A Song for Issy Bradley (28 page)

“Sister Stevens is doing a special activity at Youth. It’s one they do in Utah. Everyone has to wear their mum’s wedding dress and you’re supposed to write a letter about your wedding day for me to read out. Dad says I’ve got to go.”

She would like to kick the bunk bed and remind Mum about her divine responsibility to home and family.

“Are you going to write the letter for me, Mum?”

She counts to ten in her head, wondering whether Mum is planning to lie there like a reeking walrus until she dies.

“So
I’ll
write about how you met Dad and what your wedding day was like,” she says. “I’ll just make it up, shall I?”

Z
IPPY HATES THE
attic. It’s accessible by stepladder, through a small hatch in the ceiling, just outside her bedroom. The pitch of the roof is low, which means there’s room to stand up properly only in the middle of the attic. It isn’t completely dark because there’s a
small skylight, but the roofing felt is black, and thick cobwebs lace the corners. She tries not to think about enormous spiders while concentrating on standing in the right places.

Dad said he’d find the dress but he forgot and he was on his way out to some meeting or other when she reminded him.

“Don’t you think I’ve got enough to worry about at the moment?” he said.

She isn’t even sure what she’s looking for. Dad thinks it’s in a white bag. So far she has found trash bags of Christmas decorations, spare bedding, and blankets. She edges farther away from the little hole in the floor and the comforting glimpse of the stepladder, prodding stuff that has been heaped on each side of the narrow path of boards.

When she hears the creek and the clank of metal she edges back toward the hole in the floor to see Alma carrying the stepladder down the stairs.

“Very funny! Bring it back, NOW. Come here, you idiot. I HATE you, Alma.”

She wants to sit down, but she’s worried about falling through the ceiling, so she hunches over and rests her hands on her knees. Everything’s awful: Adam isn’t talking to her; Lauren’s probably going to do something
diabolical
with slimy Jordan Banks; Issy is
dead
—the word hurts each time she thinks it—and Mum’s going mental. Things are happening that wouldn’t have happened if Issy was alive; life is diverging from its true path, like it does in the story they tell at church where a tiny mistake—a minor, one-degree miscalculation—sends a ship hundreds of miles off course. She shouldn’t be here; if Issy was alive, she wouldn’t be. But she is. She’s stuck in the attic, searching for a horrible meringue dress with a load of giant cobweb-making spiders.

A
FTER
D
AD HAS
come home from his meeting, rescued her, and sent Alma to his room, Zippy closes her bedroom door and opens
the big white bag. It has
Bridal Emporium
written on it in fancy gold letters and it clips closed at the top and bottom. She unfastens the clips and the dress slides out onto her bed. The material is thick and streaked by little bumpy lines. It isn’t white anymore, it’s a funny sort of color, almost coral, and huge—like one of those toilet-roll covers that old ladies crochet. She spreads the fabric across the bed, noting the ugly puffball sleeves and the old-fashioned thickets of roses on the shoulders and waist.

Zippy slips out of her jeans and T-shirt. The dress rustles as she steps into it: cool, silky, and soaked in the smell of the attic. Three layers of petticoats plump the skirt out like a lampshade. She looks laughable; it’s too big—even when it’s zipped up it sags at the front and she has to fold her arms across her chest to counter the gape. There are special shoes wrapped in tissue paper: pointy-toed, spiky-heeled things, covered in the same material as the dress.

Sister Stevens says everyone will parade along a Wedding Runway. Zippy shuffles up and down her room, practicing. The dress rustles as she walks. She stops, closes her eyes, and swishes the material while she pictures Mum walking into the sealing room at the Temple and kneeling down to hold hands with Dad across the altar—something that’s hard to envisage because she has only seen pictures of the inside of the Temple in church manuals. She keeps her eyes closed; this time she imagines a nicer dress, a bright bouquet, string music, and Adam waiting at the end of the aisle in the chapel. Armed with the right feelings, she edges onto her chair, flattens the puff of the dress, and begins to write Mum’s letter:

“The day I married Ian was the happiest day of my life …”

T
HEY WAIT IN
the corridor for the Big Reveal. Sister Stevens has been at the chapel all day, decorating. She has taped tissue paper over the rectangular windows in the hall’s double doors to prevent peeking. With the exception of a few mums, every female is dressed as a bride.

The boys pass in a cloud of Axe body spray with Brother Campbell, noisy and annoyed because there’s nowhere for them to play basketball. “Here comes the bride,” one of them sings. Alma joins in as he passes: “All fat and wide.” Zippy scowls; she hasn’t forgiven him for the attic. Adam passes too, but he isn’t singing and he doesn’t look at her. He probably thinks she’s going to pounce on him and force him to the altar. She twiddles the skirt of Mum’s dress. No one else’s dress is as dark. Even Sister Campbell’s ancient dress—lacy, like net curtains, with batwing sleeves and a high collar—is bright white.

Sister Campbell adjusts her veil and strokes the white scrunchie she has twisted around the bottom of her braid.

“You’re not very white, Zipporah,” she says, pointing for emphasis. “But then I suppose your mum was a convert, wasn’t she?”

“She got married in the Temple. She was worthy.”

Sister Stevens flashes her bright American teeth at Sister Campbell. “It’s real silk. That’s why it’s gone dark. I think it’s beautiful.”

Sister Stevens is telling kind lies.
Her
dress is beautiful. She bought it from a special shop in Utah that sells only modest dresses. It’s got sequins all over the bodice and the skirt is a floaty cloud of net. Sister Valentine is wearing a lovely A-line dress with diamanté-dotted sleeves.

“Whose dress did you borrow?” Zippy asks.

“Oh, I didn’t borrow it. I hired it.”

“From a bridal shop?”

“It was such fun trying dresses on and deciding which one I liked best.”

“But—but, do the people at the shop think you’re getting married?”

“Oh, probably,” Sister Valentine says, and although she giggles, her forehead and eyebrows knit as if she’s worrying about what to say when she returns the dress.

“Right, girls.” Sister Stevens claps her hands to shush everyone.
“I’m about to open the doors. Are you ready? Steady? Let’s get married!” She dashes ahead of everyone to switch on a CD player and “Pachelbel’s Canon” begins to play.

The hall has been decorated with pink and white streamers. Chairs have been arranged on each side of a central aisle, all the way down the basketball court. At the end of the hall, next to the stage, there’s a table covered in a frilly white cloth. Sister Stevens has made a three-tier wedding cake. She’s modeled icing flowers and a miniature bride and groom. Along the edge of the stage are enough bridal bouquets for everyone.

“Line up at the bottom of the Wedding Runway, girls. Parents and leaders, take a seat.” Sister Stevens picks up several of the bouquets and bustles down the aisle with them. “Here you are. Here, take this one. Hold it like this. You can’t walk down the aisle without flowers.” She hurries back to the stage to collect more bouquets. “Here, here. You all look
so
beautiful. Isn’t this exciting?”

Sister Stevens says everyone must take turns walking down the aisle. The watching parents turn in their seats and smile while she comments over Pachelbel.

“Emily Murphy is wearing her mom’s dress. Emily’s mom got married in 1990. Emily is wearing a full-length veil and carrying a bouquet of roses.”

“Katy Hewitt is wearing her cousin’s dress. Katy’s cousin got married for
Time
in the chapel and for
Eternity
in the Preston Temple later that same afternoon. She honeymooned in the Lake District.”

The parents clap politely as each girl reaches the end of the aisle and sits down on one of the empty seats at the front.

Dad turns in his chair to watch as Zippy swishes down the makeshift aisle. She feels like a twit—of course she wants to get married, but she doesn’t want to play pretend in front of all these people.

“Zipporah Bradley is wearing her mom’s dress. It’s made of silk. There are nine silk roses on the sleeves and back. Zipporah’s mom
got married to our very own Bishop Bradley at the chapel and, later that day, in the Preston Temple.”

Zippy sits down in the front row and turns to watch the other girls walk down the aisle. When every bride is seated, Sister Stevens talks about the importance of marriage. She reminds everyone that marrying outside the Church is like marrying outside your culture or race, which makes Zippy think of Dad—who, to all intents and purposes, did just that. Mum had been a member of the Church for only a year when she and Dad got married. What did she really understand about the Church after just a year? What does she understand now? Not enough, clearly, or she wouldn’t be lying in bed like a hysterical Jane Austen mother.

Sister Stevens presents the brides with a bundle of specially made handouts. Then she gives a presentation about imagining the person you will one day marry.

“Think of him as a real person,” she says. “Make a list in your journal of the qualities he will possess. Think about him often. Isn’t it exciting to think that he is somewhere in the world at this
exact moment
?”

Each bride is invited to stand in front of the assembled audience and read the letter written by her mother. When it is Zippy’s turn, she is suddenly nervous.

“The day I married Ian was the happiest day of my life.” The letter was very hard to write. Mum’s past is inaccessible; Zippy can’t imagine what it was like for her to grow up without the gospel, never experiencing the true and lasting happiness only Church members enjoy. Her wedding day must have been amazing. Not only did she get married, but she went to the Temple for the first time too. It seems quite possible that on that day, Mum was the happiest she’d ever been.

“… I was so glad to be worthy to go to the Temple. I had always led a good, clean life, and kept
all
of the commandments, even before I knew about the Church.”

Zippy looks up, to see how her letter is being received. Sister
Stevens nods encouragingly, but Dad doesn’t. His eyebrows are raised and his mouth is tight.

“… When I walked down the aisle in the chapel and saw Ian waiting for me at the pulpit, I thought it was the most wonderful moment of my life. But I was wrong. The most wonderful moment was later, when I knelt across the altar at the Temple and held his hands as we were sealed for Eternity.”

There’s a wistful sigh in the hall that comes mostly from Sister Valentine and is belatedly echoed by some of the mums. As Zippy sits down everyone looks at Dad, hoping to catch him looking pleased and embarrassed, but he just looks uncomfortable.

During the next letter, President Carmichael pops his head round the hall door and motions to Dad, who whispers, “Excuse me” to Sister Stevens as he leaves the hall.

After all the letters have been read, Sister Stevens announces a musical item. Sister Campbell plays an introduction on the piano and Sister Stevens sings a song about families being together forever. When the second verse begins, Zippy decides she’s had enough. She gets up, swishes across the hall, and slips through the double doors. She hurries down the corridor, turns left toward the fire exit, changes her mind at the last moment, and slips into the end classroom. She doesn’t turn on the light.

The door closes of its own volition and she swishes to the far corner and slides her bottom onto the edge of a table. The petticoats and layers of net puff the wedding dress up, and when she tries to smooth the material, she realizes she is still holding Sister Stevens’s handouts: “Dating Decisions” and “The Young Women’s Wedding Guide.” There is just enough light for her to make out the words.

The “Dating Decisions” handout is a single sheet divided into four headed sections: 1. Avoid the Dangers of the Dark, 2. Beware the Hazard of the Horizontal, 3. Remember the Perils of Privacy, 4. Modesty Is a Must. At the bottom of the sheet, Sister Stevens has added an extra, handwritten warning: Beware of the naughty B’s—never show your breasts, back, bottom, or belly.

“The Young Women’s Wedding Guide” is bigger. There are several pages and spaces to fill in.

Zippy realizes something very sad as she examines “The Young Women’s Wedding Guide”: Issy won’t be her bridesmaid. When she has absorbed this new loss, she carries on reading.