6 The Wedding (9 page)

“This afternoon, we fly to Winnipeg.”

“What for?”

“For orchids, what else?”

“But you said there were no orchids to be had.”

“But I also said I have connections.”

*
 
*
 
*

I closed the door on Wendell and resisted the urge to beat
my head on the wall. I knew that he meant well, but I didn’t want to go
hunting. I don’t like hunting. The Mountie doesn’t like hunting. And I was
getting tired of being told we needed to go into the forest and bring back food
for the wedding feast. I knew it was traditional but I had other concerns at
that moment.

Like finishing my dress.

I turned to stare at the pile of satin that I had come to
resent. The index finger of my left hand throbbed where it had been stabbed
dozens of times.

“Fine.
Come on, Max. We’re going to
get us a wedding feast and they better not complain about what kind,” I said,
reaching for my rifle, an empty backpack, and a mesh bag.

Max woo-wooed happily.
If I have a
gun it means we are going into the woods.

*
 
*
 
*

Fiddling Thomas frowned. He had broken his second E string by
winding it too tight and it was because he was a bundle of nerves. It wasn’t
that he was shy about playing—heavens no! Playing came as naturally as drawing
breath. But this was a wedding. He hadn’t played at a wedding before.

The selection of music was important. The
ceol
was their
history, the words of their ancestors remembered on important occasions. It
wasn’t just what their people had had to say—it was how they said it. The
passion and intent needed to be perfect. And he wanted to sing the songs in
both Gaelic and English so that the Mountie would understand them too.

But that was also very difficult. Fiddling Thomas looked at
the notes he had written so far.

The hand that writes is not
permanent.
Nor is the memory that the hand wrote down.
The flowers that bloom now are transient too
As
is the corn in the silo and the cow in the field.

Was this adequate? It would have to be. He knew of no other
way to express the sentiments of the songwriter, gone these many hundreds of
years.

*
 
*
 
*

He was beautiful, a four-point buck standing right in the
middle of my sights.
Beside me, Max quivered with excitement,
his urge to howl only barely contained.
He kept silent though, testament
to Wendell’s training.

I sighed and lowered the gun. My backpack was already full.
I had enough for our needs.

“Sorry, Max, but I can’t do it. I wouldn’t be able to carry
the deer back anyway, and I won’t kill something if half of it is going to go
to waste.”

Besides, I had conveniently forgotten to bring any
butchering tools with me, so I wouldn’t be carrying back even part of a deer.
And that suited me fine.

“Let’s head down to the creek. I think I can get some
watercress there.
Maybe a fish or two as well.”

Max looked dejected but followed me down the trail. Fishing
was almost as much fun as hunting.

I was exhausted. My energy-fueling annoyance had worn off
hours ago and I just wanted to go home, eat about two dozen oatmeal cookies,
and go to bed without any houseguests snoring on my couch.
But
first things first.

My backpack and mesh bag were full, so I could drop them off
and then eat myself into a sugar stupor. I’d found gooseberries and currants
just beginning to ripen. Not enough for pies, but plenty to add to a salad. And
we would have a salad because I had found bitter cress and watercress, sweet
clover and high mallow. Let Big John and the Flowers make of this what they
would. I had done my part and brought food from the forest for the wedding
feast.

I walked up to the pub with lagging but defiant steps, went
through the empty tavern and down the hall to the kitchen where I was ready to fling
my bag of greens at Big John and damn his eyes if he complained. I made it to
the kitchen door and there I stopped.

Have you ever seen photos of the aftermath of a hurricane?
The kitchen very much looked like an
after
disaster photo.

Bowls by the dozen, or maybe hundreds, were stacked on the
counter and floor. There were piles of mutilated cake and dozens of boxes of
pudding filling up the sink. And everywhere there was flour.

I whimpered. Was it too late to bake my own cake? Could I
somehow get this cleaned up before the Flowers saw it? Or had she seen it already
and gone out to drown herself in the lake?

Max also whined.
I think because he
was hungry, deer-deprived, and the cake smelled surprisingly good.

But if I stayed and started cleaning, then Big John would
know that I had seen his pastry Waterloo and it might embarrass him. Sometimes
retreat is the better part of valor or at least friendship. I put the greens
into the fridge and skedaddled, filching only the smallest bit of cake for Max.

*
 
*
 
*

Anatoli joined the Mountie and handed him a bottle of orange
soda. They were in some town that looked an awful lot like Soda Springs.

“It’s all they had,” Anatoli explained when he stared at the
bottle.

“And no jeep?”

“It is being repaired. The good news is that they will take
the bikes in trade.”

“That’s good,” the Mountie agreed mechanically.

Anatoli nodded. He watched the Mountie warily.

“No phone?”
Chuck asked, still calm.

“No. And the radio is broken.”

Obviously the gods were against him. Chuck would have cried
but he was beyond mere tears. He had passed despair and was ready to kill
someone. Maybe the next person who told him that the town radio was broken.

“Anatoli, I’m not going to make it back for my wedding, am
I?”

“Don’t despair yet. We still have almost a whole day.”

*
 
*
 
*

The Wings and Misha pulled up to the warehouse in a black,
chauffeur-driven Mercedes Benz. It was the smoothest ride Danny had ever
experienced. The whole adventure began when they landed at the airport in
Winnipeg to find the car waiting for them. Misha was handed a gray pinstriped
suit still in its dry cleaning bag. He changed in the backseat of the car. The
chauffeur then held out several suits for the Wings to select from. Via a
dialog in Russian, Misha selected the suit while standing to button his pressed
white shirt.

“Is this really necessary?” the Wings asked.

“We may no longer be Russian mafia, but we still know how to
look like Russian mafia.”

“Me in the Russian mafia?”
The idea
was intriguing.

Misha considered him.

“Perhaps you are more like you are rich customer.”

“Oh.” Danny felt a little crushed.

By the time Misha had slicked back his hair, trimmed his
beard and mustache, and donned the sky blue tie he looked like an aggressive
business man. When he added the sunglasses, which were hardly necessary on such
a cloudy day, he looked like a member of the Russian mafia.

Danny was dressed in a little bit more modern style—a black
Hugo Boss suit, black shirt, and red tie. Misha had even supplied the black
dress shoes. And everything fit. The Wings dressed standing behind the open
back door of the luxury automobile. He even borrowed a toiletry kit with which
to
freshen
his shave and slick back his long hair. When
he was done, he looked like a spoiled rich kid.

The two men climbed into the back of the Mercedes and left the
airport. In under an hour, they arrived at a large building in the warehouse
district. During the drive the Wings admired the leather interior of the car
and even sampled briefly of the minibar before Misha could caution him about
the need for sobriety.

“Sobriety in all things so close to death,” the Russian
said.

“What does that mean?” asked the Wings with concern in his
voice.

“I will show you presently,” Misha replied, closing the lid
on the minibar.

Misha waited for the chauffeur to open the door. He then
stepped out and surveyed the scene. There were cardboard boxes being moved from
inside the warehouse to a waiting black Mercedes Benz van. At the same time, an
argument was raging between a stout man in blue overalls and a man wearing an
impeccably tailored suit. The man in the suit had his hair slicked back and was
wearing sunglasses. It wasn’t hard to decide which of the two men
was Misha’s connection
. Misha walked up the steps to the
loading platform and straight up to the two arguing men. The chauffeur followed
close behind.

“Oh, now who is this?” the man in the blue overalls asked as
Misha approached. “Did you call for your hoodlum boss to come down and help
you?”

Misha ignored the slight.

“Sergei, end argument,” was all he said.

There was a flower delivery vehicle not ten meters away. The
back gate was open showing clearly that it was empty. The Wings reasoned that
the truck must belong to the man in blue overalls. Probably that was the man
who was supposed to be delivering orchids to the swank wedding in Winnipeg
between the politician’s daughter and a rich son. Sergei grabbed the man by the
neck and lifted him off the ground. He carried him to his delivery truck and
threw him in the back. He slammed down the rolling door, threw the latch, and
secured it with a lock. Kicking and swearing immediately commenced from the
locked back of the truck.

“Sergei, end fussing and noise.”

The chauffeur stepped to the side of the delivery vehicle
and began alternately lifting and pushing down on it. Soon he had a rocking
rhythm going that was quite impressive. The truck rocked up onto its side
wheels and fell back to the ground to be lifted off the ground by the
relentless alternating forces of Sergei and gravity. The contents of the
driver’s compartment—pens, notebooks, computers, cell phones—went flying around
the cab and out the open windows. The only thing in the back, the man in the
blue overalls, could be heard hurtling against the two side walls of the
delivery compartment. After no more than a minute spent rocking, Sergei stopped
and the truck crashed to a halt.

No more fussing and noise came from inside the truck.

Misha began a lengthy conversation with his warehouse
district counterpart. He gestured toward the Wings who smiled foolishly. The
warehouse man sneered at Danny. There was an argument during which Misha most
likely had to explain that the Wings
was
the hopeless
idiot member of a rich family who failed to make plans for something important.
The argument ended with a handshake and a curt head bob.

Misha led the way back to the Mercedes. He waited for the
chauffeur at the door, eyeing the Wings with an expression of indifference
which Danny hoped was feigned. The chauffeur opened the door and the two men
got in. When they pulled away it was at the lead of a Mercedes Benz van
containing all the flowers that would fit in the Wings’ plane.

The warehouse district man stood at the edge of the loading
dock and watched the pair of Mercedes roll away forming a very short convoy. He
lit a cigarette and took a heavy drag. All around him, his men were racing to
clean up and pack in preparation for leaving in their own cars and vans.

Some days were like that.

*
 
*
 
*

The Flowers and Ricky joined Madge and the Braids at the
town hall. They had begun decorating. Though all three women were uneasy, they
said nothing about the Mountie still being away.

The Flowers said nothing about the state of the inn’s
kitchen either. This was a day for happy thoughts. She just hoped Butterscotch
didn’t ask how the cake was coming because she honestly didn’t know if Big John
was going to be able to carry it off.

“The tablecloths look great,” the Flowers said. “Kind of
like purple peonies.”

“Thanks,” the Braids said. “It was Davey’s idea to do
tie-dye. I just hope the flowers get here soon. It could take a while to make
the arrangements.”

“I’m sure the Wings will get here soon. Misha is helping
him.”

*
 
*
 
*

The Bones looked at his wife and shook his head.

“Best we wait another day, eh. We can leave in the morning
and still make it back for the wedding.”

Linda nodded, relieved. They had thought that there were
only two injuries, but when they arrived they discovered that there were
several minor wounds that needed treating and a baby with whooping cough.

Doc had been too busy to drink since they arrived, and Linda
recalled why she had fallen in love with the Bones. When he was sober, he was a
great healer. She wanted another day with her husband clear-headed and purposeful.

*
 
*
 
*

I watched the silhouettes in the window for a few minutes
and then turned away. My friends were over at the hall, decorating for the
wedding. A part of me wanted to join them, but it would have ruined the
surprise and also weakened the gift they wanted to give Chuck and me.

Instead I looked at the night sky where the moon rode high,
just as it had for millions of years before I was born and as it would for
millions of years after I was gone, and I wished with all my heart and soul
that Chuck was there with me.