Besides, it was March 15—315—which was the number of letting go and moving forward. It almost always meant better times ahead. And it was the universe’s way of saying there was something new and exciting to move toward. So maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was the only way. The numbers never lie, she reminded herself.
“Neely!” Jack called from the other side of the door. He opened it and peeked inside. “Ready?”
She smiled at him, cleaned and polished in his suit. Was it partially his mustache that reminded her of her father? Her father who had told her Biltmore was his legacy. Their legacy? What would her father have done in this situation? She took Jack’s hand, which, despite her sulking and moodiness as of late, was outstretched to her all the same.
He opened his arms and she felt safe again as he wrapped her in them.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
“Mommy!” five-year-old George called to her. The nanny trailed behind holding William. Cornelia leaned down to kiss her older son and took her nineteen-month-old in her arms.
She smiled at her children and at Jack. She had somewhere she needed to be in these final moments before her home changed forever.
“Want to see something?” she asked George, who nodded effusively. Cornelia made her way down the long hall and pushed open the door to the Louis XV suite. It was, without a doubt, one of the most private places on the property, one of the most special and profound. For now, only downstairs would be open to the public, but there was already talk of which bedrooms could be restored enough to increase the scale of the tour—and perhaps the popularity if not the ticket price. Cornelia ran her hand along the velvet wallcovering, ignoring the bald spots and faded places. The mahogany bed was covered with sheets to protect it, and the drapes, worn and full of moth holes, were drawn to block out sunlight. Cornelia ran a finger across the wooden cradle, dust scattering. It was once swathed in the finest linens but now sat empty and austere. There was beauty in that too, though, Cornelia knew.
“This room is where Mama was born and where you were born,” she said, ruffling George’s hair. “And where you were born too,” she said, touching the tip of William’s nose.
“But it almost wasn’t,” Jack said, as she leaned into him. By the time William was born, modern women gave birth in hospitals, not at home. Hospitals were cleaner, safer. Cornelia had been set on it.
“You, William,” Jack picked up, “were born in the middle of a terrible flood.”
“What’s a flood?” George asked.
As Jack explained, Cornelia could almost see herself in that bed. She remembered the rising water, how she was already in terrific pain, and how the change of plans, the lack of hospital, panicked her.
But her mother had said, “Darling girl, I gave birth to you in that room, and you gave birth to George. It is a room that protects us, that knows us. Daddy will be there with you and so will I.”
Less than an hour later, William Amherst Vanderbilt Cecil made his way into the world, his cry strong and healthy, his mother safe and sound. As Cornelia held him in her arms, all, for the moment, felt perfect. She looked down into his bright blue eyes and that cherubic face that reminded her of Jack’s, wondering what the future would hold for him, how he would grow up, how he would change—and how the world would change along with him. All was quiet; all was calm. “No matter what else happens in your life,” Cornelia said to him softly, “you will always have a mother who thinks you hung the moon, who loves you more than all the stars.”
Edith entered the room almost silently, and Cornelia couldn’t think of anyone else she would want there quite so much. The pair sat in silence for a moment before Cornelia handed her new son to her mother. Her mother and her son. Three-and-a-half-year-old George burst in, his linen shirt askew and slightly untucked from its matching shorts. “I want to see the baby!” he proclaimed boldly. He climbed in bed beside his mother and Edith held out tiny William so that George could see.
“You’re a big brother now, George,” Edith said.
“Can he play tractors with me, Mama?” George questioned, peering at his mother.
She cocked her head as if she were considering this matter a great deal. “Maybe not quite yet. But soon.”
George nodded. “Okay.” Then, as if he’d finally made up his mind, he added, “I like my brother, Mama.”
Cornelia’s heart felt as though it truly swelled inside her chest and a contentment so pure filled every inch of her. She had never felt more complete or proud.
Now, less than two years later, Cornelia smiled at her sons again. She was still proud. But, much to her dismay, not as complete as she had once believed. She held her head up high, tears filling her eyes.
“Shall we?” Jack asked. They made their way, slowly, down the imposing staircase. As Jack led her out the front door of what, in moments, would no longer truly be her family home, Cornelia felt as if she were saying goodbye to her memories. No, she chided herself. Biltmore was still her home, the memories her own. It was still her name on the deed. She was simply sharing it.
Cornelia knew she’d never remember the speeches given to commemorate the opening of the home or the memorials raised that day to honor her father. When she handed William to Jack and stepped up to the microphone to speak to the press, to the townspeople, to the men and women who had been a part of Biltmore even longer than she had, she felt out of her body. “We both feel that in doing this,” she heard herself say, “it is a fitting memorial to my father. After all, Biltmore was his life’s work and creation.”
Daddy’s life’s work and creation, she thought. But what is mine?
As she looked out into the faces of the crowd, Cornelia felt it was high time she figured out that very thing.
JULIA A Shock
Babs was in the kitchen of the mountain house prepping dinner and, as I finally unloaded our bags from our cars, my mind was in a million places. My parents had gone to retrieve my things from Hayes’s and take them to Sarah’s, where I would be going in a few days. We had always dreamed of living together, and even if I didn’t get into school, Raleigh would be an easy place for me to find a job. I knew we would get along, and sharing a place would save me from going too much deeper in the hole on my student loans. My stomach flipped. This was it. It was just me on my own two feet now. No Hayes to fall back on.
The fact that I hadn’t faced his texts—of which there were now at least ten—was clogging my consciousness. And then there was the wedding veil… This morning, Babs had been even more dismissive of my worries about it. And, well, she was probably right. I knew, when I really thought about it, that this was nothing more than a good way to get my mind off my real problems.
Even still, I had the urge to get in the car and drive to my parents’， get the veil, and drive back to Biltmore to compare the two. But the original had been missing for decades. A few more weeks wouldn’t hurt. I wondered if Mom had already had it preserved again in another one of the airtight sealed boxes it had been in when we first pulled it out after I got engaged. Suddenly, I was overcome with guilt. I had been engaged to Hayes, for heaven’s sake. I owed him a phone call. I set the bags by the front door and, noticing that I had cell service outside the house, decided to bite the bullet.