Legend (Legend, Colorado 1)

Kady couldn’t help smiling at them. The man was very stern-looking, as though he was uncomfortable in the high, stiff collar he wore. Sitting to his left, his hand on her shoulder, was a small, pretty woman with an impish gleam in her eye, as though she found the whole idea of photography a great joke. Standing to her right, in front of the man, was a tall, handsome boy, about ten or eleven years old, with some of his father’s sternness, as well as his mother’s devilish gleam. On the woman’s lap was a little girl of about seven who was a beauty-in-the-making. It was obvious that when she grew up, she was going to break some hearts.

Turning the photo over, she found on the back was written the single word Jordan. Carefully, Kady put the photo aside then fished inside the case and pulled out a man’s heavy gold watch. The watch was so big it filled the palm of her hand. On the worn cover was the word Jordan, and along one edge, just above the hinge, was a deep crease, as though the watch had been dropped onto something very hard.

“Or shot,” Kady said, then wondered why she’d said that. “Too many westerns on TV,” she muttered, but as she ran her thumb along the crease, it did seem to have striations, as though it had been grazed by a bullet.

Because of the deep indentation, the watch was difficult to open, but with persistence, she managed to make the hinge work. Inside, the face of the watch was beautiful, with ornate Roman numerals and elaborate hands. On the left in the watchcase was another photo, this time of the woman alone. There was no mistaking her, with her sparkling eyes and happy expression. Even in the photo she looked like a woman in love and happy.

Closing the watch, Kady smiled. What in the world had made her nervous? she wondered. Obviously, this was the wedding dress of a woman who had been very happy. She’d had a husband who loved her and two beautiful children.

Smiling, Kady put the watch beside the photo, then looked to see if anything else was inside the case. She pulled out a pair of amethyst earrings, the purple stones glittering in the artificial electric light.

Carefully, she laid the earrings on the silk of the case, leaned back against the couch, and looked at everything. On impulse, or maybe out of habit, she picked up the photo and placed the edge of her hand over the lower half of the man’s face. No, no man with blond hair was her Arabian prince.

Gregory was that, she thought, smiling at the clothes piled around her, then thought, Whatever am I going to do with all this? Shouldn’t these things be in a museum?

One second she was asking herself what she was going to do with all this; then the next she could envision herself walking down the aisle of her own wedding wearing this heavenly gown. With renewed energy, she leaped to her feet and picked up the dress, holding it at arm’s length.

This dress was different from modern dresses: it hadn’t been made for a woman who was five foot eight inches tall and had miles of legs, no hips, no breasts and a boyish waist. At this thought Kady allowed herself a smile. There had been several men in her life who had made some extraordinarily pleasant comments about her hourglass figure.

“This would fit me,” Kady said aloud, turning the dress to hold it against her and seeing that it was indeed the perfect length.

Right away she knew that the sensible thing to do would be to go to bed now; then tomorrow she’d talk about this dress with Debbie and Jane. It was great that they were here and could give their opinions on something as serious as wearing a hundred-year-old dress to a modern wedding. Kady had no idea about these things. Was it done? Would she be laughed out of the church?

Even as she was thinking these very sensible thoughts, she was on her way to the bathroom, where she got into the shower and washed her hair. While she was conditioning it, then blow-drying it, she told herself that she couldn’t wear a dress with a bustle to her wedding. It was really too outrageous to consider.

As Kady stood in her robe before the mirror, she began to arrange her hair. At the restaurant she pulled it back off her face and into a bun so it wouldn’t fall into the food. She had never been very adventurous with her hair, nor actually very vain about her looks, but now she wanted to look her best. Using a comb, a round hairbrush, and about three pounds of hairpins, she managed to sweep her thick wavy hair into a high pouf off her face, then allowed long dark curls to tumble down her back.

When she’d finished, she looked in the mirror and gave a little smile. “Not bad,” she said as she touched up her eyes and lips with cosmetics.

When she’d done what she could with her head, she went into the living room and began to try to puzzle together the wedding outfit. There seemed to be an outrageous number of undergarments, and it was difficult to figure out in what order they went on.

She put on a pretty, but shapeless, cotton slip next to her skin, along with a big, long pair of underpants. Bending, she pulled on the hose made of finely knit silk and fastened them just above the knee with garters embroidered with pink rosebuds. She thought she’d better get the shoes on now because she guessed that once the long corset was on, she wouldn’t be able to bend.

Feeling like Cinderella, Kady slipped her feet into ankle-high, cream-colored kidskin shoes that fit exactly, then used the buttonhook to fasten the little pearl buttons up the front.

After she’d managed to buckle herself into the boned corset, which took a bit of breath holding, she caught sight of herself in the mirror by the front door. “My goodness,” she gasped. The corset had managed to shove her breasts practically under her chin, and looking at herself, she had to admit that corsets did have t

heir advantages.

There were a couple more cotton half-slips, then a little camisole that seemed to fit on over the corset.

By the time Kady got to the dress, she was wearing more clothes than she did when it snowed.

Once the dress was on, she carefully avoided looking in the mirror until she was completely dressed. After putting on the earrings, with reverential hands, she picked up the lace veil and pinned it in place on her head. The lace was as light as a soufflé reaching almost to her knees, concealing the long dark hair down her back, but exposing it as well. Lace gloves went on last.

When she was fully dressed, she turned and took a few steps toward the full-length mirror. As she moved, she wondered why the dress and the many undergarments didn’t feel strange. The weight of all the clothes she had on should have felt burdensome or at the very least constrictive, but, somehow, they didn’t. Somehow, the dress felt right.

With her shoulders back, her head straight, and managing the train as though she’d been born wearing it, Kady walked to stand in front of the mirror.

For a moment she just looked at herself in silence, not smiling, not thinking really, just gazing. She was not the same person she usually saw. Nor was she a twentieth-century woman playing dress up in antique clothing. It was as though she looked the way she was meant to look.

“Yes,” she whispered. “This is what I will wear to my wedding.” She didn’t need to ask anyone’s permission, for she knew without a doubt in the world that this was the dress she was meant to wear to her own wedding.

Smiling slightly, she walked back to the couch and picked up the photo of the Jordan family. “Thank you,” she said softly to the woman in the photo, for she knew that it had to have been her wedding dress, a dress she must have loved and stored carefully away so that another woman in another time could wear it.

With the photo in one hand, Kady picked up the watch and unfastened the lid so she could see the second photo of the woman. “Thank you very, very much,” Kady said, smiling at the whole family. “Thank you, Mrs. Jordan.”

As Kady held the two objects, and as she said the name Jordan, she suddenly felt dizzy. “Must be the corset,” she said as she sat down heavily on the sofa, the photo and watch falling to her lap. “I should get out of this dress. I should . . .”