The Wedding Veil(38)
Now, in her bedroom with Bunchy, thinking of that day, Cornelia realized that if she hadn’t known what hard work was then, she certainly knew it now. With so many of the men off at war, the women had picked up considerable slack around the house and on the farm. And everything else had changed too. Edith and Cornelia had stood side by side with the cooks and kitchen maids, canning tomatoes and okra from the farm, preserving peaches and making applesauce. Their ten-course meals with decadent desserts had turned to salads so the meat, sugar, and fats could be sent overseas to the soldiers.
“Maybe you’ll meet a very eligible bachelor on our rounds today,” Cornelia joked.
“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Bunchy said, placing her hand over her heart—and her Red Cross patch. “A man with a fatal fever—or perhaps on the verge of consumption.”
Cornelia groaned at the macabre joke. The girls were planning to head into Biltmore Village on horseback that morning to deliver soup to ill estate workers. Cornelia was the tiniest bit fearful about going out in the midst of a flu outbreak, but at their young age and in such good health, she and Bunchy had a good chance of recovery if they did—God forbid—contract the vile illness that had taken so many lives. They made their way down the vast flight of stairs and into the banquet hall where dozens of women, all dressed like them, were drinking tea and eating breakfast before embarking on their morning duties.
Cornelia stopped as she did every morning to look at the Service flag, where it hung right in front of the Latin carving that translated to Grant us peace, O Lord, in our day. The flag honored Biltmore men—including her mother’s dear Noble—who had been called to serve. Some of the men had even been excited to go off to war. But Cornelia had to think that, when they arrived on those battlefields, it must have felt decidedly less thrilling.
As they studied the flag, she noticed it had thirty-five blue stars now—symbolizing the men who had returned home safely—and three for those who had lost their lives. That meant the fate of twelve souls was still in God’s hands. Bunchy asked suddenly, “What would you give your life for?”
“What?” Cornelia asked.
“Well, I just mean, all these men went overseas to fight a war to protect our country—the world’s freedom, really. They went knowing they were risking their lives.”
“Yes, but many didn’t have a choice. They were called up. They had to make the best of it.”
Before they could continue their conversation, Edith appeared, putting an arm around each of them. Hordes of women were bustling around the house, making preparations for the day.
“Girls, after you deliver the soup, could you please go down to the country club and make sure everything is ready for tonight?”
Cornelia nodded and caught Bunchy’s eye. Her friend was smiling. Planning a glamorous charity event was second nature to them. They had leaned on their well-heeled friends to raise money for dozens of causes in their young lives. Tonight, they would raise money for the war. “Of course we can, Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Bunchy said. “Do you need us to taste the champagne? Make sure all is in order there?”
Edith smiled and squeezed her daughter’s friend’s shoulder. “Why, yes, Rachel. What a help you would be to me.”
“Mother, I have to say,” said Cornelia, “putting the finishing touches on the party sounds a lot more pleasant than standing on the streets in Washington selling flowers.”
“Buy a forget-me-not and save a Belgian baby,” Bunchy chimed in.
“It’s shocking how many more flowers a pair of beautiful teenagers can sell for the food shortage in Belgium than an old mother,” Edith mused.
Cornelia gave her mother a once-over, noting how, even in her uniform, her slim figure was prominent, her strong cheekbones and pronounced nose looking regal and proud underneath the Red Cross hat that seemed to sit almost too jauntily on the top of her head. It reminded Cornelia of Edith’s wedding photos, of the way her beautiful veil with its dainty cap had perched so perfectly atop her lovely, well-proportioned face. But she was far from a bride today. No, Edith was a warrior.
And no one could deny that, here, Edith Vanderbilt was in her element. Cornelia had seen how it had crushed her when the government training camp hadn’t been placed on Biltmore grounds, on the land she had offered for the cause. Edith needed to have purpose; she needed to help. It was what Cornelia admired most about her. And, in charge of a cadre of women who were tending the wounded and nursing the sick, Edith had found her place in the war effort.
Edith winked at Cornelia now. “I’m going to spend the day at the hospital seeing what more we can do there.”
“You’re a wonder, Mother,” Cornelia said, meaning it.
“Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Bunchy said, sincerely this time, “the hospital—and the whole village, really—is a marvel. You would hardly know the flood happened two years ago.”
Edith nodded. “We have already won a few wars of our own, haven’t we, girls?”
Cornelia’s heart swelled with pride as she watched her mother walk away to speak with a group of nurses, ready to plan the day.
As Cornelia and her friend walked out the front door of Biltmore, into a chilly morning that would soon give way to a warm afternoon, she took a deep breath, savoring the feel of the sun on her face, the vibrant leaves molting into a red-gold sea, the color of a fiery sunset. She smiled to see her friend Rose, her first school friend from Asheville, walking up the drive. My, how their lives had diverged. Rose had already married. Cornelia couldn’t imagine being married yet. But, then again, Rose and Andy had always had eyes for each other, even in grade school.