shot through me. Now where did that come from? Danger. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling kinda off the wall. Thank God only I knew how off-the-wall I could be. Preacher Hart’s voice moved in and out of my overcast reverie, “…. gathered together…join this man and this woman….”
Man and woman…man…Did I really know this man ? At times, I was certain I did. At others, I was equally certain I did not.
Mrs. Tilley, the pianist and soloist, burst into Whither Thou Goest, her humongous bosom heaving with emotion, predictably bending my eardrum by going sharp on the high notes. The giggle-button war commenced warbling inside me and I clamped my teeth together and gazed into Kirk’s solemn face for focus. He gazed back, as somber as I’d ever seen him, and I no longer heard the cracked operatic vibrato.
The pastor resumed…“ Whom God hath joined together…”
Joined together. My breath hitched and Kirk’s fingers nearly crushed mine.
“I now pronounce you man and wife…”
In the next breath, Kirk was kissing me. No turning back.
The thought flitted through my mind like startled ravens. And was gone.
“I miss Chuck,” I murmured between greeting wedding guests. Kirk gave me a sympathetic hug, knowing how I adored my older brother, whom he’d never met and from whom I’d not heard a word in months—during which I alternately wanted to hug him and slap his blasted face.
MawMaw, Papa, my Uncle Gabe and his wife Jean, a Chapowee girl, embraced Kirk and me in the church fellowship hall and chatted with my stepmother Anne. Papa, Teddybearish in his one and only church-going brown suit and tie, hugged me tightly, then whipped out his brown handkerchief to wipe suspiciously misty blue eyes. MawMaw was gussied up in a new cotton floral dress. Her eyes, so like Mama’s, puddled unashamedly with tears. A moment before leaving, she whispered in my ear, “Now you’uns can come’n see me and Papa, Neecy.”
I nodded, dodging a deeper analysis of my screwed-up family today. “Gabe told me he’d landed a good job at the Enka Plant near Asheville, North Carolina,” I said, brightly changing subjects, “and would be moving there the next week. Sure hate to see him go.” Gabe was my late mom’s only sibling.
“We’ll probably be moving there, too,” rasped MawMaw, emotionally. “Gabe needs lookin’ after, with diabetes and all. Jean works fulltime and I’ll be helpin’ them out all I can.” My heart sagged. Here, just when I’d not need Daddy’s permission to visit them, they were moving two hours away. I felt a bit betrayed. But what with all the wedding festivities, the feeling passed. More than ever, I missed my mom, who’d died when I was eleven, Chuck, fifteen, and Trish, five.
Daddy kept conveniently busy speaking to everybody else except my grandparents – his former in-laws, whom he’d succinctly cut from our lives one week after Mama’s death because MawMaw had spoken ill of him within his children’s hearing. I viciously pushed the thoughts away. I had to pigeonhole my priorities today. Simply had to. I refused to let loved ones’ hateful unforgiveness spoil my wedding day.
“The flowers look so pretty.” I smiled desperately at Kirk and he squeezed my hand. Somehow, he understood. His IRS refund check paid for the floral arrangements. Our wedding was lovely yet inexpensive. Relatives and ladies of Chapowee’s Methodist Church had prepared food for the reception, which was the way of Mill Hill folk, whose reward for generosity was the change of pace provided by a bona-fide church wedding. Heck, we’d invited nearly the whole danged village.
Daddy and Anne, whom Dad had married in my twelfth year, hugged us. “We waited till the line cleared out,” Anne
said, eyes reddened from sentimental tears, surprising me with the depth of her feelings.
“Where’s Grandma and Grandpa Whitman?” I addressed Daddy, knowing full well he’d excuse his own flesh and blood’s
Man and woman…man…Did I really know this man ? At times, I was certain I did. At others, I was equally certain I did not.
Mrs. Tilley, the pianist and soloist, burst into Whither Thou Goest, her humongous bosom heaving with emotion, predictably bending my eardrum by going sharp on the high notes. The giggle-button war commenced warbling inside me and I clamped my teeth together and gazed into Kirk’s solemn face for focus. He gazed back, as somber as I’d ever seen him, and I no longer heard the cracked operatic vibrato.
The pastor resumed…“ Whom God hath joined together…”
Joined together. My breath hitched and Kirk’s fingers nearly crushed mine.
“I now pronounce you man and wife…”
In the next breath, Kirk was kissing me. No turning back.
The thought flitted through my mind like startled ravens. And was gone.
“I miss Chuck,” I murmured between greeting wedding guests. Kirk gave me a sympathetic hug, knowing how I adored my older brother, whom he’d never met and from whom I’d not heard a word in months—during which I alternately wanted to hug him and slap his blasted face.
MawMaw, Papa, my Uncle Gabe and his wife Jean, a Chapowee girl, embraced Kirk and me in the church fellowship hall and chatted with my stepmother Anne. Papa, Teddybearish in his one and only church-going brown suit and tie, hugged me tightly, then whipped out his brown handkerchief to wipe suspiciously misty blue eyes. MawMaw was gussied up in a new cotton floral dress. Her eyes, so like Mama’s, puddled unashamedly with tears. A moment before leaving, she whispered in my ear, “Now you’uns can come’n see me and Papa, Neecy.”
I nodded, dodging a deeper analysis of my screwed-up family today. “Gabe told me he’d landed a good job at the Enka Plant near Asheville, North Carolina,” I said, brightly changing subjects, “and would be moving there the next week. Sure hate to see him go.” Gabe was my late mom’s only sibling.
“We’ll probably be moving there, too,” rasped MawMaw, emotionally. “Gabe needs lookin’ after, with diabetes and all. Jean works fulltime and I’ll be helpin’ them out all I can.” My heart sagged. Here, just when I’d not need Daddy’s permission to visit them, they were moving two hours away. I felt a bit betrayed. But what with all the wedding festivities, the feeling passed. More than ever, I missed my mom, who’d died when I was eleven, Chuck, fifteen, and Trish, five.
Daddy kept conveniently busy speaking to everybody else except my grandparents – his former in-laws, whom he’d succinctly cut from our lives one week after Mama’s death because MawMaw had spoken ill of him within his children’s hearing. I viciously pushed the thoughts away. I had to pigeonhole my priorities today. Simply had to. I refused to let loved ones’ hateful unforgiveness spoil my wedding day.
“The flowers look so pretty.” I smiled desperately at Kirk and he squeezed my hand. Somehow, he understood. His IRS refund check paid for the floral arrangements. Our wedding was lovely yet inexpensive. Relatives and ladies of Chapowee’s Methodist Church had prepared food for the reception, which was the way of Mill Hill folk, whose reward for generosity was the change of pace provided by a bona-fide church wedding. Heck, we’d invited nearly the whole danged village.
Daddy and Anne, whom Dad had married in my twelfth year, hugged us. “We waited till the line cleared out,” Anne
said, eyes reddened from sentimental tears, surprising me with the depth of her feelings.
“Where’s Grandma and Grandpa Whitman?” I addressed Daddy, knowing full well he’d excuse his own flesh and blood’s
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