When he’d departed, Christopher captured Lee’s hand and swung her against his chest. “Come here, Mrs. Lallek. Let’s try that again.”
This kiss was overseen only by the swans and the buttermilk clouds that washed the blue sky with an overlay of white. It went on as long as Lee could permit without getting impatient for their tour of the gardens to begin. She pulled away first. Being a creature devoid of coyness, she put it to him honestly, “Kiss me later, Christopher. I’m just too anxious to see all those flowers.”
They spent their first three hours as Mr. and Mrs. Lallek strolling the gardens and snapping pictures of each other.
They spent their wedding night at a place called Kerry Cottage, a restored carriage house on the grounds of an antebellum mansion named Sharrow. The owner, one Mrs. Ramsay, a thin, horsey-faced matron with gray hair that waved naturally, tightly against her skull, said she would do some telephoning and put off some relatives who were driving down for the night from Monroeville. “They never pay me a red cent and expect breakfast on the table at the stroke of eight. Cousin Grace can just come another time. Tonight you two newlyweds will have the best room I’ve got.”
She fed them glazed cornish game hens filled with pine-nut stuffing at a table in the garden beneath a hawthorn tree, which she said was planted by her great-great-granddaddy before the Civil War. When dusk fell she lit a hurricane candle and brought them amaretto cream cake poised upon a lake of vanilla cream. On the cream she’d scribed two interlocked hearts of chocolate syrup. She touched each of her guests on the shoulder and said wistfully, “May your lives together be as happy as mine was with the Colonel.” Choosing not to elaborate on who the Colonel was, she filled their glasses with something she called iced mint malmsey and disappeared into the shadows.
They toasted.
They drank.
They gazed.
They took time to adore each other while the night beckoned them toward the privacy of their garden cottage. Still, they sat on, savoring the anticipation and the resonance of the feelings stirring between them. The iced mint malmsey was slightly bitter but refreshing. Above their heads the leaves of the hawthorn tree rustled like dry paper in a faint night breeze. Beneath their elbows the pierced metal of the garden tabletop grew cool upon their skin. The light from the candle illuminated their faces to a Rubenesque glow.
Christopher emptied his glass, set it on the tabletop with a soft tinkand said, “Mrs. Lallek . . . ,” testing it on his tongue before going on. “Would you care to retire now?”
“Mr. Lallek,” she replied, smiling into his eyes, “I would like very much to retire now.”
He pushed back his chair. It resounded like a muffled bell as it bumped over the cobbles. He pulled hers out and she rose, taking his arm.
“Shall we find Mrs. Ramsay and thank her?”
“By all means.”
They ambled toward the house on the uneven bricks with the smell of wisteria in their nostrils.
“I find myself speaking differently here,” he said. “Listen to me, at home I’d say talking, here I say speaking. There I say should, here I say shall. What is it?”
“The South definitely casts a spell.”
It continued casting its spell as they thanked and bid goodnight to their hostess, sauntered arm in arm ’neath a spreading live oak, past their own hawthorn, and made their way to the carriage house with its testered, draped bed. There, the coverlet was already turned down and a pair of good-night candies waited on their pillows.
She was naked when he laid her down and stretched out beside her.
“Lee . . . oh Lee,” he murmured. “My wife at last.”
She spoke his name and drew him in, close to her body, closer still to her soul.
“Christopher . . . my husband.” Wife.
Husband.
Lovers.
In the rich, rife southern night, they wanted no more.
LLOYD got the idea all on his own. He took only Joey into his confidence before sending out the invitations. To his granddaughter, Janice.
To Sylvia and Barry Eid.
To Orrin and Peg Hillier.
And to Judson Quincy.
You’re invited to a wedding supper honoring the marriage of Lee Reston and Christopher Lallek, who were married at Bellingrath Gardens last Friday. Supper will be served at the bridal couple’s future home at 1225 Benton Street, on Wednesday evening at 5:00 P.M. Please don’t disappoint them or me.
Sincerely,
Lloyd Reston
They all called immediately upon receipt of their letters, everyone outspoken and miffed, haranguing Lloyd as if he were to blame for Lee’s lack of good sense. To each one he’d say, “Just a minute, Joey wants to talk to you.” And Joey would spill out his honest enthusiasm. “Hey, Grandma, isn’t it great? You’re coming, aren’t you? Mom called and she’s so dang happy! So am I! So is Grandpa Lloyd! He and I are making the wedding supper and neither one of us knows what we’re doing exactly, but we’re looking through recipe books for something that sounds good and easy. Are you coming?”
Each one hung up, frowning, hoist by her own petard. Lee’s own son was ecstatic. Lee’s former father-in-law had given his blessing to the union. The two of them, inept stumblebums in the kitchen, were going to prepare a meal of celebration and asked only that the rest of the family be in attendance.
How in heaven’s name could they say no without looking like total jerks?
LLOYD solicited Judd’s help. He picked up both him and Joey immediately after school and the three of them set Lee’s kitchen table with her best china. They hung three paper wedding bells on the light fixture. They cut up about five pounds of beef sirloin, seared it in a big soup pot, whacked up some onions and mushrooms, poured in some burgundy and bouillon, put in the proper spices and hoped a woman would show up to thicken it into beef burgundy when the time was right. They cut up a salad, opened up three cans of whole-kernel corn, prepared instant rice in the microwave, got a bread basket lined with a napkin like Lee always did, tore apart the dinner buns, put two sticks of butter on a plate and hid the bakery-decorated cake on the top shelf of Joey’s closet.
Shortly before 4 P.M., Lloyd put on his jacket and said to the boys, “Now, don’t forget. If nobody’s here by five, take all the extra plates off the table, okay? I should have your mother and Chris back here by five-thirty at the latest. That’s if their plane gets in on time.”
CHRISTOPHER drove on the way home from the airport. Lee delivered a monologue on Bellingrath Gardens. Her spiel never slowed until they reached her house only to find there was no room for the Explorer in the driveway. “. . . could go back again to . . .” Lee interrupted herself in the middle of the thought. She gaped at the collection of vehicles. “That looks like Mother’s car. And Janice’s . . . and Sylvia and Barry’s.” Her head snapped around and her eyes lit on the man in the backseat. “Lloyd, what have you done?”
“Let’s go inside and see.”
She looked terrifled as she got out of the truck and stood beside it, staring at the house. Christopher took her arm. Above her head, he exchanged glances with Lloyd.
“What did you do, Lloyd?”
“Invited them, that’s all.”
“But, Dad . . .” she said. “None of them knows.”
“They do now.”
“Oh hell,” she groaned, and looked for help to Christopher, who had none to offer.
“We might as well go face them,” he said.
* * *
THE boys had loud music playing. Lee’s mother was stirring something on the stove. Her father was opening a bottle of wine. Sylvia was fussing over a bouquet of white roses on the center of the table. They all appeared intentionally busy except the boys, who came to the door babbling excitedly. Lee got a hug from Joey. Christopher said, “Well, for heaven’s sake, Judd is here, too!” and got a high five and congratulations from him. The others gave up their preoccupation and hovered on the perimeter while Joey and Judd went o
n bragging loudly about the preparations they’d made with Lloyd, and the music kept playing, and Lee stood barely inside her own front door afraid to take the seven or eight steps that would carry her to the others. She felt as awkward as a singer who’s begun on the wrong key. At her shoulder she felt Christopher waiting for her to move, while behind them Lloyd hung up coats in the closet.
Finally she said, “Well . . . this is a nice surprise,” and made her feet move.
She reached Sylvia first, and felt her heart clubbing as they remained that one step apart, their emotions strained and wavering. Who moved first? Lee, perhaps, taking that initial difficult step toward amity.
Their hug was stilted, their elbows in the air above each other’s shoulders, their backsides jutting while Sylvia whispered in Lee’s ear, “I think you’re crazy. It’ll never work.”
Lee whispered back, “Just watch and see.”
Her mother came next. This hug was harder, but bore much the same message. “Have you lost your mind, eloping? When Lloyd told me I nearly died.”
“Thanks for coming, Mother.”
Orrin’s hug was the first genuine one. “Your mother says you’re crazy, but I’ve never seen you look happier, honey.”
“Thanks, Daddy. I am.” She turned to the last person. “Janice . . . honey, it’s so good to see you.” Janice was blushing and hanging back. Lee’s embrace broke the ice. The two hugged longer and harder than they had in many months, feeling relief sluice in and mend the rift that had held them aloof for weeks. “Oh, Mom . . .” Janice’s whisper was unsteady. Lee heard her gulp in a futile effort to control her emotions. She rubbed the center of Janice’s back, hard, a connection that said, Don’t cry, dear, everything’s going to be just fine now.
In the hubbub of greetings, those between Lee’s family and Christopher were perfunctory at best, but Janice—bless her heart— exhibited grace under pressure and gave her mother the kindest wedding gift she could give by approaching Christopher straightaway and, blushing though she was, offering a genuine hug.
“It’s easy to see how happy you both are. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Janice, from both your mother and me.”
“I just want you to know, I’ve met a guy I really like a lot. We’re going out on our second date tomorrow night.”
Christopher smiled and said, “Good for you. Bring him home soon so we can meet him.”
Looking on, Lee felt a welling of emotion that pushed at her throat and seemed to billow within her heart. She turned away and went around the corner of the kitchen to dry her eyes in private. Christopher saw and followed. Coming up behind her he locked an arm across her chest. She gripped it with both hands and tipped her head back against him, closing her eyes, swallowing hard.
“Oh, Christopher . . .” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied, and kissed her hair.
Judd came barging around the corner and came up short. “Could I change the CD? Oh! Something wrong?”
Joey came right behind him and said, “No you can’t. Come on, dummy, leave ’em alone.”
And somehow, eyes got dried, the kitchen got invaded, the beef burgundy got thickened, food got dished up and everyone got seated. Vince Gill was singing from the living room. Some glasses were filled with wine. Some were filled with Sprite. Food and chatter were being passed around the table. The noise and confusion of family mealtime worked its magic at replacing the faltering relationships that would still need some work in the future.
Lloyd arose with his glass in his hand. “If I may—”
“No, Grandpa,” Joey interrupted. “This time I think it’s my job.”
After a hesitation of surprise, Lloyd resumed his chair with a pleased smile and turned the floor over to his grandson.
Joey stood and lifted his glass of Sprite to each person in turn as he toasted.
“To Grandpa Lloyd, for getting us together. To Aunt Sylvia for bringing the flowers. To Uncle Barry for bringing Aunt Sylvia . . .” Everyone laughed. “To Judd, who’s just going to have to learn to like country music instead of rap. To my sister, Janice, who I’m glad to have back home. To Grandma and Grandpa Hillier for giving us the best mom in the world. But most of all to Mom and Christopher, the new bride and groom. I hope you guys always stay as happy as you are today, and I hope you go away often and leave me with Grandpa Lloyd, because I get by with all kinds of stuff when he’s here. Man, I ate pizza every night and stayed up till eleven-thirty and he let me drive the car over to Sandy’s house!”
When the laughter died down, Joey continued. “Seriously . . . I learned some things this year about what really matters. We all did. So I’ll just end by saying, Mom, Christopher, we all wish you a long and happy life together. That goes from all of us here”—his eyes circled the table, then lifted toward heaven—“and from those up there. Dad? Greg? Grant? Nice to know you’re all together. Put in a good word for these two, will you?”
While around the wedding table glasses touched, hearts softened, and a bride had difficulty keeping her eyes dry, three souls looked down from their ethereal dwelling above, exchanged smiles of satisfaction and, with their arms around each other, ambled off to wait.
LaVyrle Spencer, Family Blessings
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