Chapter 22
The veil was a fine, fine thing, made of lace tatted so delicately, it looked like a single piece of fabric unless one held it up to the light.
Esther brought it layered in an abundance of tissue, tucked into a large, flat box, and carried it in front of her like a holy relic, her face drawn and serious as though she feared she might trip and shatter the thing like glass rather than fabric.
She laid it on the table in the little bridal chamber that the reverend had sent them to and stood in front of it like a palace guard, tapping her fingers on her arms as though she suspected at any moment someone might swoop in and attempt to sabotage her.
Dinah grinned at her from a stool across the room, surely not planning to do exactly that as she kicked her feet under her skirt. Hannah reminded herself that she was the bride, and as such did her best not to openly chuckle at the scene.
“So many buttons,” her mother was muttering, looping one after the other up the column of her back, the warm pads of her fingers brushing against skin between Hannah’s shoulders and making her shiver. “You might regret that later.”
“Mama!” all three girls gasped in unison, making Martha grin this time, a throaty giggle escaping her throat.
Even Dinah looked scandalized, staring from her post of well-plotted antagonism like she’d been knocked off-kilter by someone coming past with a battering ram.
“There we are. Beautiful,” Martha said with a sigh, stepping back and holding her fingers to her chin. “You shine, meidele.”
Hannah turned toward the long, simple mirror propped against the wall and held her breath, her hands braced at her ribs as she took in the effect of the gown.
It was a delicate gray blue, threaded with darker velvet embellishments in the shape of diamonds.
The sleeves were puffed, leading to an elaborately carved neckline that traveled over her heart, and the gathered waist spilled delicately toward the floor.
Her hair had been unbraided at the start, combed through with a set of tortoiseshell combs that her mother held dear, and was loose in gentle waves around her shoulders.
The woman in the mirror, Hannah thought, was fully grown. She was a girl no longer.
“Dinah?” Esther said, frowning. “Are you all right?”
“Shut up, Esther!” Dinah shouted, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes as she hopped off the stool where she’d been perched, spinning quickly out of the view of her family. “Shut up!”
Hannah frowned, her heart clenching as she took a tentative step forward, but her mother laid a hand on her arm and gave her the smallest shake of the head.
She barely had time to question it, to look into Martha Lazarus’s eyes with concerned confusion, before the tapping knock arrived at the door, and it was too late to consider action anyhow.
Hannah drew herself up and Esther made a little squeaking noise, scrambling around for the lid of the box as Martha went to pull the door open, revealing Rabbi Hirsch, and behind him, Thaddeus Beck.
For a moment, Hannah could not remember anything else about the world opposite him.
He had changed since she saw him this afternoon.
He was shaved and combed and tailored into the most beautiful silver-gray suit, his dark eyes shining opposite the firelight in the sconces on the wall. Those eyes were on her.
“Ah, we are ready,” the rabbi said fondly, stepping into the room with a springy cheer as though he was perfectly aware of throwing a ripple into the stunned tension between bride and groom. “Mr. Beck has come for the rite of bedekken. The veil, if you please, my dear lady?”
Martha bustled forward to pull the veil from the box, her hands carefully unfolding it from its rippled state until it flowed down over her arms, almost draping to the floor, and then she held it out to the groom, an encouraging smile on her face.
He looked so uncertain, Hannah thought, but his hands were steady as he accepted it, all that delicate lace covering his scars with the promise of a bride and a future and all he had always deserved.
“You see the woman you are to wed?” the rabbi asked, gently nudging him to face Hannah, who was standing with her hands folded in front of her, looking up into his eyes. “And you are pleased and devoted to her?”
“I am,” he answered in that deep, beautiful voice. “I am.”
“We veil the bride not to hide her,” the rabbi said, stepping between them and urging them closer, “but to remind the groom that he is receiving something precious. Something worth shielding and protecting for all of his life. You may place the veil on your bride, Mr. Beck, and do so in the knowledge that she is yours to protect now and yours to cherish. When you veil her, know that she is more than her outer beauty. Know that she is a whole woman, and beautiful inside as well as out. Cherish that in your heart and your soul as I give you the blessing of matrimony.”
Hannah saw him once more clearly before the lace descended over her eyes, watching her with so much devotion that it almost hurt to see.
Her breath caught in her throat as the rabbi began the blessing.
She felt his hands cover hers, felt his thumbs squeeze lightly into her palms as they were given this stolen, sacred thing that was never meant for the walls of an Anglican parish.
When it was done, she closed her eyes until he was gone, and let the fall of her mother’s and sisters’ hands on her shoulders and arms guide her out of the room and toward the sanctuary, toward the aisle that she would walk down to become his wife.
Her sisters fell away when her father joined them, one parent taking each arm as the music began.
Through the veil she could see the dancing flames of endless candles down the aisle and along the free-standing chuppah that was hovering over the altar at the end.
She could see the shape of her groom, awaiting her.
She could not see the people in the pews on either side of her, but she could feel them.
She could hear the creak of the wood as they turned to behold her and, even if it was not truly possible, she thought she could feel the power of their emotion too.
She thought it brushed against her as she passed alongside it, as clearly as something tangible and warm.
Reverend Matthew began speaking shortly after she reached Thaddeus, her toes brushing his, her hands gathered into his own.
She thought it was almost instant, but of course, that was likely only because she wished to relish in the moment of having finally found him, under this canopy, for a little while longer before the music stopped.
The vows were familiar. She had been to weddings many times. They were not exactly the same as any she had attended before, but rather appropriately, a marriage of them, melded together for her and for her groom.
When she repeated her promises for their future, she did so with the whole conviction of a woman who had fallen a long time ago, and never again wished to emerge. She did so with the heart that was now half of a whole.
The ring slid easily over her finger. To her surprise, it was her hands that shook when she took up the groom’s ring and slid it over his knuckle, her heart leaping in disbelief that she was allowed this, that she was being given it.
She brushed her thumb over the engraving on the top, a calla lily in horizontal relief, and felt a single warm tear work its way down her cheek.
And then she was given the world back, the veil folded away over her hair, her beloved in clear view opposite her, tears glinting in his eyes and a smile growing over his face.
The rabbi rushed forward to place the glass beneath their feet and ducked away, letting Hannah give the nod.
When it shattered, a great cheer went up, even with their congregation quite modest in the grand scheme of things. Some clapped. Some were simply content to whoop. And some cupped their hands around their mouths and cried, “Mazel Tov!”
And then Thaddeus Beck kissed her.
In front of God and everyone.