The Wedding Circle (13 page)

She looked up into his eyes and managed a tentative smile. “I believe you, of course.”

“Is there a ‘but' in there somewhere?”

She drew back, and the smile vanished. “But . . . I just wonder if you're ready for the rest of my family. Even in small doses, they're a lot to handle. Especially Cudd'n M'Dear.”

Jeremy propped up his pillows and sat bolt upright so he could concentrate fully. “Yeah, what's the story on her—especially that name? It keeps popping up all the time in conversation.”

Maura Beth briefly collected her thoughts and proceeded. “Well, she's the Queen Mother of Eccentricity, I always like to say. Makes people like Miss Voncille and Mamie Crumpton look dull and predictable by comparison, and that's saying a lot, of course. Mama told me that she couldn't stand any of the names she was saddled with at birth. Let me concentrate so I can get them all right.” There was a pause during which Maura Beth was frowning and moving her lips. “Okay, here goes. Theodoria Agnes Montaigne Mayhew. There. She's actually on Daddy's side of the family. Anyway, at some point in her murky spinster past she decided to make everyone call her My Dear. Just up and did it one day. She sent out little notes written in calligraphy in all caps, and I remember her message word for word:

“Mama and Daddy kept theirs in the family scrapbook and showed it to me once. From time to time I'd sneak another peak, I thought it was so funny. It was quite well done—she must have spent days lettering those things. And then over the years, I think her name evolved into M'Dear, and someone added the Cudd'n. The upshot is, that's how things end up the way they do in the Deep South.”

Jeremy gave her a peck on the cheek, and said, “I love me some Deep South. Cudd'n M'Dear it is, then.”

“Yeah, you're all casual and cavalier about it now. But wait 'til you actually meet her when she comes up for the wedding and corners you somewhere when she's had a few. You'll be craning your neck, desperately looking across a crowded room for me to come save you. Believe me, it won't be at all like ‘Some Enchanted Evening.' ”

“Maybe she won't come.”

“Ha!” Maura Beth declared in startling fashion. “Not a chance. If no one else shows up, she'll be here. She never misses weddings and funerals and anything that passes for a party. She lives for them all. You'll see!”

This time he leaned in and gave her one of his trademark passionate kisses. “It will be a wedding for the ages, witnessed by our unique circle of friends,” he told her after they had both come up for air.

She sighed as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “Yes, our very own wedding circle.”

They sat with that for a while and then Jeremy's eyes widened as he spoke up tentatively. “I-I haven't said very much to you about my sister, Elise . . . except that she's a college professor at the University of Evansville. Maybe she's our family's Cudd'n M'Dear—but in a very different way.”

“Well, your mom and dad never seem to mention her very much, either. So what's her story?”

Jeremy briefly averted his eyes, taking a while to speak. “Leesie's pretty militant about most things—I mean, in a feminist way. She thinks I'm practically a Neanderthal because I don't vote the way she does, but I try to see the good in the candidate and don't worry too much about party labels.”

Maura Beth shrugged. “So? Lots of people disagree on politics—and religion, of course.”

“It's just that Leesie takes it to the extreme sometimes. She's hung up the phone on both Mom and Dad when they didn't agree with her about some hot-button issue. And . . . it's been years since I've seen Leesie. If she comes to the wedding, she'll be a handful to handle with all her opinions.”

“
If
she comes? You mean there's a chance she wouldn't?”

“Knowing her, I'd say yes.”

“I can't imagine a sister not coming to her own brother's wedding.”

Jeremy managed a little chuckle that sounded completely forced. “Welcome to the McShay Family, Maurie. We're not all sweetness and light, either.”

The remark brought Maura Beth up short, but she soon recovered. For now, it was enough that Paul and Susan McShay seemed to be the ideal in-laws. But maybe there was something she could do to help repair Jeremy's relationship with his sister.

11

Old-School Pros and Cons

I
t was perfectly acceptable to Maura Beth that the wedding plans had been scaled down significantly after the invitations had gone out and the “declines” were far outnumbering the “will attends” among the RSVPs. The last thing she really wanted was an extravaganza similar to what would have been staged by her mother down in New Orleans at St. Andrew's and in the hallowed halls of The Three-Hundred Club. They were now expecting less than forty-five people for the ceremony and reception at the lodge—most of whom would be attending from Cherico itself. Of course, Cara Lynn Mayhew had continued to carp long-distance, despite Maura Beth's concession on the wedding dress.

“Well, practically no one from the family is coming!” she had declared one afternoon in that exaggerated manner of hers. “And the ones who are have even called me up and asked if they needed to join Triple A to help them get to Cherico since they've never even heard of the place. I knew this was going to happen when you refused to have it down here in Louisiana. And nobody I've talked to is crazy about having to book a room over in Corinth and then drive back and forth on those back roads. There's just no decent place to stay in Cherico. I'm sure that's why more people have decided not to attend.”

Maura Beth had stopped short of gritting her teeth and plowed ahead fearlessly. “That's not true about the family, Mama. Connie and I are keeping track of the acceptances quite nicely. There are at least twelve of our relatives in some form or another who are coming so far, including Cudd'n M'Dear.”

“Yes, well, we could do without her. She'll upset the applecart and the punch bowl and everything else before it's all over and done with.”

Maura Beth had held the receiver away from her ear momentarily and rolled her eyes at that one. Nothing the woman could ever do could possibly compare to all the flak Maura Beth was continually receiving from her own mother. Clearly, a change of subject was needed and quickly. “I'm sure we can handle Cudd'n M'Dear, Mama. Meanwhile, have you picked out your dress yet? I can't wait to see it.”

“No, I haven't,” Cara Lynn had answered, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “I just can't seem to decide what's appropriate. St. Andrew's would be one thing. The deck of a fishing lodge will be quite another.”

“You're not going to wear that little black number you trotted out for your trip up to Cherico, are you?”

Cara Lynn had failed to see the humor in the remark, and the conversation had been cut short as a result. Mission accomplished—temporarily. But Maura Beth knew she had not heard the last of the complaints from South Louisiana.

Even on a scaled-down basis, however, progress was being made on the staging of the wedding at the lodge, thanks to some brilliant suggestions on Connie's part; and now the time had come to finalize the plans. Both Jeremy and Douglas were willing to leave it to their women to tie everything up with ribbons into a neat little package. So it was the afternoon before Labor Day that Connie and Maura Beth sat down on one of the great room sofas with a couple of Bloody Marys and their diagrams to put their stamp of approval on all the details.

“Let's review what we've decided so far,” Connie said, after devouring one of the cocktail onions floating next to the lemon wedge atop her ice cubes. Then she briefly consulted the notes on the legal pad that was resting on her lap. “Your father will walk you down the aisle we'll fashion between all the folding chairs. Music yet to be picked out by you and Jeremy. But right now you're leaning toward anything except the traditional
Wedding March.
I agree. That gets so tiresome, doesn't it? And why not something different since we're not going old-school here?”

“I can't think of anything less old school than this wedding.”

“Oh, I have news about Father Hickock,” Connie said. “The latest is he may very well have to do a christening that weekend, but the parents haven't finalized the date with him yet. He could still end up coming.”

“Well, let's keep our fingers crossed that he can make it. Now—one last time. You're sure you don't mind rearranging all your furniture?” Maura Beth added, gesturing at the various sofas and chairs with a sweep of her hand.

“Listen,” Connie began, patting her hair and leaning in with great relish as if getting ready to divulge a secret. “This will probably be my one and only chance to turn this cathedral of a fishing lodge into something besides a house of worship for Douglas's many prized catches.”

Maura Beth glanced over at the Tennessee sandstone wall crowded with framed pictures and nodded. “Point taken.”

“Anyway, back to the wedding. Paul will be Jeremy's best man, of course. Renette, Nora Duddney, and Miss Voncille will be your bridesmaids. That is, unless my niece has changed her mind. Last time I talked to Susan, she said Elise still refuses to participate. I just think she's being very childish about the whole thing.”

“She also told Jeremy she wasn't coming the last time he called her up and tried to persuade her. He's not very happy with her right now,” Maura Beth said. “I think it's awful that a brother and sister have been that estranged for so long.”

“It isn't just Jeremy, though. Elise has alienated herself from the entire family,” Connie continued, shaking her head. “She takes teaching Sociology and Women's Issues at the University of Evansville way too seriously, in my opinion. She told us all a long time ago how militantly opposed she was to the institution of marriage as it exists today—at a family reunion, of all places. She insists it exploits women. You should have seen all the jaw-dropping with mouths full of hot dogs and potato salad. It's funny how someone who's never been married can be such an expert on the subject. Anyhow, Jeremy's as old-fashioned and romantic in his thinking as Elise is abrasive and counterculture, to use one of her favorite words. She slings it around constantly, even though it belongs to my generation, not hers.”

“Nothing wrong with standing up for what you believe in,” Maura Beth said, trying not to sound judgmental, although she knew his sister's inflexibility had hurt Jeremy very much.

“I think we should change the subject,” Connie added, quickly scanning her notes again. “Now, let's see. You said Emma Frost has declined to participate because her husband is ill and is undergoing some tests? I hope it's nothing serious.”

“They can't seem to figure it out yet,” Maura Beth said. “It's really distracting Emma at the front desk, I can tell you that. But I completely understand her priorities. Family comes first.”

“We'll just have to hope for the best. Oh, and I've been meaning to tell you just how sweet it was of you to ask Nora Duddney to be part of your wedding.”

“She was so thrilled, of course. You should have seen her face light up. But I owe her so much. If it hadn't been for her help, we wouldn't have our new library going up out at the lake. I thought this was one way I could pay her back.”

“Agreed. And weddings are a wonderful setting to meet people and then start up a romance. Maybe that'll happen to Nora.”

Maura Beth had a distant, dreamy expression on her face. “She deserves it after all those years of being so isolated because of her dyslexia.”

Connie nodded and then resumed her businesslike demeanor. “Now, on to your multiple matrons of honor who have accepted—myself, Becca, and Periwinkle.” She paused to chuckle at what appeared to be an inside joke. “But no coordinated, pastel prom dresses for anyone to spend their good money on, thank God. Why, you can't even hand those god-awful things down to the next generation. We each dress as we please!”

Maura Beth joined the laughter. “Yes, pull-eez!”

“Then the moment finally arrives. You and Jeremy will recite your original vows out on the deck right at sunset with Father Whomever from either here or down in New Orleans. We'll time it like a military operation. The precision of it all should take everyone's breath away.”

Maura Beth sat up straighter and crisply sounded off like a boot-camp recruit. “Check!”

“We leave the deck doors open wide so that everyone seated inside can enjoy that gorgeous Lake Cherico sunset as well. You'll be framed beautifully. Douglas will tape everything for posterity, that is, if he can finally figure out the new camcorder he bought.”

“Check!” Then Maura Beth frowned. “Oh, what about the friendly neighborhood flies and mosquitoes?”

“We'll spray out there before everyone arrives, sweetie. One of those outdoor foggers works wonders, believe me. I've done it tons of times when Douglas and I have had the neighbors over. And the evenings should have that first hint of fall by then. It'll be perfect.”

“Lovely.”

Connie returned to her legal pad. “Now we've got Periwinkle and Mr. Place working up the hors d'oeuvres menu along with the champagne punch, and when I talked to her this morning, she said, ‘Oh, he's designing your cake as we speak.' Those three tiers of crème de menthe you requested.”

Maura Beth almost seemed to be shivering with delight. “Yes, yes, yes. His grasshopper pie in wedding cake form.”

“I'm right there with you, sweetie. I can't resist anything he makes.” She continued smiling down at her notes. “Then everyone has lots to eat and drink, and there'll be dancing to your favorite music if anyone cares to.”

Maura Beth leaned in with a twinkle in her eye. “We finally decided on the music last night. It's going to be an all-Johnny Mathis outing. ‘Chances Are' and ‘The Twelfth of Never' and ‘Misty' and whatever else is on his CDs. Slow and easy. I've never liked these herky-jerky workout bands that show up for receptions.”

“How romantic! So Johnny Mathis was your idea?”

“Nope, Jeremy's. Aside from classical music, he just loves fifties ballad singers.”

Connie's sigh suggested she was taking a trip down Memory Lane. “I'm kinda partial to that period myself, since that's when I first started paying attention to songs on the radio. ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes' by The Platters was my absolute favorite. Anyhow, after all the slow dancing, you and Jeremy will change, wave good-bye, and head up to Memphis to catch your plane to Key West for your Hemingway honeymoon. Now surely that was Jeremy's idea.”

“Yep, you know how he is about his literary haunts. If he could find a way to fly his English classes down there, he would. But he's also hoping he'll get some inspiration for the novel he wants to start writing.”

Connie produced another sigh. “That Jeremy of yours is a keeper. Take it from me. Imagine starting out with a man with that kind of romance in his soul.”

“I'm thinking he'll keep it, too. Maybe he's right about himself when he says he was born in the wrong century, but I get the benefit of it.”

“Well, Douglas may be addicted to his fishing boat, God knows,” Connie confided, “but he hasn't lost that special spark in the bedroom. Oh, I do love dishing about the men, don't you?”

Maura Beth looked supremely pleased with herself. “I have to admit, I'm not having a bit of trouble getting with the program, considering how new I am to it. I think it's finally beginning to dawn on me how close I am to getting married. It's been a long time coming.”

 

Mr. Place—aka Joe Sam Bedloe—was driving home to his mother's house on Big Hill Lane with Periwinkle weighing heavily on his mind. Conflicting elements swirled around inside. On the one hand, there was the depth of emotion that had been growing daily for months now; but there was also the sense that he might be entering uncharted and even dangerous territory. She seemed to be having no reservations, though. After a long day of serving customers and planning Maura Beth's wedding menu at The Twinkle, there had been a stolen moment back in the kitchen around closing time when she had surprised him with her directness.

“All this wedding to-do has got me thinking about just how far we want to go with our relationship,” she had said. “I'm trying to picture my mother's reaction if the two of us ever decided to do something like—oh, I don't know—get married. It'd be one of two things—one a' her hissy fits or she'd just shake her head and tell me I'm as headstrong as I always was, never listened to her when it came to the subject of men, and I might as well go to it and suffer the consequences.”

Mr. Place couldn't help but visualize his own mother's reaction to such a conversation as he drove on through the mostly deserted streets of Cherico. He and Periwinkle had yet to sleep together, even though he was certain they would get there soon. But marriage? Well, that had truly startled him, even though he had fleetingly given it consideration once or twice. All that aside, had the time come to broach the nature of his relationship with Periwinkle to Ardenia Bedloe once and for all?

Oddly, the moment he walked into the living room to find his mother sitting in her favorite spot on her green afghan-draped sofa, he could clearly read the preoccupation in her face. Moving back in with her after losing his job up in Memphis had enabled him to zero in on her every mood without fail, so he quickly sat down beside her in solicitous fashion.

“Aren't you feeling well tonight, Mama?” he said, taking her hand. “Is it your arthritis acting up?”

She gazed into his eyes the way only mothers can do where their children are concerned. “No, baby,” she told him, her voice radiating maternal affection. “No worse than usual for somebody nearly seventy-six.” Then she began her nightly ritual. “Did you eat at The Twinkle? I know you say you do every night, but you look thin in the face. I can see too much cheekbone pokin' through.”