The next June in that same parlor my oldest sister, Allie, was married. As I have mentioned before she had been born deaf, but her deafness made her even more beautiful to me. For months and months before the June marriage, Mother and my older sisters had been working on Allie’s trousseau. I remember the bolts of “Fruit of the Loom” that Mother bought and yards of lace and insertion and ribbons for the four complete sets of underwear. How the old treadle sewing machine whirled through that winter stitching tucks and hems and seams. I was allowed to put the pretty baby ribbons through the heading at the tops of the ruffles. The only dress I remember was the beautiful wedding dress that Mother fashioned from a silk lace gown she had had in the New York days.
It seemed endless until the great day was to arrive, but at last June burst into bloom. For days before the wedding we gathered laurel from the woods and made the house so beautiful with garlands everywhere and a lovely arch in the big bay window where the bridal couple was to stand. White peonies stored in stone jars in the fire places and great bunches of garden roses graced the tables. The wedding cake had been baked weeks before and allowed to ripen. Dozens of tiny frosted cakes were stored in the boxes in the preserve cellar. The candied fruit had been cut up and was soaking in the rum ready for the frozen pudding.
The evening before the wedding all the bridesmaids and ushers arrived on the train from Boston. Such a happy, jolly crowd. So much laughing, and although I could understand little of what they said to each other, you could see by the merriment in their eyes what a good time they were having. They all used lip reading that they had been taught in the Horace Mann School in Boston when they talked with each other, but they all had pleasant, low monotone voices which they used in speaking to a hearing person. All but the groom, William Shaw, whose vocal cords were silent. It rings in my ears today the sad, inarticulate sound that he made when the minister at the time of the ceremony said, “Will you take this woman…” But Allie could not hear it, and she loved him so much and was so radiant in her happiness that we all responded to her joy.
It was the merriest wedding I can remember. I was a flower girl with a dotted Swiss over yellow and carried a basket of yellow daisies. But woe unto me! It being a dampish day, the beautiful rag curls that I had tossed and turned on all night became straight, and I’m afraid I looked a bit wispy with my pale hair clinging around my face. However, Hort played the wedding march beautifully, and I dropped my daisies in a perfect path for the bride to walk in. The wedding lunch was wonderful — so many good things to eat, even the frozen pudding that Father had put a bit too much rum in to freeze properly was a lovely frappe. All was gayety and laughter and jokes, and when the bridal couple left, I showered them with daisy petals and Allie with kisses.
Miriam Church Peabody
To be continued….
This month’s memoir comes courtesy of Gustavo Falla, current owner of “Maplehurst”. We will conclude this particular memoir, which has kept us entertained for the last three years, with a final entry this fall.