want to go out there and look like a damn fool all jittering, now do you. Five milligrams of something might be a big help.”
I took another deep breath before answering, turned away from the closet door mirror, and just stared at her instead. Why did she say these things? Mother was not going to aggravate me, no matter what.
“Miss Lavinia?” Millie said, jumping right in. “You leave this chile alone! This yanh is her day! You done had yours! You be the fool, not she! Imagine trying to give drugs to the bride! Shame on you!”
P l a n t a t i o n
4 1
“Oh, hush, you old woman!”
“Oh, brother,” I said, laughing, “will you two birds quit fighting over this worm?”
The girls loved to bicker—they always had.
I had just finished my makeup and was brushing my hair behind my ears. I could hear our guests outside my door, talking and greeting each other. The ivory crepe dress, just a simple sleeveless sheath, slipped over my head and Millie moved in to zip it.
“You look beautiful, chile,” Millie said, “you truly do.”
I put the small matching pillbox on my head and attached the tiny combs to my hair. Millie and Mother welled up with tears, and Mother got up from the chaise.
“My hair used to be even more blond than yours,” she said.
I thought she was coming over to give me a motherly last placement of a hair or to kiss my cheek. She opened her small beaded purse and handed me something wrapped in an old lace handkerchief.
“Now, Caroline,” she said, “before I give you this I want to know one last time if you truly, with all your heart, want to go through with this.” I saw her grip tighten.
“Mother,” I said, “I know you don’t understand me some of the time, but I love Richard.”
A long silence hung in the air while she searched my eyes for any glimmer of self-deception.
“All right, then,” she said, “if you change your mind later, you don’t have to give this back. This handkerchief was in the waist-band of your great-great-grandmother’s wedding dress the day she married Henry Wright Heyward IV in 1855. You do have to give that back. It has been in the hands of every bride in my family for good luck. There’s something inside from me.”
I took the handkerchief from her. In the true style that only my mother and Martha Stewart seemed to possess, the handkerchief, frail from the years, had been washed and folded like origami into an envelope and tied with an ivory ribbon. Inside was an 4 2
D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k exquisite diamond pin, obviously very old, in the shape of a bow, its edges trimmed in tiny channeled sapphires.
“Oh, Mother!” I said, holding it in my palm, “it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t touch the stones,” she said, “your body oil will dull them. Here, let me pin it to your shoulder.”
“Who did this belong to? I’ve never seen it before.”
“How should I know?” she said. “I bought it from Corey Friedman on Forty-seventh Street yesterday. That’s why I was late for cocktails!”
It was clear. She wasn’t going to waste an heirloom on a marriage she didn’t fully endorse. I didn’t mind that, really. She would come around in time. “Mother, thank you so much.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Careful, child, you’ll smudge Mother’s powder.”
I shot Millie a glance. She was wiping her eyes but burst out in a good-natured laugh at Mother’s impossible disposition. We just shook our heads while Mother stood back to survey her work.
“Good! Now you have a corsage!” She lifted my left hand to inspect my engagement ring, shook her head in disgust at its small size and modern style, and stood back again. I started to giggle.
Nerves, I suppose, but I’d not seen mother so cross in years.
“I love you, Mother,” I said, “and I’m not marrying Richard to annoy you.”
“Of course, I realize that,” she said, “but just remember, you can always come home if it
I took another deep breath before answering, turned away from the closet door mirror, and just stared at her instead. Why did she say these things? Mother was not going to aggravate me, no matter what.
“Miss Lavinia?” Millie said, jumping right in. “You leave this chile alone! This yanh is her day! You done had yours! You be the fool, not she! Imagine trying to give drugs to the bride! Shame on you!”
P l a n t a t i o n
4 1
“Oh, hush, you old woman!”
“Oh, brother,” I said, laughing, “will you two birds quit fighting over this worm?”
The girls loved to bicker—they always had.
I had just finished my makeup and was brushing my hair behind my ears. I could hear our guests outside my door, talking and greeting each other. The ivory crepe dress, just a simple sleeveless sheath, slipped over my head and Millie moved in to zip it.
“You look beautiful, chile,” Millie said, “you truly do.”
I put the small matching pillbox on my head and attached the tiny combs to my hair. Millie and Mother welled up with tears, and Mother got up from the chaise.
“My hair used to be even more blond than yours,” she said.
I thought she was coming over to give me a motherly last placement of a hair or to kiss my cheek. She opened her small beaded purse and handed me something wrapped in an old lace handkerchief.
“Now, Caroline,” she said, “before I give you this I want to know one last time if you truly, with all your heart, want to go through with this.” I saw her grip tighten.
“Mother,” I said, “I know you don’t understand me some of the time, but I love Richard.”
A long silence hung in the air while she searched my eyes for any glimmer of self-deception.
“All right, then,” she said, “if you change your mind later, you don’t have to give this back. This handkerchief was in the waist-band of your great-great-grandmother’s wedding dress the day she married Henry Wright Heyward IV in 1855. You do have to give that back. It has been in the hands of every bride in my family for good luck. There’s something inside from me.”
I took the handkerchief from her. In the true style that only my mother and Martha Stewart seemed to possess, the handkerchief, frail from the years, had been washed and folded like origami into an envelope and tied with an ivory ribbon. Inside was an 4 2
D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k exquisite diamond pin, obviously very old, in the shape of a bow, its edges trimmed in tiny channeled sapphires.
“Oh, Mother!” I said, holding it in my palm, “it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t touch the stones,” she said, “your body oil will dull them. Here, let me pin it to your shoulder.”
“Who did this belong to? I’ve never seen it before.”
“How should I know?” she said. “I bought it from Corey Friedman on Forty-seventh Street yesterday. That’s why I was late for cocktails!”
It was clear. She wasn’t going to waste an heirloom on a marriage she didn’t fully endorse. I didn’t mind that, really. She would come around in time. “Mother, thank you so much.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Careful, child, you’ll smudge Mother’s powder.”
I shot Millie a glance. She was wiping her eyes but burst out in a good-natured laugh at Mother’s impossible disposition. We just shook our heads while Mother stood back to survey her work.
“Good! Now you have a corsage!” She lifted my left hand to inspect my engagement ring, shook her head in disgust at its small size and modern style, and stood back again. I started to giggle.
Nerves, I suppose, but I’d not seen mother so cross in years.
“I love you, Mother,” I said, “and I’m not marrying Richard to annoy you.”
“Of course, I realize that,” she said, “but just remember, you can always come home if it
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