Jill Churchill: A Groom With a View

Larkspur appeared for dinner in fresh clothes. Shelley and Jane exchanged knowing looks. He had come prepared to stay; the storm just gave him an acceptable excuse.

The aunties, Iva and Marguerite, had donned comfy jogging outfits that someone had ornamented with bits of lace. Iva's was a maroon that clashed horribly with her wig. Marguerite's was a powder blue that set off her pale eyes. Iva expressed a few lingering doubts about Jane having the privilege of planning the wedding, which Eden thoroughly squashed again. As Jane introduced Shelley to the aunts, she caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye. Uncle Joe had turned up. The smell of dinner must have drawn him out of his lair.

He greeted Eden with rough affection. "It's that damned girl again! Can't stay away from here, can you?"

“Hello, you darling old geezer," Eden said, giving him a hug. She took charge of introducing him to the other bridesmaids, Kitty and Layla. He hardly glanced at Kitty, who looked especially clunky in baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt, but he gazed as if mesmerized at Layla.

“Quit staring," Eden told him bluntly. "And say hello to Iva and Marguerite.”

He nodded curtly. They barely looked up from their cornbread and stew to acknowledge his presence. Their disapproval of him couldn't be more obvious.

Mrs. Crossthwait was the last to arrive. She carefully avoided meeting Jane's questioning gaze.

“Are you making progress, Mrs. Crossthwait?" Jane asked.

“No, I've been taking a nap all afternoon," she snapped sarcastically. The "aura" of the place — or more likely Jane's nagging — was getting on her nerves. "Of course I'm making progress. You don't think I want these girls to wear dresses that aren't the best I can do, do you?" She smiled at Iva and Marguerite, her contemporaries, for approval. The aunts merely looked confused.

Jane sighed and let it go. She'd check after dinner on just how far along the seamstress was when the cranky old dear didn't have an audience for her complaints. The last thing she needed was three little old ladies talking her to bits.

Mrs. Crossthwait didn't approve of dinner. "It's too salty and I can tell you've used real butter," she accused.

“But of course I have," Mr. Willis said, drawing himself up to his full five feet four.

“Shouldn't a young man like you be more concerned with the health of the people he's feeding?"

“I wasn't aware I was going to be feeding you," Mr. Willis replied with an out-and-out sneer. Larkspur applauded the caterer's performance and the aunts glared at Jane as if this distasteful brouhaha were all her fault. The spotty skivvy cowered in the corner of the room like somebody from a Dickens novel.

It was all Jane could do to keep herself from banging her head on the table.

“Let's all play nice, darlings," Eden said.

Their dinner was interrupted several times by the lights flickering as the storm gathered force again. Mrs. Crossthwait screeched with alarm every time there was a clap of thunder. A gust of strong wind blew the front door open and Uncle Joe voluntarily went to close it, which was a sur‑ prise to Jane. It must have been to the aunts as well, as they whispered together when he'd left. After Mr. Willis had served strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream, which they all ate in spite of protestations about being too full to swallow another bite, the group started drifting away.

The three bridesmaids and Larkspur settled around a big table in the main room with a jigsaw puzzle and a very staticky radio to see if they could get a weather forecast. The aunts sat by the fireplace, whispering ferociously to each other.

“They're up to something, Jane," Shelley said.

“It sure looks like it. But what? They wouldn't sabotage Livvy's wedding just to spite me, would they?”

Uncle Joe, apparently feeling confident that Jane wasn't going to think of anything for him to do, stuck around for a while. He drifted toward the aunts, but didn't sit down with them. Instead, he sank into a chair nearby and made a big production of reading a newspaper. Lots of flapping of pages and intense scrutiny of newsprint to cover the fact that he, too, obviously wanted to know what kind of plot the aunts were hatching.

Jane let Mrs. Crossthwait off the hook for a bit. She could hardly rush her straight from dinner to work. She checked her watch and made a mental note to give the woman half an hour of leisure. Mrs. Crossthwait hovered around the jigsaw puzzle group. "Mrs. Jeffry probably won't agree, but there are good reasons for not finishing thedresses too far ahead," she said loudly enough to make sure Jane could hear her.

“Oh?" Eden said mildly, as she took a piece of the puzzle away from Larkspur and fitted it in place.

“How utterly clever you are," Larkspur said.

“Yes, people change," Mrs. Crossthwait said, not willing to let a general lack of interest from her audience keep her from explaining. "Kitty's gained weight since I did the cutting and Layla's lost a bit."

“I have not gained weight," Kitty said with her teeth gritted.

“And I'm afraid I haven't lost any," Layla said. "Anyway, the dresses are going to be just beautiful, I'm sure. Now, where are the sandy-colored pieces that are going to be the sidewalk part of the picture? Kitty, help me find all of them."

“What a lovely brush-off," Shelley whispered to Jane.

Mrs. Crossthwait recognized it as such and wandered aimlessly toward the aunts, thinking perhaps that she'd get a better reception from them. But this hope was dashed when they saw her coming and gave two cold, unblinking stares. Still, she persisted in asking if anyone had died here lately. She felt an aura of death.

“Certainly not!" Iva exclaimed, as though dying was a breech of good taste that couldn't happen to such as the Thatcher clan.

The seamstress dropped into the nearest chair to the aunts. "You don't seem to remember me," she said.

“Are you speaking to me?" Marguerite asked haughtily.

“I made your wedding dress."

“That was a long time ago and something I don't discuss with strangers," Marguerite said. She adjusted herself in her chair so that her back was to the seamstress, indicating quite clearly that the discussion had concluded.

Mrs. Crossthwait stared at Marguerite for a long moment, then pretended an interest in her surroundings for a few minutes longer, before getting up and trudging as slowly and carefully as a condemned prisoner up the stairs to her prison.

“I should feel sorry for her," Jane said quietly to Shelley. "That was a really formidable snub. But I'm too annoyed at her dawdling to feel any sympathy. She's being paid an absolute fortune to make the dresses. She's so damned annoy- ing.”

Within the hour, another storm front moved in with thunder that shook the house, made the radio squawk, and put the lights out for a few minutes. When they came back on, they were oddly dim for a while, then went out again.

“Phooey, I almost had the sidewalk finished," Layla said in the darkness.

“I think we might as well give it up for the night. It's almost nine-thirty anyway," Eden said. "I have a flashlight in my purse and I think we all have small kerosene lamps in our rooms. Anybody want to follow me? If we still don't havepower tomorrow, we'll go into town and buy more flashlights.”

The idea of the power being out for the wedding was something that had never crossed Jane's mind. How would Mr. Willis cook? How would Livvy see her way down the stairs? It would be like having the ceremony in a cave! She leaned over to Shelley. "Do you suppose there's a church anywhere near? I need to do some heavyweight praying “

Shelley just patted her hand.

“There's a town nearby?" Kitty asked.