Bless the Bride

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“I think I may be in a spot of trouble,” I said.

Mrs. Sullivan looked up sharply from her needlework. I read a succession of expressions pass over her face—shock, dismay, disgust—then finally she said, “Oh, well, these things happen, I suppose. Luckily you have your wedding date planned and it wouldn’t be the first baby to arrive remarkably early.”

“What?” It took a moment for the penny to drop, then I started laughing. “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually I only meant that I think I’ve sewn the wrong sides of this bodice together.” I held up the offending handiwork.

She took it from me, examined it, then sighed. “Goodness, child. However did you manage to grow up without learning the rudiments of sewing? Did your mother not teach you anything?”

“If you remember, my mother died when I was ten,” I said. “After that I had to do my share of darning and patching, but that was about it. I’ve certainly never had to sew fine fabrics like this.”

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