The Wedding Veil(100)
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 I know 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.
We have always said that the wedding veil connects us to each other, to the women in our family. But, my girl, I have to think that maybe we are bigger than that, greater than that. We are connected not only by blood but by history, a life we have led together, woven into a tapestry of the finest cloth. We shared so many experiences. I shared but one with Cornelia Vanderbilt, and I only tell you now because I find that, as I reach the end of my life, the truth seems to matter more and more. Knowing now what the Vanderbilt legacy means to our country, I wonder if perhaps I should turn the veil in. But, knowing what this veil means to our family’s legacy, I find that I cannot.
So, my darling, I leave it in your capable hands. Do what you will, what you must. And know that, no matter what decision you make, I support you wholeheartedly.
Goodbye, my dearest—not forever, but for now. You are my greatest achievement, my greatest love, whom I have found I could not, cannot, and will not ever let go of. Those are the things—and the people—that mean the very most.
All my love,
Mama
That veil, as it turns out, was the one thing I could not let go of. Until now, at least. I finally knew what my mother meant. I had to let go of this tangible, outward thing to move forward, just as Cornelia had. And I was certain that my daughter and granddaughter needed to let go of it as well. It was the only way for them to forge ahead.
A part of me wondered if I should tell them about the letter. But I decided not to. Maybe it was selfish, but my mother had been gone for decades. The opportunity to have a secret all our own, after all this time, was too wonderful not to take. I would leave the letter in my things and, one day, after I was gone, the women in my family would know the secret too.
Julia zipped the veil into a backpack, at which I began hysterically laughing. This entire operation was ridiculous. And I knew I would remember it for the rest of my life.
“Your mother would be just thrilled if she knew we were doing this,” I said sarcastically.
But I smiled all the same. Meredith, Alice, Miles, and I had had the most wonderful dinner the week before. I had almost wanted to stand on the chair and sing—if I could have actually gotten up there, that is, which seemed doubtful. Miles was so charming. He said all the right things, dodged all the backhanded compliments and questionable comments. And, after dinner, Meredith pulled me aside and said, “Mom, we see why you love Miles. We might not ever get used to seeing you with someone who isn’t Daddy, but we are going to try.”
That assurance had meant the world to me. Miles had slept over that night, and for the first time in almost two years, I hadn’t woken up a single time to the panic that there was a dead man in my bed.
“Okay,” I said. “We sneak through the woods, pray there aren’t laser beam alarms, and leave the veil.”
Julia nodded, got out of the car, and strapped the backpack on her back. We locked eyes and pulled our neck gaiters up over our mouths. We couldn’t have looked more suspicious if we tried, but we could always say we were cold, which wasn’t completely untrue. It was cold here. And since we’d be saying it in French and Spanish, respectively, it would probably work.
Julia pulled my arm through hers and clasped my hand, supporting me as we trekked down the asphalt road, through the dark woods, and into a wide, grassy field that led to the right side of Biltmore. My eyes soon adjusted to the light and, after a trip on Julia’s part, several bouts of uncontrollable laughter, and, fortunately, no police, we made it to the house. Summoning all our courage, we snuck around to the front steps of the glittering limestone palace that seemed to be the stuff dreams were made of, but really, was no more a symbol of hope and prosperity than the veil. In fact, maybe both were nothing more than relics of a time gone by.
Julia silently dropped the backpack on the front steps and we both stood there.
“This isn’t right,” I whispered.
“I agree,” she said, leaning over and unzipping the backpack.
She grasped the point lace cap and we both gently pulled until the veil was laid out, in all its glory—perhaps a full third of the length of those gigantic limestone stairs—underneath a sky full of stars.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded. “It doesn’t feel right to just leave it here.”
“Darling girl,” I said in a pinched tone, “I am an eighty-one-year-old woman who just braved the forest in the middle of the night in a mask. We’re leaving the veil.”
She laughed quietly. “No, I mean, it’s like we should say a few words or something.”
I nodded. “Ah. Well, you’re the one who wanted to give it back. You do it.”
She looked down at the veil and said, “Thank you for being, in our family, a symbol of hope. Thank you for being the thing that brought my great-grandparents together, the thing that brought my grandparents so much happiness, and maybe even for keeping my parents fighting for a marriage that could have easily ended long ago.” She took a deep breath. “But, most of all, thank you for being so weighty and important that you kept me from marrying that asshat Hayes.”