“Mary, this dress is worth a fortune. If it’s the first dress she ever designed and sewed, with the condition it’s in, the dress is priceless. I can’t accept . . .”

Mary patted her hand. “I insist. What’s it going to do, stay in a box? It was meant to worn, to be special, to make a woman feel wonderful. You wear that dress today and you’ll be making two old women very happy.”

Mary was a very slender woman now, her bones small, her hair gray, but her eyes were bright and the few wrinkles looked more like laugh lines. Isabeau could see a timeless beauty in her, the bone structure, the skin, the ready smile. Or maybe it was her inner spirit shining through.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Isabeau was afraid Mary didn’t understand the treasure she had. “Perhaps a granddaughter . . .”

Mary shook her head. “This is for Marisa. I want to do this. We spent so many hours talking about it and planning it, and if I do this for me, I’m doing it for her as well. And Ruthie was so pleased when I told her you might wear the dress.”

Conner’s mother had touched so many hearts. She was an exceptional woman and she’d raised an exceptional son. Isabeau felt humble that she was reaping the rewards of Marisa’s friendship with Mary.

“Thank you, Mary. I accept gladly.”

“Let’s try it on then.”

Isabeau couldn’t wait. Suddenly she was very excited about her wedding day. She wouldn’t be wearing jeans and a tank top, she’d be wearing the first dress the famous designer Ruth Ann Gobel had ever made. She knew she would feel like she was in the midst of a fairy tale.

Mary led the way to the back of the house to an empty guest room. Isabeau was extremely careful, half afraid that she might rip the dress. The material felt alive under her hands. She stripped and stepped into the dress, wiggling until she could pull it over her breasts. The moment Mary began to close the buttons, Isabeau could tell it fit like a glove, as if it had been made for her alone. Knowing the history of the dress only made it all the more special to her.

Very slowly, nearly holding her breath, she turned around to face Mary. She felt magical, beautiful, even extraordinary, and she hadn’t even seen herself. Mary’s eyes grew bright as she blinked back tears.

“Oh, my dear, thank you for this moment. You’re stunning. I knew I’d feel as if I had a daughter, and I do. Look in the mirror.”

The looking glass was full length on a wooden stand. Mary turned it slowly until Isabeau’s reflection stared back at her. She gasped and brought both hands to cover her mouth. “Is that really me?”