A Wedding in Truhart

by Cynthia Tennent

  Charlotte and Henry had printed the most elaborate wedding invitations I had ever seen. They popped up like picture books with little white shapes of a sleigh and snow-capped hills beside the words “Charlotte Adler and Henry Lowell invite you to share in their union, December 31, New Year’s Eve.” Of course, June Lowell must have had a hand in it. And even though I wanted to say something snarky about everything June did, I had to admit the invitations were beautiful.

  “We are at seventy-one out-of-towners and eighty-two locals.” Mom said it with pride. The number was nowhere near the original four hundred or more guests who might have attended in Atlanta. Still, with every RSVP I felt a sense of panic.

  “Well, I’m guessing that by now that is all we will get?”

  “It should be,” she said. “But you know how the cousins on your dad’s side always plan at the last minute. I have a feeling they’ll show up with kids and dates we don’t know about.”

  “Hopefully we’ll meet the dates we don’t know about before they have the kids we don’t know about,” said Ian, wagging his eyebrows.

  “You know what I mean, Ian.”

  “Well, I guess we could just put them up in the golf shack.”

  “Don’t worry. June made sure to book extra rooms at the Grande Lucerne for her group. I am sure we will be fine either way. I just hope Nestor has planned enough food. Speaking of Nestor, don’t forget to pick him up at the Traverse City airport. You should be leaving soon, Ian.”

  Ian patted his stomach. “Nestor is one person I would never forget.”

  Aunt Addie pushed open the double doors of the kitchen with enough force to make the walls shake.

  “I still can’t find them! I’ve looked everywhere!”

  “What is that?” asked Mom.

  “Those blasted Christmas decorations. I can’t believe we misplaced them this year. Of all times to lose them.”

  Ian and I sent each other a stealth look of relief.

  She still hadn’t found them. Thank God!

  The lost decorations included dozens upon dozens of figurines made of pasta, courtesy of Aunt Addie’s “food craft” phase years ago. Macaroni reindeer, spiral swirl Santas, and even a crèche of penne, spaghetti, and shells, had been on display at the inn every Christmas since I could remember. They were so hideous that when Aunt Addie was gone one Saturday morning in November, Ian and I had snuck up into the attic and grabbed them out of the Christmas decoration bins. Now they were hidden where we hoped she would never find them.

  Right now the inn was perfectly decorated. A giant white fir from a Christmas tree farm down the road dominated the main lobby. A smaller tree stood in a corner of the dining room. Garlands of pine and spruce draped over almost every imaginable doorway and the large stone fireplace. A new centerpiece rested on the table in the lobby, a Christmas gift for Mom, purchased from one of the fancy decorating catalogues she always admired but never ordered from. Even the grounds of the golf course were adorned with twinkling lights, thanks to Grady.

  Ian and I were calling the tragedy of the missing decorations “Pastagate,” which Aunt Addie said was insensitive.

  “Maybe someone got hungry and cooked them,” said Ian.

  Aunt Addie put her hands on her hips and snarled, “That is not funny, young man! Do you know how many hours I put into making those? They’ve been a part of our Christmas for over twenty years, now.”

  She started on a familiar tirade about the importance of Christmas traditions and how our generation never appreciated them.

  Ian looked at her with a straight face and interrupted. “Well, have you asked Al?”

  “Al who?”

  “Al Dente!” he said, lowering his eyebrows.

  Aunt Addie reached out to hit him on the behind. He ran out of the room, giving her a wide berth. “I’m off to pick up Nestor. See you later,” he called as he left.

  Mom had a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. I had already given in. Aunt Addie swatted me on my backside since she couldn’t reach Ian.

  “You should never have been so easy on him, Virginia. That boy needs taking down a notch or two.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure the decorations will show up next year,” said Mom. As Aunt Addie turned away, Mom looked to me and mouthed “thank you.”

  The next day, clattering and banging came from the kitchen as Nestor organized himself. He had been busy prepping the kitchen since he arrived. Aunt Addie was yelling at Ian about the music blaring on the speakers in the dining room. And above it all, my Mom was shouting into the phone to her cousin who was on a runway in Chicago.

  It was zero minus two days. Just in case I had forgotten, the calendar behind the desk reminded me that soon my little sister would become Mrs. Henry Lowell. I was looking forward to everything about as much as a root canal. I was going to smile and be the good hostess, but I dreaded the possibility that June and her friends would judge us. And even more, I couldn’t help but feel that I was losing a little sister. Suddenly it all seemed so permanent.

  And then I thought of Nick.

  In my dreams last night, Nick had turned into the preacher marrying Charlotte and Henry. When it came time to read their vows they had pledged never to return to Truhart ever again. The wedding guests had cheered and laughed while Aunt Addie sat with the dogs on boxes of macaroni and cried.

  I had to get out of the inn. Grabbing my old camera, I pulled on my coat and gloves and escaped the lobby through the back door.

  Walking briskly, I made my way over the back nine and past the old golf shack. The frozen brown grass crunched under my feet and a few stray snowflakes drifted in the wind. I slowed as I passed the copse of trees where Nick and I had made out. I tried to find the exact place where he had pinned me against a tree, but it was impossible to remember. Taking my hand out of my glove, I ran my palm against a nearby tree. Sadly and irrationally I felt like the lack of evidence meant nothing had ever happened. We should have carved a heart into the bark and written our initials.

  With no warning Lucifer, Mary Conrad’s mischievous dog, appeared at my side. I reached down to pet him with my bare hand and he snatched the glove right out of my other hand.

  “Lucifer!” I yelled. But he pretended he didn’t hear me and ran up the slope toward the old barn.

  I followed him up the ridge until I reached the barn. By then he was out of sight.

  I looked around for Mary, the one person with any control over the mutt. She was nowhere to be seen. Distracted now, a curious impulse took over. A pile of firewood rested against the side of the barn next to the secret portal. I moved several logs out of the way. Then I kneeled down, lifted the loose board, and crawled through the opening while I awkwardly clutched my camera to my chest.

  Once through, I stood up and let my eyes adjust to the light. Because of the low winter sun, the barn was darker today than it had been several weeks ago. Taking the lens off my camera and changing the settings, I aimed it up at the row of windows above the door. For several minutes I walked around the room taking pictures. Finally, I moved to the old saw. I removed the tarp and thought how depressing it looked sitting alone in the massive space, like a forgotten friend. It was beautiful in a vintage industrial kind of way. I shot it from several angles, trying to capture the dim light from the windows and something I couldn’t quite describe. Rejection? Neglect? I guess I would have to wait until I looked at the way the photos turned out.

  When I was finished I pulled the tarp back over the saw and made my way to the opening with a sigh. Charlotte and Henry would be arriving soon. It was almost show time.

  I was on my hands and knees with my head through the opening when I stopped cold. Two black shoes appeared in front of me. With a sense of dread I felt a stab in my chest. I knew who the owner of those shoes was before I even looked up.

  Chapter 13

  “I had no idea there was a Masters of the Universe meeting today,” said a deep, sarcastic voice.

  I didn’t even bother
responding. Instead I scooted backward into the barn, hearing the bang of the loose board swinging into place. Damn.

  I waited on my hands and knees. But there was only silence from the other side.

  After a moment I lifted the loose board again, hoping by some miracle he had disappeared.

  “Still here,” Nick said. I couldn’t see his face but I could see his shoe tapping the earth. His voice was drenched in ridicule and it fueled my anger. Was he going to make fun of me now?

  Fine.

  “Why don’t you just go on back to that rock you crawled out from and leave me alone,” I said loudly before slamming the board back in place.

  “Excuse me, but isn’t this Conrad property? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I thought the person caught trespassing was the one who was supposed to leave,” he yelled through the pine boards.

  “I will leave if you go first,” I shouted.

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I said no. Look, Annie, you are acting like a child. Why can’t we talk this out?”

  “Spoken like someone who won’t talk. You didn’t even call.”

  “Call? Was that my job?”

  “What did you want me to do, grovel over voice mail?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall beside the opening. I could outlast him. At least I was warm. He was outside in the bitter wind. Silence stretched between us. I could hear the muffled sound of him pacing back and forth.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Annie. Get out here.”

  I said nothing.

  “I really don’t feel like getting down in the dirt and coming in after you.”

  Well, la-di-da. “Do you think it will make you look like a small-town hick if you get dirty?” I yelled.

  Nick swore from the other side of the boards. Then I heard a shuffling sound and the board was lifted. His dark head appeared in the opening and I tried not to smile at how silly he looked trying to fit his big frame through the little opening without getting himself dirty.

  When he was finally through, Nick stood up, brushing his clothes. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty seeing the dust on his khaki pants and dark-colored sports coat.

  “Are you happy now?”

  “Yes,” I said, crawling toward the opening. I sent one last glance his way and saw his mouth drop open in astonishment right before I edged out of the barn. I was much quicker than he had been, and when I reached the other side I grabbed one of the logs in the pile of firewood and jammed it up against the loose board, making it impossible for him to get out.

  “Annie! Annie? What are you doing?” I heard him yell. Damned if I knew what I was doing. But it felt really good, whatever it was.

  “This is silly, Annie. We need to talk!”

  If we could get through this weekend without killing each other, I would be happy.

  “Annie, are you just going to leave me like this?”

  “You want to talk? That doesn’t make sense since I’m the only one who ever does it. I’m tired of doing all the talking, Nick!” I yelled through cupped hands.

  Then I turned and left.

  I guess maturity had never been something I had excelled in.

  I was out of breath and blowing steam from my mouth and nose by the time I reached the back patio of the inn. Just as I was about to open the door, Lucifer came tearing around the side of the patio wall with my gnawed-up glove in his mouth.

  “It’s too late to get back on my good side, Lucifer.” He cocked his head and wagged his tail. Before I could grab my glove, Mary Conrad appeared from behind me with the other dogs. They barked and pushed each other out of the way in an effort to get my attention.

  “Calm down, gang,” said Mary as she reached the patio steps. “Finn, down!”

  The senior member of the pack of black Labs wagged his tail and obediently sat in front of me. “Good boy,” I said. The others followed suit, hoping to get praise as well, although not quite as calmly. Lucifer dropped the glove, expecting a treat.

  “Don’t open that door to the inn, Bump! Oh my gosh, your aunt would have a heart attack if these dogs got inside.”

  I moved forward and hugged her in greeting, trying to figure out the best way to tell her she needed to retrieve her son from the old workshop.

  “Melissa and Jenny say hello, Annie. They’ll be here Saturday. How was your Christmas?”

  “Cold and snowless,” I said. I stepped back and rubbed my hands together, stalling for time.

  “I made the last few adjustments on your bridesmaid’s dress and left it with your mom. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said.

  “Thanks. Uh, Mary?”

  She went on speaking. “Well, the weather report says Chicago is supposed to get snow today, so I’m guessing it’ll be here by Saturday. Charlotte will get her white wedding, I hope.”

  I reached down and patted Finn on the head and then shrugged my shoulders, “That would be nice . . . Say, Nick is back in the old workshop.”

  Her eyes grew big and she looked at me strangely, as if I was speaking a different language.

  “What?”

  “Well, he is in the old workshop . . . you know, the barn.”

  She put a hand to her lips. “He never goes in there anymore. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him there a couple of months ago,” she said in a soft voice.

  I paused. Did Mary have the answer to the puzzle I had been trying to understand?

  “Why?” I asked slowly.

  She placed her hand on the small of her back and backed up until she was sitting on the low wall of the patio behind her. “Oh, Annie. It’s a long story.”

  I moved to sit beside her. The dogs became restless and found their own entertainment in the bushes nearby.

  “Nick would probably hate it if I told anybody.”

  “Well, I don’t understand why he seems to hate coming home,” I said.

  She gave me a sharp look. “I didn’t know anyone else even noticed.”

  “I sort of mentioned something about it to him in October.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t like that,” she said with a grimace.

  “No. Not at all. We had a slight argument.”

  “I suspected something happened between you two. He was in a horrible mood after the art show.” She looked at me with a strange gleam in her eye. “You always have managed to get a rise out of Nick.”

  I clutched my hands together, feeling my spirits rise.

  She put her hand on my knee. “Russell dedicated his whole life to Truhart, you know, Annie. He worked night, day, and even weekends to build this town into what it is today.”

  I stayed quiet, hoping to understand where she was going with her thoughts. She looked up at the sky for a moment and sighed.

  “Several months before Russell died, George Bloodworth promised Russell his biggest contract in twenty years. He and the city council commissioned a new project on Main Street. They called it the New City Commons. George and the rest of the county commissioners promised him that the project would be the showpiece that would get the economy and the town moving again.

  “So, for the last few months of his life, Russell dedicated himself to a project that, as you can guess, never happened. I tried to tell him to stop working so hard, but you know how much of a workhorse he was. His blood pressure went up, he lost sleep, and he let himself go. By the eve of the project he had excavated the land, framed-out parts of several buildings, and hired ten new men. He ordered enough material to complete the job. Then the commission started changing their minds. Russell was in debt up to his eyeballs at that point. But he still didn’t complain. Every phone call, every new meeting, brought a change from the commission. And then they canceled on him.”

  “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Nick was busy with his new career at the time. Russell would call him, but it seemed Nick could never talk. He had his own life, Annie. Russ never blamed Nick for that. But unfortunately, Nick blames himself terribly. We
never talk about it, but I know he thinks he could have prevented Russell’s stroke.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “It was awful at his funeral. I knew Nick was eaten up by guilt. He blames himself for not being here, for not warning Russell not to get so involved in that damn project.” Her voice shook on the last words and she lowered her head. The wind whipped across the patio and blew the last few brittle leaves of autumn into a corner near the door.

  “You know, Nick still hates to come back home. I try not to give him a hard time about it. Maybe someday he’ll find it in his heart to forgive George and the other commissioners . . . and himself.”

  “Don’t you miss Nick though?”

  “Oh, Annie. I see Nick all the time. That’s not a big deal. We went on that cruise at Thanksgiving, and then Chicago at Christmas. In February he is flying with me to Phoenix to visit my sister.”

  “Really?” My face felt hot and I must have shown some discomfort because Mary put her hand on my forearm and laughed.

  “Why, of course. I know he doesn’t come back to Truhart, but he is so generous in other ways. He is renting me a condo in Phoenix for a month and even flying this brood out to join me,” she said, gesturing to the misbehaved pack of dogs she loved so much. “Of course I won’t see him more than a few days, but it will be so nice to be with my sister this year. Last year Nick sent both of us to a quilting convention in St. Louis. He teases me about my quilting, you know. But that’s just for show.”

  The youngest dog was starting to dig in a dormant flower bed. “Get out of there, Lucifer!” she said, clapping her hands. But the rascal only put his ears back and wagged his tail. As Mary marched over to reprimand him I shivered and let her words register.

  It must have been so hard for Nick to be home. Now that I thought about it, I remember how tortured he had been when we first entered the barn, and the look on his face when I had uncovered that old saw.

  Mary was back, clutching Lucifer’s collar and handing me the frayed glove. “I’m going to run the energy out of these guys, Annie. Tell your mom I’ll call her. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything at all! It looks like I am going to have a full house. Not only will Nick and the girls be staying with me, but I am making room for any extra Adler cousins, just in case. Your mother put me on standby.”