Nothing Lost
Halloween 2020
Billie Josephine Bellinger unlocked the door to her thrift/design store, Made for You, with a smile on her heart-shaped face and holes in the knees of her faded jeans. On her feet she wore scuffed classic cowboy boots, her blouse was a flowing lace salvaged from an old prom dress, and colorful glass beads from the twenties swung from her neck. She’d carefully curated everything she wore herself, knowing her customers would scrutinize her from top to bottom before they bought the clothes right off her back.
A grandmother with a pedal-foot Singer sewing machine had taught her to sew. After a childhood of fashioning doll dresses from scraps in her grandmother’s rag-bag, an adolescence focused on wearing what no one else wore, and an art degree that sealed the deal, Billie Jo decided she was a fashion designer. And a good one, at that. Unfortunately, the rest of the world had yet to recognize her stardom.
Not one to be discouraged, Billie Jo decided she’d remake Glory Springs, Virginia, her hometown, leaning between Virginia and the North Carolina border, in the image she wanted to see, one girl, one woman, one dog at a time. The dog was literal, not a snarky comment. The good ladies of Glory Springs liked their dogs to match their outfits, and Billie Jo was only too happy to oblige. Opening the thrift store was her first step, one taken of necessity, since fabric was expensive and trim even more so. With her trusty seam-ripper and pinking shears, she could pull apart Salvation Army clothing made of linen and wool, cotton and silk, and refashion most of it into something no one could buy for any price in the fancy department stores in Raleigh or Richmond. The ladies of Glory Springs rejoiced, especially since the prices Billie Jo set fit their budgets. Sunday mornings in the Baptist and Methodist churches were often Billie Jo fashion shows. The older ladies and gentlemen, mostly Presbyterians, liked to purchase the well-made clothing she didn’t turn into something else. Most of it would be classified as vintage, but Billie Jo thought of it as simple timeless good taste.
Billie Jo had no sooner stashed her hobo bag under the front counter and checked the thermostat when the old cow bell on the front door clanged. Sailing inside was Mary Carter Willingham, her large frame supported by bright red Converse sneakers.
“Morning, Mary Carter,” Billie Jo smiled, pleased to see her favorite customer was wearing the shoes she’d found for her. “How’re your feet doing today?”
“Finer than my dahlias, that’s for sure. Dr. James said to say thank-you. He says my feet are going to make it a while longer, thanks to you.”
“I’m sure pleased to hear that.” Plugging in the iPad she used to swipe credit cards, Billie Jo gave Mary Carter another glance. “What in God’s Green Earth happened to that dress I made you? I swear, it stretched or you’ve lost weight.”
Mary Carter beamed. “Now I can walk more, I’m doing it. Got my little fanny marching down to the river and back twice a day. Wondered if you have anything for the new me to wear?”
Grinning, Billie Jo glanced at the rack of made-overs she’d created, then at the side of the store reserved for the thrifts. “Why don’t you take a look? If something takes your fancy and needs altering, give me a holler. I’ll be in the back room, going through the new stuff.”
She’d spent her weekend, while the store was covered by her best friend, Althea Wright, in Richmond, hitting the yard sales. Her stock had been getting low, and she needed new fabrics for her next set of designs.
“Thank you, dear.” Mary Carter was Billie Jo’s mother’s age, and always treated the younger woman like a daughter. Most of the women in Glory Springs did. A motherless girl was the responsibility of the female community, and they took their job seriously. Fortunately for Billie Jo, she didn’t mind all the smothering mothering. In fact, she liked it. She always knew Glory Springs had her back.
She’d dropped off her weekend haul when she returned home Sunday night. Her main shopping took place on Saturdays, and often she would sweep up any and everything that homeowners were ready to shove in the street after a long day of yard sale-ing. More than half her stash would end up in the recycle boxes she kept at the ready, but now and then, she’d find a first edition of a classic or a piece of exquisite Rosenthal china that she could sell online. She had a feeling her most recent haul was going to go onto her website rather than her sewing room.
But one item in particular had caught her eye, and she couldn’t wait to give it a good going-over. She’s paid an exorbitant amount of money for it, thirty dollars. Despite the maker’s label being missing, she’d found the fiber content inside the wedding dress, and sure enough, it was silk. Gorgeous silk. And from the looks of it, never worn. Even though it was hopelessly out of style, probably from the sixties or early seventies, there were brides in big cities who would kill for a vintage wedding gown. Unfolding the yards of train and holding the dress up to the window in her back room, Billie Jo gave it a more thorough going-over.
The lace sleeves and neck insert had yellowed some, and the fabric was crushed from being jammed in a box over the years. But all the buttons were intact, and despite her eagle-eyed review of every inch, she couldn’t find a single wine or grass stain anywhere. Her first impression solidified. This wedding dress had never been worn, she’d bet her life on it.
Not hearing anything from Mary Carter, she set up her ironing board and prepared to see if she could remove the wrinkles herself. Usually she had good luck with silk, but this dress’s fabric seemed unusually delicate. If she could get it looking like it should, she’d continue the dress’s restoration with the lace. Spreading a clean sheet on the floor around the ironing board, Billie Jo slid the first side seam onto the padded surface. She kept her best iron and pressing cloth for the delicate fabrics, so while she waited for the iron to heat up, she did a finger-press along the seam to test its resilience.
No stitches pulled apart, which was a good sign. Slipping the gown farther down the board, she continued her inspection, still studying the silk for any imperfections. She was feeling pretty pleased with her purchase until she hit a bump, too big to be a tangle of thread. Besides, this dress had been made by a master dressmaker. Everything about it screamed first class.
Flipping the gown inside-out, Billie Jo discovered a bulge in the side seam than had been inserted deliberately. Perhaps the bride had wanted a memento that she would never lose, and this had been the best spot to save it. Her heart beating a little faster, Billie Jo found her seam ripper and started plucking threads from around the bulge. What had this bride wanted to stay with her wedding gown forever?
Wrapped tightly in a piece of silk that matched the dress, a small, round object emerged. Sewn shut, it was clearly intended to stay where it had been. Picking the stitches apart, Billie Jo stared at the blue ribbon and medal, with silver stars scattered on the points, that fell into her hand. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. No way.
Because she’d seen an identical medal before. Often. Framed in a shadow box in her grandmother’s bedroom, it rested beside another medal with an eagle hanging from a red ribbon. The Soldier’s Medal for Valor. Thirteen silver stars adorned the blue ribbon attached to the medal in her hand. The medal in her hand matched one of the two framed at home, in her grandmother’s room.
Someone had chosen a Medal of Honor for her “something blue” in her wedding gown. For a second, Billie Jo wondered how her father’s medal had ended up in this stranger’s wedding dress. Holding it closer to the lamp beside the ironing board, Billie Jo tried to read the name on the back of the medal, but she couldn’t quite make it out. One thing was for sure, her father’s medal was still in her grandmother’s bedroom. Billie Jo hadn’t changed a single thing in there after her Grammie’s passing.
“Yoo hoo!” Mary Carter trilled from the shop. “Found something, tell me what you think, Billie Jo!”
Wiping her eyes and slipping the medal in her jeans pocket, Billie Jo left the dress behind in her workroom. She’d think about the medal later, when she had more time.
As soon as Mary Carter Willingham had picked out her eighties style Shrader dress and departed happier than a clam, Billie sat on the red velvet loveseat in the middle of the store. Normally, mothers of the bride sat there while their glowing daughters paraded around in Billie’s wedding dress creations. Pulling it from her pocket, she squinted at the back of the MOH. “Burwell Betts,” she read, then whistled. “That’s a name and a half. Wonder where he is now?”
Unable to leave the wedding dress alone, Billie Jo once more retired to her workroom. Hanging the dress up, Billie tried to concentrate on what to do with it. Forcing herself to focus, she decided to cut off the lace upper bodice and try to clean it separately. If it didn’t work out, she’d cut a new one and replace the old lace. If she managed to restore the lace, she’d sew the bodice back on. Her scissors in hand, she started removing the stitching keeping the two pieces together. As the bodice began separating, Billie had to stop to brush the tears from her eyes. Why was she being so silly? This discovery meant nothing to her. She was just the finder. Period.
Burwell Betts sounded like a local name. Surely there were some Betts still around Glory Springs? She’d have to ask around, see if anyone knew who should have the MOH back. Or she could research online, she thought. Pulling out her iPad, she turned it on.
How many times had Billie studied the site she pulled up, hoping to gain a deeper understanding of the man who served six tours of duty in Afghanistan, until his luck ran out. Her grandmother had said little about him, mostly anecdotes about his boyhood. She never said a word about her father and mother together. All she knew of her mother, she’d learned in a few sentences from her Grammie. “She never recovered from your father’s death. Don’t understand women from California.” Billie Jo knew her grandmother considered anyone from out West to be an alien creature, past all understanding. “Why your father married her so quick is easy to figure out. You were on the way.” Grammie had sighed. “Guess some women just don’t have the gumption to keep going, even if there’s a little one depending on her.”
All Billie Jo knew was that her Grammie took her in and raised her. So she never pushed for more information about her mother, until one day, it was too late. Grammie was gone.
Pulling up the site, Billie ran her finger down the list of MOH names. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “Here he is. He was awarded the medal for heroism in Vietnam. 1963. He died holding off the Viet Cong so the wounded could be airlifted off the battlefield, and stayed alone on the ground to continue firing as the helicopter took off. I’m paraphrasing here.” Tears filled Billie’s eyes. “Like my dad.”
Billie Jo glanced at the silk gown with lace hanging from its bodice. “I wonder if she remarried and carried the medal with her down the aisle. Or if this was the dress she wore when she married him, and she put the medal in it after he died.” Billie Jo sighed. She had to find the medal’s owner, or his heirs. If this had been her father’s MOH, she’d have cherished it.
She just hoped someone out there cared as much about that Medal of Honor as she did. Another customer came through the front door, the bell barely registering his presence. “Hey there, Billie Jo. Looking for a work jacket, the older, the better. Got any?”
Rising to help the older gentleman, Billie steered him back to men’s jackets. “See if there’s anything you like, Mr. Moore, and I’ll help you get it on. Still cleaning out that old barn? Must be filled to the rafters, you’ve been at it so long.”
“Oh, my, yes,” he replied in his soft, wavering voice. “Can’t hardly stand to haul it to the dump. Some mighty good stuff in there.” With a smile, he shuffled to the rack.
Billie Jo shook her head, knowing he’d be lost if he ever finished the job.
Billie Jo tapped the iPad’s keyboard as Mr. Moore continued to browse. She was finding only a handful of Betts in Richmond, so she expanded the search to Charlottesville and Hampton. Surely, she’d find some relation. This was the South, after all, and everyone was related somehow.
By the time Mr. Moore found what he wanted, Billie Jo was ready to give up. Her only hope was her best friend, Thea. She’d call Thea as soon as she closed up for the night, and pick her brain for any other way to track down the medal’s owner.
Tucking the MOH in her pocket, she waved Mr. Moore good-bye, and headed into her back workroom to go through more of her weekend purchases. A few more customers interrupted her, all her older ones, stopped by to browse her newest wares. As always, they greeted her profusely, with a few giving her extra hugs. She’d known most of them all her life. She called Thea and left a message on her phone, then set about trying to get some work done. More customers, always welcome, interrupted her more than usual, but she enjoyed them. Still, today seemed to be filled with elders out shopping. A veritable parade of people with walkers and canes. It was as if they were looking for purchases with a heavy dose of nostalgia, from an old toaster to a Harris tweed coat that had been stylish forty years ago. Billie loved each and every piece of merchandise, having discovered their histories and cleaned them up until they looked as good as new, and it seemed as if they were flying out of her store today. She seriously began to wonder if she’d have enough merchandise to keep the shop going until her next weekend yard sale foray.
The day was almost over when her phone rang. Not recognizing the caller ID, Billie almost didn’t answer it. But by the third ring, she figured she may as well.
“Billie Jo’s Creations,” she answered in her most professional voice.
“Is this Billie J. Bellinger? You bought a wedding dress at my yard sale last Saturday?” The voice was young, and very, very anxious. “I found your check, and thank goodness you have your number on it, because I am so sorry, but I need it back. The dress, not the check. I’ll give you the check, of course.” The caller sucked in a ragged breath. “I thought I’d already deposited the check, but it had fallen out on the floor of my car, and that’s why it’s taken me so long to call, and can I come pick up the dress, please?”
“Whoa,” Billie cut in. “I paid cash. You must have the wrong person.” She didn’t remember any young woman at the sale. The house contents were being sold as part of an estate. “Tell me what’s really going on and how you got my name and cell number.”
“You don’t understand. I have to get that dress back. My sister’s wearing it this weekend.”
Billie could hear the start of tears. “I don’t see how. It’s horribly wrinkled and the lace is yellowed. Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” It had to be the MOH, but the caller didn’t want to say so. Knowing there was a market for medals, Billie was betting this MOH was worth more than she’d paid for the dress. “Does it have to do with the medal sewn in the seam?”
“Oh God,” the woman moaned. “You found it.”
“Of course. I was trying to press the seams.” Billie waited for an explanation, but the caller was so silent, she wondered if she was still on. “Look, I’m open until 6 tonight, why don’t you come on in, tell me the story of the medal, and I’ll see about returning it.” It would all depend on what the woman said. The MOH belonged with recipient or his family, and she was going to make it happen, no matter what. She knew what it meant to family, more than the caller would ever know. There was a click as the woman hung up without saying yes or no, or by your leave.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, she called Thea again to urge her to get over to the shop, and not reaching her, began to get nervous. She decided she’d keep the MOH out of sight until she was convinced the woman had a legitimate claim on it. Just as she checked the parking lot once more to see anyone was pulling into a space, she began to wonder if she’d dreamed the call in the first place. Then it was 6:30, well past the time Billie had agreed to meet the nameless woman.
The first inkling she had that something was really, awfully, horribly wrong was when Thea burst through the shop doors, threw herself on the loveseat, and started bawling like she’d just lost her parents, her siblings, and her best friend in a disaster. Running from the workroom, Billie locked the front door, then knelt in front of Thea.
“For heaven’s sake, what’s wrong? Take a breath, sweetie, and tell me. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Patting Thea’s hands, then her shoulder, then her back as she sat beside her friend, Billie had no luck in stopping the flow of tears.
Just then, a knock rattled the glass front door. Flipping on the outside lights, Billie was shocked to see a young blonde woman, her face streaked with tears, and a young man in army fatigues standing beside her.
“I’ve come for my wedding dress. My sister called you this afternoon. She shouldn’t have sold it, it was huge mistake. I’ve got your money, you can have it back,” she shouted through the door.
God have mercy, Billie thought, turning back to see that Thea was still sobbing, though she’d shoved her fist in her mouth to stop the awful sounds she’d been making.
“This isn’t a good time, I’m sorry.” Billie started to turn off the outside lights, when she felt as if a hand covered hers and stopped the motion. Turning, she saw no one with her except Thea. Checking the couple outside her shop, she was startled to see a gathering of people.
Night had fallen earlier and earlier this month, yet Billie was surprised to see the parking lot lights were already lit and that the lot was almost empty of cars, except for the people milling about. Some she recognized, others felt familiar. Glancing back at Thea, she called her to come see what was going on, but Thea acted as if she couldn’t hear her.
The young blonde and the soldier stood right in front of her door, their hands clasped, as some of the people in the parking lot gathered closer behind them.
“Billie Jo,” called Mary Carter Willingham, “let them in, please. It’s the right thing to do.”
Startled, Billie almost unlocked the door, just to let Mary Carter inside, but Thea beat her to it. It felt as if an ice cube passed through her as Thea turned the key and then the handle. The door swung open.
“What are you doing?” demanded Billie.
“The wedding’s tomorrow, she has to have the dress.” Mary Carter sighed. Thea didn’t even look at Billie Jo.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Billie whispered more to herself than Thea. “But as far as I’m concerned, the sooner they leave, the better.”
Marching for the workroom, Billie grabbed the two parts of the dress she’d just separated and stuffed them back in the box that had held the gown originally. Tossing the MOH in after the dress, she hauled it to the front of the shop. The blonde woman’s face, mascara smeared, lipstick long gone, gave Billie a smile that lit up the dark shop.
“I can’t thank you enough!” Grabbing the soldier’s hand, she raced out the door with the box under one arm.
“Thank you, Billie Jo.” Mary Carter beamed. “They’ve been waiting a very long time to get hitched.”
Billie couldn’t see where the couple had gone, the crowd outside had swelled to such a large proportion. “What do you mean, a long time?”
Mary Carter glanced at the other people around her. A few nodded at her, others shrugged. Recognizing more and more of her clients, Billie wondered what the hell was going on.
“Since Lt. Betts was killed in Vietnam. Regina had to wait to cross over to find him, and then her sister sold you her wedding dress, just when they were finally ready to get hitched.”
Mary Carter was making no sense. “What in tarnation are you saying, Mary Carter? Those people were ghosts?”
Slowly, the crowd around Mary Carter became clearer, the faces more distinct. Recognizing her grandmother among them, she jumped back from the doorway, falling on her tail. Shutting her eyes, she counted to ten, then opened them again.
“Grammie?” she whispered.
“It’s me, sugar pie. Now get up, we’ve got to get going. Take my hand, it doesn’t hurt, I promise.” Her eyes twinkled as if she were about to hand Billie a big box wrapped with shiny paper and red ribbon.
“Thea!” Rising to her feet, Billie tried to scramble to her friend, still crying beside the loveseat.
“Sweetie, she can’t hear you. Now come on, everyone’s waiting to meet you. Your dad is back here somewhere, and your mama.”
“How can this be? I’m alive. This has to be a dream. Or I’m really sick.” Touching her hand to her face, Billie encountered warm flesh.
“No one ever really dies, honey child. That’s the truth. You haven’t lived in this human realm for a long time. That’s why you’ve been able to see all of us who came to your shop. Thea just got the news that you finally gave up and came to us, that’s why she’s weeping. Poor girl, she thinks you’re dead after all these years in a coma. She’ll learn the truth, one of these days.”
Trying to wrap her mind around what her Grammie was saying, she reached for Thea’s hand and stroked it. She could feel Thea, which meant she was alive, didn’t it? But Thea’s lack of any reaction scared her. “Thea, it’s me. It’s okay. I’m fine,” Billie whispered directly into Thea’s ear.
With a start, Thea’s tears ceased. Lifting her head, she tilted it as if listening. “That you, Billie Jo? Oh Billie,” she gasped, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I knew today was coming for a long time. I hoped and prayed for you to come out of the coma after the car wreck. Everyone was praying. Why did you give up?”
Suddenly, Billie Jo knew everything her grandmother had said was true. She vaguely remembered the ambulance, the needles, the machines forcing her to breathe. For a second, she wondered what had happened to her, but it didn’t really matter. Her Grammie had been with her the whole time, she knew that for a fact. The body in the hospital bed hadn’t been her. Her shop, her designs, her yard sale shopping, had all happened on another plane of existence. One where she was happy, busy, and still Thea’s best friend. Finding the Medal of Honor had triggered memories of her dead father, however, and those memories had shifted the paradigm. There was no other explanation.
“I didn’t give up,” she whispered to Thea. “I guess it was just time. Time for that wedding dress to get used by the woman who waited, time for me to start my new life. I’ll always be here for you. Don’t hurry, enjoy your life. I have loved mine. But Grammie and the others are waiting. Gotta jet, you know how it is.” With a brush of a kiss on Thea’s head, Billie went to meet her grandmother, waiting in the doorway. She returned her Grammie’s gentle smile with one of her own. How good it was to see, to talk with her once more.
“Step through, honey. It’s easy.” Grammie held out her hand, and taking it, Billie felt warmth and love washing over her. “That’s my girl.”
Without a backward look, Billie stepped into her future.