Author's Note:
I don't own Corpse Bride or its characters. However, I made up some new ones and readers seem interested in them. Years ago, when I published "Wedding Flowers" (yikes, almost five years ago), which was about one of Victoria and Victor's daughters getting married, a few people asked for stories about the weddings of the other daughters. I started drafting a couple of ideas. Then I got sidetracked by life and other projects, and only recently dusted these stories off. If anyone still cares and is interested, here's Lydia's story. If people want I'll continue with Catherine and Mary. Happy reading, and feedback welcome!

Wedding Flowers: Lydia

The Van Dort's Fish empire.

Pleased, Lydia Van Dort ran her palms over the large map on her desk. She'd just added her latest conquest in bold black ink: the Rybakov wharf in a little port on the Black Sea. Now Van Dort's Fish could boast wharves, boats, and processing plants from Odessa to Copenhagen and all spots in between. Cannery after cannery. Success after success.

And someday it would all be hers.

It seemed she hadn't stopped moving since that very first business trip two years ago. She and Mr. Van Schelven went everywhere. Sometimes Grandad joined them, sometimes a board member or two, and Alice, her maid, was always her companion. But it was always the two of them. They were partners. And they'd already built something wonderful.

Lydia had never been happier in her life.

Business helped keep her mind off other things. There was still a war on. A very profitable one for canned food suppliers such as Van Dort's Fish, but otherwise...There were towns and villages she'd visited that were completely empty of young men. Stately old houses were now hospitals. Train travel was hard, almost impossible sometimes. The canneries they'd purchased were working on skeleton crews. Many fish suppliers had been cut off, and every cannery had been making do. Though from all accounts, this horrible war might be over soon.

But they'd been saying that for years. Lydia sighed, and crossed out a large swath of Western Europe on her map. They'd not go there for a while.

"Mail!" called Joseph, the office boy, rapping on her open office door.

Lydia waved him in, and cleared a spot on the desk for the mail. Thinking about the war had made her think about her brother-in-law. He'd been gone for two years. Ned was also the accountant at the cannery, and Lydia missed their Friday accounting days. She missed him almost as much as her sister Anne did. They hadn't heard news of him for a while.

"And this is the non-business, Miss Van Dort," Joseph told her, placing a second pile of mail on her desk. Lydia pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks for sorting it," she said. "Saves me time."

Joseph grinned, picked up his mail bag, and left the room.

George Van Schelven strode into her office as Joseph left, and closed the door behind him. Lydia nodded and smiled a greeting. Van Schelven wasn't a tall man, barely came up to Lydia's shoulder, in fact, but he was broad and strong. In another life he might have been a boxer. The one time she'd seen him help haul a catch off a boat she'd been very impressed. Van Schelven was her father's age, after all.

Over the past couple of years, as they'd worked, traveled, and planned together, Lydia had come to think of the two of them as partners. Grandad might own the place, and Father might be second-in-command on paper, but as far as the actual business of Van Dort's Fish went, the whole works belonged to Lydia and Van Schelven.

She was pretty sure Mr. Van Schelven felt the same way.

"Any news from Waterland?" he asked, coming right up and helping himself to her pile of mail with one beefy, calloused hand. Lydia stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Rifle this pile," she said, moving his hand to the smaller stack of envelopes. "That other one is personal."

Van Schelven grinned, and scooped up the envelopes. He took a seat across from her, put his feet up on her desk, and began to flip through the letters. Not finding anything of interest to him, he tossed the pile back on the desk. Lydia just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"What's in the personal pile today?" Van Schelven asked wickedly, folding his hands over his middle and leaning back. He was still grinning at her from under his mustache. His gold tooth caught the light, winking at her.

Her personal mail had become a joke between them. When Lydia had simply been a cannery heiress, she'd had a smattering of half-hearted suitors. Sir Ralph at the lumbermill had been the most insistent, with her grandmothers' encouragement. Now that she was set to own an empire of canneries, and especially since she'd started traveling, more and more men had found themselves interested in her. And they always sent their letters of introduction to her personally, at Van Dort's Fish.

Lydia smiled and picked up the personal mail. Joseph found it easy to sort out for her. Business proposals were sent to Van Schelven or her father, or to Grandad. Only marriage proposals had her name on them. This annoyed her greatly. These other cannery men could just barely stand to be in an office with her, and couldn't quite bring themselves to address business correspondence to a woman, even if she'd written them first. They were perfectly comfortable harassing her with personal matters at her place of business, however, no encouragement required.

"Let's see," she said, enjoying this game. It took a bit of the sting out of the disrespect. She casually tossed each envelope to Van Schelven when she finished reading it. "Oh, another one from dear Torvald in Norway. And one from Mr. Stavanger in Sweden—the one who keeps wanting to explain to me about the sardine lawsuit—and a postcard from Edvard in Copenhagen."

"Charming your way through Scandinavia, eh?" broke in Van Schelven. "Whatever gets us a cut of the herring, I suppose."

Lydia just lobbed the postcard at him and went on, "This one's new. A Mr. Smythe. British. Lots of North Sea interests, and railroads."

"Smythe...that wiry rabbity-looking fellow? The one who visited us last month, asking about fish meal?"

"I think so," Lydia replied, thinking back. She barely remembered that meeting. Though she did recall the cool, appraising look Mr. Smythe had given her across the table. And then how his eyes had widened when she'd stood to her full six-foot-four.

"Well," said Lydia, sitting back in her chair and looking over the letter again, "Rabbity or not, I could do with a railroad. Think how convenient our work travel would be if I owned the line."

Mr. Van Schelven snorted. "If your Mr. Smythe would let you work, that is."

"This cannery wouldn't be what it is today without me," Lydia said hotly. "Nobody could make me stay away."

"I know," Mr. Van Schelven replied. "Believe me. I'd let you work."

Under her dark stare Van Schelven grinned, then raised his hands. "Want you to," he told her amiably. "If it were me."

"Are you proposing?" she asked lightly, kidding. The very idea.

"No! No," he replied quickly. His tone surprised her. He cleared his throat and fiddled with his watch chain, at long last taking his feet off of her desk. Then he removed the letters she'd tossed at him from his lap and set them on the edge of her desk.

"If I were?" he asked.

"If you were what?"

"Proposing. What if I were?"

"Are you?"

"No."

Cocking her eyebrow, Lydia picked up her pen and drew her business correspondence toward her. "I don't enjoy hypotheticals," she said evenly. But her heart had started to beat hard enough that she fancied she could feel it beneath her ribs.

A silence fell. Lydia kept her attention on the latest letter from their Copenhagen branch—all good news, she was pleased to find. All the while she could feel Van Schelven's eyes on her. He was giving off a very strange air. She'd worked closely with him long enough that they'd developed a good sense of one another's moods. And this one was new to her.

In an uncomfortable way.

Abruptly, Van Schelven stood. Lydia half-rose before he waved her back to her seat.

"Keep your seat, keep your seat," he said. He made for the door, talking more to himself than to her. "I just need to—the Waterland accounts. I need the—thing."

And then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.

Bemused, Lydia sat back in her chair again. She looked at the pile of letters, and then again over her map. What in the world had that been about? And where had he gone? She had all of the paperwork for the Dutch accounts. And they were supposed to finalize details for their inspection trip to the coast next week.

Lydia picked up her pen and began to jot down notes for a reply to Copenhagen. Only half her mind was on her work. Mr. Van Schelven had never looked at her that way before. Nor had he ever mentioned marriage, unless they were mocking Lydia's suitors together.

What if he were proposing? The question gave her pause. It made her mind go blank, her heart give another funny little rattle in her chest.

Lydia was twenty-five years old and still living in an attic room in her parents' house. One of her sisters was married, another engaged to an aristocrat and set to be married in the spring. While she loved her life, loved her relative freedom, she still didn't feel entirely independent.

Eventually, she would have to get married. It seemed inescapable. Mother had told her more than once not to throw herself into marriage. And yet Lydia was having trouble seeing how to avoid it. Without being married, she'd never have a house of her own, at least not until her parents died. She couldn't move about freely without Alice playing chaperone. Her parents, her grandad, and the men at the cannery, particularly Mr. Van Schelven, gave her a lot of free rein.

The problem was that she was still reined. She was utterly dependent. The canneries wouldn't belong to her officially for years and years at best. At least if she got married, she'd only have to worry about one person allowing her freedom to do things, as Mr. Van Schelven had just pointed out.

And, more than all of that...she was lonely. Lydia had had a few little adventures along the way—there was the summer when Mr. Reed's grandson had been staying with them to help with the horses, a brief encounter at a dance put on by her boarding school, but nothing serious. Nothing remotely approaching an actual romance.

It never used to bother her before. Lydia glanced at the personal letters. Men looked at her and saw dollar signs. Not a person. Not a partner. With one hand she swept the pile into the wastebasket and got on with her notes.

When her office door rattled open again she jumped. Mr. Van Schelven, perspiring and a bit red in the face, entered and swung the door shut behind him. He strode toward her in that purposeful, square-shouldered way he approached tough clients. Lydia, wondering, turned in her chair as he came right around the desk and stood beside her.

"I am," he told her gruffly. Lydia blinked up at him.

"You're what?" she asked.

"Proposing. You're the best partner I've ever had. I enjoy our trips. I like you. Will you marry me?"

Lydia dropped her pen. It clattered on the desktop and rolled away, stopped by her nameplate. Open-mouthed, she stared at him.

0–0

Lydia took a breath before she knocked on Catherine's bedroom door later that evening. Lydia had been distracted all through dinner. She'd managed to go all the way through to dessert with a string bean on her front. She hadn't noticed it until she'd gone upstairs to change into her dressing gown.

Mother and Father had remarked that she seemed quiet, but probably assumed she had her mind on work, as she always did. Catherine carried the bulk of the conversation anyway. With her wedding swiftly approaching, there was lots to talk about. Tonight's topic had been the wedding dinner menu. At one point during a fevered duck or goose debate, Mary, their youngest sister, had pretended to faceplant into her soup out of boredom.

"Come in!" Catherine called.

Upon entering Lydia found her sister sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed. She wore her lacy dressing gown and her beautiful blond hair was in loose waves around her shoulders. Several open magazines were fanned out around her, along with an open notebook and a pencil.

"I'm working on floral arrangements," said Catherine as Lydia perched beside her. "I want pink roses, those ones that Mother grows, and we're having a terrible time convincing Teddy's aunt. So far as she's concerned, brides wear orange blossoms and that's the end of it. I'm sure I'll bring her around, though."

"Ah," said Lydia. She was doubtful. From what she'd overheard, poor Catherine was having a hard time convincing her fiance's family to do anything that deviated from tradition.

The Van Lyndens were a very old family, older even than the Everglots. Grandmamma had brokered the match for Catherine. Except the original deal had been an engagement with the former Count. In his eighties at least, with yellow teeth and a nasty disposition. He'd had the grace to conveniently die just after Anne and Ned had been married. Lacking other relatives and having no children (despite having run through five wives), the old Count's great-nephew had taken up the mantle. And the engagement.

Catherine had been all too happy to accept. That had been two years ago. The Van Lyndens believed in long engagements. Besides, the new count had a lot to get in order before he married, and Catherine loved to plan social events. It had all worked out for the best.

Lydia had never even met Theodore, Catherine's fiance. She'd been on her very first business trip when he'd come to call. Catherine had shown off his photograph more than once, though, and Lydia had to admit Theodore was a strikingly handsome young man. Very nearly pretty. Almost prettier than Catherine.

"But really, orange blossoms are pretty against ivy, aren't they?" Catherine said, studying an illustration in one of her magazines. "Maybe we could make that work." She jotted down a couple of notes.

"Mr. Van Schelven proposed to me," Lydia blurted. Catherine's eyes widened and she froze for a few moments, pencil still poised above her notepad.

"Really?" Catherine breathed, dropping her pencil to take Lydia by the wrist. "He proposed?"

"Yes, really," Lydia replied. "Today at work. Out of the blue."

"About time," said Catherine with a toss of her head. Lydia was about to ask what on earth that meant when Catherine added, "So what did you say?!"

There was a silence.

"Liddie! Come on! What did you say?"

Lydia buried her face in her hands, blushing at the memory. "I said, 'I have a meeting,'" she said through her fingers. "And then I ran out of the room."

After staring for a moment, Catherine burst out laughing. Reluctantly, Lydia joined in with a low, half-hearted chuckle. It was rather ridiculous.

"Oh my goodness, I can just picture the look on his face," Catherine said, wiping a tear from her eye. "He must have been gobsmacked."

"I think he was," said Lydia, remembering. She'd just left him in her office. He'd tried to call her back, but she'd gone straight to her grandfather's office. It was the first place she could think of where she might reasonably go. Grandad had been surprised to see her, but had kept her busy with a stack of contracts until Mr. Van Schelven left for the day.

"Are you going to accept?" Catherine asked now.

"I don't know," Lydia said honestly. Her sister cocked an eyebrow. "I really don't!"

"You've known each other a long time," Catherine mused, tapping her pencil against her lips in thought. "You seem to get along. And I've seen how he looks at you. When I've visited you at work and when he's come to the house."

Lydia could feel her cheeks getting hot. "He doesn't look at me in a way," she said. Catherine just rolled her eyes.

"He's pretty old, though," Catherine went on. "Twice your age at least. Can you imagine having to kiss him every day?"

The thought made Lydia feel cold and strange. "Uh...I don't...I'd never considered it," she fumbled. She honestly hadn't. All those trips they'd taken together, all the times they'd been alone, Mr. Van Schelven had always been perfectly respectful and businesslike. Never anything untoward or awkward. Kissing Mr. Van Schelven. Somehow she couldn't imagine it. But it surprised her how easily she could imagine living with him. Just like their trips. But permanent.

"But I like him," she went on, fidgety under Catherine's appraising look. "I do. He's very good company. And he loves the cannery as much as I do. I trust him."

Slowly, Catherine nodded. She patted Lydia's hand. "And that's very important," she said.

"At least the business end is all sewn up tight," Lydia said, toying with the end of her long braid. "We took care of it last year. Legally. Grandad and Father and I. Van Dort's Fish is mine. Totally. Or will be soon. And Mr. Van Schelven knows that. So that's not why he proposed."

"Well gosh," said Catherine, crossing her eyes and putting on a dunce voice, "maybe he proposed because he's in love with you, not because he's in love with the cannery."

That couldn't be it. No no. Lydia shook her head but couldn't bring herself to speak.

"Well, whatever you do, you can't have this May, it's mine," Catherine told her, picking up a fresh magazine. "I've been planning for two years. And you've got maid of honor duties."

Lydia rose. "I'll let you get on with it, then," she said, making for the door.

"Liddie?"

Lydia turned. Catherine was smiling at her.

"Good luck," she said.

0–0

"I like your new curtains," Lydia said over lunch at Anne's house the next day. The small, narrow windows in the front room had been draped with crisp white curtains, embroidered with little vines and flowers along the edge.

"Thank you," Anne replied. "I made them."

Anne had spent most of her short marriage alone. Channeling her energy into handicraft, it appeared. She'd morphed into quite the little hausfrau. Lydia had never been much good at that sort of thing. Anne was in an especially good mood today, humming while she poured out tea and served sandwiches. When Lydia asked, Anne pulled an envelope from her apron pocket.

"Ned's coming home," she announced, beaming. Lydia gasped and grabbed the letter. It was just a telegram, but indeed, that's what it said. Ogdred Weary was on his way home. They could expect him in two weeks.

"Anne, that's wonderful news!" said Lydia. "It will be so good to have him back. Have you told Father and Mother? And Grandad will want to know."

Anne shook her head. "The telegram arrived right before you did," she said happily. "I've barely had time to think about it myself. I just want to have it be my good news for a little while."

"I'll keep my mouth shut," Lydia assured her. She reached over and squeezed Anne's arm. "I'm so happy for you."

A comfortable quiet fell as they ate. Lydia kept glancing at her younger sister, who was positively glowing with happiness. Anne and Ned, another love at first sight pair. A courtship full of longing and clandestine, romantic meetings. Exchanging of tokens. Then the tragic separation. Lydia had always wondered how her quiet little sister had had the energy for that much drama. Lydia and Van Schelven met across desks and on piers. They exchanged opinions and ideas.

Trust and a good partnership, and some friendly affection. Was that enough?

"So have you any news?" Anne asked, ever polite. "How is work?"

"Mr. Van Schelven proposed to me," Lydia replied, setting down her sandwich. "That's the big news from yesterday."

"Did you accept?"

"No, I've been ducking him all day. That's why I came here for lunch. Oh, and, uh, to see you. Of course."

"Of course," said Anne, grinning crookedly.

They were quiet for a moment. Lydia sipped her tea and thought. About sharing Mr. Van Schelven's house. She wasn't entirely sure where he lived. Somewhere down the crooked lane just beyond the milliner's. It was the direction he always headed in after work. Lydia had a hard time imagining herself in Anne's place, embroidering curtains and making sandwiches. Anne chose not to keep servants. But Lydia could. Why, managing a staff couldn't be much different from managing employees. The thought made her feel a bit better about her lack of wifely skills. She could simply hire a woman with such skills.

"Have you mentioned this to Father and Mother?" Anne asked, offering up a plate of little cakes.

"You bake now, as well?" Lydia asked, taking one. Anne just shrugged modestly.

"Something to do," she replied. "So, have you talked to Mother? To Father?"

Lydia shook her head. "There's nothing to talk to them about yet," she said, eating her cake in two bites. "I haven't accepted the proposal, have I? These are delicious, by the way."

"But Liddie," said Anne seriously, "don't you think they'd at least like to know that Mr. Van Schelven-"

The clock on the mantel daintily chimed the hour, cutting Anne off and saving Lydia from replying. Lydia did not think she needed to tell her parents anything at the moment. They might take it wrong, think the wrong thing about her business trips, her workdays. Think that she and Mr. Van Schelven were up to some nonsense. And even if they didn't, they'd probably still ask all sorts of questions that she didn't want to answer.

"Thanks for lunch," said Lydia, standing. Anne followed suit. "I have to get back to work."

"Are you going to talk to Mr. Van Schelven?" Anne asked as she walked Lydia to the door. "Or do you intend to hide from him all day?"

In a split second, as she put on her hat, Lydia made her decision. It seemed inevitable, somehow. Years of business had taught her to trust that feeling when she got it, the feeling that a deal was a good one or not.

"I'm going to talk to him," Lydia replied. And back to the cannery she went.

0–0

Lydia entered her office to find Mr. Van Schelven already there. He nodded to her, and then went back to the pile of papers he was working through. Reports from the coast, it looked like. Instead of taking her usual seat, Lydia pulled over a rickety footstool from the corner and settled herself at Mr. Van Schelven's elbow. This way they were at eye level. Lydia even had to look up a little.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Van Schelven said, looking at her closely, uncertainly. Lydia held his gaze, trying to find some kind of answer in his eyes. Some thunderbolt, some sign from on high, something remarkable.

But it was just George Van Schelven staring back at her. Just like always. Solidly present. Lydia took a breath and decided it was enough.

"I accept," she said.

"You what?" he asked, lowering the file he was reading to his lap.

"I'll marry you," she told him.

"You'll what?"

Lydia held up a hand. "Stop," she said. "I don't want to play this game again."

Mr. Van Schelven laughed, from deep in his barrel chest. He tossed the paperwork onto the desk and reached for her hands. His were warm and strong against her cool and slim ones. Lydia swallowed. He'd never touched her for this long before.

"Well then," he said, smiling at her in such a way she couldn't help but return it, "I'm very happy to hear it. And this is for you."

He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a ring. "I've, ah, been saving this for a bit. Found it on our last trip inland. For if...for when...well. It's yours now."

Lydia watched him slide a slim silver ring onto her hand. It was set with a tiny sapphire. Since their trip inland? He'd been thinking about proposing that long?

"Thank you," Lydia said, watching the ring catch the light. "It's lovely."

For a long time they simply sat in Lydia's office, holding hands. They didn't really need to say anything. And the paperwork could wait.

0–0

"Are you sure about this?" Father asked.

"Yes," replied Lydia as she pulled on her nicest pair of white gloves. The two of them were in Grandad's office. It had been two days since George had proposed. There seemed no real point to waiting to marry. They'd get married in the office at Van Dort's Fish. The notary was going to be around anyway to finalize some contracts. The trip to the coast would be their honeymoon. No fuss, no church, no family drama. Now that Lydia had made her decision, she didn't want to wait to follow through.

Father and Mother had taken the news of her engagement quite well. Lydia figured that, given her unorthodox life choices so far, her parents didn't have the energy left to be surprised or to argue with her. And they liked George well enough, so far as she knew. At the very least they seemed to appreciate that Lydia liked him.

Lydia was wearing her trim ivory walking suit. It had pretty detailing on the waistband, lapels, and cuffs, and was by far the nicest one she had. She'd borrowed some pearl earrings from Mother and had let Catherine fashion her thick black hair into an elaborate top knot.

"Really?" said Father, coming over to stand beside her. He waved a hand at the room. "You really want to get married at the cannery?"

Lydia shrugged. "It seemed easiest," she replied. "There was no need for a fuss."

For a second it looked like Father was going to argue, but then he changed his mind. He gave a little sigh, and then a slow smile. "As you like," he told her.

Now she had only to wait. They were going to do the brief ceremony with the notary, then get back to business. Ten o'clock, they'd said. Ten minutes to go.

Lydia perched on the windowsill, while Father took a seat in the guest chair beside the desk.

"It suits you," Father remarked. Lydia cocked an eyebrow. "This, I mean. Getting married here. There's a lot to be said for avoiding a fuss."

He was looking at her fondly. Lydia fiddled with the buttons on her gloves. "Do you..." she began awkwardly, not sure how to ask what she wanted to know, "What do you think of—George is...I mean...this was awfully sudden..."

Father, expectant, encouraging, waited for a moment after she'd trailed off. "I think you'll be happy," he said at last, guessing correctly at what she'd been getting at. "Really. And that's all that really matters, right?"

Just then the door opened. Much to Lydia's surprise, in trooped her mother and her sisters. Father, looking just as surprised, stood to greet them. Catherine was carrying a vase filled with flowers from the garden at home. Mary had her little snapshot camera around her neck and satchel on her shoulder. Anne hefted a picnic basket.

"You...you really didn't need to come down," Lydia told them feebly. She watched as Catherine cleared a spot on Grandad's huge desk for the flowers, and Anne set her basket on the floor. "We were going to come back to the house for tea, and see you all then."

Mother reached up and took Lydia's face in her hands. "I refuse to miss seeing my first-born get married," she said, and immediately Lydia felt terrible. She honestly hadn't considered that her mother might want to come watch. How stupid of her.

"I didn't...I wasn't...I'm sorry, Mother," Lydia fumbled, but Mother shushed her kindly.

"Not to worry," Mother said. "You look beautiful, dear."

"Doesn't that hairstyle suit her?" Catherine asked from behind her floral arrangement. She set the heavy vase down with a thud, and set about fussing over the flowers until they were the way she wanted them. "Mary, throw that tablecloth over the sideboard, will you? Let's put the wine and candles over there."

Lydia bristled. "We're not doing all of that," she said, suddenly cross. "We're getting married by the notary." Honestly. It wasn't as if a marriage wasn't binding unless Pastor Galswells glowered and roared at you for hours and made you enact silly old rituals.

"It's just for ambience, that's all," said Mary, arranging a pair of silver candlesticks just so on the sideboard. Between them she set a half-full carafe and two little glasses, making a sort of wedding tableau. "So shut up and let us do nice things for you, Liddie."

Without a choice, Lydia shut up and let her sisters do what they wanted. Flowers brightened Grandad's desk. The wine carafe and candlesticks glinted in the morning sunshine coming through the window. Mary was taking snaps of everything, with Father trying to get out of her way at every turn. Anne had unpacked her picnic basket, and had set a small cake on the far side of the desk.

"Fruitcake," she said to Lydia with a smile, brushing off her fingers and stowing the basket under the desk.

"She sure is," remarked Catherine, giving Lydia a playful pinch on her way to the sideboard to inspect Mary's handiwork. "Also, we baked you a fruitcake for your wedding because you like them."

"Thanks," Lydia said. The office felt small and crowded with everyone in there. The smells of roses and cake and wine all wafted together. Underneath it all was the fishy smell of the cannery. Mother was beside her, and reached to take her hand. Lydia looked down at her mother's face, and managed a grin.

They'd gone ahead and made a big fuss anyway, no matter what Lydia had insisted upon. It was very sweet of them.

It was five minutes to ten. She could hear men talking out on the main floor. The notary must have arrived. Through the general hum she was sure she made out George's voice, Grandad's. They'd be in any moment. She took a deep breath.

"Here, these are for you," said Anne, standing at Lydia's elbow. She handed over a small wooden box. "It's your turn."

Lydia opened the box to find a tiepin with dried flowers attached. They looked like they might crumble if she breathed on them too hard.

Roses for eternal love. Jasmine for attachment. The last time she'd seen these Anne had worn them on her own wedding day. A memory of two important weddings. And now it seemed Anne was turning them into a family tradition.

Lydia glanced at her father. He was studying her, waiting to see what she'd do. The two of them had gotten along better recently than they had in years. Lydia was willing to admit it was because she had lightened up, been willing to move on. The dead bride. Lydia's doubts about her father's sincerity. About her parents' marriage.

She did not want to think about all that today. Today was a good day. Her day.

Gently as she could, Lydia pinned the flowers to her lapel. They'd be the only ones she carried. When she looked up again Father was smiling at her. She smiled back. Father smoothed down his tie and excused himself to go tell the men that they were ready. Mother squeezed Lydia's hand.

"Wait! Hold still!" Mary said from the corner near the hat rack. She was aiming her camera. "Everybody! Hold still! I want a family snap! Look at me!"

Everyone did as instructed. Father had his hand on the doorknob, just about to leave. Catherine was by the sideboard, flashing a proud grin. Lydia, wedding flowers pinned to her lapel, stood up to her full height and held her chin high. She put one arm around her mother and the other around Anne. The two of them hardly came up to her shoulders. There was a pause, Mary muttering to herself, and then they heard a click and a snap. Mary looked up and grinned broadly at them.

"Perfect!" she said. "Now you can get married, Liddie."

Lydia smiled. Mother gave her waist a gentle squeeze before she and Anne went to join Catherine at the sideboard. Lydia smoothed back an escaping curl, righted her lapels, and stood up tall and straight.

Now she could get married. At her nod, Father opened the door to let in the men.