A Lowcountry Wedding

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Devlin hurried to greet Imogene. He took her hand, kissed it, and said with a gallant bow, “Your Majesty.”

  Mamaw stifled a laugh with her hand. Devlin had an Irish sense of humor, the kind that made people laugh by poking at the truth. Usually someone was pricked by the point of the joke.

  To Imogene’s credit, she played along, eyeing Devlin with a glint of humor. “I see you’re still playing the role of jester.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “Still rollicking in the sand and sea.”

  Imogene’s rigid face cracked with a smile of amusement. “Incorrigible.”

  Devlin’s eyes glinted with pleasure.

  “Granny James.” Dora came up to kiss her cheek. “I’m so happy to see you again. We’ve missed you.”

  “How lovely you look, my dear,” Imogene said, receiving her kiss. “Tell me, dear girl, why aren’t you joining this wedding parade? We could have a triple wedding. What’s one more?” Imogene turned to Devlin. “Scoundrel! Aren’t you going to make an honest woman of our Eudora?”

  Devlin flushed and cast a telling glance at Dora.

  “He’s tried,” Dora explained quickly. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I’m enjoying being footloose and fancy-free.”

  “I see.” Imogene studied her.

  “But don’t worry. Wedding bells are coming. We’re just biding our time.”

  Imogene leaned close to Dora and said in a stage whisper, “Just don’t wait too long, my dear.”

  Taylor walked over with a drink and handed it to Granny James, without asking her what she wanted.

  Granny took it while eyeing him speculatively. She tilted her head questioningly then took a sip. “Delicious. Well done. You may do, after all.”

  Dora gave a little laugh while Mamaw brought Girard to greet Imogene. Girard had the talent to make small talk appear effortless, and Mamaw was relieved to see that Imogene made no attempts to further her outrageous flirtation with Girard from her last visit, which she’d done purely to get a rise out of Mamaw. Harper interrupted to introduce her grandmother to Taylor’s parents. Girard stepped away and returned to Mamaw’s side with an amused wink.

  “Granny, allow me to introduce you to Taylor’s parents.” Harper, a graceful and experienced hostess, guided them forward. Her emerald-green dress, the same shade as Granny James’s skirt, was bateau-necked with a slender, dazzling belt. Pavé diamonds encircled her emerald earrings, which took center stage as her red hair was slicked back in a chignon. With her sleek eyeliner, Mamaw thought Harper’s retro look could be on the cover of a 1950s Vogue.

  “This is Jenny and Alistair McClellan,” Harper continued the introduction. “They’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told them so much about you.”

  “Oh, dear, should I be worried?” Imogene asked with a warm smile.

  “Not at all,” Mr. McClellan assured her. “Harper sings your praises.” He towered over Imogene as he stepped close to take Imogene’s hand and shake it hard.

  Mamaw hid her smile as she watched Imogene teeter a bit with the force of it. “Well, I see where Taylor gets his strength from!” Imogene said good-naturedly.

  And his size, thought Mamaw, seeing father and son stand side by side. Alistair wore the classic dress attire of a lowcountry man—pressed khakis, a pressed, open-collared shirt, and a navy blazer with shiny brass buttons. Beside him, Harper’s influence was seen in Taylor’s well-cut camel-hair jacket and Hermès tie.

  “We all call him Captain,” Harper said with an affectionate glance at her future father-in-law.

  “Then I shall, too.” Imogene turned to Jenny McClellan and smiled graciously. “Congratulations are in order, are they not?”

  Mrs. McClellan was a small, sturdy woman, no bigger than Harper but more substantial. Her green eyes shone with warmth and her brown hair was naturally streaked with gray. Mamaw thought there was no question whom Taylor got his eyes from. Jenny wore a simple navy knit dress that showed off her fit body and plain navy pumps. Though a bit stodgy in dress, her manner shone forthright and open, a woman comfortable in her skin. The two women shook hands warmly.

  “And you must be Miller, Taylor’s brother,” Imogene said warmly to the fifteen-year-old boy patiently waiting his turn.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy made his parents proud the way he stepped up to greet her and take her hand.

  Taylor beamed with pride and slapped his brother’s shoulder. Miller was tall like his brother but slim and gangly, like a puppy that had not yet filled out to fit his paws. Miller wore a carbon copy of his father’s clothes. Even the shoes looked brand-new. Mamaw thought Jenny did her men proud.

  The scene was replayed with Carson’s future in-laws, Linda and David Legare. Blake looked very much like his father. David was also tall and slender, except his dark hair was more salt than pepper. Behind his heavy-framed glasses, David’s eyes were a warm brown. He was a professor of biology at College of Charleston and looked the part in his baggy brown suit and open-collared, plaid shirt.

  Blake’s mother, however, was rather plump and plain in a mauve, flounced dress that only made her skin look all the more pale. A simple strand of pearls graced her neck, lovely and lustrous, but they appeared minimal compared to Imogene’s ostentatious pearls, as any others would. Mamaw thought the show of wealth out of place at a family gathering and was secretly glad she’d decided on topaz tonight. Still, she thought to herself, Imogene was on her best behavior. She was making an effort, it was clear. Imogene was a woman of substantial wealth, stature, and title. She was accustomed to grand fetes with a class of people who had high expectations. Like so many women of her station, she could be utterly charming to those people she found interesting or important. And cold and aloof to those she did not. Thus Mamaw warmed to Imogene’s humanity tonight. She had dropped the façade and was behaving as any grandmother of the bride should, graciously, even warmly, paving the way for healthy, prosperous relationships for her granddaughter.

  Linda, however, withdrew her hand quickly from Imogene’s and appeared ill at ease. Carson noticed and came to stand by Blake’s mother’s side with a commendable loyalty. Carson had a natural beauty that needed no adornment. She was a vision in a long ivory silk gown that flowed from one shoulder over her body like water over rocks. She wore no jewelry save for her engagement ring and appeared all the more lovely for her simplicity. Few women could carry off a gown like that, Mamaw thought with pride.

  “Linda is a primary-school teacher on John’s Island, where they live,” Carson informed Imogene, prodding a conversation.

  “How interesting your job must be, guiding all those young minds,” Imogene said.

  Linda took heart at the comment and launched into a monologue on the importance of children maintaining handwriting skills.

  While Imogene listened with a practiced smile, Mamaw stepped away and got a glass of water. Her throat was parched, more from nerves than speaking. She was anxious for act 2 of the play. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was nearly seven o’clock. The cocktail hour was coming to an end, and as yet, Atticus had not arrived. From across the room she caught Harper’s sharp, desperate gaze. She stood by the fireplace and discreetly lifted her hands as if to say, What should we do?

  Mamaw froze in indecision.

  Harper came to her side, eyes wide with concern, and leaned close to her ear. “Mamaw, I really have to start serving dinner. The meat will go dry.”

  Mamaw wrung her hands. Where are you, Atticus? She’d thought of little else but his visit in the past few days. She’d dug out Parker’s old photo album and studied photograph after photograph, her fingertips lovingly caressing his face as she searched for any resemblance to Atticus. It was silly of her, she knew, but by having Atticus in her life she felt she was being given a second chance. To be a better mother—or grandmother. Her heart knew a surge of worry that Atticus had decided not to come to the party after all. And more, that he’d decided not to make further contact with the Muir fa
mily. Please, God, let him come. Mamaw glanced at the door, willing the bell to ring.

  And at just that moment, it did.

  From the moment Atticus entered the room, it seemed as though a spotlight shone on him. Everyone in the room paused in his or her conversation to look toward the door. Mamaw’s hand rose to her throat as she took in the young man in his well-cut navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and navy tie, worn with every bit as much style and panache as Taylor and the other young men in the room showed. Mamaw felt a rush of pride at his poise and polish. This was her grandson.

  “You’re here!” Harper exclaimed after opening the door, then reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  Atticus greeted Harper with a warm smile and said something Mamaw couldn’t hear. He handed Harper a bouquet of yellow roses. Taking them in her hands, she ushered him into the room.

  While Harper put the flowers on the side table, Atticus adjusted his cuffs, turning his head at a slight angle to let his eyes glance discreetly at the people in the room. Mamaw caught her breath. This was a typical movement of Parker’s. Atticus caught her eye, and his smile at seeing her lit up his blue eyes and transformed his face from merely handsome to astonishing.

  “Atticus!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to greet him. Her gaze devoured him hungrily. “I’ve been waiting for you. How handsome you look.” She took his hand and held it tightly for a moment. Then, looking into his blue eyes, she said with meaning, “We’re all so happy you’re here.”

  He stood beaming at her, their secret sizzling between them. “I’m sorry I was delayed.”

  “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” They hugged and Mamaw inhaled the subtle scent of sandalwood and felt the creamy cashmere wool of his jacket. “Come, let me introduce you around.”

  “Mamaw,” Harper cut in, almost breathless with happiness. She placed her hand on Atticus’s sleeve. “Please, allow me.”

  “Of course,” Mamaw replied. She caught the warmth in Harper’s expression and was delighted at her and Atticus’s rapport. Mamaw released his hand and clasped hers together, enjoying the view from the sidelines.

  Carson came rushing forward with long strides, her silk gown sweeping the floor. Atticus smiled broadly, glad to see her again.

  “Rev! There you are! At last. I was worried I’d have to chase after you again.” Carson leaned forward and kissed Atticus on the cheek. “Come on over here. I want to introduce you to Blake.” Grasping Atticus’s hand, she turned and looked over the room, chewing her lip. “Where did that man go?” she said with a hint of frustration. “Hold on one minute. I’ll go get him.”

  Carson released Atticus’s hand and went in search of her missing fiancé. Atticus chuckled at her nickname for him. It touched a soft spot for the friendliness implied. Beside him, Harper raised her hand, signaling someone. He didn’t stand alone long. Taylor came forward to vigorously shake Atticus’s hand. Taylor was a big man, as big as Kwame and with as stern a face and as powerful a grip. Atticus wondered what sport he’d played in college.

  “This is my Taylor,” Harper said, introducing them.

  Taylor smiled and his eyes warmed, revealing that the big guy also had a big heart. “So you’re Atticus,” he said, seemingly eager to be friendly. “I was right glad to hear the news.”

  “News?” Atticus was taken aback. He darted a look to Mamaw laced with suspicion that she had told them their secret.

  Mamaw discreetly shook her head, indicating she had not told anyone of his identity.

  “That you’re marrying us,” Taylor explained.

  “Oh. Yes,” Atticus said, catching himself. “Hey, man, it’s my pleasure.”

  Carson came hurrying back, Blake in tow. Blake stepped forward with his hand extended. Both men were about the same height, though Blake was more slender in frame. They shook hands firmly.

  “Carson’s told me that she’s found a great new friend,” Blake said. “A confidant.”

  “Did she? Well, then, I guess I am,” Atticus replied good-naturedly. “I hope I’ll be your friend, too.”

  “Let’s see how you feel about me after those pre-wedding chats,” Blake joked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be easy on you. You’re the one who works with dolphins, aren’t you?”

  “That’s me.” Blake took a sip from his drink.

  “The weirdest thing happened to me the other day. I was standing by the inlet, Breach Inlet I think it’s called, just looking out, when this dolphin came closer to the shore. It stopped right in front of me. Is that normal?”

  “It depends,” Blake said. “The water’s turbulent there and it makes for great fishing for the dolphins. It could’ve been after one.”

  “I don’t know if this one was. I swear it seemed to look me right in the eye. And I gotta be honest with you, it was a pretty powerful moment.”

  Carson stepped closer. “How big was the dolphin?”

  Atticus shrugged. “I don’t know anything about dolphins, but average I’d guess. There was something unusual, though. This one had all these scars along its body.”

  Carson gasped. “Delphine.” She looked to Blake and they shared a long meaningful glance.

  “You know that dolphin?” Atticus asked.

  “Yes,” Carson said.

  “Did the dolphin stay close or move on?” Blake asked, more interested now.

  “It moved on. Really, the whole thing probably lasted only a minute, but I’ll never forget it.”

  “That’s good,” Blake replied. “It’s only a problem if they stay and beg for food.”

  “Nope, no begging.”

  Blake was called by his mother from across the room. He excused himself. Soon after, Taylor and Harper went off to do some host duty. Atticus was left standing alone with Carson.

  She looked over her shoulder as though scoping out the whereabouts of Blake, then leaned closer and said almost in a conspiratorial whisper, “Do you know how to paddleboard?”

  The question surprised Atticus. “Uh, yeah, I can manage a board.”

  “Good. Come by tomorrow morning. At dawn. We’ll go paddleboarding. There’s something I want you to see.”

  The invitation seemed entirely innocent, but looking into her eyes, he saw them dancing as though she were up to mischief.

  Carson spotted Blake waving her over. “You can let me know later,” she said, and hurried across the room to join Blake with his parents.

  Atticus felt uncomfortable with the seemingly clandestine invitation. Sometimes women formed attachments to their minister, especially after a personal conversation. It was always wrong, but in this case with his sister, it was egregiously wrong.

  Mamaw stepped up beside him. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Do go with Carson. You’ll have a wonderful time. No one knows these waters better than Carson. I’m so pleased to see you getting along.”

  “I like her enormously. But”—he hesitated—“the way she was looking over her shoulder, it seemed she was making sure that Blake didn’t know about the invitation.”

  Understanding flashed in Mamaw’s eyes. “She doesn’t want Blake to know because she wants to check on Delphine. Your story about the scars prompted this, I’m sure.”

  “You mean the dolphin?”

  “Yes.” Mamaw noticed Carson returning. “Ask her to tell you the story,” Mamaw hastily added, then walked away.

  Carson returned, anxiously awaiting his answer. “So? Can you make it?”

  Atticus smiled. “Absolutely. I’m in.”

  “Good.” Carson leaned closer to give him the specifics of what he’d need to bring.

  While they were speaking, Harper clapped her small hands together for attention. She licked her lips, then spread out her hands. “If you look on the cocktail table, you’ll see Taylor brought out a tray of champagne flutes. Would you all please take one? We have a toast . . . or rather a few toasts we’d like to make.”

  Amid murmurs of pleasure the guests collected their glasses. In an amusing,
and expected, conundrum, Miller reached for a glass only to be thwarted by his mother. He scowled and went off to retrieve another glass of sweet tea.

  Taylor approached and handed a glass of champagne to Atticus.

  Atticus took the wineglass without comment.

  Carson came back to his side carrying two tall glasses. “Here, Atticus, I’ve brought you a sweet tea.”

  Atticus took the drink and sent a quiet Thank you her way. He discreetly set the wineglass on the table beside him.

  “Everyone!” Harper called out. She clanged the side of her glass with a spoon, corralling the attention. Again, the room quieted and everyone looked at her expectantly. She appeared radiant.

  “Taylor and I want to thank you all for coming tonight and joining us in celebrating our engagement, and the engagement of Carson and Blake. Our weddings are around the corner now, and this is the first of many celebrations to come.”

  There was a chorus of “Hear hear.”

  “I look around the room and I see our growing family, and it fills my heart with great joy. First, a toast to family!”

  “To family!” the group echoed, and glasses were raised.

  Mamaw quickly glanced at Atticus, delighted with the toast that included him. He kept his gaze straightforward, and she wondered if the toast made him feel uncomfortable, or if he was privately pleased.

  “I’d like to introduce to you a very special guest. The Reverend Atticus Green.” Harper turned to indicate his presence at her right. “Atticus is a dear family friend of Mamaw’s. And now ours as well. So it’s all the more special that he has agreed to officiate at our weddings.”

  A host of muffled expressions of surprise followed. Mamaw scrutinized the reactions carefully. Imogene had a stiff smile on her lips and one brow raised, but she appeared more annoyed that she had not been consulted on the decision. Beside her, the McClellans appeared pleased with the announcement. One more item checked off the to-do list. David Legare rocked on his heels impassively. In contrast, his wife Linda’s face was flushed and her lips tightened. Mamaw’s eyes narrowed. She preempted any disagreeable comments by stepping forward.