Authors: Susan Conant
Bride & Groom (33 page)
For once, Buck spoke quietly. “You sure you don’t want me to give you away?”
“You can’t,” I said. “I don’t belong to anyone but my dogs.”
India preceded us. She carried a basket of orange petals. Ahead of us, waiting, were Rita, Leah, Pete, and, of course, Steve, whose blue-green eyes radiated confidence and trust. There, too, were Lady, who quivered, and Kimi, Rowdy, Uli, and Rowdy’s perfect son, Sammy, all wearing their elaborate collars of white flowers. When I reached Steve, Buck let go of my elbow, and Steve took my hand. Real dog person that he was, instead of whispering sweet nothings in my ear, he murmured, “Sammy’s collar. Up and out. Restored to health.”
Ah, romance.
The music stopped. Althea cleared her throat. She looked older than ancient and transcendently lovely. I prayed that she’d stick with the uncommon
Book of Common Prayer
instead of uniting us by performing the Sherlockian Musgrave Ritual.
“Holly and Steve,” Althea said, “have done me the honor to ask me to solemnize their marriage, a match that is very welcome to all of us. From the first moment that Steve saw Holly, he appeared to be strongly attracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. Indeed, their feelings for each other are most deep and honorable; they love each other devotedly. For other couples, marriage may mean a complete change in life and habits. Such is not the case for Holly and Steve, whose interests rise up around them and draw them together in the path toward complete happiness. Each would lead a lonely life without the other.”
A grin spread across my face. I'm happy to report that Steve’s and my interests, our dogs, did not actually rise up. Althea had chosen the phrase because it appeared in
The Hound of the Baskervilles.
I heard Hugh and Robert chuckle. They were undoubtedly able, as I wasn’t, to identify the precise sources in the Holmes Canon of almost everything else Althea had said. I loved her dearly. She was solemnizing our marriage according to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and she was doing it without embarrassing us.
“Dearly beloved,” she continued, “we are gathered here...”
Then Steve and I exchanged vows. In his deep, strong voice, he promised to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. As he spoke, he kept one hand wrapped around mine and reached out his other hand to rest it briefly on Kimi’s head and then on Rowdy’s. In turn, I made the same solemn promises. Just as Steve had done, I reached out to touch his dogs, first India, then Lady, and then Sammy.
Rowdy’s son was finally mine.
Till death us do part.
SUSAN CONANT is a three-time recipient of the Maxwell Award for Fiction Writing given by the Dog Writers’ Association of America. She lives in Newton, Massachusetts, with her husband, two cats, and two Alaskan malamutes.
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