How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
—William Butler Yeats
Playing
bride started in earnest around Valentine's Day and kept momentum
through early spring flowers, especially the spirea, and sometimes
even lasted until the milkweed bloomed in the pasture beyond the
house--though the weed made a smelly bouquet. The McIntyre girls,
Rita, Toni, Betsy, Susan, and Jill, preteened and newly teened, were
inspired by their mother, who used their tresses to practice the
latest of hair styles for the February Bridal Show at the Country
Club, always called "A Beautiful Beginning."
Being the eldest and naturally bossy, Rita was the bride. She
orchestrated these Saturday events, though by mid-morning she had to
bribe her younger sisters with Tootsie Rolls. Imitating mother,
she'd slick down their hair with a wet comb and fashion ringlets
around their ears while they watched cartoons. Toni and Betsy
gathered bridesmaid bouquets of whatever happened in the yard at the
time. Lilacs, peonies, or pink roses off the trellis were the
favorite. But the blooming spirea was for the bride. Cutting long
strands with garden shears, the girls bobby pinned the green shrub
covered with clusters of tiny white flowers into Rita's dark hair
and fashioned much smaller wreaths for their own heads, because they
could never outdo the bride.
Breezy days allowed lace and satin, safety-pinned onto the shoulders
of mother's old prom dresses, to float as the girls processed down
the drive with Mendelssohn blaring from the portable record player
lodged into the bathroom window. And if they were lucky, they could
entice the youngest, the last of the McIntyre sisters, two-year-old
Amy, to throw flower petals.
Flower petals--be they even pink rose petals--didn't soften the
revolution of the McIntyre sisters when they grew out of college and
into the world during the eighties, and when they received news some
seventeen years later--in 1998--that their baby sister Amy was to be
married in June.
"It's going to be a full-tilt boogie. The works. Cousins,
aunts, uncles coming out of the woodwork," announced Rita into
the phone to her sister, Toni. "Engaged on Valentines Day! Do
they still do that sort of thing?"
"I remember reading some theory that early marriages are a sign
of deep insecurity," mused Toni. "She's so young . . . barely
twenty. Has anyone talked to her about options?" Toni still
swung between moods of exhilarating freedom and the fresh pain of a
recent divorce from a fellow writing professor. "Being young
means exploring the world, before settling and regretting the choice
at age twenty-eight, doesn't it?"
"Oh . . . who knows." Cradling the phone against her ear and
shoulder, Rita arranged a bouquet of calla lilies in the back of her
shop. "I suspect she wants me to do her flowers. Frankly, I'm
sick of flowers and candelabra and brides and their cranky mothers
who don't have a clue about elegance and whose flower dreams usually
outweigh their financial means." Rita heaved a heavy sigh.
"Which is why David and I married in Vegas. Cheap. Simple.
Cement. Flashing lights. Over in no time."
"Ours was so spontaneous." Toni's eyes watered.
"Under the Bali stars with the hum of mating insects as
background music. Maybe the vows weren't authentic since they were
spoken in Balinese." Her wedding reflections had soured as the
divorce proceedings turned bitter. "The whole thing was so
surreal. It had to have been the wine. A writer should never marry
another writer. You know, Rita...I just don't want Amy
to make the same mistake."
"I know. I know."
In March, Mrs. McIntyre left proud messages on the answering
machines of all five McIntyre sisters. Amy
and Paul want everyone involved. The next four months will be very
busy. We'll keep in touch.
Her message sent off a rash of e-mail.
"No comment. No comment," wrote Jill. "I'm just
putting hands over my eyes and ears."
"Don't play ostrich, Jill," responded Susan. "I
suspect that you'll be the fourth bridesmaid to walk the aisle. What
happened to our youngest sister? She was so healthy growing up. A
tomboy riding horses and playing ball. Never owned a doll. Never
spent weeks playing wedding or thumbing through the BRIDE magazine
like her elder sisters."
And Betsy, who lived the furthest from the vortex, was last to
respond. "A storybook wedding? Does she watch too many soap
operas? Any change that this might get called off ?"
For the McIntyre girls had grown into the McIntyre women in a town
of six thousand, and were known as dark-haired attractive,
vivacious, strong-willed, and strong-minded. They prided themselves
on their unconventional life arrangements and, if there had to be
one, an unconventional wedding.
Betsy married because she and Richard wanted children. They
exchanged vows in front of a cactus and a fiddle-playing judge in
the Arizona desert, where they collected wild flower seeds for a
living, and where Mr. and Mrs. McIntrye looked out of place.
Honeymooning in Hawaii, they trekked to the top of a volcanic-made
hill, built a nest, and conceived twins. "We'll name them Ceres
and Apollo," Betsy wrote on a photo exposing her huge belly.
Between various jobs and medical school, Susan never managed to stay
in one place long enough. Upon receiving her medical license, she
now doctored in Western Colorado, climbed mountains, dated a
different doctor every year, and never considered marriage.
"They just don't give me enough space. I've gotta have
space."
Jill, the youngest of the five, coached women's basketball at a
small college in the winter and spent summers in Montana with her
live-in where they rode Harleys and gave fly-fishing tours. Each
holiday, she mailed a Christmas greeting complete with a picture of
her three horses and five dogs. "Seasons greetings--from my
family to yours."
The consensus of the McIntyre women was that Amy, just barely twenty
and fresh out of beauty school, had finally given their mother and
father the desired daughter. Mrs. McIntyre cued the sisters on the
wedding's progression every two weeks. Please
mark you calendars for the weekend of June 15th. The happy day! Amy
is keeping her colors a secret. She has her bridesmaids selected and
her invitations ready to mail.
The e-mail exchange between the McIntyre women was especially busy
after that report.
"What do you mean, she doesn't want her own sisters as
bridesmaids?"
"Well there is a seven to twelve year difference. We might not
look so great in those empire waist dresses."
"Anybody heard from Susan?"
"Susan's not talking. With the wedding in the middle of the
month, she won't have the three weeks she needs to climb Mt. Baker.
Her work is all consuming. And she is complaining her life might
look great to anyone not living it."
"Do young brides these days really believe there is such thing
as a perfect wedding?"
"How about their mothers?"
"There is this theory that the need for perfection is an
illusory notion that runs deep through our youth because we don't
want to face reality."
"Wait till Amy has kids. The romance wears off pretty fast
after the third load of diapers."
In early April, Mrs. McIntyre mailed a thick packet of wedding
details from start to finish.
Ladies,
Amy has worked very hard to include you in ways that show
your talent. Rita, we need you to design the bouquets for
the garden party after the wedding. Don't worry about the
bridal bouquet and the church flowers. They're taken care
of. Amy plans to pick and chill three hundred peonie
blossoms.
Toni, since you are a writer, we thought you could post the
menu and write name cards for the dinner party. Betsy, I'll
need your help in keeping the twins in line. They'll have
big jobs as flower girl and ringer bearer. Susan, there's a
bag of medical supplies in case someone gets sick. All your
cousins and their children will attend. I can't imagine
we'll survive the day without one causality.
And Jill, since you are a coach and since you are so
wonderful with organizing events, we've given you the job of
making sure everyone has a seat for the dinner. Ladies, it's
going to be a beautiful beginning.
"Can you believe it?" Rita asked in the next round of
e-mail. "Does the bride-to-be not talk to anyone except her
mother ?"
"You know, last time mother called, she never even asked how my
life was going. She's consumed."
"Peonie bulbs . . . must mean pink. What color is Ceres wearing?"
"Light creme. Like the bride. Evening brides always wear creme."
"There is theory that weddings cause emotions to run rampant in
families."
"Can someone tell them there is no such thing as a perfect
wedding? There is no such thing as a perfect life."
In the middle of April, after each McIntyre sister received an gold
embossed invitation to Amy's wedding, the messages from Mrs.
McIntyre suddenly stopped. The conspicuous silence drew all sorts of
speculation.
Only Betsy, the mother of the flower girl, could presume what might
have happened. "Mother telephoned. I think she was near tears.
Her voice shook anyway and she told me to wait awhile before
starting on Cere's dress. No stated reason. You know mother--if
there's a problem, she won't talk about it. She'll just say that
whatever happens is God's will."
"Well, they’ve sent out nearly three hundred invitations.
God's will or not, they better let people know if there's a problem.
The sooner the better."
"I called Mrs. James the other day to get measurements on the country club tent. She thinks Amy
and Paul had a fight. Rumor has it that Paul was flirting at the
lake with another classmate."
"What does Paul do anyway?"
"He works for his father's construction company."
"They're just too young! I suspect they’re getting married
and having a huge wedding because they believe marriage solves
everything. Marrying Eric only amplified my problems."
"The great thing about elopement is that if there are problems--nobody
knows. Privacy. One learns its value after you play enough of the
expected games."
"If one of their fights means that I'm sacrificing my yearly
climb...."
"Could it be a facade? Amy loves attention. This fight could be
part of a heightening drama. There’s this theory. . . ."
For the next three weeks the sisters waited for the announcement
that Amy and Paul's wedding plans had been canceled. But, in
mid-May, Mrs. McIntyre left word that Betsy could resume working on
Cere's dress.
On the day before the wedding, a storm raced through the Midwest,
leaving two inches of rain, and greening the countryside. Instead of
the usual mugginess, the wind turned, and slight breezes blew from
the north. The weather forecast promised an unusual but delightful
eighty-five degrees. If the wedding day sunrise, a blush of pinks
and lavenders, held any indication, then the sunset would resume
with even deeper splendor, exactly matching the colors of Amy's
bridesmaids.
A few puffs of summer clouds floated across the sky as the McIntyre
sisters decorated the country club and an adjoining white tent for a
splendid garden party. Three hundred peonies had promptly bloomed
the day before, their scents permeating through the screens,
spilling unto a terrace decorated with hanging petunias and ivy
vines, trellised pink roses, lilies, and interspersed with silk
lilacs and other spring flowers.
Amy and her bridesmaids were in seclusion. Mrs. McIntyre, along with
the help of another beautician, dressed their long tresses and
manicured their fingertips with French nails. By mid-afternoon,
uncles, aunts, and cousins began arriving at the house and the
McIntyre sisters found themselves laughing at Uncle Don's jokes and
Aunt Veronica's forgetfulness. Cousin Brian, who came all the way
from New York City, had grown into such a handsome man. And there
were so many new babies and toddlers--the yard full of children.
"Don't cousin Craig's boys look just like him? They even grin
like him."
Paul and Amy's wedding started at little after six. Light from late
afternoon fell through stained glass windows and spread subdued
colors across the pews as a small stringed orchestra played
Pacheilbel's Canon. Five bridesmaids walked down the aisle in hues
of pinks and lavenders--the colors of spring flowers. Looking scared
but angelic, Ceres and Apollo tossed pink rose petals. At the altar
Ceres ran back to the arms of Mrs. Evelyn McIntyre, and Apollo
walked over to the groom. Paul, dignified and handsome in a black
tuxedo with a lavender vest, reached down to hold Apollo's hand. The
entire church sighed, "Ohhhhh."
Music swelled as Mr. McIntyre with Amy on his arm, started slowly
down the aisle. Half way to the altar, John McIntyre had to stop,
pull out his handkerchief, and wipe his tears. A resplendent but
tremulous Amy, dressed in yards of beaded satin and shimmered tulle,
and whose smiling brown eyes had been fixed on Paul, reached over
and kissed her father on the cheek.
"She's so gorgeous," whispered Jill.
"When did she grow up?" wondered Susan.
"I've never seen Mom and Dad so happy. And Paul . . . look at him.
Last time I saw him, he was in little league. He's a man."
"Rita? Rita? Rita, what's the matter?" Betsy whispered as
she offered her older sister a Kleenex.
"Why . . . why . . . she's got . . ." Rita sniffed. "Amy's got
spirea in her hair."
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