Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

Lillian. It's a good thing for both of us that you're moving on now," he declared, his voice bitter.
    "For once, Papa, I am in agreement with you," I said, and pivoted to leave him in his dark office.

 
    15
GOOD-BYE
     
    Carrying oil lamps, Vera and I went up to the attic to look for Mamma's wedding dress in one of the old black trunks stored in the far right corner. We dusted and cleared off the cobwebs. Then we searched until we found it. Buried in mothballs with the dress, veil and shoes were some of Mamma's wedding mementos: her dried and faded corsage pressed between the pages of the palomino leather-bound Bible their minister used, a copy of the wedding invitation with a list an arm long of the invited guests, the now tarnished silver knife used to cut the wedding cake, and Papa's and her engraved silver wine cups.
    As I took everything out, I couldn't help but wonder how Mamma had felt just before her wedding. Had she been excited and happy? Did she believe marrying Papa and living at The Meadows would be a wonderful thing? Did she love him, even a little bit, and did he pretend to love her well enough for her to have believed it?
    I had seen some of their wedding pictures, of course, and in them Mamma did look young and beautiful, radiant and hopeful. She seemed so proud with how she was dressed and so pleased with all the excitement around her. How different our two wed-dings would be. Hers had been a gala affair that had excited the entire community. Mine would be as simple and quick as an afterthought. I would hate pronouncing the vows and hate looking at the bride-groom. Surely, I would avert my gaze when I said, "I do." Any smile on my face would be a false smile, a mask Papa had made me wear. Nothing would be real. In fact, to get myself through the ceremony, I decided I would pretend I was marrying Niles. That illusion is what sustained me over the next two weeks. It was what provided me with enough enthusiasm to do the things that had to be done.
    Vera and I took the wedding dress down to her room, where she fitted and adjusted it, shortening and tightening until it did look very pretty on me. As Vera worked, little Charlotte crawled in between my legs and around us, sitting and watching with interest. Unbeknownst to her, these festivities and this ceremony would take me away, and just like me she would be losing her real mother. I tried not to dwell on it.
    "What was your wedding like, Vera?" I asked. She looked up from the hem she was sewing.
    "My wedding?" She smiled and tilted her head. "Quick and simple. We got married at the minister's house, in his front parlor, with his wife, my daddy and mamma and Charles's daddy and mamma present. None of Charles's brothers came. They had work to do, and my sister was employed as a housekeeper at the time and couldn't get away."
    "At least you were in love with the man you married," I said sadly.
    Vera sat back, a half smile on her face.
    "Love?" she said. "I suppose. At the time that didn't seem to be as important as getting on and making a life for ourselves. Marriage was a promise, a way to team us up and get us moving toward better things. At least," she said with a sigh, "that was the way we saw it then. Being young, we thought every-thing would be easy."
    "Was Charles your only boyfriend?"
    "One and only, although I dreamt of being discovered and swept away by my own handsome prince," she confessed with a smile. Then she lifted and dropped her shoulders with a sigh. "But the time came to get down to earth and I accepted Charles's proposal. Charles may not be the handsomest man ever to come around, but he's a good man, a hard-working man, and a kind man. Sometimes," Vera said, looking up at me quickly, "that's the best a young girl can hope for, the best she can get. Love, the way you're thinking of it right now . . . that's a luxury enjoyed only by the rich."
    "I hate the man I'm going to marry even though he's wealthy," I declared. Vera didn't need to hear the admission. She nodded with understanding.
    "Maybe," she said, picking up the needle and thread again, "you can change him, make him into someone you can tolerate at least." She paused. "You've grown a lot these last few years, Lillian. No doubt in my mind but that you're the strongest of the Booths and the brightest. Something in you will give you the steel backbone you need. I'm sure of it. Just stand your ground. Mr. Cutler, he strikes me as being too interested in his own pleasure to be