plain refuse to believe Colby has been harmed.” Margaret Louise cut her hand through the air, effectively ending that line of thinking for the moment. “So, like I said, Debbie’ll make the cake, and I can cook the supper for the reception . . .”
“Who says she is going to have a reception? Maybe the two of them will simply have a quiet ceremony. With a wedding cake for two.”
“Spoilsport.” Leona huffed from the backseat.
“I can cook the supper for the reception,” Margaret Louise continued, unfazed. “And you can find just the right poem to commemorate their special”—the woman looked at her sister through the rearview mirror once again and grinned—“love.”
“And?”
“And what, Victoria?”
“And Leona? What will she offer to do?”
Margaret Louise’s shoulders slumped. “We haven’t come up with that yet.”
“Perhaps an antique from my shop. You know, dear, something along the lines of a bunny trap from the 1800s?”
Tori rolled her eyes upward, her gaze resting momentarily on the spot where the ceiling fabric caved inward a smidge. Swiveling her body to the left so as to afford the most clear-cut view of the passenger in the backseat, Tori flashed a smile that made Leona shift in her seat. “I have an idea, Margaret Louise. It goes hand in hand with your bet. You know, the one about Leona learning to sew.”
“Oooh, do tell.” Margaret Louise rubbed her hands back and forth against each other.
“Well, you both know that famous saying about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue . . . right?”
“Of course.” A hearty laugh escaped Margaret Louise’s mouth as she, too, turned to look over the seat separating them from Leona. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking that perhaps your sister, here, can make a lace handkerchief for Ella May. It would be simple yet tasteful and more than a little appreciated . . . especially when Ella May learns how hard Leona worked on it.”
The smartly dressed woman in the backseat simply stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance I’d ruin that portion of the famous tradition. It is, after all, supposed to be a perfect day for the bride.”
“Memorable,” corrected Margaret Louise as she reached for the door handle and pulled it up. “That’s a splendid idea, Victoria. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it myself.”
Following suit, Tori exited the car amid a string of protests from the one remaining occupant. “Think about it, Margaret Louise . . . long after Debbie’s cake and your meal have been eaten . . . long after the words of my poem have faded into a distant memory . . . Leona’s lace handkerchief will still be around . . . bringing such sweet joy to Ella May and Billy.”
“Perhaps she could even put a small patch right in the middle of the lace. Something that symbolizes the happy couple’s undyin’ love.” Margaret Louise didn’t even attempt to bite back her smile as Leona stepped from the car. “Or maybe somethin’ with special significance for the bride herself.”
Tori clapped her hands together. “That’s it, Margaret Louise! We could put a tiny bunny in the center of the fabric.”
“I am not amused. Not in the slightest.” Leona enunciated each syllable with the utmost clarity. “I believe an antique will be just—”
The sound of wood smacking wood make them all look up, the early evening sun temporarily blinding them. In simultaneous fashion, all three placed their hands over their eyes and looked toward the Victorian home that seemed more than a little ill-fitting among scads of bunny rabbits and countless placards boasting cutesy bunny sayings.
“It’s her,” Margaret Louise whispered from the side of her mouth. “It’s Ella May.”
“Well who else did you expect it to be?” Leona whispered back.
“We look ridiculous just standing here, ladies.” Inhaling deeply, Tori wrapped one hand around each
“Who says she is going to have a reception? Maybe the two of them will simply have a quiet ceremony. With a wedding cake for two.”
“Spoilsport.” Leona huffed from the backseat.
“I can cook the supper for the reception,” Margaret Louise continued, unfazed. “And you can find just the right poem to commemorate their special”—the woman looked at her sister through the rearview mirror once again and grinned—“love.”
“And?”
“And what, Victoria?”
“And Leona? What will she offer to do?”
Margaret Louise’s shoulders slumped. “We haven’t come up with that yet.”
“Perhaps an antique from my shop. You know, dear, something along the lines of a bunny trap from the 1800s?”
Tori rolled her eyes upward, her gaze resting momentarily on the spot where the ceiling fabric caved inward a smidge. Swiveling her body to the left so as to afford the most clear-cut view of the passenger in the backseat, Tori flashed a smile that made Leona shift in her seat. “I have an idea, Margaret Louise. It goes hand in hand with your bet. You know, the one about Leona learning to sew.”
“Oooh, do tell.” Margaret Louise rubbed her hands back and forth against each other.
“Well, you both know that famous saying about something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue . . . right?”
“Of course.” A hearty laugh escaped Margaret Louise’s mouth as she, too, turned to look over the seat separating them from Leona. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking that perhaps your sister, here, can make a lace handkerchief for Ella May. It would be simple yet tasteful and more than a little appreciated . . . especially when Ella May learns how hard Leona worked on it.”
The smartly dressed woman in the backseat simply stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance I’d ruin that portion of the famous tradition. It is, after all, supposed to be a perfect day for the bride.”
“Memorable,” corrected Margaret Louise as she reached for the door handle and pulled it up. “That’s a splendid idea, Victoria. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it myself.”
Following suit, Tori exited the car amid a string of protests from the one remaining occupant. “Think about it, Margaret Louise . . . long after Debbie’s cake and your meal have been eaten . . . long after the words of my poem have faded into a distant memory . . . Leona’s lace handkerchief will still be around . . . bringing such sweet joy to Ella May and Billy.”
“Perhaps she could even put a small patch right in the middle of the lace. Something that symbolizes the happy couple’s undyin’ love.” Margaret Louise didn’t even attempt to bite back her smile as Leona stepped from the car. “Or maybe somethin’ with special significance for the bride herself.”
Tori clapped her hands together. “That’s it, Margaret Louise! We could put a tiny bunny in the center of the fabric.”
“I am not amused. Not in the slightest.” Leona enunciated each syllable with the utmost clarity. “I believe an antique will be just—”
The sound of wood smacking wood make them all look up, the early evening sun temporarily blinding them. In simultaneous fashion, all three placed their hands over their eyes and looked toward the Victorian home that seemed more than a little ill-fitting among scads of bunny rabbits and countless placards boasting cutesy bunny sayings.
“It’s her,” Margaret Louise whispered from the side of her mouth. “It’s Ella May.”
“Well who else did you expect it to be?” Leona whispered back.
“We look ridiculous just standing here, ladies.” Inhaling deeply, Tori wrapped one hand around each
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