What’s she going to do, change her mind now? Grace thought. After all this?
“Let’s get us down,” Lurina said, suddenly flustered. “Gotta talk to Joseph Elisha.”
Downstairs, Amelia and Mike had transformed the living room into a floral bower. Sprays of redbud were arranged in containers along the walls and behind the table that would be used as an altar. The men had rearranged the dark, antique furnishings to create an aisle through the parlor.
Getting Lurina downstairs was a feat. Hannah helped, holding the gown high in the back, while Grace went in front to make certain Lurina did not trip.
Soon after, the Johnson City twin sisters, Wilma and Wanda, dressed in silk prints and high-heeled shoes, arrived to represent the Reynolds clan. In their new blue suits, Wayne and Old Man appeared stiff and uneasy. Old Man’s black shoes shined and squeaked when he walked, and it was obvious that they pinched his feet. Wayne had brought a cassette player, and now he tested a cassette tape of John Denver singing “Country Roads.” Then he put on “Annie’s Song.”
Lurina and Old Man retired to a comer of the room and within moments were deep in a conversation remarkable for much flailing of hands, nodding, and shaking of heads.
“We ready?” Pastor Johnson asked. He stood by the altar/table, Bible in hand, dressed in black and smiling benignly. One thing Grace had learned about Pastor Johnson. He never took sides. He was everybody’s friend.
Almost reluctantly, the wedding couple moved away from one another, Old Man to join Bob beside the pastor, Lurina to take Wayne’s arm in the dining room. Grace had changed into a light blue, ankle-length skirt and tunic top in which she felt slim and trim, and now she stood in the dining room doorway ready, as matron of honor, to lead the way for the bride. Mike handed Grace a nosegay of pink flowers.
Hannah pushed the button on Wayne’s cassette player. John Denver began singing “Annie’s Song,” and Grace started to move forward. Two steps into the living room she felt a hand on her shoulder pulling her back. What now? Grace turned and stared into the face of the bride-to-be.
“Joseph Elisha’s right. This here dress is too pretty to hide.” She nudged Wayne’s arm. “Get you out there, Wayne boy, and invite those picture takers in.”
Grace’s mouth fell open. Unbelievable! After all the protestation, Lurina was inviting the television crew to film her wedding at home.
“Let ’em all watch it on television,” Lurina said to Grace. Then, lifting the skirt of her gown, Lurina plopped into a dining room chair to wait.
Lurina hadn’t much formal education, but she’s clever and sly as an old fox, Grace thought. Probably had it planned this way all the time, and then, briefly, it crossed her mind that perhaps Lurina herself had been the one to alert the TV people in the first place.
Smiling and looking satisfied, Old Man stood slightly apart from Pastor Johnson looking as if he were about to burst out of his new suit. Unconcerned with the confusion Lurina had caused, he smiled benignly at Hannah, Amelia, Mike, Bob. Old Man liked Jill. She had continued to visit him with her crew, and had endeared herself to him. He called her a “good old country gal” and plied her with blackberry wine. In fact, Old Man had already been thoroughly interviewed and filmed by Jill and her crew. He was pleased at the turn of events, and that they would be married by a “right proper preacher” even if the event took place in Lurina’s ancestral home, and Lurina was a sight to see all fancied up in a white satin wedding dress with her friends about her. He trusted Jill and her crew, and was delighted that Lurina had changed her mind. He’d had some part in that, he thought smugly.
Just then the back door slammed, and footsteps hurried. With a bang and a bustle, three cameramen dashed in, and after Jill had asked Hannah where the bride and groom would walk into the room, they positioned their lights and tripods. Lights glared, hot and much too bright for eyes. Jill said, “I don’t usually do this, but . . .” Cosmetic pouch in hand, she dabbed rouge on the bride’s cheeks, powdered Old Man’s forehead, dabbed at Pastor Johnson’s nose, and Grace’s chin. “Don’t want glare bouncing off your chin,” Jill said, smiling at Grace. “Ready, now,” she said. “Let’s have a wedding.”
Hannah punched the go button on the cassette player. John Denver’s voice filled the room. A cameraman used the quick release on his tripod and slung the camera over his shoulder. Wayne being too tall and Lurina too short to fit arm in arm, simply held hands. Grace slowed her walk, and Lurina followed, looking this way and that, smiling at Jill, whom she had so belligerently turned away.
Of course “Annie’s Song,” although sentimental and lovely, lacked traditional tempo for the walk down the aisle, so Grace tried to block it out and counted aloud, “Step one, two, three; step, one, two, three.” And so it was, that in Lurina’s front parlor, brightened now by flowering sprays of pink, and under the glare and heat of television lights and cameras whirring, Lurina Masterson said “I do” to Joseph Elisha Reynolds. And when Pastor Johnson said, “I proclaim you man and wife,” Lurina puckered her lips and Old Man puckered his, and they kissed the way a ten-year-old boy and girl might kiss. Everyone in the room clapped, then hugged one another. Bob helped Grace make the punch, adding a half bottle of Old Man’s blackberry wine, and everyone present toasted the couple. Lurina and Old Man, lead actors in this drama, stood arm in arm and accepted the accolades.
“Will you still have a reception?” Jill asked Lurina later.
“Grace, get on over here, girl.” Lurina waved Grace close. Perspiration beaded the old lady’s forehead, but her face glowed with excitement. “Can we have a reception over at your tearoom come Sunday after church?”
“Why, I imagine so,” Grace said, wondering if she could have it catered on such short notice, or try to do it all herself. She lifted her shoulders. One way or the other, with help from Bob and her friends, they could do it themselves, if need be. “Yes,” she said, “Sunday, after church. We’ll let the neighbors know by word of mouth. Wonder if they’ll still come.”
Jill laughed. “They’ll come all right. They wouldn’t miss the opportunity to possibly be on television.”
“All of them on television?” Grace asked.
Just then, Bob walked over to them. “Madison County’s known for its fiddlers and really great old folk songs,” he said to Jill.
Jill turned to Wayne. “Could we get some folks to play and sing sometime before Sunday?” She turned to Grace by way of explanation. “We’ll film it ahead, get as many of the folks in as possible, even just as audience, and I’ll use whatever I can when we put the piece together. What I can’t use will still be on a video I’ll have made, and I’ll send copies to all of you.”
Grace found herself suddenly caught up in the whole affair. “Velma Herrill tells scary ghost stories.”
“Great. Can you get her, Wayne?” Jill asked. Wayne was obviously her point man with the community, and from the way he smiled and nodded it was clear he didn’t mind it one little bit.
Grace stood back and could not help admiring Jill’s persistence. After the first days, Jill had taken a low-key approach, befriended Old Man, wooed the community, and her patience had paid off. Who could fault her for doing her job? Grace could see where it might be a good story. And she could see how Jill would tell it in a way that was not exploitative of Lurina, but sensitive, and without a trace of mockery.
The remainder of the week vanished in a whirlwind of placating phone calls, and preparations for the reception. On Sunday, everyone came, filling the tearoom and its porch and parking lot. So many toasts were offered that Grace thought they would never get to the food. But they did. Two brawls took place in the parking lot between cousins, before their families shuffled them off. Another day or so, Grace thought, and life will settle back to normal, that is until time for Russell and Emily’s wedding and reception.
She did not, however, factor Ginger into the equation. Ginger stomped in from New York, angry at her sister, angry at Martin for not having the v
illa in what she considered mint condition, although Grace thought Martin was doing a great job getting drywall replaced and painted, buying new appliances and furnishings. Ginger settled into a suite at a motel in Asheville, and popped in and out of Covington. She glommed onto Grace at the reception.
“This thing with Emily and Russell, how do you feel about it?” she asked.
“What thing?”
“You know. They’re getting married. I can’t get a date out of Emily. Has she told you?”
“You know as much as I do,” Grace lied.
“Well, here they are now.” Ginger careened through the crowd toward her daughter and Russell, who had just walked in. Minutes later she was back. “Well, let me be the first to tell you. Emily says they’ve set a date, June fourth. How in God’s name will we ever put together a wedding in such a short time? The gown alone, why if we picked it out tomorrow, it wouldn’t arrive by then.” And with that she was off, flagging down Martin.
When Grace had a chance and could speak alone and quietly to Russell, she told him about Roger and Charles’s offer to do their wedding. “They made this offer a while ago, but I didn’t want to bring it up until you had actually set the date,” Grace explained.
“Wow, would that be great.” He waved for Emily, who was ladling punch for Tyler, to come to his side, and told her about the offer.
“Really, Grace? That’s incredible, and so kind of them. It is short notice, we know that, but we hoped to avoid a long, drawn-out thing with my mother.” She shrugged.
“Ah, yes, your mother.”
Russell rolled his eyes. Grace noticed that Emily looked suddenly morose. “She’s going to drive me crazy about a dress. Already she’s yelling at me that I’ll never be able to get one on such short notice.”
40
A Time for Resolutions
After the final cleanup on the Monday following the reception, Grace and Bob sat on his porch enjoying the view. Whispers of a late-afternoon sun warmed their outstretched feet. “I’m absolutely worn out,” Grace said.
“Me too.”
“Bob, I’ve been wanting to say something for a long time.”
“So have I, darling.”
“You go first.”
“Ladies first.”
Grace sipped iced tea and wiggled her toes. Here goes, she thought. “I hate to admit this, but our tearoom is wearing me out. I haven’t time to think. I’ve neglected . . .”
Bob lifted his hand. “It’s a lot of work, and it’s certainly time-consuming. I’m feeling about the same way.”
“You are?” She searched his face to assure herself that he was not just trying to please her.
“I find I’m often too tired to play a round of golf with Martin, and I enjoy Martin’s company.”
“What shall we do, then?”
“What would you like to do?”
She grated her teeth slowly over her lower lip and fiddled with the end of the bandanna tucked into the waistband of her skirt.
“Sell it?” he asked.
She reflected for a moment on his tone of voice, trying to identify any trace of disappointment, uncertainty, relief. “Truthfully?” Grace swallowed. “Yes, I’d like us to sell it.”
Bob leaned toward her, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t look so apologetic. You’re right. We need to sell it.” He grew pragmatic. “We’ve done well. It’s a nice little business for someone with the time and energy.”
She rubbed the sole of one foot against the other. “You’re sure? Be honest with me, Bob.”
“I am, darling. It’s a lot for me, too. What say we put the tearoom up for sale?”
“Oh, yes.” Grace frowned. “Are you doing this for me?”
“For you, and for me. We’ve done good, Grace. You’ve been incredible, all that baking, and tired as you might be, you’re always gracious to everyone. The tearoom’s a success. We’ve even got Sybil trained.”
“You think she’d stay?”
“Might.”
Somewhere, a crow cawed, and was joined by another. Maybe they’re chatting about important crow matters, Grace speculated.
Bob rose, and she moved to do so also, but he waved a hand and said, “No, I’m just going in to get us blankets.”
Grace settled back on the lounge, feeling in her heart that they were making the right decision. Bob needed more time for his interests. He was still teaching, and that took hours of preparation. And his golf. She was glad he had found a friend in Martin Hammer. A shame Ginger wasn’t a softer, gentler person. She was sure going to make Emily nuts before that wedding was over. Then, a warm, languid contentment spread over Grace, a contentment enhanced when Bob lowered a blanket across her lap and tucked it about her hips. He nurtured her. She was so lucky.
“How long do you think it’ll take to sell?” she asked.
“Couple of months.”
As they sat there in the quiet evening, Amelia came to mind. “I’m worried about Amelia. She acts as if nothing’s happened.”
“It’s done with, what do you want her to do?”
“Oh, you men, that’s how you handle things, is it?” Reaching out she twined her fingers through Bob’s. “We women process differently from you men. This whole affair’s eating at Amelia’s gut, and she won’t talk about it. I’ll have to make time, be with her until she opens up. In time, she’ll open up to me, you know.”
“Up and at it then, woman.”
Later, when they went to bed after lovemaking, which, as ever, left Grace amazed at its gentleness and pleasure, Grace lay in the dark listening to Bob’s light snore, and thinking about Amelia, worrying about her. Then her mind drifted to what Max had said about folks being angry with Hannah for trying to stop Anson from selling his land. They had helped Hannah with posters and flyers, but most of what Hannah did was on the computer now. Hannah, she knew, had given up on land trusts and gone on to contact foundations that might fund this kind of project, to no avail. When Grace asked how things were progressing, a disappointed Hannah would shrug wearily and repeat the same old refrain. “When they find out about the Masterson land earmarked as a park, they lose interest.”
Grace was exhausted, yet tonight she couldn’t get Amelia or Hannah out of her mind. Well, Grace thought, turning over and closing her eyes, so long as you love someone, you worry about them, and you feel a portion of their pain and loss. Still, as much as Grace would have liked to be sound asleep, she knew that she would rather love and care than the alternative, a detached unconcern and loneliness.
The next day found Grace and Amelia alone in the kitchen, Grace having wooed Amelia there under the pretext of sampling a new cookie recipe she had baked. Neither liked the cookie.
“Too much of an anise taste,” Amelia said, and Grace knew she was right.
“You must talk to me,” Grace said. “What’s going on with you?”
Amelia pushed her chair from the table.
“Stay. Sit.” Like an obedient pet, Amelia sank into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Why are you doing this, Grace?”
“Look at you. You don’t even hate ladybugs anymore. Those that are still in this house are falling from the ceilings and dying. Look. Here’s one right now on the table, and you haven’t skinned up your nose. That tells me you’re in trouble.”
Amelia squinted at the desiccated ladybug as if she had never seen one. “I am not in trouble. Ladybugs just don’t bother me anymore.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re completely distracted about everything. You don’t remember anything, you forget to give phone messages. This isn’t like you.”
Amelia sighed. “I’m busy. I have my work.”
“Remember how you’d buried all the pain of Caroline’s and Thomas’s deaths? Remember when you told us, out there, under the oak? And what a catharsis it was for you and a source of bonding for us all?”
Amelia sighed. Her eyes misted. “I remember. But this is different, no one’s died.”
> “Many things have died: your dreams, your zest for life, your enthusiasm for your work.” She almost added, “your self-esteem,” but didn’t.
Amelia shrugged. “How important, really, are any of those things?”
Grace placed her hands over Amelia’s and felt how cold and clammy they were. “Amelia, Lance was a scoundrel and smooth and slippery as ice. He could have fooled anyone.”
“But he didn’t fool everyone, not Hannah, not you. Ginger maybe, but she’s a bit of a fluff,” she gasped. “So what am I, a piece of fluff? God help me.” Amelia’s shoulders heaved. Tears tracked a path down her cheeks. “What a fool I am. I’m so ashamed.” Grace let her cry, occasionally patting her arm, once running her fingers lightly across Amelia’s fine white hair.
“He may be gone, but every miserable moment you endure, every sleepless night, is one-up for him, the bastard,” Grace said.
Amelia whispered, “I think I loved him.”
“You think?”
“I’m confused. It’s muddled in my brain. I can’t think clearly. I just hurt, here.” One hand found its way to her stomach. Amelia wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I hurt Mike. I had no time for you or Hannah. I’ve been a lousy friend. I hate myself.”
“What makes someone a friend is time and understanding. What happened to you was horrible. It would make anyone miserable. That’s the beauty of our sharing this house and our lives. Everything one of us does affects the others, and we’re committed to supporting one another. Hannah and I love you, and Mike loves you. We want to hear you fussing about ladybugs, and hear you go tearing out of the house to a photography shoot, and see more of your wonderful photographs.” Grace straightened her shoulders. She felt as if she were having no impact at all on Amelia. “Your life is so much more than having a man, Amelia,” she said firmly.
“You’re so wise, Grace.”
“I’m not wise, just practical, and I love you.”
The Gardens of Covington Page 29