Easter Parade

The laughter of children shattered the silence as Sara knelt beside a small wooden soap box at the foot of her bed. The sound of her grandchildren’s bare feet racing closer snapped her back to the present. Smiling, she watched them dash past the open bedroom door, chasing each other through the house, before turning back to her box. Aunt Flora always said a young lady should have a fine hope chest to hold her special wedding items for her new home. Aunt Flora, married to wealth and accustomed to New York City’s finery, lived grandly. Sara did not. Simple and content in 1907, she cherished her life with her new husband, Jim, her finest possessions being a small silver tray for her wash table and a dresser set from Aunt Flora. Sara’s parents worked hard, but money only sustained a modest living. Her hope chest was no grand oak or mahogany piece but a humble soap box for her treasures.

Sara reached in, gently touching the silk flowers of a modest bonnet atop the box. Pink, purple, green, and orange—all the bright colors she remembered, though now faded and frayed with age. She turned the bonnet over, revealing a small postcard tucked under the inside rim from Aunt Flora. Quite yellow now, its ink no longer as dark, the card read “Have a Cheerful Easter” in embossed gold letters. Unaccustomed to postcards, Aunt Flora left the writing space blank, proudly displaying her exquisite handwriting on the front. The note was simple but brimming with memories.

In 1907, Aunt Flora visited Washington Boro, where Sara lived, for a quick business trip to finalize a deal her husband, Everette, had begun before his untimely death. A force of nature, Aunt Flora continued the business undeterred by her widowhood. Easter was a week away when the postcard arrived. Sara, then a housemaid, loved letters; she and her mother, living 20 miles apart, kept the postman busy with weekly correspondence. That beautiful day, the postman delivered Aunt Flora’s surprise postcard. Sara, drying her hands on her apron, hunted for her wire-rimmed glasses and read the tiny script. Aunt Flora inquired about Sara’s employment and future plans. With no children yet, Sara considered moving to another city for housekeeping, but it meant long hours away from Jim, a respected furrier and stable-keeper for the city’s carriage horses. Sara was proud of him and eager for their life together.

Engrossed in the sweet postcard, Sara didn’t notice the postman holding a package. “Ma’am?” he said, nudging it forward. She blinked, and he placed it in her hands, tipped his hat, and moved on. A package from Aunt Flora! The brown paper, secured with rough hemp cord, rested gently on the entry table of the massive row house Sara maintained along the river. Stunning and chock-full of furniture, draperies, pictures, and antiques, it was a lot to keep up. Sara pulled the cord, folding back the paper to reveal the most beautiful dress and bonnet she’d ever seen. Clasping her hands to her mouth, unaccustomed to such finery, she found a note tucked into the dress. Aunt Flora’s letter described New York City’s Easter Parade—its clothes, church service, music, and food—ending with an invitation and a train ticket to join her for the church service and parade. Sara sat with a thud on the hall tree bench, eyes wide. Easter was four days away, and the train left the day before.

“Grandma? Grandma?” a tiny voice interrupted her memories. Sara, still by her soap box, felt her youngest grandchild’s hand on her shoulder. She touched his soft, chubby hand. “Yes, my dear?”

He twisted his cotton shirt’s hem, fingers tracing her dress’s stitches. “Could—could you come play with us?” he whispered sweetly.

“In just a moment, love,” Sara whispered back. Satisfied, he ran off, laughing joyfully. Sara chuckled, then returned to the box.

The day after receiving the package buzzed with travel preparations. Aunt Flora knew Jim couldn’t attend but wanted Sara to experience New York City’s Easter grandeur. After a tiresome train journey, Sara arrived at Grand Central Station, majestic despite its four-year refurbishment. She nearly collided with a stream of hurried people—some smiling, others already late. Clutching her package, she moved to the station’s center, where light poured through giant windows, casting a golden glow on every face. Ladies read on benches, wrangled excited children, or whispered goodbyes to loved ones. Sara soaked it in, knowing this might be her only trip to New York City.

Threading through the crowd, she stepped into the afternoon sun, already dipping behind buildings. Rows of automobiles and carriages awaited. Sara searched for an automobile adorned with a pink-and-purple bouquet—Aunt Flora’s favorite colors, marking everything she owned or gifted. Spotting an outrageous bunch of fresh flowers on one vehicle, Sara giggled and approached. A driver provided a riding coat, bonnet with scarf, and protective goggles, showing her how to secure them. The streets were busy, the air smoky, and potholes challenged a lady in an automobile. Sara settled onto red leather seats, her package at her feet, a blanket on her lap. The driver pulled his goggles down, honked, and merged into New York City’s bustling evening.

The next day was a flurry of dress fittings, flower purchasing, and Easter dinner preparations. Aunt Flora, finalizing the menu, had little time for chit-chat. Sara pitched in, cleaning, setting up, and adding joy to everyone she met. Aunt Flora watched, pleased, as Sara flitted about, smoothing the process. Exhausted but delighted, Sara fell asleep that night, smiling, dreaming of sharing the trip with Jim.

Sara awoke early to the creaking wood floors of Aunt Flora’s Fifth Avenue mansion as the household stirred. The church, a ten-minute walk, suited Aunt Flora’s slow, savoring pace. Sara caught her reflection in the mirror, feeling like the beautiful bride she’d been a month ago. The dress’s lace and ribbons, with a delicate train, dusted the ground. Pink bows adorned the bodice, and a large lace bow spread at the hem. Velvet strips, embroidered with silk flowers and bows, ran from the ground to her shoulders. Smiling, she secured the bonnet with a hatpin to her neatly curled hair.

“Miss?” a hesitant voice called. Sara opened the door to Lilly, a young housemaid. “Oh, my, miss, you’re so beautiful,” Lilly said, awestruck.

“Thank you, Lilly. This dress is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Sara beamed. “It looks so elegant on you,” Lilly said, curtsying as Sara headed downstairs, where Aunt Flora waited in the foyer.

“Sara, you look quite beautiful,” Aunt Flora said warmly, “and in all my favorite colors, too.”

The church was magnificent, the service exceptional, the city a sea of hats and flowers. As it ended, Aunt Flora whispered, “Ready for the parade?” Sara’s heart burst with excitement. The church’s great wooden doors creaked open, revealing Fifth Avenue overflowing with people. Hats, dresses, flowers, children in their finest, and even dogs with collars or tiny hats moved with the street’s traffic. Sara glanced wide-eyed at Aunt Flora, elegant in her oversized, colorful hat and velvet dress, her cane more for style than need. They walked side by side, admiring the clothing, hats, and flower-collared dogs. Children greeted parents, and everyone exchanged hellos. Aunt Flora, Sara, and a few attendants strolled down one side of the street and back up the other. At the mansion, Aunt Flora ascended the steps through the oak doors, Sara stealing one last glance at the spectacle.

Sara eagerly helped prepare Easter dinner, laughing with the housekeepers, dancing with an Irish maid named Annie, and perfecting a cherry pie. Aunt Flora never asked Sara to stay in the parlor, cherishing the laughter that reminded her of cooking with Sara’s mother. That evening, after dinner and family reminiscing, Aunt Flora invited Sara to the parlor. She shared stories of Sara’s parents, life in Washington Boro, and her own adventures after Everette’s death, including dinners with the Rockefellers.

“Sara, what was your favorite part of the day?” Aunt Flora asked, leaning back, thumbing her cane.

Sara replayed every moment. “Oh, Aunt Flora, I loved all of it. I’m so thankful you invited me.”

“Yes, but what was your favorite part?” Aunt Flora pressed.

“Well,” Sara said, fingering her flour-dusted apron, “this. I’m grateful for the dress and bonnet, but I loved your stories, the laughter, and preparing the meal together. I loved the time.”

Aunt Flora gazed into the fireplace, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. She missed the simple joys Sara embodied—family, love, and pure laughter. “My dear girl, I’m so thankful to have you.”

A few years after that Easter, Aunt Flora passed away, leaving her mansion and millions. New York buzzed with speculation about her fortune, but her instructions kept it secret. The news faded, her wealth becoming a fantastical tale shared at parties.

“Grandma!” a little voice called, trailing into laughter as the children chased each other around the kitchen table. Laughter—worth more than all the world’s wealth.

Sara sifted through her box, fingers grazing paper edges. She’d nearly forgotten another postman’s visit, when she was eight months pregnant with her first child. Seeing her state, he placed a package on her modest hall table. Nearly 30 years had passed, and Sara had welcomed four children and now cherished her grandchildren’s joy.

“Grandma!” the voice called again.

Sara lifted the dress, revealing neatly stacked $100 bills—Aunt Flora’s lifetime savings, her mysterious fortune. She recalled their stories and laughter, covered the money with the dress, placed the bonnet atop it, and closed the lid.

“I’m coming, little one.”

Notes

New York City’s Easter Parade, starting in the mid-1870s, was a post-Civil War social event where people in spring fashions and hats strolled Fifth Avenue. It grew into a vibrant event showcasing unusual decorations and hats. In 1903, Grand Central Station began reconstruction, with trains still running. In February 1907, months before this postcard, a train accident there killed 20 people