Elizabeth circled the room with Austin on her hip, assessing all the decorations and adjusting them to perfection.
“Here, let me hold him,” I offered.
“Thanks,” she said gratefully.
The baby gave me his characteristic smile, one he had been practicing regularly since he was a newborn. He was soft and warm and his skin had that wonderful smell that reminded me of summer and apples freshly plucked from the tree.
As guests arrived, four cousins, ten to twelve years old, vied for the chance to collect gifts and carry the beautifully decorated packages to an overburdened gift table.
I saw Michael come through the front door into the lobby with a dignified older woman and a dark-haired child, who I thought must surely be his daughter. He signed the guest book, stooped down, and gave the little girl a tiny wedding-bell mint from the silver dish on the table. He brushed her hair back from her face and spoke quietly to her for a moment. The woman handed a gift wrapped in silver and topped with a pink bow to one of the eager boys taking packages. She smoothed her son’s jacket collar, then took Emma’s hand and went into the chapel.
Michael noticed Elizabeth struggling to replace a swag of flowers that had come loose from an arch, and walked into the room to help her. He was striking in a gray sport jacket and burgundy tie. When he turned around, he spotted me and the baby. I found my heart rate rising as I watched him smile and cross to the back of the room where I stood.
“Hi, how are you? I see you have an escort this evening.” He took the baby’s hand, and as he did so, his hand brushed my arm, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
“Fine, how are you?” I struggled to keep my voice steady.
“Good.” His dark eyes scanned my dress. “You look really great. That’s a pretty color on you.”
“Thank you.” I felt my cheeks warming. I dropped my eyes and straightened the baby’s vest, avoiding Michael’s gaze.
Michael plunged his hands into his pockets as he looked around the room. “I see that Elizabeth has been hard at work. Has she kept you busy?”
“It has been a lot of work for everyone, but now, thank goodness, it’s time to just enjoy. Was that your family you came in with?”
“Yes, Emma and my mother.”
Ann appeared at the doorway, beckoning to us to come and be seated for the ceremony.
“Oh, time to start,” I said, a little relieved to be joining the others. It puzzled me that his presence unnerved me so quickly, so easily. My joints all loosened at once making me feel like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz.
Michael walked with me toward the chapel, and we picked our way through the gathering crowd in the foyer.
In the chapel, I saw Emma a few rows from the front, leaning over the back of the bench, watching for her father. She called to him and her grandmother bent close to her, whispered in her ear, and stroked her hair.
“I’d like you to meet my family,” Michael said. He took my elbow and maneuvered me to where his mother and Emma were seated.
“Jenna, this is my mother Lynn Callahan.”
She extended her hand to me. “Nice to meet you,” she whispered. Her lovely face was gently lined and her eyes were kind.
“And this is Emma,” Michael said with pride. She had blue eyes like her father, but a rounder face. She was obviously delighted with the ruffled pink dress she was wearing. She smoothed the skirt and ran the ribbons through her fingers.
“Hi, Emma. You look very pretty in that dress.”
She buried her face in her grandmother’s shoulder but peeked back at me from around her sleeve.
Michael smiled and slipped into the pew beside them. I found my seat with the family in the front of the chapel and passed the baby down to Elizabeth.
When the room had filled nearly to capacity, the minister appeared, followed by the groom and his best man, Travis, nervously adjusting their collars and cuffs, looking both proud and uncomfortable. James’s sister, a pretty girl with long dark hair and amber eyes, struck a chord on the harp and the ceremony began. The flower girl walked down the aisle, scattering flower petals with great concentration. The ring bearer followed solemnly until he saw the petals on the floor. He hastily picked some up, caught up to the flower girl, and helpfully stuffed handfuls back into her basket. Not to be deterred from her duty, she went on rescattering them while, amid chuckles, the ring bearer’s mother stepped in to offer some guidance.
Zee entered the chapel, lovely and slim in her crimson bridesmaid’s dress, chewing gum like mad.
I was secretly grateful not to be the next one down the aisle. So many eyes! I felt lucky for the excuse of being out of state, but also felt a twinge of guilt for ditching my duty.
When the harpist launched into the wedding march, the guests arose and everyone turned to the back of the room. Angela came in, fresh and radiant, her hand on her father’s arm, her face framed by her golden curls.
When James saw her, a look of pride and complete adoration covered his face, a look that made me feel confident she would be cherished and well taken care of.
Throughout the ceremony, my uncle sniffled and my aunt beamed. The groom kissed the bride, and they retreated down the bedecked aisle to grand chords from the harpist. The guests filed from the room to the reception area, where there was a general babble of voices, people greeting each other, embracing and slapping each other’s backs, all amid the sound of elegant background music.
The receiving line formed at one end of the hall, and people grouped to formally greet the wedding couple. I saw my aunt talking to Michael’s mother, her hand on her arm, their heads bent together, while Michael talked with Jack.
I noticed Emma and Jordan standing in front of the chocolate fountain, entranced by the shining flow of warm, brown sweetness. Emma slyly took an apple slice and Jordan followed suit. Amused, I watched as Jordan, stood tall on her tiptoes and carefully dipped the tip of her apple into the chocolate stream and thoughtfully sucked it clean, then dipped and licked again. Emma watched her studiously. She tried to reach the chocolate but her little arm was too short. Jordan wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist and heaved her upward. They wobbled together for a moment and then Emma plunged her apple slice, fingers and all into the chocolate. Jordan set her down, and they stared at each other, licking their fingers. Suddenly they burst into giggles. Emma started to run and Jordan pursued, weaving in and out of the white draped tables, nearly toppling Grandma over.
At that moment, Derek appeared at the doorway. He scanned the room, his arms crossed, relaxed. I was suddenly sorry for inviting him and at the same time felt guilty for being sorry. I was keenly aware of Michael standing at the other end of the room. I took an empty serving dish from the food table and deposited it on the counter at the opening to the kitchen on my way to where Derek stood. He stooped to kiss me on the cheek.
“Hey, baby. Quite the celebration here,” he said.
I eased past him out into the foyer and he followed. “How was your trip to Kalispell?”
“I wined, I dined, I got another big chunk of the old guy’s money to invest. The usual.”
Just then the bride and groom stood to cut the cake, and I edged to the doorway to watch. Cameras flashed as they smiled and posed. When they fed each other a piece of cake, it was obvious they restrained themselves with difficulty from smearing frosting on each other’s faces.
“Cute.” Derek said flatly.
“I need to help serve the cake,” I said, trying to hide my annoyance.
I busied myself serving the cake and visiting with relatives and acquaintances. Derek leaned up against an archway with one hand deep in his pocket, sipping punch.
I begged off when Zee tried to pull me into the group of giggling girls waiting to catch the bouquet. James tossed the garter, laughing as it rocketed toward a bunch of embarrassed boys. When the DJ began to play music for the dance, Derek ambled over to stand by me at the cake table. He reached for my hand.
“Cake?�
� I said, filling his hand with a plate instead.
At that precise moment, Michael and Emma came to the serving table for a piece of cake. There was nothing else for it. I had to be polite. “Derek, this is Michael Callahan and this is his daughter Emma. Derek just drove down from Kalispell. He’s from California.” I added floundering.
Michael stepped forward and shook Derek’s hand. As Michael’s eyes shifted to mine quizzically, I busied myself sweeping crumbs from the table.
Derek peered down at Emma coolly for a moment. “Hi. How old are you?”
Emma solemnly held up three fingers, then stuck two of them in her mouth.
“You talk much?” he asked.
Emma considered him silently.
Michael cleared his throat. “So, how do you like Montana?”
“It’s … big. Too bad about your no speed limit law still not being in effect. I guess it doesn’t matter—miles of open road—I couldn’t resist opening up the throttle on my Vette on the way up last week. Not much exciting to look at though, just trees and more trees.”
I traced the lines on the floor with my toe. “Cake?” I asked Michael, recovering myself.
“Yes, please,” Michael said, “and a small one for Emma. I think she’s had too much chocolate,” he pointed to a brown spot on the pink dress.
The DJ announced the wedding dance, and the bride and groom danced to their favorite song. A stream of bubbles, appearing magically from behind the DJ stand, circled around them and rose into the air. The couple was absorbed in each other’s eyes and their joy washed over the crowd. I looked over, and for the first time, saw tears on my aunt’s face.
“Come on,” Derek said and pulled me out onto the floor. As we danced, I noticed Bobbie and Sarah whispering together. It was hard to miss Bobbie’s look of disdain. When I looked back, Michael had taken Emma by the hands and was circling the floor, her tiny black patent leather shoes on top of his.
When the music stopped, Jack hurried over to me, a mischievous grin on his face. “Can you take him, Jen?” he asked handing me the baby. “I need to show the best man how to properly execute his duties as car decorator.”
I took Austin in my arms and went to stand by the punch table. Derek followed me. I swayed back and forth to the music to soothe the baby as Derek filled a cup with punch. Austin smiled sweetly and cooed, but suddenly and very unexpectedly, a fountain of white spurted from his mouth and landed with a splat on the shiny burgundy surface of Derek’s right shoe. Derek swore under his breath, looking at the slippery stuff like he’d just been hit by a volcanic blast.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, scrambling to grab a fistful of napkins to dab off his shoe as I juggled the baby on one hip.
“I just had these imported from Italy,” he said between clenched teeth.
I hurried and found Elizabeth, who took the baby for a change of clothes just as Uncle Martin grabbed the microphone. He congratulated the couple, his voice breaking, and then announced that Travis would be singing a special number for the bride and groom. Derek sat at one of the tables, mournfully examining his shoe. I sat beside him across from an elderly couple I recognized as Martin’s aunt Evelyn and her husband, Harold Gilmour. I had met them as a child but only recognized them from a photograph. I had been told they were coming, a rare event since the pair practically never traveled outside of Wisconsin.
The old woman smiled at us when we sat down. A cup ringed with her bright red lipstick sat on an empty plate beside her. Her pungent perfume engulfed me immediately, nearly triggering a sneeze. After a brief nod, the elderly uncle focused intently on his half-eaten cake.
In the middle of the circle of tables, Travis stood, ready to sing. The lights were dimmed and the DJ pressed a button to begin the music, which flowed out, as it seemed, on the white mist from the fog machine. Travis began to sing. He had one of those wonderful voices, clear as a bell, smooth as silk. The room quieted and I became lost in the words of the song.
“That’s just lovely. Isn’t that lovely, Harold?” said Evelyn, tapping his arm. The old man smiled and nodded. His hand shook as he forked large chunks of cake and stuffed them in his mouth.
Angela sat with her gown flowing onto the dance floor, soft light on her face, her arm entwined with her new husband’s.
“Such a lovely voice,” the aunt went on. “Don’t you think so, Harold?”
I smiled at Evelyn, then strained to concentrate on the music. Derek sat with his arms folded. His feet pushed out in front of his chair.
“So, when are you going to be married, Jenna?” the aunt asked sweetly.
Blood flushed my neck, signaling my embarrassment. I looked at Derek who stared blandly off into the crowd and apparently had not heard the comment. I smiled, tight-lipped, and murmured something like, “Not anytime soon.”
“Your father could walk you down the aisle,” she went on relentlessly, waving a lace handkerchief in one hand, apparently seeing the scene unfold before her.
My hand tightened on the handle of my punch cup. She’s old, I thought. People get forgetful when they get old. “You mean my uncle?”
“No, dear, your father should really do that.”
Be patient, I thought. “Remember, Aunt Evelyn, my father died when I was little.”
She shook her head emphatically. “Not David Clark. I mean your real father.”
She had seemed quite sharp a minute ago. I wondered if Alzheimer’s hit you in spurts. “My real father?” I asked.
“Yes. What was his name, Harold?” Harold snorted into his cup. She slapped him on the back. “Steve, no, Skip. They called him Skip.”
What was she talking about?
“You look so much like him. You have his auburn hair. I met him once at May’s house.”
My mouth gaped open and refused to shut. I strained to hear as applause from the crowd nearly covered her next words.
“Well, I’ll be. I guess you didn’t know. My sister Ada said she’d tell you. I thought she had before she died.” She clucked her tongue. “I always said she should have told you about him. Such a pity.”
There was a wheeze from Harold, choking on peanuts this time. His pale skin turned a shade of lavender as Evelyn whacked him on the back.
“Oh, dear,” she said, moping his forehead with a napkin. “We’d better go. I think you need some rest, Harold.” She hefted her plump body from the chair and enlisted the help of several nephews to support her husband to the door.
I was sure everyone in the room could hear the wheels turning, screeching and groaning inside my head. My real father? My father was the man who died when I was four—a tough-looking man with thick arms and short ash-blond hair. I had only one memory of him, standing in front of the bathroom mirror shaving around a stubby cigar that smelled like burning maple syrup. In a worn box in the top of my closet, there was a picture of him. He leaned on an adz, knee-high in ferns, his hat tipped back, an enormous fallen pine in the background.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Derek said, breaking into my thoughts. He took my hand and led me, practically stumbling, out to the parking lot. My head was spinning. A throwback, my family always said when I asked about my father’s blond hair and stocky build. Jenna, you’re a throwback. You look like your great-great-grandmother. She had thick auburn hair too, but blue eyes, they thought, not green like yours.
Was I a remake, a newer version of someone generations before me, or could it be true there was no genetic link between me and the man I thought was my father?
We walked out of the door, through rows of flower baskets streaming with ribbons that swung in the breeze on either side of the sidewalk. A few yards away, James’s blue Toyota was being festooned with toilet paper and shaving cream. A long line of tin cans was strung at the rear.
“It’s a lot of trouble to go through for something that won’t last,” Derek said.
His words barely registered. My father? Clark was not my real father? My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I tried again, “My
aunt …” I gasped.
“The old lady? Yeah, she was a real talker. I couldn’t hear what all she was saying, but, hey, listen, I need to take off now. I need to get to Dillon before it gets too late.” He took my hand, which was rapidly growing cold in the autumn air. “I got a call from the office today. One of the partners is in Spokane. I need to fly over there for a couple of days next week. Can I see you then? I’ll rent a car and drive over. I can let you know when.”
“But I … she said …”
“Good. I’ll keep in touch.” He pulled me close and kissed me. “Oh, and my laundry?”
I handed him the keys to my car. “Back seat.”
I watched him walk away and remembered something. Last summer I had hiked up Pattee Canyon. When I strayed from the trail my socks filled with burs. I could hardly stop fast enough to pull them out, one by one, sitting on a hard rock. I felt like that again but somewhere deep under my skin.
I shook myself. I had something more important to worry about. I was suddenly on a quest for the truth about my past.
I walked back into the reception hall in a fog and stood in the doorway. I searched for my uncle and aunt in the crowd, spotting them across the room chatting with the minister. Could it be true? Would my aunt and uncle intentionally withhold information from me about my real birth father? It just didn’t make sense. Why would they do that?
I watched them, wondering. Martin rested his hand on Ann’s arm. She laid her hand on his. They had always been open with me and answered any questions I had about my mother. What would be a reason for keeping this from me? They had always protected me and helped me. They took me in without hesitation when I needed a place to go. Maybe the truth about my real father was too grim, too dangerous for me to know, like a steel bear trap, buried in leaves, too lethal to wander near.
Maybe they didn’t even know. Could that be possible? I knew that since she left her father’s home at the age of seventeen, my mother drifted from place to place, spending a year in Oregon with relatives. Is that where she met this man? A husband? Was he my father or was this person Aunt Evelyn met just another boyfriend? My uncle lived states away and he and my mother were never close. Maybe he never knew.
Heartbeat of the Bitterroot Page 9
