Julia 03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding (38 page)

Following his eyes, I saw Raymond standing by the hedge that lined the sidewalk. “I believe I can help with that,” I said and walked over to invite him and his friends to the table.

They were reluctant at first to abandon the miracle on the wall to Pastor Petree’s ministrations, but as it was fairly obvious that the pastor was making little headway, they could safely leave him to it. Still, they seemed hesitant to partake of a wedding feast they’d not received a formal invitation to.

“Tell them, Raymond,” I said. “Tell them they’re more than welcome. You go first while I invite some of these out-of-staters.”

He gave me that shy smile of his and nodded, especially when Little Lloyd came over to us and added his two cents in Spanish. Soon some of the crowd formed an orderly line, still keeping their eyes on Pastor Petree, while Lillian started piling their plates full. Binkie and Coleman, laughing and chattering in broken Spanish with Raymond, stood at the head of the table seemingly having the time of their lives.

Mr. Pickens stood to the side, his arm around Hazel Marie, laughing in his usual disrespectful manner. Knowing him, he’d never let me live this down, but I didn’t care. In fact, as I watched, wedding guests began to mingle at the tables with the newly invited, filling their plates like they hadn’t eaten in a week. I saw Sam pick up a little boy dressed in his Sunday best, and take him and his plate to the porch steps where he could eat in comfort. I looked over the blended crowd that filled my yard, and felt my heart fill with goodwill. Binkie had
wanted a wedding that was informal and fun, and that’s exactly what she was getting. Although Pastor Petree’s continued exhortations from the top of the ladder weren’t adding to my sense of fun.

I’d about had enough, so I walked across the street to crane my head up to look at Pastor Petree, who’d lost most of his congregation to the wedding feast. Still, he was preaching his head off and scrubbing the stubborn stains as if his life depended on it.

“Pastor,” I called. “Wrap that up and get down from there. I’ve had enough of street preaching for one day.” And standing clear of the free-flowing hose, I reached over and shook the ladder so that it wobbled against the wall.

But he was caught up in some spirit-filled exuberance, scouring the wall and expounding at the top of his lungs on the evils of superstition, and paid me no mind.

“I’ll not tell you again,” I shouted when he stopped to get his breath. “Either get off that ladder and behave yourself, or I’m calling the fire department to bring you down!”

Chapter 38

I stomped back across the street, deciding he’d come down when he got tired enough. Either that or he’d fall, which would certainly put an unexpected climax to my beautifully planned wedding. I gritted my teeth at the thought.

By this time, all my guests were busily eating or resting.

“Lillian,” I said to her as I approached the tables. “Where did the Reverend Mr. Abernathy get to?”

“He right over there enjoyin’ himself.” She nodded in the direction of the sidewalk, where I saw the reverend ensconced in a wicker chair from my porch.

Satisfied that the reverend was being well attended, I asked, “What about Miss Morgan? Has she had anything to eat?”

“Yessum, she come out a while ago and got herself a plate. But don’t be surprised at what gonna happen next.” She smiled broadly, her gold tooth sparkling, and pointed to the porch.

I saw a squad of deputies, Lieutenant Peavey and Miss Wiggins’s boyfriend prominent among them, moving the piano out onto the porch. Miss Mattie Mae Morgan directed the proceedings, then when they had it where she wanted it, she sat herself down at it and commenced putting out some of the most foot-tapping music I’d ever heard this side of the TV channel Little Lloyd watched. I mean, she was rocking back and forth on the piano bench, banging on the keys for all
she was worth. I heard Miss Wiggins comment that Miss Morgan reminded her of a three-hundred-pound Little Richard, an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one.

Drawn by Miss Morgan’s pounding on the keys, the Mexican guitarist drifted closer to the porch and began to add his brand of music to the general racket. One of the deputies urged him to join them, and the guitar player stepped right up and began to blend in with that rock-and-roll music.

“Who is that playing the guitar?” I asked, hardly expecting an answer.

Mr. Pickens, who’d come up behind me, said, “That’s Jesus.”

“Hay-who? How do you spell that?”

“You don’t want to know, Miss Julia,” he said, laughing at me with those black eyes.

Before I could pursue the matter, my attention was taken by Binkie and Coleman, who were dancing on the paved driveway. He was swinging her around enough to create concern for the state of her health. She didn’t seem to mind, having forgotten, apparently, her earlier queasy condition.

Then, as I watched, several more couples joined them, including Mr. Pickens and Hazel Marie, and Miss Wiggins and her deputy with the astonishing tie. Even Leonard Conover led out LuAnne, holding her close enough to put my errant imagination to work. Soon some of the Hispanic couples took up the beat on the sidewalk. Others, searching for more space, moved out into the street, swinging, dipping, twirling and dancing to beat the band. An unsuspecting motorist turned at the corner, then quickly backed up and sped away.

And still, Pastor Petree preached on.

As the afternoon lengthened into dusk, a spotlight from the television crew bounced around, then centered on Pastor Petree, revitalizing his efforts. Flashes from the sports photographer’s camera lit up first one side of the yard, then the
other. He was single-mindedly making his way through the melee, caught up with capturing memories for Binkie and Coleman. Although I doubted they would need any special reminders of this wedding.

I walked over to the redheaded sports photographer, where he squatted to reload his camera, and asked if he’d taken any formal poses of the wedding party.

“Sure did,” he said, rising to his feet. “Not very many, though, since they wouldn’t stand still long enough. Too much going on. I tell you, Mrs. Springer, this is the damnedest wedding I’ve ever seen. And I’ll tell you something else.” He leaned close to share a thought. “I got some terrific shots of that preacher up there. They’ll be front page, for sure.”

“Oh,” I gasped, as my knees nearly gave way. It wasn’t enough to have Pastor Petree on television where he’d be here today and gone tomorrow. He was going to be in the newspaper where his picture could be cut out and put on bulletin boards and in scrapbooks. Our church was going to be a laughingstock, but before I could protest, the photographer had scampered off into the crowd.

As I began to look for Sam to see if he could stop the presses, I was stopped in my tracks by the racket coming from the porch. Miss Mattie Mae Morgan began hammering down again on the piano, while Lieutenant Peavey and several deputies gathered around her singing about somebody driving them crazy. I’d never seen such bodily movements that accompanied the driving beat, but deputies are usually in good enough physical shape to manage the most strenuous exercise. Too much of such music would drive me crazy too, but it stirred even Mildred Allen and the sheriff to take to the floor. Well, the pavement. Soon my driveway, the sidewalk and the street were a bouncing mass of whirling dervishes. If I hadn’t known better, having specifically ordered sparkling grape juice, I’d’ve thought them all intoxicated.

I found a gilt chair someone had brought outside and sank into it. Lillian brought me a plate, saying, “Eat!” Then she pulled up a chair beside me and began to sway with the music.

And still, Pastor Petree preached from the rooftop.

Mr. Pickens, no longer constrained by coat and tie, suddenly appeared at my side. His shirtsleeves were rolled up on his brawny arms, and the sight of all that hair made me slightly uneasy.

“I’ve been cut in on,” he said, looking back where Little Lloyd was engaged in gyrations with his mother. Then he held out his hand to me. “How ’bout it, Miss Julia? Dance with me?”

“Oh, Mr. Pickens, you know I don’t dance. I’m a conservative Presbyterian.” Besides, I wanted to add, I hardly know how since Wesley Lloyd had not been a dancing man.

He threw his head back and laughed, those white teeth gleaming under his black and bushy mustache. Gaining control of himself, he said, “I tell you what. I won’t tell anybody, if you won’t. Come on now. This is the only way I’ll ever get to lead you.”

“Go on, Miss Julia,” Lillian urged, taking my plate from my lap. “This might be yo’ last chance ’fore Miss Hazel Marie take him away.”

Feeling foolish and awkward, I let Mr. Pickens lead me to the driveway. “I declare, Mr. Pickens, I can’t dance to that tune. It’s much too lively.”

“Bet you can,” he said, smiling at my hesitancy. “Look, just stand there and sway till you get the rhythm, then move with it. Don’t worry about the steps; just stay with the beat.”

And before I knew it, he was pulling me this way and that, whirling me in a slow spin and catching me in his arms. I declare, it was exhilirating, if somewhat out of the ordinary for one of my usual decorous manner. Especially when Little Lloyd called out, “Look, Mama, Miss Julia’s dancing!”, which brought several couples to a halt to stare at us.

To my dismay, an audience spurred Mr. Pickens on to greater exertions and I had to avert my eyes from the swiveling of his hips. Thankfully, the tune finally wound down, with Mr. Pickens giving me a final twirl.

As he wiped his sweating face, I commented that he might consider his age before engaging in such vigorous activity again.

“Tell that to Hazel Marie,” he whispered in my ear, as he breathed a wicked laugh and gave my waist a squeeze.

From behind my back, Sam said, “Go get your own woman, Pickens. It’s my turn with this one.”

Grinning, Mr. Pickens gave a mock bow and said, “Thank you for the dance, Miss Julia.”

I brushed the air with my hand, having had enough of his teasing. “Sam,” I said, turning to him. “I am worn out from all this exertion.”

“It’s good for you, Julia,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me close. “Besides, I’ve put in a special request for a slow one. Now dance with me, woman.”

Unable to leave without creating a scene or, rather,
another
scene since we’d had the Lord’s plenty of them already, I submitted to Sam’s leading. And, sure enough, Miss Mattie Mae Morgan swung into a fairly sedate melody, although accompanied by an inordinate amount of additional notes that I tried to ignore.

I suffered through that so-called dance, knowing I was stiff and awkward, and self-conscious because of it. But toward the end of it, I realized that it had gotten too dark for anybody to notice my lack of grace. And Sam was light enough on his feet to cover my missteps. I was grateful to him, and gradually let myself go loose in his arms. That brought up another problem, for I could feel him breathing and that didn’t do much to bring about a sense of ease.

“Sam,” I said, stepping away from him as the music drew to
a close, “we should see about Binkie and Coleman. It’s past time for them to leave for whatever honeymoon they’re going to have.”

“All taken care of, Julia,” he said, his arm still around my waist as if there wasn’t a crowd of people to see it. “The car they’re leaving in will be here in a minute, but I don’t know if Binkie and Coleman can tear themselves away. They’re having too good a time.” He leaned down then and went on. “You’ve outdone yourself, Julia. This wedding beats all anybody’s ever seen; it’ll be the talk of the town for years to come.”

“Well, if you mean that as a compliment, I’m not sure it is one. Besides, everything that’ll make it memorable was not of my doing. I’d’ve preferred something a good deal more solemn. Still,” I said, brushing the hair off my forehead and looking around, “I guess people’re having a good time, and that’s what Binkie wanted.”

As we walked onto the grass, away from the resumption of what passed for dancing, Lillian came up to us.

“Miss Julia,” she said, “them caterers has fixed a great big basket of party food for the bride and groom to take with ’em, an’ it ready to go soon as they are. An’ I tole Little Lloyd to pass out them little bags an’ tell everybody to get ready to th’ow birdseed when they leave.”

“Oh, Lillian,” I said, “what would I do without you? Here, I’ve been out there dancing and leaving you to keep things moving.”