The Wedding Dress (39 page)

 
T
he moon rested on the crest of Red Mountain as Mary Grace snuck out to the front porch, away from the window of Mama and Daddy’s bedroom, where they argued.

She curled up on the porch swing, pillowing her head against the chain links.

Mama’s voice seeped through the thin windowpane. “I’ll not kowtow to that woman. Emily Ludlow coming into Loveman’s and filling Mary Grace’s head with dreams of a wedding dress. Offering to give our daughter,
our
daughter, Clem, a wedding dress, her
used
wedding dress.”

“I suspect Mary Grace already had dreams of her own about a wedding dress. And what’s the harm of Mrs. Ludlow showing us some charity?”

“We are not charity. That’s the harm. We work hard, we provide for our family, and we may not have all the Cantons and Ludlows have, but we have more than enough. Thank you and praise Jesus. Life isn’t dreams and fairy tales. Mary Grace will do well to remember she’s marrying a minister. She’ll look lovely getting married in a nice, serviceable suit.”

“You had a wedding dress, Vie.”

“And Mary Grace could have worn it for her own wedding, but we all know that’s not going to happen now, don’t we?”

Mary Grace closed her eyes as the bedroom door slammed, shaking the entire house, setting the swing in motion. The floorboard moaned and creaked under Daddy’s heavy footsteps as he crossed the living room.

Daddy had sold Mama’s dress. He’d lost it along with the china and silver, and his paycheck, betting on Jack Dempsey to knock out Gene Tunney in a heavyweight bout.

“Oh, Jesus, I don’t need a wedding dress,” Mary Grace whispered her prayer with the rhythm of the wind cutting under the tree limbs. “It’s not practical. And it’s way too extravagant.” But the confession dropped to her lap, because in her heart, it contained no weight or truth. “But it sure would be nice.”

She
wanted
a wedding dress. A beautiful white wedding dress like the ones she’d seen in magazines. Like the gown she’d seen at Loveman’s. But it was seventy-five dollars. Practically a month’s wages.

Mary Grace restarted her prayer but without faith, it was impossible to carry on.

The front door slammed and Daddy stood on the porch, staring out over the yard, tapping his cigarette pack against his hand. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, leaning against the porch post. As he inhaled, the white paper burned with a red, ashy flame.

“Dempsey should’ve had him,” Mary Grace said.

Daddy b>

“It’s okay about the dress, Daddy. Mama’s right. I don’t need something so fancy. I’m marrying a minister, and I’ll need a good suit for weddings and funerals.”

His hazel eyes snapped at her through the smoke circling up from his cigarette. “Then why’d you go asking for one?”

She shrugged. “I got excited when Mrs. Ludlow offered me her dress.”

“Don’t every girl want a wedding dress? Your grandmama wouldn’t let us get married until she sewed your mama one. I was just home from the war and I would’ve married her in her housedress.”

“A girl wants to be beautiful on her wedding day.”

“You’re pretty, Mary Grace, right where you are on the swing. I know Thomas would say so.”

Mary Grace closed her eyes, seeing her kind, strapping Thomas with his “hey there” grin and his apple-green gaze, combing his golden hair back from his forehead because his thick locks refused to stay slicked in place. She mostly liked the way he talked to her, like her opinion mattered. And how he gazed into her eyes right before he kissed her.

Mary Grace shivered and sat up.

“You all right?”

“Fine, Daddy.” A warm blush hit her cheeks. Studying the porch boards, she followed the long weathered cracks toward Daddy’s work boots, grateful he couldn’t read her thoughts.

“Mary Grace.” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t been the best father a girl could want. Been too gruff at times. Fought too much with your mother and busted too many paychecks chasing the bottle.” He peered sideways at her. “I know you and your mother spend your Sundays praying the good Lord will set me free of my demons, but I ain’t likely to change. I like my ways, but there’s times like now, I have regrets. If I didn’t owe so many people money, you could have your dress and fancy wedding.”

“Don’t, Daddy. It’s okay.”

“Here.” He walked toward her in three long strides. “Take it before I spend it. I’m not sure what you can do with it, but—” Daddy smacked a folded bill against Mary Grace’s palm and closed her fingers over it. The momentary glistening sheen in his eyes said more than a thousand words. Was worth more than the value of the bill he’d pressed into her palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears draining down the back of her throat.

“Clem.” Mama stepped onto the porch. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to my daughter, do you mind, Vie?”

Mama softened. “I reckon not. I was going to fix supper. What do you want?”

“Whatever you serve is fine.” Daddy walked toward the door, holding open the screen for Mama, listening as she suggested warmed-up beef stew. Just before he stepped into the house, Daddy glimpsed at Mary Grace through the screen.

When he was gone, she unfolded the bill with trembling fingers. Ten dollars. She sat back against the swing slats. Ten dollars. It would buy the cake and punch and the linen tablecloth she saw on sale in housewares at Loveman’s.

But not a wedding dress.

She folded the money and slipped it into the top of her shoe, eyes tearing up. Oh, Daddy, he was nothing but tender mush under his crusty exterior.

Car tires crackled on the driveway gravel. Mary Grace walked to the porch post and leaned, watching Mrs. Ludlow exit her big, shiny Buick.

“Evening, Mary Grace.”

“Evening, Mrs. Ludlow. What brings you all the way out to East Thomas?” Mary Grace glanced down at her faded, worn housedress and scuffed shoes.

“Are your parents home?”

Mary Grace didn’t have to answer because Daddy and Mama stepped onto the porch.

“How can we help you?” Daddy said.

“I heard your daughter is getting married.”

“She is.” Daddy took a step toward the elegant Mrs. Ludlow, her light wool coat perfect for the spring evening.

Mama moved next to Daddy, pretty in her cotton housedress with the pleated skirt, worry lines etched into her freckled skin.

“We heard you offered Mary Grace your wedding dress, and while we appreciate your kindness, we won’t be needing your charity.”

Mary Grace rolled her back against the porch post and closed her eyes.
Don’t embarrass us, Mama
.

“It’s not charity, Mrs. Fox. It’s a gift.”

“A gift? We don’t even know you. Mary Grace waits on you at Loveman’s counter. Begging your pardon, but an extravagant gift suchgan1em" alig as a wedding dress to a girl you hardly know, who serves you, is charity.”

“Vie,” Daddy rumbled.

Mary Grace peeked around the post, expecting to see Mrs. Ludlow’s back as she left. But she remained steadfast on the dirt path. She’d tucked Daddy’s ten dollars into her sock and when she moved, it scraped against her ankle.

After what seemed like forever, she said, “Then I’ll sell you the dress.”

Mama’s cheeks reddened. “We can’t afford your kind of gown, Mrs. Ludlow. Tell me, did you intend to drive up here and humiliate us, or is this just spur of the moment?”

“Seems to me you’re the one humiliating yourself, Mrs. Fox. I come bearing a gift, and you’re refusing it. It’s not good enough for you?”

“See here—”

“I offer to sell it and you tell me it’s too expensive. You’ve not even heard the price.”

“All right, tell us the price and don’t say a dollar. That’s more insulting than charity.” Mama went down the steps to face off with Mrs. Ludlow.

Daddy just shook his head.

“Mama, please, can’t we just accept—”

“Ten dollars.” The amount burst into the air and hit Mary Grace’s heart with a one-two punch. Mrs. Ludlow repeated the amount. “I’m asking ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars?” Mama scoffed. “For a fancy, society wedding dress?”

“That’s my price.” Mrs. Ludlow raised her chin. “It seems like a fair price. I wore it once. Didn’t get a spot on it. Had it special made by Taffy Hayes.”

“The colored gal what sews for you?” Mama lowered her chin and tucked her hands into her pockets. “Naw, naw, no. Not even for ten dollars.” She set her jaw, hard.

“I’ll take it. I have ten dollars, Mrs. Ludlow.” Mary Grace skidded toward her, taking the bill from her sock and unfolding it. She glanced back at Daddy. His eyes brimmed and glistened.

“Mary Grace, no . . . now, where did you get ten dollars?” Mama reached for the money but Mary Grace moved her hand away. “Did you hear who sewed that dress?”

“Yes, and I don’t care. Daddy gave me the money.”
Oh, Lord, thank you
.

“Taffy is the best dress designer inss t size this city. Maybe in all of the south. You’re lucky to have one of her dresses.” Mrs. Ludlow took the money. “Now, a deal is a deal.” She offered Mary Grace her hand. “Miss Fox, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Same to you, Mrs. Ludlow.” She had a gown. Mrs. Ludlow’s gown. Specially made. Mary Grace was smiling so wide she didn’t dare look at Mama.

“Mr. Fox, do you mind?” Mrs. Ludlow held up her car keys. “The dress is in the back of my car.”

Daddy stamped out his cigarette and took the keys as he passed the women.

“Mrs. Fox, your daughter is a special girl. It’s my privilege to give her the dress I wore for my wedding. Daniel and I have been very happy. Take it with joy.”

Mama sniffed, biting her lower lip. And said nothing.

“We are very much alike, Mrs. Fox,” Mrs. Ludlow said. “Women who live and breathe in this town, who want good for our husbands and children and our community. I’m standing here now, woman to woman, wanting to bless your daughter. I have no daughters of my own, and for quite some time, I’ve admired Mary Grace. I suppose that’s a compliment to you, Vie.”

Daddy walked by with a trunk on his shoulders. “Sure this thing ain’t empty? It’s light as a feather. Vie, you got any iced tea in the kitchen? I’m parched.”

“I assure you, the dress is inside.” Mrs. Ludlow turned for her car. “Mary Grace, it’s yours now. And here, Mr. Fox, thank you for helping me with my trunk.” Mrs. Ludlow offered her hand. When Daddy took it, she smiled, pressing her fingers hard against his palm. “Now, Mary Grace, it’s no ordinary dress. A very special dress to me and to the woman who made it for me. Wear it with love. I wish you the best.”

As she drove away, Mama remained planted on the path, a thin skirting breeze yanking her hem and dusting dirt over her brown shoes.

“Mama?”

She didn’t move, but stood there, trembling, fingers pressed to her lips, tears filling her eyes. Mary Grace slipped her arm around her waist and set her head on her shoulder.

“I won’t wear it if you don’t want me to.”

“Goodness.” Mama came alive. “You just paid the woman ten dollars, Mary Grace. Do you think I’m going to let the dress rot in that trunk? And if it was good enough for Mrs. Ludlow to wear, sewn by a colored, then it’s good enough for you, I guess.” She wiped her face with her work-hardened hands. “Now, let’s go see this work of art. I’ll have to get sewing on it, fix it up. She’s been married a good twenty-five years so no telling the shape it’s in.”

When they turned around, Daddy stood on the porch, the trunk open, the dress in his hands, dancing from his fingertips.

“She pressed this into my hand.” He passed the ten dollars over to Mama. “Get whatever you need for fixing up the dress or whatever you ladies do with hand-me-downs.”

“It’s not a hand-me-down, Daddy.” Mary Grace dropped to her knees. The white satiny silk shimmered and the orange glow of the sunlight set the band of pearls at the waist on fire. “Oh, Mama.” She stood, taking the dress from Daddy. “It’s perfect.”

Daddy stepped back, clearing his throat, a goofy look on his face.

“All right, let’s go inside and try it on. Clem, give me a few minutes for supper.”

“Take your time, Vie. I’m all right.” Daddy tapped Mary Grace on the shoulder. “You never give up your faith, Mary Grace. Never give up. Not for me or for any man.” He stepped off the porch, cutting a new path across the yard down to the woods out back.

Charlotte
Charlotte eased the tension in her chest as Mary Grace’s voice faded, the taut rope of her story letting go. “So the dress did belong to Emily Ludlow?”

“It sure did.” There was a light of love in the elder bride’s eyes. “She wore it to marry Daniel Ludlow. I tell you, that dress was a wonder. After that day, things were smoothed over with Mama and Daddy. Don’t you know, Mama and Mrs. Ludlow became good friends, and Mama accepted quite a few gifts from her. But here’s the best part.” Mary Grace dotted the air as if to make sure Charlotte listened. “The dress fit as if it were especially made for me. Mrs. Ludlow was a slight woman. I’ve got my German granny’s big bones and features. But don’t you know, we didn’t have to let out or add one stitch. Not one. Can you believe it?”

“Yes, Mary Grace, I believe it.” The rush of gooseflesh down Charlotte’s arm was becoming familiar. “I surely can.”