Moments In Time (20 page)

Maggie heard the back screen door squeak some twenty minutes later and came in from the living room to investigate. She found J.D. sitting on the back steps, and she sat down next to him and put her arms around him.

“Jamey, you okay?” she asked anxiously, wondering just how bad it had been.

“Fine, sweetheart,” he said, nodding.

“You had ‘the talk’ with my father and you’re fine?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes. It’s okay, Maggie.”

“Come on, tell me the truth.” She was half tempted to scrutinize his neck for the marks her father’s hands would have made had he, in fact, tried to break it the way he’d threatened.

“It wasn’t too bad,” he reassured her.

“Did you reach an understanding?”

“Oh, I’d say we understand each other very well.”

“That sounds ominous. Did you have an argument? I was so worried that you’d get into a big row and you’d want to leave.”

“No, sweetheart, that would never happen. I’m not going to get into that with him. He’s your father. He loves you, and you love him. I won’t come between you. He needed to blow it all off at someone, you know, and I’d decided beforehand that I’d let him yell and be done with it. And that’s what I did.”

“You just sat there and let him yell at you?” she asked
incredulously
.

He nodded calmly.

“Well, what did he say?” she pressed.

“Pretty much what I’d expected him to say,” he replied, “though I have to admit I was a bit amused when he got to the part about how he hadn’t raised his daughter to be seduced by some Brit hooligan. I thought it best not to mention that it
was you who had seduced me…
”

She elbowed him in the stomach, and he laughed. They sat in silence for a moment or two, arm in arm, watching Otto chase a butterfly across the yard.

“I knew we made a mistake, that weekend in Atlanta,” she sighed, leaning her head against his arm. “That’s when this happened, you know.”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

“Not ‘most likely,’ that was
it. I knew we’d regret it when—”

“Do you, Mags? Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.

“Don’t you?” She swung around to face him.

“No.”

“You don’t?” She sounded surprised.

“Not at all. Look, Mags, the way I see it, we would have gotten married in August anyway. So we’re just ahead of the game by a month. We’ll get back home sooner, I’ll get started on my negotiations sooner, and we’ll just have our little family started a little sooner.”

Maggie laughed. “You’re a master of rationalization, Jamey.”

“You’ll see how good it will all be. We’ll get through this week and we’ll get through the wedding and we’ll be happy the way we always are when we’re together. Only it won’t have to end. No more sad teary good-byes, no more lonely nights staring at the ceiling, just wishing for even ten minutes together.”

“The worst was when you were in L.A.,” she said softly. “If you’d been another few days, if I’
d have changed my mind again…”

“Don’t, Maggie. Don’t think about it. It’s behind us now, sweetheart.”

“Jamey, we could have lost it all.”

“No, we could not have, and we never will,” he said firmly.

“If I’d gone through with it, I’d have lost you. You’d never be able to love me after I—”

“Hush, sweetheart. It didn’t happen. And there’s nothing that you could ever do that could make me stop loving you.
Nothing. We will live happily ever after. You, me, and Jesse.”

Colleen called to them from the kitchen. Ellie and Elliot had arrived, and dinner was on the table.

“You ready to take on the entire Callahan crew?” she asked, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“No problem. Really. The worst is over.” He kissed her forehead and helped her up and took a deep breath as she led him through the doorway for his first all-Callahan family dinner.

16

F
UNNY,
SHE
THOUGHT
,
ALL THESE YEARS AND
J
.
D
. HAS
never
told me what my father said to him that day. The one time I pressed for details
,
he shrugged nonchalantly and said it was between him and my father, and it never was brought up again.

But he had, she grudgingly acknowledged, wowed the whole family that first night—all except Frank, of course, who never did come around until after Jesse had been bo
rn
. After dinner he’d played a copy of the master for “Sweet, Sweet Maggie” on Kevin’s tape machine and had turned her mother into a puddle. Even Ellie had been impressed.

“And this but a week before the wedding, mind you,” she heard J.D. telling Hilary. “We weren’t even sure if he would agree to give the bride away.”

“Did he?” Hilary asked, not really caring.

“Oh, yes.” J.D. nodded. “Maggie’s mother saw to that. She’s little, but she’s mighty, Mary Elizabeth is. There’d have been hell to pay if he hadn’t.”

“I came across some of your wedding pictures when I was doing some background for this show,” Hilary told them,
“from some magazine or other. Well, there, that’s a wedding picture there, isn’t it, on the table next to Maggie?” Hilary pointed a manicured index finger to the small oval frame.

Earlier in the evening, as the show had begun, Maggie had turned the photograph slightly to the wall so that she wouldn’t have to sit facing the happy couple for two hours. J.D. reached behind her, lifting himself half off the sofa and pressing against her as he strained to retrieve the small framed image. He could barely bring himself to glance at it as he passed it to Hilary’s outstretched hand. The sight of the loving pair trapped in time and behind glass taunted him.

Hilary turned the photograph to the camera. In the photo, J.D.’s hand caressed Maggie’s upturned face, her eyes shining, tiny white flowers perched behind one ear.

“A lovely photo,” Hilary noted, observing that both Maggie and J.D. had turned from the sight of it, much as a creature of the night would turn from the rays of the sun. “What a lovely bride, Maggie.”

“She was exceptionally beautiful,” J.D. managed to say, still looking away. “It was a wonderful day.”

Yes, Maggie agreed reluctantly, it had been a wonderful day. And oh, she recalled wistfully, what a wedding it had been—Everything exactly as she could e
ver have hoped it would be…

T
he sun h
ad made its appearance at midmorn
ing, and the late July day turned out to be just perfect, cooler and less humid than anyone had dared hoped it would be.

“Maggie, I think you should start getting ready. Especially if you want me to French-braid your hair.” Caroline came into the kitchen, having effectively gotten the caterer’s people under control, directing them to place the tables where Mary Elizabeth had indicated and to relocate the bar to a more shaded spot in the yard.

Caro had gone upstairs with Maggie, helped her into her dress, and then proceeded to arrange the bride’s hair, intertwining small sprigs of baby’s breath into the braid so
the back of her head, from ear to ear, was a half circle of small white flowers, giving the effect of a semihalo.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.” Maggie beamed, the very picture of a glowing bride.

“You look gorgeous, Maggie. Just perfect. J.D. will fall in love with you all over again.” Caroline took one more spray and secured it slightly behind one ear.

Maggie walked to the mirror and took a look, then smiled at the reflection. The dress she’d selected, after several days of frantic searching, was just right. High neck and short sleeves, the palest of pink lace fluttered in graceful folds to the handkerchief hem just slightly above her ankles.

“Maggie, how do I look?” Colleen sprang into the room, her dress all muted lilacs and pinks.

“You look adorable.
Beautiful
.” Maggie hugged her little sister.

“Time, Maggie.” Ellie, whom Maggie had asked to be matron of honor at Mary Elizabeth’s urging, poked her head in. “Wow, Maggie, wait till J.D. sees how gorgeous you are.”

“Speaking of whom, has he arrived yet?” Maggie asked.

“He’s been here for the past half hour. To say the groom is anxious to get through the ceremony would be an understatement.” Ellie preened in front of the mirror, self-absorbed as always, repositioning the strand of pearls she wore around her neck, moving the clasp to the back.

“Is he nervous, do you think?” Maggie asked with the slightest hint of apprehension.

“No, not at all. He just wants to get on with it,” Ellie replied, “and I suggest we do so, if you’re ready.”

“I guess I am.” Maggi
e picked up her bouquet, steph
anotis and roses, both pink and white, baby’s breath, and lilies. “Let’s do it then. Coll, go tell Mom and Dad I’m ready.”

M
aggie stood on the back porch, surveying the crowd gathered in the yard.

“How many people had you said you’d invited?” she whispered to her mother.

“I don’t recall that I said,” Mary Elizabeth replied
obliquely, straightening her hat and smoothing the folds of her light blue silk dress.

“It would appear half the town and all our relatives are out there,” Maggie observed.

“More or less,” her mother said, nodding calmly, and they both laughed.

“Well, I see the caterer’s been busy, and the local florist, too,” Maggie noted, indicating the arbor of pink roses that had been fashioned midway across the back lawn. “Come clean, Mother, are we about to witness another Callahan production?”

“Well, you know, Maggie, we’ve lived here all our lives. We know just about everyone in town. And the family’s so large. It was so difficult to pick and choose who to invite, who not to invite, where to draw the line
…
”

“So I take it there was no line drawn and you simply invited everyone.”

“More or less,” Mary Elizabeth tried halfheartedly to appear contrite. “I admit it got a little out of hand, dear. You don’t suppose it will upset your intended, do you? All these strangers?”

“Jamey? Nah, he’s used to playing to a crowd.” Maggie patted her arm.

“Well, you know, you always expect a certain number of people to decline, especially on such short notice. As it turned out, just about everyone accepted, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s the bride or the groom they’ve all come to see.”

Frank joined them on the porch and looked across the wide expanse of green to where the groom waited for his bride. Next to J.D. stood Rick. Frank shook his head. He’d thought J.D. to be on the very far edge of
acceptability
and had been totally unprepared for the arrival of the best man. Rick’s size alone was intimidating, but his below-the-shoulder black hair and court-jester attitude made him appear to Frank to be from some distant planet.

Maggie had been adamant that there would be no wedding march, recalling her previous wedding. She wanted to simply walk without any particular fanfare with her mother
and father to where J.D. would stand with Rick and Judge Donovan, an old friend of the family who was to perform the ceremony.

The judge nodded to Frank that he was ready, and as Maggie started across the backyard lawn to the rose arbor, holding her father’s hand, she heard the sweet strident strains of a bagpipe as it played “Amazing Grace.” She looked across the lawn and saw the solitary piper and knew J.D. had arranged this for her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back lovingly as he took two strides toward her, not waiting until her father relinquished her. Frank had backed off more graciously than anyone—particularly Frank—would have anticipated.

No one who witnessed the ceremony could have doubted their devotion to each other. They stood hand in hand, their eyes never
wavered
from the other’s gaze, not while speaking the words that joined them nor while listening to the judge as he addressed them. Maggie’s head was high, and at one point J.D. reached his right hand to her face to wipe a tear from her cheek. Other than that one gesture, neither appeared to move.

Judge Donovan instructed them to exchange rings, which Rick, in typical fashion, could not immediately locate. Mary Elizabeth and Frank were both misty as the groom leaned forward to kiss his bride, who met his lips with a look of such passion and love that revealed without question the depth of the feelings their daughter had for this man.

The simple ceremony concluded, the newly married couple turned to family and friends, and kisses and hugs and handshakes followed. Maggie sought out Frankie and presented her bouquet to her sister as she hugged her and wiped the tears from Frankie’s face.

“I thought the bride normally tossed the bouquet to the unmarried gals in the crowd,” Frankie said.

“Not this bride,” Maggie said as she kissed her cheek.

The crowd stepped forward to greet the bride and groom, row by row, as they made their way from the arbor. They were surrounded by cousins, all anxious to meet the groom; old friends of her parents; several aunts and uncles, all of
whom expressed their good wishes and took the opportunity to take a closer look at J.D.—and Maggie’s waistline.

“Maggie, Aunt Eleanor wants to see you and J.D.” Kevin relayed the message he’d been sent to deliver.

“When Aunt Eleanor beckons, you step lively,” Maggie said and, taking J.D.’s hand, followed her brother through the crowd. “You know, Aunt Eleanor—my great-aunt who’s given us the use of her house for the next few days?”

She grinned, recalling the conversation they’d had on Tuesday evening, when he’d realized they’d made no reservations for their wedding night.

“Oh,” Maggie had yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and snuggling into him on the sofa in the living room. “I forgot to tell you. My aunt Eleanor said we could stay at her house until Tuesday when we leave for London.”

He had pushed her up to a sitting position and spun her around to look at him. “You want to spend our wedding night at your aunt’s house? That should make for a real lively time.”

“No, no,” she’d laughed, “Aunt El will be staying with Uncle Gus’s sister. Aunt El has an unbelievable old house. It’s sort of like a Victorian mansion. It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see. And you’ll love Aunt El. She’s a darling. Ellie’s her namesake; she’s actually my father’s aunt.”

She led him through the throng to an elderly woman seated in the shade, a large white picture hat framing her face, her neck heavily draped with pearls. Maggie bent to kiss her cheek, and as the woman’s face emerged from beneath the wide brim, J.D. found himself unexpectantly gazing into his wife’s own green eyes set into the face of an eighty-seven-year-old woman.

“They named the wrong one after you, didn’t they?” he acknowledged, and the old woman chuckled with obvious delight as he accepted the hand she offered.

“So, this is the one who’s had my family in such an uproar for the past few weeks,” she said as she greeted him. Patting the chair next to her, she silently commanded him to sit down, which he did. She waved Maggie away, wanting to
have a few private words with her favorite grandniece’s new husband.

Maggie wandered back toward the crowd, looking over her shoulder once to where her husband sat in animated conversation with the elderly woman. She recalled her
twelfth
summer, when Aunt El had tried to teach her to needlepoint.

“I can’t do it,” a frustrated Maggie had cried.

“Of course you can,” Aunt El had insisted, “and when you do, you will see how all the tiny stitches will come together to form the whole
…
There, you see the flower coming to life, all the little dots of blue will be a violet.”

When an exasperated Maggie had thrown it down, her aunt had calmly picked it up and handed it back to her, saying “Margaret, it may be that you’ll not learn to needlepoint, but you will learn patience. With any luck, you’ll learn both.”

Though she had never really learned but one stitch, the memory of those summer afternoons never faded. Aunt Eleanor was a wonderful storyteller, and Maggie would sit spellbound for hours, captivated by her aunt’s tales. How she, Eleanor, as a terrified nine-year-old, had crossed the ocean from Ireland accompanied only by her equally frightened sisters, Jane, who was
not yet twelve, and seven-year-
old Margaret, who, some fourteen years later, would become Frank’s mother. Before they had boarded ship, their newly widowed mother had pressed into the hand of each of the girls something precious to take with them, sensing, correctly, that she would never see her daughters again. To Eleanor, she gave her own gold wedding ring. To Jane, she presented a tiny opal pin, and to Margaret, her youngest, a gold crucifix that was suspended from a chain as thin as a spider’s web.

Having dispensed the only things that she had of value, Anne McMillan turned her back on the ship and made her way through the dirty Dublin streets to return to her two-room cottage in a crossroads hamlet, where her two baby sons were being watched by her oldest boy. This fourteen-year-old had been, since the death of his father but
six months earlier, the sole support of the family. At her wit’s end with no money and no job prospects, Anne had sent her middle children—her only girls—to join her brother who had found work in a mill someplace in Pennsylvania—wherever that was. With luck and God’s grace, her daughters would survive. Maggie had heard the tale a thousand times, each time biting her lip and shedding a tear over her great-grandmother’s sad dilemma.