The Wedding Veil(66)
No. Of course not. Reid was the single best decision I ever made. But things change. Reid was gone. Julia hadn’t gotten married. I didn’t know what to say to Miles. And then there was that wedding veil…
EDITH A Leap of Faith
October 22, 1925
Edith felt like the combination of her nerves and excitement could fill up her room at Brown’s Hotel in London. Well, room was an understatement. Just as Eleanor Roosevelt had said, the royal suite was so vast that Edith could scarcely find herself, much less her possessions. It seemed a shame to have such a large space for just herself. The bridegroom, in accordance with tradition, had stayed at Claridge’s so they wouldn’t see each other until the day of the wedding.
“Did you know that Rudyard Kipling wrote The Jungle Book here?” Cornelia asked.
Edith searched her mind, which was racing. “I don’t think I did.”
Cornelia caught her mother’s eye in the mirror. “Are you nervous?”
Edith laughed. Did women in their early fifties still get nervous? She supposed so. “I don’t think nervous is the word for it. Anticipatory, maybe?”
“Tired is probably more like it,” Cornelia said, yawning. “I don’t know why you two insisted on getting married so frightfully early in the morning when we’re all still adjusting to the time change.”
Edith smiled sarcastically. Her daughter knew full well they were getting married so early this morning in an attempt to dodge the press. “I simply could not wait one more moment to become a Gerry,” she said.
“While I,” Cornelia responded, “would have loved nothing more than to have remained a Vanderbilt forever.”
Edith rolled her eyes.
“It’s a shame you aren’t going to wear the family veil,” Cornelia quipped, lounging on her mother’s bed as Edith stood in front of the mirror, fussing with her collar. They both laughed, as that would have been terribly inappropriate for a second wedding.
“Can you imagine the headlines?” Edith asked, rolling her eyes.
Edith smiled, sweet memories of her first wedding day washing over her. She cleared her throat and Cornelia sat up, alarmed at the tears that had come to her mother’s eyes. “Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I know how special the veil is to you.”
Edith smiled through her tears, thinking of the veil that linked her to her mother, sisters, and daughter. All of a sudden, going into a new marriage without it made her feel terribly alone. “This was always going to be a difficult day, but I will try to make it a happy one, too,” she said.
Cornelia got up off the bed and opened her mother’s generous traveling trunk, which Emma hadn’t completely unpacked. She ran her fingers across the paint that spelled out the initials E.S.D. Her mother’s original traveling trunk, from her days as a Dresser girl, was still perfectly intact. Cornelia selected a chic felt hat from atop the purple velvet–lined shelf. Then, just as her mother had done for her only last year, she placed the final touch for the day on her head.
“Ten-twenty-two is the most perfect wedding date I can imagine,” Cornelia said. “It is a date that can’t help but manifest dreams into reality. And here we are.”
Edith tried to stop the alarm bells in her head from clanging—she was none too thrilled with this numerology nonsense Cornelia had found an interest in. It wasn’t uncommon for women of their set to travel often, to set up homes in multiple places, but Edith didn’t feel that Cornelia’s New York friends—her artist set—were the best influence. Still, could a little silliness with numbers be harmful? Well, Reverend Swope, Edith’s—and George’s at one point—most trusted spiritual advisor was concerned. But, wanting to keep the peace, and knowing Cornelia would do what she wanted regardless, Edith took the bait. “And why is that?”
“The combination of one, zero, and a pair of twos means that you are going to be very happy in love. And twenty-two is a powerful indicator of cooperation and balance in a relationship,” Cornelia said as she adjusted the hat on her mother’s head.
In spite of herself, Edith smiled. It did make her feel a little better that the numbers were on her side, whatever that meant.
“There,” Cornelia said, admiring her mother. “All set for me to walk you down the aisle.”
When mother and daughter pulled up to the register office less than half an hour later, Peter looked every bit the senator in his refined derby hat and overcoat. “I’m not going to waste time taking my coat off, you know,” he said as he kissed his bride hello. “I’m not living one more minute not married to you.”
Sweet words from a man whom she truly adored. Edith had waited all morning for thoughts of George to flood her mind, for her sadness to throw her happiness off track. She had even warned Peter of the possibility. And, in true Peter form, he had said the most perfect thing in response: “Dearest Edi, if you weren’t sad for the first man you shared a name with on the day you took mine, I wouldn’t be marrying you. Your kind heart, your willing spirit, and your unfailing empathy are your best qualities. I will gladly share you with the one who came before me if that means that I get to have your hand and at least half your heart.”
Part of the allure of Peter was that Edith had no reason to doubt his motives for their partnership other than pure, unadulterated love. He was vastly wealthier than she, cared little to ever step foot on the Biltmore property unless it was for her pleasure, and was several years her junior. She couldn’t say the same for any of her previous suitors.