LEGEND Page 3

  “You’re tired,” Gregory had said abruptly after Kady had suppressed her fifth yawn at the dinner table. “You’ve been on your feet all day. You should go home and rest.”

  “I don’t think freedom agrees with me,” Kady said, smiling sleepily. “I should have spent today in the kitchen.”

  Gregory turned dark eyes to the other two women. “Can either of you do anything with her? I have never seen anyone work as much as she does. She never takes time off, never does anything except work.” As he spoke, he took Kady’s hand and caressed it, then gave her a look guaranteed to melt her knickers.

  But when Kady gave another yawn, he laughed. “Come on, baby, you’re going to ruin my reputation as a lady-killer. What are Debbie and Jane going to think of me?”

  Kady laughed, as Gregory always seemed able to make her do. Turning to her women friends, she smiled. “He really is the best man in the world. Very exciting and all that; it’s just me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I seem to be drained of all energy.”

  “Probably from thinking about having to choose furniture,” Gregory said as he stood, then pulled Kady’s nearly limp body up out of the chair. He was quite a bit taller than she was, and his face was as sharply chiseled as hers was soft planes.

  Gregory turned to the other women, smiling. “I’ll take her home then return for whatever Kady’s made for dessert.”

  “Raspberries with kirsch and—”

  She broke off when all three of them laughed, making her blush. “Okay, so I’m just tired, not dead.”

  Holding on to Gregory’s strong arm, Kady left the town house, and he walked her home, saying nothing, just keeping his arm protectively around her. At her door, he put his arms around her, then kissed her good night, but he didn’t ask to be allowed to spend the night. “I can see that you’re exhausted, so I’ll leave you.” Drawing back, he looked down at her. “Still want to marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling, leaning her head against his hard chest. “Very much.” She looked up at him. “Gregory, I really am hopeless at buying furniture. I don’t have a clue about curtains and sheets and—”

  She broke off as he kissed her. “We’ll hire someone. Don’t spend another moment thinking about it. I have a deal going in LA, and as soon as it’s closed, we’ll be able to afford anything.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “All the copper pots you want.”

  With her arms about his waist, she hugged him tightly. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve a man like you. I feel so guilty that you’re giving up your job in Los Angeles to live here with me.” She looked up at him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want me to move there? I could open a restaurant there and—”

  “My mother won’t leave Onions, and you know that. It’s the place she and Dad built together, so it’s full of memories for her. And she’s getting older. She may seem to have the energy of a teenager, but she hides a lot. It’s easier for me to move here; then all three of us can be together.” He paused. “Unless you’re unhappy here and want to leave. Is that the case?”

  Kady put her head back down on his chest. “No, I’m happy wherever you are. We’ll stay here, run Onions; I’ll write my cookbooks, and we’ll produce a dozen babies.”

  Gregory laughed. “They’ll certainly be well fed little crumb crunchers, that’s for sure.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he set her away from him. “Now go to bed. Get some sleep. Tomorrow your friends are going to take you to a carpet store to look at rugs to buy for the house.”

  “Oh, no!” Kady said, clutching her stomach. “I can feel an attack of bubonic plague coming on. I think I must stay in the kitchen tomorrow and brew an herbal remedy.”

  Laughing, Gregory used his key to open her apartment door, then pushed her inside. “If you don’t behave, I’ll hire a bridal consultant to ‘organize’ you. You’ll find yourself being asked to register for trash cans and monogrammed toilet-seat covers.”

  He laughed harder when Kady turned white at the very thought of such horror. Still laughing, he closed her apartment door, leaving her to get some sleep.

  So now Kady stood with her back to the door and looked about the pretty but bland apartment. She really was grateful that Gregory understood her total lack of talent in choosing furnishings. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a nice place to live; it was just that she had no idea—and, okay, no interest—in choosing chairs and such.

  “I am the luckiest woman on earth,” she said aloud, as she had twice a day since she’d met Gregory.

  But oddly enough, as she stepped away from the door, her energy seemed to revive. As she felt the tiredness draining from her, she thought she might make herself some cocoa and read a book or see if there was a late-night movie on.

  But even as she thought it, her eyes drifted to the big tin box sitting smack in the center of her living room. She could scarcely allow herself to admit this, but, truthfully, all evening this rusty old box had been in the back of her mind. As she’d been deglazing a roasting pan, she’d thought, I wonder what is inside that box?

  She absolutely refused to think that her tiredness had been an excuse to get away from the others and get back to the box and its hidden treasure. “Probably a rat’s nest inside,” she said aloud as she went to her tiny kitchen to take a short, strong offset spatula and an ice pick from a drawer. It was going to take some work to get the lid off the rusty box.

  Thirty minutes later, she had finally scraped away enough rust to pry the lid off enough to get her fingers under it. Her tugging made her fingertips hurt, and she was thoroughly disgusted with herself for her frantic pulling and scraping. After all, just as the woman at the antique shop had said, the only treasure inside was probably flour, complete with the dead carcasses of weevils.

  With her fingertips jammed under one edge of the lid, Kady gave such a great pull that she went tumbling back across the room, the lid clattering to the floor. Pulling herself upright, she leaned over the box and peered inside, and saw yellowed tissue paper.

  On top was a tiny bouquet of dried, faded orange blossoms, obviously put there with loving hands and undisturbed for many years.

  Immediately, Kady knew that what was under the paper was something very special. And something very private. Sitting back on her heels, she looked at the flowers, pinned to the paper, so they had not been dislodged in all her frantic attempts to pry the lid off.

  For a long moment, Kady hesitated with indecision. Part of her cried out that she should replace the lid and never open the box again—put it on top of her kitchen cabinet and look at the outside, forget about the inside. Or better yet, get rid of the box and forget she ever saw it.

  “You are being ridiculous, Kady Long,” she said aloud. “Whoever put this in here has been dead a long, long time.”

  Slowly, disgusted to see that her hands were trembling slightly, Kady unpinned the flowers, set them aside, then peeled back the tissue paper. Instantly, she knew what she was looking at.

  Folded carefully, untouched by light or air for many years, was a wedding dress: perfect white satin with a deep, square neck edged in a white satin ruffle. Rhinestone buttons twinkled up at her.

  There was still a feeling in Kady that she should replace the lid on the box and close it forever. But having just today had such a dreadful experience in trying to find a wedding dress and now seeing that the old flour tin she’d bought on impulse contained a wedding gown, she thought it was too extraordinary to let pass. Almost lovingly, she put her hands under the shoulders of the dress and lifted it out.

  It was heavy, since there seemed to be many yards of the beautiful white satin, all of it aged to the most perfect color of heavy cream. The bodice ended just below the waist, and below that was a skirt, smooth and straight in the front, then yards of fabric pulled to the back in a heavily ruched train that would extend three feet behind the wearer. Hand-knotted silk fringe graced the skirt and the top of the train. Below that were little pleats and the dearest handmade sil
k roses.

  Holding the dress up to the light, Kady marveled at it. Today she must have tried on a dozen modern wedding dresses, but she’d seen nothing like this. Compared to this dress, the modern gowns were peasants’ clothes, with no embellishment, no thought to the design: mass produced versus one of a kind.

  Kady couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the dress. The long sleeves ended in buttoned cuffs, tiny piping about the edges; then what had to be handmade lace spilled from the bottom edge.

  Shifting the dress in her hands, Kady glanced down into the box and caught her breath. “A veil,” she breathed; then, with reverence, she spread the gown across her sofa and knelt before the box.

  If a whisper could be made into fabric, then that was what she was looking at. Reaching toward the gossamer lace, she drew back, almost afraid to touch something as lovely as this; then, taking a deep breath, she slid her hands under the lace. It was so light it seemed to have no weight, no substance, as though it were woven of light and air. Standing, she let the lace drape over her arms, feeling the divine softness on her skin. It didn’t take a costume historian to recognize this lace as handmade, the flower-and-vine pattern worked by tiny needles, and if Kady didn’t miss her guess, it had been made with love.

  Very carefully, she spread the lace on her sofa, feeling that it was almost sacrilege to allow that fairy fabric to touch modern, plastic-based upholstery fabric.

  Turning back to the box, she slowly and carefully began to empty it of the rest of its contents. It was as though she knew exactly what she was going to find inside it: shoes, gloves, corset, petticoats of fine cotton, hose with embroidered garters. A buttonhook. More dried flowers.

  Reverently, she set each item aside as she returned to the box to look at the rest of the treasures. In the very bottom of the box was a satin case, sewn with white ribbon that was tied into a bow. As Kady lifted the case, her heart was pounding because, by some instinct, she knew that what was inside this case was the key to why this beautiful dress had been stored away so long ago in such an ordinary old tin. As she lifted the case, she could tell that there was something heavy inside.

  Leaning back against the couch, she put the case on her lap and slowly pulled one end of the ribbon to untie it; then even more slowly, she lifted the top flap of the case, put her hand inside, and withdrew an old photograph. It was a tintype of a man, a woman, and two children: a very handsome family, all of them fair-haired with sweet, happy-looking faces.

  Kady couldn’t help smiling at them. The man was very stern-looking, as though he was uncomfortable in the high, stiff collar he wore. Sitting to his left, his hand on her shoulder, was a small, pretty woman with an impish gleam in her eye, as though she found the whole idea of photography a great joke. Standing to her right, in front of the man, was a tall, handsome boy, about ten or eleven years old, with some of his father’s sternness, as well as his mother’s devilish gleam. On the woman’s lap was a little girl of about seven who was a beauty-in-the-making. It was obvious that when she grew up, she was going to break some hearts.

  Turning the photo over, she found on the back was written the single word Jordan. Carefully, Kady put the photo aside then fished inside the case and pulled out a man’s heavy gold watch. The watch was so big it filled the palm of her hand. On the worn cover was the word Jordan, and along one edge, just above the hinge, was a deep crease, as though the watch had been dropped onto something very hard.

  “Or shot,” Kady said, then wondered why she’d said that. “Too many westerns on TV,” she muttered, but as she ran her thumb along the crease, it did seem to have striations, as though it had been grazed by a bullet.

  Because of the deep indentation, the watch was difficult to open, but with persistence, she managed to make the hinge work. Inside, the face of the watch was beautiful, with ornate Roman numerals and elaborate hands. On the left in the watchcase was another photo, this time of the woman alone. There was no mistaking her, with her sparkling eyes and happy expression. Even in the photo she looked like a woman in love and happy.

  Closing the watch, Kady smiled. What in the world had made her nervous? she wondered. Obviously, this was the wedding dress of a woman who had been very happy. She’d had a husband who loved her and two beautiful children.

  Smiling, Kady put the watch beside the photo, then looked to see if anything else was inside the case. She pulled out a pair of amethyst earrings, the purple stones glittering in the artificial electric light.

  Carefully, she laid the earrings on the silk of the case, leaned back against the couch, and looked at everything. On impulse, or maybe out of habit, she picked up the photo and placed the edge of her hand over the lower half of the man’s face. No, no man with blond hair was her Arabian prince.

  Gregory was that, she thought, smiling at the clothes piled around her, then thought, Whatever am I going to do with all this? Shouldn’t these things be in a museum?

  One second she was asking herself what she was going to do with all this; then the next she could envision herself walking down the aisle of her own wedding wearing this heavenly gown. With renewed energy, she leaped to her feet and picked up the dress, holding it at arm’s length.

  This dress was different from modern dresses: it hadn’t been made for a woman who was five foot eight inches tall and had miles of legs, no hips, no breasts and a boyish waist. At this thought Kady allowed herself a smile. There had been several men in her life who had made some extraordinarily pleasant comments about her hourglass figure.

  “This would fit me,” Kady said aloud, turning the dress to hold it against her and seeing that it was indeed the perfect length.

  Right away she knew that the sensible thing to do would be to go to bed now; then tomorrow she’d talk about this dress with Debbie and Jane. It was great that they were here and could give their opinions on something as serious as wearing a hundred-year-old dress to a modern wedding. Kady had no idea about these things. Was it done? Would she be laughed out of the church?

  Even as she was thinking these very sensible thoughts, she was on her way to the bathroom, where she got into the shower and washed her hair. While she was conditioning it, then blow-drying it, she told herself that she couldn’t wear a dress with a bustle to her wedding. It was really too outrageous to consider.

  As Kady stood in her robe before the mirror, she began to arrange her hair. At the restaurant she pulled it back off her face and into a bun so it wouldn’t fall into the food. She had never been very adventurous with her hair, nor actually very vain about her looks, but now she wanted to look her best. Using a comb, a round hairbrush, and about three pounds of hairpins, she managed to sweep her thick wavy hair into a high pouf off her face, then allowed long dark curls to tumble down her back.

  When she’d finished, she looked in the mirror and gave a little smile. “Not bad,” she said as she touched up her eyes and lips with cosmetics.

  When she’d done what she could with her head, she went into the living room and began to try to puzzle together the wedding outfit. There seemed to be an outrageous number of undergarments, and it was difficult to figure out in what order they went on.

  She put on a pretty, but shapeless, cotton slip next to her skin, along with a big, long pair of underpants. Bending, she pulled on the hose made of finely knit silk and fastened them just above the knee with garters embroidered with pink rosebuds. She thought she’d better get the shoes on now because she guessed that once the long corset was on, she wouldn’t be able to bend.

  Feeling like Cinderella, Kady slipped her feet into ankle-high, cream-colored kidskin shoes that fit exactly, then used the buttonhook to fasten the little pearl buttons up the front.

  After she’d managed to buckle herself into the boned corset, which took a bit of breath holding, she caught sight of herself in the mirror by the front door. “My goodness,” she gasped. The corset had managed to shove her breasts practically under her chin, and looking at herself, she had to admit that corsets did have t
heir advantages.

  There were a couple more cotton half-slips, then a little camisole that seemed to fit on over the corset.

  By the time Kady got to the dress, she was wearing more clothes than she did when it snowed.

  Once the dress was on, she carefully avoided looking in the mirror until she was completely dressed. After putting on the earrings, with reverential hands, she picked up the lace veil and pinned it in place on her head. The lace was as light as a soufflé reaching almost to her knees, concealing the long dark hair down her back, but exposing it as well. Lace gloves went on last.

  When she was fully dressed, she turned and took a few steps toward the full-length mirror. As she moved, she wondered why the dress and the many undergarments didn’t feel strange. The weight of all the clothes she had on should have felt burdensome or at the very least constrictive, but, somehow, they didn’t. Somehow, the dress felt right.

  With her shoulders back, her head straight, and managing the train as though she’d been born wearing it, Kady walked to stand in front of the mirror.

  For a moment she just looked at herself in silence, not smiling, not thinking really, just gazing. She was not the same person she usually saw. Nor was she a twentieth-century woman playing dress up in antique clothing. It was as though she looked the way she was meant to look.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “This is what I will wear to my wedding.” She didn’t need to ask anyone’s permission, for she knew without a doubt in the world that this was the dress she was meant to wear to her own wedding.

  Smiling slightly, she walked back to the couch and picked up the photo of the Jordan family. “Thank you,” she said softly to the woman in the photo, for she knew that it had to have been her wedding dress, a dress she must have loved and stored carefully away so that another woman in another time could wear it.