all gathered around Mam’s kitchen table, with bridal and ladies magazines from DeSpain’s Corner Drug fanned out before them. “We don’t want to lose you in the crowd on your wedding day.”
Patsy added high heels to her growing list of things to do and purchase. “Got it,” she said. “I’ll make sure Mam and I get them soon so I can break them in. I certainly don’t want my feet pinched the whole day.”
If Mam wasn’t fully on board with the wedding, Papa barely hung on to the edge. But his firm resolve not to bless their union had been undone by Martha, Gilbert’s cook, whose cuisine Papa had taken to for lunch and Saturday breakfasts with the church’s men’s group. “Not as good as my wife’s, but close enough,” he’d say.
Martha had become the happy couple’s crusader. In her not-so-subtle way, she’d leave the hot kitchen for the back side of the serving counter just so she could give Papa her opinion.
“Whether I ask for it or not,” Patsy overheard Papa telling Mam one evening. The two of them were enjoying an after-dinner cup of coffee in the living room while Patsy cleared the dining room table for Mam.
“And what does she say to you?”
Patsy lingered near the wide-open doorway leading to the foyer so she could hear as Papa humphed. “Just that ‘those two young’uns are gon’ do what they gon’ do and you may as well give ’em yore blessins’ or lose ’em in the process.’”
Patsy had to stifle a giggle at Papa trying to imitate the sassy old cook.
“‘And when she brings those grandbabies into the world,’” Papa continued in his mimicry, “‘then what you gon’ do? Not see ’em? Pretends they don’t exist?’”
“Martha makes a good point,” Mam said. Patsy heard the gentle resting of cup against saucer. “Don’t you think so, Patsy?” Mam asked, voice raised.
Patsy inhaled quickly, said, “I’m not listening,” then moved along to the kitchen to finish her voluntary chores.
From that day on, Papa wasn’t 100 percent pleased, but at least he wasn’t hard-nosed against the wedding either.
To his chagrin, however, Patsy would be moving into the back of the garage with Gilbert. So, while Mam worked on the wedding dress, Patsy stitched frilly curtains and overstuffed decorative pillows, hoping to change the four tiny rooms from a bachelor pad that reeked of motor oil to the sweet-smelling home of a young married couple.
A young married couple in love.
———
With the nuptials just two weeks away, Patsy sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, staring at a lineup of the wedding party she’d jotted on a piece of paper and palm-pressed against the quilt.
Her maid of honor was Janice, of course, because she was Gilbert’s sister. Gilbert had chosen his father as his best man.
Then came Rayette and Sandra as bridesmaids, with Terrance Swanson—an old classmate of Gilbert’s—and Lloyd as groomsmen.
Papa, of course, would give her away.
Patsy closed her eyes and imagined hearing Brother Michael as he said, “Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?”
Her mother and I . . .
Her shoulders slumped forward. In the years since her arrival in Trinity, she’d become an expert of sorts at pushing any thoughts of her former life into the dusty corner of her brain, the one so perfectly shielded by a brick wall she’d created. She’d deliberately changed her name. She thought of Mam as her mother; Papa as her father. Lloyd, of course, was her blood brother, and while he’d asked a lot of questions in the beginning, he’d eventually let them fall by the wayside after reasoning—she supposed—that talking about her previous home and family was nearly more than she could bear. She’d done everything within her power to forget. She worked hard on her studies, was dutiful at home and at the floral shop, stayed busy with her friends and with Gilbert. Trinity was her hometown. Buchwald was her last name. She had only one
Patsy added high heels to her growing list of things to do and purchase. “Got it,” she said. “I’ll make sure Mam and I get them soon so I can break them in. I certainly don’t want my feet pinched the whole day.”
If Mam wasn’t fully on board with the wedding, Papa barely hung on to the edge. But his firm resolve not to bless their union had been undone by Martha, Gilbert’s cook, whose cuisine Papa had taken to for lunch and Saturday breakfasts with the church’s men’s group. “Not as good as my wife’s, but close enough,” he’d say.
Martha had become the happy couple’s crusader. In her not-so-subtle way, she’d leave the hot kitchen for the back side of the serving counter just so she could give Papa her opinion.
“Whether I ask for it or not,” Patsy overheard Papa telling Mam one evening. The two of them were enjoying an after-dinner cup of coffee in the living room while Patsy cleared the dining room table for Mam.
“And what does she say to you?”
Patsy lingered near the wide-open doorway leading to the foyer so she could hear as Papa humphed. “Just that ‘those two young’uns are gon’ do what they gon’ do and you may as well give ’em yore blessins’ or lose ’em in the process.’”
Patsy had to stifle a giggle at Papa trying to imitate the sassy old cook.
“‘And when she brings those grandbabies into the world,’” Papa continued in his mimicry, “‘then what you gon’ do? Not see ’em? Pretends they don’t exist?’”
“Martha makes a good point,” Mam said. Patsy heard the gentle resting of cup against saucer. “Don’t you think so, Patsy?” Mam asked, voice raised.
Patsy inhaled quickly, said, “I’m not listening,” then moved along to the kitchen to finish her voluntary chores.
From that day on, Papa wasn’t 100 percent pleased, but at least he wasn’t hard-nosed against the wedding either.
To his chagrin, however, Patsy would be moving into the back of the garage with Gilbert. So, while Mam worked on the wedding dress, Patsy stitched frilly curtains and overstuffed decorative pillows, hoping to change the four tiny rooms from a bachelor pad that reeked of motor oil to the sweet-smelling home of a young married couple.
A young married couple in love.
———
With the nuptials just two weeks away, Patsy sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, staring at a lineup of the wedding party she’d jotted on a piece of paper and palm-pressed against the quilt.
Her maid of honor was Janice, of course, because she was Gilbert’s sister. Gilbert had chosen his father as his best man.
Then came Rayette and Sandra as bridesmaids, with Terrance Swanson—an old classmate of Gilbert’s—and Lloyd as groomsmen.
Papa, of course, would give her away.
Patsy closed her eyes and imagined hearing Brother Michael as he said, “Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?”
Her mother and I . . .
Her shoulders slumped forward. In the years since her arrival in Trinity, she’d become an expert of sorts at pushing any thoughts of her former life into the dusty corner of her brain, the one so perfectly shielded by a brick wall she’d created. She’d deliberately changed her name. She thought of Mam as her mother; Papa as her father. Lloyd, of course, was her blood brother, and while he’d asked a lot of questions in the beginning, he’d eventually let them fall by the wayside after reasoning—she supposed—that talking about her previous home and family was nearly more than she could bear. She’d done everything within her power to forget. She worked hard on her studies, was dutiful at home and at the floral shop, stayed busy with her friends and with Gilbert. Trinity was her hometown. Buchwald was her last name. She had only one
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