Author's note: This story was inspired by an original idea from ladybrit that I thought was so good I stole it and took it in a different direction (with her kind permission). Dedicated to all the great women, real and fictional, who have ever inspired me, and to the man I met on a blind date 17 years ago today. Standard disclaimers apply.

The Wedding Dress

Chapter 1

Miranda Kramer threw on her brakes as she spotted the left turn signal on the silver car up ahead. She had driven around the block three times and had almost given up on finding a parking place in busy downtown Topeka this sunny Friday afternoon. As luck would have it, the car was pulling out directly in front of the store she had driven almost thirty miles to visit. She flipped on her right signal and smiled as the woman in the Toyota Avalon gave a courtesy wave and sped away. It wouldn't be much of a challenge to squeeze her lime green Beetle into that spot.

After a skillful parallel parking job, Miranda grabbed her purse, fed the meter, and headed into The Steamer Trunk. A bell rang as she opened the door and immediately smelled the sweet, familiar scent of potpourri. She briefly scanned the single room and its artful displays of suits, dresses, hats, and accessories. Her best friend Patty had found the place online, and it was much smaller than she had expected for "the largest collection of authentic nineteenth century clothing in the area." Then again, she supposed it was a miracle that anything from that time period was still in good enough condition to wear.

The middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk looked up from her paperback novel and took off her reading glasses. "Welcome to The Steamer Trunk," she said pleasantly. "Is there anything I can help you find?"

"I'm looking for a wedding dress," Miranda answered happily.

"Oh, how exciting!" the nice lady replied, pointing toward the corner to her right. "All of our actual wedding dresses are on the rack over there. I'm afraid there aren't many. Most of the dresses we sell are used as costumes in plays and recreation events. But you might find some of them suitable for a wedding as well. Back then, it wasn't uncommon for a woman to just get married in her best dress."

"Yes, I've heard that," Miranda replied. "Would you mind if I browsed around?"

"Of course not. Help yourself, and let me know if you have any questions."

"Thank you," Miranda returned as she walked over to the rack of off-white and yellow hued dresses. She figured they probably had discolored from aging, but it didn't matter. White wasn't her best color, and it was hardly important to her to look virginal. The tint just accentuated the antique look that she found desirable.

She perused the relatively small selection, holding each one up to her body. They were all uniquely beautiful, some covered in delicate lace or beads, others more plain with subtle ruffles around the collars and sleeves. She loved the fact that they were so distinctive and not at all like the cookie cutter dresses she had seen at the mall, most of which looked like a creampuff had exploded. Miranda liked to be different, and she had no interest in becoming dream wedding Barbie.

She had inherited an appreciation and fascination for the nineteenth century from her mother, who had soaked up all the stories of the wild west that her great-grandmother had told her as a small child. When Miranda was in third grade her mom dressed her as Scarlett O'Hara for Halloween. None of her friends had a clue who she was supposed to be, but Miranda didn't care. She held her bag out at each door and said, "Fiddle dee dee!" instead of "Trick or treat," and the adults found her irresistible. She got more candy that year than any other. When she started planning her wedding, she couldn't think of a more fitting tribute to her mother than having a Victorian theme.

Miranda's mind wandered as she imagined the women who had worn these dresses well over a century ago. How did they feel on their wedding days? Were their marriages happy? And perhaps most importantly, how did such personal, treasured possessions end up on a rack of anonymous clothing to be sold to strangers playing dress up? It almost seemed wrong, as though she was borrowing someone's identity.

As she held up the last one, Miranda knew one thing for sure—no matter how much she loved these dresses, she would not fit into any of them. She was hardly a large woman—a healthy, fit size 10—but none of them looked like they were bigger than a size 6. Women were generally smaller back then, and while she was handy with a sewing machine, she couldn't magically grow more fabric.

With a heavy sigh she placed the final dress back on the rack. It had been an interesting experience, but it appeared that her wedding dress was not at The Steamer Trunk. Still, she had driven thirty miles and figured she may as well see what else they had at this cute little shop of treasures. She might find a "something blue" here for her special day.

She tried on a hat with blue flowers and ribbons and a pair of gloves with blue embroidery. They were lovely, but the gloves didn't fit, and without a dress it was impossible to determine whether a hat would look right. She had the same issue with the jewelry selections. They were not exactly cheap, and what if they didn't match the rest of the outfit she eventually chose? No, she would have to find a dress before she bought anything else.

Miranda smiled and thanked the clerk before heading toward the door, checking her watch and seeing that she still had plenty of time on the meter. Maybe she would browse some other stores in the area while she was here. The bell rang as she opened the door, and she was almost to the sidewalk when something caught the corner of her eye.

The display dress in the front window hung on a mannequin that was obviously too small for it. The sleeves almost covered the hands, and the chest was clearly designed for a full figured woman instead of its waif-like model. It was sapphire blue, with a simple lace overlay on parts of the bodice and sleeves. It buttoned up the front and bustled in the back, flowing naturally instead of creating one of those hideous butt shelves.

It was exquisite. How had she missed this when she first came in? She had no idea, but whatever the reason she was going to rectify that situation. She hurried back inside, startling the clerk who had gone back to her romance novel.

"I'm sorry, but I just noticed the dress in the front window," Miranda began. "Is it for sale?"

"Oh yes, we just got that in a couple of days ago," the lady explained. "I liked it so much I decided to make it the front display. Doesn't fit the mannequin too well, though, does it?"

Miranda laughed. "No it doesn't, so it might actually fit me. May I try it on?"

"Certainly," she answered. "It might take me some time to get all those buttons undone. Sometimes I wonder how women dressed themselves back then."

"I've got time," Miranda replied excitedly. Friday was her day off this week from her job as a physician's assistant in a large medical practice. Her fiancé Brian had gone to St. Louis for the weekend to visit his family, and she had absolutely nowhere else to be today.

Ten minutes later she was in a charming fitting room equipped with a large mirror and antique looking chair. She noted its generous size given the tiny dimensions of the store itself, but the right type of Victorian dress could probably take up half the space by itself.

Miranda took off her jeans and blouse and gently stepped into the dress, careful not to damage a single stitch and thankful for the plethora of front buttons, even if they were a pain to fasten. She was prepared to suck it in if necessary, but she didn't have to. As she made her way to the very top button, she could tell that it was going to be a perfect fit.

She pulled a big barrette out of her purse and pinned her long chestnut hair into a loose bun. She sat in the chair and looked at herself in the mirror, imagining a sepia toned picture with a sharply dressed groom standing stiffly behind her. She couldn't help but smile, even though the photos from the era showed mostly stone faced subjects. This was her dress, she was almost sure of it. If only Patty had not woken up with a migraine and was able to come with her as planned. Buying a wedding dress just didn't seem like the kind of thing a girl should do alone. Ideally she would be doing it with her mother, but Miranda had lost her mother to breast cancer shortly after she graduated from college.

Luckily, she lived in the age of technology. She pulled out her iPhone and aimed it at the mirror, capturing a picture of herself taking the picture. She had to work not to laugh, trying to make it look like the Old Tyme photo she still had of her and Patty in Gatlinburg several years ago. They were saloon girls in that picture, but she knew Patty would get the reference. She highlighted Patty's e-mail address, hit "send," and hoped she was awake.

Four minutes later she had her answer when the phone meowed, her special tone alerting her to a text message. "OMG, that's the one!" read the enthusiastic response. Miranda smiled and set the phone down so she could gingerly remove what had become her future wedding dress. She had her something old, something new, and something blue—all in one dress. All she needed was something borrowed.

The lady behind the desk was thrilled, both at making a big sale and seeing such an obviously happy customer. "I think this is one of my favorite dresses that we've ever gotten in," she told Miranda honestly. "I'm glad it's going to a good home, and for such a happy occasion."

"So am I," Miranda beamed. "Thank you so much."

The purchase went on her Visa, and she would be able to pay it off next month. It was hard to believe that she could get a dress this unique for the same price as those cookie cutters. She lifted the plastic garment bag as high as she could with one hand while she opened her hatchback with the other. The back of her car sported two stickers, one saying "Save the ta-tas," with a breast cancer support ribbon, and the other proclaiming, "Well-behaved women rarely make history." That one was a gift from her mother when she bought the car, and it made her smile every time she saw it.

She stared at her meager trunk area and shook her head. What was I thinking? This wasn't a Volkswagen Beetle type of dress. She would have to lay it across the back seat if she had a prayer of getting it home without crumpling it beyond recognition. She closed the hatchback and opened the driver's side door, pulling the seat forward and positioning the dress as straight as she could before taking off for the half hour ride home.

Miranda's apartment in Lawrence was on the second floor, and she carried her dress upstairs lying flat across both arms to make sure it didn't touch the ground. She had already called Brian and told him about it. No descriptions—she wanted it to be a surprise on their wedding day. But she was excited to let him know that she had found a dress to fit their theme, and he'd better start looking for that tailcoat and top hat. She chuckled as she pictured him, thinking how lucky she was that her future husband was such a good sport.

She walked into the apartment and started to hang the dress in the hall closet, but it was too pretty to stick in a closet just yet. She held it up to her again and walked into the living room where a small mirror hung on the wall. She could only see from the waist up, but she could still imagine the rest. She gently pulled the plastic above the dress and draped it over her large sectional couch to get the full effect.

A large brown and white tabby suddenly appeared on the cushion, mischievously eyeing a tempting row of buttons. "Don't even think about it, Sophie," she warned as she scooped up her cat and carried her to the utility room for temporary confinement. "You barf on this, and you die," she teased, knowing from experience that it wasn't an irrational fear. She had 1500 square feet of tile and hardwood flooring, but somehow Sophie always managed to find the 5' x 8' Oriental rug when she needed to hack up a hairball. Miranda returned to the couch and ran her hand over the bare silk part of the skirt, shuddering at the thought. It was so soft, so blue, and in amazingly good condition. Someone had taken extra special care of it.

She came to a small slit in the right side where the fabric slightly separated, something she had not noticed when she tried it on at the store. Dammit. She might have gotten a discount if she had known there was a flaw, though it was barely visible and she could sew it up. She ran her finger through the slit and discovered that it was not a tear at all, it was a pocket. She hadn't missed an opportunity for a bargain after all.

What would a woman of that time period keep there? A handkerchief? She made a mental note to Google that question. Perhaps she could keep something in there for luck at her wedding. She stuck her hand in the pocket, curious about how big it was. To her surprise, she felt something inside.

She pulled out a yellow piece of paper, folded into quarters. She unfolded it, noting the thickness—quite a bit thicker than modern writing paper. The beautiful, feminine script was faded but still visible. Miranda furrowed her brow as she tried to process her discovery. Was it original to the dress? Surely not. Or could it be? She wasn't an expert, but it certainly looked like it could be from that era. She silently mouthed the words as she read from the paper:

I, Kathleen, take thee, Matthew, to be my partner in marriage as you have been my partner in life. I promise to love and respect you, to honor and cherish you, in times of hardship as well as prosperity, in sickness and in health. I will be true to you, forsaking all others, until death parts us.

TBC