15April
Dear Diary,
Today the house turned into a battlefield over Grandmother Pollys wedding dress, the one thats been handed down through generations. Aunt Katealways quicktemperedhas taken the dress and clutched it like a lifeline. When I tried to intervene, she snarled, No, I wont give it away! Its mine! Her voice cracked into a shriek that echoed down the hallway.
Mrs. Margaret Collins, my greataunt, waved her hands helplessly, But we promised dear Emma is dreaming of it! I could see the desperation in her eyes, but Kate was relentless, pacing the room, picking up random objects and thumping them back onto the shelves as if trying to shake some sense into herself.
I sat quietly in the corner, watching the drama unfold. The tension between my fathers sister and my greataunt was nothing newKate has always been fierce and decisive, but today she seemed almost unhinged. Usually she keeps her cool, especially when Im around, but the dress has sparked a fullblown storm.
Dad, Simon, placed a hand on Kates shoulder, pleading, Please, stop. She brushed his hand away sharply. Dont lecture me! Youve always been mums little boy! she snapped. This dress belonged to my motherinlaw, Michaels mother! Im the one who decides who gets it.
Mrs. Collins whispered, Michaels mother wanted every bride in the family to wear it. She told me that before she passed. Kate cut in, She meant real brides, not girls like Emma whos been engaged three times and never made it work. Maybe this is a sign?
A heavy silence fell. Mrs. Collins face went pale, Dad frowned, and I sank deeper into the armchair, hoping to become invisible. At fifteen Ive learned that family quarrels are best avoided, especially when they revolve around a priceless heirloom.
Mrs. Collins finally broke the silence, voice trembling, How can you say that? Emma is your niece! Kate retorted, So what? A niece, not a daughter! I have my own daughter, little Molly, twelve years old, and Im keeping the dress for her! Dad interjected, Mollys only twelve, but Emmas wedding is next month! Kate laughed, Shell just buy another dressthere are hundreds of them in every bridal shop these days!
The dress is indeed special. Its an antiquated gown of handstitched lace, tiny pearls embroidered along the bodice, kept in a velvet case in Kates cottage. Ive only seen it once, when we were all sifting through old photo albums. In the pictures Grandmother Polly looks like a storybook princesstall, slender, her delicate shoulders highlighted by the dresss graceful cut.
Mrs. Collins tried to soften the blow, Polly wanted the dress to bring happiness to every bride in our line. She wore it in 45 when Grandfather Thomas returned from the war. Kate snapped, I know that! Which is why Ill keep it for Molly. Emmas third wedding might ruin it; the fabric is already thin.
Mrs. Collins begged, Emma will treat it with care. Shell even find a tailor who can adjust it without damage. Kate shouted, No! Thats final! She marched toward the door, but Dad blocked her path.
Wait, he said calmly but firmly, lets talk without shouting. Please sit down. Kate snapped, I have nothing to discuss with you! She tried to sidestep him, but he stood his ground. Kate, you know Mothers wishes. Polly wanted the dress to pass from bride to bride. That was her will.
My will is to keep it for my child! Kate crossed her arms, eyes flashing. Why did you all gang up on me? The dress is in my care, so I decide who gets it!
I slipped out of the room, tired of the adult squabbling, but before I could take more than three steps, Kate called after me, Victoria! Tell me, would you ever want to wear this dress when you get married? All eyes turned to me. I froze, not wanting to be dragged into the dispute.
I I dont know, Aunt Kate, I whispered. I havent even thought about marriage yet. Kate threw her arms wide, See! Even you dont want it! Why force Emma to wear it?
Dad sighed, Dont involve the child, Victoria. He ushered me to my room. I fled, closed the door, and pressed my pillow over my ears. The muffled shouting still seeped through.
The next few days were a tense calm. Kate stayed away, Mrs. Collins eyes were red, and Dad spent most of his time at work. I tried to ignore it, but the atmosphere was oppressive.
Saturday morning, while I was having tea in the kitchen, the phone rang. Grandma answered, her voice shaking as she handed the call to me. It was Emma.
Hello, dear No, its not possible I understand Maybe we should look for another dress? she sighed. I could hear the disappointment in her tone.
After the call, Grandma sat heavily beside me. Everything alright, love? I asked gently. She managed a weak smile. Just that Emmas upset over the dress.
Why is it so important to her? I pressed.
She gazed out the kitchen window. Your greatgrandmother Polly was an extraordinary woman. She lived through war, famine, loss, yet she kept a fierce love that seemed to wrap everyone around her. When she made that dress, she poured all her hope into ithope that her husband Thomas would return, hope for a happy family. She wore it when she married him after the war, then our mother Sara wore it, then your mother, and each bride felt blessed.
I nodded, though I still couldnt grasp why a piece of cloth could cause such a stir.
What about Aunt Kate? I asked. Shes always been a bit distant. Grandma sighed. After Michael died, Kate shut herself away. This dress is perhaps the only thing she feels she can hold onto. Shes guarded, trusts no one.
I wondered why Kate had called Emma not a real bride. Grandma explained, Emma was engaged twice and both fell apart at the last minute. Now shes with Daniel, truly in love, and she believes this dress will finally bring her luck.
I suggested, Why not make a new dress in the same style? Grandma chuckled softly, Its not the fabric, Victoria. Its the tradition, the thread that ties our women together.
Dad entered, looking weary but resolute. I just spoke with Kate on the phone. Shes firmshe wont give the dress away. Grandma gasped, But Emmas wedding is next month. Dad replied, We must respect Kates decision. The dress is hers now.
Mrs. Collins protested, But Polly wanted every bride to wear it! Dad interrupted gently, We cant force Kate. It would only tear the family apart further.
I twirled my tea spoon, thinking. Then a thought struck me. Dad, Grandma what if I speak to Aunt Kate? Maybe shell listen to me. Dad and Grandma exchanged looks.
Those are adult matters, Simon said, shaking his head. You shouldnt meddle. I persisted, Shes always been kind to me. Perhaps I can reason with her. Grandma sighed, Its delicate, but perhaps you could try.
After much coaxing, Dad agreed to drive me to Kates cottage on Sunday. I rehearsed what Id say, though my plan was vague. I hoped my sincerity would reach her.
The cottage sits on the outskirts of the village, the same old stone house once belonging to Polly. After Michaels death, Kate stayed there with little Molly.
Dad asked, Are you sure you want to go alone? I nodded, Yes, Ill be fine. I dont want you to think Im being used. He smiled, All right. Call if anything happens.
I parked, heart pounding, and walked up to the heavy wooden door. It opened to reveal Kate, surprise flashing across her face.
Victoria? What are you doing here? she asked, eyes widening. Can I come in?
Sure, I replied, stepping inside. I just wanted to talk. And maybe see Molly, if shes around. She told me Molly was at a friends, then ushered me into the kitchen where the scent of baked apples and cinnamon filled the air.
She set a teapot down, So you just want a chat? About what?
About Grandmother Polly, I began. Ive heard a lot about her, and Im curious. You lived in her house, you must know many stories. Her expression softened a little.
She poured tea, Polly was remarkable. When I first met Michael, his mother took me in as if I were her own child. She taught me to bake, knit, run a household. She talked of the war, of waiting for Thomas, of a piece of fabric a neighbor smuggled from London after the siege. She stitched that into the dress, putting love and belief into every stitch, hoping for a future where her family would thrive.
I listened, fascinated. Did she really intend the dress to be worn by every bride? I asked.
Yes, she said quietly. She believed the dress carried the love of every woman who wore it, growing stronger with each new bride.
I hesitated, then asked directly, Why wont you give it to Emma? Kates eyes hardened for a moment, then she sighed, Im keeping it for Molly. I pressed, Molly wont be married for years. The dress could sit idle and deteriorate. Kate snapped, It wont spoil; I look after it. And Emma shes already thirty, this would be her third attempt at marriage. Something feels off.
I responded, Is it really wrong to keep hoping? Doesnt Emmas belief in love deserve a little help, especially from a dress thats supposed to bring luck? Kate opened her mouth, but no words came.
I continued gently, If the dress truly brings happiness, wouldnt it be better if another bride wore it? What if it tears or gets stained? Its a relic, but Polly didnt make it to sit in a closet.
Kate stared at her tea, then finally spoke, Polly didnt stitch this to become a museum piece. She rose, rummaged under the table, and returned with a sturdy box. Opening it, she revealed the creamcoloured gown, lacetrimmed collar, long sleeves, and a row of tiny pearlfilled buttons down the back. The delicate lace hugged the neckline, and the bodice sparkled with minute pearls.
Its beautiful, I whispered, running a finger over the lace. Kate said, I wore this at my own wedding. Your mother wore it too. It has always passed from bride to bride, then back to me, and now I was saving it for Molly.
I asked, What would Grandmother Polly think if she saw this feud over her dress? Kates voice was barely audible, Shed be devastated. She always said family comes first, that no object should split us.
I reached for her hand, Maybe we could let Emma borrow it for her wedding, and after the ceremony she returns it to you. I could help with the fittings, no outside tailors. Kate looked stunned, then after a long pause, she nodded. Very well. Ill lend it to Emma, but only for the day, and she must bring it back afterward.
I felt relief wash over me. We embraced, and I thanked her. When Dad saw us with the box, he could hardly believe his eyes.
The wedding took place at the end of April, a bright, warm day. Emma looked stunning in Pollys dress; Kate adjusted every fold, buttoned the endless line of tiny fastenings with care. Emma whispered, I dont know how to thank you. Kate replied, Its part of our family history now, and youre part of it too.
I watched from the sidelines, the dress fitting Emma perfectly, highlighting her delicate frame and giving her a subtle glow. Daniel gazed at his bride as if witnessing a miracle.
After the ceremony, as promised, Emma returned the dress to Kate, who now kept it not just as a relic but as a symbol of the bond between generations. She showed it to little Molly now and told stories of all the women who had worn it.
Molly, will you ever wear it? she asked. If you wish, of course. But perhaps someone else will need it first. I smiled, thinking about the lesson Vicky had taught us all: the true value lies not in preserving objects, but in preserving connections.
Tonight, as I write this, the house feels quieter. The dress sits safe, but the memory of the argument lingers. I wonder if one day Ill get to wear it myself, but for now Im grateful that the rift was healed and that love, not fabric, ultimately kept our family together.
