybe it was more than that. But it had contributed. That moment in her living room, feeling the tension between her and Allen, seeing the way her face looked, had made me realize that the veil was a piece of history and it should stay that way. Signs could be great, yes. But when they overruled our happiness, they needed to be gone.
Julia laughed and held up part of the veil with two fingers, as if it was terribly soiled laundry. “This thing is a curse, not a blessing!” She paused. “But you and Pops?”
I smiled, warmth flooding over me at the mere mention of my beloved husband. “Pops and I were perfect.” But I didn’t want togive the child unrealistic expectations of marriage. “No, actually. We weren’t perfect. I’d get PMS, and he’d sulk when UNC lost a basketball game. Taking care of my parents was a terrific nightmare when they got older, and we fought mightily about whether we should sell the mountain house to ease the financial strain.” I paused. “I won, by the way.” I took her hand in mine. “But that is marriage, my love. Real partners fight and forgive. It is the only way to truly be equals, to find the kind of happiness that I hope and pray you will.”
She smiled. “So at least one victory for the veil?”
“Absolutely.”
As she folded the massive veil as best she could, I began to feel a little nostalgic. But, well, I had come to terms with letting go of it. Besides, I had discovered something vastly more important in my drawer that night I was searching for Miles’s fraternity pin: a letter from my mother that went along with our beloved veil, one that I had never read, one that was almost lost to time. I had read the letter probably a dozen times since finding it, and, well, I am somewhat embarrassed to say, still fought against my determined granddaughter’s quest to find the truth even after. But sometimes the past is difficult to part with, no matter how it has changed.
My dear Barbara:
It is an odd sort of thing to write to you, knowing that if you’re reading this, it means I am gone. While I do wish that you had brothers and sisters to share this time with, the glory of having an only child is that it makes the logistics quite a bit easier. What’s mine is yours—my possessions, and, what’s more, my stories.
There is one I haven’t told you, wasn’t sure if I should, asecret of sorts that I have kept not for myself but for a woman I did not know at all, one I met in passing but who, nonetheless, changed my life. The woman who gave me the wedding veil on the train, the one that’s become our family’s dearest treasure, was, I knew then just as I know now—and despite her pink hair and new name of Nilcha—Cornelia Vanderbilt. She was one of the most recognizable women of my day, with her height, beauty, and that distinctive mark of wealth all about her.
Of course, history had not been written yet then. What Cornelia Vanderbilt would ultimately do hadn’t been set in stone. But I could see in her face that day that she was leaving her life behind. Normally, I would have argued when she handed me that veil, something so intensely valuable. Not only did it seem like the sign I had been waiting for, but I also felt strongly that she needed to let go. Handing over that veil to me was an outward and physical sign of the metaphorical things she had to leave behind to move forward. Why I kept it a secret I cannot say, only that it was one of the most intimate experiences of my life, and I felt that she had handed me a burden, a secret one, that was entirely too personal to share, even with you, my love. That is our sometimes unhappy—but wholly necessary—task in life: Sometimes we must take on another woman’s burdens, even if we can’t imagine her having any at all.
It was a lesson for me then. It is a lesson I have carried through the rest of my life. We spend so much time thinking of what more we need, what we will do next, what we can have that will make us happy, fill our dark places with light. But, as I’ve come to find, so often it isn’t what we hold on to that moves us onto the right path. It’s what we let go of.
You, my love, will have to let go of me now, and while Iknow it is hard to lose the ones we love, I have to ask: What will letting go allow you to move into? Knowing you, it will be bright and beautiful, big, and glorious.
