Secret Hollows (4 page)

Bradley moved forward and picked up the remains of the deflated balloon sitting in the middle of the plate. “Well, that was actually quite ingenious,” he admitted.

Tom smiled, the whipped cream parting for his mouth. “Thanks. We worked on it all morning,” he said.

“Well, and now you can work on cleaning the mess from my kitchen,” Margaret said sternly. “I’m taking Mary upstairs for a few minutes and I’d like to see it spic and span by the time I get back down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the twins replied obediently.

“Are we not going to have cake then?” Timothy O’Reilly asked.

“Why don’t you, Bradley and I drive down to the bakery,” Sean suggested. “I’m sure we can pick up something that will do.”

“That’s a grand idea,” Timothy said. “You were always the good son.”

“We heard that,” Art said.

“And you were meant to,” Timothy said with a chuckle.

Mary and her mother listened to the conversation from the kitchen as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

“Nothing but hooligans,” Margaret muttered. “I’ve raised nothing but hooligans.”

She paused. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Why thank you, Ma,” Mary said with a smile. “I have to admit, though, I thought it was hysterical to see the twins covered in whipped cream.”

Margaret tried to bite back a grin. “It was an interesting sight, I’ll admit,” she agreed. “I’m thinking I’ll do it in chocolate for their birthday.”

Mary laughed out loud. “You’re a devious woman, Margaret O’Reilly.”

They walked down the hall to Mary’s former bedroom. Margaret put her hand on the door knob and turned to Mary. “It’s the only way I’ve stayed sane all these years,” she replied with a grin.

She opened the door and led Mary inside. “I’ve something to show you,” she said. “And if you are happy with it, fine. But, if it’s not what you want, you won’t hurt my feelings turning it down.”

Pulling a large garment bag from the closet, she walked over and laid it on the bed. Carefully unzipping the bag, she removed several layers of tissue paper until Mary could see some of the fabric.

“Oh, Ma, your wedding dress,” Mary whispered in awe. “I remember seeing it in your wedding pictures. I always thought you looked like a princess.”

“I felt like a princess in it,” her mother admitted, slipping the dress out of the bag and onto the bed.

The dress was antique white with an overlay of hand-crocheted Irish lace. It had a scalloped lace v-neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. The back of the dress had a series of tiny silk-covered buttons that started high on the neck and ended below her hips where the train began.

“Would you like to try it on?” Margaret asked.

Mary caressed the delicate lace. “Oh, yes, I would,” she whispered.

Mary quickly removed her shirt and jeans and her mother helped her climb into the voluminous dress. She loved the way the silk felt against her skin as she slid her arms into the sleeves.

“Your grandmother also wore this dress when she was married,” Margaret explained, as she fastened the buttons up the back, “and her mother before her. It’s not what you’d call a sexy dress…”

“It’s perfect,” Mary interrupted, gazing at the dress in the mirror, “I feel like a princess.”

The A-line cut hugged her figure until the dropped waist where the gathered skirt spread out and formed a full train behind her. She turned to the side, admiring the intricacy of the lace pattern and the soft drape of the fabric. “It fits like it was made for me,” she said.

Her mother came up beside her, placed her arm around Mary’s waist and hugged her. “It does,” she said softly. “You’ll be such a beautiful bride.”

She met her mother’s eyes in the mirror and saw the glisten of tears. “Are you upset about this?” she asked.

“Oh, no, darling,” her mother replied. “I’m just wondering where the years went. It was only yesterday that you were playing dress-up and getting into my makeup.”

Mary sniffed back a tear. “When I wasn’t stealing the boys’ toys and making them angry.”

“You were always caught between two worlds,” her mother agreed, “Wanting to be a girl, but also wanting so badly to have your brothers’ approval. And now look at the beautiful woman you’ve become.”

“I still see the tomboy when I look in the mirror,” Mary said.

Smiling, her mother hugged her again. “And who does Bradley see?”

“Me,” she replied softly. “He sees the real me and loves me in spite of it.”

“Oh, darling, he loves you because of it.”

Mary nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

Tears filling her own eyes, Margaret wiped at them. “Now, see what you’ve gone and made me do.”

“We’re going to stain the dress with our tears,” Mary said, her voice shaky.

“This dress has seen plenty of tears,” her mother replied, “but only tears of joy.”

A slight ripple in the air behind them caught Mary’s eyes. She stared into the mirror, searching the reflection to determine what she saw. Slowly, the figures materialized. Their transparent features becoming more clear with each passing second.

Two women stood side by side, their arms around each other, radiant smiles on their faces. The one on the right looked directly at Mary and nodded. Suddenly Mary remembered her time back in Ireland at her grandmother’s home, listening to the stories of the fairy folks. She was only a young child, but the memories of that time were still clear in her mind. Her grandmother had died when she was a teen, so she hadn’t seen her again.

“Ma,” she said softly. “Grandma’s here.”

Margaret nodded, “Aye, I know, I can feel her.”

“But, she’s crossed over,” Mary said. “How can she come back?”

“The veil between this world and the next is fairly thin,” she replied. “And the bond of family is strong. An occasion such as this deserves a visit from our loved ones, don’t you think? It isn’t every day a granddaughter gets engaged.”

“So, ghosts can come back?”

Margaret smiled. “They’re not ghosts,
darling,
they’re family in their spirit form. They come to check on us now and again, but most people can’t see them as you do. Most of us just feel their presence and are comforted by it. She was there at the hospital on the day you were shot, I’m sure of it.”

“Can she talk to us?”

“I’d suspect not,” Margaret said. “They’d want to tell us about heaven and the wonders they’ve seen. And then we wouldn’t have to live by faith, now would we?”

Mary turned and smiled at her grandmother. “I love the dress, Grandma,” she said. “Thank you.”

Her grandmother nodded again and turned to the woman next to her.

Mary looked at the other spirit. “Does my great-grandmother look like Auntie Moira?” Mary asked, referring to her mother’s younger sister.

“Yes, it was said the resemblance was quite startling.”

“Well, then, great-grandma is here too.”

“That’s lovely,” her mother said.

“Great-grandma,” Mary said. “I hope you don’t mind if I wear your dress.”

Translucent tears slipped down her great-grandmother’s cheeks. She angled her head and nodded at the dress, and then she blew Mary a gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” Mary said. “Thank you so much.”

The women smiled at her once again and slowly faded away.

“They’re gone,” Mary said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“You’ll wear it then?” her mother asked, her voice shaky with emotion.

Mary, half-laughing and half-crying, hugged her mother again. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t want anything else. Thank you.”

“You seem a little preoccupied,” Bradley said as they neared the exit from Highway 20 into Freeport.

Mary nodded, “I saw my grandmother and my great-grandmother this afternoon.”

“Oh, did they come when we were out?” he asked. “I’m sorry I missed them.”

She turned and smiled at him. “Well, they’ve both been dead for a long time.”

“
Ohhhhh
,” he answered slowly, “that kind of saw.”

“Yes, that kind of saw,” she said. “They joined my mother and me when we were upstairs.”

Bradley changed lanes and pulled around a slow-moving semi-trailer. “So, what were you two doing upstairs anyway?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, still overcome with emotion. “I was trying on my wedding dress,” she said simply, wiping away the remnant of a tear.

“Your wedding dress?” he asked. “I didn’t know you already had one.”

“Neither did
I
,” she replied. “Until my mother showed me the one my great-grandmother wore and my grandmother wore and my mother wore.”

“Wow.
A family heirloom.
So, is it what you wanted?”

“Oh, it’s classic, it’s beautiful. And even more important is what it represents,” she explained.
“Generations of love.
There couldn’t be a more perfect dress.”

He reached over and took her hand. “Or a more perfect bride,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. “So, when should we get married?”

“You mean the date?”

Laughing, he nodded, “Yes, the date.”

“Well, there’s so much to do,” she said.
“So much to plan and arrange.
Most couples are engaged for at least a year.”

“Good thing we’re not most couples,” he said, exiting the highway and heading down South Street.

“So a year’s too long?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, much too long.
Are you hungry?”

“What?” she
asked,
distracted.

“I’m hungry and I thought we could stop for something,” he said.

“I’m not hungry, but I’ll be happy to go with you.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“So how about a Christmas wedding?” she asked. “We could use red and green for our colors and have little Christmas tree decorations. I could have red roses in my bouquet.”

“Christmas?
As in almost a year away, Christmas?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“But that’s almost a year away.”

“I think we just established that,” she said with a chuckle.

“Mary, a year is too long,” he said. “I think we need to compromise.”

Thinking about it for a moment, she nodded, “Okay, when would you like to get married?”

He paused and turned to her. “What are you doing next weekend?”

She laughed. “No, that’s too soon. I wouldn’t be able to get things arranged.”

“Like what? You have a dress.”

“Like food,” she said.

“We can order pizza. Everyone likes pizza.”

“We are
not
ordering pizza for our wedding,” she insisted.

“Okay, not pizza, but really, can’t we just hire a caterer?”

“Well, we also need a venue, you know, a reception hall. Sometimes they’re booked for years.”

“We can have it outdoors,” he suggested. “In one of those fancy tents, like in the movies. We could have it at Krape Park, where we met.”

“Well, then we’ll have to wait until it’s warm outside,” she said. “We’re not going to have an outdoor reception in the winter.”

“We could give our guests mittens,” he said, turning onto West Street.

She just looked at him for a moment. “No.”

“Okay, so it has to be warm,” he agreed. “April is warm.”

“April still has snowstorms,” she said. “October is lovely. Early October is usually warm and the colors are beautiful.”

Bradley looked over at her. “You’re serious about waiting that long, aren’t you?”