The Wedding Circle Page 20

  “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:

  Dear Elise,

  I know we’ve never met, but Jeremy has told me enough about you that I feel I know who you are. You and I have a lot in common—we set out on our independent paths in life and haven’t looked back. My mission has been to be the best librarian I can possibly be, and that has not been easy for me. Here in Cherico where Jeremy and I work, the local politicians do not view my library as the necessary community resource that it is. Far from it—they think it is expendable, as is my job. So I have had to fight for what I believe in. I have not let other people’s opinions determine my outlook. I believe you feel the same way about your life and career.

  Jeremy tells me you teach courses in Sociology and Women’s Issues at the University of Evansville, and that you have your own strong opinions of the roles that men and women should play in our culture. I have to respect that because I have never defined myself in conventional terms. I’ve had this long-running feud with my mother about what kind of daughter I should be to her, and I hope someday to make peace on the subject. At any rate, it’s on my bucket list.

  Meanwhile, I want to re-extend the invitation to attend our wedding to you. I know that you and Jeremy haven’t seen eye-to-eye for a long time now, but I believe it would mean a lot to him to have you there as a witness. You certainly don’t have to march down the aisle holding flowers, if that’s not your style, but I know that both of us would appreciate you being there watching everything unfold. We’ve written some very original vows, and I think you will enjoy the way we’ve reinvented the marriage ceremony. Neither of us intends to let other people define our marriage.

  Elise, I hope you will take this letter in the spirit in which it was written and that I will have the privilege of meeting you soon as part of the McShay family.

  Sincerely,

  Maura Beth Mayhew (soon to be Maura Beth McShay)

  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?

  But end it did. And suddenly, Maura Beth was facing her beloved, tuxedoed Jeremy, after William Mayhew had offered up his tender, fatherly kiss on the cheek, and softly whispered, “I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy,” she told him, letting go of his arm with a lump in her throat and cutting the cord herself in an entirely different fashion.

  Father Hickock’s traditional opening words tumbled by quickly—Maura Beth hardly heard them at all. She was still rehearsing in her head the vows she had written, but soon enough her big moment arrived, and she was more than ready as Jeremy lifted her veil to reveal her peaches-and-cream glow.

  “Jeremy, the journal I have kept in my heart throughout my life always seemed earnest enough to me. In it, I described to myself what sort of person my lifelong companion would be. First and foremost, he would be kind. He would not know what it was like to be mean-spirited toward others. He would also be visionary—expecting the best of himself and those he dealt with—never growing cynical when disappointments appeared, as they must. But most of all, he would see himself reflected in my eyes—the eyes of abiding love and commitment—just as I would see myself in his. We would need no other mirrors for the rest of our lives. So having found you, I will no longer search for completion. It is done. We are one.”

  There was a whispered excitement throughout the room when Maura Beth finished her vows. She turned briefly to get a glimpse of her mother’s reaction and focused on the affectionate smile that Cara Lynn was beaming her way. The words “We are one” might also have applied to the Mayhew family at long last.

  Then Father Hickock nodded graciously, inviting Jeremy to begin, and the room fell silent once again.

  “So, here we go, you and I, sailing off into the sunset, launching our lifetime of expectations together. I have no doubt that we will fulfill those expectations because I know we were meant to do so. Our paths have crossed, and, to be truthful, there have been times when it has felt like we have not merely crossed, but collided. But in dusting ourselves off, we’ve found that our hearts and souls have been revealed to each other, and we’ve both liked what we’ve seen. No marriage is without hard work, but we are nothing if not hard workers at life. The sunset behind us is our witness, along with all of these good people in front of us. There could be no greater joy than for the two of us to join forces and let the world know we’re here for a purpose. And so, my sweet Maurie, let the journey begin.”

  Again the room responded, but this time there was a decidedly more female reaction in the form of a chorus of “Aww’s!” Maura Beth continued to drink it all in, at one point closing her eyes briefly to capture and remember the moment forever. She doubted that Douglas’s camcorder would come close to doing it justice from any angle. Only with her eyes could she sear it on her brain.

  Father Hickock called for the rings, which Paul McShay quickly provided. Then came the exchange, followed by the more traditional vows and “I do’s!” And, at last, Father Hickock’s seal of approval: “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

  Jeremy leaned in gently, lightly brushing Maura Beth’s lips at first; but he returned to linger and apply a bit more pressure. The timing of it all was just perfect and properly romantic.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Father Hickock declared after they had separated, “may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy McShay.”

  The applause rang out enthusiastically, as Douglas again positioned the phonograph needle. Then the recessional began. As if on cue, the sun sank below the horizon, surely unwilling to play the poor sport and steal the spotlight from the newlyweds.

  Strangely, Maura Beth found herself thinking about page 25 of her college journal in spite of the dizzying input of the last fifteen minutes or so. Perhaps it was time to put it aside for good, retiring it to the attic of their new home on Painter Street after they moved in. Time to put aside girlish things now that she was a married woman. She had a wonderful husband on her arm and a state-of-the-art library to run going up next door. She must learn how to balance both aspects of her life, but it was what she had been wanting for so long. As for the redheaded bambino she had hoped for since before puberty, well, he or she just might have to wait a little longer. But it was nothing to worry about—Jeremy had put it succinctly in his vows: They were sailing into the sunset together, and what a memorable journey it was going to be!

  17

  Parting Glances

  Maura Beth and Jeremy had just finished feeding each other messy mouthfuls of Mr. Parker Place’s “grasshopper pie” wedding cake in the lodge dining room—not once or even twice, but several times over while Douglas insisted on recording them from every conceivable angle.

  “After all, this is for your children and grandchildren,” he told them, jockeying for position among the guests surrounding them.

  “Enough, Douglas!” Connie finally said. “They’ll have crème de menthe hangovers!”

  But William Mayhew and Paul McShay were also nearby, snapping pictures for posterity with their smartphones, and it did not take very long for Maura Beth to feel the buzz.

  “Let’s just pose with the cake from now on,” she told Jeremy. “I don’t think I should swallow another bite.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Gotcha! I can certainly vouch for the fact that’s some powerful stuff right there.”

  Indeed, it was the talk of the buffet as people lined up for a piece, and Maura Beth caught snatches of Ardenia Bedloe’s praise as they sampled it. “My baby boy made that cake. Yes, he did. My Joe Sam down at The Twinkle. Y’all should drop on by anytime, y’hear!”

  At some point Maura Beth and Jeremy began circulating on their own, and Councilman Sparks was at the top of her list of unfinished business—even a glancing blow to land. She caught up with him as he was making sho
rt work of his piece of wedding cake.

  “Isn’t that scrumptious, Councilman?” she said after greeting him—and his Evie as well.

  “Pretty wild and wicked, Miz Mayhew,” he told her, running his tongue over his lips. “Although I have to admit I figured you more for the traditional white almond cake type.”

  “I’m only traditional in spots, Councilman.”

  “Well, it was a lovely ceremony with the sunset and all,” Evie added. “You were framed just like a portrait out there.”

  “Yes, we were, weren’t we? I could have stood like that forever and had someone do us in oils.”

  Maura Beth craned her neck and spotted Cudd’n M’Dear tied up with Lewinda and Mabel Anne at the other end of the buffet table. “Meanwhile, I have someone who’s just been dying to meet you, Councilman. Why, she told me she just couldn’t leave Cherico without talking to you!”

  “Really?”

  Maura Beth caught her cousin’s eye and motioned to her. “Oh, yes. And here she comes now.” Then Maura Beth made the introductions, and Councilman Sparks looked thoroughly confused.

  “I didn’t quite catch all those names,” he told Cudd’n M’Dear, who began laughing uncontrollably.

  “I’m sure,” she said, catching her breath. “No one ever remembers all that. But you will, won’t you, Councilman? At any rate, that was Theodoria Agnes Montaigne Mayhew, but you may call me Cudd’n M’Dear. Everyone who’s anyone does, you know.”

  Councilman Sparks continued in his confusion. “I’m to call you . . . Cudd’n My Dear?”

  “No, not My. It’s Muh, as in M with an apostrophe.” She boldly reached out with her thumb and forefinger, squeezing his lips between them. “Now, say, ‘Muh, Muh, Muh.’ That’s it . . . make a mouth like a little goldfishy swimming around in its bowl.”