November 19, 1958
Dear Emmy,
The seamstress who agreed to make the button dress for me told me she’d like to change the skirt to a tea length and drop the tops of the sleeves to off the shoulder. She said the style of the button dress is terribly outdated.
I wanted to throttle her.
Instead I told her I liked the original design just the way it was.
She said, You do know no one is wearing this style of wedding dress anymore?
And I said that wasn’t true because I was wearing it.
But I know now why I can’t seem to generate interest in your sketches, Emmy.
I’m too late.
I waited too long to look for the box.
Julia
December 2, 1958
Dear Emmy,
I had my first fitting today. I nearly cried when I tried the dress on, even though it’s only partially sewn.
It’s so beautiful, Emmy. So incredibly beautiful. April seems like such a long way off.
Granny came with me to the fitting and she started to cry.
See how talented my sister was, I said to her as she blotted her tears away.
It’s a wonderful dress, Granny said.
The seamstress just clucked something like Every bride looks like a princess in a wedding gown that she loves.
When I came home, I could feel the dress still on my skin. Your dress, Emmy. I still feel it on me, caressing me. Holding me.
I think I can be happy marrying Simon in the dress that came from the very heart of you. I think you would want me to be happy marrying him.
Snow is falling outside my window now, diamond white in the spreading dusk.
I feel you here with me, Emmy. It’s as if you are looking down on me from heaven, for surely that is where you are, and the snow is a gift you’ve been allowed to give me so that I can mark this day.
The brides box is sitting on the table here next to me and it occurs to me that I shall marry only once.
I have no need of the other sketches in the box.
I have your forgiveness. I see it in the snow outside my window and I felt it earlier when your folds of white caressed my trembling body.
Across from me, my little coal fire is whispering condolences.
And something else.
I see it now, how I can hold you forever and also let you go.
The happy fire is sighing in agreement, the little beggar. It is eager to play its part for me.
The journal I will keep to remind me, should I ever need to be reminded, that you and I did indeed find each other again, within the seams of my wedding dress.
Good-bye, dear sister.
I will love you always.
Julia