a/n: Here's the deal...I know next to nothing about sewing and only indulged in some perfunctory at best research on the subject. So if the details are wack, my apologies to all seamstresses and tailors out there. Otherwise, please enjoy this piece of fluffy, Baxley literary elephantiasis. I don't know why I took a simple, lovely prompt and went all Jame Joyce on it...
Phyllis Baxter clutched the key to the servant's entrance in one hand as she locked the door behind her, blessing Mrs. Hughes again for quietly giving it into her keeping after she'd accepted Joseph Molesley's proposal. Now that he'd left service for teaching and lived with his father in the village, she wouldn't see him more often than her half day every other week, if she didn't have the means to come and go a little more freely after her duties were over.
Of course, it could have been that, as she was the senior woman servant left living in the house other than Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Hughes simply felt that the final locking up should be her responsibility. But the way she'd looked at Phyllis and the low voiced warning her not to be out too late when the key was surreptitiously pressed into her palm, convinced her that Mrs. Hughes had her interests at heart.
The servant's hall was empty, and a quick glance at the clock showed her that she had been out rather later than usual. Well…they'd had a lot to talk about. The wedding was only a bit over two months away, in spite of Joseph's efforts to talk Mr. Travis into an earlier date. She smiled, remembering how Joseph had described the conversation he'd had with the vicar, laughing nervously at the implications that there was a reason for what the Vicar referred to as "unseemly haste." She could only imagine how he'd sputtered his way through that exchange. The tops of his ears pinked up just from mentioning it.
She sighed as she realized she would need to be back up in just a few hours and was about to go straight up the stairs to her room when her eye was caught by a glossy magazine sitting on top of the rubbish bin. Someone had apparently finished with their Gratten Catalogue and pitched it. And no wonder…there was very little in it that servants could afford. But daydreams cost nothing and anyone could have them. They even came true from time to time.
With that thought, she was truly going to bed. But she stopped before she'd left the room and turned back to fish it out of the bin, not really sure why she wanted it. Tucking it under her arm, she made her way up the stairs, thinking again about the conversation they'd had as he walked her back to the Abbey.
"Dad wants to do the flowers, if you're happy about that."
"Of course I am," she'd replied, smiling at him. "That would be wonderful."
He beamed back at her. "Just tell me if you want a specific color….to complement your dress, or something."
"Oh…my dress. I haven't—"
"I know I'm not supposed to see it or anything," he prattled cheerfully, not noticing the little frown that flickered across her face. "But surely you could just tell Dad if there was something in particular you wanted."
"Yes. I could do that."
And she would…if she had a clue what she'd be wearing.
As Phyllis settled herself for the night, she pondered the irony of someone who dressed another woman for a living having no plan for dressing herself on her own wedding day.
"I'll need to do something about that," she murmured as she drifted off, "and soon. I'd hate to disappoint him…"
Phyllis sighed in frustration as she waited for Her Ladyship's bell to ring. The dinner conversation had been lively, according to Mr. Barrow, and the post prandial discussion in the Drawing Room didn't seem to be coming to an end anytime soon. Resigned to the inconvenience, Phyllis opened her mending bag to take care of some minor items, and her eye fell on the catalogue she'd stuffed in there but hadn't had a chance to look over yet.
Feeling almost embarrassed, she glanced around quickly to ensure no one was paying her any mind and pulled it out. Grattan's frocks were not something she would ordinarily even consider perusing, but it was her wedding dress she was thinking of. Surely one could be a bit extravagant with something like that.
Flipping quickly to the finer dresses, she ran her eyes over the offerings critically. While she admitted they were very fine, and very fashionable, none of them seemed to be appropriate for her. As she leafed trough the pages with growing disappointment, she realized she couldn't picture herself standing next to Joseph and reciting her vows in the church in any of them. They just weren't…right. Too short…too pinched…too youthful…too…
Her eyes widened at the daring cut and drape of a dress more suitable for a night in a smokey jazz club than a mid afternoon wedding in Downton. And they widened even further when they lit on the price.
With a roll of her eyes, she slammed the catalogue shut and replaced it in the bin she'd found it in at first. The only thing she'd liked about it at all was the color - a delicate cream that seemed to shimmer on the page.
"There wasn't even enough material in that frock to justify the price," she muttered. "And Joseph would have been so shocked, he'd forget to say his vows."
Her Ladyship's bell finally went off before she could work herself into too much of a brown study. She gathered herself and headed for the stairs. Hopefully, Her Ladyship would be tired and not in the mood for chatting. Phyllis could ready her for bed with only half her mind engaged on the task while she continued ponder the problem of her dress.
Halfway up to the second floor, she stopped on the stairs for a moment as it occurred to her that she wasn't going to find the dress she wanted - the one that fit her to perfection, was appropriate for her station, worked for a wedding and made Joseph's eyes light up in amazed delight. Shaking her head, she continued upwards with one thought in the front of her mind…
She was going to have to make it herself. And she had about eight weeks in which to do it.
It was a wrench not to spend at least part of her half day having tea with Joseph and his father, or simply strolling along listening to Joseph talk excitedly about his students. The lanes and byways around Downton village offered quiet and a certain amount of privacy. The evening of her last half day had been spent watching the sun go down as they sat on a grassy bank, her leaning back against his chest as he stroked his hand gently up and down her arm and occasionally kissed the side of her head. They'd meant to discuss their future living arrangements, but had been distracted by the view. And each other.
She'd much rather being doing that than wandering into yet another haberdashery in York, wearily searching for just the fabric she had in mind. She'd found the right color, but it wasn't the texture she wanted. Then she'd found something a little closer, but the quality didn't meet her standards. As she pushed the door open and a little bell tinkled to herald her arrival, she sighed and resigned herself to another disappointment.
A middle aged woman looked up from rearranging thread and humphed grumpily at the young woman behind the front counter, who had been staring dreamily out the window of the shop and idly twisting a ring around her watched with a slight smile as the young woman jumped at seeing a customer and tried to behave professionally.
"How can I help, Miss?" she asked, deliberately masking the broad Yorkshire in her voice. The friendly note in her tone overrode her attempt at formality, making it seem as if the inquiry should have been full of dropped aitches and accompanied by a cheerful wink. The middle aged woman rolled her eyes in frustration. Phyllis pretended not to notice and gave the young woman an encouraging smile.
"I'm looking for a particular fabric for a dress…" she began.
"That's what we sell!" the young woman informed her enthusiastically. The grinding sound coming from the other woman's jaw was audible from across the shop
"I certainly do hope I can find it here. I've had no luck elsewhere."
"What sort of dress are ye makin'?"
"That'll do, Gladys," snapped the older woman as she made her careful way through the shop to the front. "The fabrics and dress goods are just this way, Miss," she informed Phyllis. "We've a recent shipment of lovely, patterned voile - perfect for a light summer afternoon frock…"
"I'm looking for something a little more formal," Phyllis interjected before she could be dragged off to the fetchingly arranged bolts of patterned voile. "It's…it's for a wedding dress, actually."
"Oh! How lovely!" Gladys at the front counter gushed. "Will you be wanting something fancy, then? Who's it for?"
"Gladys!" rumbled the older woman, glaring at the excited young woman who looked as if she was about to vault over the counter and plunge into the table displays with abandon.
Phyllis looked desperately around the shop and her eye fell on a bolt of light green fabric that seemed to dance. Looking a little closer as the older woman scolded the chastened Gladys in a low grumble, her eyes followed the silky sheen of the weave and recognized it as faille, woven into a subtle pattern of heavier then lighter rows. She ran her fingers lightly over it, immediately noticing that it was silk and not cotton.
It would be perfect, if it wasn't green. She sighed and looked towards the front where the voices had ceased and two pairs of eyes were watching her.
"Do you have this in a deep cream?" she asked, not holding out much hope.
"That? I'm not sure, Miss. Better let me check," the older woman said with a raised eyebrow. She bustled off to the rear of the shop.
"Is it the bride's first wedding?" the irrepressible Gladys asked in a loud whisper after checking to ensure that her superior was far enough away not to hear her. "Shouldn't she have white, or sumpin?"
"She's…um, a bit…older than your typical bride," Phyllis replied softly, not meeting the young woman's open, inquiring gaze.
"Ohhhhhh….I think it's ever so romantic when a spinster finds true love," Gladys opined seriously. "But it'd make me worried I'd never find one. So I'm glad I've got me a chap while I'm young."
Phyllis bit the inside of her cheek and tried to look interested as Gladys began describing her chap's prospects and their future plans, which did not include her working in a haberdashery much longer. When the older woman emerged towards the front again, Phyllis breathed a large sigh of relief.
"Well, we've got some of it in a white, some in an off white, and some in a cream," she informed them unenthusiastically. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to look at some of the silk brocades we have? As it's for a wedding?"
"I don't want…I don't think the bride wants anything too fussy," Phyllis said firmly. "May I see the cream?"
The older woman motioned for Phyllis to follow her after exchanging a frustrated glance with her assistant. Phyllis' eyes lit up when she saw the cloth and she drew in a soft breath as she gently stroked the fabric, imagining how it would slide under Joseph's hands on her upper arms and at the small of her back when they danced and how it would feel against her when he tightened his hands at her waist.
The older woman watched her as she admired the fabric and a knowing smile crept over her face.
"Will you be making the dress yourself, Miss? Or is the material for someone else to work?"
"Oh, I'll be making it myself," Phyllis replied, her mind awhirl with potential patterns and modest embellishments.
The woman smiled again before schooling her features into her professional mask. A few more muttered questions, and she was cutting and folding great swaths of the material into a neat pile.
"What else can we help you with, Miss? Thread? Buttons? Bit of lace?"
"I'll need a look round…."
Phyllis began to explore the shop with a determined look, trailed by the younger woman who never stopped chatting about weddings in general and her plans in particular until the older woman ordered her back to the front counter. After another thirty minutes, Phyllis had found the perfect pearlescent, delicate buttons and bobbins of the exact thread that she needed. As she took them to the counter, the older woman nodded with approval.
"Very nice those will look, when it's all brought together. Will there be anything else, Miss?"
Phyllis thought for a moment and wished she had time to make some open lace knotting for the bodice of the dress.
"Perhaps some ivory cordonnet…"
"Gladys!" the woman barked, making her assistant jump. "Fetch some ivory cordonnet."
Phyllis rocked nervously from foot to foot as the older woman figured up her purchases. She'd never paid so much for materials for her own use before, and was suddenly nervous that she'd be unable to make it as she hoped and would have wasted her money and time.
"It adds up a bit," the older woman said sympathetically at the almost stricken look on Phyllis' face when she was presented with the total. Gladys returned with the requested thread, and the older woman laid it on the rest of the purchases.
"There now, take that with our complements and all our best to the bride," she said when Phyllis began digging into her purse once again to pay for it.
"Thank you very much," Phyllis replied. "You've both been very kind."
The door had no sooner shut behind her than Gladys began an enthusiastic monologue about weddings and dresses.
"….an those buttons will be lovely. She's gonna to make a wonderful dress. I hope the bride likes it!"
The oder woman looked at her in disbelief and rolled her eyes. "She is the bride, you great ninny."
"She never is! Why dint she say so?"
"You never stopped talking long enough."
"You think she is?" Gladys mused thoughtfully. "She dint seem like the marrying type to me…."
With Gladys' enthusiastic farewells still ringing in her ears, and her purchases wrapped in brown paper and securely tied, Phyllis made her way towards the train station, stoping only once to admire a cloche hat in a millinery shop window that was the exact shade as her dress fabric before shaking herself and continuing on. She certainly couldn't afford anything else today.
Phyllis sat in her room leaning awkwardly over her bed where her best dress was laid over a layer of tissue paper as she painstakingly marked out her measurements. She could hear the bustle of the house and knew that the dressing gong would be ringing any time. Sighing, she eyed the pattern she'd created, making note of where she would alter it to create something new. Her eyes shot nervously towards the door and she bit her lip before raising the hemline and lowering the neckline.
Quick footsteps in the corridor made her gather up the dress and the pattern and push them into her wardrobe, grimacing as a pin caught the pad of her finger. There was a knock on her door and the friendly face of one of the day girls from the village poked around respectfully.
"Mr. Molesley is downstairs and wonders if you have a moment to speak to him."
"Just a moment," she said eagerly. "Please tell him I'll be right down."
The girl grinned and nodded. Her footsteps echoed as they tripped away towards the staircase and Phyllis checked her hair somewhat hurriedly in her small mirror. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her skirt and left the room with only one backward glance at the wardrobe and an expectant flutter in her stomach at the thought of seeing Joseph unexpectedly.
"Hello!" he greeted her, standing up as she entered the servant's hall. Mr. Carson, who had been speaking to Mr. Molesley, looked at them both with brief annoyance when they didn't spare him a glance.
"Might as well not even be in the room," he muttered as he rose from his chair with dignity and walked out. Joseph didn't notice he'd gone and Phyllis hadn't noticed he had been there in the first place.
"What are you doing here?" she asked with a smile as he took her hand and led her to the chairs next to the fireplace.
"I've come to see you, of course. Couldn't let your half day go by without even spending a moment with you." He squeezed her hand lightly as they sat down.
"A moments all I've got, I'm afraid," she said apologetically. "Mr. Carson will be ringing the gong any minute." She smiled and squeezed his hand in return. "But I'm glad to see you for however long we've got…"
As Joseph stroked her fingers lightly, he scuffed his thumb across her pricked finger and she flinched.
"What's this?" he asked, turning her hand over and looking over her fingers. "Did a pin get you?"
"Yes. I was…working on…" she trailed off as she realized she didn't want him to know she was making her own dress. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.
He looked at her expectantly as he raised her hand up to his mouth and gently kissed the tip of her finger.
"Joseph!" she hissed, snatching her hand back and trying to give him a stern look. Judging by the unrepentant smile on his face, she didn't think she was successful. The stick from the poke of the pin receded as her finger tingled from the warm touch of his lips.
"You were working on?" he prompted.
"Never mind. Nothing worth mentioning."
"How was York?"
"Hardly worth missing a half day with you, but I did have some important errands to run."
Joseph opened his mouth to reply but fell silent as the sound of the dressing gong echoed down from upstairs. His face fell in disappointment for a moment, then he smiled ruefully.
"I hope we'll get to spend more than five minutes together on your next half day," he said as they stood. "If you want to, that is."
"Don't be silly, of course I want to. But I have to get on now."
Smiling, she gave his hand one last squeeze and moved rapidly towards the door. Turning back to look at him one last time, she saw him still standing next to his chair, watching her with a devoted smile.
She kept that smile with her for the rest of a long, busy evening. And kept it front of her mind as she worked on cutting, trimming and basting until her eyes got too blurry to continue.
Oh, what Phyllis wouldn't have given for a day alone with her sewing machine and no interruptions. Then again, she'd give just as much for the same with Joseph….
Unfortunately, she received neither.
She wasn't really complaining. It was her job and she was very grateful to have it and hoped to keep it for as long as Her Ladyship resided at Downton Abbey and was willing to keep her.
Still…she couldn't help but feel a bit of frustration and resentment that she had so little time to work on her wedding dress or see the man she intended to marry while wearing it. And she hated it when she had to make a choice between them during her precious few moments to herself.
With a sigh, she tried to drag her attention back to the bodice piece she was making. Wanting an invisible, strong seam, she gently pushed the pedal and carefully and slowly guided the fabric under the needle to make the tiniest possible stitches. It called for her concentration, and it was difficult to keep focused on her task as images of Joseph's disappointed face when she told him the previous night that she wouldn't be able to get away today to see him kept intruding.
Having an image of Joseph while she worked was nothing new. As she tweaked the pattern and made those small adjustments to the waist and the fall of the fabric as it would lay on her sides and chest for something a bit form fitting, she thought of him almost constantly, wondering if it would be too bold, if he would like it, if he would find his eyes drawn to her….
"You're very busy, Miss Baxter."
Phyllis looked up, startled, and bit back a curse as her line wavered slightly. She tried to smile politely at Mrs. Hughes, who looked sorry for interrupting her.
"Yes…I am a bit."
"And you've got a wedding to be planning as well," Mrs. Hughes replied with a sympathetic shake of her head.
"Well, Jo-…Mr. Molesley is taking on a great many of the details." Mrs. Hughes' mouth twitched upward at her correction. "But I try to do what I can. It won't be a very grand affair, so I think we'll manage."
"I'm sure you will," Mrs Hughes said reassuringly. "Do let me know though, if you require a bit of time during the day."
Phyllis smiled in thanks and began reversing her last few stitches as Mrs. Hughes turned to go, hesitating to pick up a piece of the fabric piled at Phyllis' side.
"This is lovely….what's it for?" she asked. "Some alteration for Her Ladyship?"
"Um…no…not exactly," Phyllis mumbled, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to broadcast that she was working on her own dress in a time she should be on duty. Fortunately, Mrs. Hughes hurried on, not asking for any further details.
Phyllis' relief was short lived, as Thomas Barrow wandered into the Servant's Hall with a cup of tea. Not wanting to field any questions from him, she finished the seam she was working on quickly and tried to bundle everything away unobtrusively. By the time he sat across from her and began talking, she was working on some overdue mending. But she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering over to the neatly folded pile of fabric that was struggling to become a wedding dress.
It wasn't too difficult to slip into the village for a bit in the middle of the day, particularly when Her Ladyship was out. There wasn't usually much of a point though, as Joseph was teaching and she wouldn't disturb him, in spite of his assuring her that he had the occasional break through the day. However, she wasn't looking to meet with him on this day.
She briskly walked the now very familiar route to old Mr. Molesley's cottage, taking a moment to admire the riot of color in the beautifully kept front garden. Old Mr. Molesley - she couldn't bring herself to call him Bill yet - was, as usual, pottering slowly around. She smiled as he noticed her standing by the gate and straightened up creakily, touching the brim of his cap.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Molesley," she said as she went through and carefully shut the gate behind her.
"And a good day to ye, lass," he replied, brushing his hands on the sides of his trousers. "Would you like a cuppa?"
"That would be nice," she said as she followed him into the tiny entrance of the cottage. He moved to the kitchen with the big sink and began to wash his hands while she found set out the tea things in comfortable silence and waited to fill the kettle.
"What brings ye round today?" Mr. Molesley asked as they waited for the tea to seep. "Not that I'm not always glad to see ye," he added.
"I'm not bothering you?"
"Not a bit of it," he replied firmly, patting her hand. "I've nothing pressing."
She smiled gratefully at him. There were times when she still couldn't bring herself to believe that this wise old man was prepared to allow her to marry his only son. And welcome her graciously into the bargain. She'd never asked Joseph directly if his father was familiar with her rather dark past, and he'd never said, exactly. But the initial surprise and skepticism that had greeted them when she and Joseph had first reached an understanding and were soon after engaged had become kindness and a softening of Mr. Molesley's blunt ways. Joseph had remarked on occasion that his dad seemed to like her better than he liked him.
"Joseph has been on to me about making a decision about the flowers," she began, "and since I know a bit now about what I'll be wearing…."
"Don't tell me too much, Lass," Mr Molesley interjected, putting his hands over his ears and grinning. "The lad'll worry at me like a dog with a bone if he thinks I know owt."
Phyllis laughed and tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. "Just the colors, then. It's mostly a deep cream. I haven't decided on accessories, but I was thinking of a light blue." Mr. Molesley nodded. "Whatever flowers you think would look best, and…"
"Go on, lass," he prompted. "Anything special you'd like?"
Phyllis looked way from his kind eyes for a moment, thinking of Joseph. "Something for graciousness…and fidelity," she said softly.
"Aye. I can do that and all."
"And maybe…." she hesitated again, hoping she wouldn't offend or upset him. "Maybe something in memory of Mrs. Molesley?"
"In yer own bouquet, lass? Really?" Mr. Molesley's eyes shone softly at her.
"If that would be alright," she said worriedly.
"Course it'll be. That's just…aye. I'll be glad to do that."
"Thank you."
Mr. Molesley tried to gruffly wave off her thanks, but she caught him wiping his eye when she reached for a biscuit. They chatted a bit, mainly about Joseph, his excitement about teaching and the wedding, which was all Joseph really wanted to talk about lately, according to Mr. Molesley.
"Well, it is only five weeks away," she murmured into tea cup. "There's still a lot to sort out."
"He's leaving no stone unturned," Mr. Molesley commented with a roll of his eyes. "Which reminds me, lass…we're shifting the rooms about upstairs. Would you like to come see what needs to be done yet?"
"What do you mean, 'shifting the rooms about'?" she said, obligingly getting to her feet and following Mr. Molesley.
"I'll be in the lad's room." At her surprised look, he chuckled. "You've not seen the rooms, lass. Joseph's is the back one under the eves - barely enough room for a chest and a small bed in there. You'll not both fit."
"But we can't throw you out of your room!" she protested.
He waved a dismissive hand at her. "I don't need so much room as all that. You'll see…" He stopped by a slightly ajar door and nodded at it with a grin. "That'll be Joseph's room. It's a lucky thing he were never a big lad."
She peered into the dim room and looked back around at Mr. Molesley, who looked a bit smug.
"You've got a point, Mr. Molesley," she admitted wryly. The small single bed was messily made and several of the chest's drawers were partially open, clothing dangling from them. A small bookcase took up almost all of the rest of the floor space. The precisely aligned books were the only neat thing in the room.
"So come take a quick look in, as yer here, and ye can decide what else needs be done," Mr. Molesley said, indicating the other door across the narrow corridor.
Phyllis peeked inside a much brighter room, which held a larger bed, a wardrobe and a chest. It was scrupulously neat, and it was clear that Joseph's cleaning habits weren't passed down from his parents. As she turned back to tell Mr. Molesley that it was lovely and protest again that he would be vacating it, the door slammed downstairs and Joseph's voice could be heard ringing through the house.
"Dad? Dad! You here?"
"I'm upstairs, lad, along wi—"
"I've got to hurry," he interrupted. I've had a bit of an accident with the inkwell…" His voice came closer as he began to mount the stairs. "Kenneth Larson dropped it when he fetched it to me…poor lad is all thumbs…."
Mr. Molesley's eyebrows went up at that and he and Phyllis shared a look while she held back a giggle. They waited at the landing until Joseph appeared, already peeling off his coat and waist coat, his formerly crisp, white shirt splashed liberally with black India ink. As soon as he caught sight of Phyllis, he stopped in his tracks and smiled in surprise.
"Hello! I didn't know you'd be here!"
"I only stopped in for a bit, to talk to your father about…things. He wanted to show me the rooms…"
"Oh good! You can decide if it needs a bit of paint or something."
They stood in the corridor, smiling at each other, until Mr. Molesley coughed loudly and headed for the stairs.
"Shouldn't you change?" she finally asked.
"What? Oh yes…I'd better. I've got one of the older students watching my lower form…" With that he charged into his tiny room and began digging through the top drawer.
Phyllis watched him in amusement until he began unbuttoning his shirt as if he'd forgotten she was standing there.
"I'll just…" She gestured vaguely towards the stairs and scuttled towards them. He'd stopped what he was doing and stared after her with his mouth hanging open and a deep flush spreading up his neck.
She clattered quickly down the stairs to find Mr. Molesley finishing the last of the tea. He gave her a raised eyebrow when she dashed back into the kitchen.
"I wonder what young Kenneth went home looking like?" he mused.
Phyllis burst into laughter and clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Mr. Molesley shared a chuckle with her.
"I really must be getting on, but I hate to run off without saying a proper goodbye to Joseph."
"That sounds like him now," Mr. Molesley said, straightening up from his chair with a grunt and shuffling towards the door to the back garden. As Joseph came bursting through into the kitchen, trying to knot his tie on the run, Mr. Molesley slipped out of the door.
"Sorry about that…upstairs. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
"Don't apologize," she replied, reaching out to gently push his hands away and began knotting his tie properly. He stood still, breathing in the scent of her hair as she concentrated.
"There," she said, patting his tie and smiling at him. "You look a proper teacher now." She leaned forward to kiss him softly.
He took her hands in his and held them to his chest. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"
"When you began undressing in front of me?" she teased. He nodded, flushing with embarrassment again. "Not really. I expect I'll get used to it," she added with a smile.
"I were only expecting Dad when I dashed home. This has been a lovely surprise."
"For me as well," she replied. Reluctantly stepping away from him, she went to the door and raised her voice to bid Mr. Molesley farewell.
"Good bye, Joseph."
"When can I see you again?" he asked eagerly.
Phyllis bit her lip and thought about how much was still left to do on her dress. She hadn't even done the first fitting, and the wedding was only a month away. Although the thought of a late night meeting was very tempting - even more so as he smiled at her and reached out to push a wayward strand of hair back from her cheek - she simply couldn't.
"I might be able to get away for most of my next half day," she replied after a moment.
"Not at all before then?" he asked.
"I'll try," she promised.
Phyllis watched him gallop back towards the village school, then turned for the Abbey and began to hurry back. She may not have gotten much work done on her dress that afternoon, but it was worth it to catch a moment with the man she was marrying.
She had a raging headache. And while she tried to deny it, she knew very well it from trying to do fine stitching in the dim light of her room, late at night. It'd taken the better part of a week, but she had managed a few fittings, smoothing her hands over the fabric to see how it lay upon her torso and hips, casting a critical eye on the lengths of the sleeves, and wondering why the skirt seemed so limp.
Pleats. It wanted pleats. And that took some fine stitching and fiddly work to get them all even and draped. Her eyes would cross with the strain sometimes. And once, when she'd put down the work for just a moment to consider how Joseph would react to the extra sway the pleats added to the dress, she managed to fall asleep, sprawled across her bed with the pieced dress draped over her like a blanket.
But she'd managed it, and she was quite pleased with how the dress draped and flowed now. Buttons, cuffs, shaping the neck, and some final hemming remained, but she blocked out the pounding in her head to smile proudly down at the dress. Pulling at a tuck here and there though, it occurred to her that a slightly more form fitting frock than she usually wore would require some slightly more form fitting underthings.
And she didn't have any. That meant another trip into Ripon or York to find some. And that meant another half day spent away from Joseph and no rest for her.
Her head was still pounding when she managed to steal away long enough to meet Joseph in the village, only to inform him that she was not going to be able to meet him on her half day. Again.
"Why ever not?" he demanded.
"I have some things I need to get, Joseph," she replied with a sigh. "Things for the wedding," she added, hoping to coax him into being excited about her trip. She was thankful that it was fairly dark, as she knew color was rising in her cheeks at the thought of what she was going to get.
"Could I pick it up for you?" he asked.
"No!" At his surprised face, she hastened to add: "They're for…well, they're…I'm really the only one who can." His expression was comically perplexed as he tried to work out what she might be talking about. "They're…rather personal, Joseph."
His face ran a gamut of expressions before his eyebrows flew up and he drew in a quick breath. "Ahhhh. I don't suppose I could, then."
"No. You couldn't." With a little cough, she tried to change the subject. "What did you want to ask me?"
"Ask you?" He wrinkled his brow in thought and she couldn't help reaching over to smooth it down with her fingers. "Um…I'm not sure I remember."
She smiled and shook her head at him, then winced when the movement made it pound harder. He looked at her with concern when she rubbed her temple.
"Just a bit of a headache," she reassured him. His expression didn't change.
"You're working too hard, trying to take care of Her Ladyship and work on the wedding arrangements as well," he informed her. "Why not let me do more?"
"You're already doing so much," she murmured as he pulled her into his arms and rubbed his hands soothingly on her back.
"I could do a bit more," he said, pulling back enough to look her in the eye. "If there's anything else needing done in York or anywhere else, tell me. I'll see it's done."
"I can't think what else we'd need after this next trip, but I will." He gave her a stern look. "I promise I will."
He kissed her temple and sighed. "Only three more weeks…"
She shivered, but wasn't sure if it was excitement at the impending event, or dread at the amount of work she still needed to do to make the dress satisfactory.
"So…" he said casually, "these things you're getting from York? Will I, um…is there any chance I could…"
"Only three more weeks, Joseph," she replied with a smile.
Phyllis was exhausted enough on the train back from York to nearly fall asleep. As the train slowed, she jerked awake and clutched at the packages on her lap. The top one slid off and onto the floor. Frantically, she snatched it up, praying the string around the paper hadn't broken and revealed what was inside. Several others in the third class compartment watched her curiously as she let out a relieved breath that all was intact.
She did not want the entire world to see what she'd bought before Joseph managed it.
Gathering her things, she disembarked and stood on the platform, not looking forward to the walk back to the Abbey. It was tempting to walk over to Mr. Molesley's cottage instead, and have Joseph walk back with her the rest of the way. But that would mean he'd want to carry the parcels…
"Miss Baxter?"
Phyllis turned to see Mr. Branson and Mr. Talbot looking at her from across the platform, next to the flat freight car where several cars were being loaded. Mr. Branson had noticed her standing there indecisively and called her name. Mr. Talbot glanced over, then returned his attention to the way the porters were strapping the car down.
"It goes over the hood, not the roof!" he shouted exasperatedly. "No! Not like that! Between the axles! Oh for God's sake! Here…I'll show you…"
Mr. Branson gave his brother-in-law an amused look, then walked over to where Phyllis was waiting.
"We're very nearly done here, if you'd like a ride back to the Abbey," he offered, gesturing at her packages. "You've got a bit to carry, it would seem."
"A bit, yes," she replied with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mr. Branson. I'll wait by the car, so as not to be in the way."
They both glanced over at the freight car where Mr. Talbot was crawling under the car to vigorously strap it down while two, burley porters watched, unimpressed. Mr. Branson chuckled.
"We'll only be a few moments," he said as he returned to the edge of the platform and began teasing Mr. Talbot.
Phyllis leaned unobtrusively against the side of the car and waited, shifting the packages in her hands, until both of them came into sight, arguing about something having to do with the bill of lading. Mr. Branson paused long enough to open the door for Phyllis and invite her to get into the back. The two men got into the front and continued to discuss the cars until they were well on their way back. Mr. Branson suddenly turned and grinned at Phyllis.
"The weddings in about two weeks, isn't it?"
"Three weeks. And I'm going to need every moment of it to finish everything," she replied.
"Would that be wedding things you've got there?" he asked, nodding at the packages.
"Yes. Mostly. It was my half day, so I went into York for a few last minute items."
"I don't envy anyone planning for a wedding," Mr. Talbot commented.
"As if you had anything to do with the planning," Mr. Branson said with a snort. "You just showed up and prayed that Mary would too."
Phyllis tried to hide her smile at the comment and Mr. Branson grinned at her again.
"Mr. Molesley is a nice bloke," he said. "I'm glad he's going to be happy."
"He is! And I hope he will be," she replied, clutching the top package a little tighter and coloring up.
"Well, I saw him earlier this week in the village, and I don't think I've ever seen a happier man," Mr. Branson informed her.
Mr. Talbot kindly dropped her at the servant's entrance before the two of them drove off. She entered quietly, hoping she could steal upstairs to her room and avoid any questions about her purchases. But before she could do more than put a foot on the bottom stair, Daisy hailed her from the kitchen excitedly.
"Miss Baxter! Miss Baxter! You've had a two big boxes delivered today!"
As Daisy popped her head around the door to the corridor, Phyllis hesitated at the foot of the steps.
"Where are they, Daisy?" she asked.
"In the servant's hall, where else? And we've been trying to guess what's in them all day!"
"I ordered a few things…for the wedding," she finished before Daisy could ask.
"Are ya gonna open them now?"
"She is not," Mrs. Hughes said firmly. "It's time to set the table for the servant's tea, Daisy. The parcels need to be taken upstairs, Miss Baxter."
"Of course, Mrs. Hughes. I'll come right back for them when I've taken these packages up."
"I can help," offered Daisy.
"Be quick about it," ordered Mrs. Hughes. She met Phyllis' eyes and gave her a little smile. Phyllis smiled back, glad to escape the questions and comments of the rest of the staff over her choices.
Of course, she didn't escape Daisy's questions, starting with how long did she expect to keep working in service and ending with eager inquiries about her wardrobe.
"You'll just have to wait and see," Phyllis said, "but I won't be wearing a long white dress, no."
"Not like them upstairs, then," Daisy remarked with a tone of approval. "I mean, they were beautiful and all, but imagine having a dress you never get to wear again?"
"I should be able to wear mine more than once, for special occasions. Thank you for your help, Daisy," she said as they reached the door to her room.
"You're welcome. I'll just take these in…"
Daisy opened the door and went in, causing Phyllis to freeze as she tried to remember if she'd put everything away from her sewing that morning. She supposed it wouldn't be a tragedy if Daisy saw her dress in progress, but she would certainly be unable to keep quiet about it. And then everyone would be asking her about it all the time…
Daisy placed the parcels on Phyllis' bed and rushed out to return to the kitchens. Phyllis took a moment to wish she had a chance to open her packages and parcels, but knew that tea would be served very soon, and she was famished after a busy day.
She did take a moment to check if the shoes and the delicate, gauzy light blue wrap she'd ordered were the right ones. And then went downstairs thinking of how nicely they were going to go with the dress.
She resolutely was not thinking of the cost she'd paid for everything.
It was her wedding after all….
The selections from York continued to sit in their packaging while Phyllis created cuffs for her sleeves and hemmed the finally even pleats. They sat on the bottom of her wardrobe, next to the lovely cream colored shoes, that pinched a bit, but were more elegant than anything she'd ever worn before - not quite the same shade as her dress, but close enough.
As she turned the dress and thought of how the buttons would run down to just the middle of her back, her thoughts turned again to the intimate purchases she'd made. Or rather almost hadn't made.
Almost an hour, she'd stood in front of the display, pretending to accept advice from the smirking shopgirl, but all the while, nerving herself up to purchase the set that had already caught her eye. The slimming camisole top and brassier left no room for any sort of girdle, but according to the assistant floating around her, pulling items over to the counter and rambling a mile a minute about the A-line figures every girl was striving for these days, Phyllis didn't need one.
Her eye had fallen on a set, an off-white satin and lace that slid against her fingers like water. At least, what there was of it did. She had to look twice to see that the knickers were even there. As lovely as it was, she couldn't see herself wearing it.
Then she wondered if Joseph could see her wearing it. She wondered if he'd even thought about it, and hoped he'd done, even as the thought made her suddenly terrified. As her fingers rubbed along the delicate lace at the top of the brassier, she thought that, if Joseph was as fascinated by the gentle tug of the lace on the rough parts of his fingers as she was, his knuckles would trail along the swell of her breast as he worked his way down to the deep V between them.
The shop girl had to repeat "Miss? Miss?" several times before she blinked and came back to herself.
"I think I'll take these," she'd said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Oh, those would be perfect, Miss! Go on through, if you would, and we'll take your measurements…"
It took the shopgirl no effort at all to talk Phyllis into some new stockings and garter belt. As the young woman fluttered around with a tape, prattling about hemlines and the lovely new things in London taking sooo very long to make their way up here but "after all, it's not like we have many occasions to dress, not like in London with all those clubs and parties and…."
The fact that London was also a place of wonderful museums, especially small ones, and parks to stroll through, didn't figure in the young woman's dreams of the bright lights and bright young things. But these were the things she loved about London, the things that had slowly made it a place of good memories - a place where hope began to grow instead of wither up in a hopeless cycle of deceit.
Now her hopeful package rested on the floor of her wardrobe, waiting to be revealed. As she marked where the buttonholes should go, she saw how the unveiling would proceed, how may inches at a time would be revealed down her back.
Picturing Joseph's trembling fingers as he pushed each button through its hole, his breath tickling the back of her neck as he bent a little closer to concentrate on what he was doing, and the gentle slide of his fingers down her newly exposed shoulder blades, she made another small snip, enlarging the button hole just slightly.
She didn't want to make it at all difficult for his fingers to twist the buttons through.
"…you should have heard them this morning, Phyllis! I'm not sure how I managed to keep a straight face."
Phyllis smiled broadly as Joseph described the offer from his upper form class to take on the task of decorating the school hall for their reception. If their plans actually came to fruition, there would be no way people could find the table under all the crepe.
"Betty Pinson wanted to start cutting out hearts of all sizes right then and there," he continued with a snort of laughter. "It was quite the task to hold their attention this afternoon, I can tell you. Who'd have thought I'd have gotten here with them, after those first days…?"
"I never had any doubts," she informed him, sliding her hand down from the crook of his elbow to grasp his hand. They were walking back to Downton Abbey after spending most of her half day together ironing out the final details, and it was almost dark enough to take a few liberties.
"I had a few," he admitted, "but you talked me out of them." He tugged her hand and brought them to a halt. "And now I'm a teacher and soon to be a husband and the happiest man in the world in a week. None of that would have happened without you, Phyllis." He cleared his throat nervously and griped her hand a little tighter. She opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head and drew in a deep breath.
"It's true," he insisted. "And I don't think I've ever…. I don't know how to tell you what that's meant to me." He looked down at the ground, then brought his eyes back to meet hers. "You saw something else in me, something I couldn't see…something I don't think I can see without you.
"Joseph, I only—"
He suddenly brought his other hand up to cup her cheek and she stopped speaking to savor the feel of his thumb gently running across her lips.
"I use words all day long," he said just above a whisper, as if there were listeners lurking in the wood next to the lane to hear what should be for her ears only. "And the thought of giving a toast after the wedding has me shaking like my first day of teaching did. You remember that?"
She nodded, remembering her frantic run back to the Abbey, convinced that Thomas was in danger. "I can stay beside you this time, Joseph." The hand that wasn't holding his reached up to caress his cheek. "I'll stay beside you for the rest of our lives."
"I never know what to say," he moaned, closing his eyes at her touch, then opening them again to look at her earnestly. "I never…have the words to really say what…." He huffed out a frustrated breath. "I don't know how to tell you how much I love you."
"You don't need any more words than that, Joseph," she replied, holding his eyes with hers and hoping he could see what she couldn't manage to say either.
Apparently he could. Pulling her to him, he kissed her forehead, her jaw, and then moved his mouth over hers with enthusiasm. Her lips parted under his and Phyllis could feel her heart speed up as the kiss deepened.
If they could have breathed for each other, she'd have been content to stay there the rest of the night. Her chest was heaving when they reluctantly pated for breath, and she could feel that his was as well when he pulled her tightly to him, tucking his cheek in next to her head.
Her quiet sigh was muffled into his shoulder. He could barely hear it, but it made him tremble. They stood on the side of the lane holding each other for a long moment.
"We'd better get on," he finally whispered, not letting go of her.
"We'd better," she agreed, squeezing him a little tighter. "The dressing gong will be going off soon."
They reluctantly stepped apart, and Joseph immediately reached out to take her hand again as they resumed their walk.
"What was that you were doing while we were talking at Dad's? Some sort of crochet?"
She looked at him in confusion for a moment, then remembered that she'd taken her knotting with her and had been working on a lace piece for the bodice of her dress.
"Oh, I was just making some lace."
"It was all I could do not to stare at your fingers while we were talking," he teased. "I don't know how you do that - have your mind one place and your hands another."
"Years of practice," she replied with a laugh. "You did the same when you polished the silver."
"Don't tell Mr. Carson that. He might still call me on the carpet…"
As they approached the servant's entrance, they were still both laughing at the thought of Mr. Carson dragging Joseph out of the classroom to pay the piper for inattentive silver polishing. After looking quickly around, Joseph gave her a quick kiss goodbye.
"Joseph" she called as he started to leave. "I am looking forward to hearing you say one thing."
"What's that?"
"'I will.' In one more week."
"Now that I'm sure I can do."
Six days had never gone by so quickly. Or so slowly.
Now Phyllis sat at the table in the servant's hall, working on polishing the last of the jewelry Her Ladyship would be needing for the next few days. She would be gone from Friday to Monday, and wanted to make sure no extra tasks fell to Mrs. Hughes, who would be filling in for her.
"Have you got everything?" Daisy asked. "For tomorrow?"
"Yes," Phyllis said, pausing in her polishing to smile at her. "I've got an old locket that was my mother's. My shoes and hat are new. My wrap is light blue, and Her Ladyship has leant me this lovely broach…" The last thing Joseph had done before they'd said goodbye that afternoon was to press a brand new sixpence into her hand and give her one last peck on her cheek. She laid her fingers on the spot where his lips had rested.
"Well, Mrs. Patmore going to bring you up some breakfast tomorrow—"
"I doubt I'll be able to eat," Phyllis interrupted with a laugh.
"And I know that you can do your own hair and such, being a lady's maid and all, but Mrs. Hughes said I could help you get ready, if you needed any. She'd help too, but—"
"She'll be seeing to Her Ladyship, of course. I'm sure I'll get by." At the slightly crestfallen look on Daisy's face, she continued, "So long as I have your help."
"Who'll be walking you down the aisle?" Daisy asked, a little frown on her face.
"As I haven't got anyone, I'll walk in on my own."
There was a disgruntled noise from the corner where Andy, Mr. Barrow, and the lad of all work had secreted themselves to stay out of the way of wedding discussions. Daisy rolled her eyes at them.
"Men don't understand how important all the details are," she informed the room at large before making an exit into the kitchen. She and Mrs. Patmore could be heard discussing the cold luncheon that would be served the next day in the schoolhouse.
Phyllis smiled at her departing words. She disagreed in Joseph's case, at any rate. As she was gathering up her work in anticipation of the gong, a shadow fell over the table next to her.
"You're wrong, you know," Mr. Barrow informed her.
"What about?"
"You've got someone."
"Have I?"
"You do if you want."
With that, Mr. Barrow straightened his coat and turned to leave. Phyllis put her hand on his arm.
"Thomas…"
He stopped and turned his sharp, dark eyes to look at her. The set of his jaw warned her not to make a meal out of this moment.
"Would you be willing to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day?"
"If there's no one else, I suppose," he said with a shrug and a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"I'd be very pleased if you did."
"Will Molesley be, though?"
"I think he will be."
"Alright then," he agreed, not trying to hide the note of satisfaction in his voice.
The gong resounded and Phyllis headed quickly towards the stairs. A thought struck her and she turned to Thomas, who was looking rather pleased with himself.
"Don't laugh at him…if he cries."
Thomas broke into a smile. "I can't make any promises…"
She gave him a fond, exasperated look and continued up the stairs.
"Don't laugh at me if I do," he whispered to himself as she left.
Who was that in the mirror?
Phyllis felt like she was looking a stranger at first. The dress hung on her perfectly. The neck scooped gracefully and the hemline hit her just below the knee. Every move she made as she slowly turned in front of the mirror caused the dress to shimmer. The ivory lace on the bodice drew the eye boldly to her chest and torso. This elegant picture couldn't be her.
And yet it was. And as she drew in a sharp breath, she noticed that her eyes had lost that trepidatious edge that had been a part of how she'd seen the world for so long. Before Joseph.
Daisy was gushing about how smart and lovely she looked as she helped drape the blue wrap over her shoulders, but Phyllis hardly heard her. When they had gone downstairs to get ready to leave for the church, Andy openly stared at her from the servant's hall like he'd never seen her before. A glare from Daisy made him remember himself, and he stepped forward with a little cough.
"These just came for you, Miss Baxter," he said with a grin, holding out a bouquet and a folded piece of paper.
She held out a trembling hand to take them from him. A neat blue bow bound together small bouquet of bluebells, violets, white periwinkle and a spray of lavender. Swallowing hard, she unfolded the paper to see the spidery, shaky hand of the older Mr. Molesley.
Dear Phyllis,
I hope you find these flowers to be the right ones for your wedding day. The lavender comes from the last bit of my wife's herb garden, which she put so much of her heart into. The other thing she put so much of her heart into was our Joseph. I think she'd have been proud to have him held in your heart now.
I will be proud to call you my daughter-in-law, lass. You have all my blessing.
William F. Molesley
Phyllis didn't realize that tears were steaming down her face until Mrs. Patmore cleared her throat and handed her a handkerchief.
"Keep it, my girl," she ordered when an embarrassed Phyllis tried to return it. "I suspect those won't be the last tears you shed today.
Mr. Carson appeared in the doorway to the corridor leading to the back stairs.
"Mr. Branson has brought the car around for you, Miss Baxter," he informed her. If the impropriety of a family member driving a lady's maid to her wedding was concerning him, it certainly wasn't apparent in the benevolent smile he bestowed upon the room in general.
"Weddings tend to make Mr. Carson a bit jovial," a sparkly-eyed Mrs. Hughes said in a low voice to Miss Baxter. Phyllis acknowledged her statement with a smile, but thought that the atmosphere was one that worked on Mrs. Hughes as well.
Phyllis took a deep breath. "Thank you all so very much." Her eye fell on Mr. Barrow in his best suit and she noticed the white rose in his lapel. Wondering about that, she carefully followed Mr. Carson out to the courtyard where Mr. Branson was waiting. He helped her in with a grin as the rest of the staff waved her off.
"We'll see you there!" Daisy called.
"Are you nervous?" Mr. Branson asked, looking at her in the mirror with a twinkle in his eye.
"I am," she admitted.
He chuckled. "The day of my wedding, I was shaking so much my brother had to do up my tie and I almost left the house to go to the church without even combing my hair. You're doing much better than I did"
She smiled and felt some of her own nerves fall away. Mr. Branson hummed to himself and drove slowly, to give everyone a chance to arrive at the church before them. Most of the staff of Downton and of the Village school were coming. The Bates would be there, having traveled back from their new hotel for the day with their daughter. And Joseph's family, which consisted of his father, an aunt and two cousins, would be there. The church wouldn't be full, by any means, but the ones who truly mattered in their lives would be there.
Joseph would be there, and he made her strong.
Strong or not, her legs trembled when Mr. Branson pulled up near the church and she was helped out by Thomas.
"It's not too late to call it off," he teased.
"It's not too late for me to walk in by myself either," she replied.
He laughed in response and offered her his arm. As she took it, she noticed the rose again.
"How did you get that? I can't picture you skulking around the estate gardens at dawn just to acquire a boutonniere. "
"Same place you got yours. It arrived with your bouquet."
"How did they know to send it?" she asked in a low voice as they neared the church.
"I may have stopped over to Molesley's house after you went up, to let him know I'd be giving you away."
"You didn't!"
His response was lost as the doors opened and music began to play. She tore her eyes away from Thomas' smirk to look towards the front of the church, wishing she'd been a fly on the wall for conversation.
Once her eyes fell on Joseph's back as he stood at the front, she didn't see anything else. The smiling people on either side of the aisle blurred to nothing and Rev. Travis was a transparent figure in a cassock. She could see him twitch to the side, as if trying to restrain himself from looking around, and the legs of his trousers were quivering. Her own nerves rushed back and she thought for moment she wasn't going to be able to breathe.
But then they were there and Joseph turned his head just enough to see her, allowing her to see his anxious smile and the sweat beading on his brow. His eyes swept over her and his mouth hung open. She could tell Thomas was stifling a chuckle as she kissed his cheek and thanked him. It took Joseph a moment to respond to Thomas' outstretched hand, but he did shake it while not taking his eyes off of Phyllis.
"Shall we begin?" Mr. Travis intoned, which was their cue to turn and face him.
"What? Yes, of course. I will!" Joseph stammered loudly, making a game effort to pull his eyes away from Phyllis'. A low wave of laughter moved through the church and Phyllis smiled until she thought her face might break.
"We're not there yet, Mr. Molesley," Mr. Travis said in a long suffering voice.
After a few moments of stammering apologies, Joseph finally shut his mouth and Mr. Travis droned on. Phyllis was conscious of nothing except the man beside her. The words of the service flowed over her, ponderous yet comfortable - like heavy blanket wrapping around them both and trapping them together in warmth and safety. He'd asked her once if she wanted to be safe. Standing next to him, in the sight of God and everyone they held dear, she'd never felt more safe.
When they faced each other to recite their vows, Phyllis was surprised that Joseph's voice didn't shake. His "I will" was strong and clear, his classroom voice resounding for everyone who had ears to hear. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face and her own voice, while softer, didn't tremble either.
Nor did her hand when he took it in his to slide the cool band of gold onto her finger. In spite of Mr. Travis' throat clearing, he didn't release her hand again. The Vicar pronounced them man and wife in an exasperated little bark that was, nevertheless, official. And they held hands as they walked back to the doors of the church together, smiling at their guests but thinking of nothing but each other.
The light breeze tugged at the skirt of her dress and shook the pleats when they paused on the porch for a kiss before the congratulatory crowd followed them to the schoolhouse. There had been no time to speak, but Joseph's inability to keep his eyes off of her made every stolen moment, every hour of lost sleep and every frustrated stitch in her dress completely worthwhile. Their guests made their way slowly through the receiving line, congratulating Joseph and fulsomely commenting on her dress. Even Her Ladyship made a point of stopping by the reception briefly and commented on how smart and elegant her simple dress was.
There was a very brief moment when all the guests had arrived and were congregating around the punchbowl. Joseph took the opportunity to lean close.
"I never got the chance to tell you how beautiful you look today," he whispered.
"You've told me now," she replied with a radiant smile. "Shall I get us some drinks?"
"You made it, didn't you? Your dress? By hand."
Phyllis nodded and flushed as Joseph ran his eyes appreciatively over all of it. "How did you know?"
"No one else could ever make something as perfect for you as this is. It's sensible and beautiful and makes me tangle up my words like a fool in front of God and the whole world on my wedding day."
Phyllis laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "You said just what I was looking forward to hearing."
"Then I'm glad I said it. I'll say it everyday - tangled up and ridiculous as you'd like."
"I'd like that."
"Then I will."
And as the call for Joseph to lift a toast rang out through the hall, she placed her hand on his arm and said: "I will too," before they were both led to the table and cups were thrust into their hands.
Joseph cleared his throat a few times and began in a husky voice.
"I hope none of my students are here to listen to me stumble over my words…" There was brief laughter. "I had a speech prepared and all, but really, all I can think of right now is how grateful I am…" He gulped and blinked hard. "…after all these years…how overwhelmingly grateful that I've…I've been blessed with the love of a woman who didn't think it was too late to make a better man of me, thank God…." More laughter. "She's graciously and bravely given me her heart and her fair hand… to Mrs. Phyllis Molesley!"
"To Mrs. Molesley!" the crowd echoed and burst into applause.
"That was wonderful, Joseph," she murmured, accepting his handkerchief to dab at her eyes, and giving it back so that he could wipe his own.
"If it was, it was because you made it so. And everything you make is wonderful."
With that, Mr. Molesley led Mrs. Molesley to a seat at the table and sat next to her as close as the chairs would permit. And as he ran his hand down her back during the wedding breakfast and accidentally twisted one of her buttons loose, he thanked God again that his beautiful wife had made the perfect wedding dress.