by Penn Gates
“It was my grandmother's,” Nix says stiffly. “Gramps kept it in the wardrobe with his clothes all these years.”
“Well, you look just beautiful,” Brittany says. She frowns. “Where are your shoes?”
Nix wiggles her toes. “Somehow I didn't think my work shoes would match. I'll just go barefoot.”
“You will not! Lucky for you, I have every wearable thing in that attic memorized. I'll run upstairs and grab some shoes.”
“What if they don't fit?”
“You wear a 7, right?”
“How'd you know that? You have a foot fetish or something?”
“I can tell you're the same size as I am—and I know every pair that fit me. So easy-peasy.” Brit starts to dash out of the room and stops. “I really am an airhead, aren't I? I almost forgot—there’s a couple of kids in the hall who'd like to see you for a minute.”
Elizabeth and Martin tip toe into the room. Martin is dressed in his borrowed Mennonite clothes. Together, they look like figures on top of a wedding cake.
Elizabeth nudges Martin. “Go ahead,” she whispers. “Just as we practiced.”
Nix' adopted son stands gnawing his lower lip for a moment, then squares his shoulders like he's going into battle and recites, “A special present for a special person.” He glances nervously at his companion to see if he's earned her approval.
“You did well,” she whispers, then steps forward and pulls something from behind her back. She holds it out for Nix to see. It's a wreath of wildflowers—frothy Queen Anne's Lace and blue Chicory flowers woven through a wild grapevine.
“This is so beautiful,” Nix breathes. She takes the delicate creation from Elizabeth. “These were always my favorite flowers of the summer because they're like the sky and the clouds.” She sets it on her head and walks to the mirror.
“Perfect,” she says over her shoulder, but only the eyes staring back at her seem familiar. The reflection in front of her looks like some character in a movie, delicate and doll like. Nix had learned before she was quite a woman that being pretty only brings trouble. Suddenly she feels like crying.
At that moment, Brittany returns, takes one look at Nix' face, and hustles the kids out of the room. She drops the pair of shoes she's holding and puts her arm around Nix' waist. “What's wrong? Today is a happy day—and you look beautiful.”
“I don't like it,” Nix sniffs. “Guys don't take you seriously if they want to jump your bones. Attracting their attention is more trouble than it's worth.”
“Is that why you try so hard to look like a tomboy? Because it's never really worked, you know.” Brit adjusts the wreath on Nix’s head. “But it seems like all the guys on the farm respect you, anyway. And one of them loves you like crazy.” She spins Nix around. “Don't look anymore if it upsets you. Look at your shoes instead. Aren't they perfect?”
“I don't wear heels.”
“They’re hardly heels at all. Just try them. They're made of white leather – but soft, like gloves - and they're so light you'll forget you're wearing shoes, I promise.”
“Huh,” Nix says as she slides her feet into them. “They don't make 'em like this anymore, do they?”
“Now come on,” Brittany says. “It's time.”
* * *
Nix hesitates before she takes Martin's arm and steps out onto the back porch. Every soul on the farm is there, neatly split down the middle by an aisle—the gauntlet she has to walk while everyone looks at her. At the end of the gauntlet is an aluminum bale feeder tipped on its side and decorated with flowers. The guys must have brought it in from the cow pasture last night, but the idea of making it into a bridal arch had to come straight from Brittany’s inflamed Bridezilla imagination.
“I know you don't like to be stared at,” Martin whispers. “Why don't you just keep your eyes on Cash.”
“Cash told you to say that, didn't he?” Nix whispers back.
“Yup. But it's a good idea, isn't it?”
“Any other good ideas I should know about?” Nix mutters, but they're off the porch now and she's looking down at her feet in the ridiculous old-fashioned shoes as they make their way across the lawn, moving her closer to the point of no return, step by step.
She glances up nervously, and it finally registers that Cash is wearing an army uniform she didn't know he'd kept. The look on his face melts the lump in her throat and the fear that's turned her hands to ice. She smiles tentatively and he grins back at her, that wonderful what-the-hell grin of his that has made her want to follow him anywhere since the first time she saw it.
Wearing a curious expression somewhere between embarrassment and anger, George stares silently at the group of teenagers. It takes a minute before they realize the ceremony is about to begin and settle down. When he's sure everyone is suitably solemn, he clears his throat and speaks directly to Nix and Cash, “Do you believe that marriage is an institution of God, renewed and confirmed by Christ? And have you appealed to God in prayer in the hope and confidence that your marriage may be in the Lord? Can you answer with yes?”
Nix is momentarily confused by the unfamiliar words until Cash whispers in her ear, “These are Mennonite wedding vows. Only ones he knows. Just go with it.”
George stands patiently, apparently OK with the idea that they would take a last opportunity to think about what they're doing. It occurs to Nix that asking God about whether or not this is a good idea is something she's neglected to do. Well, too late now.
She nods her head, and then realizes she’s supposed to answer out loud. “Y-yes,” she croaks, and Cash echoes the affirmation.
George turns his attention on Cash. “And so you as the bridegroom are asked if you are free, single, and disengaged from all other women, as far as marriage is concerned? Can you answer this with yes?”
He asks Nix the same question, and goes on to the next part of the ceremony.
“And so, you as the bridegroom are asked if you are willing to accept this your bride, our fellow-sister, Phoenix, as your wife, to love and to care for her and to stand by her in need, in sickness, or whatever the Lord allows to come upon you, to live with her in a Christian and peaceable manner, to take the heavier responsibility upon yourself, and not to forsake her until death shall separate you. Can you answer this with a yes?”
Cash's answer is loud enough to be heard by those in the back row.
George fastens his attention on Nix. “So, you as the bride are asked if you are willing to accept your bridegroom, our fellow-brother, Cash, as your husband, to love and care for him—”
After the first few sentences, Nix stops listening. He's repeating what he just asked Cash, word for word, she thinks. Why doesn't he just ask us both at the same time and be done with it? She forces herself to pay attention again so she knows when he gets to the end.
“—Christian and peaceable manner, to take the lighter responsibility upon yourself, to be submissive to him and not to forsake—”
“What did you just say?” Nix interrupts.
George frowns at her and starts to speak, but Cash jumps in.
“You object to the lighter responsibility thing or the submissive thing?” he asks, speaking directly to Nix.
“Both!” she says. “If one person carries the heavier load, that's not a partnership and—”
Cash grins at her and shakes his head. “You can't even get through your own weddin’ without arguin’—that’s why I love you, girl.” He turns to George. “Nix is right. We both pledge to carry responsibility equally in the marriage, and as far as bein’ submissive—it’s not fair to ask someone to promise something they ain't capable of doin’.”
George is visibly upset, but Cash hasn't finished yet. “I don't know what you all do about exchangin’ rings and such, but I want Nix to have this.” He holds up a plain gold band. “This was my mother's ring,” he tells Nix. “She gave it to me before she died.” He slips it on her finger and it fits perfectly.
George looks resigned, waiting for
the next deviation from tradition.
“OK, you can wrap it up now, Reverend George.”
“Any particular words you want me to use?” George asks, and if it was anyone else, Nix would swear it was said sarcastically.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Cash says helpfully.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” George echoes.
Cash looks down at Nix and says, “You take my breath away, baby,” and kisses her, hard and long.
Nix buries her head against Cash's chest as everyone cheers.
“Come on, you,” he says, holding her at arm's length. “Let's go party.”
* * *
After a huge dinner and a cake decorated with real flowers, everyone is invited down to the old barn for a surprise. The wooden floor has been swept clean and lanterns hang from the beams. Drifting through the open doors at the back is music. Rock music—loud music—music for dancing. Brittany grabs the hand of the guy nearest to her, which happens to be Jacob, and pulls him onto the dance floor.
Emma stands watching her sister until Bob approaches her. “I'm not sure I remember how to dance,” he says and raises his eyes upward as if a memory will pop up over his head. Then he laughs. “Actually, I'm not sure I ever knew—but I'm willing to give it a try if you are.”
Emma laughs with him and the two of them jump around and spin like little kids. It feels so good to move to the beat and feel young and carefree at a party. No one cares if they look cool or not.
“Wow!” Nix says to Cash. “This is a surprise. Where did they get, uh, whatever it is they're playing?”
“Each guy chose a couple of CD's while we were at Walmart. Kind of an act of faith, I guess.” He laughs. “I told 'em they only got a half hour's worth of gas to power the CD player in the pick up.”
“Short party,” Nix comments hopefully.
“Maybe not.”
At the end of thirty minutes, there are groans of disappointment, but then Eric unpacks his guitar. It turns out that Tony Marconi always wanted to learn blues harmonica, and with no instant entertainment in the evenings, he's taught himself the basics with the one he stuck in his pocket at Wally World. They play around for a few minutes, and then Marcus appears with an old metal bucket and upends it.
“The two of you aren't getting anywhere without me laying down a beat,” he tells them and pulls a couple of sticks from his back pocket. “Nice thing about playing percussion—you can use almost anything.”
Their first set is an interesting blend of blues rock and country, but after they take a break, they come back with a slow, romantic tune.
Cash pulls Nix to her feet. “Don't move your mouth,” he tells her. “Just your feet.”
Nix presses her cheek against his shoulder and lets Cash worry about steering them around the dance floor. She lazily watches smiling faces drift by until she realizes she hasn't seen any of the girls from the camper, which makes her wonder who's watching over them. Just as she's about to ask Cash, she catches sight of Doug asking Margaret to dance.
The expression on the Mennonite girl's face is an odd mixture of embarrassment and longing. Tentatively, she places her hand in Doug's and allows him to lead her to the center of the floor. Doug treats her with an old-fashioned courtliness, keeping a couple of inches between them while his hand rests lightly in the middle of her back. Jane Austin herself couldn't complain, Nix thinks.
None of this really surprises Nix, except for Doug's sensitivity to the cultural differences. She's had a hunch for some time that he and Margaret would like to be more than friends. Nix is still smiling at the unlikely pair when George storms over and pulls Margaret from Doug's arms.
Nix moves reflexively but Cash tightens his grip on her and says in her ear, “Don't. It'll just make it worse for Margaret if it turns into a big scene.”
“That little worm,” Nix hisses. “He's like the American Taliban.”
“Let it play out,” Cash insists. He pulls her close. “They gotta learn to work things out themselves, mom.”
“Don't call me that,” Nix says.
“Only if it's true.”
What does he mean by that? she wonders. I have no idea whether I can even get pregnant. He's young—of course he wants a family. Why didn't we talk about this? What if it's a deal breaker? Jesus, I'm an idiot!
“Will you relax?” Cash murmurs into her hair. “Quit tryin’ to imagine all the things that could possibly go wrong.”
“I don't try,” Nix says. “It just comes naturally—it’s a gift.”
Margaret's humiliation puts a damper on everyone's high spirits. Not many are still out on the dance floor when the band breaks up, leaving Eric to strum his guitar softly. It sounds a little sad.
David has left the party to escort Margaret and Brittany up to the house. After awhile Brittany returns, accompanied by Michael, who glowers in George's direction.
Nix detaches herself from a group of the guys and pulls Brittany into the shadows away from the lantern light. “So what's up? Is Margaret OK?”
“Not really,” Brittany answers. “It's hard to understand the control George has over her—but I guess in their world, the oldest brother is the head of the family and he has the final say over what's right for his sisters.”
“News flash,” Nix says. “They're not in their world any more than you're in the world you came from. They're in—” She pauses. She was about to say mine, but suddenly she knows that's not right. “They're in—the world we're making together,” she says instead.
Brittany looks at her, eyes bright, and Nix knows that she's chosen her words wisely—again. Maybe she's finally learning to consider other peoples' feelings. It feels kind of good.
“Margaret wanted me to tell you not to worry about her,” Brittany says. “She wants this to be your night—yours and Cash's.”
Nix nods slowly. “All right, but first tell me what's really going on with those two.”
Brittany looks cornered for a second, then she shrugs. “Doug and Margaret want to be together. George disapproves, which is no surprise to anybody.”
“Together—how?” Nix asks. “This isn't high school.”
“They’re in love. They want to get married.”
“What? Margaret's barely sixteen.”
“I don't think that's George's main objection. He disapproves because—and I quote—she can't marry outside her faith.”
“Now that's just dumb,” Nix says. “There are no Mennonite boys here except for her brothers! Does he want her to be alone her whole life?” Nix stops herself. She needs to be diplomatic and not let her distaste for George's patriarchal posturing cloud her judgement.
“Maybe if they wait a year or so, George will see they're not going to change their minds about each other,” she finishes weakly.
Brittany shakes her head. “They don't want to wait. They want to be happy while they can.”
“What does that mean?” Nix is beginning to sense a subtext, and she doesn’t like things that are hidden.
“Uh—I mean life is so uncertain these days. We should live as much as we can each and every day,” Brittany stutters. She seems flustered.
“I guess I don't have much of an argument with that idea.” Nix pats Brittany's shoulder. “This problem isn't going to get solved tonight, and for once, I'm not even going to try.”
“I heard that,” Cash says. “Do you really mean it, or are you just tryin’ to get rid of Brittany?”
Brittany sticks her tongue out at him, but she says, “Hey, I can take a hint.” She looks around. “Boy, what a bunch of party poopers.”
“Nothing is more important than you,” Nix says to Cash, “With the possible exception of a full out attack by mutants.”
Cash laughs. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”
“I do, don't I? I think I'm starting to get the hang of it.”
He grabs her around the waist. “Let's get out of here before somebody else gets up the nerve to dump a problem on yo
u. It's like bein' married to the freakin' pope.”
Chapter 23
So where does George hang out?” Nix asks Cash. “I have no idea what he does when he's not annoying me.”
It's been a full day since the wedding, and true to her word, Nix hasn't given a thought to anyone but Cash. This morning, though, the two of them have reluctantly decided it's time to get out of bed and make sure that life is still running smoothly on the St Clair farm.
“He's usually checking the animals or supervisin’ the milkin’ this early." Cash pulls on his work boots. “But he could be out in the corn checkin' for spots that need weedin'.”
Nix snorts with laughter.
“What's so funny about that?”
“I just had a mental image of George hanging on a cross, scaring the crows away,” Nix gasps.
“Well, that's just wicked,” Cash says, grinning at her. “You're goin' to hell for sure for that one.”
“What are you doing today?” Nix asks.
“Gonna get started on cuttin’ the back out of the camper and convertin’ it to a truck van.”
“Sounds like hot work.”
“What isn't this time of year?”
Nix throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. “See you at lunch time.”
“Don't be too hard on him,” Cash says before he walks through the door into the machine shed. “He only knows the life he's led.”
“The same could be said for all of us,” Nix retorts. “Most are doing their best to adjust to new circumstances.”
“True. It's just that a lot of us weren't that crazy about where we came from compared to where we're headed. George liked his life just the way it was.”
Nix wanders into the mild air of early morning, feeling lighter than air herself, but there's still that spot somewhere in her gut that's filled with the familiar anxiety. What will happen next? How will everything turn to shit this time? And why the hell is she dreading the confrontation with George?
She wonders yet again why the role of disciplinarian and enforcer has fallen to her. Probably because it feels so familiar. Most cops get used to the vague unease even law abiding citizens feel when the police are around. Some cops hate the invisible barrier between themselves and everyone else. Some love it and feed on the feeling of power. But all of us get used to it in the end, she thinks. It just becomes a part of us.
