Steps to the Altar

by Earlene Fowler

  “I forgot my slip and my heels,” I said. When Elvia glared at me, I made a goofy face, trying to make her laugh.

  “No problem,” Tia said, her easygoing smile telling me she’d been through this numerous times. “I have a slip in the dressing room and we keep sample shoes here just for that reason. What size shoe and what heel height?”

  “Six and two,” I said, grateful to the bottom of my boots. I turned back to Elvia. “Lo siento mucho, mi amiga, but I’ve had a crazy day. I get points for making it here, don’t I?”

  She tried to look mad, but didn’t succeed. She was just too happy. “It’s all right. I know you have a lot going on right now besides my wedding. We’ll have coffee afterward and you can fill me in on Dove’s wedding and everything else that’s been happening. It seems like I’ve been in a fog these last few months.”

  “Wish I could, but I have to pick up my costume for the Mardi Gras ball Saturday night and Cathy closes early tonight.”

  “How are things progressing with the ball? I should have helped you. Is there anything you need done?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “You’ve got more important things to worry about. Just show up with Emory and have a good time. And don’t forget your shower this Sunday. Two o’clock at Miss Christine’s.”

  “I won’t forget,” she said, stepping down from the pedestal and waving at me to go try on my dress.

  “Has everyone else been fitted?” I called over to the next dressing room, where she was taking off her dress. Though Elvia had no sisters, only six brothers, she’d ended up having ten bridesmaids, not counting me, because she had so many cousins and sisters-in-law who’d waited for this day.

  “You’re the last,” she called back. “As usual.”

  “Hey, Miss Better-late-than-never. I wouldn’t throw any sharp stones if’n I were you. I’m still two marriages ahead.”

  Her uncustomary giggle caused me to smile at myself in the mirror. This was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

  During my fitting, one of her brothers, Miguel, came by to pick up Señora Aragon. He was younger than us by ten years and had been a San Celina police officer for over four years now. It was a fact I still had a hard time comprehending. Right now, he was off duty and dressed in Levi’s and a eye-popping blue-and-purple Hawaiian shirt decorated with palm trees and forties-style pinup girls.

  “Groovy shirt, Officer Aragon,” I said, turning when Tia told me to turn. “Real Hawaii Five-oh. Book ’em, Dano.”

  “Huh?” he said, his square, young face confused.

  I made a face at Elvia and Señora Aragon. “I’m too old.”

  After my fitting and two reminders from Elvia about our hair and facial appointments tomorrow, we were finally finished. As Elvia and her mother settled some last details with Tia, I joined Miguel out on the sidewalk, where he leaned against his black Camaro.

  “How’re things at work?” I asked.

  He shrugged his thick, muscled shoulders. “Okay, I guess.” He glanced sideways at me. “Met your husband’s old partner today.” He grinned. “Wish I’d get a partner like her. Man, she’s really hot.”

  I leaned next to him and stared at our reflections in the bridal shop window. “Gee, thanks for pointing that out to me, Miguel.”

  He quickly backpedaled. “Sorry, Benni, I didn’t mean it the way it sounds. I mean . . . she’s okay . . . I just meant . . .” He cleared his throat. His dark spaniel eyes wore the same troubled glow he’d had when he came to me as a little boy after breaking one of his mother’s dishes.

  “It’s okay, Miguel.”

  His face looked only slightly relieved. “I’m sorry. Really.”

  “Forget it.” I wasn’t about to let one of my husband’s employees, not to mention a kid I’d once baby-sat, see just exactly how much it did bother me. “Have you been fitted for your tux yet?”

  He nodded with more enthusiasm than the question warranted, anxious to change the subject. “Yeah, and I’m all set for the bachelor party too. It should be a blast, even if there aren’t going to be any girls there.”

  Before I could answer, his mother and Elvia came out of the bridal shop. After settling his mother in the passenger seat and hugging his sister, he gave me an apologetic wave before he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  I stared after his car for a long moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Elvia said, digging through her purse for her cell phone. “You look worried.” She punched a number on automatic dial.

  “It’s . . .” I started.

  She held up her hand and said into the phone, “I received a message that there’s some problem with my wedding napkins. Yes, I can hold, but not for long.” She tapped her foot on the concrete sidewalk and asked again, “I’m sorry. What did you say you were worried about?”

  “Not a thing,” I said, not wanting to burden her with such a mundane marriage irritation during the last week before her wedding. “Not a doggone thing.”

  10

  BENNI

  AT COSTUME CARNIVAL it was exactly that, a carnival. With everyone getting ready for Mardi Gras, I had to wait twenty minutes just to reach the front of the line.

  “Oh, hi, Benni,” Cathy said, her pale blond hair disheveled, her china blue eyes already glassy with fatigue. “Your costume’s all ready. I hope you like it. It’s one of my new ones.” She called out my name to one of her assistants, who checked it on a computer printout. Two minutes later, she held two plastic maroon garment bags across the counter. “Here’s yours and Gabe’s too. Want to try yours on?”

  “No time. I trust your measurements. It’s not a cowgirl outfit, right?”

  “Nope, and it’s very comfortable, I promise.”

  “Then it’s perfect. Thanks a lot.”

  I paid, wished her luck with the next few crazy days, and started for my truck. My watch said four o’clock. Since I didn’t have to worry about cooking dinner and Gabe rarely made it home before six o’clock these days, I decided to find a quiet place to look through Maple Sullivan’s scrapbook.

  The library was definitely the quietest and warmest place to do some uninterrupted reading. Besides, I could do a little research while I was there. This was just what I needed to get my mind off Gabe, Del, and the confrontation I knew for a fact he and I were going to have tonight.

  I went by the old house to drop off the costumes, feed Scout, and pick up my heavier, wool-lined Levi’s jacket. The air had a distinct chill, and an army of dark gray, rain-fat clouds had marched in and halted right over San Celina. I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw a downpour in the next couple of hours. Scout whined when he saw I was heading back out the door.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” I said, giving his broad chest a good scratching. “But I’m going to the library and they won’t let you in there. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. Guard the house.”

  My cell phone sang “Happy Trails” when I pulled out of the driveway. The display told me it was Gabe.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “Question. What’s on for dinner tonight?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Taco Bell?”

  “Over my plugged-up arteries. Actually, I was thinking, since Del’s still here, maybe we should take her out to McClintock’s. Give her a taste of some local cuisine.”

  “Oh, wasn’t she leaving today?” I said, still trying to sound casual.

  “She thinks she might stick around for a week or so,” he replied, his tone matching mine.

  “Why?”

  I could imagine his nonchalant shrug. “Just needs to talk. About her dad, what she wants to do with her career. Things aren’t working out that well for her in L.A. I jokingly told her if she stayed too long, I’d have to put her to work.”

  I was silent, thinking, buddy-boy, those house plans aren’t even on the drawing board.

  “You know,” I said, not believing I was saying it even as I did. “I’ve got a lot of work to do with the Mardi
Gras festival so why don’t you two go on without me. I’ll meet you at home later.” I couldn’t spend another night looking at her face, knowing what I knew now. Was that smugness in her expression last night? Now I wondered.

  Are you out of your mind, girl? Nadine’s voice screamed inside my head. Miguel’s words echoed behind hers. Man, she’s hot.

  I have to trust my husband, I told the voices. And myself.

  “Are you sure?” Gabe said. “She said she really enjoyed talking to you last night. She wants to get to know you better.”

  That sealed it. My good intentions flew right out the truck window. “You know, on second thought, I’m not sure it’s all that great an idea for you to be spending so much time with a former lover, do you?”

  His silence lasted for a long minute. “Where did you hear that?”

  At least he wasn’t trying to deny it.

  “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m not sure her intentions are as pure and innocent as she would have you believe.”

  His voice went stiff. “You’re being unfair. Try to have some compassion. She’s going through a tough time.”

  “Gabe, I don’t think she’s here to just cry on your shoulder.”

  “And I think I know her better than you.”

  “Yes, we’ve established that little fact already, haven’t we?”

  A longer silence passed while we both waited for the other to pass or deal.

  He dealt. “You knew when you married me that you weren’t the first woman in my life.” He paused a moment, then said, “Just like I wasn’t the first man in yours. And if I recall, we’ve had a few of your old loves pop up in our lives.”

  “One,” I countered. “And that was before we were married. And it was a high school boyfriend. Big difference.”

  “There’s no place for this conversation to go,” he said in a cold voice.

  “I disagree. There’s plenty of places for it to go.”

  “I’ll only ask one more time. Do you want to join us for dinner?”

  “No.” I disconnected and stuck my cell phone in my backpack. When it rang again and I saw it was Gabe on the display, I ignored it.

  I hit the steering wheel in frustration. What was I going to do about this? Ignore it, fight about it, take out a contract on Del Hernandez? The last one sounded the most satisfying, even though I knew it was more than just her involved. Was it possible to take a contract out on his feelings for her?

  I thought I knew this man. We’d shared a lot, been through a lot, in the last two years, both emotionally and physically. I’d held him in my arms time after time when his terrifying nightmares woke him in a cold sweat. He’d held me in his during my own bad times. I trusted him . . . or had . . . like no one else on earth. But now I had to wonder if it had all been an illusion on my part. I’d once read in an article on relationships that two years was the outside time limit for romantic love. After that, it had to move on to something else, what the author called “authentic love” or die. Some people went through their lives just reliving the same two years over and over with different partners. Was that Gabe? Did I really have any idea who this man was . . . or is?

  “Happy second anniversary, Benni Harper,” I said out loud, tasting salt in the back of my throat.

  As I was pulling into the library parking lot, my cell phone rang again and I was really beginning to regret having one. The display read DOVE, so I answered.

  “Hey, Dove. What’s new?”

  “Water.”

  “What?”

  “I want to get married on water. I was thinking maybe on a yacht. We could serve seafood appetizers. Play fish music.”

  “Fish music?” I pictured Charlie the Tuna singing into a microphone.

  “You know, those tapes of whales and dolphins talking. I’ve heard some real pretty ones with violins and flutes in the background. I think it was downtown at that hippie store that smells like it needs a good cleaning with Lysol. That would be a wedding to remember, don’t you think? I’m sure Isaac has never been married on a yacht.”

  “With fish music,” I added.

  “Right. So, what do you think?”

  “Wouldn’t that cost a lot of money? I mean, the helicopters were bad enough . . .”

  “Oh, pshaw on the money. I’ve got plenty of money. I’ve been waiting thirty-three years for this wedding. I want what I want.”

  “But, Dove, we talking thousands and thousands of dollars.”

  “So?”

  “So, do you think Isaac wants to spend that much?”

  “Whatever gave you the idea he was paying for this? Missy, I’m paying for my own wedding. And I told you, I have plenty of liquid assets. I’ve been saving my chicken money.”

  “But, Dove, we’re talking a lot more than chicken money. We’re—”

  She interrupted me. “I’ve got one hundred thousand dollars. You figure it would take any more than that?”

  I held out my phone and looked at it, certain I’d heard wrong. “Did you say one hundred thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dollars?”

  “Well, it ain’t eggs. Though eggs was how I got it.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve sold a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of eggs?”

  “Well, I’ve been selling them a long time, honeybun. And I’ve worked at growing it. Me and Auburn, that is.”

  “Who’s Auburn?”

  “My broker. Auburn T. Jones. The T doesn’t stand for anything. He just thinks it sounds more brokerish. Lives in San Francisco and drives a Ferrari I helped pay for, if you want to know the truth. I tell him what stocks to buy and he does. We squabble sometimes because he thinks I’m too adventuresome, but we do okay. He sometimes calls me for advice. Says I got a real feel for picking winners.”

  I was speechless. My gramma had a whole financial life I knew nothing about. Just goes to show you, we don’t know everything, even about the people we love the most. My thoughts flashed back to Gabe. What was I going to do?

  “If you want water, Gramma,” I said, suddenly feeling too emotional to talk any longer. “I say go for it. Just don’t make me wear a mermaid costume.”

  “I’m not that nutty,” she said, her cheerful cackle over the phone making me smile through the haze in my eyes. “Nothing’s for sure yet. I’m still working on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You do that,” I said, but she’d already turned off her phone.

  I sat in the truck for a few minutes, looking out over Laguna Lake. The San Celina Library, which sat on a large bluff overlooking the lake, was a large, forbidding-looking building with all the appeal of a federal prison. What had caused the change in architecture from the beautiful, artistic buildings of the thirties and forties to our modern-day, functional, all-purpose buildings? It was as if sometime in the fifties, buildings had lost their souls and become mere depositories for information and data. Were they the canaries in the coal mines? Did our buildings reflect what was happening in our society or foretell what was coming?

  In the deepening dusk, I watched the mallard ducks dunk for food until the only thing I could see were the white feathers of the pencil-legged egrets. My mind was a turmoil of feelings and worries, all so jumbled I couldn’t untangle them. What I needed was a distraction, at least for a few hours. Sometimes, things became clearer when you let your subconscious do the work.

  The library was so warm that the first thing I did was remove my jacket. It was quiet for a Thursday so I assumed term papers were not due at Cal Poly or any other local school. At the reference desk, I found out where the microfilm drawers for the San Celina Tribune were located and I picked out three reels—October through December 1941, April through June 1943, and January through March 1945. I wanted to get a feel for the time period before I read Maple’s letters or looked through her scrapbook.

  It was easy to get caught up in reading the old newspapers. They reported a world that was so foreign to me it could have been on another planet�
��rationing, war bond drives, USO dances, serial stories. The prices of things amused me, as I’m sure the prices of the late twentieth century will amuse someone fifty years from now: coffee—one-pound tin, thirty-one cents; Ovaltine—large tin, sixty-one cents; string beans—two No. 2 tins, thirty-five cents; catsup—fourteen-ounce bottle, fifteen cents. And in the middle of every page of food advertisements: YOU TOO CAN SERVE BY SAVING! BUY DEFENSE BONDS AND STAMPS!

  My quest was for articles about Garvey or Maple Sullivan, but a few times I couldn’t resist reading the articles.

  CAROLE LANDIS, JACK BENNY

  CHEER PACIFIC SERVICEMEN

  SPOKANE GIRL WEDS

  JAPANESE-AMERICAN

  4 BOYS IN FAMILY DIE

  IN BATTLE;

  5TH MAY COME HOME

  GERMAN PRISONER HANGED

  IN CAMP

  I scanned the bylines looking for any mention of Maple’s name or an article with her byline. Most of the stories were written by men and had to do with what was happening overseas. Then I concentrated on the society pages to see what they revealed about what the women were doing while the men were off fighting and because of whom she’d married, there might be a chance I’d see something about Maple. Articles told of Valentine theme contract bridge parties hosted by generals’ wives, afternoon classes in first aid at the local Red Cross hosted by the Elks Club, and dances scheduled at the local USO canteens in San Celina and Paso Robles, but though they listed many names of the participants, some last names that were even familiar to me, there was no mention of Maple Sullivan. For someone who was married to such a prominent man, her name was surprisingly absent from the society pages.

  I finally found an article written by her in January 1944 on the stories behind some quilt patterns’ names. Whether she knew it or not, she was an early quilt historian.