“I knew it couldn’t last,” he said. I felt honoured when he shared a knowing look with me. I didn’t know to what I owed such intimacy.
“Haven’t you two declared a truce until you and Sherry drive away picking rice out of your hair?”
“You’re talking theory,” he said with a pained expression. “Practice just walked in the door. For Sherry’s sake I’m putting up with more than my share of abuse. I’m not even sure he’ll give Sherry away tomorrow. He hasn’t said a civil word to me for weeks.”
“Ah,” I thought, “you can’t beat the first families at keeping the lid on tight and keeping up appearances.”
“Hello, Cooperman,” Forbes said flatly as he came down the aisle. “I won’t ask how you got here. You turn up so many places nowadays. Could it have anything to do with my dear ex-wife?” I didn’t answer. In a moment he had passed on down towards the front.
“Hates to share the spotlight,” Caine said watching Forbes’s back retreating. “We almost had to defy tradition and get the Commander to give the bride away. That would have been a major snub, seeing that Ross is still alive and kicking.”
“You get top marks for keeping it out of the Beacon.”
“Yeah, this town loves a feud like this. You haven’t seen the Commander, by the way, have you? It’s not like him to miss gloating at Ross’s expense.” I shrugged ignorance and let Caine pass on back to the main group at the front. I took a pew by myself near an assortment of men and women who were not themselves involved in the service. I spotted what might have been the father of the groom. He was a round little man, just over five feet tall, wearing an expression of limitless worry. Maybe he was paying for the dinner which was to follow the rehearsal. Teddie Forbes turned around and seemed to be counting the empty pews. She spotted me and gave me a friendly wave with her fingers. It seemed to say: What is either one of us doing here? It was fun trying to put names to the unfamiliar faces that occasionally turned and looked in this direction.
“People! Excuse me, people!” said the old man in the light cardigan. It was a melodious, clear voice that easily filled the nave of the church without any appearance of strain. He seemed to know exactly the right volume to pitch his voice at to be readily heard everywhere. “My name’s James Nombril. I’m Canon Nombril from St. Catharine of Jerusalem Cathedral. I’m one of those one ’n’ canons, although they say that I sound off like a fourteen-inch gun at least once a week!” He paused here, acknowledged the laugh and went on. “I’m indebted to my friend Ronald Prine, the rector of St. Mark’s for letting me stand in the shadow of the Lion of St. Mark tonight. I wouldn’t think of putting Ron out of his pulpit, if it weren’t for a promise I made many years ago to my old comrade in arms, Commander Murdo Forbes.” Another friendly noise from the congregation. “Murdo?” he called. “Murdo? Where are you?” People began looking over their shoulders to see if the Commander was blushing properly. But, not finding him, they turned around to face the canon again and he continued. “Well, since he isn’t here yet,” the old man said in a sly stage whisper, “perhaps I can tell you about the time both Murdo and I nearly missed a convoy sailing from Halifax during the war.” Canon Nombril was softening up his audience with great skill. He was being informal for a senior clergyman, but kept us reminded that he was standing below the altar in a place of worship. The large eagle on the pulpit’s lectern cast a sombre shadow as Nombril went on with his anecdote, which ended: “… so you see we are both acquainted with lateness.” Once he had collected his laugh, he could now be seen changing gears. He was moving to the business of the evening.
“If I may, I’d like to welcome you all here tonight, especially, if I may say it, those of you whom we seldom see. You may take that as a commercial message.” Another laugh. The canon went on in his amusing but skillful way, asking those in the back to move closer to the front, and generally making a fuss over the young couple. He introduced the organist who had just seated himself in the choir. The young man sounded a chord to acknowledge the bobbing heads and expressions of approval. Again Canon Nombril changed gears.
“People, I want to see all ushers and bridesmaids moving back to the narthex.” He then explained that he meant the foyer at the back of the church. I watched while he drilled the ushers in moving people into pews down front, reserving the front two for the families of the wedding party. He showed the bridesmaids how to walk, admitting humorously that he was often surprised to see young women who lacked any notion of how to walk in long dresses. Anna shot me a look, which I pretended I didn’t see. Canon Nombril took great pains in coaching the young flower girl, a pretty six-year-old, the daughter of Harold Grier, who sat next to Dr. Gary Carswell. The doctor, I gathered, was going to stand up with the groom.
As a rehearsal it went very well. The only things omitted were the lines. I heard no prayers or exchanges of vows. We jumped from cue to cue. “People, the responses go in here and by now, Norman, you should be certain that Dr. Carswell is holding the ring in his hand.” Carswell amused everybody by flourishing the ring. “Very good, Doctor. We want to get the young couple off to a good start, don’t we?” He went on to tell a story about a wedding in which the ring had been attached to a satin pillow by a stitch of thread. It took three minutes to separate the ring from the pillow. Meanwhile the bride had dissolved in tears.
By the time he finished with us, anyone who had been paying attention could have written a guide to the modern wedding. We knew who was to be seated on the right above the ribboned pew and who was to sit on the left below the ribboned pew. We knew that once Teddie was safely seated in the front pew on the left, the ceremony was about to begin in earnest. We knew who was to check boutonnières and transportation. Subtly, we were informed that this was the way these things were done. This was the standard, everything else a falling away from it. In addition, Canon Nombril wanted the ceremony to work the way a naval battle drill worked, with battle stations fully manned at zero hour or somebody was going to be on report. For a moment I thought he was going to get us to synchronize our watches. He didn’t, but the pause before his “Any questions?” made up for it.
After the drill was concluded, with the procession and recessional worked out to the music, Canon Nombril huddled with the leading players in the chancel for another ten minutes. When they returned, beaming, as though some of life’s secrets had already been opened to them, Canon Nombril thanked us for our kind attention. “I’ve been asked, people, by Mr. Kenneth Caine, father of our groom, to invite you all to break bread with us next door at the club in the General Brock Room, I believe.” He explained that this was another of the traditions involved. Before we were able to get away, he asked us to go through the recessional one more time and to clear the church, beginning with the front pews first, just as we would on the great day itself. The organ struck up again, and the bride and groom led the way out of the church, with the rest of us following at a dignified distance the people in front. I’ve been in plays that had less time with the director than this wedding. I was amazed at the detail of the rehearsal. In me, at least, it awakened hunger.
TWENTY-THREE
It was a short walk from St. Mark’s-by-the-Greens to the club. In fact, a well-worn path cut across the grass, avoiding the front parking lot, and ended at the side door. Three times Canon Nombril had referred to the club as being only an iron shot away from sanctity. He also allowed that St. Mark’s was the same distance from perdition. He said it with a generous grin, in case anyone might take him seriously. Anna was involved with the wedding party, so I had to content myself with walking along with Teddie. “I’ll bet you’re getting as big a kick out of this as I am, Benny,” she said. “The only amusing thing is the sour look on Ross’s face. You have to admit that’s worth the price of admission.”