“People don’t have fortunes left them in that style nowadays; men have to work and women to marry for money. It’s a dreadfully unjust world.”
—Louisa May Alcott
Rose brought us this quote one night. I think she was trying to cheer us up. Or maybe she just wanted to put all of our wedding talk in perspective. Maybe because reality was so grim for us, we tended to have lush fantasies filled with beautiful clothes and perfect heroes. Life, she said, was a mixture of the beautiful and the plain, of things that were whole and those that were broken. In the final result, she said, there is very little fairness about it all. Not, she added with the confidence of one who knew, that life isn’t a grand adventure anyway.
I’m not prepared for defeat. Rick has been in my life since before I learned to walk, and even though I would never have admitted it, I have always felt that someday he would be my one true love. He was the groom in all of my wedding fantasies. He was meant to be with me.
I’m so sure of this, and yet, as I hold open that book on prayer, I wonder why God doesn’t just make things happen that way if it’s supposed to be. Does He want me to get down on my knees and beg? Write Him a poem and recite it? Fight a Philistine?
I’m willing to work with Him here, but I need some direction. It’s altogether discouraging, and I’m tired. The wild parrots don’t come to roost this evening even though I try to stay awake to listen for them.
When I wake up the next morning, I take a minute to erase the jumble of my night dreams. I put my hand on my forehead to get some sense of whether or not I still have a fever. I have too many things to do to spend another day in bed. I might not have a true love waiting for me, but Marilee does. Given my own disappointment in love, I am more determined than ever that Marilee will have the fantasy wedding she used to dream about. One of us needs to do this for all of us. We cannot just let our dreams die, not when we held on so tightly to them when we were sick.
I look at my clock. Carly and Becca will both be in church about now. I’ll have to wait to call them. Carly told me that the pastor is going to have a special prayer for Marilee today, so I’m glad everyone can be there. Since I can’t get this prayer business right, I’m happy to let the professionals do it.
In the meantime, I’m going to do what I said I’d do—plan a wedding. It’s plain that I’m going to need help, but Becca and Carly won’t let me down. Somehow, between the three of us, we’ll find a way to make this wedding happen.
It’s four hours later before I realize we’re going to have problems. Neither one of the other sisters can take the time on Tuesday to go and work for the woman with the bridal gowns. Carly has to cover for Uncle Lou while he has a dental appointment, and Becca has a test. The woman might be open to changing the date for when the gowns are organized, but I don’t really want to call her and give her a chance to back out altogether. By now she may have decided I’m some crazy lady.
“Is there anyone else?” Carly asks when we talk. “You mentioned Rick said the other firefighters were willing to help. Maybe one of them has a wife or girlfriend that would go in and help the woman.”
“I don’t want to ask Rick,” I croak out. Maybe when I’m feeling better, I will tell Carly about how it is between him and me, but I don’t have the voice to do it now.
“We’re going to need help,” Carly says. “And he brought you that soup. I know he cares.”
“Maybe Quinn can help,” I say. My brother knows the same firemen that Rick does. If the men want to help with the wedding, I don’t see what difference it makes if Quinn or Rick asks them.
Thankfully, Carly accepts that as a solution, so I call Quinn and leave him a message to call me. Not wanting to spend any more time in bed, I wrap myself in a blanket and pick up the book on prayer to take down to the living room to read. At the last minute, I pick up the Sisterhood journal and bring it, too.
Two hours later I’m sitting there with tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know most of these things about prayer. I have been going about it all wrong.
I thought my problem was just that I needed to stop using the Lizzie stone and start praying instead, but that’s not at the heart of it at all. The problem is that I have been using prayer like it was my Lizzie stone. I might have been praying, but I wasn’t listening. All I was really doing was telling God what He should do. Whether it was prayer or the Lizzie stone, I still wanted to be in control, especially on the big things.
What does that reduce God to? Some kind of cosmic wish-giver? I could have as easily been bowing down to Alfred, our waiter at the restaurant, ordering him to solve my problems like I had options on the menu of life.
This book right here says that a prayerful heart is one that waits for God to do His will. It’s not about telling God what to do; it’s about trusting Him and accepting what He wants.
I sit here with my feverish head and realize God may have a different plan for my life than the one I had always imagined. And I’m not talking about the little details. I take a deep breath and brace myself. Maybe Rick is not supposed to be anything more to me than a friend. Maybe I am not the woman for him and he’s not the man for me.
I feel the breath leave me slowly. Being a Christian is harder than I ever imagined. I didn’t realize how it’d feel to give up my way with things.
I put the book down on the sofa and pick up the Sisterhood journal. I need to record this insight. So I write—
God has opinions. He’s not a puppet. I learned today that He’s not up there relying on me to give Him instructions on how He needs to fix things down here. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but I will write about it later.
I truly don’t know how I feel. I need to start reading the Bible so I can learn about God the right way instead of relying on the vague notions I have in my head.
When Quinn knocks at the door a couple of hours later with a bag of fresh oranges, I am doing better. My fever is gone and I can talk more clearly.
My brother has the good sense not to come inside, but he does talk to me through the screen door.
I don’t tell him why I called earlier, though. I’ve decided that, if I’m going to be Rick’s friend, I need to ask him for the help instead of my brother. Rick is right; friends do things for each other.
“You’ve got everything else you need?” Quinn asks as he opens the door a little so he can put the oranges inside. “Rick said he’d bring soup.”
“He did and I’m fine,” I say.
“See that you eat lots of those,” Quinn says as he nods at the oranges. “You need to get better if you’re going to go with Marilee on Wednesday.”
I nod and am quiet for a minute before I say, “Rick’s been a good friend to you, hasn’t he?”
“He sure has.” Quinn pauses for a bit and then adds, “You eat those oranges now.”
“I’ll do that,” I promise.
Quinn leaves after a few minutes, and I decide to go back to bed. Before I do, though, I dutifully sit down and peel an orange. Once I eat it, I peel another. No one will be able to say I didn’t do what I could to get well. Once I get into bed, I pick up my Bible and start to pray. I know God is okay with asking, and so I ask Him for Marilee’s health. I go to sleep thinking about her.
On Monday, I set up command central. I’m feeling better and the wedding is less than a week away. I put on a pair of sweats and wash my face. Then I call Marilee on her cell phone.
“How are you feeling?” I try to make my voice sound casual. It’s a little after nine, so I know Marilee will be at work.
“Like I just got off Space Mountain at Disneyland,” she says with a tilt to her voice. “Quinn came by the house this morning and serenaded me. My mother didn’t know what was going on. Isn’t that romantic?”
“Wonderful,” I say. I know for a fact that my brother sings off-key.
Marilee sighs. “He’s so good to me.”
Yeah, well—
“Say, I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but do you two have someone to perform your wedding?” I hear some talking in the background, so I figure she’s eating her breakfast at the Pews.
“Oh dear, no,” Marilee says. She doesn’t sound dreamy-eyed any longer. “Quinn and I should have done that, shouldn’t we? We meant to ask Pastor Engstrom, but—”
Even with all of the noise, I can hear her quick breaths over the phone, and I know she’s starting to panic.
“That’s okay, I’ll ask him,” I rush in to promise. “You’ve got other things to think about.”
I’m sorry now I even brought it up.
“You’re still coming Wednesday, aren’t you?” Marilee says. She’s pitching her voice low so she won’t be overheard. “When I go for the needle biopsy?”
I stop myself before I answer yes. I did a lot of thinking last night. We have overcome so much in the Sisterhood, and at times it feels like we did it all by ourselves through sheer determination. This brought us so close together we feel like we can do anything. I’m not sure that those bonds shouldn’t be a little looser now, though.
If I’m going to step down so God can be in control of my life, maybe I need to let Him change things in other places, too. Maybe we all do.
“I think Quinn should go with you Wednesday,” I say softly.
Marilee is silent, and then she says, “But it’s always been the Sisterhood facing these doctors together. We’re the team. We’re the ones who know.”
“You can always count on us. It’s just that maybe Quinn needs to be front and center now and we sisters need to be in the wings. We’ll always be there, but—well, you know, sort of behind Quinn, supporting you both.”
“Did he say something to you?” Marilee asks. “I probably should have asked him to come, but—”
“No, he didn’t say anything. He just wants everything to be okay for you. It was my idea. I mean, now that you’re getting married—”
“I love him so much,” Marilee says. Her voice overflows with it. “I thought about asking him to come, but in the Sisterhood we’ve always done it this way. I didn’t want you to think I don’t need you.”
“I know. But you and Quinn—that’s the way it should be.”
I think about Marilee’s words after we hang up. Her voice was so full of love for my brother that it literally shook. Someday I would like to have that kind of love for the man God has chosen for me. I suppose that, if it ever happens, I’ll have questions about how to make him a part of my life as well.
In the meantime, I am going to learn how to be a friend to Rick Kiefer. One thing I do know is that friends don’t worry about impressing each other. I don’t need to pretend with him that I have things more together than they are. He may as well see my disorganized plans for this fantasy wedding that’s totally unrealistic and probably hopeless.
I call him on his cell phone, and he answers on the first ring. “Lizzie. How are you?”
“Better,” I say. I take a deep breath and go for it. “Can you come next door? I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure,” he says, sounding more pleased than I thought he would.
“We can talk through the screen door,” I say. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
“I’ve already been exposed. Besides, I never get colds. I’ll be right over.”
I only have time to run a brush through my hair and change my T-shirt before I hear him knocking at the door.
I open the door and see him standing there with an open carton of apricot juice.
“I wasn’t sure if you were getting enough fluids, so I brought this,” he says as he holds out the carton. “There are a few glasses left.”
“Thanks.” I take the carton and open the door wide.
It’s no surprise that we end up heading toward the kitchen table. The living room furniture doesn’t get much use in my mother’s house, not when the kitchen table is available.
“I’m hoping your offer is still open,” I say when we’ve both sat down. I put the carton of juice on the table. “I need help with the wedding ceremony. I’m in a bit of a bind.”
“I’m ready to go. Just let me know what you want me and the guys to do.”
I hesitate. “I need some things moved.”
That doesn’t sound too bad, so I continue. “And you’ll need ladders to reach some of the items.”
“No problem. We’ll do it. What is it? Tables? Boxes? Did you find a place to have the wedding? We can set up chairs if you need.”
I shut my eyes. “I haven’t found the location yet. What I need moved is wedding gowns.”
He’s silent for so long that I open my eyes. He’s just sitting there looking puzzled.
“Did you say wedding gowns?” he asks.
I’m not sure I can ever really be just friends with this man. His hair is a little ruffled, and he looks like he’s been outside riding his bike or something. Whatever the cause, I have an urge to smooth his hair down and I’m pretty sure none of his other friends would be feeling that about now.
I almost sigh, but I swallow instead. “Yeah, the lacy, frothy, white kind. Most of them are in plastic covers, of course, but—”
I watch as the confusion clears from Rick’s face and a smile teases the corners of his mouth. “Quinn put you up to this, didn’t he? You’re joking, right?”
Oh boy. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m trading services with this woman at a bridal shop. We organize her old inventory, and Marilee gets to borrow a beautiful wedding dress. I know it might not seem like much, but we can’t let her wear her mother’s old suit. It might be different if she had some sentimental attachment to the suit, but she doesn’t, and it’s beige and doesn’t go with pink roses and—”
I trail off. I can’t even look at Rick. Here is where he should realize he can’t be friends with a girl.
Rick is silent for so long that I finally have to look at him in case he’s gone into cardiac arrest or something. When I see his face, I wonder if something has gone wrong. He’s not scowling at all. In fact, he has a little bit of the expression Marilee has on her face when she talks about her wedding dreams.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’m just thinking how every man secretly dreams of seeing his wife walking toward him in one of those dresses.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shakes his head. “Quinn will always remember seeing Marilee in a dress like that.”
“Then maybe if you tell the guys they’re doing it for Quinn, they’ll be fine with moving those dresses.”
Rick chuckles. “I’m not sure I should tell them anything until I get them there. Even if I did tell them, they wouldn’t believe me. Especially Jake.”
“Well, I won’t feel sorry for him. He owes me for telling everyone what I said in the diner. That was a private moment, and he was eavesdropping.”
“Yeah, well, he’s been threatening to invite you out to dinner to make up for the fact,” Rick says. “If Quinn wasn’t so distracted, he would put an end to that idea.”
“I don’t know what Quinn’s so excited about,” I say. “It’s only dinner. And I don’t even have to go.”
“Of course you’re not going,” Rick says.
I start to count to ten, but only make it to four. “I hope you’re not going to bug me like Quinn always does. The last thing I need is another Old Mother Hen around.”
Rick is silent for a minute. Maybe I need to read a book on how to talk to my friends, too.
“I guess you’re entitled to go to dinner with whomever you want,” Rick finally says. “I would simply suggest you make it lunch at the Pews.”
“That’s not very much like a date.”
“It’s close enough,” he says.
I think I’m starting to get a headache.
“We can talk later,” I finally say. “I’ve got to make some more calls.”
After Rick leaves, I rub my temples. I really don’t want to have Rick standing in for Quinn. My brother is probably behind the whole thing. No doubt he asked Rick to look out for me. Which means I’ll have to talk to them both. Not that I have time to do anything right now.
I need to call up the woman with the bridal shop, explain that I’m sick, and tell her that several of my associates will be there to help her reorganize her inventory on Tuesday. When I do that, she only asks if they have ladders, and I assure her they do. I leave her my phone number in case she has any questions, and she tells me she’s got the dress I want boxed up for me.
Pastor Engstrom is my next call.
“This Saturday?” he asks. “That’s perfect. I just had a cancellation. Where is it?”
“I’ll have to get back to you with the location.”
He asks me how I’m doing, and I tell him some of my discoveries about prayer. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’ve had to learn a few things. He says we’ll talk about it in our next meeting.
I spend the rest of the day at the kitchen table making lists and praying. I figure the lists are possibilities and not demands that I am making of God;, hopefully, that will work for Him. I’m trying to be flexible.
I’m getting ready for bed that night when the phone rings. It’s Rick.
“I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he says all in a rush. “Call me if you need anything and I’ll bring it right over.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I already drank more of the apricot juice.”
“Glad to hear that,” he says in a voice that sounds about as strained as it gets.
“Look, about earlier,” I say. “I’m sorry. Friends are entitled to worry about each other. If you think I’m going out with someone who will be unpleasant, you should be able to tell me.”
“Really? Thanks.” He sounds surprised. “Although I’m not sure I’d call Jake unpleasant. He might be too pleasant when it comes down to it. I just don’t think he’s steady.”
“Well,” I swallow. “You should be able to say whatever you think—just as long as that’s all it is—your opinion.”
I guess that works for him, because we say a cordial goodbye.
When we hang up, I try to discipline my mind. Friends don’t sigh to themselves at the end of a conversation; they don’t even usually replay the words in their mind a half dozen times wondering if they missed some special intonation from the other. They don’t sit here, twisted in a knot, wondering why their friend objected to them going out with a certain other person in the first place.