Cindy Jones by Margaret Pearce Page A

mauve roses and leaned on the arm of an elderly man. Prudence and Constance, dressed alike in blue dresses, followed her.
    â€œThat’s her old uncle,” Gretta whispered to Cindy.
    The person playing the piano thumped out the wedding march. A part of Cindy’s mind noted one key was still flat. Her new stepmother walked slowly between the aisle of guests. Mrs. Barry’s face was flushed an attractive pink, and her large dark eyes glowed. She stared straight ahead to where the professor waited.
    Cindy felt the dislike and irritation rise at the sight of her, but she suppressed it. From now on Mrs. Barry was going to be the second Mrs. Jones, and Cindy intended to get along with her. Mrs. Barry reached the professor’s side and handed Constance her flowers. Both girls sat down beside Cindy.
    The minister opened his book, took a deep breath, and started to drone his way slowly through the marriage service. He went on and on. The professor shifted from one foot to another. Above his nicely polished black shoes peeped one black and one green sock. Cindy glanced around but no one else was looking at his feet.
    The minister raised his voice to intone, “Whereas speak now or forever hold their peace”.
    Hooper barked. Someone shushed him. There was the sound of a raised voice and more annoyed shushes.
    â€œI do object,” a vaguely familiar person insisted.
    The minister looked startled. Everyone turned around. A man with untidy gray hair, a brown weather-beaten face, and grey whiskers, dressed in a shabby gray suit, pushed his way towards the professor and Mrs. Barry.
    â€œGwenny can’t marry the professor,” he said loudly. “She’s still married to me.
    Mrs. Barry looked around. Her eyes widened, and her face went white. “Thomas,” she quavered and fainted into the professor’s arms.
    â€œWake up, Gwenny.” The shabby man pushed closer. “I’ve come back.”
    Mrs. Barry opened her eyes. “You can’t be Thomas! He drowned six years ago.”
    â€œWell, I’m not drowned, am I?” he said. “Lost my memory for a while, maybe. Pull yourself together, Gwenny.”
    â€œStupid old man,” Constance sneered. “My father didn’t look a bit like that old tramp.”
    Tom Barry spun around, his gray eyes sharp. “That will be enough nonsense from you, missy! You can wash that muck off your face, too.”
    Old George McLaren peered at the old man more closely and put out his hand. “Welcome back, Tom. I must say you look well.”
    Tom Barry shook his hand. “Fishing is a lot more fun than banking, George. Think about it when you retire.”
    â€œFancy turning up in that dreadful old suit, Thomas.” Mrs. Barry moaned. “And why aren’t your bottom teeth in?”
    â€œA fisherman doesn’t need a suit, Gwenny. And those fancy teeth were uncomfortable.”
    â€œAre you really my father?” Prunella’s eyes were rounder than ever.
    â€œYes, Pru,” Tom Barry assured her. “And have I got a real good little whistler put aside for you.”
    â€œWe can’t have pets in the townhouse,” Mrs. Barry said immediately.
    â€œBut we aren’t going to live in the townhouse, Gwenny,” her husband said. “We’ll live at Seaview. There’s the local high school the girls can attend.”
    â€œSeaview,” Mrs. Barry echoed in a stunned voice.
    â€œSeaview,” her husband repeated. “There’s a good living in fishing.” He patted her arm. “Picked out a nice big house down there for you, Gwenny.”
    â€œSo you can have some more bottom teeth fitted,” Mrs. Barry said in a high stressed voice. ‘Really Thomas, I’ve always told you, you have to persevere with false teeth.’
    Cindy decided it was an odd thing to say, but then perhaps Mrs. Barry was a bit taken aback at finding she still had a husband on her