Six Left Behind Daughters and One Returned White Box Fifteen Years Later

“Just put it on the table,” I said. “Adele will do the rest.”

Lucille picked up the white box, holding it against her lavender dress like a heavy parcel of groceries. She turned and walked toward the exit that led to the kitchen door and the parking lot.

I watched her go until the heavy fire door clicked shut behind her.

When I got back upstairs, the sanctuary entrance was quiet except for the low rumble of the organ through the wooden walls. Adele’s dress had been my mother’s, though we had to let out the waist three inches to make it fit. The lace along the collar was slightly yellowed, but under the stained glass of the vestibule window, it looked like cream. She sat on the edge of the wooden bench by the door, folding her hands tightly in her lap. Her white veil hung straight down her back, catching the light from the small window above the coat rack.

“Lucille has the box,” I said.

Adele did not look surprised. She looked at the brass cross on the small table by the door, her fingers steadying the stems of her white roses.

“She was angry,” Adele said.

“She’s twenty,” I said. “She has a right to be.”

“I don’t want a scene during the vows, Dad,” Adele said, her voice calm and measured. “I just want Harry to see the letters.”

“He’ll see them,” I said. “The table is right by the entrance.”

The organ music changed, the low rumble turning into the first chords of the march. The sound seemed to vibrate through the soles of my shoes, making the old floorboards hum.

Through the glass panel of the sanctuary doors, I saw the minister step out from the side office. Jerome was right behind him, his shoulders back, looking straight down the center aisle.

“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” Adele said.

“I’ve carried it for a very long time,” I said.

“You can stop carrying it now,” Adele whispered.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt, her fingers lingering for a second on the white lace. She walked close beside me, her shoulder touching mine as the usher opened the double doors.

The air from the sanctuary was warm and smelled of beeswax and wood polish.