The Wedding Veil(5)
Edith smiled. In the wake of their parents’ deaths, LeRoy had struggled. Edith knew it must have been difficult for him, the only boy among all those sisters. But now, today, he was a strong, dapper man, about to walk his sister down the aisle. “I think I am,” she said, sounding surer than she felt.
“It isn’t too late to change your mind,” he joked.
“We both know it most certainly is,” Edith whispered. But she knew she wouldn’t have changed her mind even if she could have.
Marrying well was her only real job, her most important role in life. Today, she was fulfilling her purpose. Edith took a deep breath as she and LeRoy stepped out into the flower-covered aisle.
For months, friends, strangers, and reporters had wondered and watched to see the spectacle that would be Edith’s wedding to one of the 400, the nickname given to the wealthiest families in America. George Vanderbilt cared little about being a part of that rarefied set, one of the chosen families who would fit in Mrs. Caroline Astor’s ballroom, which, much to Edith’s delight, George had never so much as darkened the door of. George didn’t care for costumes and frivolity like his sisters or even business like his father and brothers. Instead, he chose books, scholarship, art, and design. He chose to focus his energy on building a home the likes of which the United States had never seen.
And then he picked Edith, despite the rumors that, at twenty-five, she was practically an old maid, and despite Form magazine’s proclamation that she was much less pretty than her sister Pauline. But, she reminded herself the moment she caught the eye of her brother-in-law, Pauline’s husband, the Reverend George Grenville Merrill, who would marry Edith and George, Pauline was prettier than everyone. She didn’t hold it against her.
People had said that the thirty-five-year-old all but confirmed Vanderbilt bachelor had set his sights on another society mistress. But no one could argue that now, as he stood at the end of an aisle lined with orange blossoms, on a fragrant and splendid June day. George Washington Vanderbilt undeniably had his sights set on one Miss Edith Dresser.
As she and LeRoy made their way down the aisle, and George’s twinkling eyes met hers, Edith knew for sure that he was going to be a wonderful husband. He had warmed her heart so the day before when, after the civil ceremony where they were pronounced man and wife, George had felt moved to donate to the Eighth Arrondissement on Rue d’Anjou where they had been united in matrimony. What warmed her heart more was when he had asked her, “To whom should we make the donation, my dear?”
We. He valued her opinion. He considered them one already. When George had suggested helping the orphans of the district, Edith had almost wept with happiness. Edith, herself an orphan—though, admittedly, not exactly of the sort they were helping—was touched beyond measure. It was her greatest wish to be of service to the world. She knew then that George wanted the same thing. At times, in their society, it had made them outsiders. Now, it made them the perfect fit. In the words of her grandmother, a house united.
As she reached George, Edith whispered, “I just abhor being the center of attention, all these people looking at me.”
“You look lovely, dear,” George said, taking Edith’s hand in his. “They can’t help but be dazzled. And just wait until Asheville meets my new bride.” She wondered then if perhaps she should have worn the dazzling Boucheron ruby and diamond tiara and choker that George had gifted her. But as she fingered the lace of her handmade veil, she decided her sisters had been right: her simple, elegant wedding attire was best.
As Reverend Merrill began with “Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God,” Edith knew she should be focusing on the ceremony. But the thought of moving to Asheville, North Carolina, after the wedding—and to the United States’ largest, most glorious, and most glamorous home—suddenly caused butterflies to form in her stomach.
Edith had maintained a sense of composure and even, at times, true joy, despite the tragic loss of her beloved parents and the struggles that befell her family after. Edith was a fighter. She was a survivor. And, more than all that, she was a woman who knew how to make the best of any situation. No matter what her life in North Carolina held, she would make do.
No, she decided. I will thrive.
Her breath caught as her sister’s husband asked, “Will you have this man to be your husband?”
“I will.”
As George agreed to have her as well, she smiled, thinking that, after this, before moving to North Carolina, they would be off to a place much less foreign to her: Vienna. Four months traveling Europe would certainly give them time to get to know each other better, to seal their fates more permanently so that, by the time she arrived at her new home, she would have a true best friend to share it with.
I am a Dresser. Always and forever, Edith thought as she recited her wedding vows: “I, Edith, take you, George, to be my husband.” Even though today is the day I become a Vanderbilt. “To have and to hold from this day forward.” A Vanderbilt. “This is my solemn vow.”
Reverend Merrill bellowed, “Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder!”
Edith Stuyvesant Dresser was now Edith Dresser Vanderbilt. A daughter of one of America’s founding families had married a son of one of its wealthiest.
As the congregation recited the Lord’s Prayer to conclude the service, Edith smiled at her husband. He smiled at her. And an unshakable bond took hold. Whatever the future brought, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, they were knit together for eternity.