JU03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding

by Ann B. Ross

  “Seem like that’s a Lord’s plenty,” Lillian said, frowning at the photographer.

  Etta Mae Wiggins couldn’t stay out of the picture. “How about one of Binkie sitting in the window?”

  “That’d be good.” Binkie laughed, and crawled onto the windowsill. “Then I want some with you, Miss Julia. Come on in. This is Rusty Reid. You probably know him, he’s the sports photographer for the newspaper.”

  “It’s past time for you to be ready, Binkie,” I said. “How much longer is this going to take?” Then I was blinded as the redheaded, freckled photographer flashed the camera in my eyes. Blinking away the afterglow, I snatched up Binkie’s wedding dress and held it toward her.

  But Binkie had her attention on the spectacle in front of the house. “Good grief,” she said, leaning her forehead against the window screen. “They just keep coming.”

  All of us—Rusty the photographer, Hazel Marie, Miss Wiggins, Lillian and myself—were drawn to the window where Binkie sat and to the one beside it, straining to see. Not only had the crowd grown on the sidewalk and the street, but my front yard was full of wedding guests, as well. To say nothing of the cars lining both sides of the street and, if a turned collar meant anything, a Catholic priest. I gasped at the nerve of him, for he was studying the streaks of mortar or whatever it was on our Family Life Center with a pair of binoculars. I had a good mind to go out there and let him know that Pastor Ledbetter had no ecumenical leanings at all.

  “Miss Julia?” I turned to see Little Lloyd standing at the door, wringing his hands. “Miss Julia, I don’t know what to do.”

  Walking over to him, I said, “What’s wrong, honey? I showed you how to seat people.”

  “That’s just it,” he said, looking up at me through those thick glasses. “They don’t want to be seated. They won’t even come in the house. They’re all out in the yard, looking at that lady on the wall. And Miss Mattie Mae Morgan says she can get ’em in, so she keeps playing louder and louder.”

  “Where is Mr. Pickens?” I demanded. “Isn’t he helping you?”

  “Well, no’m, not much,” he admitted. “I mean, he’s trying, but I think he wants to see that lady, too. So he’s out in the yard with the rest of them.”

  “I declare, that man! Hazel Marie,” I said, turning to her. “Look out there and see where Mr. Pickens is. If you can get his attention, tell him to do the job he’s assigned to do, and help this child get . . .”

  I was interrupted by a clatter of shoes on the stairs and a breathless Emma Sue Ledbetter calling, “Julia! Oh, Julia!”

  “What now?” I mumbled, then called: “In here, Emma Sue.”

  Emma Sue hurried to us, her flowing floral chiffon whirling around her. “Julia,” she panted. “I can’t find Lance Petree anywhere. Have you seen him?”

  My hand went to my throat as my breath caught. “Why, no. I just assumed he was downstairs. I mean, whoever heard of a preacher being late for a wedding? He put it on his calendar. I saw him do it.” Turning to the bride, I said, “Binkie, do you see Pastor Petree in the yard?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t, and I’ve got a pretty good view.”

  “Oh, my word,” I said. “Where can he be? Maybe he’s praying in his office at the church and lost track of the time. I’ve heard that can happen.”

  “No, I’ve already looked there,” Emma Sue said, as she moved farther into the room, looking around at the chaos. She cut her eyes at me, then said, “My Larry’s always at a wedding an hour early, so he can counsel the wedding party if anybody has second thoughts. It’s too bad, Julia, that you couldn’t wait until he returned from the Holy Land.”

  “Too bad he had to take off just when I needed him, too,” I said. “Hazel Marie, do you see Mr. Pickens?”

  “Yessum, he’s right down there, talking to some deputies. But I can’t get him to look up here.” She pushed against the screen and called, “Yoo-hoo, J.D.! J.D.!” To no avail.

  “Little Lloyd,” I said, turning to the child. “Run down there and tell Mr. Pickens he’s needed up here. We’re in dire need of a preacher, and I want him to find Pastor Petree right away, even if he has to get the sheriff’s department after him. Oh, and when you do that, go look in the kitchen. Preachers are known to be where the food is.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.” But before he hurried off on his mission, the boy added another possibility to the mix. “Maybe that ole Dixon Hightower’s got the preacher.”

  “What in the world would Dixon do with a preacher?” I said, waving him on his way. “Not that he couldn’t use one. Hurry now, and get Mr. Pickens up here.”

  As the boy left, I began to pace the floor. “What’re we going to do?” But I might as well have been talking to myself. Emma Sue was fascinated with the bottles and jars and plastic containers spilling out of the cosmetics cases, while Binkie and Miss Wiggins were still entranced by the goings and comings down on the lawn. Hazel Marie had her head almost poked through the screen, trying to get Mr. Pickens’s attention, and only Lillian seemed to reflect my worry about the legal aspects of a wedding without a preacher.

  “Miss Julia,” she said, a deep frown on her face. “What we gonna do if that preacher be lost somewhere?”

  Rusty snapped another picture before I could look away, and the flash blinded me again. And downstairs, Miss Mattie Mae Morgan came down hard on a hymn I recognized—“Bringing in the Sheaves,” which I certainly hoped she could do.

  Holding my hand against my eyes to prevent another blinding, I said, “He’s got to be somewhere, Lillian. What time is it?” I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “My Lord, it’s a quarter till! We’ve got to find him!”

  A flash exploded again, as Rusty moved from one side of the room to the other, getting his candid shots.

  “Enough pictures,” I said, holding up my hand toward him to ward off the eye of the camera. “We don’t have time for any more. Why don’t you get set up in the living room, but, remember, no flashes during the ceremony. If we have one.” And I began to wring my hands again. First, we had no bride, then almost no groom, and now we had no preacher. “Now, Mr. Reid, I know you’re used to snapping pictures of uniformed boys running around on a field, but keep in mind that this is a wedding. We won’t need any action shots. Lillian,” I said, turning to her. “Where can that man be? I should’ve known not to depend on an associate pastor; they don’t have enough experience in these matters. What’re we going to do if he doesn’t show up at all?”

  “Maybe—” Lillian started, but she was interrupted by a squeal from Etta Mae Wiggins.

  “Binkie!” she screeched. “I almost forgot! You need something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. And a dime in your shoe. Have you got ’em all?”

  “Oh, shoo,” Binkie said, laughing. “I’ve been too busy deciding whether to get married at all to think of that.”

  “You have to have them. For luck, you know. So it’s a good thing I brought this.” Miss Wiggins reached into her purse-on-a-chain and brought out a blue garter. “Now, this,” she said, dangling it in the air, “has seen its share of weddings, and it’s been lucky for some of them. If you don’t have one, I’d love for you to wear it. And don’t forget to take it off and let Coleman throw it to the men right after you throw your bouquet to the women.”

  Both Binkie and Hazel Marie oohed and aahed over the little pink flower attached to the blue elastic thing. I held my tongue, determined to restrain myself from throwing cold water on Binkie’s enjoyment, even if it did involve a much-used garter getting into the hands of a bunch of male guests. She was entering into her wedding preparations with all the enthusiasm I could ask for, in spite of her earlier vacillations. If a blue garter added to her pleasure, then so be it. Not that I held with superstitious signs and omens and good-luck charms like those people out in the street, but who was I to say they didn’t work?

  “Put it on, Binkie,” I said. “From the way things’re going, we need all the luck we can
get. And I’d already planned this anyway, but I want you to wear my single strand of pearls.” I opened a drawer and took out a velvet case. “They were my wedding pearls.”

  I didn’t mention that they’d not done much good for the course of my marriage, but pearls are pearls.

  I fastened them around Binkie’s neck, as she fingered them, her face glowing. “Thank you, Miss Julia. I’ll take good care of them. Okay, I have something blue and something borrowed, and they’re both old. Now what about something new? Oh, I know. My engagement ring!” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers so that the stone in its setting sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Here’s a dime for your shoe,” Emma Sue said, rummaging in her purse. “Although I don’t believe in such things.”

  Emma Sue went to the window and stood looking out at the mob scene down below. “If Larry were here,” she said, shaking her head at the sorry sight, “he wouldn’t put up with this so close to the church. Even if they are on a public street. I don’t understand why the sheriff doesn’t send them on their way. I mean, what’re they doing out there, anyway? Are they planning to march or protest or something? They’re just milling around and carrying on; it’s a disgrace, if you ask me.”

  “Why, they’re worshiping, Mrs. Ledbetter,” Hazel Marie said.

  “Worshiping what? I mean, who?” Emma Sue craned her neck to look closer.

  “That woman’s face over there. See, on the wall of the new building? They think it’s some kind of saint or maybe Mary.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Emma Sue began panting, her breath coming in short gasps. She felt behind her for a chair and sank into it. “Oh! Not a Catholic image on our church. Oh, no, the Lord wouldn’t do that to us! Where is Larry when we need him?”

  “That’s what I’ve been asking,” I said. “Get yourself together, Emma Sue, we can’t help what’s going on outside. Our worry is about what’s going on inside. Like not having a preacher.”

  “We’ve got to pray about this.” Emma Sue gasped.

  “Don’t you dare touch that telephone, Emma Sue,” I said, for fear she’d start the prayer chain and be on the phone throughout the ceremony, if we had one. “Besides, most of the prayer chain’s out there in my yard.”

  “Lloyd’s bringing J.D. in,” Hazel Marie said, hurrying in from the hall. “He’ll find Pastor Petree for us.”

  “An’ what if he don’t,” Lillian said. “Or can’t?”

  “Oh, Lillian,” I said, leaning against her. “My beautiful wedding’s all messed up, and all for want of a preacher. Unless . . . ,” I said, straightening up. “Maybe we could ask that Roman priest out there. But, no, that wouldn’t work. I don’t imagine he’d do it, and if he did, Binkie and Coleman might have to raise all their children in the Catholic faith, and Emma Sue would have a heart attack. Oh, Lillian, what’re we going to do?”

  “We still got the Reverend Mr. Abernathy of the Harvest House AME Zion Church, if you want him.”

  Relief flooded my soul. “I certainly do want him. He’ll be an answer to prayer, if you ask me. Call him, Lillian, right now and I’ll send Mr. Pickens to pick him up. The ceremony will just have to be late, but better late than none at all.” As she went to the phone by the bed, I began to pace the floor again in my agitation.

  “I’ll tell you this, though,” I said to anybody who was listening, “Pastor Petree’s going to have a lot to answer for when I get my hands on him!”

  Chapter 34

  “Hazel Marie,” I said, as I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. “Go tell Mr. Pickens to wait out there in the hall. He can’t come in here, since Binkie’s not dressed.” As she went to meet him, I tried to organize a plan of action. Seeing Lillian hang up the phone, I turned to her, hoping for good news. “Can Reverend Mr. Abernathy do it?”

  “He puttin’ on his weddin’ suit right now,” she said. “He be ready when Mr. Pickens get there.”

  “Thank the Lord,” I said, throwing my head back in relief, “for preachers who take their duties seriously. Lillian, why don’t you go with Mr. Pickens and show him the way. How long will it take you?”

  “He live next door to the Harvest House Church, so ten, fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, get back here as soon as you can. Mr. Pickens ought to get some of those deputies swarming around down there to give him a police escort.

  “Miss Wiggins,” I went on, “if you’d like to be useful, I’m going to put you in charge of getting Binkie dressed. Binkie, listen to me now, your groom is probably already downstairs waiting for you, so get out of that window and into your wedding gown.

  “Emma Sue,” I continued, turning to her. She was still sprawled in a chair, fanning herself with last Sunday’s church bulletin. Her moans blended with the chanted prayers of the crowd outside, both of which were gaining in volume. “Get up from there, Emma Sue, and get yourself together. I need your help getting the guests in the house. Come on now.”

  She struggled to her feet, her face pale with the shock of a miracle appearing on a Presbyterian wall. With tears brimming in her red eyes, she said, “How can the Lord let this happen to us?”

  “His ways are not our ways, Emma Sue,” I reminded her, taking her arm and moving out into the hall. “Now put your mind on this wedding and forget that apparition on the wall. First things first, I always say.”

  As we went down the stairs, I saw Mr. Pickens and Lillian hurry out the door, on their way to pick up a preacher. Little Lloyd stood in the almost empty living room, still wringing his hands. Miss Mattie Mae Morgan was filling the air with hymns played in a most uplifting tempo, her huge body swaying from side to side, while Lieutenant Peavey stood as stiff as a board next to the piano.

  Raising my voice to be heard above the din, I told the two of them that the ceremony would be delayed, but only until the Reverend Abernathy arrived. “In the meantime,” I shouted, “we’re going to get the guests inside. As soon as they begin to come in, Lieutenant Peavey, you can entertain them with one of your solos. Maybe that’ll keep them from that spectacle outside.”

  He looked down at me, I think, since he still had on those dark glasses, and nodded. “I’ll do as many as it takes. Mattie Mae, let’s start off with ‘Baby, I’m Amazed By You.’ ”

  And, as I was being amazed by the selection, which didn’t sound like any wedding music I’d ever heard, Miss Morgan swung into a tune with enough extra ruffles and flourishes to sound like a full-fledged orchestra. I threw up my hands, unable to manage another crisis, much less a musical one. I grabbed Emma Sue’s arm and headed out the door.

  “Little Lloyd,” I said as we passed. “Stand right here and seat people as we herd them in. Remember to save places for Lillian and me on the front row, and for Miss Wiggins and her friend, too, since she’s being so helpful.”

  “Save one for me, too,” Emma Sue said as I marched her out on the porch and surveyed the yard, teeming with guests who’d forgotten why they were here.

  “Go over that way, Emma Sue,” I told her, “and tell them we’re ready to start.”

  She tottered off, her high heels sinking into the lawn, but her eyes were drawn to the object of veneration and wonder across the street. I headed toward a group of deputies whom I recognized, in spite of their civilian clothes, by the similar mustaches they sported.

  “Time to go in, gentlemen,” I said, as two of them stubbed out cigarettes on my front lawn. “If you’ll start, I think the others will follow.”

  Just then Lieutenant Peavey’s voice, amazingly lifted in something close to a breathy, tremulous soprano, floated out to us, and the whole crowd—wedding guests and street worshipers, alike—turned as one toward the sound. Several of the worshipers fell to their knees on the sidewalk, and I was tempted to do the same. It seemed another miracle for such a high, quavery voice to emanate from the muscular throat of Lieutenant Peavey.

  One of the deputies murmured, “There he goes. Gives me goose bumps every time I hear him.”

  Lieutenant Peavey gave
me goose bumps too, every time he opened his mouth in my presence.

  As the deputies moved toward the porch, I went around the yard, urging, cajoling and inviting our guests into the house. They went, easily enough, but with backward glances at the image on the wall. I couldn’t see it myself, but I guess it was all in your point of view.

  LuAnne Conover, with Leonard close behind her, paused on her way in and whispered, “I declare, Julia, Leonard is about to drive me crazy. Weddings give him all kinds of ideas.”

  “Keep him in check, LuAnne,” I whispered back, not wanting to witness any of his ideas in action. “But I wish you’d hidden that medication from him, today at least.”

  She smiled a satisfied smile and whispered, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to interfere with his medical treatment.”

  I rolled my eyes, but she’d joined the guests as they crowded onto the steps and up on the porch, waiting to get in. I turned and motioned for Emma Sue to follow them. Tearing her attention away from the Family Life Center, she came over to me.

  “Julia,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “What’re we going to do? That thing’s a desecration, and there’s even a priest over there who’ll report it to the pope as a miracle. First thing you know, that popemobile of his will be parked by our church, and I just can’t stand the thought. You’re going to have to excuse me from the ceremony, for I’m being led to witness to those poor souls who’re lost in superstition.”

  “Emma Sue,” I said, grabbing her arm and giving it a shake. “Don’t you dare! Those people aren’t bothering anybody. Well, except for drivers trying to get through, but you leave them alone. I’ve got a wedding to put on, and I don’t want you stirring up trouble and disrupting it.”

  “Well,” she said, as she yielded to my leading. “I guess I could wait till after the wedding, but my head’s going to be bowed in prayer all the way through.”

  “Good, and you might as well mention the rest of us while you’re at it.” I was in dire need of some prayer myself.