The Gift (1st Place)

Word Count: 946

Sonia glanced at the pictures that lay scattered upon her lap. She had no idea why Grandmamma had given them to her. Her father had shuffled the senile old woman away to the black limousine that waited outside, so Sonia did not have an opportunity to ask her any questions; not that she would have received logical answers back. Some of the photographs were old and yellowed by the passage of time, and they depicted many people she did not know. A timid knock sounded outside her bedroom door, breaking Sonia away from her reverie.

“Yes?” she called out, running her hands nervously down the satin softness of the wedding dress she wore. With horror, Sonia realized they were damp with sweat and she scrutinized the fabric to ensure that she did not create any stains upon the ancient, expensive fabric. The dress, as her senile Grandmamma had crackled about only moments before, had withstood generations of marriages. Sonia was carrying on an age-old custom and she would never have forgiven herself if she destroyed such antiquated beauty and tradition.

“Sonia?” Her mother's voice answered from behind the closed door, then she entered the bedroom.

“Mother! You’re not even dressed,” Sonia cried out in horror.

Abigail smiled, fighting the onslaught of tears that brimmed so close to the surface at seeing her only daughter awaiting the next stage of her life. The wedding dress looked as perfect on Sonia as it had on her some thirty-seven years ago.

“Don’t you worry about me, Sonia,” Abigail scolded with amusement. “This is your day and I want to make sure everything is perfect for you. Come and sit down in front of the dressing table. I’ll help you with your veil.” A knowing smile creased over the older woman’s face before she spoke again. “I must say, this is the most important part of your wedding attire,” she added, holding the ancient veil like a newborn babe in her hands.

Sonia saw a mischievous glint flash over her mother’s eyes. Moving toward the dressing table, Sonia sat, still clenching the pictures in her slender hands. “A veil?” she asked, staring at her mother’s mirrored reflection, her delicate brow quirked in question.

“Well, this one in particular,” her mother murmured, running her fingers down along the flimsy silk.

Shaking her head, Sonia dismissed the unimportance of the veil from her mind. “Mother? Why did Grandmamma gives me these pictures to look at?”

“Because every picture tells a story, my dear. You will be creating your own memories today and they will be added within those sheets as well,” Abigail answered, inspecting the metal clasp that would bind Sonia’s hair to the veil.

“But, Mother … I don’t know half of these people. I recognize Grandmamma and you, but the others?” Sonia waited for her mother to answer. For some strange reason, she felt caught in a web of intrigue and something of great importance.

“Those pictures reveal every woman who has worn this dress and veil. A plethora of memories and pride stands behind each and every one of them. Did you know that every marriage contained and witnessed in those pictures managed to survive countless wars, long separations … even death?”

“What are you saying?” asked Sonia, feeling more confused than ever.

“We Thompson women believe that this dress and veil … they begin the foundation of a strong, unbreakable marriage. Yes, love is very important, but so is respect and honor, and most of all … patience.”

Sonia watched her mother’s expression soften as she spoke. “You know how special this day is to me, Mother,” Sonia countered, as she returned her gaze to the multitude of faces that stared back at her from her lap. “I am not running into this like some headstrong teenager. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with Adam.”

Her mother sighed and the sound rustled around the room like falling leaves. “Yes, I know how strong your love is for each other; but ... there is much more to this veil than meets the eye, Sonia,” she whispered. “It is magic!” Abigail added, her eyes lighting with a strange glow.

Shaking her head, Sonia felt stunned. “Every girl’s wedding day is magic, Mother.” She tried to sound patient, but knew she failed miserably.

“Not like this,” Abigail gushed.

The tone that issued forth from between her mother’s lips halted Sonia. “What do mean?” she asked in a slow, deliberate manner.

Holding the veil over Sonia’s head, Abigail smiled as tears of joy filled her eyes. “I didn’t believe it either. When your Grandmamma tried to explain it to me, I felt just as you do now. This veil gives the wearer all the wisdom and knowledge of making a successful marriage. It contains every memory of each woman who has worn it. Like I said, it's magic,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear.

Sonia stared up at the older woman with incredulous uncertainty. This was so unlike her mother, who was usually steadfast and logic. She couldn’t help but wonder how many champagne and orange juices her mother had had this morning.

“You don’t have to believe me, Sonia,” Abigail said in a breathless whisper. “Are you ready to experience what every Thompson woman has experienced on her wedding day?” Abigail waited with abated breath.

Sonia stared in the reflection of the mirror as her mother held the flowing veil above her head. How could she refuse such a gift?