“He will be here any minute.”
Doris’s face displayed her annoyance. “The rehearsal was meant to be at five o’clock sharp. Did he not get the message?”
“Yeah, he did,” I said, nodding, but he was not good at being told what to do.
Suddenly, he appeared at the door and waved to us all. Ethel ran up the aisle with the label box she’d snatched back from Doris.
When he joined the group, he was indeed wearing his name badge, which read “John Wayne.” I shook my head. Doris complained, so he scribbled it out and wrote “Steve Martin” as a nod to the movie Father of the Bride. Doris was not amused.
“We have to get started now,” she said. “Martin, you grab the bride. That’s Flora.” She pointed her stick at Flora’s name tag.
I could see Martin’s mouth already starting to twitch.
Doris started ordering everybody around. She was like an angry collie herding a flock at the Welsh sheepdog trials. She pointed her stick at Martin. “You take Flora”—she pointed back to Flora, who was standing next to Martin, then pointed to the chart—“up the aisle. Who’s standing in for the best man?”
“That would be me,” said Ruby, jumping up.
Suddenly, the doors opened again, and in walked a figure we all knew. “Olivia!” we shouted at once as she came down the aisle, her tiny birdlike figure draped in layers of black lace, her long dark hair rolling in coils down her back, and her usual bulky jewelry sparkling elegantly from her fingers. Olivia, my granddaughter’s namesake, had been our music director for the musical we’d produced to try to save Annie’s farm.
“I heard you’d be needing a pianist,” she said and lifted her hands.
Reverend Doris huffed. “Olivia’s agreed to help us out, and if she’d been on time, she’d have known.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows and let them drop. She was not easily ruffled.
“For the wedding, I have Mrs. Hemlock, the local church organist,” Doris continued. “She will be playing the Wedding March.” Flora nodded. “But for the rehearsal, she couldn’t make it. They’ve got choir practice today. So I’ve asked Olivia to stand in. She will play the music for us.”
Olivia slid past us all, making her way to the piano. I noticed she’d already been accosted by Ethel and was wearing her name tag, which said, “the One and Only Olivia.”
That was true, all right.
“OK,” said Doris, “hopefully, if we don’t have any more interruptions, we can get this going.” She pointed at her whiteboard again. “So, Martin”—she banged on it—“you take the bride”—she pointed at Flora—“to the top of the aisle.” She pointed to the top of the aisle on her whiteboard.
“Think I’ve got it,” said Martin, trying not to laugh.
“When the music starts, you, Ruby”—she pointed to the best man on the chart—“and you, Dan”—she caught him his her sights with her stick—“you will rise and wait for your bride. Annie and Ethel, you can stand in as the flower girl and ring bearer.”
They both nodded as Annie put down her latest knitting project and Ethel grabbed her box of badges.
“You two will come down first, once the groom”—she swiveled her stick toward Dan— “and the best man”—she pointed to Ruby—“are standing. Got it?”
“I think so.” Annie giggled. “I’ve been to a couple of weddings.” She and Ethel moved to the back of the chapel.
“Then the bridesmaids will come down,” Doris said and flicked her stick at Lavinia and Lottie.
“Maybe old maids would be more appropriate,” Lottie said and sighed wistfully.
“You speak for yourself, sister dear,” said Lavinia ruefully. “I’m considering picking up husband number four at this shindig.”
“Do you know how to walk to the Wedding March?” inquired Doris, looking over her glasses.
“I might have done it a couple of times before,” said Lavinia in her sassy fashion.
“And I’ve wore more than my fair share of bridesmaids dresses,” added her sister in a weary tone.
“Go then,” said Doris, banging her stick on the board.
And the sisters quickly scooted up the aisle to take their places.
“OK,” said Doris. “Let’s do it. Places, everybody. Hit it, Olivia.” She pointed her stick at Olivia.
Olivia started to play “Ragtime,” and Doris gave her a cold, hard stare. “Just making sure you’re all awake,” Olivia said and then slid gracefully into “Wedding March.”
Doris pointed at Dan, who, trying not to smirk, stood up next to Ruby. Then she motioned to Annie. Annie decided to play her part to the full. She danced down the aisle, scattering fake petals and humming as she went. Doris looked stolidly at Annie as she watched her giggle and twirl into one of the pews. Ethel, on the other hand, was very reverent. She used her name tag badge box, pretending it was the ring cushion, and she walked somberly down the aisle. Doris nodded her approval, and she, too, slid into one of the rows.
Lavinia started making her way down the aisle, batting her eyelashes and waving at imaginary people.
“What in heck’s name are you doing?” hissed her sister, walking a couple of paces behind her. “This is not some ticker-tape parade.”
“Practicing,” responded her sister through a beaming smile. “He’s out there somewhere.”
Doris shook her head sternly as the sisters reached the front. She pointed her pointer at Martin. “Go, bride,” she said.
Flora and Martin started to walk down the aisle.
“Stop,” Doris shouted.
Both of them stopped, shocked.
“You’re walking too fast, Flora. You need to step together. Step together. It needs to be slow and graceful. Remember, you’re a bride.”
Flora shook her head, and I saw Martin tap her on the arm reassuringly.
“Go again,” said Doris.
Olivia’s hands came down on the keys once more. Flora started to move forward again.
“Stop,” shouted Doris. “What are you doing, Flora?”
“Trying to walk down the aisle,” she responded, obviously frustrated.
“Well, you’re not walking on the beat, are you?”
“I’m trying,” she said, getting irritated.
Doris huffed, put down her pointer, and marched up the aisle. Pushing Martin aside, she took hold of Flora’s arm and showed her how to walk on the beat. When Doris left and went back to the front, Flora seemed perturbed.
“Go,” she shouted.
I could see that Flora was really struggling. She tried it two more times before she eventually got it the way that Doris liked it. By the time she got to the front of the aisle, she looked totally rattled.
Doris looked out at the invisible crowd and started the service:
“Ladies and gentlemen, a wise old cook once said there’s more to a good ham-hock stew than the trotters you put in it.”
Flora stopped her. “What are you doing?”
“The service,” said Doris abruptly.
“That’s not our service,” Flora responded, blinking behind her glasses.
“Yes, well, I’ve changed the one that you did,” Doris said defensively. “It wasn’t very good the way it was written. Lots of flowery words and sad dead poet references. You surely don’t want to talk about dead people at your wedding. I think something more down-to-earth is better. So I’m comparing getting married to preparing my favorite pig trotter stew recipe. This will be better.”
I bit my lip, trying to decide if I should jump in and rescue her, as Flora appeared taken aback. Before I could respond, Flora spoke again, her voice raised.
“B-but those were the words of some of the most romantic poets—Keats, Lord Byron, and William Wordsworth,” she stammered on.
“All dead,” said the Reverend sharply, straightening her dog collar and adding, “I looked them up on the World Wide Web. I’ve also changed your vows,” she added. “Here’s your copy of each of them. I think we should be consistent,
don’t you?”
Flora read the words in front of her. “What is all this about baking and marriage? I was using passages from Shakespeare’s Sonnets.”
“He’s dead, too!” retorted Doris.
Flora looked devastated, and she glanced at Dan, who lowered his tone. “I will fight for this if you don’t want it, but just so you know, whatever you say to me, I don’t care,” he said. “As long as you say ‘I do’ at the end.”
But Flora was having none of it.
“I want my Shakespeare,” she said through her gritted teeth.
Doris huffed. “OK, if you insist, you can do a little bit of that Shakespeare stuff but then do some of this as well,” she said as she slapped her stick on the page that she’d written.
We carried on through the rest of the rehearsal—with Doris pushing us around—until, eventually, it was over. I noted Flora appeared frustrated and tired. I took her aside.
“You can do your own vows, Flora. Don’t let Doris boss you around. Just say whatever you want on the day. She can’t stop you.”
Flora nodded, but I could see that she had had different expectations of the rehearsal, and she left looking frustrated.
“I think that went well,” said Doris, straightening her robes. “I think it will go great next week.”
We left the church. I caught Martin’s eye. He whistled. “I’m glad she wasn’t around when we got married,” he said. “I may never have waited at the end of that aisle.”
“I may never have come down it,” I added, smiling as he gave me a hug.
“Yes, she missed her career opportunity all right,” Martin continued. “As a divorce mediator, she could have halved the divorce rate by now.”
“How come?” I asked.
“No one would have ever gotten married.”
John sat in his car outside the gates at the Labettes’ house, hoping Flora would be walking home this evening. He was getting antsy. For the last two weeks, he had tried to talk to Flora alone, but she was always with Dan or one of these ladies. As he saw Dan drive her away in his car, he made a decision. He was going to make one last-ditch attempt to confront her. He had heard from Lavinia that there was going to be a bachelorette party at Doris’s. He was going to talk to her then and tell her what he knew about her. He checked the letter he had written the night before; it was still in his pocket. When he got a chance, he would go down to the post office and get the stamps he needed. If for some reason he didn’t get to talk to her this time, he was going to post this to her, and she could send the money he wanted on to him.
Chapter 10
Clucking Hens & a Dress Unfit for a Bride
Not to be outdone again by the Labette sisters, Doris insisted on throwing Flora’s bachelorette party at her house. When I arrived, I was amazed to see everybody sitting in the front room, wearing a crazy hat. What was it with Doris and hats? Only the year before, she had made us all wear odd hats to help inspire us for our show. Here we were again, everyone sitting in their usual array of odd chairs, looking very strange.
“Did I miss the memo?” I asked.
“Come in quickly,” said Doris, hustling me into a chair and shoving a hat on my head. As she raced off to a different room, I looked at the group. They were wearing hats with bird pictures decorating the sides.
“There’s one thing you can say for small towns,” said Lavinia. “You never get bored.”
“Amen,” said Lottie.
“I feel sorry for those poor schmucks who live in a city where they have real issues to deal with on a daily basis,” added Ruby, shaking her head.
Gracie clapped her hands. “I love my hat! A tinsel crown is my favorite, but I do like being a bird.”
I took off my hat to get a closer look at it. I thought it was some sort of fowl—a duck or a goose. It looked as if Doris had drawn them herself.
“I helped color them in,” added Gracie. “And I added the sparkles.”
I looked again at my hat. There were definitely plenty of sparkles.
Doris arrived back in the room. “She’s here, she’s here. Get ready.”
“Get ready for what?” I asked.
“We’re going to all surprise her. I’ve got many surprises planned tonight. It’s going to be fun,” she added sternly, without making it sound fun at all.
Doris raced off into the hallway.
“I always get nervous when she talks about fun,” said Lavinia. “I remember all the other days when we’ve had Doris’s ‘fun.’ ‘Fun’ going to see a publisher all the way in San Francisco. ‘Fun’ putting on a show when none of us could actually dance or sing. Doris’s idea of fun is very different than mine.”
Suddenly, the living-room door opened and we all stood there, not quite sure what to do. But instead of Flora, it was John. Doris looked really disappointed.
“It was only him,” she said, pushing him into the front room. “He was lurking around outside.”
“I just wanted a quick word with Flora—” he said . . . then stopped. He surveyed the room, taking in the group of middle-aged women sitting in duck hats with sparkles.
“Don’t ask,” I said, reading his expression. I could only imagine what he was thinking. “Just roll with it. I’ve realized that with Doris, that’s the best way to go.”
John’s face was a cross between you all look crazy and what did I get myself into now?
Doris sat John down in an empty chair before he had time to protest. “You have to stay here before we start the party. I can’t risk you leaving while we’re waiting for Flora to arrive. It might spoil the surprise.” She handed him a hat.
He looked at her as though she’d asked him to eat dirt.
“Well, put it on, put it on,” said Doris, hustling him along. There was something about Doris when she was in her organizational mode that could rival any dictator. You just felt forced to do whatever she said. I noted this as John shoved his hat on his head and sat there, looking confused. He would certainly have some stories to take back to the city when he finally disentwined himself from small-town madness.
As Doris disappeared to continue her watch at the kitchen window, Ethel rolled a tray of tea and one of Doris’s cakes in. She was the most depressing bird I’d ever seen.
Suddenly, there was a yell from the kitchen.
“She’s here, it’s definitely her,” said Doris. She stomped back into the room and signaled to Ethel to answer the door. As Ethel plodded off to follow her orders, Doris informed us of the plan. “As soon as she comes in, we all need to jump up and start clucking.”
“Start what?” said Lottie.
“Clucking,” reiterated Doris.
“Ah, they’re hens,” I said, realizing what the picture on the hat was.
“Yes, cluck—like a hen,” she added, as if explaining it to a group of kindergartners.
I smiled at John, who looked bewildered.
“Welcome to Small Town,” I said. “I expect a month ago, you couldn’t imagine jumping up and clucking like a hen.”
Flora appeared in the front room, and we all jumped up and started clucking, even John, though I must say, his attempt was rather half-hearted.
Flora looked as though she couldn’t connect the dots.
“Surprise!” shouted Doris over the barnyard din.
“Surprise?” inquired Flora. “You’re right, I’m surprised. I didn’t expect to find a brood of hens in here.”
“I gave it so much gusto,” said Annie. “I almost laid an egg.” She giggled.
“We have one for you,” said Gracie, picking up a large hen hat and placing it on Flora’s head. “You can be the queen hen.”
“Is there a reason I’m a barnyard animal?” asked Flora. She looked drained and tired. The wedding preparations were obviously having an effect on her. That, and having to battle Doris on a daily basis couldn’t be a happy prospect, I thought to myself.
“Isn’t it obvious?” snapped Doris.
We all stared back blankly.
“A hen night?” we asked in unity, even John.
“Oh yes,” said Gracie. “We had them in England all the time.”
“Is that like a bachelorette party?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s the British version. We call it a hen night. It’s a night where we all celebrate the bride-to-be.”
“Ah!” I said. The dots were finally joining up together. “This is some sort of British tradition. I guess they have Small Town over there as well?”
“Yes,” said Gracie. “I’m from one.”
“That makes sense,” I responded.
“This is just the start of the adventure,” added Doris, jumping to her feet. “We are all going to celebrate Flora’s wedding, and we’re all going to be hens, except John. He’ll have to go, as this is for female hens only—no roosters.”
John did not look unhappy about that prospect. “No problem,” he said, whipping the hat off his head and leaving. One escaped, I thought. Shame Martin wasn’t here; he’d quite have enjoyed something like this.
“OK, Doris,” I said, “lay it on us. What’s the plan?”
“I’ve put together a very special event,” said Doris. “I have managed to talk people all over town into helping me with this plot. “There are surprises hidden everywhere. We are going to cluck our way around town, collecting each one and celebrating Flora along the way.”
“Cluck around, collecting surprises?” I cringed. “Sounds like a blast.”
“Good,” said Doris. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“Lead on, Macduff,” said Lavinia, leaping to her feet, readjusting her hen hat, and putting on her jacket.
“First stop,” said Doris, “is Ruby-Skye’s shop. Now, everyone has to keep wearing their hats. Let’s all stay in the party mood.”
“I wouldn’t dream of getting out of the party mood,” I said sarcastically.
The Rejected Writers' Christmas Wedding (The Southlea Bay Series Book 3) Page 9