The Poisoned Pen
Page 17
“You? Why on earth, Mom?”
“If it hadn’t been for me….”
“Mom! Horatio was chomping at the bit, waiting for his moment to shine in Gran’s eyes. When you were taken hostage that night, he called me.”
“He did?”
“He told me to tell Gran not to worry. He was following a lead he knew would take him to you. He was going to save you to win her over.”
“My, God! He didn’t have to do that. She always loved him. It was her loyalty to Dad that kept her from marrying him.”
“Well, something changed her mind.”
“Apparently,” I grinned, as I wiped away the tears. “And now we have a wedding to plan!”
Horatio gained strength daily. Mother was like a drill sergeant—relentless with his workout schedule. She had a Jacuzzi installed in a new greenhouse addition off her sitting room, and continued his exercises there—after his weight training every morning.
A week before Christmas, they announced that they were ready. The wedding was to be on December the twenty-third.
‘But…but, Gran!” protested Cassie.
“Look, Mother,” I admitted. “Even a barbarian like me knows you can’t get ready for a fancy wedding in less than a week.”
“Who says I want a fancy wedding?” she laughed.
“Okay, forget the ‘fancy,’ but the invitations, the guests….”
“Paisley, dear, all the guests Horatio and I want are here already, except for dear Velvet and she’s on safari and can’t come anyway.”
And so, with very little ado, we planned the not-so-fancy wedding of Anna Howard Sterling and Horatio St.Vincent Raleigh. The happy couple was married in the parlor of Meadowdale Farm at two o’clock in the afternoon, just two days short of Christmas—the Honorable Judge James Hershey presiding.
Cassie was her grandmother’s maid of honor; and, in the absence of his nephew who was on his own honeymoon, Horatio graciously allowed me to stand up with him. Mother looked beautiful in a simple pale gray satin dress with matching Tahitian pearls—a wedding gift from the groom. I gave in and wore the black velvet pant suit and ruffled blouse she had given me for Christmas three years before, and Cassie—the only spot of color in our little wedding party—looked beautiful in a sapphire blue silk blouse and black satin skirt. When she walked in ahead of Mother, I had to choke back tears as I saw the diamond and sapphire cross her father had given her sparkling at her throat.
It was a beautiful wedding—short and sweet. Mother and Horatio had written their own vows. We all cried—even the judge. When it was over, Mother suggested that Horatio and Judge Hershey have a brandy in the library—Mother’s way of insuring that Horatio would not overdo—and we scurried around making final preparations for the reception—my gift to the ceremony.
The table in the big dining room was laden with all of our favorite things: North Carolina brown-sugar-encrusted baked ham, mesquite smoked turkey, a platter of imported cheeses and exotic fruit, angel biscuits, country pate, quail eggs, marzipan, and three different kinds of potato salad. And on a small table in front of the windows sat a charming wedding cake—not too big and not too small—with “Anna and Horatio, Forever” written on the top.
When I insisted on giving the reception, Mother agreed only after I promised to invite just our closest friends. It was a wonderful, happy gathering of people who knew how close we had come to not being able to celebrate this day—how close we had come to having a terrible darkness color all the rest of our days—so laughter, good cheer, and a wonderful gladness spread from one corner of the old house to the other as we poured sparkling wine and toasted the happy, and very lucky couple.
I tried to get Mother alone all afternoon. Something had been nagging at me ever since Cassie and I had talked about Mother’s motives for giving in to Horatio’s proposal. I didn’t want to make her mad, but I was curious.
They had decided to spend their wedding night in a friend’s cabin at the lake, with a longer honeymoon to come when Horatio was stronger. He had arranged for a limousine to pick them up at six, and when Mother went to her bedroom to finish packing I followed with an offer to help.
“Well, damn, Mother, looks like you’ve gone and done it!” I said, giving her a
hug. “Congratulations.”
“Paisley, darling, must you always be so….”
She smiled as she caught herself, too happy to chastise me on a day like this.
“Never mind, dear, and thank you for everything—especially for being the wonderful daughter that you are.”
“Wow! You must really be happy.”
She looked at me with the sweetest smile I had ever seen and winked. “You betcha’!”
“By the way, Mother, I’m a little reluctant to bring up the subject, but I’ve just got to know.”
“Hurry, dear. Horatio’s waiting for me.”
“Okay,” I said, taking the plunge. “What have you decided about the…er, you know….”
“What, dear?” she prompted impatiently.
“The graves,” I blurted out. “Where you want to be buried and all.”
“Oh, that.”
She straightened her pert little velvet hat and adjusted the veil “just so” over the top of her elegantly curved eyebrows before she turned and winked again.
“After a great deal of soul-searching, Paisley, darling, I’ve finally decided to leave that up to you.”