Rituals of the Season

CHAPTER 21

The trials of married life are such,—its temptations to irritability and contention are so manifold, its anxieties so unforseen and so complicated, that few can steer their difficult course safely and happily, unless there be a deep and true attachment.

Florence Hartley, The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, 1873

When I finished court that Wednesday afternoon, I checked by Dwight’s office, but it was empty and an officer said that he was in a meeting, so I drove over to Aunt Zell’s and freshened up there. Uncle Ash fixed us drinks and they wanted to know if what they’d heard about one of Dwight’s deputies was true—that he’d killed Tracy Johnson and then himself?

I said it seemed to be true, but I hadn’t talked to Dwight since this morning and so I didn’t really know any of the details other than where he’d been found on the bank of Ryder Creek, which reminded Uncle Ash of camping there as a boy to catfish all night.

Talk circled back to the wedding and I went up to the closet at the head of the stairs in my old apartment so that I could check again for the tenth time that I had every item laid out on the bed to go with the dress I had found in a shop over in Fuquay, of all places. My bouquet and Portland’s would be delivered to the church next Wednesday, along with boutonnieres for the men.

“Daddy offered to rent a tux,” I said, “but I just couldn’t picture him in one, could you?”

“Actually, I can,” she said. “Kezzie Knott’s always been a fine-looking man from the first time I saw him, way back when my grandfather was still practicing law.”

I knew from family lore that Daddy had retained Brix Senior the first time he was charged with possession of untaxed liquor, but I hadn’t realized that this was where he and Mother first saw each other.

“Oh, Sue didn’t see him then,” said Aunt Zell. “She was in school. I was five and Grandmother had baked a fresh coconut cake and she had me take a piece over to the courthouse for Granddad’s lunch. Everybody knew me, of course, and the bailiff let me sit next to him in the jury box till Granddad finished arguing his case. It was your father he was defending. Got him off, too. Not that I understood what was actually going on, but Granddad introduced me to him out in the hall and I remember thinking those were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.”

“Forget-me-Knott blue,” I murmured and Aunt Zell smiled.

“That’s what Sue always said. Come with me, honey.”

I followed her down the hallway to the master bedroom and sat on the edge of their bed to watch as she took two white boxes from the drawer of her dressing table. Handing me the smaller box, she said, “This is the last one. I brought a handful home from England years ago to give to family brides and I was down to two when Minnie married Seth. I was saving this one for you, but I almost gave it to Portland when she and Avery got married.”

“Didn’t think I’d ever make it to an altar?” I teased.

“That did cross my mind,” she said dryly.

I opened the box and there was a little silver sixpence, the face of King George V engraved on the front and crisp oak leaves and acorns on the back, just as I remembered. “I can’t believe you still have this. Didn’t you lend it to Portland?”

She nodded.

“That makes it even more special,” I said. I’m not superstitious, but this coin that Portland had worn in her shoe on her wedding day felt like an omen that maybe Dwight and I really could build a marriage as strong as hers and Avery’s.

“And this is something else I’ve been keeping for the right moment,” said Aunt Zell.

Inside the second box was a flat black velvet jeweler’s box that bore the name of a store that had gone out of business several years ago. I lifted the hinged lid and found the most beautiful bracelet I’d ever seen. Each delicate gold link was a small blue enameled flower no bigger than the nail on my little finger, and each five-petaled flower was centered with a tiny drop of shining gold. “Oh, Aunt Zell! How long have you had it and why haven’t I ever seen you wear it?”

“It was never mine to wear,” she said gently. “Sue had it made up when she knew she was dying. She told me to keep it for you till the time was right. She said I’d know. ‘If nothing else, it can be her something blue,’ she told me.”

We sat there on the edge of the bed with tears rolling down our faces as she fastened the bracelet on my wrist.

Forget-me-nots.

As if I ever could.

“I meant what I said Sunday,” she said. “She would have been so happy that you were marrying Dwight.”

“Here, now,” said Uncle Ash, who had come to see what we were up to. “What’s all this sniffling about? Dwight hasn’t run off with a dancing girl, has he?”

I jumped up to show him my bracelet and he gave a nod of bittersweet recognition. “I remember the day you came back from Sue’s with that and put it in that drawer, Miss Ozella.”

I waited for him to elaborate as their eyes locked in wordless communication, but all he said was “That was a sad time all right, but this is supposed to be a happy one. Come on, ladies, shake a leg! Sallie’s expecting us.”

I put the little box with the sixpence beside the satin slippers I would wear next week and joined them downstairs to walk the half-block to Miss Sallie’s house.

Despite my missing groom, ten of us sat down to dinner—the Reverend Carlyle Yelvington, the minister of First Baptist and the man who was going to perform the ceremony Wednesday, had been pressed into service to balance the table. As expected, the others were Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash’s age, men and women who had known me since I was a scabby-kneed tomboy whose mother despaired of ever turning her into a proper young Stephenson lady.

“Not that your mother was much of one either,” Miss Sallie said tartly as her part-time cook and housekeeper brought in an elaborate crown roast of pork filled with a flavorful concoction of tender shrimp and creamy grits. “Marrying a scalawag like Kezzie Knott. Broke your grandmother’s heart when she announced their engagement. She cried for a week.”

“Broke more than just Catherine’s heart,” said David Smith, Uncle Ash’s brother and Portland’s father. “Half the boys in this county went into mourning, too.”

“Oh it was a seven-day wonder all right,” said Miss Abby Jernigan, who had given me her late husband’s robe when I was first elected. “Richard Stephenson’s granddaughter marrying a moonshiner with a houseful of motherless boys?”

I didn’t take offense. Their smiles were too indulgent and reminiscent of bygone youth and high romance. I’ve always loved hearing how people met and fell in love, and I made each of them tell me their stories, from the Smiths, who literally ran into each other when she was learning to roller-skate, to Bonnie and Ken Knowles, who met when they both signed up for flying lessons from the same instructor back in the late sixties. Even after all these years, there was wonder in their voices at the miracle of finding each other out of all the whole world over. I just wished Dwight could have been there to hear.

One of the benefits of dining with a bunch of very senior citizens is that everyone’s ready to go home to bed by nine-thirty. When I got to Dwight’s apartment, he was in bed himself, watching an old World War II comedy on television.

I dropped my clothes on the nearest chair and snuggled in beside him.

He noticed my new bracelet right away and was touched by the story that went with it. “You’re a lot like her, you know.”

“Am I?” I asked, pleased.

“Why do you think I fell in love with you?”

“Tell me,” I said.