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I open my eyes and lose my breath. Gram is cradling a silken gown in her arms.
“Oh, Gram, what have you done?”
I meet her in the middle of the room, touching the soft, gold fabric. The bodice is beaded, and the sleeves are long with a sheer overlay that comes to a point on the hands. The skirts are full and flowy with beadwork mingled throughout them like diamonds scattered on the ocean. It is the grandest gown I have ever seen, too beautiful to be real.
“Gram, it is simply stunning. I can’t believe it. Do you really want me to wear it?”
“Of course, dear,” she says, placing the dress in my arms. “It’s yours now. Try it on in case it needs some minor alterations.”
My head is spinning. “Mine? How can this dress be mine? Where did you get it? It’s fit for a queen.”
Gram touches the hem of the dress and smiles. “It belonged to your mother.”
CHAPTER 8
It’s nearly time to get dressed for the dance. I spent the entire day with Gram, drinking ale and admiring the dress. And even in our folly, she never told me another word about my mother—only that the dress belonged to her. I tried it on, and it fits like it was made for me. So, although I learned none of the details I’ve craved about my mother since I was a child, I do know that I am the same size she was when she wore the dress. And that fact is oddly comforting.
Gram joins me in the bedroom.
“Oh, Gram, you look beautiful,” I say when she’s fully in the room.
And she does. She’s wearing a red dress with silver trim, and her hair is down and in loose curls hanging about her shoulders, a style she rarely wears.
“Thank you, dear. Now, let me help you with your dress. We need to leave soon.”
When the dress is on, Gram stands behind me and laces it up, cinching it in to define my waist. I’m standing in front of the looking glass, still finding it hard to believe that this dress was worn by my mother. I feel as though I could swoon. I take a match and my flintstone from the dressing table and tuck them into the small pocket in my chemise. Gram stands back when the dress is completely tied.
“I’ve been saving this dress for you for so long,” she says. “I knew one day the appropriate time would come for you to wear it. With my health failing, I knew the harvest dance was the perfect occasion.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I say, but she places a hand on my forearm and keeps talking.
“My sudden poor health coaxed me into allowing you to wear it tonight. I wanted to see you in your mother’s dress before I die. And you are a vision. Looking at you is like looking at your mother.”
I’m so touched by her words that I can’t speak. So, Gram leads me to a chair and sets to work on my hair. She makes a braid across the top of my head that resembles a crown, humming the entire time. She leaves the rest of it loose and flowing down my back. She adds color to my lips, a bright crimson stain, and pinches my cheeks to pink them.
“You are a vision,” she says when she is finished. “The very spit of your mother.”
I stand in front of the looking glass one last time. I look every bit the princess. I doubt Jordy will recognize me.
Gram extends a hand. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.”
The air is chilled, but not biting. We drape our shawls across our backs and set out for the assembly hall. Fortunately, it is only four streets down.
“Curfew is lifted this eve for the harvest celebration! Curfew is lifted, goodfellows and maids!” The town crier tips his hat when we pass. “Curfew is lifted…”
The harvest dance is a celebration for the poor and wealthy alike in Timberness, a time of togetherness and thanks for a blessed and bountiful harvest. The assembly hall is lined with lanterns and wreaths, and a huge table is stretched across the back wall heaped with meats, a fully roasted pig, and a cornucopia of fruits. The musicians are playing harps and bagpipes, and a flute for good measure. Gram joins some townsfolks more her age and station and I set out in search of Jordy.
I am aware to keep my posture as I walk about the room, back straight, arms to my sides, resting delicately on my silken skirts. I smile and dip my head to the gentlemen who acknowledge me, hoping that I don’t tip over. I feel like an angel too clumsy to balance her halo, but no one seems to notice.
“Milla, by the gods, is that you?” I hear beside me. “Why, it is! You are an absolute masterpiece, child.” Master Burgess takes my hand and turns me around. “Let me look at you. That gown is simply stunning. I hardly recognized you. You look like royalty, my dear. Sold quite a bit of matches to afford that adornment, to be certain.” He winks and places a kiss on top of my hand.
I lean nearer his washed and shining face. “You’ll never believe it, Master Burgess, but this ‘twas my mother’s dress.”
He rubs his chin, the ruffles on his overcoat nearly bigger than his hand. “Your mother’s? By all that is holy, you don’t say. So, did your grandmother finally reveal your lineage?”
“No, she simply gave me the dress, said she’s been saving it—said she wanted to see me wear it before she dies.” My eyes glass, tears threatening to fall.
