Early the next morning, the porter dropped off my bridesmaid’s gown, which I had stored in the Honeymoon Suite. The bride had chosen royal-blue, a color that went with both my auburn hair and Gina’s strawberry-blond coloring. My best friend was considerate that way. Nothing of Bridezilla hogging the limelight about her.
There wasn’t a full-length mirror in the room, so after I slipped into the dress and performed the twists necessary to zip it up, the image staring back at me was only from hips up.
The fitted bodice was modest because of my insistence my chest remain private except where the neckline skimmed a hint of cleavage. At the hips, the tea-length skirt hung down in waves, and I had matching pumps. The nylons were a challenge. In Arizona, most people stick to sandals, since they’d melt in stockings. I lay on the bed and fought and wriggled to get each leg on. Pulling the waistband over my hips nearly gave me apoplexy. It was a good thing I’d left my hair until last.
Normally, I wear it down. The loose, natural curl gives it body, and keeping the length just past my shoulders keeps it heavy enough to make the cowlicks behave. But today was special. I brushed my mop up high on my head and allowed the curls to do what they may, except for the ones that fell around my face. Those I beat into submission with enough gel to keep them in place. I fancied they looked like the loose tendrils I read about in romance novels. Tendrils. Sounded much better than stragglers.
I transferred my room card and my wallet into a small black clutch I’d purchased for the event, and when I stepped into the hallway, I found my watchdog waiting.
Bowers stared.
“I’ve never seen you with your hair up.”
My hand went to touch the back of my head to make sure everything was in place.
“Or in a dress.”
I brushed down the skirt and resisted the urge to pull the bodice up.
Bowers cleared his throat. “Robby went ahead with Gina. Will I do?”
Would he ever. His dark navy suit emphasized his eye color and his broad shoulders, and the white shirt and rose tie added a touch of sophistication.
His hands were in his pockets, so Bowers crooked an elbow out and I let him escort me to my best friend’s wedding.
The rehearsal had taken place on the ship to allow us to practice our moves, but since the ceremony was a Catholic sacrament, it had to take place on consecrated ground. The bishops from the Phoenix and Juneau dioceses had given their permission for Father Basil to officiate the wedding, and our destination was St. Gregory Nazianzen Catholic Church.
Since the weather was in the cool sixties, most of the wedding party had decided to walk to the church, except for the bride, of course. She would arrive in a limousine with her stepfather. I did feel overdressed as we stepped off the gangway. Most of the tourists were in jeans and shorts, and here I was looking as if I was dressed for a prom provided nobody got close enough to see that my teen years were far behind me.
Robby and Gina waited on the sidewalk, and informed us the parents had gone ahead, along with Kemper and Tommy.
“I was a little worried about Tommy,” I admitted.
Robby, who walked ahead of us with Gina, looked over his shoulder and winked. “He seemed happy to be back on dry land. He teetered the first few steps, but then it was as if he’d been walking his entire life.”
It was a short stroll down Lincoln Street, and it seemed more like a funeral procession than a wedding march because I stayed silent most of the way. My thoughts were on what my life would be like once I returned to Wolf Creek, Arizona. Penny would still be at the Prickly Pear Bistro, the small diner she owned in Wolf Creek, but I couldn’t expect to find her there all hours of the day if she had a husband waiting at home. We wouldn’t be able to make spur-of-the-moment plans for a movie…again because of the husband waiting at home. And when children came along, I’d never see her, at least not alone. This wedding was bringing me down.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Bowers said.
The unintended reference brought an ache to my throat. “I’m wallowing in self-pity.”
He nodded and slipped his hand around mine. I was still depressed, but at least my hand was comfy and warm. At least until we saw a squirrel or other animal and Bowers decided he needed his hand back.
We reached Baranof Street which we couldn’t have missed because it was marked by a beautiful red structure, St. Peter’s by the Sea. One block up Baranof, we turned down a short dead end that led to a simple wooden church. The brown paint, accented by a yellowish-beige door and window frames, reminded me of the buildings at the campgrounds where my childhood adventures took place. The forest-covered mountains from the other side of Crescent Bay made a marvelous backdrop, though the hulking cruise ship that passed by dampened the thrill a tad.
The nature theme continued inside, with wooden benches and wood paneling behind the raised altar. Several vases of white roses surrounded the altar, and white silk bows marked the first three rows of pews.
A simple crucifix hung from the wall over a beautiful gold box on a stand surrounded by vases of white flowers. To the left, a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus gazed down on us. I had to look away. It didn’t take much reflection to realize I hadn’t lived a life that deserved the love reflected in His expression. I could have dealt more easily with a scowling Jesus. In my discomfort, I tried to act casual.
“Look.” I pointed to a red candle hanging in the window. “Kind of like a beacon to passing ships.”
Bowers said in a strained voice, “That’s the Sanctuary Light.”
I glanced around. “Where’s the Sanctuary? Isn’t that where the priest gets dressed?”
“The Sanctuary Light announces the Real Presence in the tabernacle.”
“Ah, the tabernacle.” Bowers took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the beautiful gold box.
“Where they keep the Eucharist?” He wasn’t questioning the purpose of the tabernacle. He was questioning the gaps in my knowledge. He knew my entire family was Catholic, and he seemed surprised at my ignorance. I felt I owed it to the team to come up with one smart comment. I pointed to a large bowl on a stand.
“And that’s the finger bowl where the priest washes his hands during Mass.” Top that, I thought.
He sighed. “That would be the Baptismal Fount, and the tall, pretty candle next to it is the Easter Candle.” He took my elbow and escorted me up the aisle. “We’ve got to get you into a church more often.”
Who is we? I wondered if he was in league with my mother. He did speak to her during the Blue-Ribbon Babes murder investigation, when he was looking for background information on Aunt Gertrude, my mom’s sister. Maybe she had convinced him to join forces with her parish priest, Father Jakius, to drag me back into the Light.
Robby, Gina, Kemper, Tommy and Father Basil stood around the altar talking. Father Basil was decked out in white.
“Bet you don’t know the name of the gown the priest is wearing,” I said in challenge.
“His outer garment? It’s a chasuble. He’s wearing it over an alb, which means white tunic. That thing he’s wearing over his shoulders,” he grinned at me, “which you would call his scarf, is an amice, or a stole. Do you want to know what the altar server is wearing?”
“Thanks anyway. Showoff.”
Bowers knew his faith. My mom would be proud.
Mr. Mohr waited patiently in the front pew with his wife. I guess the parents of the groom aren’t required to fret as much as the bride’s parents.
Penny had asked Frank Doud to walk her down the aisle. Her relations with her own father had remained cool since he cheated on Judy, something my Aunt Gertrude had discovered during an afternoon showing of The Apple Dumpling Gang. The scenario had been too embarrassing to share, so Aunt Gertrude had “read” the cards for Judy Doud, then Judy Newcombe, and revealed her husband’s perfidy. Judy, a woman of action, had kicked her husband out of the house and filed for a divorce. A little investigative work revealed he had slept with a bridesmaid the night before their wedding, and since that showed he hadn’t entered into the Sacrament with the right intentions, she was able to receive an annulment from the Catholic Church. She had been a free woman when she met the widowed Frank Doud, and she and her children had fallen in love with him.
Thinking of Judy, I didn’t see her anywhere, nor did I see Sharon Bradley. I excused myself and went in search of the powder room. Sharon and Judy were inside, checking their makeup. Judy wore a chiffon dress in a muted shade of purple—a typical mother-of-the-bride dress. Sharon, almost to prove she wasn’t old enough to have a married child, wore a sparkling silver dress on her slim figure and a dead animal slung over her shoulders. It was a silver fox stole, and it appeared to be staring at me, begging me to recognize the indignity of being draped over someone’s shoulders instead of chasing bunnies in the wild. A gray fox with gray fur.
She saw me staring and paused, moving the lipstick away from her mouth. “It’s not real, so don’t try to talk to it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I fumbled through my purse and realized I had forgotten to pack my lipstick. Judy Doud held out her own tube, and I dashed it over my mouth and thanked her. The doors swung open, and in stepped Gina.
She took a deep breath and announced, “She’s here.”
As the other two women scrambled to take one last look at their hair and makeup, Gina handed me my bouquet, a duplicate of hers filled with violets, pink carnations and roses.
With the somberness of funeral guests, we proceeded out of the bathroom and took our places. Sharon sat in the second row of pews, with Judy on the end leaving enough room for Frank to sit down after he performed his duties. The wedding party would sit in the first row.
I remained at the back of the church with Gina until a sandy-haired man in a dark suit put on a recording of Pachelbel’s Canon. Penny hadn’t been able to snag a musician for the wedding ceremony.
Everyone turned toward the back of the church. It wasn’t my wedding, but with everyone staring in my direction, I felt the prickle of self-consciousness. I averted my eyes until Gina started down the aisle, because by then they would be looking at her. And they all were except one.
Bowers had his gaze fixed on me, and he didn’t remove it once as I made my way down the aisle. I know because I kept darting glances his way when I wasn’t looking at my feet. I had the crazy idea that if I kept an eye on them, they wouldn’t trip me up before I reached the altar.
Pachelbel’s Canon stopped abruptly and was replaced by the Bridal Chorus. Everyone stood, and I got my first glimpse of Penny as Bride. Her short-sleeved satin dress began in a neckline that came across her delicate collarbone in lacy waves and ended in a short train, also of lace. The same lace lined the tulle veil that covered her face. One hand held a bouquet of pink peonies—only available in Alaska this time of year—and white roses, and the other rested on Frank’s arm. He pressed his lips together in an effort not to cry, but his cheek twitched from the suppressed emotion.
When they reached the front of the aisle and Frank lifted the veil to give his stepdaughter a kiss, Mrs. Doud covered a soft sob with her handkerchief, and when Frank joined her, she kissed his cheek.
Because there were only eleven of us in the church, the ceremony had the intimacy of a secret wedding. Penny and Kemper sneaking off to get married with only their closest friends and family in tow. Or a shotgun wedding. I imagine those are pretty private, too.
I listened carefully to every word Father Basil said, trying to imprint them on my memory for those times when I would want to recall important events I had taken part in. I’d be eighty at the time and trying to justify my existence. Yes, I did do something worthwhile, once, long ago. I witnessed a wedding. That was my title on the certificate. Witness. It sounded so important. I wondered, would I ever be in the position to require my own witnesses?
My vision blurred when Penny repeated her vows, and when Kemper said his, a tear escaped. What I wouldn’t give to be so loved by a man he would stand up before God and family and declare his intent to take care of me for the rest of my life, even if I became decrepit or insane. Of course, I would have to promise to do the same, and that part didn’t sound as romantic.
Before I knew it, Kemper had Penny in his arms and he kissed her gently on the lips, and then we broke into applause and followed the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Kemper Mohr out the door. Rice was forbidden. We didn’t want any birds exploding. Instead, we tossed bird seed, which was immediately pounced upon by a gang of sparrows who had been waiting for us. They must have been regulars at St. Gregory’s.
Penny and Kemper slid into the back seat of a limousine with a “Just Married” sign on the back and headed off for a tour around Sitka to see if anyone would honk at them. Since there were very few vehicles on the roads, I expected they would have a quiet drive.
Originally, Tommy and I were supposed to go with them, but since we would have been in the seats that faced backwards, and Tommy’s tummy was still unstable, we both decided to bow out. It would have been awkward with just the married couple and me.
The parents and Sharon had a hired car waiting to take them back to the ship, so Gina, Robby, Tommy, Bowers and I headed back on foot.
Gina, a former drill team captain, kept tossing her bouquet in the air, spinning, and catching it behind her back. Maybe that was an important talent in New York, but I wasn’t impressed.
I was impressed that the reception dinner took place in the Golden Albatross, which was the ultra-fancy dining room on board. We ordered drinks and then waited twenty minutes for the happy couple to show up. When Kemper and Penny swept into the room, still in their wedding garb, the guests at the other tables broke into applause. Since this was the fancy dining room, it was polite applause.
With their flushed faces and silly grins, the happy couple acted like carriers of a contagion that infected everyone. Even Tommy didn’t notice the ship was back in motion, headed for Ketchikan.
The waiter served Champagne, and Mr. Mohr stood up and raised his glass.
“I’d like to toast the newlyweds, especially the bride. Kemper, you are one lucky man.”
“Here, here,” Robby said, and we all sipped.
Frank Doud went next, congratulating Penny on her choice of groom and wishing them both a happy marriage overrun with children, which made everybody laugh except Penny, who blushed.
The best man was obliged to say a few words, and he kept it short and sweet, and then some smart aleck named Robby insisted the maid of honor put in her two cents.
I got to my feet, raised my half-finished champagne, and said, “Penny, I’ve known you since we were children, and I’ve never seen you as happy as you are right now. If that ever changes, Kemper, I know where you live.”
My toast got the biggest laugh, not that we were competing, and almost as a reward, the serving staff arrived with bowls of lobster bisque. My prime rib was so tender I cut it with my fork, and the whipped potatoes and skinny green beans must have been drenched in butter because I couldn’t think of another reason why vegetables would taste so good. We finished off with a piece of white chocolate mousse cake.
Frank Doud stood and motioned, and a waiter approached the table carrying a box wrapped in silver paper. On top, next to the matching bow, little bells jingled with each step he took.
Frank and Judy held hands, and he waved Thomas and Christina over to join them.
“We want you to start off on the right foot.”
Penny insisted they unwrap the gift together. When they lifted the lid off the box, Penny gasped and held up a plaque. A Recipe for a Good Marriage was written out in calligraphy and included one cup of courtesy, two cups of praise, and one pinch of in-laws. That last one got a guffaw from Robby.
“What’s this?”
Penny peeled an envelope off the back of the plaque and peeked inside. She squeaked, shoved the envelope in Kemper’s hands, and ran to her stepfather, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. Kemper pulled out a piece of paper, dropped it, and joined Penny. He pumped Frank and Thomas’s hands and hugged the mothers.
Robby slid the paper over, which was a check. After reading it, he let out a long, low whistle.
“Twenty thousand bucks.”
“It’s difficult to start a family in this economy,” Thomas Mohr said. “We wanted to take some worry away. We know it’s not much in this economy….”
I raised my hand. “If it’s too embarrassing for you, I’ll take it.”
Thomas let out a hearty laugh, but he took the check from the table and placed it in Kemper’s hands.
Penny then insisted we go to the Jimmy Dean Lounge and that her father honor her with a first dance.
I assumed with a name like the Jimmy Dean Lounge, there would be a jukebox playing oldies music. Instead, a DJ ruled the room from atop a raised platform, and from the grin he sent our way as the wedding party entered the room, he was expecting us. He cut off It’s Raining Men mid-chorus and put on Wind Beneath My Wings. Frank Doud led Penny to the center of the multicolored, lighted floor, and as he held one hand up and rested the other on her waist, the squares on the floor shifted to a soft blue. After the first verse, Tommy led me to the floor, and Robby did the same with Gina. Soon, other couples filled the dance floor.
Robby grabbed me for the next dance. I glanced in Penny’s direction.
“Hey, old man,” I said. “You’re next.”
Robby sniffed. “There is no woman worthy of me. I’ll be alone all my days, but don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll get a cat.”
“You don’t deserve a cat, you faker.”
“What’s that?” he yelled in my ear. “You want me to dip you?”
I looked around at the other couples and panicked. The dance floor wasn’t big, and if Robby got ideas about fancy moves, I’d wind up slamming into Mrs. Doud and knocking her down. “Don’t you dare.”
He spun me and dipped, and I screeched and squeezed my eyes, waiting for my head to connect with the floor. To my surprise, Robby swung me around in one smooth move and brought me to standing.
He shook his head. “You have no faith.”
“Did you have lessons? Because if I were dancing with the old Robby, that move would have been fatal.”
“An artist never shares his secrets,” he said, but I could tell he was pleased. So was I. I could relax and stop fearing for my toes.
We applauded at the end of the music, and then Bowers cut in for a slow dance. He held me in the old-fashioned way, just like Frank Doud had held Penny, with one hand clasping mine in the air and the other resting on my lower back. It may sound stiff and formal, but it was extremely sexy because it made me feel feminine. Adult. Respected.
“That was a nice wedding,” he said.
“Yes, it was. Simple.”
He shifted his arm, pulling me a little closer. “Is that how you see your own wedding?”
My wedding. That wasn’t something I thought about, not even growing up. I’d known women who had every detail of the ceremony and reception planned and timed. Cut cake at 7 PM. Finish eating cake at 7:15. It wasn’t that I was against getting married, but after my last experience with a man, I couldn’t imagine trusting anyone that much again. I’d been foolish enough to move in with Jeff, buying into the oldest lie in the book—it would lead to permanence. Or it didn’t matter if we had a certificate, as if marriage was a piece of paper. Living together wasn’t a commitment, something Jeff had pointed out when he betrayed me in more ways than one with some floozy reporter. My cheeks grew warm at the memory of my humiliation.
“I’ll give it some thought when I find someone worth marrying.”
“And what qualifications would this worthy man have to meet?” His jaw pulsed when he said it, and his tone had an edge to it, as if he thought the worthy man wouldn’t be getting such a prize.
Flustered by the question, I threw off a flippant answer about a cross between 007 secret agent Sean Connery and The Avengers Tom Hiddleston because I had just seen movies starring each actor and, well, what woman wouldn’t want Sean Connery or Tom Hiddleston?
Fortunately, the conversation ended when Penny bumped into me, deliberately. Her smile exuded pure happiness, her blue eyes sparkled with love, and her entire being radiated a peace and well-being that demanded I respond in kind. I shouted out the first wedding-related thing I could think of. “Am I going to get any wedding cake? Cause that dessert they served in the Golden Albatross doesn’t count.”
She made a face. “I guess you’ll just have to fly back to Wisconsin for the Newcombe reception.”
When the dance was over, Bowers and I slid into a booth, and by agreement, became silent spectators. He ordered a scotch, and I took a margarita to be polite. When Kemper asked me to dance, I couldn’t very well say no, and then he passed me on to Frank Doud for the next dance. Tommy joined Bowers at our table, but before I could return, Thomas Mohr asked me to be his partner. My feet were throbbing by the time I slid into the booth next to Tommy.
“How are you holding up?”
He held up a tall glass. “Soda water. As long as I don’t move too much, I’m fine.”
Eventually, the inevitable happened, and the DJ put on another fast dance. Robby jogged over, grabbed my hand, and led me onto the floor. Though Bowers had expressed reluctance to dance to anything with a tempo faster than a waltz, Gina strong-armed him onto the center tiles.
I kept one eye on my feet in case Robby suffered a relapse and one eye on Bowers. He made a few halfhearted motions until Gina grabbed his hand and swung herself under his arm. She whispered in his ear, and he grinned, almost in relief that he had found a kindred spirit. The two of them broke into some kind of moderate swing dancing, with fast moving feet and twirls and kicks. They looked as if they had stepped out of the fifties.
I wasn’t the only one who had stopped dancing to watch. Even Kemper and Penny moved off the floor to give them the spotlight. They were excellent, and as selfish as it sounds, that depressed me. When they finished with Bowers dipping Gina to wild applause, I couldn’t get up the enthusiasm to stay on the floor.
Robby ran over and high-fived his cousin, and he swept her into his arms for a slow dance. Bowers, out of breath, came up to me and held out his hand.
“Sorry. I’m not a professional,” I said.
He took my hand anyway and jerked me to him. He had one arm around my back and held my hand against his chest. “This is more my speed.”
“Don’t be condescending. I stink at dancing and I know it, whereas Gina probably has it listed on her resume.”
“Sulking doesn’t suit you.” He tipped my chin up with his finger. “You get this frown-line between your eyebrows.”
“I do not!”
“Adds at least five years.”
I tried to pull away, and he held me tighter. I could feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckled.
“You’re a bone-headed brat.”
“That’s what my sisters tell me.”
“They should know.”
I gave in and rested my head against his chest for the rest of the number. When the song finished, the music returned to an upbeat tempo, and Gina swooped in for another dance with Bowers. What an attention junkie. She was obviously eager to get another round of applause. When she reached for his hand, he held both his hands up to wave her off.
“I only dance like that once a year.”
Even if it was out of pity for me, it pleased me when he turned her down. Robby seemed happy, too, and I crossed my fingers that he would step on Gina’s toes at least once tonight.