Ramona Forever (7 page)

Relief flowed through Ramona. No strange child would mark her walls with crayons. She would not have to leave Howie, her school, her friends. Only Aunt Bea would be missing.

Uncle Hobart broke the silence that followed Mr. Quimby's news by saying, “Yes, about our wedding. Women get all worked up and exhausted when there's a wedding in the family, but not this time. You invite your friends by telephone, and I'll take care of the rest. There's nothing to it.”

The adult sisters looked at one another with amused “he'll-see” smiles. “Great!” said Aunt Bea. “I'll be perfectly happy with any wedding you plan. Now all I have to do is
persuade Dad to leave his shuffleboard, bingo, and sunshine and come up from Southern California to give me away.” The family had seen little of Grandpa Day since he had retired and moved away from Oregon's rainy winters.

“He'll come,” said Ramona, who loved her grandfather. “He's got to come.”

“First thing Saturday morning,” said Uncle Hobart, “I'll gather up you girls, along with Willa Jean, and we'll go shopping for your dresses while Bea dashes off those progress reports.”

“It sounds like the fastest wedding in the West,” said Mr. Quimby.

Ramona and her sister exchanged a look that said each was wondering what shopping with a bachelor petroleum engineer would be like.

S
aturday morning, Willa Jean and a very cross-looking Howie arrived with Uncle Hobart in his van to collect Beezus and Ramona to go shopping for wedding clothes.

“How come you're going shopping with us?” Ramona demanded of Howie.

Howie did not answer Ramona, but instead complained to his uncle, “I've said a
million times I don't want to be a ring bearer. I don't care what Grandma says. I'm too big. That stuff is for little kids. Carrying a ring on a pillow is dumb. Besides, it will fall off.”

“I'm on your side, kid,” said Uncle Hobart. “But let's humor your grandmother. She's busy making a fancy pillow for the ring, and says she will fasten the ring in place with a couple of loose stitches. And don't blame me if my favorite nephew's a big kid instead of a little kid.”

“I'm not your favorite nephew,” said Howie. “I'm your only nephew.”

“You may have competition when Algie arrives,” said Uncle Hobart. “Now, Beezus, where do we go for girl things?”

“Well…there's a bridal shop in the mall of the shopping center.” Beezus was shy about directing Uncle Hobart. “But I'm not sure they have our sizes.”

“Heigh ho, off we go!” Uncle Hobart
backed his van out of the driveway and headed for the shopping center, where they found the parking lot crowded. “Now what we need is a chain of command,” said Uncle Hobart when he had finally found a parking space. “I'll keep an eye on Beezus, who keeps an eye on Howie, who keeps an eye on Ramona, who watches out for Willa Jean. Each makes sure that the next person behaves and doesn't get lost.”

“I don't need Beezus to keep an eye on me,” grumbled Howie. “And Beezus always behaves.” Willa Jean slipped her fingers into Ramona's hand, an act that Ramona found touching and made her feel protective, even though the little girl's fingers were sticky. The chain of command proceeded into the mall, where they found the bridal shop filled with pale, floating dresses, wedding veils, and thin, floppy hats.

“Oh—” breathed Beezus.

“Yuck,” said Howie.

The three-way mirror tempted Ramona to look at herself, but she resisted. She must set a good example for Willa Jean. Howie flopped down on a couch and scowled at his feet. The saleswoman looked as if she wished they would all go away.

“Bridesmaid dresses for two, and one flower-girl dress.” Uncle Hobart sounded as casual as if he were ordering hamburgers.

Dresses were produced. Beezus and Ramona were bashful about spending so much of Uncle Hobart's money and were uncertain about choosing. Willa Jean was not. “I like that one,” she said, pointing to a ruffled pink dress in her size.

“Okay, girls?” asked Uncle Hobart. The sisters, who would have preferred yellow, nodded. The correct sizes for Beezus and Ramona, it turned out, would have to be ordered from other outlets in the chain of bridal shops. Yes, they would arrive in time
for the wedding. The saleswoman promised. While Uncle Hobart paid for all three dresses, Ramona whispered to Willa Jean to sit beside Howie. Willa Jean actually minded.

Ramona slipped over for a glimpse of herself in the three-way mirror, which reflected
her back and forth from every angle. She began to dance, to watch all the Ramonas. Obediently, they imitated her, dancing on and on into the distance, tinier and tinier until they could no longer be seen. Forever me, thought Ramona. I go on forever.

“Now, what about our ring bearer?” Uncle Hobart looked at Howie, who slid down on the couch and scowled.

Ramona was aware that the saleswoman eyed Howie as if he did not belong on her couch. She danced on, twirling to make the myriad Ramonas twirl.

“To dress properly,” said the saleswoman, “a boy in a wedding party should wear short pants, knee socks, a white shirt, and a jacket; but ring bearers are usually little boys. Four-or five-year-olds.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Howie said to his uncle.

Uncle Hobart ignored his nephew.
“Come, Beezus,” he said, holding the box with Willa Jean's dress under his arm. As the next link she said, “Come on, Howie,” who said, “Come on, Ramona,” who said, “Come on, Willa Jean. Thank you for being such a good girl.” Willa Jean beamed. The saleswoman looked happy to see them go.

Uncle Hobart led his chain of command to a boys' shop where, much against Howie's wishes, he bought short navy blue pants, a white shirt, and a pale blue jacket. “Everybody will make fun of me,” said Howie. The salesman said the shop did not carry knee socks for boys.

Beezus felt responsible for Howie. “Girls' shops have knee socks,” she suggested.

“You shut up,” said Howie.

Uncle Hobart's good nature was not disturbed. “Shut up yourself,” was his cheerful order as he led his troops into a girls' shop, where he bought a pair of navy blue knee
socks for Howie. “Now, Beezus, what else do we need for a wedding?”

“Flowers,” was the answer.

On the way to the florist, the shoppers came to a ski goods store that was having a sale. “Just what your aunt and I need,” said Uncle Hobart, leading the way among the racks of ski clothing, where he quickly bought quilted down jackets for himself and his bride, water-proof pants, fur-lined gloves, heavy socks, and boots, all great bargains. Fortunately, Beezus knew her aunt's sizes.

“You don't suppose he would wear any of this stuff at the wedding, do you?” Ramona whispered to Beezus as she pulled a man-sized jacket off Willa Jean.

“Who knows?” said Beezus. There was no telling what Uncle Hobart might do.

The troops carried all the bags and boxes across the hot parking lot to the van. On the
way back to the mall, Willa Jean, who spotted the ice-cream store that sold fifty-two flavors, told her uncle she needed an ice-cream cone. Uncle Hobart agreed that ice-cream cones were needed by all.

Inside the busy shop, customers had to take numbers and wait turns. Ramona, responsible for Willa Jean, who could not read, was faced with the embarrassing task of reading aloud the list of fifty-two flavors while all the customers listened. “Strawberry, German chocolate, vanilla, ginger-peachy, red-white-and-blueberry, black walnut, Mississippi mud, green bubble gum, baseball nut.” Grimly, Ramona read on, skipping pistachio because she wasn't sure how to pronounce it, and stumbling over nectarine and macadamia nut. “Avocado (avocado ice cream?), fudge brownie—” She thought Uncle Hobart's number would never come, but of course it did.

“Five double scoops of chocolate mandarin-orange dipped in nuts,” was Uncle Hobart's order.

Double scoops with nuts. Beezus and Ramona were impressed.

As ice-cream cones were handed around and the group walked out into the sunbaked parking lot, Uncle Hobart said, “In the heat and dust of Saudi Arabia, I lay on my bunk at night listening to the wolves howl and longing for chocolate mandarin-orange double-scoop ice-cream cones dipped in nuts.”

Ramona licked a drip of ice cream. “I thought you said you dreamed of your mother's apple pie.”

“That too,” said Uncle Hobart. “A man can have more than one dream in life.”

“They don't have wolves in Saudi Arabia,” said Howie.

“Okay, listening to camels howl.” Uncle
Hobart led the way to a flower shop in the mall, where they were told they could not enter with ice-cream cones. This did not bother Uncle Hobart, who pulled a list from his pocket, stood in the doorway, and ordered one bouquet of white flowers for the bride, three wreaths of little flowers for girls—here he pointed to the girls—and two bridesmaids' bouquets, not too big. “What color?” he asked Beezus, and took a big bite of ice cream.

“Mostly pink, to go with our dresses,” said Beezus, daintily nibbling into her ice cream instead of licking.

“Pink,” ordered Uncle Hobart, “and a little bunch of flowers for the flower girl. We can't have a flower girl without flowers, can we, Willa Jean?” Willa Jean was too busy trying to keep ahead of her melting ice cream to answer. “And whatever one groom, one best man, and two ushers wear
in their buttonholes. Oh, yes, and a flower for my ring bearer here.”

“Aw, Uncle Hobart,” grumbled Howie as his uncle handed over a credit card to the astonished florist and gave the time the flowers were to be delivered to the Quimbys' address. Willa Jean's flowers and the men's flowers were to go to the Kemps'.

“Come on, troops, let's go home,” said Uncle Hobart. “Like I told you. There's nothing to planning a wedding.”

Ramona hoped the dresses really would arrive in time as she licked the ice cream running down her arm. She knew Beezus was wishing the same thing.

“Uncle Hobart, I don't think camels howl,” said Howie. “I think they sort of snort.” Anyone could see Howie had no interest in the wedding.

Beezus, who had managed to eat her cone neatly, asked, “What about the church
and minister?” She could not entirely trust Howie's uncle to remember.

Uncle Hobart crunched the last bite of his cone. “All taken care of, along with the wedding ring and the caterer, who will supply the food. But thanks for keeping track. I might forget something.”

He probably will, thought Ramona, and wished she had a three-way mirror in her room at home so that when her bridesmaid dress was delivered, she could watch herself twirling forever.

L
ife at the Quimby home soon became busy and confused. Mr. Quimby now went to work regularly every morning, but Aunt Bea, to save paying a whole month's rent on an apartment she would leave before the end of the month, had moved in with the Quimbys. She stored most of her belongings in the Quimbys' basement, and the rest she piled in Ramona's room to be packed
for shipment to Alaska.

Ramona slept on the floor in Beezus's room in the sleeping bag Beezus had taken to camp one summer. The telephone rang constantly—neighbors offering to help with the wedding, people inquiring about Aunt Bea's little sports car that she had advertised for sale, friends returning calls to say yes, they would be delighted to attend the wedding.

Teachers at Aunt Bea's school gave her a bridal shower. Most of the gifts were flat and easy to pack—bath towels, cheese boards, place mats. Aunt Bea's class gave her a coffee maker. Boxes piled up in Ramona's room.

Willa Jean's old bassinette was moved into the Quimbys' house and placed in the parents' bedroom. Neighbors gave Mrs. Quimby a baby shower, which meant more boxes. Beezus and Ramona hoped Algie would stay where he belonged until after the wedding. Their mother seemed to grow larger
every day—or perhaps the maternity clothes she was wearing made her look bigger than she really was.

Wedding presents, mostly sets of bath towels, began to arrive. Ramona had never seen such beautiful towels—big, thick, fluffy, and in soft, pretty colors. She stroked them, laid her cheek against them, traced her finger along the designs. They were truly towels to marry for. The Quimbys' thin, faded towels had frayed edges.

The afternoon before the wedding rehearsal, Grandpa Day was arriving by plane so he could practice giving the bride away. Aunt Bea, whose car had been sold, borrowed Uncle Hobart's van, and with her nieces, drove to the airport to meet her father. Grandpa Day seemed older and thinner than the girls had remembered. He hugged his granddaughters, said they had grown, and announced he wanted to stay in
a motel—no couch in a living room for him with a bunch of women fussing about a wedding. “At my age, I need a little peace and quiet,” he informed his daughters. Leaving his carry-on bag at the nearest motel, Aunt Bea drove her father to the Quimbys', where more boxes had arrived, none of them containing the bridesmaid dresses. “You can count on it,” said Grandpa Day. “Something always goes wrong when there's a wedding.” The sisters exchanged looks of anguish.

Uncle Hobart walked over to the Quimbys' to see the newest wedding presents—loot, he called them—and to pick up his van, which he was about to trade in on a four-wheel-drive truck for Alaska. A snowplow could be attached to the front.

Mrs. Quimby, looking tired and very big around the middle, was preparing a huge tossed salad because the two families were getting together before the rehearsal. Beezus
was buttering stacks of French bread. Mr. Quimby arrived home late from work because a checker at the market had caught a shoplifter; the police had to be called, and questions answered. Even Aunt Bea looked tired.

When Uncle Hobart returned, desperate Beezus whispered to him that the bridesmaid dresses had not been delivered. “We'll see about that,” he said and telephoned the shop, which promised the dresses first thing in the morning. “This evening. You will deliver those dresses this evening,” ordered Uncle Hobart, as if he were speaking to a crew in the oil fields.

The Kemps arrived with two casseroles and dessert. Because the dining room was too small to seat so many people, the food was set out on the dining room table. Everyone picked up a plate and helped himself. Ramona was happy that she was no longer
responsible for Willa Jean, who had trouble serving herself and was helped by her grandmother.

When everyone was seated in the living room enjoying chicken with noodles, a casserole of mixed vegetables, and salad, Aunt Bea, sitting on the floor beside Uncle Hobart, asked, “What kind of flowers did you order for the church and reception hall?”

Uncle Hobart dropped his fork and slapped his forehead with his palm. “Flowers for the church! I completely forgot.”

“Hobart, you didn't! I had them on the list.” Aunt Bea was not sure he meant what he said. Her groom was a great kidder.

“I did,” confessed Uncle Hobart. “We were all so busy eating ice-cream cones. I'll call the florist the first thing in the morning.”

“Are you crazy?” cried Aunt Bea. “The day of the wedding, when florists are swamped with June weddings? Where
would they find more flowers, especially so soon after the Rose Festival?” Worn out from progress reports, moving, and excitement, she turned to her fiancé and said, “I thought you said there was nothing to planning a wedding. Well, that just shows how wrong you can be.”

“If I can be so wrong, why are you marrying me?” demanded Uncle Hobart. He looked tense, which was unusual for him.

Both families tried to act as if they were not listening—except, of course, the older children, who were fascinated. Willa Jean looked as if she might cry.

“That's a good question,” said Aunt Bea.

“That's a good question! That's a good question! All the years I was in school, teachers were always telling me I had asked a good question. Half the time they didn't even answer. They just asked me what I thought the answer should be, or asked some other kid to answer. Now you're telling me I asked a good question. You sound just like a teacher.”

“I am a teacher.” Aunt Bea's voice was cold.

Beezus and Ramona exchanged a “there-goes-the-wedding” look. Now the bridesmaid dresses no longer mattered. Howie looked hopeful, as if he thought he might escape carrying that ring on the pillow after all.

Uncle Hobart raised his voice. “Just once I would like to hear a teacher answer a question. Why are you marrying me—if you still plan to marry me?”

Aunt Bea began by sounding like a
teacher. “Hobart has asked a good question,” she said with a pleasant smile before she turned and shouted, “Because I love you, you cootie!” She then burst into tears.

Ramona was stunned. Third and fourth graders called people cooties. Grown-ups did not.

Mr. Quimby put his arms around his wife, who looked as if she wished everyone would go away. “Feeling okay?” he whispered.

“I feel great.” Mrs. Quimby's voice was unusually sharp. “Why shouldn't I feel okay when I'm having a baby? It's all perfectly natural. Stop fussing.” Mr. Quimby looked hurt.

Uncle Hobart calmed down and looked ashamed. Aunt Bea wiped her eyes on the corner of one of her new bath towels.

“Why can't we just pick some flowers?” asked Ramona.

“What flowers?” demanded Beezus. “Those buggy pansies in the backyard?”

“Now, now,” said Grandpa Day. “Just a case of pre-wedding jitters. Relax, everybody. I lived in this neighborhood for forty years, and I know how the women enjoy a challenge. Make a few phone calls, and you will have all the flowers you need.”

Grandpa Day was right. Two neighbors had peonies in bloom, bushels of them; several had bumper crops of roses they would be happy to share. Another had plenty of laurel, which made a nice background and needed pruning anyway.

When the matter of the flowers was settled, Aunt Bea said with a wicked smile, “I forgot something, too. I forgot to tell you that I had invited all my third graders. They wanted so much to come.”

Oh, no, thought Ramona. Third graders would gobble up all the food at the wedding
reception and run around bumping into people and spilling things. Still, she looked forward to seeing the class she had heard so much about from Aunt Bea.

“Great!” said Uncle Hobart. “I'll order champagne for twenty-nine more guests.”

Ramona was horrified. Twenty-nine third graders sloshing around with champagne.

“Hobart!” Mrs. Kemp spoke severely to her youngest son. “Settle down and do be sensible. You can't serve champagne to children. Order some punch for them.”

“Sure, Mom.” Uncle Hobart glanced at his watch. “Speaking of forgetting, let's not forget the rehearsal.”

The members of the wedding party whisked their dishes into the kitchen—they would eat Mrs. Kemp's homemade cheese-cake later—then they climbed into the truck and the Kemps' car to go to the church. Ramona, Beezus, and Howie squeezed into
the truck with Uncle Hobart and his bride. This was their only chance to ride in it.

“Swell, just swell,” muttered Howie. “Twenty-nine kids laughing at me in girls' socks carrying a stupid little pillow.”

“The dresses still haven't come,” worried Beezus.

Uncle Hobart was reassuring. “Don't worry. You girls would look pretty even if you had to walk down the aisle in gym suits.”

As the truck pulled away from the curb, a car pulled up. A man jumped out with a big box and ran up the Quimbys' driveway. Ramona glimpsed the word B
RIDAL
on the box. “Our dresses!” she shrieked.

“Whew, what a relief,” said Beezus. “Now, if they will just fit.”

“Uncle Hobart,” said Howie, “you never did say what kind of noise a camel makes.” Ramona wished Howie would forget about camels and pay attention to the wedding.

Uncle Hobart whinnied like a horse. “How's that?”

“I'm not sure it's right,” said Howie.

Ramona, who was not worried about the fit of her dress—safety pins could take care of that—or the sound of camels, wondered if twenty-nine third graders, now promoted to the fourth grade, would arrive at the wedding with banana stickers on their foreheads and if Algie would stay where he belonged until it was all over. July was coming closer every day.