The Rejected Writers' Christmas Wedding

by Suzanne Kelman

  “I think John has a secret!” said Annie, giggling.

  John swallowed hard. Had she read his mind?

  “I think he has a love of his life he’s not telling us about,” Annie finished.

  John sighed relief. “Nope,” he said. “I’m all single.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” Lavinia said, squeezing his knee. “But maybe not for long.”

  John was horrified. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. Flora sat all the way across the room from him, and with everyone seated in a circle like this, it would be hard to pull her aside without everyone knowing.

  Doris suddenly arrived in the room and banged a big wooden gavel on the table.

  He was taken aback. What was this? The People’s Court?

  “First, the pledge,” said Doris.

  John looked around the room for a flag and absently placed his hand across his heart. But instead of the Pledge of Allegiance, every woman took hands and recited some sort of poem about being rejected. He realized again why he hated small towns. None of this made any sense to him. Once they finished their pledge, two of the women eagerly announced that they had rejection letters, and Doris shouted, “Get the book!”

  Off went the little grumpy one, and John watched as Annie, the crazy knitting lady in the corner, pulled out a letter, as did that hippie woman. She seemed to be wearing a purple bedsheet. Around her waist hung a thick metal chain that looked as if a dog should be attached to the other end, and on her head, a pink turban. Maybe she’s going to tell us our fortune, he thought as he swallowed another lump of the cake he was barely tasting.

  Yep, he hated small towns.

  When the little grumpy one arrived back, she was carrying what appeared to be a massive photo album. Doris opened it and started to brag about all the rejection letters they had received from publishers. He sat in total disbelief as they began to read one rejection letter after another. Crazy. They were all completely crazy. Once she had finished, she took the new letters from the members, and a jar was passed around to collect money “for a local charity,” he was told.

  Doris banged her gavel down on the table again. “Now, it’s time to read!”

  “Oh, goody!” said Gracie. “I have a fairy story to share.”

  “I’ve got a horror,” said Ruby.

  “And I’ve brought some spice!” said Lavinia as she winked at John.

  He shoved another spoonful of the cake into his mouth. While they all were getting excited about reading their books, he slipped the cup of tea, now cold, onto a side table, hoping that no one would notice. If only Flora would move into a different room. He would just ask if they could have coffee in town somewhere; then he would be able to confront her.

  The pink turbaned lady stood up. “I shall start with my piece, ‘Dead Bodies from Outer Space,’” she declared. “It is more of a performance art.” In one hand, she held a scrappy bit of paper as she paraded around the room. She described a world where aliens used Earth as their cemetery. She contorted her body into odd positions and projected her voice dramatically. It wasn’t very well written, but it was definitely compelling.

  When she finished reading, the little old lady—Gracie, rose to her feet as if she were at a school assembly, with a neat piece of writing in her hand. She read a fairy story about toadstools and gnomes. Her eyes glistened as she informed John, “I generally write about growing up in England during World War II, but today I felt like writing a fairy story.” She then nodded and sat down.

  “Now,” said Doris, bringing them all to order, “I have a surprise for you all. Ethel and I will be back in a minute, as I will need her to help me.” John watched as they disappeared upstairs. He didn’t really need any more surprises tonight.

  Lavinia’s eyes shone as she suddenly spoke, “John, I think you should escort me to Flora’s wedding. You could be my plus one.”

  John looked across at Flora and felt a twinge of guilt—here they were, talking about her wedding when he was here to ruin it. Flora seemed like an OK person, and this was enough to give him second thoughts about his plans.

  Flora looked down. “You’re welcome to come with Lavinia if you wish,” she said quietly, nibbling on her cake.

  John didn’t respond. He hoped to be long gone before Flora’s wedding, if there was even going to be one. He stabbed at the last few mouthfuls of his food. He couldn’t believe what he’d gotten himself into here. He felt stifled. He needed to think. None of this was turning out how he had expected, and as distant as he’d been, they actually seemed to like him. They acted as if they liked being around him. Since he had met them at the twins’ house, they had gone out of their way to be nice to him whenever he ran into them in town. It had been a long time since he had felt that he hadn’t had to earn his place in a group—a long time since he’d felt accepted just for being himself. Annie moved over and held her latest knitting project up in front of him.

  “Nearly done,” she said, her face lighting up. “I’m hoping to have it finished for you for Christmas. I just need to measure the length of the arms.”

  It wasn’t until she produced a tape measure from her pocket and started calculating the length of his arm that he realized what she was saying: the sweater she was knitting was for him.

  Why would she do that? She hardly knew him. As she nodded and made notes on a writing pad, it made him think of his grandma. She died when he was young, but she had always knitted things for him to wear. He actually felt a bit choked up. He swallowed his brimming emotion down hard. He had to get this thing with Flora over with, put a stop to all this new emotion. He didn’t like how it made him feel. He jumped to his feet. He had to leave. He made a lame excuse and was gone.

  I was late getting to Doris’s, as I had spent time helping Stacy get the twins ready for bed. I passed John in the driveway at a clip, barely acknowledging my hello. As he dashed toward the road, another vehicle pulled into the driveway.

  “Ernie!” I exclaimed, making my way to the driver’s side of his car. He rolled down the window with a broad smile, revealing a couple of his gold teeth. He’d always struck me as a dapper older gentleman but with a mischievous, childlike spirit. We had met Ernie in Medford, Oregon, when we were on our road trip. He had become a dear friend, who had also performed in our musical show the year before.

  “What are you doing up here?” I asked.

  “I was summoned by her majesty to come up for Flora’s wedding. I guess I’m her guest!” he said in his deep, resonating tone.

  I linked arms with him as we walked up to the door together.

  But when Doris opened the front door, we were both taken aback. Instead of her regular clothes, she was dressed from head to toe in a huge tent like white cassock, a starched clerical collar, and around her neck, flowing vestments with embroidered gold crosses on either side.

  Ernie chuckled. “I just met her I swear,” he joked, unhooking his arm from mine. “I didn’t realize this was a setup—or am I here for confession?” he inquired, his eyes wide. “Because the latter could take a while.”

  “Come in, come in,” said Doris briskly. “I’m just about to make a big announcement.”

  Ernie and I looked at each other, shrugged, and made our way toward the front room.

  She opened the door and pushed us in ahead of her so we could find a seat before she made her entrance. Behind us, she coughed to get everyone’s attention.

  They all turned and watched, wide-eyed and openmouthed, as she floated reverently into the center of the room.

  “I have an incredible announcement for Flora,” she said with great pomp and ceremony. “I am now ordained by the church. My final papers arrived the other day, so I can now officially marry you and Dan.” An ostentatious smile spread across her face.

  Flora looked horrified.

  “So that’s the secret you’ve been keeping,” said Lavinia tartly. “That’s why Mrs. Barber was galloping up and down Main Street the other week, isn’t it?”

&n
bsp; “That was a misunderstanding,” said Doris briskly. “She saw the official church seal and thought I had a letter from the pope himself. Being a devout Catholic, she felt some urgency in communicating his eminence’s wishes to me. But I cleared it up with her later and let her know I am actually just a humble Universal minister, and I have nothing to do with that guy at the Vatican.”

  “I thought priests were men,” commented Gracie wistfully.

  “Not anymore.” Lottie shook her head. “Now anyone can get ordained on the Internet.”

  “Which means,” added Doris, “I can write your service, Flora, and help you with your vows.”

  “I’ve already asked Lavinia’s pastor to lead the service,” Flora said in a desperate tone.

  But Doris would have none of it. “I already spoke to him, and he thought it would be a great idea, if that’s what Flora wanted. I assured him it would be. Just think of all the fun we will have planning the service now!” Doris’s eyes sparkled.

  “Right,” Flora answered quietly. She didn’t seem convinced.

  “Now,” said Doris, “I have another surprise.”

  “I’m not sure my heart can take it,” Lottie whispered to me as she rolled her eyes.

  “Please join me in the next room,” Doris continued as she led the way.

  Ethel ushered us into the kitchen where we had to crowd around the edges. This was because Doris had pulled four tables into the center and placed upon them dozens and dozens of cakes, all different shapes and sizes and with colorful icing. Doris put on a cake-spattered apron, as did Gracie. The aprons appeared to have been in some sort of icing explosion.

  “We’ve had so much fun!” Gracie said. “I’m still on a sugar high.” She peered at us, faking a wild stare.

  “What is all this?” I asked.

  “All this,” said Doris, “is the taste-off.”

  “What exactly is a taste-off?” asked Lottie.

  “Here are all the ideas I’ve had for Flora’s wedding cake. Twenty-three, to be exact. We are going to spend the next hour trying each one to narrow down which cake Flora wants for her wedding.”

  “Now we’re talking,” said Ernie, picking up a fork.

  Flora appeared bewildered. “I’m actually quite a plain person, Doris. I’d be happy with just a simple sponge cake and white icing.”

  Doris soured as she pointed her spatula at Flora. “Not on my watch, young lady,” she said, wagging it up and down. “We can’t have the people coming to your wedding think there might be something wrong with me. A simple sponge cake with white icing? They would think I was ill or dead. No, this is going to be the best cake that Southlea Bay has ever seen.”

  Flora’s eyes widened with concern. “Please, I really don’t want a lot of fuss.” I watched her carefully. Her mood seemed to plummet as each day unfolded. It was as if she wanted to appear grateful but was really starting to feel suffocated by yet another way that Doris tried to “coordinate” her out of what she wanted.

  Doris continued, undeterred. “OK, each of you take a plate and work your way around the cakes.”

  Lavinia stopped her incredulously. “You’re telling us we’re going to eat all these cakes?”

  Annie shook her head, bemused. “I think I would end up in a diabetic coma.”

  “I’m not asking you to eat a slab,” said Doris, annoyed. “Just a little bit here and a little bit there, and it’s imperative that you take notes. I have a score sheet that I’ll give to each of you, and you can give me marks out of ten on all the different areas—from taste, to texture, to how it looks.”

  Ernie beamed, flashing his gold teeth, his eyes agog as he took in the sights before him: a spread that would’ve put the Queen of England to shame. “Tell me where to start!” He lifted his fork in the air.

  Doris placed a hand on his chest. “Start with your form,” she said, giving him one to fill in.

  “I can’t eat a form,” he retorted.

  “No, but you need to make sure that you tell me which cakes you prefer.”

  “I prefer all of them,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “I just need to get going.”

  Ethel clicked her tongue with visible irritation.

  Doris was having none of it. “Ernie, I will not let you lay one fork on any of these cakes until you agree to fill out this form.”

  “Well, when you put it like that,” he said. “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and took the form and a pen.

  “OK,” I said, grabbing myself a fork “Might as well get on with piling on the calories now. Glad I wore my stretch pants.”

  We all surrendered to Doris’s leadership and moved around the table, taking heaping forkfuls of different cakes and marking down on our score sheets what we liked the best. Doris hovered over each of our shoulders as she made noises of encouragement and sometimes disapproval when people weren’t filling their sheets in correctly.

  As we continued to move around the kitchen, I noticed that Ernie wasn’t really taking it very seriously; he was just ticking off boxes willy-nilly and pretending to give her his attention What he really seemed to be doing was enjoying cake.

  “I made the fairy one,” Gracie piped up, pointing to a tiered pink cake in the corner that was decorated with rainbow sparkles. On the top, she’d placed one of her crowns. “It’s plain sponge and icing—like you want, Flora.”

  Flora smiled. “It looks lovely, Gracie.”

  “What is this?” Lavinia spit her cake back onto the plate.

  Lottie admonished her sister, “Lavinia, that’s not ladylike.”

  “Have you tried this one?” Lavinia pointed her spoon at a rather unassuming cake in the corner.

  “That was an experiment,” huffed Doris. “I take it you don’t like it.”

  “Experiment with what?” asked Lavinia. “What you could use out of the garbage?”

  “Just a few bits and pieces, you know, almond flour and prunes, and the likes of that,” said Doris defensively. “I was getting bored by about three o’clock this morning. I’d already gone through pounds of flour when I decided to try this.”

  “I’m not sure what that was, but that is definitely not for me,” said Lavinia, putting a big red X on her chart as she wiped her mouth. “It tastes like Chinese food.”

  “So that’s where my sesame oil went,” responded Doris thoughtfully. “I must have grabbed that instead of the canola oil by mistake.”

  We continued to make our rounds of the whole table. By the end of it, I was starting to feel quite sick.

  “Well,” said Doris, “do we have a winner?”

  We all tallied up the marks, and Gracie’s simple fairy cake with the pink icing won.

  “I’m the winner,” said Gracie, clapping her hands together.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Doris. “After all this work I went to, you’re going to go with something boring.”

  We all smiled. “Sorry, Doris,” I said, “this is the one that tastes the best.”

  She huffed and collected the result sheets. “We’d better go and finish our book club meeting. Now, we know we’ve got plenty of cake. Which one would you like with your next cup of tea?”

  “None!” We all shouted in unison.

  Chapter 9

  John Wayne & the Welsh Sheepdog Trials

  I arrived at the wedding rehearsal early. I had more than one concern about Doris’s wedding service ideas, and I wanted to be there to support Flora. As I walked into the Labettes’ chapel, Ethel greeted me at the entrance She was set up at the door with a box of labels in her hand. Handing me one, she told me to write my name down.

  Write my name down? I knew everybody and everybody knew me, but I did as I was told; I’d learned to do that the hard way.

  I made my way into the room, which was stunning. What had looked like a sad, tired storage space just a short time before had been turned into a tiny chapel, especially with its vaulted ceilings, which were now repainted white It had lovely wood-paneled walls, and the huge
picture window at the front gave me a stunning view of the water. The old exercise and gaming equipment was gone, and now the room was filled with lines of little wooden folding chairs, each one with a tapestry pillow made by the twins’ mama warming its seats.

  Down the center aisle, the twins had lit tall white candles, and the room smelled of fresh cedar and jasmine. As I made my way down the aisle, my feet creaking on the floorboards, I felt a sudden sense of excitement for Flora and her wedding. At the front of the aisle, the twins had placed a large vase of Christmas flowers and, dotted around the stage area, tiny poinsettias of white and pink.

  I noticed that most members of the Rejected Writers’ Book Club were already seated in the first few pews, awaiting our fearless leader. Everybody looked bemused and confused, each of them also wearing their labels. Lavinia’s badge said “the Twin” and Lottie’s said “the Other Twin.” Ruby’s read “Radical Nonconformist.” Annie’s read “the Dog Wrangler,” and in Gracie’s spidery hand, “Fairy.”

  Doris arrived in her full robes, wearing her label, which said “Wedding Coordinator and Reverend Doris Newberry.”

  When the door opened, Flora and Dan walked down the aisle together, hand in hand. Ethel followed after them, like a disenchanted bridesmaid, carrying her box of labels.

  “They’re not wearing their badges,” she said with a sniff to Doris, who looked cross. Taking the badges from Ethel, she scribbled something on both of them and slapped a sticker onto Dan’s chest that said “the Bridegroom” and then one onto Flora’s that said “the Bride.”

  “Thank goodness,” Dan joked. “I wouldn’t have known who you were without your badge.”

  I shook my head as Flora smiled. She looked tired.

  “It’s better if everybody knows who they are,” said Doris hotly as she encouraged everybody to move to the front of the aisle, where she had set up a large whiteboard with stick figures in different positions. She picked up a pointer, which she used to point to the stick figures on the board. Following a marked-out plan on the whiteboard, Doris said, “Right, let’s take it from the top,” as if we were all going to start high kicking in a line. Suddenly, she stopped. “Where’s Martin?”