Chapter 2

Jean wiped away her tears and went. Somehow, she did not resent Miss
Juliana’s meddling in the matter. When they reached the latter’s tiny
house Miss Juliana took Jean upstairs. Before the door of the gable room
she paused.

“I’ve never taken anyone in here before, Jean,” she said tremulously.
“You won’t tell anybody about it, will you? I couldn’t bear to have it
talked over.”

She unlocked the door and led Jean in by the hand, like a child. It was
a young girl’s room—quaint, neat, very old-fashioned, with frilled
white muslin curtains at the window, a white-canopied bed, and a high,
shining chest of drawers, topped by a gilt-framed mirror. Scattered
about were girlish knick-knacks and belongings, all neatly kept and
speckless of dust, but evidently long unused by any human hand.

“This was my room long ago, when I was a young girl,” said Miss Juliana.
“I’ve never used it since—since I put girlhood behind me forever one
bitter day. But I’ve always kept it just as it used to be. And nobody
but myself has ever been in it since then.”

Miss Juliana went to the chintz-covered chest under the window and
opened it. A sweet, faint spiciness floated up into the room as she
lifted out a dress—a dress of white embroidered muslin, ivory-tinted
from its long seclusion.

“This,” said Miss Juliana softly, “this was to have been my wedding
dress, Jean. Long ago I was engaged to a young sea captain, Malcolm
Lennox. When he went away on his last voyage I promised to marry him
when he came back. I got all my things ready and then I made my wedding
dress from a roll of muslin my uncle had given me. He was a sea captain,
too, and he had brought it home from India. Look at it, Jean; it was fit
for a queen—so fine you might almost have drawn the whole web through a
ring. Well, Jean, the very moment I finished it I heard voices in the
kitchen below. I ran out to the landing and recognized old Joe Marks’
voice. He was telling mother that the _Annie Ray_ had been lost with all
on board. The _Annie Ray_ was Malcolm’s ship. Jean, my youth and
happiness died then. I crept back here broken-hearted and I put away the
wedding dress that was never to be worn——”

Miss Juliana’s voice broke in a sob. Jean bent forward and laid her
young arms about the little woman.

“I didn’t bring you here to cry to you,” said Miss Juliana wiping away
her tears. “Now, you see this dress. The material is as good as ever and
it will bleach white. You see the skirt is long and full and the sleeves
are like balloons—that was the fashion then—so that there will be
plenty to make over. You must take this dress, Jean, to be married in.”

“Oh, dear Miss Juliana,” cried Jean tenderly, “I couldn’t. Why, it would
seem——”

“Wait, dear,” interrupted Miss Juliana, “I don’t want you to think that
I am making any sacrifice in giving you this dress. I am just indulging
a whim of mine. I’ve always wanted to see this dress worn by a
bride—that is what it was made for. Do take the dress, Jean. It seems
to me that it is full of dreams and hopes, and that they will all
blossom for you if you wear it.”

“Thank you,” said Jean tremulously. “Oh, dear Miss Juliana, thank you.”

“Wasn’t it sweet and lovely of her, mother?” said Jean that night, as
she showed the dainty, old-fashioned gown to Mrs. Milman. “I’m ashamed
to think how I have misunderstood her. I said that she didn’t know
anything about the sacredness of a wedding dress! But I shall never
think of her as a prying gossip again.”

[Illustration: No bride could have looked sweeter.]

“It’s the loveliest thing in the line of material that I ever put my
eyes on,” said Mrs. Milman practically. “And the sewing on it is
beautiful. It does seem a positive shame to think of cutting it up to
make over.”

“Mothery, I have an inspiration,” cried Jean. “There’s nobody coming to
see me married except Martin’s family and Miss Juliana—so I’ll do it.”

“If you wouldn’t mind telling a body what you mean to do?” smiled the
mother, and Jean did.

Miss Juliana wondered a little when Jean meant to make over her wedding
dress. Once she offered to help her. But Jean thanked her kindly and
said it wasn’t necessary. Miss Juliana felt a little hurt: but on the
wedding day, when Jean came down into the parlor and stood simply beside
her young bridegroom, Miss Juliana understood. For the wedding dress
which Jean wore under her snowy bridal veil was the very wedding dress
she had taken from the chintz-covered chest, unaltered in any respect.
It had been beautifully bleached and done up, and fitted Jean’s slender
figure perfectly. No bride could have looked sweeter and fairer, and
Miss Juliana wept tears of happiness in her corner.

“How lovely of you,” she whispered to Jean later on. “I did feel a
little bit sorry to think of the dress being cut up and made over, but I
didn’t see any other way if you were to wear it, as I was bound you
should. Oh, Jean dear, I’m so pleased and proud and happy!”

“So am I,” whispered Jean, with a blush and a shy glance at Martin.

[The end of _Miss Julianna’s Wedding Dress_ by L. M. (Lucy Maud)
Montgomery]