"To a Christmas Eve wedding out of town. I won't be back home until Monday evening."
"Oh... Who's getting married?"
"My boss."
"That's nice. Give him my congratulations."
"I'll do that."
"Will it be a big wedding?"
"No, just a small one. It's a second marriage for both of them. So... you and Clayton have a happy holiday,
Celia."
"Same to you... uh... Mr. Qwilleran."
Hanging up the phone, he was sure she had got the message, and he complimented himself on handling well. He turned to say to Koko, "Thank you, old boy, for drawing it to my attention." But Koko wasn't there. He was in the closet sitting in the safe.
On the morning of December 24 Qwilleran packed his rented formal wear for the wedding in Purple Point, all the while pondering the Euphonia Gage swindle. It was now clear to him what had happened to her money. Whether or not Clayton could coax anything out of Mr. Crocus, Qwilleran believed he had a good case to present to Pender Wilmot.
He called the attorney's office, and a machine informed him they would be closed until Monday. The Wilmots were now living in the fashionable suburb West Middle Hummock, and he tried their residence. A childish voice answered, and he said, "May I speak to your father?"
"He isn't here. He went to a meeting. They have some lunch and sing a song and tell jokes. What do you want him for?"
"It's a business matter, Timmie."
"D'you want a divorce? Do you want to sue somebody?" the boy asked helpfully.
"Nothing like that," said Qwilleran, fascinated by the initiative of the embryo lawyer. "What else does he do besides divorces and lawsuits?"
"He writes wills. He wrote my will, and I signed it. I'm leaving my trains to my sister and all my wheels to my cousins and all my videos to the school."
"Well, have your father call me, Timmie, if he gets home before three o'clock. My name is Qwilleran."
"Wait till I get a pencil." There was a long wait before he returned to the line. "What's your name?"
"Qwilleran. I'll spell it for you. Q-w-i-I-I-e-r-a-n."
"Q?"
"That's right. Do you know how to make a Q?... Then
W..."
"W?" asked Timmie.
"That's right. Q... W... I... Have you got that? Then double-L..."
"Another W?" Timmie asked.
A woman's voice interrupted. "Timmie, your lunch is ready... Hello? This is Mrs. Wilmot. May I help you?"
"This is Jim Qwilleran, and I'd like Pender to call me if he gets home before three. I was in the process of leaving a message with his law clerk."
"Pender is having lunch with the Boosters, and then they're delivering Christmas baskets, but we'll see you at the wedding tonight."
"Perfect! I'll speak with him there."
-18-
THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY was scheduled early, so that family and friends of the couple might return home to observe their own Christmas Eve traditions. In midafternoon Qwilleran picked up Polly for the drive to Purple Point. It was a narrow peninsula curving into the lake to form a natural harbor on the northern shore of Moose County. Viewed across the bay at sunset it was a distinct shade of purple.
In the boom years of the nineteenth century Purple Point had been the center of fishing and shipbuilding industries, but all activity disappeared with the closing of the mines and the consequent economic collapse. Fire leveled the landscape, and hurricanes narrowed the peninsula to a mere spit of sand. Sport fishing revived the area in the 1920s as affluent families from Down Below built large summer residences, which they called fish camps.
By the time Qwilleran arrived in Moose County, these dwellings were called cottages but were actually year-round vacation homes lining both sides of the road that ran the length of the peninsula. There were few trees, and sweeping winds raised havoc with sand or snow according to season. The approach to the Point was across a low, flat, uninhabited expanse called the Flats, a wetland in summer and an arctic waste following the Big Snow. The county plows kept the road open, building high, snowy banks on both sides, while the individual cottages were walled in by their own snow blowers. It was a surreal landscape into which Qwilleran and Polly ventured on that Christmas Eve.
What the Lanspeaks called their cottage had a tall-case clock in the foyer, a baby grand piano in the living room, a quadrophonic sound system, and four bedrooms on the balcony. The only reminder of the original fish camp was the cobblestone fireplace. The bride and groom were already there, Riker assisting Larry in the preparation of an afternoon toddy, while Mildred raved about the tasteful decorations. There were banks of white poinsettias, garlands of greens, and a large Scotch pine trimmed with pearlescent ornaments, white velvet bows, and crystal icicles.
When the guests started to arrive, the wedding party was elsewhere, dressing. The first to pull into the driveway were Junior and Jody Goodwinter, car-pooling with Mildred's daughter, Sharon, and her husband, Roger MacGillivray. Qwilleran, looking down from the balcony, saw Lisa and Lyle Compton arriving with John Bushland (and his camera) and June Halliburton, who sat down at the piano and started playing pleasant music. Chopin nocturnes, Polly said. Among those from the neighboring cottages were Don Exbridge and his new wife and the Wilmot family, the bespectacled Timmie in his little long-pant suit and bow tie. Hixie Rice hobbled in with her surgical boot, walker, and attentive doctor. They brought the officiating pastor with them, Ms. Sims from the Brrr church, the Pickax clergymen having declined to leave their flocks on Christmas Eve.
At five o'clock the music faded away, the tall clock bonged five times, and Mildred's daughter lighted the row of candles on the mantel. An expectant hush fell over the assembled guests. Then the pianist began a sweetly lyrical melody. Schubert's Impromptu in G Flat, Polly said. Ms. Sims in robe and surplice took her place in front of the fireplace, and - as the tender notes developed into a strong crescendo - the groom and groomsman joined her. In dinner jacket and black tie the groom looked distinguished, and the best man looked especially handsome. There was a joyous burst of music, and all eyes turned upward as Polly walked downstairs from the balcony in her blue crepe and pearls. After a moment's suspense the tender melody was heard again, and Mildred - who had lost a few pounds - moved gracefully down the stairs in apricot velvet.
For the first time in his life Qwilleran performed his nuptial duty without dropping the ring. The only ripple of levity came when Timmie Wilmot, standing in the front row, said, "Daddy, how is that lady gonna join those people together?"
After the ceremony there were champagne toasts and the cutting of the cake. Rightfully, the bride was the center of attention. Mildred - the good-hearted, generous, charitable supporter of worthy causes - was saying, "All the restaurants have been saving their pickle jars for us, and we now have a hundred of them at cash registers around the county, collecting loose change for spaying stray cats. I call them community cats because they don't belong to anyone but they belong to everyone."
Lisa said to Qwilleran, "Who's feeding Koko and ! Yum Yum?"
"Polly's sister-in-law."
Polly said, "Qwill's cats get food intended for humans, and I can't convince him it's the wrong thing to do."
"If you can convince Koko," he said, "I'll gladly go along. In his formative years Koko lived with a gourmet cook and developed a taste for lobster bisque and oysters Rockefeller. If I feed the female catfood while the male is dining on take-outs from the Old Stone Mill, I'll be accused of sex discrimination."
The groom said, "We want a couple of Abyssinians as soon as we're settled."
"It's my considered opinion," said Pender Wilmot, "that the world would be a better place if everyone had a cat."