by Rice, Luanne
“Don’t, May. Let’s not talk about anyone else today. Just us.”
“You’re absolutely right.” She saw pain furrow Martin’s brow, and she thought guiltily of Natalie: his daughter must have loved it here. As much as Kylie did, or more.
He led May inside, and they made coffee on the old black stove. May looked around, noticing the great stone hearth, the natural wood walls, the stunning black-and-white photos taken by his mother. He told her how his father’s father had built the house, raising his own family here and taking Martin and his mother in after Serge had left them to play for the Maple Leafs.
Hockey memorabilia was everywhere: Martin’s first stick, his face mask, pucks signed by his idols, photographs of him skating and scoring from the age of three upward. The sofa back was lined with small pillows done in needlepoint and cross-stitch by Martin’s mother, depicting hockey sticks, a lake scene, a small rabbit, and the gazebo. May wandered through as if the house were a museum, as if everything in it had things to teach her about the man she loved.
“Kylie,” Martin called, after they were all dressed. He stood in the doorway holding a bag of bread he’d taken out of the freezer.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“For the swans’ breakfast.”
“Mommy and I feed swans at Firefly Beach,” she said, her eyes shining.
“Well, come on. We’ll go down and feed ours. The Lac Vert swans. Let them know we’ve come home.” Lifting Kylie up, he put her on his shoulders. May’s heart swelled to see the expression in her daughter’s eyes as she took the bread he handed her.
“And when we’re done,” he said to May, drawing her close, “I’ll take a ride into town. Maybe I can find someone who’ll issue a marriage license today.”
“Aren’t there rules? Residency?” May asked. “Blood tests?”
Martin’s eyes took on that mischievous glint, and he gave her the sexy half-smile she’d first noticed on the plane. “They might bend the rules a little,” he said. “Because my grandfather used to be mayor and, eh bien, because once in awhile it doesn’t hurt to be Martin Cartier.”
May burst out laughing, and Martin looked embarrassed but kept grinning.
“I can’t help it,” he said. “It’s just that in Canada, we really do love hockey.”
“The swans are hungry,” Kylie reminded him, holding onto his ears.
He nodded. And the great Canadian hockey star Martin Cartier headed down the bluestone path to the gently sloping banks of Lac Vert, his shirttails hanging out and the pocket of his jeans torn slightly off, to show Kylie Taylor the proper way to stand near enough the lake to throw bits of bread past the big swans to the babies but not close enough to fall in.
Gazing after them, May found herself wishing Aunt Enid was there to watch them, too.
Martin arranged almost everything. In this part of Canada, people spoke mostly French, and since May spoke only English, the bureaucratic details of elopement were beyond her language skills. So, while Martin obtained the license and found the officiant, May and Kylie set to work baking the cake and decorating the gazebo.
Kylie, as flower girl, took her title and duties very seriously. The morning of the wedding—the Saturday after arriving in LaSalle—she walked through the side yard picking every flower she came across. Daisies, buttercups, gentians, and black-eyed Susans went into the basket she held on her arm. May stood at the kitchen window, mixing butter-cream frosting and watching her daughter, the sweet smell of yellow cake drifting on the breeze.
Later they sat on the dock braiding the flowers into crowns for each of them. They made bouquets of violets and lilies of the valley, and they hung them from the gazebo’s birch rails. Martin had disappeared in the Jeep on a mysterious errand, but May was just as glad: even though she was eloping, she knew it was bad luck for them to see each other before the wedding.
“Mommy?” Kylie asked.
“What, honey?”
“Is it really a wedding if it’s not in a church?”
“Yes.” May smiled. “Are you worried?”
Kylie shrugged as if she wasn’t at all, but then she nodded. “I want it to be real.”
“It will be real, Kylie.”
“I like him, Mommy. You do, too, right?”
“I love him.”
“I can tell. When you’re with Martin, you smile so much.”
“Didn’t I smile before?”
“Not enough,” Kylie said in a low voice. “Would you be marrying Martin if it wasn’t for me?”
“Wasn’t for you?” May asked. The lake had been hidden by early morning mist, but suddenly the sun burned through, turning the surface blue and gold. May squinted, holding her hand over her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I brought you together,” Kylie said, her voice almost too low to hear. “I wanted a father, Mommy. I wanted one so much, and when I saw Martin, I wanted him. I picked Martin out on that plane ride and asked him for help.”
May stopped braiding daisy stems. The memory flashed in her mind: Kylie stopping to speak to Martin, smoke filling the plane, Martin rushing to their seats.
“How did you know we’d need help?” May asked.
“She told me.”
“Kylie…”
“I can’t help it. I’m not lying. You asked me, and I’m telling you the truth. The angel girl.”
“Are you sure you saw an angel girl, Kylie?” May asked, always wishing for a simple explanation of why Kylie seemed to take her family’s magic to a different place. “Then it wasn’t a picture?”
“What picture?”
“The one Martin carries in his wallet.”
Kylie stared at May. She started to speak, but then she shrugged. “Maybe,” she said.
May dropped all the flowers on the dock and pulled Kylie into her arms. Kylie clung to her as she always had, like a little tree monkey. May had the same overwhelming sensation she felt every time she smelled her daughter’s hair, felt her arms around her neck. “You don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear,” she said.
“I know.”
“You sometimes do that with the doctors, don’t you? You’re so smart, you figure out the answers they want before they’re finished asking the questions.”
“I don’t want any more doctors,” she said.
“I know,” May said, reading her eyes, the only place Kylie was never able to fool her.
“What will I call him after the wedding?” Kylie asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Well…”
“Will I call him Martin?” Kylie asked. “Or something else?”
“Like—” May began, but Kylie jumped out of her lap as if she had suddenly turned shy, too embarrassed to go on.
“Mommy, I found a doll in a cupboard.”
“Honey, you shouldn’t be going through other people’s things.”
“I wasn’t. I just wanted to see if anything scary was inside, but there wasn’t. Just a little doll with yellow hair. She’s old, or at least, she’s not new. There’s jelly on her dress, glitter on her face. And she’s missing one shoe. Whose is she?”
“Martin’s daughter’s,” May said quietly, watching Kylie’s reaction carefully.
She sat down next to May, hands on her knees, staring into her eyes. “She died,” Kylie said.
“Yes, she did.”
Kylie tilted her head. She looked more thoughtful than surprised, not at all upset. “We would be sisters?” she asked.
“Stepsisters,” May told her.
“Sisters,” Kylie said firmly.
“Well, almost,” May said, not wanting to get too technical.
“Like you and Tobin.”
“Her name was Natalie.”
“Natalie,” Kylie said. She picked up a handful of daisies. “Can we make a crown for her? Her dolly can wear it—”
May gazed at her. Their dealings with death had been disturbing so far. Kylie had been bereft when May’s grandmother had died. And
then they had come upon Richard Perry’s body while hiking around the Lovecraft. One researcher had suggested that Kylie might have second sight, but May didn’t believe in such things. She wanted to keep Kylie as far from the subject of death as possible.
“I don’t think so,” May said.
“Why not?”
“Because,” May began, and wished she could leave it at that. “I know Martin misses Natalie very much. It might make him sad to see you playing with her doll.”
“Please, Mommy,” Kylie said. “I won’t play with her—we’ll just make the crown so she’ll know.”
“So the doll will know?”
“No, Natalie. My almost sister,” Kylie said. “I want her to know I love her. Like Aunt Enid still loves Great-Granny, like you love Tobin.”
“Well, I don’t see why not.” May started to weave together a new bunch of stems, amazed by her daughter’s sense and kindness. It’s really true, she thought as she braided: Love doesn’t stop just because a person dies. Natalie and Martin’s mother will be with us today, and so will my parents and grandmother. She had a sharp pain in her heart thinking about Aunt Enid, alive and alone in Black Hall.
Just twenty minutes later, when the third daisy crown was complete and Kylie had run into the house to put it on Natalie’s doll, Martin’s Jeep pulled into the yard and Tobin and Enid climbed out.
May left the flowers where they were and ran up the hill. Martin stood there holding their bags, grinning when he saw the smiles on May, Tobin, and Enid’s faces.
“Your aunt needed an escort, so I volunteered,” Tobin announced.
“She did,” Enid said tearfully. “She didn’t want me to travel alone.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Enid,” May cried, embracing her aunt.
“You’re Emily’s granddaughter.” Aunt Enid wiped her eyes. “When was I ever able to talk you into anything?”
“How did you both get here?” May asked.
“Martin flew us up. Then he drove all the way to Quebec City to fetch us,” Tobin explained. “I was planning to fly straight back home, I really was.”
“I talked her into coming,” Martin said, holding May. “I know you wanted to elope, but the closer we got, the sadder I could see you getting.”
“Thank you, Martin.” May reached across her aunt’s shoulder to take his hand. But Aunt Enid eased her arm down.
“Don’t touch each other,” she said, sniffling. “It’s bad enough luck to see each other before the wedding. Don’t go making it worse by having physical contact. Of any kind. Emily would say the same thing. So would Abigail.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” May said, kissing her. Turning to Tobin, she added, “You, too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“The family should be together.” Martin’s voice was lower than usual, and he wasn’t smiling. In spite of her aunt’s admonition, May walked over to him.
“I have my aunt and best friend,” she said, “and I think you should invite someone. It’ll be an unconventional elopement—lots of people.”
“I wish Natalie were here!” Kylie exclaimed. “We could both be flower girls, and…”
Martin stiffened. His face changed completely, as if he’d been attacked. His eyes narrowed, and he grimaced.
“Stop,” he said. Everyone looked shocked.
“What’s wrong?” Kylie asked, frowning.
“Don’t talk about Natalie,” he said.
“Martin—” May began.
“She’s been gone a long time,” Martin said quietly. “It’s better that we don’t talk about her, okay?”
“Kylie didn’t mean anything,” May said softly. “I understand your pain, but Kylie’s so happy, excited about the wedding…”
“I’ll show Kylie pictures someday,” Martin said, getting himself under control. “I’ll tell her about…” he paused, unable to say the name. “About Natalie.”
“I just wish she was here.” Kylie’s lip was trembling.
“I know you do,” May said.
Martin’s back was stiff, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. Despite what she had said, May was upset, shaking with the desire to get him alone, to tell him he couldn’t speak to Kylie like that. She was just a child, eager to fit into Martin’s life, and his words and tone had crushed her.
But Martin must have realized his mistake. She watched him bend down, hug Kylie, and tell her he was sorry. She saw Kylie relax and smile. Then, while Kylie showed Aunt Enid and Tobin the lake, Martin turned to May.
“I didn’t mean to sound so angry,” he said.
“You scared Kylie,” May told him.
“I know. I saw her face. I’m really sorry—it’s just that I hadn’t expected her to mention Nat, and I overreacted.”
“Okay,” she said, hugging him. She shivered, and she knew she was feeling bridal jitters. Second thoughts about something that was happening very fast. For the first time in several days, she had misgivings about the quickness of this marriage. She suddenly felt very glad that Tobin had come.
Of course it was natural that Martin would find it hard to talk about Natalie at a time like this: when she should be here, part of the family, celebrating their new life together. Martin was reticent, where May wanted to talk about everything. They would have to work on a compromise.
“Listen, there is someone I want to call,” Martin said, steering everyone back to the wedding plans. “Ray Gardner. It’s time you met him and Genny—you’ll love her. Time I introduced my family to them.”
“I have something to ask you,” Martin said, checking his watch. He was on the phone to Ray, who lived with his wife and kids several miles north on the opposite shore of Lac Vert.
“Go ahead,” Ray said. “As a matter of fact, you want to come over? I’m just having some coffee.”
“No time,” Martin told him. “Can you and Genny be witnesses at my wedding?”
Ray dropped his coffee mug. Martin heard it shatter as Ray spit out his mouthful of coffee. “Your what?”
“It’s a long story. Oui ou non? I need to find witnesses.”
“Can’t be too long. I saw you three weeks ago and you were lonely and miserable. Oui.”
“Hurry over. I want you to meet the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Chapter 7
THE CEREMONY TOOK PLACE AT TWILIGHT. The gazebo was festooned with garlands of laurel, daisies, and honeysuckle, and Aunt Enid and Kylie had made a hundred paper boats fitted out with emergency candles and set them floating on the lake’s smooth surface. Father James Beaupré looked solemn in his black robe, as Aunt Enid and the Gardners stood on either side of him. Martin, wearing his gray suit, was the first to see them coming.
Kylie led the procession down from the house. She wore a pale yellow dress, and she held a basket of wildflowers. As she walked, she dropped buttercups on the path, stopping in her tracks to watch Tobin coming behind her—in spite of everything, she was matron of honor, after all.
And then came May.
May wore her wedding dress, an even paler yellow cotton sheath, so creamy in shade it matched her grandmother’s pearls, which she wore at her throat. She had found it in the Bridal Barn’s attic, the place where her grandmother had kept the most beautiful old gowns.
It was very modest—high at her throat and down below her knee—but when she looked at Martin, she felt herself blush. Kylie and Tobin walked May straight to Martin, watching as each took the other’s hand. Father Beaupré began the ceremony. He spoke English with a heavy French accent. There was no wind, but as the sky grew darker, a slight chill crept into the air. May instinctively took a half-step closer to Martin, just to feel his warmth.
Eloping meant many things, and May couldn’t help thinking of them as she stood beside the man who was about to become her husband. Eloping meant no long guest list, no carefully chosen readings, no organ or brass quintet or soloist, no big church or fancy reception, no veil or train, and no calligraphied
place cards.
On the other hand, it meant their best friends being present, candles on the lake, stars in a dark-lilac sky, night owls calling down the mountains, Tobin sniffling nonstop, Kylie’s wildflower crown slipping over one eye, Genny Gardner gently adjusting it as if she’d known Kylie her whole life, and the simplest wedding vows May had ever heard.
“Do you, May, take this man, Martin, to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” May said, gazing past their clasped hands into Martin’s blue eyes, staring long and hard to let him know that she was making him a promise—before God and nature and the priest and the people they loved most—that she would keep until they both died.
“And do you, Martin, take this woman, May, to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Martin said without smiling, with such passion and conviction in his eyes and tone that May knew they’d be together forever.
They stood facing each other, the simple words ringing across the lake, the mountains echoing them back, time standing still.
“Mes enfants,” the priest said, blessing them in French, English, and Latin, making a sign of the cross with his right hand. A wind blew up from nowhere, skittering across the lake and making Aunt Enid’s candle-boats rock on small waves. Daisies and violets scattered out of Kylie’s basket, landing on the surface.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the old priest said, once in French and then, for good measure, in English.
Martin held May’s face between his two hands and stared long and hard into her eyes. She had the feeling he was trying to tell her something without speaking, a message too deep and important to be spoken out loud. May was doing the same thing. Reaching up, she traced his cheek, his ear, the back of his head. His eyes were filled with fire. Forever, she was thinking. I’ll love you forever.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said, just as Martin slid his arms around her, cradled her against his body, and kissed the bride.