Chapter 4
1281 Words
4
January, 1995
Two months later, Esther stood in her half-finished wedding dress in her mother’s sewing studio. She raised her right arm to allow her mother to attach the long sleeve, the silk falling in fluid folds to the floor. Outside, it was thirty degrees Celsius. Inside, the air conditioner streamed cool air, so sweat wouldn’t stain the expensive white fabric.
Esther could see her mother’s tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth. Blanche attached the sleeve, one pin after another, each precisely inserted to avoid holes in the visible panels of the gown. Esther knew better than to distract her. Silk didn’t forgive mistakes.
“Good. Now bend your knees a little.”
Esther bent.
“Perfect. Raise your arm a bit more—good.”
Esther stood as silent and still as someone playing musical statues, moving only when allowed to ‘go’ and freezing on ‘stop’. Her arms and legs were obedient, but her mind was free to roam.
Choosing a dress pattern from the thousands on offer had been a month-long marathon. Her mother was a legendary seamstress, and her experience had guided Esther through the maze of choices. It had been an education in organdie and organza, chiffon, satin and silk.
This wedding wasn’t going to be the cozy and casual celebration she’d dreamed of. Not as the senior pastor’s only daughter. Not marrying Nick, another conspicuous member of a megachurch. Their wedding was going to be a big deal, requiring the standards of a cordon bleu chef and the organisation of a quartermaster to coordinate the army of volunteers.
She’d hoped to avoid a lengthy train but her father had said her dress had to look right in the auditorium. Considering the enormous size of the room it was a miracle she’d avoided having a cathedral train. No matter what her father thought, this wasn’t a royal wedding. They’d compromised on a chapel-length train. Nick had manoeuvred himself out of most of their planning powwows. A wise decision.
Her mother stepped back. “Now, let me see that sleeve. Move your arm slowly up and down. Is it pulling anywhere?”
Esther moved her arm up and down and side to side. The silk slid sensuously over Esther’s skin and raised goosebumps. “Seems fine to me.” She remained motionless as her mother continued to circle, tugging here and there on the silk.
“This first sleeve is right. Can you turn around so I can do the other one? The light on this side is better.”
Esther turned as instructed, careful to avoid being pricked by pins. “I hope this isn’t too much for you, Mum.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Her mother’s gaze remained glued on the dress as Esther moved into position. “Don’t worry about me. I love sewing. I wish I had more time for it.” She tweaked a fold of fabric.
Sewing was one hobby Esther didn’t share with her mother. The creativity gene seemed to have missed her. She also didn’t have a tenth of her mother’s sense of style.
“Mum, I do appreciate all you’re doing. I had no idea of all the rigmarole. It feels like I’m being carried on a brakeless bus, lurching along with no idea of what I’m doing.”
“That’s why girls have mothers.” Her mother’s tone was brisk as she pinned the left sleeve and then circled to check her work. “Now, how does that feel?”
Esther lifted her arms. “Ouch.”
“What are you ouching about?”
Esther held herself rigid, trying to avoid a repeat of the pain. “A pin must’ve stabbed me.”
“I doubt it. Where’s the problem?”
“Somewhere here.” Esther’s hand fluttered in the general region of her armpit.
Blanche patted the area. “I can’t find anything. Maybe you turned awkwardly. You can slip out of the dress now, so I can sew the sleeves on.” She helped ease Esther out of the dress, and Esther changed back into her ordinary clothes.
Her mother handed her the almost completed veil and pointed to the chair nearest the window. “Why don’t you sit there and do the hem? I’d like the company.”
“Okay.” The two of them seldom worked in tandem on anything. Maybe working together might help her get to know her mother better. Her mother’s opinions, dreams, and background remained a total mystery to her.
Her mother settled herself at her deluxe model sewing machine, humming along with its busy whirr. She seemed to love her task. Esther couldn’t understand the attraction. Why sew when you could be out in the fresh air doing something more active?
There was a knock. Her father peered around the door, then came into the room and looked around. “Hate to miss out on all the fun. You look like you’re making progress.” He patted Blanche on the shoulder. “As I’d expect, with my wife as director of operations. How many bridesmaids have you chosen, Esther?”
Of course. He had to be here to express his opinions on something. Why did she have the sinking feeling she was about to lose another battle?
“I thought two would be plenty. The wedding’s going to cost a bomb.”
“Two?” Her father’s voice rose. “They’ll disappear in that vast space. You’d better have four or five.” No one could ever accuse her father of stinginess.
“Dad, you’ll kill Mum having to make all those dresses.”
Her father held up his palm as though refuting the idea. “Your mother loves all the fuss.” Leaning towards the floor, he plucked up some discarded threads. “Only the best is good enough for our only daughter.”
A look flashed across Mum’s face, a look Esther had never seen before. Was it hurt? Anger? Or something else? Whatever it was, it made her feel a desire to protect and comfort her. “You okay, Mum?”
“Of course, and I’ve got plenty of time to make the extra dresses.” Had her mother deliberately answered the wrong question?
“Does it have to be five, Dad? I had two bridesmaids chosen—but five? Nick’s only chosen two groomsmen.”
“Make sure they’re your best-looking friends.”
“This isn’t some sort of beauty contest.” Esther spoke without thinking. Something in her revolted at the implications of his comment.
What was the fleeting look on her father’s face? Shame? Or annoyance, quickly stifled, that she’d spoken against him?
“I want the best for you—talking of contests, have you done your crossword? I’ve nearly finished mine.” The Macdonald family subscribed to two copies of the paper, and Esther and her father had been having a daily contest for three years. Her father usually won. He took it more seriously.
“Please, don’t distract Esther.” Blanche flapped her hand as though to sweep him out of the room. “We still have lots to do, and you know how much Esther struggles to sit still and sew.”
Her father left, no doubt to finish the crossword before Esther even got a chance to start.
Esther sat and gnawed her lip as she sewed. Had her father suspected that one of her bridesmaid choices would be Gina? She’d been at the church a while but it wasn’t until she started playing the oboe at the night service that Esther got to know her. Sure, she was overweight, but what was the big deal? It wasn’t as if Jesus required everyone to look like a model. Jesus focussed on the heart and Gina’s was platinum.
“I hope neither of you change your mind.” Her mother’s words broke through Esther’s rambling thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
Blanche’s eyes flicked towards the door and then back to her sewing. “Nothing in particular.”
It was so unusual for her mother to offer an opinion that Esther was determined to pursue it. “Come on, Mum, what are you trying to say?”
“Marrying someone like Nick—you know.”
Something was going on. Was her mother giving veiled marriage advice? “Mum, I don’t get what you’re trying to say. You’ll have to be clearer.”
Her mother lifted her head and looked directly at Esther. “It’s not easy being married to someone who pastors a large church.”
“He won’t be head pastor for years. And anyway, it might not happen. Maybe we’ll go somewhere smaller.”
“I don’t think your father will let Nick go. He’s preparing him as his successor.”
“That’s something that Nick and I will have to talk about. I don’t want to be on show—too much pressure.” She’d known Nick succeeding Dad was a possibility, but was it normal for her parents to already be discussing it?
Her mother looked up. “How’s your sewing going?”
Why did Mum always change the topic when she was about to say something significant?
- Writer
