Mrs. Hutchison spoke as she fussed with Abby’s hair.
Abby twisted in her seat and immediately regretted it as her locks were still entwined in the bristles of Mrs.
Hutchinson’s brush. She returned to herface forward position.
“How did you know he was a—“
“A Redbourne, dear?”
Abby nodded.
“Your refreshments, mum.” Sophie setdown a silver tray on the small end tablenext to the vanity.
“Thank you, child. And my box?”
“Right away, mum.” Sophie disappeared again behind the curtain.
“You know them? The Redbournes?”
Abby prodded, unable to keep theexcitement from her voice. Something inthe woman’s reflection betrayed a deephurt, sadness of some kind. It was then Abby remembered it had only been a fewmonths since the widow had lost herhusband.
“Forgive me. I’m sorry for your recent loss,” Abby said with a twinge of guilt.
Mrs. Hutchinson gathered another section of her hair and continued brushing. “I saw the way that young man looked at you before,” she said, effectively changing the subject. “There was fire in his eyes and when you announced you needed a
husband, well...” she paused and clicked her tongue, “the look on his face became masked. Unreadable. It could have been jealousy maybe or fury? Disbelief? You must be a very special girl indeed to incite such emotion in a man.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” Abby admitted.
“He looks just like his father did at that age.”
“You do know him. His family? His
father?” Abby didn’t realize how much she needed to find some connection to the
man she was about to give her life to.
“It was a long time ago. I will tell you about it someday.” Mrs. Hutchinson patiently turned Abby back around and began pinning her hair. She looked into the mirror, into Abby’s searching face and
offered a reassuring smile. “If he is anything like his father, he is a good man. But remember, even good men make bad decisions from time to time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never you mind. I’m just an old woman rambling on. He will love you. And, in time, you will grow to love him— the man, not just the idea of him.”
Abby’s whole body seemed to relax at her words and she turned to face Mrs.
Hutchinson, who added some finishingtouches to her new coiffeur. “He is
handsome, isn’t he?”
“Yes, dear. Just like his father.”
Abby pinched her cheeks, her spirits noticeably uplifted. Ms. Hutchinson handed her a small plate with a shortbread cookie and fruit tart. Abby noticed a
small ornate box lying to the side of the vanity and wondered when Sophie had brought it in. Mrs. Hutchinson followed her gaze and caressed the top of the box.
“I’ve held onto this for far too long
now. It is time to pass it on to a real
Redbourne bride.”
When she opened the box, Abby staredat a beautiful silver hair comb. It was
exquisite in design and had a singular rich, deep red jewel at the ridge.
“Garnet,” Mrs. Hutchinson said as she grazed the gem with her fingertips.
“What do you mean by a real Redbourne bride?” Abby’s curiosity was at the brink of turmoil.
Mrs. Hutchinson removed the combfrom the box and placed it securely at thecrown of Abby’s head.
“That is a story for another day, my
dear.”
Abby opened her mouth in protest, butthe grandfather clock chimed twoo’clock. She would already be late.
“Thank you.” Abby reached out andsqueezed Mrs. Hutchinson’s hand, whichrested on the closed wooden box.
Ms. Hutchinson smiled warmly andgently caressed Abby’s cheek.
“I think I will stay here, my dear. Youdon’t mind going back to the churchunaccompanied, do you? An old womanlike me can only handle so muchexcitement in one day.”
Abby nodded. “Thank you.”
“Hold up there,
Abby twisted in her seat and immediately regretted it as her locks were still entwined in the bristles of Mrs.
Hutchinson’s brush. She returned to herface forward position.
“How did you know he was a—“
“A Redbourne, dear?”
Abby nodded.
“Your refreshments, mum.” Sophie setdown a silver tray on the small end tablenext to the vanity.
“Thank you, child. And my box?”
“Right away, mum.” Sophie disappeared again behind the curtain.
“You know them? The Redbournes?”
Abby prodded, unable to keep theexcitement from her voice. Something inthe woman’s reflection betrayed a deephurt, sadness of some kind. It was then Abby remembered it had only been a fewmonths since the widow had lost herhusband.
“Forgive me. I’m sorry for your recent loss,” Abby said with a twinge of guilt.
Mrs. Hutchinson gathered another section of her hair and continued brushing. “I saw the way that young man looked at you before,” she said, effectively changing the subject. “There was fire in his eyes and when you announced you needed a
husband, well...” she paused and clicked her tongue, “the look on his face became masked. Unreadable. It could have been jealousy maybe or fury? Disbelief? You must be a very special girl indeed to incite such emotion in a man.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” Abby admitted.
“He looks just like his father did at that age.”
“You do know him. His family? His
father?” Abby didn’t realize how much she needed to find some connection to the
man she was about to give her life to.
“It was a long time ago. I will tell you about it someday.” Mrs. Hutchinson patiently turned Abby back around and began pinning her hair. She looked into the mirror, into Abby’s searching face and
offered a reassuring smile. “If he is anything like his father, he is a good man. But remember, even good men make bad decisions from time to time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never you mind. I’m just an old woman rambling on. He will love you. And, in time, you will grow to love him— the man, not just the idea of him.”
Abby’s whole body seemed to relax at her words and she turned to face Mrs.
Hutchinson, who added some finishingtouches to her new coiffeur. “He is
handsome, isn’t he?”
“Yes, dear. Just like his father.”
Abby pinched her cheeks, her spirits noticeably uplifted. Ms. Hutchinson handed her a small plate with a shortbread cookie and fruit tart. Abby noticed a
small ornate box lying to the side of the vanity and wondered when Sophie had brought it in. Mrs. Hutchinson followed her gaze and caressed the top of the box.
“I’ve held onto this for far too long
now. It is time to pass it on to a real
Redbourne bride.”
When she opened the box, Abby staredat a beautiful silver hair comb. It was
exquisite in design and had a singular rich, deep red jewel at the ridge.
“Garnet,” Mrs. Hutchinson said as she grazed the gem with her fingertips.
“What do you mean by a real Redbourne bride?” Abby’s curiosity was at the brink of turmoil.
Mrs. Hutchinson removed the combfrom the box and placed it securely at thecrown of Abby’s head.
“That is a story for another day, my
dear.”
Abby opened her mouth in protest, butthe grandfather clock chimed twoo’clock. She would already be late.
“Thank you.” Abby reached out andsqueezed Mrs. Hutchinson’s hand, whichrested on the closed wooden box.
Ms. Hutchinson smiled warmly andgently caressed Abby’s cheek.
“I think I will stay here, my dear. Youdon’t mind going back to the churchunaccompanied, do you? An old womanlike me can only handle so muchexcitement in one day.”
Abby nodded. “Thank you.”
“Hold up there,
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