One Hundred Years of Marriage (24 page)

Be nice, Patricia, I told myself. You can’t undo what has happened to Mother and Livvie and yourself. Besides, what difference do these gestures make? He smiled, eyebrows up, expectant, asking for a sign, something Mother would have given without thinking—a sweet smile, a gush of flattery—y
ou look so handsome, Cecil—
these, her well-worn tools always at hand, phony praise to shield him from the knowledge of what a disappointment he was to her. His head was nodding, as if coaxing a reluctant child.

“Josh is a great guy,” he said and gave a little shake to the arm that pressed my hand, trying to jiggle out a response. What was wrong with a bride who wouldn’t chime in on a compliment to the groom? The organ shifted into a higher, more urgent register; the official organist was still in charge, but my father wasn’t moving. It was clear we weren’t going into that sanctuary until I smiled at him. “You’re gonna to be very happy,” he said.

No, I thought. This is not the beginning I want for the rest of my life. I cannot start by marching down the aisle on this man’s arm. This would be one more act of pretending, this time before two hundred witnesses.

Be nice, Patricia, the organ pleaded in a high squeal. The hinge of my father’s jaw had begun to pulse again. Have mercy. He was begging. My flimsy dress fluttered. Sandy was gone. I wrenched my hand away from his grip and turned to face him, but my knees were snapping backward. The flowers in my bouquet hammered the air. I was falling. “Help!” I grabbed his sleeves.

He grasped my elbows. “What!” He was breathing through his mouth and looked back at the empty hallway. Mother wasn’t there to help him. My whole body shook, and he held me up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice hoarse. The organ roared. Chaos and disorder. With trembling hands Daddy guided his quaking daughter to the stained glass window and seated me on its deep sill. He glanced toward the sanctuary full of waiting guests. Sweat poured down his temples.

“I need to talk to Josh,” I gasped.

My father shook his head, no. I could tell it wasn’t
no
he wouldn’t go to get the groom, but
no
, this was the last straw from this difficult girl. Why would his sane daughter go crazy today? He started toward the door.

“Wait,” I called. “I need to do this myself.”

“Do what?”

I rose carefully, and though my ankles wobbled in the high heels, I headed into the cavernous sanctuary at first walking slowly, steadying myself on the backs of the pews. Seeing the bride in the white dress coming down the center aisle, Mrs. Pryor, asserted herself with a sour chord before the “Wedding March” blared forth. The crowd sighed with relief. But this bride was alone, and she was picking up speed. By the time I reached the front pew, I was running. I stopped to whisper to my mother. “I love you very much,” was all I said. If she looked at me with confusion or fright, I didn’t wait to see. Mrs. Pryor, as though she could restore tradition with volume, played louder.

Reverend Hough looked mildly surprised as I reached out to take Josh’s hand and led him around the altar and up the side steps onto the chancel so that everyone could see us. My heart was pumping with the pulse I recognized as the genuine me, the one that had gotten flattened since I’d arrived back in Chisolm. There we were, me and my groom facing all the people in my parents’ community. I looked down at the row of bride’s maids on my right. My cousin Marianne, Deanna, and Calinda stood wide-eyed. The candle lighters had let their lighters droop to their sides. Olivia’s beautiful face looked up at me. She was crying softly for herself or me or for the loss of a wedding she had put her faith in. Cassandra Zotikos, my Sandy, gave me a thumbs up.

“Not here. Not now,” I whispered to Josh. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “I knew something was up.”

Mrs. Pryor was still pounding away. I raised my hand, but before I could catch her eye, Ernest had gotten to her, and with a dying swerve the music stopped.

I took a deep breath. Everyone was waiting to see what I would say, especially me. “You all are so beautifully dressed up—” I called out across the sanctuary. I was breathing hard but my volume was amazing. “—so I’m reluctant to tell you that there isn’t going to be a wedding today. I’m so sorry.” The crowd was stunned and silent, but I was suddenly feeling buoyant. “No,” I shouted. “I
am
sorry to disappoint you, but I’m
not
sorry to call off this ceremony.”

And with that I, who never cries, began to weep big sloppy tears in front of my third grade teacher and the mayor of Chisolm and my stunned mother and everyone who had come to see me tie the knot. “It’s not that I’ve changed my mind about the groom,” I sobbed loudly. “I love Josh and he and I are going to be together no matter what.” A low murmur arose from the sanctuary. My view of the wedding guests dissolved as tears poured down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. I swung Josh’s hand and smiled at him. I felt we might lift off and fly out one of the high open windows. “It’s just that today is not the day!”

I smiled at the watery congregation. “There’s lots of food and drink downstairs.” I sang out. “And I know you’ll have a lot to talk about.”

THE END