Chapter Eleven
Gabby
I don’t know how it all went so wrong. It seemed like one minute I was helping to hang my newly cleaned, perfectly restored, absolutely gorgeous dress from a branch of the big cottonwood tree at the edge of the lawn—too high for the goats to reach; safe from dogs and chickens; protected, to a smaller extent, from wind, or rain, or hail. And the next...
Well, to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur. I think I blocked most of it out. But I believe it went something like this:
The chapel had arrived, a little earlier than expected, and it was amazing—even prettier than it had looked in the pictures I’d seen of it online. With its white clapboard siding, its gray slate roof, its stained-glass windows and tiny little steeple, it looked like it belonged in some quaint village in New England.
At the same time, when it was set up in the meadow closest to the barn, with a backdrop of trees and blue sky behind it, tall grass hiding its wheels, it looked like it had been there forever, like it had been built with this exact location in mind. It was the most perfect thing I'd seen all week.
It was bigger than I'd thought it would be. I figured it could hold maybe a dozen people comfortably inside, and about half that number could fit on the covered porch. It even came with its own video system, so that people outside the chapel could view the ceremony remotely.
If the weather was fine, we decided, we'd set up chairs in the grass and be married outside, on the chapel’s porch, with everyone in attendance. If it looked like rain, we’d get married inside the chapel, with only my immediate family around us; while the rest of our guests watched via TV, from the relative comfort of the barn.
Once that had been settled, and the chapel had been driven into place, and unhooked from the truck, my brother Rafe volunteered to mow the grass. And while he went to get the tractor, my parents, and Derek and I walked back to the house with the minister—Dave—and his assistant, Cheryl.
My mother excused herself to go inside and put together some refreshments. My father got busy lighting up the smoker for our rehearsal-dinner-slash-barbecue, which looked like it would be happening sooner than planned, since Dave and Cheryl were staying in York and didn't want to leave too late.
Dave, Cheryl, Derek and I sat at the picnic table to discuss what kind of ceremony we wanted. We told Dave a little about ourselves—where we lived, what we did, how we’d met, why we’d chosen to marry here instead of somewhere else. And, yes, I’ll admit it, I glossed over some of the troubles we’d had, as well as the fact that—by this point—I was questioning everything. Why were we getting married here? Or at all, for that matter?
Maybe I didn't want to be reminded of how lousy this morning had been. Maybe I didn't want any of my unhappiness and doubts to work their way into Dave's sermon. Maybe it came down to superstition, or the sneaking suspicion the universe was trying to tell us something—like, “don't get married!” I couldn't help but notice Derek didn't mention any of it either.
Dave seemed nice enough. He told us a little about himself, too—why he’d become a minister, how he’d hooked up with the mobile chapel company, “Although it’s unusual for me to find myself in such a rural environment. I usually don't take those assignments. You lucked out, however. There was a last-minute cancellation, and here we are!”
"Lucked out?" Derek laughed at that. "Well, that makes for a nice change, doesn't it?"
I had to agree that it did.
Dave blinked at that. It seemed like he was blinking a lot. And he might have had something caught in his throat. But it was only after the third or fourth sneeze that I began to grow really concerned.
“It sounds like you’re coming down with a cold,” I said. “Could I get you something for it? Some hot tea, perhaps? Or maybe some water, or lemonade?”
Dave shook his head. “No, thank you. I think it’s just my allergies acting up.”
“What are you allergic to?” Derek asked, looking worried. I didn't blame him.
“Oh, a few things,” Dave said, looking vaguely embarrassed. He was clearly not inclined to elaborate. Unlike Cheryl.
“Almost everything. Flowers, grasses, weeds, even some trees, right?”
Dave sneezed again and nodded. “Well, yes, a few. Pecan's the worst though.”
I nodded sympathetically, and did a mental survey of the neighborhood. As far as I recalled, there were no pecan trees, either on the farm or in the general vicinity. Of course, I had no idea where my father had gotten the wood he was using in the smoker. What if that was pecan?
I glanced across the yard to where my father was tending his fire. He’d set up a little closer to the cottonwood than usual. I supposed that was due to the fact that the sky had begun to grow overcast. In the event of a shower, the tree would block a little of the rain. Which was exactly what we'd been thinking when we hung the dress there. The wind had picked up by then, as well. It carried the green, pungent scent of newly mown grass, but at least it was blowing the smoke away from us, and away from the tree. That was an even bigger relief. I really didn’t want my wet dress getting smoke-stained, after all.
I tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Dave say, “I basically don’t eat any tree nuts—just to be on the safe side.”
“What’s that?” I asked, feeling like I might have missed something important.
“Allergies,” Derek explained. He smiled at Dave. “If you eat any cupcakes tomorrow, just be sure to stay away from the ones with the green frosting—those are almond. The rest should be fine.”
“Good to know.” Dave wiped his nose and sniffed some more. Was it my imagination, or was he blinking even more rapidly now than he had been earlier?
“Is there anything else we should watch out for?” I asked.
“No,” he cleared his throat and sniffed again. “Just the usual, as I said.”
I looked questioningly at Derek once again. “Ragweed,” he explained. “Goldenrod, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, chamomile. Did I leave anything out?”
“Bees,” Cheryl supplied, helpfully.
Dave made a face. “Yes, but, as I said, that’s different. That’s really a sensitivity, rather than a true allergy.
"Oh, and wool," Cheryl added.
"Wool?" I repeated worriedly.
Dave smiled kindly at me. "No need to worry about your goats. That's fleece. It's entirely different."
"Yes, I know, but..."
"How about angora?" Derek asked.
"Nope." Dave shook his head. "It's just the lanolin in wool that affects me."
I nodded grimly. "Right. Of course." Looming large as life in my mind's eye, like storm clouds on the horizon, were my sister's flock of Black Welsh Mountain sheep. I should have mentioned their existence, I suppose. And I probably would have. But before I got the chance, my mother arrived bearing an awkwardly balanced, heavy-looking tray. Derek and I both jumped up to give her a hand.
"Oh, dear," she said, as she stared at Dave in concern. "You're quite red in the face. Are you getting sunburned?"
He was looking a little flushed, come to think of it, and a little puffy.
"Have some iced tea," my mother urged as Dave began to cough once more.
"Thank you," he gasped when he could talk again. "I think maybe I will."
She handed him a glass, and he took a big gulp, and...and that was about the time the yelling started.
We all turned away from the table and glanced toward the path that led up from the pasture. Garth and Keith were hollering as they ran, buckets banging against their legs with every step. It was a wonder they didn't lose any of the flowers they'd collected, but of course they didn't. I spied masses of sunflowers and big sprays of goldenrod; and I wanted to cry. Given Dave's horrified-sounding gasp of surprise, I figured he'd seen them too. Or maybe it wasn't the flowers. Because Wyatt, carrying Sam over one shoulder, followed after the older boys, waving his free hand in an attempt to ward off the bees that swarmed around them and trailed behind.
"Damn it," my mother snarled in annoyance. "Those boys. The one thing I told them not to do!"
Dave gasped again—loudly—an urgent, garbled sound, but at that point no one was paying him any attention. We had too much else on our minds.
It had started to rain—a brief, heavy splatter that at least distracted the bees. The wind was blowing my mother's paper plates and plastic cups across the yard. And everyone was talking at once. It was only when Cheryl gave a shriek of alarm that we all turned around once again, to find Dave collapsed on the ground. It was lucky for him that he had a dose of epinephrine on him, that he'd managed to get it out of his pocket, and that Cheryl didn't have to be told how to administer it.
Needless to say, Dave and Cheryl did not stay for dinner. After a quick consultation with 911, they headed up to York—where the closest hospital was located. By then Arielle and the girls had run out from the house to see what the commotion was, Micah and Rafe had come in from the fields and Lana had arrived.
It was in the middle of what felt like the fifteenth explanation we'd given as to what had occurred, when Wyatt interrupted suddenly to say, "What's that burning smell?" Which was how we discovered that my dress had been blown out of the tree and was now lying face down across the smoker in a sodden, smoldering, smoke-stained, ruined mess. Just perfect.
"I can't believe this week," my father grumbled a short time later, after I relayed the information I'd just received from Cheryl—that she'd be stopping by on Monday to pick up the chapel, and that while we were welcome to use it tomorrow, Dave would not be available to officiate after all. "But, I tell you what, it's a damn good thing we can still count on Bodhi."
"Sure," I said, no longer feeling up to fighting that, or any other battle. "Whatever. I don't care."
Derek didn't say anything. He was looking stunned. Then again, I think we were all feeling pretty shell-shocked at that point. My mom was dabbing calamine lotion on the boys' stings. Wyatt looked glum. Arielle looked angry.
I poured myself a glass of iced tea, wishing it were Booze, and tossed back half the glass in one gulp. I blinked at the taste and started to laugh.
"You okay, Gabe?" Derek asked, eyeing me strangely.
I shook my head. "Not even a little. Mom, what's in this tea?"
"Oh, nothing special," she said, shrugging absently, as she dabbed calamine lotion on the boys. "It's just my usual herbal blend."
"Chamomile?"
"Yes, dear, of course. Among other things. Why?"
"Oh, no reason," I said as I buried my head in my hands. "No reason at all."
Sunday morning came too soon. Or not soon enough. I wasn't sure which. Through the skylight in the wagon's bedroom, I watched the sunrise light up the sky. I watched the stars fade out and the clouds turn pink. According to the forecast, there was only a sixty per cent chance of rain. Given the way things had been going all week, I thought that percentage was unrealistically low.
"Good morning," Derek murmured, his voice husky as he leaned over and kissed my cheek.
"Is it?"
"Oh, come on, Gabe. Don't be like that. We're getting married. We should at least try to be excited."
I shook my head. "I don't want to get married. I've been thinking about it, and... It's not too late. We can call it off. We can do it some other time, some other place—anywhere else, I don't care. I give up. I can't do this anymore."
"We are doing this,” he insisted. “And we’re doing it today, because there’s no way I can face going through it all again. And I refuse to give up. We can't let them win Gabe."
"Them? Win?" I leaned up on my elbow and stared. What the fuck is he talking about? "What them, Derek? There is no them; it's the universe conspiring against us. The entire universe is telling us 'don't get married', just like in Moonstruck."
"Moonstruck?" Derek cocked an eyebrow. "What? I remind you of a wolf?"
I shook my head and quoted, "It don't work out for you."
"What doesn't?"
"Marriage."
Derek shook his head. "We've never been married before. How do we know it won't work unless we try?"
"The same way you know not to lie on the railroad tracks when a train's coming. It's a no-brainer. Either you figure it out in time, or it kills you."
"I refuse to accept that analogy," Derek said as he got out of bed. "Now, get up. Let's go. We have things to do, remember?"
"Oh, I remember. That's part of the problem." One thing I still had to decide on was what to wear. My dress was—surprisingly—mostly undamaged, but there was a large singe that extended across the front of the skirt. My mother had suggested we cut it short, and I was inclined to go with that option. Or I could simply choose to wear something else. Cutoff jeans. Yoga pants. A strait jacket.
What? At least it would be practical.
"Look on the bright side," Derek said, flashing a ridiculously cheery smile at me as he pulled on his jeans.
"There's a bright side? Great!" How had I missed that?
"Sure, there is. And it's this: at this point, what else could go wrong?"
"Oh my God," I wailed. I fell back on the bed and covered my face with the pillow. "Oh, my God, Derek! What are you thinking? Are you crazy? You don't say stuff like that!"
"Stop it," he said as he dragged the pillow away from me. "Yes, Gabe, I am crazy. I'm crazy about you. But otherwise, I'm perfectly sane."
"That's debatable."
"I'm not going to let fate have the upper hand anymore. Nothing else will go wrong because I refuse to let it. And if it does, I'll fix it. Believe me?"
Only a Scorpio would be arrogant enough to believe he could take on Fate—to say nothing of believing he could win. I glared at him. "Do you have to be such a... such a Scorpio all the time?"
Derek grinned. "I'm pretty sure I do. Now are you with me?"
Say what you will about Pisces, we often complain that we’re wrongly accused of being too gullible. When, really, the truth is...we fucking deserve it, okay? We're naïve and impressionable and trusting as hell. I shook my head and sighed. "Okay. Yes. Fine. Whatever you say. I’m with you."
For a little while, it seemed like my faith in Derek was well-placed. The sun had decided to come out from behind the clouds, the sky was blue, birds were singing in the trees. Coffee was ready when I got to the house. All was right with my world.
"Gabby, do you have a minute?" Arielle asked, coming into the kitchen where I was just finishing breakfast. "I had an idea about your dress."
I smiled. "Wonderful. Whatever you say. Go for it."
She looked startled. "But I haven't told you what it is yet?"
"Doesn't matter. If you like it, I'm sure I will too. Cut off the skirt, dye it black, whatever you want—"
"Dye it black?"
"You don't like black? Fine. Pick a color. Turquoise. Salmon. Aubergine. Chartreuse."
"Chartreuse!" She grinned at me suddenly. "With your skin tones?"
I guess that was a joke, but I wasn't in the mood. "Whatever. I trust your judgment."
"You do, huh?"
I nodded. "Or, you know what? Forget the dress. Just get me a pair of jeans. I'm getting married in an open field. My reception's in a barn. And we'll probably all get struck by lightning before the day is through. Why shouldn't I wear jeans? And, on that note," I said as I was struck with an even wilder idea. "Hold on a minute I'll be right back." Then I ran from the room and raced up to the attic. It took longer than a minute, but eventually I found them.
"Here you go, girls," I said when I returned to the kitchen. I tossed my nieces what I'd gone to the attic to get—a well-loved pair of cowboy boots, in a pretty, impractical shade of oyster, that I'd left behind when I moved to LA. "Why don't you see if you can glam these up for me?"
"You're not going to wear old scuffed boots at your wedding, are you?" Arielle protested as Cassie and Jo ran squealing from the room, headed, I was sure, for the big box they kept in my mother's craft room, filled with puff paint and glitter and gaudy plastic jewels.
I smiled tightly. "I sure as heck am.” Then I headed out to the barn to see what else needed doing.
The cupcakes had arrived by then, along with the truffles, and they were everything I'd imagined they'd be—including delicious. Which I knew for a fact because I couldn't resist helping myself to just one of the raspberry pink champagne cakes.
Derek—along with his brother and mine—were seated at the picnic table, busily arranging flowers in mason jars and fashioning boutonnieres. I settled in to join them. With Dave no longer in the picture, I had no qualms about using the flowers Wyatt and the boys had gathered the day before.
I didn't even flinch when the sky clouded over and the air turned cold. I figured the universe was just testing us. I calmly gathered up as much as I could carry and then told the others, "We need to move this inside—fast!"
For once, everyone followed my lead. We raced for the barn, getting there just ahead of the clattering storm.
"Fucking hailstones," Wyatt swore as he stood in the barndoor, gazing out at the yard. "I've seen more of them this week than I have all my life. What's with this crazy weather?"
"Beats being struck by lightning," Derek quipped as he swept past him carrying a pile of table linens.
"Day's not over yet," I reminded him.
Wyatt snorted. "Yeah, well...I'm not so sure I managed to avoid that either, now that you mention it."
"This is not the time to discuss your love life," Derek told him. He nodded toward the tables that had been set up the day before. "Now, c'mon. While we're stuck in here, anyway, we might as well get things set up."
"I'll be there in a minute," I promised. "I just need to check something out in the hayloft first." We'd recovered Wyatt's suit and his new tent and sleeping bag from Chase the night before, but if the weather was going to continue to try and kill us, I figured a tent wasn't going to work out any better tonight than it had all week.
Derek was right. It was time to be proactive, and stop merely reacting to whatever Fate threw our way.
My good mood lasted long enough to get the barn set up for our reception, and the hayloft set up for...later. By then the storm had stopped. We were all relaxed and smiling when we left the barn. That all came crashing to a halt when we realized that in our mad dash to get inside ahead of the storm, we'd neglected to bring the cupcakes in with us.
"Really?" I stared at the wet, battered boxes in disbelief. At least the truffles were safe in their Styrofoam coolers, but the cupcakes? Not so much.
Grumbling angrily beneath his breath, Derek stomped over to the table. He peeled back sodden cardboard, to reveal the melting cupcakes inside. Then he plucked one of the almond matcha cakes out of the box, held it up and stared at it moodily—like Hamlet with his skull. Alas, poor cupcake. Icing dripped from the cake to coat his hand.
I was rooted in place. I couldn't make my feet move if I'd wanted to. And I didn't really want to, because once I started moving, I figured I wouldn't be able to make myself stop. I'd walk away—just head up the drive, leave this mess behind me, never look back. It would be a relief.
I did, however, turn my head, when the odd sounds the rest of our crew were making filtered in through the shock. They were laughing?
"What's so goddamned funny?" I demanded as I glared at the lot of them.
Wyatt pointed a shaking finger at his brother. "Someone," he said in a strangled voice. "Left my cake out."
My father, tears leaking from his eyes, doubled over and howled, "Green icing—oh, my God! It's too much."
It was then I realized they hadn't just been laughing. They'd also been singing—or more like attempting to sing—the chorus to MacArthur Park. My mouth dropped open. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"That's it," Derek growled. He hurled he cupcake away from him as hard as he could. "That. Is. It!" Then he stomped over to where his brother was standing.
Wyatt reared back in alarm. "Whoa. Dude. Chill."
"Gimme your keys," Derek demanded, holding his hand out. "Now."
"All right, all right. Don't get all crazy on me." Wyatt eyed his brother warily as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out his keys and handed them off.
Derek nodded once, in what might have been a show of thanks, then turned away. As he passed me, he flashed me a small, crooked smile. "I'm sorry."
I may have nodded too, I don't recall. I couldn't think of anything to say, and he didn't wait for a response in any case. A moment later he was on his brother's bike and peeling noisily up the drive and away.
I swallowed hard. "Well," I said as I watched him disappear. "I guess that's that.