August 1, 1999
Katrina,
Last night, I sat at Father’s desk as a cool rain fell outside, looking through old family photograph albums. Within those pages are stories never told, stories that shall remain lost to the world forever until they are saved from being lost, told, given away.
A special album was dedicated solely to your wedding, and I spent much time remembering that day. Surely, that is a day you would be unable to forget.
You and Robert had suggested waiting to have the wedding until after the war but Father, in a letter, explained that you should not put your life on hold for any reason, that under all circumstances life must move forward. The letter was pressed between the pages of the album, and I read it several times last night. I wish I had truly understood its meaning then as I understand it now.
The album contained photographs of the wedding, the guests, the reception; with the album were copies of cards, notes, and letters wishing well the happy couple. And, as I looked through photographs, that day replayed in my mind as if it were just yesterday.
Robert was handsome, as always, in his black tails when he arrived at the house that fall morning. He was Father’s age and had earned a small fortune in the banking industry, owning his own bank, a path he chose to follow after he lost a hand, an injury from a prior war. Robert approached life with a healthy respect for fear, but was never ruled by it. He was a lot like father in that sense, loving life but willing to take some risks. Robert was mature and calm, educated, with a hearty laugh and eyes made only for you. And, it showed that day in the expression on his face when you walked toward him.
The day was crisp with excitement, colorful leaves of gold and red blanketing the ground but cleared away from the drive leading to the house. Sunny, but comfortably cool, it was as though the weather knew that this was to be a special day for you.
Mother stood behind you at the dresser in our room as she brushed your hair up, hiding pins beneath twists of curls and attaching the veil of lace. And, as she brushed, she reminded you of how proud Father would have been to see you on that day. You and I had stayed awake throughout the prior night talking of the changes to come for you, but your face showed not one hint of fatigue as they were filled with excitement for your new life. Betsy and I removed the dress from the mannequin carefully so as to prevent any tears to the lace and to keep the bright white color clean, and Mother helped you dress as Betsy and I busied ourselves with other tasks.
Betsy and the house staff had prepared a meal unlike any other and a beautiful cake of white decorated with white and red roses to match your bouquet; flowers that you chose and insisted on and, considering the time of year, had to be ordered special. Tables and chairs had been set up outside under a tent for the reception and the food, covered with large silver bowls with handles atop, was simply waiting for the ceremony to be over. The cake sat on a table by itself in the center of the tables and each table had a centerpiece of red and white roses. It was beautiful, elegant, much like you were that day.
I guess, in retrospect, it was symbolic to have a fall wedding with spring colors, although I thought it a bit odd at the time. But, roses were your favorite and you had always dreamed of a wedding with red and white roses. But, there you were, newly married around springtime colors, yet surrounded by experienced marriages and hopeful well-wishers in a sea of fall colors to help guide you into the autumn of your life. Almost, it was, as if the fall leaves were applauding your marriage and telling you that they would see you through to the end of time.
The wedding was in the grand room, just inside the front door. The photographs remembered details I had forgotten, such as the white chairs for the guests organized in lines facing the front door and draped with white linen, the large vases of red and white roses that sat on each side of the front door. The preacher and Robert stood atop the two platform steps just inside the front door, there amongst the flowers and lit by the sunlight coming in through the windows. It seemed so fitting, a gift from the house to you, to marry in the shadow of the strength of those doors. In the absence of Father, Mother waited at the bottom of the grand staircase for you and walked you down the aisle toward Robert.
Oh, that staircase. I remember it glistening from the rays of the morning sun, like it was proudly smiling for the honor of leading you to your marriage. Arched on each side and seven shoulders across in the middle with sturdy handrails following the angles, that staircase was the perfect entrance for you, its handrails outstretched as if offering you to Robert.
And, then, there you were, standing at the top of the staircase as the twelve-piece at the back of the room began to play. In a flowing gown of white covered in lace, with a bouquet of red and white roses and a veil that trailed behind, you were beautiful. The sleeves were long, the neck was high, and a fitted bodice sat above a flowing long skirt. You looked like an angel lit by the sun as you walked down those stairs, taking Mother’s hand at the bottom of the staircase and walking up to Robert.
I remember thinking that it was the first day of our lives that we had not dressed alike.
And, you never stopped smiling that day.
Guests ate and danced, gifts were opened, and toasts were made. The reception went on for the rest of the day until you and Robert drove away and into your new life. I was happy for you, Sister, I really was. But, never before that moment had I felt more lonely or lost, never had I been without you prior to that last moment that I was able to see you waving goodbye, fading into the distance.
Mother wrote a letter to Father that night, telling him all of the details of the event, of what a perfect day it was for all. At moments, Mother seemed lost between happiness for you and missing you, as any parent would. And, me, well, I walked about for a while, happy for you yet feeling uncertain about what to do without you. I watched George and some other workers disassemble the tent and, as they disconnected beams one from another, I felt as though they were disconnecting you from me.
By the time we had received word of Father’s death, you were with child. I was glad that you were able to return for the funeral but wished we had reunited for some other reason. Though letters had passed between us, it was never the same as having you here. I needed to talk to my sister, wiser with experience yet no older than I. But, time can’t be turned back. Father was correct, however, when he wrote that life should not be put on hold. I wish I had understood that then. Much time have I wasted. Much time.
I am so glad that Robert was good to you, keeping you happy, keeping you safe, the two of you blessed with children and grandchildren. I am glad that you knew love. And, I am comforted at knowing that he arranged for you to be financially secure when he was gone. The world lost a good man when Robert died, a good man indeed.
I hope to visit you soon, and I will bring you red and white roses... and this letter so I can read it to you.
Love always,
Christina
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