he looks like such a gent in that fancy white suit.”
“You a religious man these days, Stokely?
“I go to church when I can, Rev.”
“What’s it take to keep you from going?”
“I go when I can.”
“A light rain?”
“I go when I can.”
Fletch said, “Well, well, well. I know you got a big old Christian heart and that’s good enough for me. You boys ready? I think it’s time we go out there and give these folks waiting out there a show. Crowd’s getting restless, choir got them all fired up.”
“Damn! I got to pee,” Stoke said, raising himself up out of his chair.
“Really?” Hawke said. “That’s too bad, Stoke. You’re just going to have to hold it, brother. I’m sure Reverend Fletcher will be ever mindful of your needs and keep things moving smartly along at the altar.”
“Let us pray,” the preacher said with a wink at Hawke, each man bowing his head. Stokely pressed his pink palms together, his temple of strong fingers like carved mahogany.
Fletch’s voice was soft thunder.
“Oh God our help in ages past,
Our hope in years to come.
Bless and keep your servant Stokely Jones,
And give him strength and happiness
Throughout the years of his blessed union.
Amen.”
Ten
N ell Spooner sat with little Alexei in her lap, reasonably cool under the spreading boughs of the old oak tree. Alexei was content, now fixated on a miniature fire engine’s ladder. A long parade of automobiles was winding through the tall grass, parking helter-skelter in the churchyard, well-turned-out people climbing out of their mud-spattered cars and trucks. The whole Grace congregation was arriving to see their homegrown celebrity get married.
The press had arrived too. A TV transmitter van from Univision, the Miami-based Latino network, and also Channel 5, a local Fox affiliate. Fancha, a stunning beauty, had recently been nominated for a Latin Grammy award for her new hit song, “Love the Way You Lie,” a duet with Enrique Iglesias. The local girl made good was a star, and not just in Seminole anymore. She’d gone worldwide.
When the last wedding guest had entered the church, Nell gathered up her young charge and made her way to the steps of the church. Mr. Brock, a bit of a flirt, showed them to the seats he’d held for them on the aisle of the very last pew.
Holding the small boy’s hand as they entered the pew, she bent and whispered, “Remember, Alexei, first, I give you the ring, then you walk all the way to the front and hand it to your daddy. You do remember?”
“I do remember, Spooner. I go give Daddy the ring. Where all the flowers are.”
“There’s a good boy. Now, we’ll sit right here and be very, very quiet. This is God’s house and God doesn’t like noisy little boys unless they’re singing his praises.”
“Quiet as a church mouse?” he whispered, recalling the phrase she’d used at breakfast.
She smiled, delighted at his precocious mind and very keen anticipation about the music and the ceremony. Her new job had taken her a long way from the streets of Paddington in London. An opportunity to attend an old-fashioned southern wedding in a tiny town in the middle of the exotic Florida Everglades would have been unthinkable just two months ago. Too fascinating for words, really.
Unfortunately, she realized now, she couldn’t see a thing. There was a man planted in front of her the size of a small building. She could tell from the swell of the choir’s voices that the service was about to begin. She saw that the church was now standing room only, a lot of people gathered outside on the steps and beyond.
Nell handed the ring to Alexei. “Hold it tight. When I pat your head, you just march right up there and give it to Daddy. But walk slowly. Everybody will want a chance to see how handsome you are.”
She shifted in her seat, bemoaning the miserable fact of the large, heavily scented man directly in front of her. Long, oiled black hair fell below his neckline.
“You a religious man these days, Stokely?
“I go to church when I can, Rev.”
“What’s it take to keep you from going?”
“I go when I can.”
“A light rain?”
“I go when I can.”
Fletch said, “Well, well, well. I know you got a big old Christian heart and that’s good enough for me. You boys ready? I think it’s time we go out there and give these folks waiting out there a show. Crowd’s getting restless, choir got them all fired up.”
“Damn! I got to pee,” Stoke said, raising himself up out of his chair.
“Really?” Hawke said. “That’s too bad, Stoke. You’re just going to have to hold it, brother. I’m sure Reverend Fletcher will be ever mindful of your needs and keep things moving smartly along at the altar.”
“Let us pray,” the preacher said with a wink at Hawke, each man bowing his head. Stokely pressed his pink palms together, his temple of strong fingers like carved mahogany.
Fletch’s voice was soft thunder.
“Oh God our help in ages past,
Our hope in years to come.
Bless and keep your servant Stokely Jones,
And give him strength and happiness
Throughout the years of his blessed union.
Amen.”
Ten
N ell Spooner sat with little Alexei in her lap, reasonably cool under the spreading boughs of the old oak tree. Alexei was content, now fixated on a miniature fire engine’s ladder. A long parade of automobiles was winding through the tall grass, parking helter-skelter in the churchyard, well-turned-out people climbing out of their mud-spattered cars and trucks. The whole Grace congregation was arriving to see their homegrown celebrity get married.
The press had arrived too. A TV transmitter van from Univision, the Miami-based Latino network, and also Channel 5, a local Fox affiliate. Fancha, a stunning beauty, had recently been nominated for a Latin Grammy award for her new hit song, “Love the Way You Lie,” a duet with Enrique Iglesias. The local girl made good was a star, and not just in Seminole anymore. She’d gone worldwide.
When the last wedding guest had entered the church, Nell gathered up her young charge and made her way to the steps of the church. Mr. Brock, a bit of a flirt, showed them to the seats he’d held for them on the aisle of the very last pew.
Holding the small boy’s hand as they entered the pew, she bent and whispered, “Remember, Alexei, first, I give you the ring, then you walk all the way to the front and hand it to your daddy. You do remember?”
“I do remember, Spooner. I go give Daddy the ring. Where all the flowers are.”
“There’s a good boy. Now, we’ll sit right here and be very, very quiet. This is God’s house and God doesn’t like noisy little boys unless they’re singing his praises.”
“Quiet as a church mouse?” he whispered, recalling the phrase she’d used at breakfast.
She smiled, delighted at his precocious mind and very keen anticipation about the music and the ceremony. Her new job had taken her a long way from the streets of Paddington in London. An opportunity to attend an old-fashioned southern wedding in a tiny town in the middle of the exotic Florida Everglades would have been unthinkable just two months ago. Too fascinating for words, really.
Unfortunately, she realized now, she couldn’t see a thing. There was a man planted in front of her the size of a small building. She could tell from the swell of the choir’s voices that the service was about to begin. She saw that the church was now standing room only, a lot of people gathered outside on the steps and beyond.
Nell handed the ring to Alexei. “Hold it tight. When I pat your head, you just march right up there and give it to Daddy. But walk slowly. Everybody will want a chance to see how handsome you are.”
She shifted in her seat, bemoaning the miserable fact of the large, heavily scented man directly in front of her. Long, oiled black hair fell below his neckline.
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