Here Come the Bridesmaids!

by Ann M. Martin

“She’s here! … She’s here!? … She’s here! …” voices repeated all around us. The ushers practically ran the last few guests to their seats. Randi hurried over to me again. “Stacey, can you tell the organist the bride is here?”

  I scampered up a spiral staircase to the choir loft. The organist was playing away, rocking from side to side. I waved to catch his attention. “She’s here!” I yelled.

  “She’s here!” my voice echoed in the church.

  Ugh. I was mortified.

  I raced downstairs. As I passed the open front door, I looked outside.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  Have you ever tuned into the Oscars early, to see the stars sliding out of their limos, waving to the crowd of gawking people? That’s what it was like when Mrs. Barrett emerged from the car in front of the church.

  To begin with, Mrs. Barrett is stunning. She has long, silky, chestnut hair and an enormous smile, like a model’s. In knock-around clothes, she looks fabulous. In a long, white, beaded, antique wedding gown with a plunging neckline?

  Dazzling.

  The beads glittered like crazy as Mrs. Barrett stepped out. The material was so fine it looked almost liquid. I could not take my eyes off her.

  “Stacey, give me a hand,” Randi said.

  I followed her outside. As Mrs. Barrett stepped onto the sidewalk, Randi and I lifted the train of her gown off the ground.

  We walked behind Mrs. Barrett into the church. She took a few steps into the carpeted outer hallway. Randi and I spread out her train smoothly.

  “Thanks,” Mrs. Barrett whispered.

  “You look gorgeous!” I blurted out.

  “You, too,” she said with a wink.

  “Pssst, Stacey! Come on!” Andrea called.

  I turned around. The bridesmaids and ushers were lined up, arm in arm. Buddy and Lindsey were already walking up the aisle, and so were Jennifer and her usher-partner. The next usher in line, whose name was Greg, was waiting for me, with his arm outstretched. I linked my arm in his. We gave each other a smile (don’t worry, he was my dad’s age).

  Have you ever been in a formal wedding? You have to walk in time to the music. Slow music. It’s so unnatural, like slo-mo replay. You think your feet are going to fall asleep between steps.

  A baby’s voice cried out something, but I was too nervous to pay attention.

  Greg and I stepped into the aisle. At that moment, Shannon appeared out of nowhere, smack in front of the procession, holding Ryan DeWitt. When she saw us, she turned the color of Mrs. Barrett’s dress.

  What was she doing? For a moment I panicked. I thought she wanted to give Ryan to me. But the next thing I knew, she was heading for the side of the church.

  That was the last I saw of her until after the wedding.

  Greg was starting to shake. I looked at him and realized he was on the verge of laughing.

  We made it to the altar with straight faces, the ushers and Buddy on the right, the bridesmaids and Lindsey on the left. Franklin was already there, waiting. He had this eager, boyish look on his face.

  It was kind of funny turning around and seeing a whole church full of people’s backs. Everyone was watching for Mrs. Barrett. If I’d done a dance, yawned, or picked my nose, no one would have noticed.

  Except maybe the kids in the back row. They were squirming like crazy, looking at everything, whispering and laughing. Poor Mallory.

  You should have heard the church when Mrs. Barrett entered. The gasps were louder than the organ music. I glanced at Franklin and he looked as if he were going to cry.

  Somehow, when she walked down the aisle, her slow steps looked graceful and natural. She turned her head slowly from side to side, nodding slightly. Her smile was so warm and unforced. How could she not be petrified? I didn’t understand it.

  Do you know when Mrs. Barrett lost her poise? When she saw Franklin. She swallowed. I could hear a breath hitch in her throat. Her eyes welled up.

  But the smile never left her face. For two divorced parents who’d been fighting for the last few weeks, they looked soooo in love.

  The minister began the service. A cry of “Mommy!” rang out from the back of the church. Mrs. Barrett and Franklin burst out laughing.

  That loosened things up. All the guests laughed, too. Mrs. Barrett turned and waved to the kids.

  Next thing we knew, little Marnie Barrett had toddled up to the altar, pacifier hanging from her mouth. Mallory was behind her, looking horrified.

  Mrs. Barrett did a double-take. “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  Marnie beamed. She threw her arms around her mom’s legs and hugged her tightly.

  “Awwwwww …” said the congregation.

  Mrs. Barrett gently put her hand out to Mallory, as if to say, “It’s all right.”

  The minister looked at Mrs. Barrett. She smiled and shrugged.

  “You know,” the minister announced with a chuckle, “people always say, ‘Never take kids to a wedding; they steal all the attention.’”

  Everyone laughed politely.

  “Well, I disagree,” he went on. “For these two people before you are not only giving each other their love, but their families as well. I can think of no deeper, more personal Christmas gift than that — and I’m happy that their children are all close by on this day….”

  What a cool minister.

  You know what? Marnie stayed throughout the entire ceremony. She didn’t move a muscle.

  That, I think, was my favorite part of the wedding.

  “Have you tried the grape leaves? They’re exquisite,” said a man with slicked-back short hair and sunglasses to a woman with slicked-back short hair and sunglasses.

  Click.

  A green-eyed woman was tracing in the air with a celery stick and telling a friend, “So if you add the incremental cost of insurance weighed against the rutabagas and kumquats and cabbage and horsetails …” (Well, not those exact words, but my attention was drifting.)

  Click.

  During a break in the music, a band member let Jeff play the drums.

  Click.

  Mrs. Bruen, who was slicing the duck, held up a drumstick and smiled. Next to her, the vegetarian We Kids Club all shook their fingers at her.

  Click. Click. Click.

  In case you didn’t know, that was me clicking. I was walking around the Schafer backyard (oops, the Schafer/Olson backyard) with the coolest camera.

  Mr. Schafer had given it to me for the day, with several rolls of film. He and Carol had hired a professional photographer, but he also wanted some candids. Dawn had insisted that I should be the one to do the candids.

  And that was how I added another job to my California résumé: Florist, Catering Consultant, Hair Stylist, and Photographer.

  Anyway, the camera was a 35-millimeter SLR autofocus with auto-advance. In English, that means you look through the viewfinder and shoot. Mr. Schafer calls it a Ph.D. camera (which he says stands for “Press Here, Dummy”).

  Maybe so. But a good artist knows how to take advantage of new technologies. And I’ve had plenty of experience with cameras. So I took rapid-fire shots by keeping my finger pressed on the button. I took a picture of Dawn, Mary Anne, Kristy, Claudia, Sunny, Maggie, Jill, and me, by using the self-timer. I tried a double exposure, to make it look as if Jeff were having a conversation with himself. I shot from all different angles: from the ground, from the point of view of the roast duck, from the top of a ladder.

  After some of Mr. Schafer’s friends gave him a toast, they lifted him onto their shoulders. Click. Dawn’s grandparents and Carol’s mom, who had arrived the night before and stayed at a hotel, gave their own tearful toasts. Click. Click. Carol got in front of the band and sang a song called, “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” to her new husband. Click X 7.

  Did this seem like work? No way!

  Finally, Dawn got up and took the microphone from the bandstand.

  “Um, I just wanted to say that I have the best dad in the world�
�.” she began.

  “Hear hear!” someone shouted, over loud applause.

  “At first it was, well, hard to see him falling in love with Carol. I guess it was hard for Carol to know it was hard for me, too. Does that make sense?” Everyone chuckled, then Dawn went on: “But she and Dad stuck by each other, and both of them stuck by me.”

  “Always, sweetheart.” In the silence, Carol’s soft voice carried throughout the tent.

  Dawn took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I always knew how lucky Carol was. But now I know how lucky Dad is, too. And I’ll be so sad to go back to Connecticut.” Her voice caught. Quickly she held up her glass of champagne (well, it just had a teeny bit at the bottom). “So here’s a toast to Dad … and my new mom!”

  “Yeah! Go, Dawn! Wooo-hooo!” Kristy shouted. Luckily, other people were cheering, too.

  It was the nicest toast of the party.

  I took a million more photos. Then I spotted Kristy at the buffet table. My poor, neglected little stomach gave a gurgle. I joined her.

  As we were stuffing our faces, Mrs. Bruen appeared at the rear screen door. “Would you two come in here a minute?”

  Uh-oh. Had we dropped Milk Duds on the Persian rug? Left the hairspray too near the whipped cream?

  She led us to the living room. It looked like a warehouse. Wedding presents were stacked higher than my head — on the sofa, on the coffee table, in front of the wall unit.

  I almost didn’t notice the huge Christmas tree leaning against the corner wall, wrapped up with string.

  Mrs. Bruen pointed to an old cardboard box next to the tree. “I brought the decorations down from the attic. Now, I have to go back out and help with the party. You think you two girls can set up the tree before Jack and Carol open their wedding presents?”

  Mrs. Bruen was smiling like a kid.

  “Give us ten minutes!” Kristy exclaimed.

  I put my camera down. We had work to do.

  Marnie was a star. No question.

  She really milked it. After the vows, I tried to convince her to come back to me. I grinned from the side of the pews. I waved. I held up a milk bottle. Marnie just kept shaking her head.

  I looked like a fool.

  The ceremony ended. Down the aisle marched Mrs. Barrett, holding Franklin’s hand — and Marnie’s.

  I ran to the back of the church. The kids were drawing pictures in the hymnals (I don’t know who had brought the crayons).

  I quickly returned the books to their holders.

  “Hey, I was drawing a dragon!” Taylor protested.

  “This is a church book,” I reminded him.

  “I know. It was St. George’s dragon,” he said, as if that made it all right.

  “It’s time to stand in the receiving line,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Madeleine asked.

  “Your mom and dad, the wedding party, and you guys all have to line up in the front hall. You greet all the wedding guests.”

  “Boring,” Suzi murmured.

  “Just think,” I said, “this is the first thing you’ll be doing together as a family.”

  Taylor beamed at Suzi. “Hey! You’re my sister!”

  “Mine, too!” Madeleine added.

  They jumped up and down, hugging each other. Then we wound our way out to the receiving line.

  Mrs. Barrett and Franklin were deep in conversation with some of the guests. Next to them, Marnie was holding court.

  “How old are you, dear?” a balding, round-faced man asked.

  Marnie held up five fingers. “Two.”

  We took our places. Mrs. Barrett and Franklin showered the kids with hugs and kisses. Afterward the kids stood shyly, answered some of the questions, and kept the goofing off to a minimum.

  When Shannon came upstairs with Ryan, she looked fresh and relaxed. “How was the ceremony?” she asked. “Oh, I am soooo jealous.”

  All I could do was laugh.

  * * *

  After leaving the receiving line, the guests waited outside the church. They tossed bird seed as Mrs. Barrett and Franklin ran to their limo. (Yes, bird seed. The church wouldn’t allow rice.)

  I still can’t figure that one out.

  Anyway, Buddy, Suzi, Marnie, Taylor, Lindsey, Madeleine, and Ryan all piled into the limo, too. I did not have to go with them. I was free. Mrs. Barrett said the kids would have plenty of relatives and older kids to watch over them at the reception.

  What a relief. Now I could go home — to a house full of kids.

  Oh, well. At least I had a bedroom there.

  But Shannon and I stayed at the church a little longer. A Peterson truck had pulled in front of the church. Peterson’s is a nursery in Stoneybrook.) Two workers began unloading all kinds of Christmasy stuff — plants, flowers, pine boughs, and a Christmas tree.

  We watched them take it into the church. I caught a whiff of pine.

  “Mmmmmm,” I said.

  “That is my favorite smell in the world,” Shannon replied. “Can you believe Christmas is eight days away?”

  Eight days?

  I’d been so wrapped up in the wedding, I hadn’t been keeping count.

  But it wasn’t only the wedding. Something else had spoiled the holiday for me.

  My fight with Ben. After that, I’d kind of gotten out of the spirit.

  I didn’t have much time to get back into it, did I?

  I quickly said good-bye and walked home.

  Mom, Margo, and Claire were there. Every one else had gone to a movie. I was exhausted. I went straight to my room and flopped on the bed.

  But I couldn’t nap. I was still thinking about Ben. And the caroling, which should have been happening right about that time. Boy, had I messed that one up.

  I wanted to call Ben. But what could I say? He was furious at me, and he had every right to be.

  The minister had talked about the season of giving and receiving. Some giver I was. I’d let all those kids get excited about singing, then taken the excitement away from them.

  Ebenezer Pike. It did fit.

  I imagined what the caroling would have been like. I pictured Ben and me, standing together. He would be singing away at the top of his lungs. I’d be croaking along, way out of tune. The kids would be mouthing, whispering, shouting. But none of that mattered. In my mind it sounded great.

  Now what? Could we let the whole season go by without talking to each other? Not even saying “Merry Christmas”?

  I sat up.

  I went into my parents’ room and tapped out his number on their phone.

  “Hello?” It was Mr. Hobart.

  “Hi, it’s Mallory. Is Ben there?”

  “Well, Merry Christmas to you, Mal. As a matter of fact, he’s right here.”

  Roit heah.

  I love that accent.

  But Ben didn’t come on right away. I heard Mr. Hobart say, in a muffled voice, “Talk to her.”

  Then, “Yeah?”

  “Hi, Ben. It’s me.”

  “Hi.”

  “Um … I called to say I’m sorry.”

  “You are?”

  “I did a stupid thing. I should have thought about our plans before I said yes to Mrs. Barrett.”

  “Oh. You’re not still mad?”

  “Me?”

  “You sounded mad the last time we talked.”

  “So did you.”

  “I was.” He quickly added, “I shouldn’t have been. You messed up, but it wasn’t that big a deal. We didn’t have to, like, break up over it.”

  “I know.”

  “We could have gone caroling another day.”

  “We still can, really. I mean, there are still eight more days till Christmas.”

  “Want to go?” Ben asked.

  I laughed. “Okay!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  Now Ben was laughing. “That was easy! Why didn’t we think of that before?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we were too angry.
”

  Ben sighed. “Dumb, huh?”

  “Real dumb.”

  “Well, what day should we sing?”

  * * *

  We decided the next day, Sunday, would be best. As soon as we hung up, we called the parents of the kids who were supposed to go caroling in the first place. Everyone said yes except the Marshalls (they were going out to dinner).

  Guess who else wanted to go? Adam, Jordan, Byron, Nicky, Vanessa, Margo, and Claire Pike, that’s who.

  We had a chorus of seventeen on Sunday.

  We met at our house first for a rehearsal — which was more like a party. Dad and Mom served us hot chocolate and cookies.

  We hit the streets at seven o’clock.

  “Okay, we’ll sing ‘Jingle Bells’ first,” I announced. I figured we’d go to the Clements’ house. They’re this nice couple who have a son in college.

  Their son opened the door. He had beard stubble, a scowl, and must have been six foot four.

  “Jing.”

  Only one syllable was sung, from only one voice. Mine. Everyone else just froze.

  Then the guy broke into a smile. “Hey-y-y-y! Christmas carolers! Mom! Dad!”

  Well, we started again, and all three Clementses joined in.

  Next, this older couple, the Goldmans, invited us in for cake and cookies and fruitcake. When we left, only the fruitcake remained.

  Adam started feeling nauseous right afterward. He pulled through, but he ate none of the cookies the Braddocks offered us.

  We sang for Mary Anne’s and Dawn’s parents. We sang for the Kishis. And the Prezziosos and the Arnolds.

  The kids’ cheeks got rosier and rosier. Their voices got louder and louder. And their lyrics got weirder and weirder.

  When James Hobart sang “Deck the halls with bowling balls,” all of them wanted to outdo him.

  Mathew came up with “Jingle Bells, liver smells, throw it all away …”

  Jake’s contribution was “Joy to the world, my hair is curled …”

  Becca sang out, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, wasn’t wearing any clothes …” (That was the least funny one, but it got the most giggles.)

  Not to be outdone, Jamie Newton came up with “O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, don’t fall on my head.” (Well, he’s four.)