Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

Merri Grace was one of my best, college friends. Together, we went everywhere.

She lived on campus, but I was too poor for such grandeur. I lived at home and drove to school. It was much like high school, except we could skip class without our mothers being notified.

Merri Grace was the boss. She was elegant, memorized rules of etiquette, and never hesitated to straighten me out if I violated a rule. I was reprimanded constantly. When she became a lobbyist, God bless the young girls she preached to about inappropriate behavior or dress. As dressing became more casual, Merri Grace was sick with upset. She took to writing a blog that was funny and pulled no punches. One year after the legislative session started, she wrote the following: “Etiquette Tip No. 2 – Let’s get this one out of the way early.

Leggings should not be worn to work, church, or the Capitol. If it is very cold outside, get a pair of cute tights to wear under your dress or skirt. Or, here’s an idea: wear a pair of wool slacks. Save your leggings for the gym, a lazy Saturday, or the grocery store paired with a long top or short dress. Unless you’re under 5. Then you can wear them anytime.”

Reading it, I almost choked with laughter. I suspect that none of the young girls reformed.

Merri Grace’s father nobly served as a career Air Force pilot.

He was often transferred during her childhood. One tour landed them close to Belgium.

This is how Merri Grace came to possess the handmade Belgium lace that she convinced her mother to buy for her wedding dress. She was 11.

For years, during our friendship, Merri Grace often mentioned the Belgian lace and how it would cover her dress then trail gracefully behind her. Her father, a colonel, would wear his military dress uniform, equivalent to a civilian’s black tie, except the colonel’s would be covered with his medals.

Merri Grace planned her wedding including the bridesmaids’ dresses (I was to be one although she kept a list of girls who could be removed at any time for a minor infraction), her Grandmother’s silver punch bowl, the flowers for her bouquet, and the reception’s center piece.

But, of course, the Belgian lace would star. Once while visiting, she took me to the cedar-lined trunk that held yards of lace. Gently, she handled it, pointing out fine details.

“Mother wisely brought enough for the dress and the train.” She sighed happily. Again, she talked about her wedding and its details.

From the day I met Merri Grace in first-year journalism class, she was overweight. Extremely. This was a period when any college girl weighing over 130 pounds, regardless of height, was unusual. Everyone was either too thin or average weight.

Though Merri Grace possessed a quicksilver wit – it could be biting, at times – and a fabulous smile accented by dazzling blue eyes, I never knew her to have a date. She had plenty of crushes so her observation about the crushes would keep me laughing for hours.

These were secret loves. Like her editorial boss at the newspaper where she interned. She swooned over his dark hair and tall, lean looks.

A few years ago, Merri Grace died of a heart attack. I cried when they opened the casket and her mother fell over her, wailing mournfully.

The family fell apart after that.

They cleaned out her condo and divided the crystal, silver, and china.

I still wonder what happened to the most important treasure of her life.

Where is the Belgian lace?

Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of Sapelo Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery. Visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her free newsletter.