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Thursday, April 25, 1996
Thursday afternoon at 2:15, Mom and Dad drove up Beechnut Lane and parked behind my Buick. I hadn’t seen them for several months, since they’d been driving around the Maritime Peninsula, falling in love with Halifax, reading “Evangeline” to each other in the evenings, strolling on the lovely sand beaches of Cape Breton Island. Despite the thousands of miles of driving, they looked rested and, at seventy-four and seventy-six years of age, still in their prime.
After we chatted for a while, and told them all about the excitement of the past few days, Mom and Glaze and I took a good look at the curtains that I had folded up on Tuesday morning and set aside. They were embedded with slivers of broken glass, so we decided to ditch the whole thing and leave the window uncovered. The Lady Banks Rose was all the curtain that window needed anyway.
Bob’s mother came over for dinner. We had arranged for Mom and Dad to stay with her through the weekend. Introducing them almost didn’t need to happen, since they all felt an instant connection that lit up their faces and brought a warm glow to the whole gathering. We tried to get Mom and Dad to tell us all about their trip, but aside from mentioning a few high points and a couple of funny stories, they begged off, saying that they’d tell us all about it later. “It’s a whole story by itself,” Mom said, as Dad nodded in agreement.
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MY GRATITUDE LIST – Thursday
1. Mom
2. Dad
3. Curtains/no curtains
4. Flexibility
5. Roses
I am thankful for
seeing Sunsetlady and Dreammaker again
fresh water to drink
birds to watch
listening to happy people
open windows
~~~~~
FRIDAY, APRIL 26, 1996
Bob and Tom took Dad fishing early on Friday morning. Guy stuff. They think it’s fun to get up before dawn and go shiver on the bank of some pond tucked up in the hills. Glaze and I slept uninterrupted and woke up at a reasonable hour. Mom was, we assumed, having breakfast with Mrs. Sheffield – I wonder if I should start calling her Mother Sheffield? No, sounds too much like a nun.
After a breakfast of yummy homemade toasted bread dripping with fresh unsalted butter, I gave in to chores and scurried a bit doing last-minute fix-up projects around the house, getting it ready for the influx of family on Saturday. Marmalade was sociable for a while and then she disappeared upstairs. I found her sprawled out contentedly in the middle of the bed when I went up there to iron Glaze’s dress. Glaze’s ankle was still too sore for much walking, so once all my chores were done, I drove Glaze and Mom the two and a half blocks down to Sharon’s for hair-washing and such. Marmy didn’t even say goodbye ...
That is because I was much too comfortable.
... and by 5:00 we were all cleaned up and ready for the wedding rehearsal.
We rehearsed it the way we’d decided on Monday. Glaze stood with Bob at the front of the church, while Tom walked down the aisle, preceding Dad and me. We had a lot of laughs over it, imagining what the town’s reaction would be. Reverend Pursey, used to more conventional parishioners, couldn’t think of a valid reason why not, so he went along with us. We hadn’t been able, amidst a riotous amount of laughter, to decide whether Tom should carry the ring and Glaze the bridesmaid’s bouquet, or whether she should hold the ring and he the flowers. We tried it both ways, leaving our options open until the last minute.
We had no idea how many people would show up at the wedding. It was pretty much understood that we were inviting the whole town and everybody we’d ever known. Invitations had been phone calls and “spread-the-word” tactics. Perhaps it was a bit tacky. Okay, I admit it – it was very tacky, but we decided that this way we wouldn’t offend anyone by forgetting to address an envelope. We put an open invitation in the church bulletin, and one over at the Catholic Church as well. The head table at the reception would be just family – we made that clear right from the start. Then we had to realize that ‘family’ by this time meant Tom, too, especially since he was my bridesmaid!
At the rehearsal dinner afterwards – at CT’s of course – it was just Mom and Dad, Bob and me, Glaze and Tom. Tom was ready to carry Bob’s ‘best man’ from the car, but he restrained himself admirably, and simply offered his arm for her to lean on. During dinner, he had arranged to have Billy Smith bring Glaze a vanilla milkshake. I looked at Bob with my now-do-you-see-what’s-happening look, and he pointedly gazed back at me over his glasses with his now-don’t-jump-to-conclusions look. But I was right.
~~~~~
MY GRATITUDE LIST – Friday
1. Laughter
2. All my dear family
3. Having beautiful hair
4. A clean house
5. A long warm shower
I am grateful for
laughter
all my dear people
food from Fishgiver
this soft bed
long naps
~~~~~
SATURDAY, APRIL 27, 1996
Early the next morning, my daughters and their families descended en masse. Even Scott, my son, made it in from Alaska. A wonderful surprise. Brighton Montgomery had driven to the airport in Atlanta on Friday evening to pick him up. Blessings on good neighbors. Scott called me from Brighton’s house to say he’d see me at the church, since all the menfolk were gathering for an early Saturday breakfast at Tom’s. I was sure that Bob would tell my son all about the time he and Tom went cave exploring on the other side of the Metoochie when they were twelve and got stuck in a small dark cavern. Finally they found their way out and came home covered with bat poop.
Then, maybe, Tom would tell Scott never to play cards with Bob because he cheats. Of course, Bob will swear that he never cheats, but will modestly admit that he just remembers every card that’s ever been played. No telling what Scott will think of my groom and my ‘bridesmaid’ by the end of the breakfast.
Tom had asked me if, as my bridesmaid, he was required to help me dress on Saturday morning. I sweetly declined the offer, for which he pretended to be deeply disappointed. Now, how much help does a forty-nine year old woman need in getting dressed, even from a female bridesmaid, when all she has to deal with is a simple off-white long frock, with hand-made lace at the neck and the hem?
You look beautiful.
Marmalade even joined in the festivities, playing quietly with the long pieces of ribbon we cut for her from the large roll we had used to trim my bouquet. Melissa Tarkington had come over at dawn to help Glaze and me. We gathered dew-covered flowers from my own yard. We made almost a ritual of it, and each of them tucked a tiny daisy in my hair and wished me all happiness. My sister, and my sister-by-choice.
The bouquet turned out beautifully, and each of my girls brought some flowers from their own yards to add to the display. So we spent most of the time snacking and laughing, remembering the old family stories about weddings, like when Auntie Blue married Uncle Mark in 1942 during a huge thunderstorm, and the lightning hit the church in Braetonburg. The volunteer fire brigade, many of whom were guests at the wedding, put out the very small fire that resulted, while everybody huddled under umbrellas outside. Then, after a quick consultation, they all trooped, dripping, back inside and continued the rites. Mom and Dad were courting at the time, and they thought the huddle under the umbrella was the best part of the afternoon.
The next year, when Mom and Dad got hitched, they couldn’t get wedding rings because of war shortages, so they borrowed Blue and Mark’s rings for the three days until Dad was shipped off to basic training and on to the South Pacific. “I didn’t get pregnant during those three days,” Mom said, heaving a sigh and running her hand along Marmalade’s back. Pause of five seconds. “But it wasn’t for want of trying!” Her belly laugh held all the joy of a woman who was wise about her world, who loved her husband, who appreciated her womanhood. How could I have been so fortunate to have been birthed by this woman?
Sunsetlady is what I call her, and you are fortunate.
I looked over at Glaze and realized that she, too, was recognizing her incredible fortune in having such a mom. I’m putting both of them on my gratitude list tonight. If I remember to write it ... As Mom was finishing that particular tale, amid hoots of laughter, we heard loud voices downstairs hollering, “Where’s that bride-to-be?” I recognized my friend Glenda Harvey’s voice, of course, but what surprised me was Karla Michaels. I’d grown up with her, but I hadn’t seen her in the twelve years since she left Braetonburg after her divorce. We’d written and called each other, of course, but just never found time to drive or fly between Arizona and Georgia. So, the number of “family” members at the reception increased by two. She and Glenda had cooked up this surprise visit as their wedding gift to me. Good fortune again.
About ten o’clock, most everybody trooped up to the church. Glaze and Mom and I followed half an hour later, when Dad came to pick us up in the sturdy old Lincoln that had ferried them to Nova Scotia and back down the east coast without a bit of trouble.
At eleven o’clock on a sunny Saturday in late April, almost one year to the day after Bob and I met in the library over the body Marmalade discovered, I stepped into the aisle of the Martinsville Community Church with my dad. We paused at the door, looking at the congregation; most everyone in town had come to see the librarian and the town cop get hitched. As Tom started down the aisle, surrounded by shocked expressions and some laughter, I looked beyond him to see Bob standing there in his dark gray suit beside Glaze, smiling expectantly.
I turned to my Dad, remembering his question twenty-five years ago, about my feelings for Sol. The question was still a good one. “Guess what, Dad? Bob makes my heart sing.”
~~~~~
The End
Not quite.