A Lowcountry Wedding (23 page)

“I love him. We’ll get married someday. I’m . . . I’m just not ready. I only just got divorced. And I have all these bills. . . .”

“I understand, dear. But he’s the one that you have to help understand.”

“I’m trying.”

“Well, try a little harder. Now let’s finish this.” Mamaw gathered the blond hair in her hands and gently twisted it with the experience of a woman who’d worn her hair in this style for many years. She reached for a handful of pins and carefully set the twist in place. “There.” Mamaw eyed her work with satisfaction. “You look very pretty.”

Dora turned her head from left to right, admiring her reflection. “Much better. Thank you, Mamaw. For always being there.”

“That’s a grandmother’s job.” Mamaw studied Dora’s face. “But you need a bit of makeup before you’re done. Try some of my pink lipstick, dear. It will flatter your skin tone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The headlights of a car shone briefly through the window.

Mamaw peered through the shutters. “Another guest. I’d better go in and help Harper and Carson. Come up when you’re ready. And don’t forget to use a bit of hair spray.”

Before she left, Mamaw paused at the door and caught Dora’s eye. “Weddings are a time of great joy. Families gather to celebrate. There’s lots of hugging and kissing. Laughter. Issues that lay dormant emerge again.”

Dora looked at Mamaw in the mirror with a worried expression.

“It’s all normal.” Mamaw smiled. “Men get caught up in the wedding whoopla, too. We women tend to forget that. They don’t talk much about it, pretend they don’t notice, but they do. They’re like little children—big ears that don’t miss a word. Bless his heart, Devlin is just getting caught up in the wedding bliss and wants to be part of it. You just need to reassure him that you love him and that your time will come. Tell him that this time round, you can have a great time without all the fuss and worry. Call it your dress rehearsal.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do more than try. Devlin’s a good man. Give him a call right this minute, hear?”

“Clair de Lune” sounded from the speakers as Mamaw entered the front door. She clasped her hands together and let her gaze take in the front room dressed up for a party. Canapés were artfully arranged on the coffee table beside bowls of Marcona almonds and shelled pistachios and a plate of cheeses, all displayed with sprigs of rosemary and parsley. She walked through the room, gazing at the paintings and furniture—Harper’s things. Her party. It was bittersweet.

Mamaw remembered the many parties she’d thrown over the past decades. Not so many in this house. Sea Breeze had always been a place of retreat for her and Edward. They’d hosted a few small dinners and cocktail parties, nothing grand. But in Charleston! Oh, her house on East Bay had such architectural charm. And the views . . . She used to decorate the house with seasonal flowers and holiday decor with the same doting care that a mother would a beloved child. She left no
detail untouched and prided herself on knowing that an invitation to a Muir party was always accepted.

But goodness, she thought, that was all so many years ago. She was only too happy to pass on the torch to the younger generation. Planning parties took great effort and energy. She surveyed the room with an experienced eye. If this were her party, she would have lit a fire, perhaps lowered the lights, added a few candles, set out a few more napkins. She laughed at herself. But no matter. Everything looked lovely just the way things were. These days she was happy simply to be a guest and observe the goings-on through the rosy-colored glasses of experience.

The sound of voices and laughter rang out from the kitchen. Smiling, she followed the happy sounds, thinking to herself that no matter how one tried to lure guests into the living room, they always seemed to gravitate to the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm and festive, redolent with the scents of garlic and rosemary. Harper stood in a butcher’s apron at the wood table, her hair pulled back with a clasp, putting aluminum foil over the leg of lamb. Carson was bent at the waist peering at potatoes roasting in the oven. Mamaw had enjoyed watching Harper embrace cooking over the past year, especially southern recipes. All her latent domestic instincts were in full bloom.

Blake and Taylor were standing by the back door talking with beers in hand. Girard and Nate were inspecting a handheld electronic game. Mamaw paused at the door, soaking in the sight, thinking how these young couples were the family’s future. The house, the meal, the arrangements for the evening—all the tasks that had once been in her dominion—were now in
the hands of her granddaughters. She could sit back and watch. Rather than its making her feel displaced or unhappy, she felt a surge of gratitude that she’d lived to see this natural evolution of a family unfold.

The doorbell rang. A moment later, Devlin appeared in the kitchen. Mamaw’s eyes widened in surprise. Dora stepped in behind him, a canapé in her hand and a smile glowing on her face. “Devlin!” Mamaw exclaimed. “You’re here!”

Devlin wrapped his arm around Dora’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Marietta.” Then he looked over her head and shouted, “It’s party time, y’all! Carson, your in-laws-to-be have arrived.”

Acting like adults is something brides and grooms should be able to expect from everyone—including themselves.

M
amaw saw the party scene as a stage set. Each of the characters had a role to play. The brides and grooms with their respective families, the homey setting with candles lit, smiles in place. Tonight the families gathered for the first time before the two weddings. For some, introductions would be made, first impressions struck. It was a time to limit drinks, to not brag on family or pull out the embarrassing story. Acting like adults was something brides and grooms should be able to expect from everyone—including themselves.

Imogene entered the room at last. She held her chin high with hauteur. Mamaw had to admit Imogene looked regal in a long skirt of emerald-green silk and a creamy blouse that set off her pearls. Mamaw sniffed. Even if they were showy. The pearls were the size of quail eggs.

Devlin hurried to greet Imogene. He took her hand, kissed it, and said with a gallant bow, “Your Majesty.”

Mamaw stifled a laugh with her hand. Devlin had an Irish sense of humor, the kind that made people laugh by poking at the truth. Usually someone was pricked by the point of the joke.

To Imogene’s credit, she played along, eyeing Devlin with a glint of humor. “I see you’re still playing the role of jester.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “Still rollicking in the sand and sea.”

Imogene’s rigid face cracked with a smile of amusement. “Incorrigible.”

Devlin’s eyes glinted with pleasure.

“Granny James.” Dora came up to kiss her cheek. “I’m so happy to see you again. We’ve missed you.”

“How lovely you look, my dear,” Imogene said, receiving her kiss. “Tell me, dear girl, why aren’t you joining this wedding parade? We could have a triple wedding. What’s one more?” Imogene turned to Devlin. “Scoundrel! Aren’t you going to make an honest woman of our Eudora?”

Devlin flushed and cast a telling glance at Dora.

“He’s tried,” Dora explained quickly. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I’m enjoying being footloose and fancy-free.”

“I see.” Imogene studied her.

“But don’t worry. Wedding bells are coming. We’re just biding our time.”

Imogene leaned close to Dora and said in a stage whisper, “Just don’t wait too long, my dear.”

Taylor walked over with a drink and handed it to Granny James, without asking her what she wanted.

Granny took it while eyeing him speculatively. She tilted
her head questioningly then took a sip. “Delicious. Well done. You may do, after all.”

Dora gave a little laugh while Mamaw brought Girard to greet Imogene. Girard had the talent to make small talk appear effortless, and Mamaw was relieved to see that Imogene made no attempts to further her outrageous flirtation with Girard from her last visit, which she’d done purely to get a rise out of Mamaw. Harper interrupted to introduce her grandmother to Taylor’s parents. Girard stepped away and returned to Mamaw’s side with an amused wink.

“Granny, allow me to introduce you to Taylor’s parents.” Harper, a graceful and experienced hostess, guided them forward. Her emerald-green dress, the same shade as Granny James’s skirt, was bateau-necked with a slender, dazzling belt. Pavé diamonds encircled her emerald earrings, which took center stage as her red hair was slicked back in a chignon. With her sleek eyeliner, Mamaw thought Harper’s retro look could be on the cover of a 1950s
Vogue
.

“This is Jenny and Alistair McClellan,” Harper continued the introduction. “They’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told them so much about you.”

“Oh, dear, should I be worried?” Imogene asked with a warm smile.

“Not at all,” Mr. McClellan assured her. “Harper sings your praises.” He towered over Imogene as he stepped close to take Imogene’s hand and shake it hard.

Mamaw hid her smile as she watched Imogene teeter a bit with the force of it. “Well, I see where Taylor gets his strength from!” Imogene said good-naturedly.

And his size, thought Mamaw, seeing father and son stand
side by side. Alistair wore the classic dress attire of a lowcountry man—pressed khakis, a pressed, open-collared shirt, and a navy blazer with shiny brass buttons. Beside him, Harper’s influence was seen in Taylor’s well-cut camel-hair jacket and Hermès tie.

“We all call him Captain,” Harper said with an affectionate glance at her future father-in-law.

“Then I shall, too.” Imogene turned to Jenny McClellan and smiled graciously. “Congratulations are in order, are they not?”

Mrs. McClellan was a small, sturdy woman, no bigger than Harper but more substantial. Her green eyes shone with warmth and her brown hair was naturally streaked with gray. Mamaw thought there was no question whom Taylor got his eyes from. Jenny wore a simple navy knit dress that showed off her fit body and plain navy pumps. Though a bit stodgy in dress, her manner shone forthright and open, a woman comfortable in her skin. The two women shook hands warmly.

“And you must be Miller, Taylor’s brother,” Imogene said warmly to the fifteen-year-old boy patiently waiting his turn.

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy made his parents proud the way he stepped up to greet her and take her hand.

Taylor beamed with pride and slapped his brother’s shoulder. Miller was tall like his brother but slim and gangly, like a puppy that had not yet filled out to fit his paws. Miller wore a carbon copy of his father’s clothes. Even the shoes looked brand-new. Mamaw thought Jenny did her men proud.

The scene was replayed with Carson’s future in-laws, Linda and David Legare. Blake looked very much like his father. David was also tall and slender, except his dark hair was more salt than pepper. Behind his heavy-framed glasses, David’s eyes were a warm brown. He was a professor of biology at College
of Charleston and looked the part in his baggy brown suit and open-collared, plaid shirt.

Blake’s mother, however, was rather plump and plain in a mauve, flounced dress that only made her skin look all the more pale. A simple strand of pearls graced her neck, lovely and lustrous, but they appeared minimal compared to Imogene’s ostentatious pearls, as any others would. Mamaw thought the show of wealth out of place at a family gathering and was secretly glad she’d decided on topaz tonight. Still, she thought to herself, Imogene was on her best behavior. She was making an effort, it was clear. Imogene was a woman of substantial wealth, stature, and title. She was accustomed to grand fetes with a class of people who had high expectations. Like so many women of her station, she could be utterly charming to those people she found interesting or important. And cold and aloof to those she did not. Thus Mamaw warmed to Imogene’s humanity tonight. She had dropped the façade and was behaving as any grandmother of the bride should, graciously, even warmly, paving the way for healthy, prosperous relationships for her granddaughter.

Linda, however, withdrew her hand quickly from Imogene’s and appeared ill at ease. Carson noticed and came to stand by Blake’s mother’s side with a commendable loyalty. Carson had a natural beauty that needed no adornment. She was a vision in a long ivory silk gown that flowed from one shoulder over her body like water over rocks. She wore no jewelry save for her engagement ring and appeared all the more lovely for her simplicity. Few women could carry off a gown like that, Mamaw thought with pride.