The Wedding Circle Page 17

  “Good to see you, folks!” Teddy called out, as they both got out of the car and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming all the way out here. I hope you didn’t mind my askin’ you to take those pictures, Miss Voncille. I just need to get an idea of the size and shape they’re in.”

  Miss Voncille handed them over quickly, while Teddy took his time, perusing them one by one. “Gotta admit they do look real healthy to me. You sure have taken good care of ’em. Maybe I could find a market in some of the local stores for decorations and such. Maybe in the lobbies or in the seating areas.”

  “Then you’ll buy them back from me?”

  Teddy hung his head for a moment, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Well, no, not quite, Miss Voncille. I can’t afford to put that much money into iffy inventory like that right now. But I will take ’em on consignment, and we can work out a split between us, that is, if you’ll agree to it.”

  “You should definitely take the deal,” Locke whispered, giving his wife a gentle nudge.

  But Miss Voncille was in no mood to be told what to do and balked. “What if you can’t sell them? What will you do then? I can’t bear the thought of them being cast aside all brown and brittle for cattle fodder or something.”

  Teddy’s brow furrowed as he tried to work things out in his head. “Well, how’s this? If I can’t move ’em after a decent length of time, I’ll give you a call, and you can pick up any that’s left to do with as you please. A’ course, you’d almost be right back where you are now.”

  Locke gently elbowed her again. “C’mon, Voncille. It’s the best way to handle this. We just don’t have the room in my house, what with moving some of your furniture in, and you can’t leave it up to the new owners to do the right thing by you. For all you know, they may hate potted palms, and you don’t want to have to be negotiating the fate of houseplants with prospective buyers. They absolutely won’t understand, believe me. They’ll start to wonder what you’re hiding in the attic and in the basement.”

  Miss Voncille’s sigh was clearly one of concession. “All right, I’m thinking it over. I already know most people think I’m obsessed on the subject. And when you come right down to it, they’re right.” Then she leaned toward Teddy with pleading in her voice. “But I want you to promise me you’ll try your best to place my beauties properly.”

  Teddy was clearly amused, struggling to repress outright laughter. “I’ll ask for pedigrees from my customers if you want.”

  Miss Voncille thought about bringing him up short as if he were still her pupil but couldn’t resist smiling herself. “You always were a skinny little smart aleck, Teddy Ray Bower. I’d say you and Durden Sparks were birds of a feather in that regard—the smart-aleck part, I mean. But you were nearly as good a student as he was, and I know for a fact you run a topnotch nursery. So it’s a deal. Just draw up some papers or whatever you need, and my sweet babies are yours.”

  Teddy and Locke both took deep breaths as Miss Voncille held her head up high, feeling braver and more adventurous than she ever had before. Not even her affair with Frank Gibbons had been this much of a leap. That had come under the category of youthful mistakes. This—this letting go of what might have been—now that was the mark of a mature woman who had truly taken control of her life.

  Jeremy was finishing off a second square of Maura Beth’s chocolate, cherry cola sheet cake at the kitchenette counter when the phone rang. He thought it might be his mother calling about the rehearsal buffet out at the lodge the following evening, but was surprised to hear Miss Voncille’s voice at the other end instead.

  “Is Maura Beth there, dear?” she continued after the usual pleasantries.

  “Yes, but she’s in the shower right now,” Jeremy told her, swallowing the last of his dessert.

  “Ah. Of course, I can pass the information along to you just as well,” Miss Voncille added. Then she proceeded to tell him about her elopement with Locke and her house being put on the market.

  Jeremy didn’t miss a beat. Over the years he had become accustomed to surprises from his students, and Miss Voncille’s revelations didn’t appear to be any more difficult to handle. “Let me congratulate you and Locke then. I know I speak for Maurie, too. From what I’ve seen of the two of you since moving down to Cherico, I know you’ll be very happy together. I also have to tell you that there have been a few moments when Maurie and I have felt like eloping ourselves. These weddings aren’t exactly a walk in the park, much less a walk down the aisle. But I’m especially interested in your house news. Would you mind telling me how much you’re asking for your place?”

  Miss Voncille gave him the starting figure and her idea of an acceptable down payment.

  “Is that, uh, written in stone?”

  “My wish figures, I suppose. I’ve never sold a house before, but I imagine these things are negotiable. Do you think you and Maura Beth might be interested? I don’t know why I didn’t think of you before. Sometimes I think my mind has wandered off the plantation.”

  “That amount of money doesn’t seem completely out of the question at this point, but let me think about it,” Jeremy told her. “We might need some help.”

  There was brief silence at the other end; then Miss Voncille spoke up hesitantly. “Well . . . umm . . . I was just wondering. How do you and Maura Beth feel about potted palms? Fourteen of them, to be exact.”

  Jeremy frowned, taken by surprise this time. “I, uh, don’t know. I’ve never thought about them before. Not even one, much less fourteen.”

  “They could come with the house if you wanted,” she explained.

  “Intriguing,” Jeremy said. But what he wanted to say was, “What the hell are you talking about?” He had never been inside her home on Painter Street, but he had seen it from the outside driving by from time to time and had admired its simplicity; not to mention the tidy front yard that wouldn’t need much mowing. It might just fit the bill as a starter house for Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy McShay.

  “I assume you’ll want to see the house first,” Miss Voncille continued. “It’s got two bedrooms and two baths—all pretty small, though.”

  Jeremy was thinking on his feet now. “Seems like Maura Beth has mentioned your house a time or two. I don’t remember anything about palms, though.”

  “It may have slipped her mind, I guess. Anyway, she’s been over several times for various to-dos I’ve had. Just us girls, you know, and we’ve had some wonderful times. I know Maura Beth said she felt completely at home in my big yellow kitchen, and she loved the birdbath in the front yard.”

  Suddenly, everything fell into place. “Listen, Miss Voncille, if you’ll bear me with me, I have a few phone calls I need to make. Just promise me you won’t do anything about the house until you hear from me, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  “Am I—are we the first ones you’ve called about this?”

  She told him they were.

  “Good choice, Miss Voncille. Good choice.”

  After they’d hung up a minute or so later, Jeremy felt strangely liberated, then empowered by Miss Voncille’s news. He could still hear the water running in the bathroom, so he decided to go ahead and make that first phone call and try to get things under way. He had told his Maurie that he thought something would turn up for them sooner or later as a genuine prospect for their new home, and now he felt so confident about it all that he was about to burst.

  Life was good for this idealistic teacher of the classics.

  14

  Relatively Speaking

  On a day when the air had the crisp sensation of biting into a fresh apple, the improbable parade of wedding guests to Cherico began. Looming just ahead of the main event tomorrow were the early evening rehearsal and dinner afterward; or in this case, the buffet that The Twinkle would be catering at the lodge on behalf of Paul and Susan McShay.

  Hands down, however, the most eclectic grouping among so many consisted of Father Will Hickock—who had seen his way clear to performing the ce
remony—Cudd’n M’Dear, Lewinda Sojourner, and Mabel Anne Simmons. The latter trio were among the Mayhew cousins, however remote or removed. It was late afternoon by the time they all finally showed up in Father Hickock’s car, and everyone had begun to worry that they might even have lost their way between Corinth and Cherico. But the throng of Mayhews, McShays, and other Chericoans awaiting them breathed a sigh of relief when Father Hickock tooted his horn a couple of times, rolled down the window, and waved energetically as he drove up with an hour or so to spare.

  “I hope everything was fine with your rooms at the hotel over in Corinth,” Connie McShay was saying, after the newcomers had joined the gathering already inside the great room and introduced themselves.

  It was Father Hickock who spoke up for his contingent as wine and cocktails were served all around. “Yes, the accommodations are quite nice. But I have to confess, I did take a wrong turn that delayed us. I’m usually pretty good out there on the open trail. As it turned out, it was all very scenic, and we were fascinated by that leafy green vine that seemed to cover everything on both sides of the road.”

  “That would be the kudzu,” Maura Beth told him. Then she enjoyed a little chuckle. “I’m just glad you didn’t break down. That stuff’ll overtake you if you stay in one place too long.”

  “She exaggerates, of course,” Connie said, joining the laughter that erupted. “But not by much.”

  Father Hickock continued his praise. “It was an exciting adventure regardless. Sometimes we forget to admire the diversity of God’s creation.”

  “Well, we’re awfully glad you could come up, Father,” Cara Lynn Mayhew added, sidling up to him. “It means so much to us to have a little bit more of our New Orleans culture here for this special weekend.”

  Maura Beth decided to give her mother the benefit of the doubt on that one—the remark seemed pleasant enough—and made no comment. Instead, she focused on Father Hickock himself. She remembered him as having a lot more hair and being taller, although she realized she hadn’t seen him since high school when she herself was always “looking up” to adults, both literally and figuratively. In the time that had passed, he seemed to have gone mostly bald by leaps and bounds, and also to have shrunk by a few inches. How the latter was possible, she could not possibly imagine—but nonetheless, there it was! The constants, however, were his ruddy, cherubic face and charismatic demeanor—traits well-suited to a man of the cloth.

  “Well, we certainly believe our hospitality and scenery will make your visit worthwhile. We’ve been looking forward to it,” Connie continued, her customary cheerful personality firmly in place.

  “You know, it never ceases to delight me where some people choose to get married,” Father Hickock told everyone. “I’ve performed ceremonies in pirogues, on beaches, atop mountains—even in a bowling alley once. Not while games were being played, of course. We certainly couldn’t have had all the clatter of those pins while vows were being exchanged. But the entire place was rented out for peace and quiet. It’s all the same to me, of course, since it’s my belief that the spirit of the church exists everywhere.”

  What followed next was a stream of polite small talk, measured sipping of drinks, and munching of The Twinkle’s hors d’oeuvres, but Maura Beth largely tuned it out for observations of relatives she had not seen in some time. Obviously, there was Cudd’n M’Dear, as homely as ever; but what in the world could she have been thinking with that outfit she was wearing? The beige color of the dress was acceptable enough, but it appeared to have tears and holes in it, from top to bottom, as if a weary seamstress had taken a knife to it in a fit of rage. Was it supposed to be like that, were people supposed to catch glimpses of her silk slip underneath, or had something traumatic happened to it on the trip up? What kind of wild ride had the good Father Hickock saddled up for and offered? Perhaps there was more than met the eye in that innocent smile of his. But then she thought better of such preposterous speculation and moved on.

  As it happened, Maura Beth had never understood how she was related to Lewinda and Mabel Anne. Whenever she had asked her mother about the connection, the explanation had been so labored and incomprehensible that she had just given up trying to figure it out—and eventually even caring. They just appeared without fail at most family gatherings, possibly for the food and drink; for the truth was they never had anything noteworthy in the way of conversation to add. Like Cudd’n M’Dear, they had missed out on the attractive gene in the family and remained unmarried, but at least Cudd’n M’Dear had opinions and caused a stir wherever she showed up. In short, she was nothing if not memorable, while they were the very definition of forgettable.

  Eventually, and much to Maura Beth’s chagrin, Cudd’n M’Dear forced a showdown about her outfit. “How do you two like this?” she asked, after finishing off her second glass of Merlot and cornering both Maura Beth and Jeremy as they were about to go out on the deck. “I’ve been dying to wear it someplace special, and I thought your wedding would be just the ticket.”

  “Don’t leave me,” Jeremy whispered out of the corner of his mouth, holding on to Maura Beth’s arm.

  “Well, I—uh—what . . . exactly is it, Cudd’n M’Dear?” Maura Beth stammered, trying her best to steady herself.

  “Oh, it’s the latest. I found it in this little avant-garde shop in the Quarter,” Cudd’n M’Dear began. “I forget the name. But anyway, this is what’s called distressed chic. At least that’s what the saleswoman said. Now, why would she make that up? Isn’t it daring?” She whirled around completely to show it off better—not once, but twice—her arms high above her head. No belly dancer could have done better. “And it’s really very cool and comfortable.”

  Maura Beth wondered if the smile she was forcing on her face looked as silly as she felt continuing the exchange. “With all those holes I’ll bet it is. So you’re saying it’s supposed to look like that?”

  “Oh, yes, of course, dear. The second I saw it in the window, I knew I had to have it.”

  “Well, I have to agree. It’s certainly not fashion as usual,” Maura Beth managed, fearful of where the conversation might go next.

  True to form, Cudd’n M’Dear hitched a ride on an entirely different tangent, looking supremely smug. “Did your mother tell you I was in another fender bender last month? All the best people have fender benders, you know. It was my fourth this year, but who’s counting? It was so exciting. I was trying to parallel park in the Quarter—which is practically impossible—and I just overcorrected and dented the car behind me. Actually, I don’t remember it being there. I think it appeared as if by magic. But don’t worry, I left a note on the windshield, giving them my name.”

  Maura Beth knew better but asked anyway. Why not indulge the woman? “And your phone number I hope?”

  “Oh, heavens, no! I would never give that out. I’ve always been unlisted. An unmarried woman living alone gets all sorts of creepy, goose-bumpy calls. At least I have. But you’ll be happy to know I was very friendly and courteous in my note. I wrote in very legible penmanship, So sorry about the dent I put in your bumper. All the best, Theodoria.”

  “I thought you never used your real name anymore.”

  “I don’t. But I wanted whoever it was to think I was a real person. You have to admit that Cudd’n M’Dear sounds completely made up.”

  Maura Beth nodded reluctantly, slightly concerned for her own sanity that she was able to discern a strange sort of logic in her cousin’s ramblings. At the same time, she couldn’t help but notice that the look on Jeremy’s face was a combination of bewilderment and dread, and he continued to hold on to her tightly.

  “But can you believe it?” Cudd’n M’Dear resumed, clearly in her element. “My insurance rates haven’t gone up a bit. That’s because Phil Leblanc—he’s my agent, you know—anyway, he always keeps in mind that I’m a Mayhew. He fudges things for me quite nicely. In return, I always send him one of my homemade fruitcakes doused with rum for Christmas.” Then s
he suddenly focused on Jeremy. “Dear boy, would you mind getting me another glass of wine, please? I was drinking the red. If they’re out, I’ll settle for a nice blush. I believe I saw one somewhere over there.”

  Maura Beth noted that Jeremy didn’t have to be asked twice. He nodded with a smile, quickly let go of her arm, and headed off to the crowded bar across the room. She sensed that he would not mind standing in line for a while to rustle up drinks. As a result, it was just Maura Beth versus her unpredictable, flighty cousin—the one-on-one she knew would happen at some point over the weekend. There was no telling what might be discussed now.

  “So,” Cudd’n M’Dear started up, leaning in with her wide-spaced, chameleon-esque eyes, “your mother tells me you’re quite the independent woman these days. Wouldn’t even consider a New Orleans wedding with all the trimmings. No Three-Hundred Club under the moss-draped oaks for you, my girl. I can tell you she’s quite upset about all this. I don’t know how many phone calls I’ve received from her these last few months. As if I could do anything about it.”

  “I’m well aware of all that, Cudd’n M’Dear. You should tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Such as?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Well, how’s this for starters? I think she’s dead wrong to get so worked up the way she has,” Cudd’n M’Dear continued, suddenly lowering her voice. “She should be proud of you. I know I am. I think it’s thrilling the way you’re striking out on your own while you’re still so young and fresh.”