The Wedding Circle (19 page)

“So I took your father's advice, and it was Father Hickock who brought up the scissors. You know, there's really a great deal of wisdom behind that jolly disposition of his. What he said was that all I needed to do was cut the cord, and then I'd be fine with everything.”

“The cord?”

“The umbilical cord. The tie that binds a child to its mother. Sometimes it's the child that has trouble cutting the cord. Sometimes, it's the mother. You were out there snipping away on your own early, sweetheart—my only baby. Maybe just too early for my tastes, and that's what I had so much trouble with all these years. But . . . it's high time I let you go . . . and let you be you.”

Cara Lynn pointed the scissors gently in her daughter's general direction and made a gentle snipping motion. “There, now,” she said, her voice not unlike the way a mother speaks to a newborn cooing up at her. Then she put the scissors down on the quilt, exhaled deeply, and smiled. “All done.”

Maura Beth felt the release in the form of a surge in her blood, and it overwhelmed her for a few moments. But soon enough, she and Cara Lynn were embracing, as the long years of tension between them dissolved into tears of joy.

“I've finally gotten you back,” Maura Beth said, pulling away slightly and sniffling. “The Mama that used to read
Adventures of Uncle Wiggily
to me every night at bedtime. You planted the seed, you know. That's when I started falling in love with books. And when you took me to the library and enrolled me in summer reading, I was done for—a librarian in the making. It wasn't all on me.”

“I know that now,” Cara Lynn said, wiping the tears away with the tips of her fingers. “And I want you to know that I
am
proud of what you've done with your life. I had no business coming up here thinking I could change that and force you to do things my way—the New Orleans way. Please forgive me for all the dramatics—especially the way I stormed out of the library that night. Sometimes I think I should have majored in Theater Arts at Tulane.”

They both enjoyed a much-needed laugh. “Of course I forgive you, Mama. And it's not like we haven't included our New Orleans upbringing at all. We have your wedding dress and Father Hickock to remind us of all that. And I was just thinking—maybe we could ask Miss Voncille to show you her house before you leave—well, I guess it's my house now. But we could draw up some diagrams to see where the furniture goes and that sort of thing.”

“I'd love that. Only promise me one thing.”

“What's that?'

“If your father and I decide to contribute a piece of furniture now and then, let us do it. Let us help you and Jeremy enjoy your house and your life together. Don't be defensive when we give you things.”

“It's a deal.”

Another hug followed, and suddenly, Maura Beth felt like she could conquer the world. This was the one ingredient that had been missing in her life—a resolution to this awkward, drawn-out standoff between herself and her mother. Now, with the snip of a pair of scissors, the dilemma had been cut out of her life for good. She must remember to thank Father Hickock for the excellent counsel he had given her mother; then she found herself laughing out loud.

Cara Lynn drew back, somewhat astonished. “What's so funny?”

“I was just thinking about our Sheriff of St. Andrew's for a moment there. I guess you had to be inside my head to appreciate it.”

“Apparently. So let's go join the others, why don't we?”

But mother and daughter had only gotten halfway down the stairs when Cudd'n M'Dear appeared at the bottom, dramatically gesturing their way. She almost looked and sounded like she was in the midst of some classic Shakespearean balcony scene. “Pray tell, where on earth have you two been?”

“Let me take this one,” Maura Beth murmured to Cara Lynn out of the side of her mouth.

“Gladly.”

“We just had one of those last-minute wedding talks,” Maura Beth said, once the three of them were face-to-face on the great room floor. “You know, lots of motherly advice and all that sort of thing. I wouldn't have dreamed of getting married without it, you know.”

Cudd'n M'Dear was not appeased in the least. “Well, I trust you haven't forgotten, Maura Beth.”

“About what?”

“Please don't tell me it's slipped your mind. We were going to huddle about that councilman of yours.”

In fact, the cathartic session with her mother had the effect of wiping out practically all her other modest concerns. Councilman Sparks suddenly seemed like a footnote at the bottom of the pages of her life. But she still intended to unleash Cudd'n M'Dear on him. It was only fitting.

“Yes, so we were. Mama, if you'll excuse us, we have a bit of dishing and plotting to do. Just an old score to settle.”

Maura Beth's spirits were soaring now. At last—the first documented, constructive use of Cudd'n M'Dear's machinations at her disposal!

16

Into the Sunset

J
eremy thought it was the funniest thing he'd heard in a while and said as much with a note of laughter in his voice. “I guess you think some conventions should be upheld after all, Maurie.”

It was the morning of their wedding day, and after they had finished a paltry breakfast of cinnamon toast and coffee at the kitchenette counter, Maura Beth had surprised him by laying down the law with a smile. “This is the way it's going to be, Jeremy. I'm spending the rest of the day at your Aunt Connie's. She and Mama and your mother are all going to help me get dressed when the time comes. Everyone knows it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride until the ceremony. I don't know what you're going to do to occupy your time, but I'm sure you'll figure out something. Maybe you and your father could do something together.”

“It's perfectly fine with me,” he continued. “I mean, I didn't have a bachelor party, you didn't have a bachelorette party, and we're not doing anything else by the book. And since I know I can dress myself, I guess I'll be seeing you out on the deck at sunset. But I'll still miss you.”

“I'll miss you, too,” she said, giving him a lingering kiss. “But I think I need to do it this way. It'll mean a lot to Mama, especially since I'm wearing her dress. I know you understand, sweetheart.”

An hour later, Maura Beth had kept her word and headed off to the lodge in a virtual whirlwind with everything she needed to become the beautiful bride of the day. Jeremy was about to call up his father to come over for some last-minute male bonding and manly encouragement when the doorbell rang, and the smile on his face was nothing short of smug. Was it possible for a woman to go anywhere without forgetting something and having to backtrack? But in another instant he found himself frowning as he realized that his Maurie never went anywhere without her key and had made quite a to-do of dropping it into her purse before leaving.

“In case I need to come and go, and you're not here,” she had told him just before making her hurried exit.

So who was that ringing the bell on his wedding day? Had Paul McShay read his son's mind? If so, more fatherly advice would be just the ticket.

When Jeremy opened the door, he felt like pinching himself. There she was after a five-year absence in his life, looking the same as ever: her blond hair parted down the middle and hanging nearly to her waist, no makeup of any kind as usual, and her garment of choice—a floral granny dress—covering her tall, thin frame. But there were a couple of new and uncharacteristic things to observe. His sister, Elise McShay, had a smile on her face for once, lighting up her delicate features. In fact, when she wasn't frowning, she was a very attractive young woman. In addition, she was carrying an envelope in her hand.

“Hello, Jer. I bet you I'm the last person in the world you expected to see here today,” she said

“Leesie!” he managed. “We . . . I thought you weren't coming! I mean, you told Mom and you told me that . . . well, what the hell are you doing here like this at the last minute?!”

She arched her brows and gestured toward the living room. “May I come in, or are we going to conduct this conversation here in the doorway like I'm trying to sell you a vacuum cleaner?”

He gathered himself and stepped aside. “Oh . . . sure . . . come right in.” Then he went ahead and did it almost as a reflex action—he offered up an embrace that she accepted without a moment's hesitation. Considering their past history, that was indeed a refreshing change.

Once inside, she looked around and nodded approvingly. “Well, you certainly don't go in for pretentious trappings, Jer. I like it. It's the new, simpler you. My place in Evansville isn't much bigger than this.”

“This is actually Maura Beth's place. We're moving into a real house after the honeymoon, thanks to my in-laws. More like a starter house, actually. One of those little ole schoolteachers lived in it before. But can I . . . offer you anything? Orange juice, something for breakfast?”

“No, thanks, I stopped for something on the road,” she told him. “But I will take a seat on this charming, rust-colored sofa. This has to belong to your Maura Beth. You would never buy something this shade. Simply not conservative enough for you, am I right?”

Jeremy took a seat beside her and couldn't help but snicker. “You're right, I wouldn't.” Then he took a deep breath and dove right in. “Leesie, I'm bowled over by this. You've got to fill me in. I can't believe you drove all the way down here from Indiana. What in the world changed your mind about coming? And do Mom and Dad know you're here?”

She shook her head but still kept her smile. “The answer to that last question is, ‘Nope, they don't.' You're the first to know. But I was hoping your Maura Beth would be here so I could thank her.”

“For what?”

“Well, she's the reason I decided to come after all. You have no way of knowing this, but she got my address from Mom and wrote me a letter, which I got just the other day. I don't think she'd mind you reading it, so I brought it with me.” She handed it over and waited as he opened the envelope. “It's not often that anyone changes my mind about anything, as you know. That's why I can't wait to meet your Maura Beth. I think you've found yourself quite a strong woman and not just some echo of yourself. Good for you.”

“Thanks for saying that, Leesie, and you're right—she is very strong.” Then Jeremy eagerly dug into the letter:

Jeremy put the letter in his lap, and the expression on his face was one of exaltation. His Maurie was practically a miracle worker. What other term could describe someone who had brought together a polar-opposite brother and sister with a few paragraphs of prose?

“I wonder if you know what you're getting into, Jer,” Elise said, after a brief period of silence had passed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that your Maura Beth is her own woman, and you're never going to be able to take her for granted the way some men do once they get married. Or even the way you used to do in high school and college with your girlfriends listening to you spout poetry. You always had to be the center of attention—like the main character in one of the classic novels you worship so much. Most men have to have everything revolve around them, you know.”

Jeremy had to restrain himself. Now there was the Leesie he knew and had argued with over the years until they were both blue in the face—the militant sociologist who never let up on her talking points. A woman determined to change the world one debate at a time while not letting it get in one word edgewise. But he was equally determined not to let her drag him into yet another confrontation that might keep them from communicating with each other for another five years as a result.

“I'm not ‘some men,' Leesie. At least not anymore.” Then he told her all about the serious wreck he'd had out on the Natchez Trace that had totaled his car and made him straighten out his priorities for good.

“Yes, I knew about your wreck,” she confessed. “Mom told me everything that had happened, but she said you were going to be okay and that it was more a scare than anything else. So I decided not to get in touch with you. I thought maybe with all the bad blood between us, you wouldn't want to hear from me out of the blue. Maybe that was a bad call on my part.”

Jeremy lifted his chin and eyed her warily. “When you've had a near-death experience, you need to hear from the living, believe me. They keep you connected to your sanity because you keep asking yourself the same question over and over: Why am I still here? It could so easily have gone the other way.”

“I'm sorry if I stayed too much in the background at that point,” she said, hanging her head. “But . . . I'm very happy you're still with us, if that means anything to you at this point.”

“It does. And . . . well, I really am glad to see you—especially under these circumstances. Thanks for coming.” He gave her a furtive glance. “But I think maybe you'd agree that we shouldn't discuss politics of any kind while you're here. Could we just . . . sit back and enjoy the sunset? That's when the ceremony is taking place, you know.”

“I think I can manage to do that,” she said, flashing a smile. “But I wonder if Mom and Dad will faint dead away when I show up like this unannounced?”

“You mean like I almost did?”

“I guess I had that coming. Maybe you should phone ahead and lay the groundwork for them.”

Jeremy pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I think that's a very good idea. Maura Beth's already gone over to Aunt Connie and Uncle Doug's lodge, where they're staying. It'll give you a chance to meet and visit with Maurie. Oh, that's my very special nickname for her.”

“So I gathered. I guess I've underestimated you, Jer. Maybe you've gotten your act together after all.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow playfully. “Well, Leesie, I think the fact that you've shown up for my wedding means maybe you have, too.”

She cut her eyes at him and smirked. “Touché!”

 

Maura Beth stood at the bottom of the lodge stairs in her mother's classic wedding dress and veil, holding the bouquet of white crepe myrtle flowers that Miss Voncille had fashioned for her from her husband's front yard.

“I made one just like it for my little ceremony at Henry Marsden's office,” Miss Voncille had explained just before handing it over in the guest room upstairs. “Now, you don't have to take it if you don't want to. No pressure. It's just a little gesture I thought you might appreciate.”

“And it's a wonderful gesture, too,” Maura Beth had replied, discarding the pedestrian nosegay she had planned to carry down the aisle with her. “This is uniquely Cherico, and that's good enough for me.”

There was also unexpected humor once the actual ceremony got under way. The sight of a jittery Douglas McShay hovering over the turntable to make sure the needle didn't get stuck again was worth a chuckle or two; and in truth, his services were needed when the ancient LP of Beethoven's
Symphony No. 9
briefly went another round with that same ornery scratch. But this time everyone in the processional was prepared and did not miss a beat.

Maura Beth was also working through the sensory overload of the rainbow-hued fashion show that marched up the aisle before she did. That was the price paid for disdaining cutesy coordination, but it was much more interesting and entertaining this way. Renette looked every inch the sweet prom queen in pink chiffon, all blushing and giggly; Nora Duddney had completed her rapid transition from dowdy to glamorous in a royal blue cocktail dress; Connie had chosen a conservative silver suit with a peplum that helped disguise her plump figure; Becca had selected an emerald green Empire design to accommodate her baby bump; Periwinkle had gone all floor length and lavender, which somehow managed to take years off her appearance; and finally, Miss Voncille had topped them all in a mocha evening gown, complemented by a Billie Holiday-esque gardenia pinned just behind her ear.

But for Maura Beth, there was nothing like the moment when she took her father's arm and headed toward Father Hickock, Paul McShay, her groom-to-be, and the setting sun, all awaiting her outside. Although the journey could not have been more than twenty-five feet from staircase to deck door, everything seemed to slow to a crawl. Here and there someone waved at her subtly with the tips of their fingers, and the gesture went into a freeze frame in her head. Somehow, she was able to scan the room and catch every little nuance that came her way.

Among the many familiar faces turning in their chairs to take it all in were the Crumpton sisters, preening and elegant as ever; stylist Terra Munrow and her biker boyfriend, Ricky; James Hannigan of The Cherico Market; Councilman Sparks and wife, Evie—keeping his word that he would indeed show up for the festivities; Mr. Parker Place and his mother, Ardenia Bedloe; the leaner-than-ever Stout Fella; Locke Linwood, who had never looked so distinguished; the mothers of the bride and groom—Cara Lynn and Susan; the surprise guest, Elise McShay, who had not changed out of her granny dress for the ceremony, however; and finally, Cudd'n M'Dear, who blew Maura Beth a kiss that she caught somewhere beneath her sternum in the form of a warm spurt of emotion. The undivided attention was all so intoxicating. Wasn't there some way time could be suspended indefinitely so that this spectacular procession of admiration and approval never had to end?