Kirby, once the handsome pick of the litter, bore scars he would carry all his life. But they were all alive, that was the main thing.
When Nell saw them in town she thought of Rob.
It was becoming easier to remember the good things, harder to recall the bad.
Jessamyn and Colin were delighted when she told them she was going to marry Jack Reece. Colin enthused about having a car like the Mustang. “When you get all that money from the government you could buy one easy,” he told his mother.
“It’s not going to be a fortune, and I don’t think we should waste it on sports cars. That money will take both of you to university and give you a start afterwards.”
Colin went straight to Jack. “Talk to her, will you?”
“I warned you about taking on a ready-made family,” Bea told her nephew when he related the conversation. “You’re likely to get caught in the middle.”
“I have to be careful, Aunt Bea. They’re not my children, not even my stepchildren yet. Not children at all, actually. When the war starts Colin will be old enough to fight.”
“You said ‘when,’ not ‘if.’ I hope the wedding will happen first.”
“It will, Nell’s finally agreed. April sixth. There are so few incidents of the Change now, she’s not going to make me wait any longer.”
Bea ducked her chin and peered at him over the rims of her glasses. “I was under the impression she’s not making you wait now.”
Jack smiled.
Nell wanted a traditional wedding. An afternoon ceremony in a chapel, with flowers and music. Beeswax candles and flowers from Gold’s Court Florist. Gerry Delmonico would sing a medley of her favorite songs. Jessamyn would be her bridesmaid, Colin would give his mother away. She would wear a fitted silk suit in a pale golden shade that complemented her hair, a tiny matching hat with a wisp of veil across her face… and the ring.
Arthur Hannisch had outdone himself with the ring. She did not want diamonds—Rob had given her diamonds. The ring Jack would put on her finger was a square-cut emerald that glowed like green fire.
Jack assured her the date she had chosen would be fine. “We might be cutting it close, but I doubt it. You can be sure there’s a lot of diplomatic maneuvering going on behind the scenes, and as long as they’re talking, they’re not fighting.”
Yet Nell felt an irrational anxiety building in herself, like her experience on the morning she took the children for a hike to Daggett’s Woods. Nothing awful had happened then—so why should she worry now?
Pre-wedding jitters, that’s it.
The Change was becoming a memory, the wedding would be beautiful and maybe there would be no war after all.
Please. Please!
Lila Ragland had become Nell’s confederate, writing up the engagement announcement for the paper and surreptitiously informing her of the latest developments gleaned from abroad. “I don’t want Jack to know I’m worried,” Nell confided.
“We’re all worried, but put it out of your mind and enjoy the day. At least we won’t be watching a three-dimensional war on a wallscreen.”
“Guns, tanks, missiles… they’re gathering now, Lila. Can’t you feel it? I can.”
Lila said sharply, “Stop obsessing over it, you’re going to make me nervous.”
Dwayne Nyeberger read the engagement announcement with interest, particularly about the members of the wedding party.
Arguably the most beautiful building in Sycamore River was a little chapel on Cornelius Place, in the peaceful heart of the south side. Built at the end of the nineteenth century, the small building was constructed of golden sandstone and contained a much-admired stained glass window depicting the Good Shepherd with his flock. Generations of townspeople had been christened and married there—though not the Bennetts. On the occasions when he felt obligated to attend church Robert Bennett went to the much larger one on Pine Grove, where his presence would be observed and noted.
Once in a great while, when she felt overwhelmed, Nell Bennett had visited the chapel just to sit in a pew at the back and absorb the atmosphere of serenity. The silence within the golden walls was not dead; it was alive with the inaudible prayers of ages past.
Nell booked the chapel for April 6th.
The morning of the wedding presented a mixed weather picture. The sky overhead was clear, but silvery clouds along the horizon were wearing black skirts, pregnant with rain.
There had been no rowdy bachelor’s party the night before, but the reception after the wedding would be held in Bill’s Bar and Grill, which would introduce a slightly raffish touch. The idea, to Jack’s delight, had been Nell’s.
To prevent him from seeing his bride before she walked down the aisle—a tradition the women insisted on—the male members of the wedding party would also gather in Bill’s before the wedding. The bar and grill would otherwise be closed for the day.
Nell would be getting ready at her house, accompanied by the female members of the Wednesday Club and Katharine Richmond, the matron of honor.
The celebration began early at Bill’s. By common consent there was no discussion of the looming war, and Bill kept a close eye on the amount of alcohol being consumed. “Nobody’s going to that wedding drunk! You guys can do your heavy drinking after. Except for Jack,” he added with a wink at the soon-to-be bridegroom. “Nell might thank me for keeping you sober.”
“The idea of getting married is enough to make any man sober,” Edgar Tilbury commented.
Shay said, “You’ve never considered remarriage?”
“I thought I was finished with all that.”
“You thought? Past tense? You old dog, have you met somebody?”
Instead of answering Tilbury went back to the bar for a refill.
Bill Burdick was keeping a close eye on the time. A bachelor himself, he was enjoying the celebratory atmosphere. It had been a long time since his customers had been so merry. Mentally Bill considered three or four Sycamore River women whom he might consider marrying. A man who owned a bar had an opportunity to meet almost every attractive girl in Sycamore River.
The end of the Change would mark a passage in the life of the town. On one level it could start to be normal again. There was the war, of course; if war came it would change life in a different way. The threat of personal extinction was enough to make a man grab what happiness he could while there was still time.
Tyler Whittaker had not been invited to the wedding, nor did he expect to be. The fading of the Change—like many people, he was unable to accept it without reservation—meant the sheriff needed to be as watchful as ever. “No more Change is a change,” he remarked to Hooper Watson on the morning of the wedding, “and any change seems to upset people one way or another.”
Watson had dropped in at the sheriff’s office on his way to the bar and grill. A daily stop by the office and a cup of coffee with its current incumbent was part of his way of keeping “plugged in,” as he called it.
“You still carrying your gun?” he asked Whittaker.
“’Course I am, Hoop. You know a gun comes with the job.”
“I don’t mean a pistol; I’m talking about your revolver. Now, that’s a gun.”
“Straight out of the Old West,” Whittaker boasted. “Not actually, of course, but it’s part of the image. Like a Stetson and cowboy boots.”
“If you wore those in Sycamore River you’d be laughed out of office.”
“I know that. But I always carry my revolver; there’s something about the sight of it that quiets people right down. Even that nutjob who killed the Nyeberger woman gave in as soon as I shoved it in his face.”