When I was a little girl, my mom’s wedding gown was stored in a sealed box underneath the bed in her childhood bedroom. Since we lived less than a mile from my grandparents, I was at their house several times a week, and I loved to sneak back to that bedroom, pull out the wedding box that was nearly as large as I was, and open the lid. I’d run my hands over the clear plastic film that covered the lace bodice, which was supposed to keep it from turning yellow with age, and imagine that, one day, I would wear the dress that my mom and her three sisters had once worn. Fast forward a couple of decades, and I had just gotten engaged. I knew already there was no way I could wear my mom’s wedding gown since I was a few inches taller than she was, and I was a little bit sad not to carry on the family tradition. But right after my engagement to her brother, my soon-to-be sister-in-law delivered her own family treasure to me. It wasn’t just a wedding veil; it was a stunning, handmade mantilla with the most gorgeous lace I’d ever seen, guaranteed to turn any regular woman into a bride. Veil in tow, I went to my first wedding gown appointment with my mom, my best friend, and my sister-in-law, who were all prepared for weeks of shopping, hemming, and hawing. My mom had made appointments at many stores in many cities. But when we walked in the first boutique, I immediately saw the dress of my dreams. With a lace bodice, full silk skirt, and thick satin bow around the waist, it was my perfect dress. Almost. I asked if we could have thick off-the-shoulder straps added—I was getting married in December, after all—if the train could be longer, and if we could add one more layer of crinoline underneath the skirt. This was the one and only time I was going to wear a wedding gown. Bigger was better. More was more. As I stood on a platform in front of a wall of mirrors, my sister-in-law handed me the veil. The lace was the perfect match. That sealed the deal. It was meant to be, love at first sight, just like it had been with the man I would soon marry. When I wore it on my wedding day, it felt like more than just a veil. My “something borrowed,” the mantilla was a representation of the family I would marry into, the new last name I would carry. The lace of the veil and the lace of my great-grandmother’s monogrammed handkerchief I carried around my bouquet, my something old, became a representation of the merging of my past and future, my current family and my new one. The person I was before I said those vows and the person I would become after. A few years later, sharing the veil with women we loved had become a tradition, and, with every best friend or family member who wore it, its significance grew. When my cousin Sidney got engaged, and the first thing I told her was that she could wear the wedding veil if she wanted to. She agreed right away because, well, she had seen it. I was her matron-of-honor, just like my sister-in-law was mine, and it was my special duty to place the veil that had meant so much to me on her head just moments before she walked down the aisle. There was something about that moment, in the quiet of a bridal room overlooking the most majestic mountain peaks, that really drove something home for me: this was more than just lace and tulle. It was a symbol of love and unity not only between a couple but also between all the women who had worn it. In some mystical, magical way it connected us, past, present, and future. It wasn’t good luck necessarily or a guarantee of happiness in an unknown future. But what if it could be, at least in theory? Or at least in a story? I knew then that I had my next book idea. The Wedding Veil would be a novel about a piece of family history and the women it connected. I didn’t know then that I would write about a real-life veil—the missing veil that had once belonged to Edith and Cornelia Vanderbilt—or that the inspiration from my own life would lead me to write about a lost national treasure. But that’s how it is with stories, I believe. The best parts are the ones we can’t plan for, that we can’t yet see. And I have to think that maybe that’s how it is with lives, too. When we dive in headfirst, we can’t know what the future will hold or how our next chapters will unfold. But maybe that’s okay. I still have the wedding veil my sister-in-law so graciously shared with me. I know I should have it sealed and preserved for another generation, so that someone else can slide the box out from under the bed and dream about wearing the beautiful lace inside. But, well, sometimes I pull the veil out when I’m having a bad day. It looks really great with jeans. Yoga pants, too. But, more than looking great, it’s a reminder of family, of happiness, of the women who came before and the ones who are to come. Some people call it woo woo. Some call it ancestral memory. I call it a nice thought. Perhaps, through our heirlooms, bits of our stories—and pieces of ourselves—are never really gone. Maybe through the cherished items we pass along to the people we love, in some small way, we live on. Catch up on all the Friends & Fiction essays here! Friends & Fiction is an online community, weekly live web show, and podcast founded and hosted by bestselling authors Mary Kay Andrews, Kristin Harmel, Kristy Woodson Harvey, and Patti Callahan Henry, who have written more than 70 novels between them and are published in more than 30 languages. Catch them and their incredible author guests live every Wednesday at 7pm ET on the Friends & Fiction Facebook group page or their YouTube Channel. Follow them on Instagram and, for weekly updates, subscribe to their newsletter. Kristy Woodson Harvey is the USA TODAY bestselling author of nine novels, including The Wedding Veil (out today!), Christmas in Peachtree Bluff,, Feels Like Falling, The Peachtree Bluff series, and Under the Southern Sky. Her writing has appeared in numerous online and print publications including Southern Living, Traditional Home, USA TODAY and Domino. The winner of the Lucy Bramlette Patterson Award for Excellence in Creative Writing and a finalist for the Southern Book Prize, Kristy is the co-creator and co-host of the weekly web show and podcast Friends & Fiction and she blogs daily with her mom Beth Woodson on Design Chic.
