Bless the Bride

open him up to ridicule?
    “Did he tell you what important case he was working on that keeps him in the city?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
    “We made an agreement,” I said. “He doesn’t share his cases with me and I don’t share my cases with him.”
    Mrs. Sullivan grunted her disapproval again. I stared out across the back lawn to the row of tall trees that separated this house from its neighbors. In the next backyard someone was mowing the lawn. I heard the click-clack of a mower and the sweet smell of new mown grass wafted over to me. There were roses blooming along the fence and the buzzing of bees mingled with the sound of mowing. Truly it was quite delightful here. I should just let my future mother-in-law’s criticisms wash over me and make the most of this time.
    “I can’t blame Daniel for not coming out to see us,” she said. “He has no real reason to make the long, uncomfortable journey now that he doesn’t have to collect the furniture.”
    “What furniture?”
    “I offered him some choice pieces of our furniture for your new house,” she said. “But now that you’re apparently going to start married life in that poky little house of yours, I gather there’s no room for extra furniture.”
    My saintliness was wearing thinner. “It’s a dear little house. I’m very fond of it. And it’s in a quiet backwater.” I wanted to add that her house, while pleasant enough, was no mansion. Not much bigger than mine, in fact.
    “But the neighborhood,” she said. “I know that Daniel wanted you to start married life in a better part of the city, farther uptown.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood.” I could hear my voice rising.
    “Greenwich Village? My dear, it’s full of immigrants and bohemians, not the sort of people you’ll want your children to mix with.”
    “Mrs. Sullivan,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “don’t tell me that when your own family stepped off the boat they went straight to the Upper East Side and lived in a mansion. They started off with nothing, in the slums. Daniel told me. And yet I’d say he’d turned out well enough. And in case you’ve forgotten—I’m an immigrant. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”
    There was a long, frosty silence during which the lawn mower continued to click away, then she said calmly, “We’d better get back to work if we want these garments to be finished on time. I told you we’re expected at the Misses Tompkins for lunch, didn’t I? And after that I promised Clara Bertram that you’d come and play croquet with them. Clara is another of Daniel’s old friends and she does so want to meet you.”
    I’ll bet she does, I thought. So that she can examine the fabric of my dress and find it wanting. I’d already encountered several of Daniel’s friends during this stay. I could see their surprised reaction that Daniel was marrying someone like me when he could have had Arabella Norton and a fortune to go with her.
    I picked up the half-sewn white silk petticoat and was about to start stitching when the porch screen door opened and Colleen, the little maid of all work came out. “The post has just come, madam,” she said and handed Mrs. Sullivan several letters. Mrs. Sullivan glanced through them.
    “These will be responses to our invitation to the wedding. The Van der Meers,” she said, looking pleased. “Oh, and Alderman Harrison. And there’s one for you, Molly. That’s not Daniel’s handwriting.”
    She handed me the letter. I recognized the writing at once. “It’s my neighbor on Patchin Place,” I said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Augusta Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, you know.”
    Mrs. Sullivan looked suitably surprised. “The Boston Walcotts, in Greenwich Village?”
    “She’s an aspiring painter. Would you please excuse me if I go and read this?” I didn’t wait for the answer but went down the steps and across the lawn until I was standing in the shade of an elm tree, out of sight of Mrs. Sullivan and the porch swing.
     
My dear Molly, I read in Gus’s educated, fluid script, I can’t tell you how much we are pining for you. Life seems positively dull without having you around. And New York is beastly hot and uncomfortable, but Sid insists on staying put because of the articles she is writing on the suffrage movement. We imagined you sitting in the leafy shade, drinking iced lemonade and having a lovely time, and we were tempted to hop