“Now remember, girls,” said Mrs. Quimby, “after you take your places at the front of the church, stand still.”
As the limousine glided up to the church, Aunt Bea’s class, arriving in car pools, was properly awed. They climbed quietly out of their ordinary cars and walked in pairs into the church. Most of the boys were wearing stiff new jeans and clean shirts. A couple wore suits. The girls were dressed in their best. Ramona could see that many heads of hair had been washed in Portland that morning and that Aunt Bea had instructed her class in wedding behavior. Then she discovered she had to squeeze hard to get her feet back into her shoes.
The wedding party entered a small room behind the church reception room, where all the Kemps except Uncle Hobart and Howie’s father, who was the best man, were waiting. Ramona was surprised to see how pretty Willa Jean looked with the wreath of roses resting on her fair curls. Howie leaned against the wall in his short pants and knee socks. Except for his grumpy expression, Ramona thought he actually looked handsome, until he began to sing, very, very softly:
“Here comes the bride,
Fair, fat, and wide.
Here comes the groom,
Skinny as a broom.
Here comes the usher,
The old toilet-flusher.”
“Howie, you shut up!” ordered Ramona with all the ferocity she could summon in a whisper. What if the bride heard? The bride did hear, and laughed. She knew what to expect from boys Howie’s age. Mrs. Kemp handed her grandson a small lace pillow with the wedding ring fastened in place with basting stitches.
“It will probably fall off,” he predicted.
“No, it won’t,” said his grandmother. “I’ve made sure of that.”
“Beezus, my feet are killing me,” whispered Ramona with tears in her eyes. “My shoes are way too short.”
“So are mine,” agreed Beezus. “I’ll never make it down the aisle.”
Grandmother Kemp was lining up the wedding party in the order in which they were to enter the church. “Once you reach your place at the front of the church, don’t move,” she ordered.
“Quick,” whispered Beezus to Ramona. “Give me your shoes.” Astonished, Ramona obeyed. As the wedding party proceeded through the reception room to the vestibule of the church, Beezus dropped the two pairs of slippers into a large bouquet of rhododendron blossoms. When the organ burst forth with the processional, the girls stifled their giggles. Uncle Hobart’s friends, the bearded ushers splendid in their rented clothes, grinned at the girls and, after escorting Howie’s mother and grandmother and Mrs. Quimby to the front pew, returned to walk slowly down the aisle together.
Ramona and Beezus counted to four. With the carpet tickling the bottoms of their feet and their nosegays quivering from nervousness, they followed, slowly and with dignity. Ramona could hear Willa Jean counting to four, and knew that she was following, and behind her, four counts later, Howie. Uncle Hobart and Howie’s father, surprisingly handsome, were waiting with the minister at the end of what seemed like a long, long aisle.
Suddenly all the guests rose to their feet. Aunt Bea, on the arm of her father, had entered the church. Her class strained for a glimpse of their teacher.
From her place at the front of the church, Ramona could see her aunt, almost floating on the arm of Grandpa Day. Then they, too, took their places. The ceremony began. Grandpa Day gaveth this woman, as the minister called Aunt Bea, to be married and stepped back to the front pew. So much for the father of the bride.
All went well, with Ramona happily wiggling her toes inside her socks, until Howie’s father tried to lift the wedding ring from the pillow. Unfortunately, Howie’s grandmother, not trusting her grandson, had fastened the ring with such tight stitches it would not lift. Mr. Kemp tugged. The ring remained in place. Howie clutched the pillow in a good tight grip while his father yanked. The ring came off the pillow, slipped through his fingers, flew through the air, and disappeared.
The guests gasped. The children in the wedding party, instructed not to move, stood like statues. The wedding had come to a standstill. The men in the party began to look around for the ring. Even Aunt Bea took a step back to see if it had rolled under her skirt. The men leaned forward, searching. In a minute, they might even be on their knees, feeling around on the carpet with their hands. Ramona prayed that Aunt Bea’s class would not giggle.
Then, as Aunt Bea bent over, Ramona caught a glimpse of something shiny.
The wedding ring was around the heel of the bride’s sandal. How did it get there? It must have rolled under Aunt Bea’s dress, and when she stepped back, she stepped into it. A rustle went through the church, the sound of restless, uneasy guests. Something must be done, and now.
What should Ramona do? She was under strict orders not to move, but she was the only one who knew where the ring had landed. She thought fast. Why should she obey Mrs. Kemp, who had sewed the ring too tight and been the cause of its disappearance? In a minute someone would snicker and set off the whole congregation. Ramona could not bear to have her aunt’s wedding laughed at. She decided to act, even if it meant showing her white socks. Laying her nosegay on the carpet, Ramona got down on her hands and knees, prayed her wreath wouldn’t slip, crawled over to her aunt, reached under her skirt, took hold of her ankle, and when the surprised bride looked down, raised her foot and pulled the ring off her heel. Ramona then crawled backward, picked up her nosegay, handed the ring to the best man, and took her place once more, standing like a statue with her wreath still in place. Aunt Bea flashed Ramona a smile while her lips silently formed the words “thank you.”
Everyone in the church relaxed, the wedding proceeded as if nothing had happened. Oh, that romantic moment when the minister pronounced the couple husband and wife, Uncle Hobart kissed Aunt Bea, and the organ sounded notes of joy! The wedding party sped up the aisle and into the reception hall where, under Howie’s grandmother’s direction, they formed a receiving line.
Guests trickled in, kissed the bride, congratulated the groom, and told Beezus and Ramona they looked sweet, pretty, charming, and like flowers—a new experience for Ramona. Some said, “So this is the girl who saved the day,” or “It’s a good thing you found the ring.” One said, “You were a real little heroine.” Ramona smiled modestly. One old gentleman told her she looked “as pretty as a speckled pup.” Ramona had never been so filled with joy.
Aunt Bea’s class was shy about kissing the bride, so the bride kissed every one of them. Some said hi to Ramona; others told her they had heard about her from Miss Day, or said it was a good thing she found the ring. Some girls wistfully told her they thought her dress was pretty. Several boys said, “How come you’re not wearing shoes?” Ramona did not mind. She was so happy she felt as if she could stand in the receiving line forever, but of course it came to an end, and when it did, Howie’s grandmother actually thanked Ramona for finding the ring, smiled a real smile, and told her she looked pretty.
Waiters passed trays of tiny sandwiches, punch, and champagne. Ramona noticed each member of her aunt’s class was careful to take only two sandwiches, which showed Aunt Bea had told them how to behave. No one spilled punch; nobody threw up.
Ramona helped herself to three sandwiches. As a member of the wedding party, she felt she deserved them. Besides, she was hungry. As she nibbled to make the sandwiches last, she had an idea that she whispered to Beezus. “If we had some string, we could tie our slippers to the bumper of Uncle Hobart’s truck. We can’t wear them anymore.”
Beezus, usually so proper, was delighted with the idea. “There must be some string someplace,” she said.
“I’ll ask Howie,” said Ramona.
Howie, who was leaning against the wall stuffing himself with what Ramona considered more than his share of sandwiches, and looking embarrassed because the girls from Aunt Bea’s class stared at him with admiration, liked the idea. “I don’t carry string in these pants,” he said, “but I bet I can find some.” He began to ask around amon
g the boys from Aunt Bea’s class, and sure enough, string was found in several pockets. When Ramona pulled the slippers from the flowers, she discovered she did not want to leave the reception. Neither did Beezus. They liked being paid compliments one after another, and Beezus had noticed a boy her age looking at her as if he wanted to talk to her. Besides, the bride was about to cut the wedding cake.
“You do it.” Ramona shoved the shoes at Howie.
“Sure,” agreed Howie, glad to escape. The donors of the string went with him and, by the time the cake was cut, returned looking pleased with themselves and ready for their share of cake.
Uncle Hobart, whom Ramona had been avoiding because she felt ashamed that she had not been nicer to him, cornered her. “I want to thank my new niece for saving the day by finding the ring,” he said and kissed her. His beard was not as scratchy as she had expected.
“Thank you, Uncle Hobart,” she said, shy about calling him uncle for the first time. “It’s nice, sort of, having an uncle. And thank you for our dresses.”
“You’re welcome. And I like having another spunky niece.” Uncle Hobart and Ramona were friends. Peace at last!
The bride threw her bouquet, aiming it, Ramona suspected, at Beezus, who caught it, which meant she would be the next bride. The newlyweds, both laughing, ran out to Uncle Hobart’s truck in a shower of rice and birdseed and drove off. Two pairs of white slippers danced from the rear bumper. The wedding was over.
The Quimbys climbed into Grandpa Day’s rented limousine and sank back into the rich upholstery with happy sighs. You could make teddy bears out of these seats, they are so soft and furry, thought Ramona.
“Funny about those white shoes on the back of the truck,” remarked Mr. Quimby. “They look familiar.”
The girls burst into giggles. “They hurt,” confessed Ramona. “They were too tight.”
Mrs. Quimby, resting her arms on Algie, smiled. “I had forgotten how long you girls had had those shoes,” she said. “I should have thought.”
Ramona marveled that neither of her parents said the girls should have saved Beezus’s slippers for Ramona to grow into.
“I’m starved,” announced Grandpa Day. “Giving away a bride is hard work, and that dainty little wedding food doesn’t fill me up. When we get home, I’ll send out for pizza.”
Pizza! thought Ramona. A limousine and a pizza! The end of a perfect day.
10
Another Big Event
After the wedding, everyone felt let down, the way they always felt the day after Christmas, only worse. Nothing seemed interesting after so much excitement. Grandpa Day had flown back to his sunshine and shuffleboard. Mr. Quimby was at work all day. Friends had gone off to camp, to the mountains, or the beach. Howie and Willa Jean had gone to visit their other grandmother.
“Girls, please stop moping around,” said Mrs. Quimby.
“We can’t find anything to do,” said Beezus.
Ramona was silent. If she complained, her mother would tell her to clean out her closet.
“Read a book,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Both of you, read a book.”
“I’ve read all my books a million times,” said Ramona, who usually enjoyed rereading her favorites.
“Then go to the library.” Mrs. Quimby was beginning to sound irritable.
“It’s too hot,” complained Ramona.
Mrs. Quimby glanced at her watch.
“Mother, are you expecting someone?” asked Ramona. “You keep looking at your watch.”
“I certainly am,” said her mother. “A stranger.” With a big sigh, Mrs. Quimby sank heavily to the couch, glanced at her watch again, and closed her eyes. The girls exchanged guilty looks. Their poor mother, worn out by Algie kicking her when there was so much of her to feel hot.
“Mother, are you all right?” Beezus sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” snapped Mrs. Quimby, which surprised the girls into behaving.
That evening, the sisters helped their mother put together a cold supper of tuna fish salad and sliced tomatoes. While the family was eating, Mr. Quimby told them that now that the “Hawaiian Holidays” sale with bargains in fresh pineapple and papaya had come to an end, all the ShopRite Markets were preparing for “Western Bar-b-q Week” with specials on steak, baked beans, tomato sauce, and chili. He planned to paint bucking broncos on the front windows.
Mrs. Quimby nibbled at her salad and glanced at her watch.
“And everybody will see your paintings,” said Ramona, happy that her father was now an artist as well as a market manager.
“Not quite the same as an exhibit in a museum,” said Mr. Quimby, who did not sound as happy as Ramona expected.
Mrs. Quimby pushed her chair farther from the table and glanced at her watch. All eyes were on her.
“Shall I call the doctor?” asked Mr. Quimby.
“Please,” said Mrs. Quimby as she rose from the table, hugged Algie, and breathed, “Oo-oo.”
Ramona and Beezus, excited and frightened, looked at one another. At last! The fifth Quimby would soon be here. Nothing would be the same again, ever. Mr. Quimby reported that the doctor would meet them at the hospital. Without being asked, Beezus ran for the bag her mother had packed several weeks ago.
Mrs. Quimby kissed her daughters. “Don’t look so frightened,” she said. “Everything is going to be all right. Be good girls, and Daddy will be home as soon as he can.” She bent forward and hugged Algie again.
The house suddenly seemed empty. The girls listened to the car back out of the driveway. The sound of the motor became lost in traffic.
“Well,” said Beezus, “I suppose we might as well do the dishes.”
“I suppose so.” Ramona tested all the doors, including the door to the basement, to make sure they were locked.
“Too bad Picky-picky isn’t here to eat all this tuna salad no one felt like eating.” Beezus scraped the plates into the garbage.
To her own surprise, Ramona burst into tears and buried her face in a dish towel. “I just want Mother to come home,” she wept.
Beezus wiped her soapy hands on the seat of her cutoff jeans. Then she put her arms around Ramona, something she had never done before. “Don’t worry, Ramona. Everything will be all right. Mother said so, and I remember when you came.”
Ramona felt better. A big sister could be a comfort if she wanted to.
“You got born and Mother was fine.” Beezus handed Ramona a clean dish towel.
Minutes crawled by. The long Oregon dusk turned into night. The girls turned on the television set to a program about people in a hospital, running, shouting, giving orders. Quickly they turned it off. “I hope Aunt Bea and Uncle Hobart are all right,” said Ramona. The girls longed for their loving aunt, who was cheerful in times of trouble and who was always there when the family needed her. Now she was in a truck, riding along the Canadian Highway to Alaska. Ramona thought about bears, mean bears. She wondered if two pairs of white shoes still danced from the bumper of the truck.
The ring of the telephone made Ramona feel as if arrows of electricity had shot through her stomach as Beezus ran to answer.
“Oh.” There was disappointment in Beezus’s voice. “All right, Daddy. No. No, we don’t mind.” When the conversation ended, she turned to Ramona, who was wild for news, and said, “Algie is taking his time. Daddy wants to stay with Mom and wanted to be sure we didn’t mind staying alone. I said we didn’t, and he said we were brave girls.”
“Oh,” said Ramona, who longed for her father’s return. “Well, I’m brave, I guess.” Even though the evening was unusually warm, she closed all the windows.
“I suppose we should go to bed,” said Beezus. “If you want, you can get in bed with me.”
“We better leave lights on for Daddy.” Ramona turned on the porch light, as well as all the lights in the living room and hall, before she climbed into her sister’s bed. “So Daddy won’t fall over anything,” she explained.
“Good idea,” agre
ed Beezus. Each sister knew the other felt safer with the lights on.
“I hope Algie will hurry,” said Ramona.
“So do I,” agreed Beezus.
The girls slept lightly until the sound of a key in the door awoke them. “Daddy?” Beezus called out.
“Yes.” Mr. Quimby came down the hall to the door of Beezus’s room. “Great news. Roberta Day Quimby, six pounds, four ounces, arrived safe and sound. Your mother is fine.”
Barely awake, Ramona asked, “Who’s Roberta?”
“Your new sister,” answered her father, “and my namesake.”
“Sister.” Now Ramona was wide-awake. The family had referred to the baby as Algie so long she had assumed that of course she would have a brother.
“Yes, a beautiful little sister,” said her father. “Now, go back to sleep. It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I’ve got to get up at seven-thirty.”
The next morning, Mr. Quimby over-slept and ate his breakfast standing up. He was halfway out the door when he called back, “When I get off work, we’ll have dinner at the Whopperburger, and then we’ll all go see Roberta and your mother.”
The day was long and lonely. Even a swimming lesson at the park and a trip to the library did little to make time pass. “I wonder what Roberta looks like,” said Beezus.
“And whose room she will share when she outgrows the bassinette,” worried Ramona.
The one happy moment in the day for the girls was a telephone call from their mother, who reported that Roberta was a beautiful, healthy little sister. She couldn’t wait to bring her home, and she was proud of her daughters for being so good about staying alone. This pleased Beezus and Ramona so much they ran the vacuum cleaner and dusted, which made time pass faster until their father, looking exhausted, came home to take them out for hamburgers and a visit to the fifth Quimby.
Ramona Forever Page 7