"Oh, my," Sheila McGregor exclaimed as she approached her daughter, "don’t… don’t tug at that, dear. That lace is so delicate. And those ruffles… oh dear."

Isabel sighed as she flipped the dress back over her head and faced her mother. "Well, I wouldn’t have to tug at it if it weren’t so tight!" Heaving another sigh of frustration, Isabelle slumped down onto her bed.

"Well, dear, it is probably just tight because of the weather. It has been so hot lately. But it looks like rain is coming.  Just a brief shower, Franz told me on his way up here. And that will cool things down some. Tomorrow, this dress will fit you like a glove."

"Yeah, a glove that’s two sizes too small," Isabel muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" Sheila asked, walking around to the other side of her daughter’s bed.

"Oh, nothing," Isabel replied, then turned her head to look at her mother, "what are you doing over there? The dress is over here!"

Sheila McGregor sat on the bed as Isabel turned her head to face her mother. "I’m over here because this is where the fastening hooks are." Then, Sheila turned her daughter's head back and one by one, she began to unfasten the many hooks on the back of her daughter’s wedding dress.

"There," Sheila unfastened the last one, "now that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"Thank goodness," Isabelle exclaimed, starting to slip the heavy silk dress off her shoulders, "I never thought I’d be able to get out of that thing."

Hurt, Sheila looked up at her daughter. "Now what was that supposed to mean?"

Isabel paused, unaware that those words had escaped her lips, that they had been spoken instead of remaining in her head as mere thoughts. But then, Isabel felt relieved at having said those words. She had been meaning to tell her mother how she felt. Maybe it was the lightning crackling in the distance with the approaching thunderhead, but something in the air was giving her strength.

"It means," Isabelle said, pulling the dress back on her shoulders for a moment, "that I do not like this dress!"

"Why, Isabel, it’s a lovely dress! The woman at the boutique in Phoenix said it was the most fashionable thing these days. I thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong," Isabel interrupted her mother, her eyes filled with indignation, "for the past several months, I’ve kept telling you that I want a simple wedding. A quiet ceremony, right here on the ranch with just the family. And this dress," Isabel picked up one of the folds of the skirt and released it in disgust, "it’s too much. I told you that I didn’t need a fancy dress, that I would have loved to wear grandmother’s wedding dress."

"That old thing?" Sheila exclaimed, "but it’s up in the attic, and it’s so old and yellowed and musty. You deserve a lovelier gown, one like this." Sheila took one of the folds of the skirt in her hand and lifted it into the light which filtered through the curtains. The silk shone like a million pearls in the bright summer sun. Then, slowly releasing it and letting it fall into place, Sheila lifted her eyes and calmly said, "you’ll thank me later."

Isabel’s eyes shone with fury. She normally didn’t lash out at her mother, but this was different. This was her wedding . Her wedding, not Sheila’s. This was to be the most important day of Isabel’s life, and her mother had taken over the entire thing. It just wasn’t fair!

Picking up the folds of her skirt, Isabel headed towards the door to her room, hastily reaching around the back of the gown and blindly fastening a few of the hooks. After opening the door, she turned on her heel to face her mother, her face red with rage and her eyes brimming with angry tears.

"No I won’t!"

Then, slamming the door behind her, Isabel ran downstairs, past the parlor where Franz was still sitting.

"Isabel!" Franz exclaimed, watching as his bride-to-be took her hat off the cattle-horn hat rack, "Isabel, what’s wrong?"

"Leave me alone!"

That said, Isabel opened the door and ran out into the hot summer day, still wearing her wedding dress.

Sheila McGregor sat on her daughter’s bed, dumbfounded. How could her daughter lash out at her like that? After everything that she had done to make this day special for Isabel, a day that she would never forget. After all of the planning, the church, the invitations, the dress… The dress. Sheila McGregor hunched over and began weeping silently on Isabel’s bed, remembering a day thirty years ago.

"Sheila, dear, you must wear this dress. It’s been worn by every member of the Callahan family for as long as I can remember."

Sheila glanced at Sophia Callahan, her mother. "But I don’t want to wear that old thing. I want a grand wedding, with a silk dress and a long veil, and in a church, not in the orchard."

"But you know how hard times are now, what with the war and all. We all have to conserve what we have, so that our men can win this war. And there is not enough money to buy you a fancy dress. You will just have to wear this one."

"But, mother…"

"You’ll thank me later, dear."

You’ll thank me later. Sheila lifted her head at remembering these words that her own mother had spoken to her so long ago. "Oh, what have I done?" Sheila cried into the stagnant summer air.

"Mrs. McGregor," a voice called from the doorway, "are you all right? Isabel… she seemed so upset."

Sophia lifted her head from the pillow where it had lain. "It’s all my fault. I’ve been trying to plan the wedding that I’ve always wanted, instead of the one that Isabel wants." Lifting her arm and blotting her tears with her shirt sleeve, she said, "I’m being just like my mother."

Franz moved to his future mother-in-law’s side, putting a comforting arm around her and letting her cry on his dusty shoulder. "There, there, it will be all right. After you sort things out with Isabel, everything will be all right."

"Yes, I-" Sheila began, "where is she?"

"The last I saw of her, she was heading towards the stables." Franz lifted his head and stopped short, a sudden wave of comprehension washing over him. "You don’t think she’d…"

Without a word, Sheila stood up and walked out of the room with Franz on her heels, not even bothering to close the door behind them. If they hurried, they’d catch Isabel before the young woman did anything rash. But they didn’t have to worry about closing the door, for halfway down the stairs, a gust of wind from the approaching storm blew the door shut with a loud bang.