Chapter Thirty-One

Their wedding day arrived with far north sunshine bound to last well into the evening along with the reception and black and white cows grazing in the wildflower meadows. Knox Polk, who seemed to know law enforcement personnel everywhere, stalked the grounds with a rifle and vowed to shoot down any drones mounted with GoPro cameras like a bunch of clay pigeons. In fact, he sent out a press release stating this. His hired cohorts kept the press at bay.

Inside the farmhouse, the wedding party changed into their finery. The men trooped to the church on foot with a photographer impeding their progress for candid shots. The ladies rode the short distance in white limos with very dark windows. No seeing the bride beforehand.

The antique organ pumped out the processional and one by one the eight bridesmaids bobbed down the aisle. Tom, lined up with his brothers and teammates at the altar, craned to see Alix in her wedding gown, the one thing she’d kept top-secret from him. The wedding march began and the rather over-crowded guests rose. Alix entered on her father’s arm. She paused as the photographer got his shot.

Her filmy long sleeves were embroidered with flowers and the same fabric filled in the bodice of what would have been a strapless gown otherwise. Neither poufy nor tight, the soft white material of the dress swirled down her long body to her very valuable toes. A transparent veil covered half her face and flowed down her back to the floor with only a plain, green myrtle wreath to anchor it on her straight, white-blonde hair. Solemn as only Swedes could be, Nels escorted his somber daughter down the aisle and turned her over to Tom, still dazzled by her simple beauty. When Alix turned to give her bouquet to Xochi and he saw her back, bare nearly to the waistline, the shimmering cloth molding to her hips, the groom burst out in a grin that his bride answered immediately.

Alix pronounced her vows in a clear and steady voice and boomed out her “I do” in a volume that rattled the rafters and some of the guests. Tom, forewarned by Ancient Andy about this old world custom that would determine who wore the pants in the family, answered her decibel for decibel. The Lutheran minister rocked back on his heels. “Well now, I think this is a match of equals—as it should be.” He pronounced them man and wife. The kiss that followed impressed the applauding congregation, too. “Like whooping cranes with their necks entwined,” Dean muttered from his place as best man. When the newlyweds untangled, Tom replied, “I heard that.”

The couple led the procession from the church. Edie, escorted by T-Rex, strewed flower petals with wild abandon. The bridesmaids and groomsmen paired off beginning with a very pleased Tille and Vince who wore a tuxedo with unexpected élan, ending with Stacy and her closest brother, Teddy, who toiled along on his armband crutches, then Dean with Xochi on his arm. Caught off guard, they mindlessly followed Alix and Tom when they veered from the peony-lined path and tromped to the meadow to have pictures taken with the curious cows that came to the fence to observe. From the couple’s shared laughter, another private joke.

In the reception hall with its garlanded rafters and gleaming brass, the overflow guests had taken advantage of the open bar, but left the amber bottles of aquavit sitting on runners of blue and white Swedish weaving and spaced along the tables for the many toasts to follow. Instead of settling into the bower designed for the bride and groom, Alix batted away the photographer and headed for the smorgasbord that began with an array of fish—fresh, smoked and pickled—moved on to meats carved to order, a myriad of hot dishes, and ended with a mountain of cheeses the size of Timms Hill, Wisconsin.

“I’m starving,” she said.

Tom followed, and everyone else got in line while she piled her plate. On a separate table sat two cakes. T-Rex stood staring at them with the concentration of a little boy who wanted dessert first. The bride paused on her way back to the bower. “Pretty tempting, huh?”

“What’s that one?” T-Rex pointed to a conical creation three feet tall and topped with flowers.

“A spettekaka, a spit cake.”

“No foolin’? They make it with spit?” His eyes went wide with boyishly gross delight.

“No, no! It’s made on a cone-shaped spit like your dad uses to rotisserie chickens. See, they dribble the batter on to make the cake all light and fluffy. Balancing her full plate on one hand, she pinched off a morsel and fed him a piece. “Good, Ja?”

“Real good. What about the other cake?”

“Under all that white icing and sugar poppies, it’s chocolate.”

T-Rex hugged the bride hard around the waist. “I love you, Alix.”

“Beat it. She’s mine, kid.” Tom gave his youngest brother a light swat on the behind. “Go eat something, or Mom will say no cake for you, spit or otherwise.”

They ate, they drank and endured many toasts growing more elaborate and sometimes involving song as the aquavit bottles emptied. At one point, Beef Bolivar stood gripping his shot glass in a mighty paw. “Alix is like a sister to me. You better take good care of her, Tom, or you answer to me.” He swayed a little and sat abruptly. That toast was as good as any other excuse to down more liquor. Ancient Andy had said something similar earlier.

Andy Mortenson sat with one arm slung around Mariah Coy dressed in cleavage revealing poppy red to match the décor. Oxygen tank or not, Mariah never missed a good party. Sharing a bottle of aquavit with Andy suited her just fine. She opened her sequined handbag and handed several pages of sheet music to the bride and groom. “Here you go. Have fun out there.”

The couple dropped off the music, got the approval of the bandleader, and continued on their rounds to the table of redheads that included his birth mother and step-father, Howdy. After tears and embraces there, Tom said, “I guess we have to say hey to Prince and Ilsa. At least, they didn’t haul the babies along this time.”

“No need to compete since Stacy decided not to bring Wynn,” Alix whispered as they approached the table where most of the single Sinners’ players hung out hoping to score with her Swedish blonde Lindstrom cousins. Ilsa and Prince held a place at the end of the table.

There were baby pictures to be admired, however, the latest of little Princess Dobbs. “Oh, so sweet and cute.” Alix did her best to coo over them.

“Not so sweet. She made me wait an extra two weeks to be born. Mein Gott, what a labor and nine pounds, she was. Months to take off that weight to fit into my mermaid gown for our wedding. You look very nice, Alix, but mine will be tight with a big ruffle on the bottom. Seeing your bridesmaids, I am thinking dirndls for mine. Folk dress does not suit Stacy very well, nein?”

Prince winced the slightest bit. “Well, baby, the Temple of the Dreadlocked Jesus ain’t near finished yet. We got plenty of time to figure that out.” He stared at his child’s pictures before pocketing them. “What I want to know is how Dean got a blue-eyed, blonde baby girl, and I got one with fuzzy brown hair and amber eyes.”

“Because she is like her papa,” Ilsa spit out. “Her very handsome papa,” she added quickly enough to allow Prince Dobbs to preen by fluffing his dreads.

“Princess is adorable,” Tom said, ever the diplomat. “Have a good time this evening.”

“I know you will!” Prince shouted after them.

Tom moved Alix away by her elbow and leaned toward her ear. “Ours will be prettier, all strawberry blondes.”

“You’ll have to wait a few years to find out.’

“You ready for the dancing?”

“As I will ever be.”

The carefully selected band that assured them they could play romantic songs and fast contemporary pieces as well as frisky polkas got the cue from Tom, and the leader announced the bride would now dance with her father. Straight and stately, and not yet as drunk as many of his relatives, Nels Lindstrom guided his daughter around the floor. Joe Billodeaux cut in and showed off his footwork. When Dean took a turn with the bride, his father gathered Nell in her perky yellow suit and tucked her against his lapel like a bright sunflower boutonniere. He could still get a woman to follow him anywhere. Other members of the wedding party joined in. Beef Bolivar proved fairly adept at staying off Lorena’s toes, and Vince and Tille, expert enough together to try out for a revival of Cats.

Tom hung back until the slow song ended and the dance floor cleared. He gave the bandleader the signal. “The bride and groom will now perform their special dance together—the Whooping Crane. You might recognize it as another popular song, but the steps are original.”

The music of their first dance together at Mariah’s Place pulsed with a strong beat that rocked to the rafters. Starting out in the middle of the floor, Tom jerked his knees and flapped his arms pretty much the way he always danced. Alix lifted her skirt and held out her veil in her fingertips, swooping around him as if she flew on great white wings.

In the audience, Dean covered his handsome face with his hands and shook his head. Stacy pulled them away as the couple galloped by with knees and elbows flailing. She cupped her mouth to shout good wishes over the loud music. “I think you’ve mated for life!”

Laughing at their own antics, Alix called back, “You betcha!”