the prospect.
“I'm glad you only had two weeks then,” Antoine said, and meant it. The idea of losing his bride to the convent, after he had fought so hard to win her, filled him with horror. But he knew the priest meant well.
As they left the church, they promised to return the next day, for their wedding. Their paperwork was in order. The civil marriage gave them the ability to be married in church as well. After a celebratory dinner that night, to acknowledge her becoming a Catholic, Beata retired to her room early. It was the last night she would spend alone in the bed she would share with him after their wedding. And she still had work to do that night, on a secret project. She had brought nothing with her from Germany that she could wear for her wedding. Everything she had brought with her was practical and suited for farm work. But Maria had given her two beautiful lace tablecloths that had been given to her by her grandmother, and had become worn in places over the years. Beata said that didn't matter. When she hadn't been studying for her baptism, milking cows, or helping Maria prepare meals, she had been in her room, frantically sewing. The wedding dress she had made from the two tablecloths was nearly finished. She had managed to cut and drape and place the lace over her chest and shoulders and down her arms, and had just enough left over to shape into a little cap with a veil. And as she was so small, the dress even had a small train. She had sewn tiny pleats over the bust and tacked them down. The dress fit perfectly at her narrow waist, and the skirt was a gentle bell, appliquéd with what was left of the once-damaged lace. She had cut out all the old worn spots and small tears. The dress was a work of art, and even Maria hadn't seen it completed, but could hardly wait. She expected it to be simple, and somewhat awkward in design. There was only so much you could do with two old tablecloths, or so she thought. She had no idea of the extent of Beata's talent, and delicate needlework.
Antoine had agreed to walk down to the church an hour before the wedding, so he wouldn't see Beata when she emerged. She wanted to surprise him when she walked down the aisle of the ancient stone church and met him at the altar. He had no idea what she had been doing when she retired early to her room at night, and thought she was simply exhausted by the rigors of her activities on the farm. Even Maria didn't know that she had stayed up more than one night till dawn, and had performed all her duties the next day without the benefit of sleep the night before so she could complete the dress in time for her wedding day. Her wedding gown was the most beautiful dress she had ever sewn, worthy of a Paris collection, and if it had been made in silk or satin instead of the fine linen and handmade lace she had had to work with, it would have been a truly spectacular gown worthy of any important wedding, which to her this one was. Even made of the delicate white linen, it was an exquisite dress, and in some ways better suited to the simple church in the mountains than a more elaborate gown would have been. Maria gasped when she saw her.
“Oh my God, child… where did you get that dress? Did Antoine take you into Lausanne?”
“Of course not.” Beata laughed with excitement at the effect it had on her godmother. The older woman stared at her and burst into tears. “I made it from the tablecloths you gave me. I've been working on it every night for two weeks.”
“You couldn't have. I couldn't have done anything like it in two years!” She had never seen anything to compare with the gown Beata had made. She looked like a fairy princess. Maria had never seen a more beautiful bride. “How did you ever learn to sew like that?”
“It's fun. I used to make things for my mother and sister, and I always preferred making my own dresses to buying them.” That way she always got what she wanted, instead of someone else's
“I'm glad you only had two weeks then,” Antoine said, and meant it. The idea of losing his bride to the convent, after he had fought so hard to win her, filled him with horror. But he knew the priest meant well.
As they left the church, they promised to return the next day, for their wedding. Their paperwork was in order. The civil marriage gave them the ability to be married in church as well. After a celebratory dinner that night, to acknowledge her becoming a Catholic, Beata retired to her room early. It was the last night she would spend alone in the bed she would share with him after their wedding. And she still had work to do that night, on a secret project. She had brought nothing with her from Germany that she could wear for her wedding. Everything she had brought with her was practical and suited for farm work. But Maria had given her two beautiful lace tablecloths that had been given to her by her grandmother, and had become worn in places over the years. Beata said that didn't matter. When she hadn't been studying for her baptism, milking cows, or helping Maria prepare meals, she had been in her room, frantically sewing. The wedding dress she had made from the two tablecloths was nearly finished. She had managed to cut and drape and place the lace over her chest and shoulders and down her arms, and had just enough left over to shape into a little cap with a veil. And as she was so small, the dress even had a small train. She had sewn tiny pleats over the bust and tacked them down. The dress fit perfectly at her narrow waist, and the skirt was a gentle bell, appliquéd with what was left of the once-damaged lace. She had cut out all the old worn spots and small tears. The dress was a work of art, and even Maria hadn't seen it completed, but could hardly wait. She expected it to be simple, and somewhat awkward in design. There was only so much you could do with two old tablecloths, or so she thought. She had no idea of the extent of Beata's talent, and delicate needlework.
Antoine had agreed to walk down to the church an hour before the wedding, so he wouldn't see Beata when she emerged. She wanted to surprise him when she walked down the aisle of the ancient stone church and met him at the altar. He had no idea what she had been doing when she retired early to her room at night, and thought she was simply exhausted by the rigors of her activities on the farm. Even Maria didn't know that she had stayed up more than one night till dawn, and had performed all her duties the next day without the benefit of sleep the night before so she could complete the dress in time for her wedding day. Her wedding gown was the most beautiful dress she had ever sewn, worthy of a Paris collection, and if it had been made in silk or satin instead of the fine linen and handmade lace she had had to work with, it would have been a truly spectacular gown worthy of any important wedding, which to her this one was. Even made of the delicate white linen, it was an exquisite dress, and in some ways better suited to the simple church in the mountains than a more elaborate gown would have been. Maria gasped when she saw her.
“Oh my God, child… where did you get that dress? Did Antoine take you into Lausanne?”
“Of course not.” Beata laughed with excitement at the effect it had on her godmother. The older woman stared at her and burst into tears. “I made it from the tablecloths you gave me. I've been working on it every night for two weeks.”
“You couldn't have. I couldn't have done anything like it in two years!” She had never seen anything to compare with the gown Beata had made. She looked like a fairy princess. Maria had never seen a more beautiful bride. “How did you ever learn to sew like that?”
“It's fun. I used to make things for my mother and sister, and I always preferred making my own dresses to buying them.” That way she always got what she wanted, instead of someone else's
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