Just recently he had glanced at her and for a fleeting moment had the sense that he was seeing himself. Not the physical aspect of himself, but some inner aspect—who was who and which was which?
‘I will love you always back,’ he said.
He put his arm around her and they looked out to the haze of a half-moon, to dark summer trees where fireflies danced.
Violet, Delphinium, Arbutus, Iris, Rose, and Pansy insisted on standing while the household sat around the kitchen table during Lily’s rundown of the final crunch.
‘Okay, so guests will park on th’ north strip and walk to th’ house. They’ll be jugglin’ a fruit cobbler or a Crock-Pot plus a weddin’ present an’ a heavy pocketbook stuffed to th’ gills. Now, that is a pretty good walk across th’ north strip with all that plunder, an’ some will be doin’ it in high heels. Even if they know better, they will wear high heels, trust me on this.
‘So finally they get to th’ house an’ what happens? They find out th’ food table is in th’ barn, which is a pretty good walk its ownself.
‘So Willie, you an’ Harley need to have th’ farm truck shined up an’ that blue quilt in th’ bed—clean, if you don’t mind. Okay, you need to park it at th’ north strip and tell people to set their stuff in there—their weddin’ presents, their covered dish, whatever. Then you and Harley drive down to th’ house and offload th’ presents on th’ glider porch, where there’ll be a table with a long skirt an’ a vase of flowers—you have got to have flowers on th’ gift table. Del, th’ gift table is your job—do not even think about lettin’ your back go out, plus you’re on cleanup after supper.
‘Then Willie an’ Harley hot-rod th’ food to th’ barn an’ offload it onto th’ tables. Vi, it’s your job to set it out—all breads together, all meat together, you know what I mean. Then after supper do a cleanup an’ send everything but th’ rentals to th’ house. Arbutus and Pansy, you’re on this detail with Vi. That is a big job, plus somebody has to mind th’ flies. Harley, you mind th’ flies.’
Lace realized that Olivia had been right about absolutely everything. But it was too late.
Willie squirmed on the bench. If Dooley an’ Lace had young’uns, he would be dead and gone by th’ time they were old enough to get married, which was just fine with him. As for rain, the weatherman was callin’ for a thirty percent chance. ‘What if it’s rainin’?’ That was the sixty-four-dollar question, and he was man enough to ask it.
Lily nailed him with a look but didn’t miss a beat. ‘So y’all know th’ musicians are not bringin’ food.’
Of course they knew that. Well, some did and some didn’t.
‘That is five big boys we got to feed, okay? So I am makin’ a huge macaroni an’ cheese. Huge, because these boys are huge. I have worked with th’ Ham Biscuits at th’ mayor’s party more than a few an’ they eat as good as they pick, you will not be disappointed.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Vi, who often sang and yodeled at parties, though she was not booked for entertainment at this event.
‘Okay, that takes care of food an’ presents. Now, here’s where th’ cheese gets bindin’.’
A few considered the cheese already as binding as they could tolerate.
‘Th’ men will immediately want to go to th’ chill pen and look at your cattle. But if—just if it’s rained, what’ll happen?’
Nobody knew.
‘We have to talk about this, okay?
‘All around the gate there will be mud. And after the men have chewed and spit and maybe had a little shooter, they’ll come up to th’ house. Then they’ll come in th’ house without wipin’ off their feet—think about it. They will come in because they don’t need to go look at the chickens. So they will come huntin’ their wife or girlfriend, who will be wanderin’ up and down your halls goin’, Oh, look at that, if that’s not darlin’, I don’t know what is, an’ let’s shoot us a game of pool while we’re at it.
‘Pansy, you need to put mats down at every door, rain or shine. Those old mats rolled up under the stairs, they’ll do fine, this is a farm. An’ if nobody minds, we need to get some signs up. Signs are helpful on a big place like this. Harley, knock us together some wood signs an’ keep it simple.
‘Father, when you get a minute, you have a nice-lookin’ hand, use a Magic Marker. We need one that says Chickens This Way—th’ kids’ll want to see th’ chickens—one that says Dinner This Way, one sayin’ Toilets—no, don’t say toilets, just write Facilities with a arrow pointin’ . . .’
Jiggling his leg was no longer an unconscious act—Dooley knew he was jiggling his leg and he was not going to stop jiggling his leg until he was good and ready. He was about to freak; anytime now he would bust out of here to check his cattle.
He and Lace and everybody else had done all in their power to keep it simple. They made their own invitations, saved a ton by not having a caterer or a tuxedo rental or an over-the-top bride’s dress to drag around in the chicken manure. What happened to their laid-back country wedding where people could chill out, relax, no problem? Okay, so maybe there was no such thing as a laid-back wedding, no matter how hard you tried.
Dooley stood up, put on his jacket. ‘Checkin’ the stock,’ he said, and blew out the back door. He had only one consolation—the absolute certainty that he would never get married again as long as he lived.
‘Plus wait till you see how many want to drop off their dish in the kitchen so th’ help can slice, bake, reheat . . .’
Lace placed her right thumb on her left wrist to check her pulse rate. They could have had the ceremony at Lord’s Chapel, then driven to the club for dinner and dancing, and now she would not be exhausted and befuddled and ready to head upstairs and leap out the window. She had asked Lily to give them a rundown—she was great at giving rundowns—but this was out of control.
‘An’ that,’ said Lily, ‘is th’ way this thing will roll.’
He was stunned. All the work they had done and all this still to do? The very act of opening his mouth to speak would be excessive in the extreme.
‘And we thought we didn’t have a wedding planner,’ said his wife.
‘Y’all remain for a meetin’ right after this,’ Lily told her sisters.
The rest of the assembly excused itself. Fled to other parts.
Four more days.
‘On the mornin’ of th’ big day, protein is th’ ace in th’ deck.’
‘Omelets with ham!’ said Vi.
‘No ham,’ said Lily. ‘Th’ bride does not need puffy eyes on her weddin’ day.’
‘Omelets with kale would be my vote,’ said Arbutus, who lived in a brick house with two screened porches and was married to Junior Bentley. She had been introduced to kale by a daughter who lived in Colorado and was different from the rest of the family, but hadn’t she, Arbutus, gone online and looked up the benefits of kale and how you could cook with it and put it in salads and there you go, people in Colorado knew things not presently understood in these hills.
‘Kale?’ said Lily. It was a look of what Granny Flower called scorn.
Arbutus had long ago learned how to deal with Lily-big-britches: she let her much, much older sister have her way—that simple. Was Lily married to Junior Bentley, who was the greatest catch in the entire county? No. All Lily’s catches had to be thrown back.
Plus, not only did Lily not have a house with screened porches, Lily Flower did not have a porch at all. If you were going to sit out at her house, you had to sit in th’ yard. Plus when you went to visit, you stood on the top step in a drivin’ rain poundin’ on th’ door and when she finally answered, you were soaked to the skin. No, she did not argue with her much, much older sister, she would not stoop to arguing. So forget kale.
‘Omelets are labor-intensive,’ said Lily. Why did these people not know these things? Why did she have to instruct them every step of the
way, in every little bitty bloomin’ thing?
‘How many people?’ asked Rose, who liked facts.
‘Dooley, Lace, Father Tim and Cynthia, Harley, Willie, Sammy, Rebecca Jane, who’s givin’ a hand, Doc and Miz Owen, who’re givin’ two hands, plus Dooley’s little brother an’ sister, Jessie and Pooh, and Doc Harper and Miz Harper, who’s takin’ care of th’ flowers, an’ th’ Father’s brother and Lace’s roommate from school an’ her mother from Boston.’
Pansy counted on her fingers. ‘That’s sixteen.’
‘Eighteen,’ said Rose.
‘Seventeen,’ said Lily. ‘So breakfast casserole with turkey sausage.’ End of discussion.
‘You’ll need fruit with that,’ said Vi. Didn’t she have some say-so in this extravaganza, which had been draggin’ on for a hundred years, including plantin’ grass, buyin’ cattle, paintin’ baseboards, sweepin’ barnyards, you name it? She and her sweetie, Lloyd Goodnight, had got hitched two years ago by a justice of the peace and gone to Arby’s after. She hoped this would inspire others to adopt a simpler nuptial order.
He was washing dishes from their early supper, Lace was drying. He mentioned that Cynthia had seen Choo-Choo eating out of her hand. An amazement.
‘I feel sorry for Choo-Choo,’ said Lace. ‘He has a terrible reputation and he’s in a new home and I just thought he needed a friend.’
‘Aha. So what’s Harley up to these days? What’s going on with the Amber business?’
‘I think it’s over, but I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.’
Someone yelling. He glanced out the open window above the sink. ‘Holy smoke! It’s Harley!’
They ran out, slamming the screen door, detoured the steps, and jumped off the side of the porch. With four barking dogs bringing up the rear, they reached the fence as Harley vaulted over it.
‘God A’mighty!’ yelled Harley, coming down hard in the grass.
‘What were you doin’ in that field?’ asked Lace, back in the kitchen.
‘Lookin’ for m’ teeth.’
‘No way,’ said Lace. ‘What would your teeth be doin’ in the field?’
‘I dropped ’em, I don’t know where at.’
She did not like this teeth business. She was not Harley Welch’s mama. ‘I’m up to here!’ her own mama used to say when overprovoked.
‘Okay,’ she said, keeping her voice level. ‘You know that nobody but Dooley and Willie are allowed in the field with Choo-Choo. Besides, teeth don’t just fall out of their own accord.’ Ridiculous! She was so over this.
‘I run in there th’ other day when th’ cattle was layin’ out under th’ trees.’
‘What for? Why did you run in there?’
‘Me an’ Willie was kickin’ around a ball an’ it went’ over th’ gate.’
‘So when you went in to get the ball, your teeth just dropped out of your head?’ Why oh why was she doing this? She needed counseling.
‘Dropped out of m’ shirt pocket. Maybe. I don’t know.’ Harley rubbed his bad leg, glanced up to see if she was looking.
‘Ugh,’ she said, and left the kitchen.
Father Tim had to laugh. ‘You’re gettin’ on her list, buddyroe.’
Three more days.
She ran to the clinic and entered by the rear door.
‘Where’s Doc?’ she said to Blake, who was unpacking cat and dog food onto the shelves.
‘Just washing up after—you don’t want to know.’
‘What?’
‘A cat with diarrhea.’
She ran to the room with the big sink. ‘Hey,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Hey, yourself.’
He was drying his hands. It smelled terrible in here even though the exhaust fan was running on high.
She went to him and put her arms around his neck and kissed him, really kissed him. ‘I love you, I love you,’ she said. ‘Gotta go.’
She raced into the reception room and grabbed the watering can from behind the counter and headed out to the zinnias. She wanted the zinnias to look their best.
‘Oh, Miz Kav’nagh!’ An older man, wearing suspenders, looked up from a read in People magazine. ‘Just wanted to say we sure appreciate your husband.’
She didn’t say he isn’t my husband yet; she said thank you.
‘He’s been so good with our Maizie. She’s havin’ her shots today.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m so glad Maizie will be able to keep her food down now.’
‘You know about Maizie?’
‘Dr. Dooley talks about his patients at the supper table.’
‘Oh!’ The man colored with a certain joy. ‘Kav’nagh. I don’t believe we’ve heard that name in these parts. Is it . . . foreign?’
‘It’s Irish,’ she said. ‘A lot of Irish settled this area. What’s your last name?’
The man stood and shook her hand. ‘Randy O’Connell. Glad to meet you.’
‘I believe you’re Irish, too, Mr. O’Connell.’
‘Call me Randy,’ he said. ‘I married Mink Hershell’s second cousin on his mother’s side, she was a Doughty.’
‘I believe she may be Irish as well.’
‘My goodness. Irish! Well, you come see us, you hear? We live up behind th’ post office. But wait till August when th’ tomatoes come in, I grow Big Boys. I know my wife would love to give you a glass of sweet tea and a tomato sandwich.’
‘On white?’ said Lace. ‘With lots of mayonnaise?’
He gave her a big smile. ‘And mashed down flat so th’ tomato juice runs into the bread. It’s th’ only way.’
June 11~ Dooley has gone from college student to grown-up really fast. I think it’s the cattle and the clinic. He is working long hours and is so sweet to everyone. His patients love him and I love seeing him work. He is very serious and intense.
I like what Hal said before D’s graduation~ You go from all those years as a student to an actual vet instantly. Nothing gradual, just boom. Some get cocky and think they know it all. It can be a tough transition. But Dooley’s been hanging out at Meadowgate for years watching us work and giving a hand. He’ll have a pretty level head.
I think maybe I’m growing up, too. We will keep Lily on for two days a week. I will pay for L, who is priceless even if she does try to run the show. I need someone to help run the show.
His present is nearly done. It has to be done! There is no time to do more~ I am dying for him to see it. I can hardly bear to keep it a secret. Fr Tim will love it, too. Will take a pic with my iPad and send to Beth.
We need rain. Just not on the DAY, please! Dooley is worried about the pastures being dry.
Clarence is delivering guest gifts tomorrow~ I’m thrilled. Lots of raffia to tie on~ we will sit around the table after supper and do it together.
Harley has not found his teeth. We will launch one more major search and that does it! No more searches for teeth!
I went to the co-op yesterday because Willie forgot laying mash and there was Buster, who said the Golden puppy was spoken for and at his house waiting for the owner to pick up. If I had seen it first, we would have a new puppy, so I am relieved, I guess.
Buster said tell Doc Kavanagh hello.
I will soon be married to someone named Doc like out of a Western totin’ a six-gun! This is really fun that I get to see D as Doc Kavanagh.
The lights in the trees are perfect. We are so happy. But worried too~ because no call yet. Thy will~
June 12~ Okay! Okay! I am finished! Time has run out and the light wasn’t always perfect and it could have been so much better, but honestly I am always kicking myself for something. Judgment is God’s job!!!
Done.
She sat on the side of her bed with the Dooley book in her lap, and exhaled. She felt as if she hadn’t exhaled lately; all manner of delirium was stored
in her chest and shoulders and neck.
She went to the window and closed it; the last couple of days had been cool enough for a sweater at night.
Then she remembered. Yes!
She dipped her brush in what was left of the cadmium red on her palette.
Lace, she inscribed on the finished product.
Then, Kav . . . an . . . agh . . .
She had heard people say that at a certain moment in their lives the earth moved.
As she finished writing what would be her new name, she felt that it sort of did.
He was taking off his clerical collar on the back porch, following a quick trip to Mitford for cleaning and mail.
‘Can I bring a guest?’ said Harley. He had talked to people who said sometimes you could bring a guest to a wedding.
‘You’ll have to ask Lace. It’s pretty late in the game.’ The other shoe was dropping on the Amber scenario. ‘So, ah, who would you be bringing?’
It appeared that his old friend was—what? Blushing?
‘Miss Pringle,’ said Harley, looking him in the eye.
It was a sight to see. Lace Harper had pinned Harley to the kitchen wall—in a manner of speaking.
‘Where in the field?’
‘Summers around th’ water trough.’
‘Who are you sending in to find them?’
Harley looked over at him, desperate.
‘Don’t look at me,’ he said, meaning it. He was busy replacing the stretcher of a kitchen chair.
‘Who?’ said Lace.
‘Lord help, I don’t know. Dooley, I reckon.’
‘Dooley has better things to do than comb through tall grass lookin’ for your teeth.’ She went to the coatrack, took down her jacket, and sailed from the room, screen door slapping.