When the tree was in the ground, Edith reached out her hand, adorned with the large opal pinky ring George had given her to denote Cornelia’s baptism, and touched the tree that would stand forever by the bass pond, commemorating her daughter’s life long after all of them were gone. The ring was an estate piece that, curiously, held Edith’s original initials of E.D. and a setting that was, as legend had it, the same as the one Josephine wore as a gift from her husband, Napoléon. As Edith held her tiny baby in a single arm, she thought of Napoleon and his now-famous proclamation: “Let her sleep, for when she wakes, she will move mountains.”
Edith and George had had many talks about Cornelia’s future and what it would hold. Would she move mountains? Would they move her? Looking down at her little girl, her heart so filled with joy, it seemed that both would most certainly come to be true.
Now, twenty-five years later, in a church across an ocean, Edith looked into the eyes of her grandson. George’s legacy. She thought again about that day, about that tall, broad mountain magnolia. The tree, which was hearty and vibrant, was more an embodiment of Cornelia than any stained glass window. It was a fitting tribute to a little girl who refused to be contained in glass, whose wild and wondrous spirit would cause her to fling farther, to climb higher than they could have ever imagined.
Edith looked at her daughter again, no longer the tiny child she had once been but the mistress of Biltmore with a baby of her own. It took Edith’s breath away, all they had been through, all they had lost. But some things remained. Today, she still wore that pinky ring George had given her the day of their daughter’s christening. A new George Vanderbilt was here and poised to take on the world, though he would know a different man as his grandfather. And Biltmore still stood, tall and proud amid the mountains that had witnessed centuries of stories, the mountains that would remember them long after they were gone.
Edith took a deep breath and vowed to put the past behind her. Peter was her husband now. Together, they would change the world. As she began her walk down the aisle, that tiny motion became the crossing of a chasm, a leap of faith. Edith was walking toward her future.
JULIA The Vanderbilt Veil
Leaving paradise had been difficult, but I knew I was ready. I wasn’t like Trav; I couldn’t leave the real world behind for a life of island relaxation. In fact, after three weeks, the laid-back feel and lack of schedule were starting to stress me out.
I called Babs the night before I left, sitting on a stained wooden bench in the terra-cotta-tiled hut that served as the resort’s lobby. The long phone cord of the landline stretched from the reception desk to the bench, and the attendant who had told me I had only three minutes eyed me warily.
“Babs!” I practically shouted into the phone.
“Jules, I thought you were never coming home!” Babs exclaimed when she answered. “How I have missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, Babs. And I can’t wait to see you in a couple days. I have so much to tell you.”
“Oh! Tell me now!”
I gave my winningest grin to the woman in her resort-issued polo shirt. In return, she started tapping her pencil on the desk impatiently. “Sorry, Babs. I only have a minute. But I wanted to see if you would meet me at that Fashionable Romance exhibit at Biltmore. You know, the one with all the famous wedding outfits they mentioned during my spectacular bridesmaids’ luncheon?”
We both laughed.
“Including Cornelia’s?” she asked, a smile in her voice.
I wrapped the phone cord around my finger, a childhood habit I’d all but forgotten in the age of cell phones. I had thought about that veil we had seen at my bridesmaids’ luncheon so many times on this trip. We might never know the truth about our wedding veil, but if we were going to try, this exhibit might be our only chance. How else would we ever see Cornelia Vanderbilt’s wedding veil up close?
“Well, the reproduction of Cornelia’s veil will be there anyway.”
“Your vivid imagination is one of your best traits, my dear. But if it will put your mind at ease to know that our veil is all ours, I am happy to facilitate that.”
I smiled. Maybe I was being silly. “But it’ll be fun anyway, right?”
She laughed. “The most! I love you, sweetheart. I’ll be counting down the days.”
“I love you too, Babs. The most.”
The woman behind the counter now had her arms crossed. I handed her the phone and smiled sweetly. “Thank you so much.”
She said nothing.
I thought about Babs as I walked back to pack, about her life without Pops, more than a year since his passing. I wondered how a future without him felt to her. Much different and much bigger than a future without Hayes felt to me, certainly. But it did occur to me that we were both moving forward into a new and different world, where we didn’t have a partner to fall back on. I was glad we had each other.
In a matter of a couple days, I was marveling at how quickly life could change. In a matter of hours, I had gone from an island paradise with the bluest water to a hilly mountain oasis. I stood outside Biltmore for a moment, admiring the perfectly manicured rows of emerald-green grass and the home that was certainly from another time, but whose scale and architecture made it seem as if it also belonged to another world. Maybe that’s what had always intrigued me about it most. I could step inside and be transported.
Inside the entrance hall of Biltmore, my meeting spot with my grandmother, I practically ran as I saw her, all ready for walking in her Easy Spirits paired with a skirt suit and pearls. Babs’s idea of casual wear, I guess.
“Let me look at you,” Babs said. “Tan, rested, blonder. You look wonderful in every way.”
I smiled. “So do you, Babs.”
I filled her in on the details of my trip—and the man I’d met—and then, as I looked around, remembered where we were. “It never gets less astonishing, Babs,” I said, taking it all in. “Over all these years of visits, the sheer size, the perfect details… it amazes me every single time.”
Babs nodded. “I just can’t imagine walking up and down those stairs every day.”
I admired the cantilevered feat of construction. “They’re a marvel, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes,” she said ethereally. And then, “How so?”
I laughed. “The weight of each of these supremely heavy slabs of limestone is counterbalanced by the wall bearing down on it.”
She cocked her head, and I could tell I was losing her. So I just said, “There was an elevator. And they probably had a servant get their things, anyway.”
Babs nodded, and then she struck a pose so regal I could only image she was pretending to be one of the Vanderbilt women. “James, darling, can you fetch my scarf?” she said with an affected accent. “Oh, oops, I forgot my glasses too. At least you’re getting your steps in!”
I smiled at Babs. My grandmother had a joie de vivre that made everyone want to be around her. When Pops died, I was afraid that spark would die too. But, slowly but surely, the spunky woman I had admired my entire life was returning.
We had both been here about a million times, so we forwent the audio guides, choosing instead to simply admire the house—and the wedding gowns of famous movie characters, part of the Fashionable Romance exhibit, that were displayed throughout. Of course, what I really wanted to see was Cornelia’s wedding outfit. But I knew it was here somewhere.