The Pioneer Woman (22 page)

“You look beautiful,” my dad said as he walked over to me and offered his arm. His voice was quiet—even quieter than his normal quiet—and it broke, trailed off, died. I took his arm, and together we walked forward, toward the large wooden doors that led to the beautiful sanctuary where I'd been baptized as a young child just after our family joined the Episcopal church. Where I'd been confirmed by the bishop at the age of twelve. I'd
worn a Black Watch plaid Gunne Sax dress that day. It had delicate ribbon trim and a lace-up tie in the back—a corset-style tie, which, I realized, foreshadowed the style of my wedding gown. I looked through the windows and down the aisle and could see myself kneeling there, the bishop's wrinkled, weathered hands on my auburn hair. I shivered with emotion, feeling the sting in my nose…and the warm beginnings of nostalgia-driven tears.

Biting my bottom lip, I stepped forward with my father. Connell had started walking down the aisle as the organist began playing “Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.” I could close my eyes and hear the same music playing on the eight-track tape player in my mom's Oldsmobile station wagon. Was it the London Symphony Orchestra or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? I suddenly couldn't remember. But that's why I'd chosen it for the processional—not because it appeared on
Modern Bride
's list of acceptable wedding processionals, but because it reminded me of childhood…of Bach…of home. I watched as Becky followed Connell, and then my sister, Betsy, her almost jet-black hair shining in the beautiful light of the church. I was so glad to have a sister.

Ms. Altar Guild gently coaxed my father and me toward the door. “It's time,” she whispered. My stomach fell. What was happening? Where was I?
Who
was I? At that very moment, my worlds were colliding—the old world with the new, the past life with the future. I felt my dad inhale deeply, and I followed his lead. He was nervous; I could feel it. I was nervous, too. As we took our place in the doorway, I squeezed his arm and whispered, “I love thee.” It was our little line.

“I love thee, too,” he whispered back. And as I turned my head toward the front of the church, my eyes went straight to him—to Marlboro Man, who was standing dead ahead, looking straight at me.

 

C
LOUDS CARRIED
me forward from there. Others were in the church—I knew that logically—but I saw no one. No one but Marlboro Man and his black tuxedo and his white formal tie, and the new black cowboy boots he'd bought especially for the occasion. His short hair, which was the color of pewter. His gentle smile. He was a vision—strong, solid, perfect. But it was the smile that propelled me forward, the reassuring look on his face. It wasn't a smug, overconfident smile. It was a smile loaded with emotion—thoughts of our history, perhaps. Of the story that brought us to that moment. Relief that we'd finally reached our destined end, which was actually a beautiful beginning. Gratefulness that we'd met by chance and had wound up finding love.

And suddenly, I was beside him. My arm in his. My heart entirely in his hands.

Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people.

The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord. Therefore marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.

I glanced at Marlboro Man, who was listening intently, taking in every word. I held his bicep in my hand, squeezing it lightly and trying to listen to Father Johnson despite the distraction of Marlboro Man's work-honed muscles. Everything else was a blur: iron candlesticks attached to the end of each pew…my mother's olive green silk jacket with the mandarin collar…Mike's tuxedo…Mike's bald head….

Will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?

“I will.” I breathed in.

The scent of roses…the evening light coming through the stained-glass window.

Will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?

“I will.” That voice. The voice from all the phone calls. I was marrying that voice. I couldn't believe it.

We faced each other, our hands intertwined.

In the Name of God, I take you to be my wife, 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, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.

He stood before me, his face serious. My heart leaped in my chest. Then I spoke the words myself.

In the Name of God, I take you to be my husband, 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, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.

Marlboro Man watched me as I spoke, and he listened. My voice broke; emotion moved in. It was a beautiful moment—the most beautiful moment since we'd met.

Bless, O Lord, these rings to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other.

We kneeled, and Father Johnson administered the blessing.

Most Gracious God…Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads…. Bless them in their work and in their companionship; in their sleeping and in their
waking; in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death…. Send therefore your blessing upon these your servants, that they may so love, honor, and cherish each other in faithfulness and patience, in wisdom and true godliness, that their home may be a haven of blessing and peace.

My heart pounded in my chest. This was real, it was not a dream. His hand held mine.

I now pronounce you husband and wife
.

I hadn't considered the kiss. Not once. I suppose I'd assumed it would be the way a wedding kiss should be. Restrained. Appropriate. Mild. A nice peck. Save the real kisses for later, when you're deliciously alone. Country club girls don't make out in front of others. Like gum chewing, it should always be done in private, where no one else can see.

But Marlboro Man wasn't a country club boy. He'd missed the memo outlining the rules and regulations of proper ways to kiss in public. I found this out when the kiss began—when he wrapped his loving, protective arms around me and kissed me like he meant it right there in my Episcopal church. Right there in front of my family, and his, in front of Father Johnson and Ms. Altar Guild and our wedding party and the entire congregation, half of whom were meeting me for the first time that night. But Marlboro Man didn't seem to care. He kissed me exactly the way he'd kissed me the night of our first date—the night my high-heeled boot had gotten wedged in a crack in my parents' sidewalk and had caused me to stumble. The night he'd caught me with his lips.

We were making out in church—there was no way around it. And I felt every bit as swept away as I had that first night. The kiss lasted hours, days, weeks…probably ten to twelve seconds in real time, which, in a wedding ceremony setting, is a pretty long kiss. And it might have been longer had the passionate moment not been interrupted by the sudden sound of a person clapping his hands.

“Woohoo! All right!”
the person shouted.
“Yes!”

It was Mike. The congregation broke out in laughter as Marlboro Man
and I touched our foreheads together, cementing the moment forever in our memory. We were one; this was tangible to me now. It wasn't just an empty word, a theological concept, wishful thinking. It was an official, you-and-me-against-the-world designation. We'd both left our separateness behind. From that moment forward, nothing either of us did or said or planned would be in a vacuum apart from the other. No holiday would involve our celebrating separately at our respective family homes. No last-minute trips to Mexico with friends, not that either of us was prone to last-minute trips to Mexico with friends. But still.

The kiss had sealed the deal in so many ways.

I walked proudly out of the church, the new wife of Marlboro Man. When we exited the same doors through which my dad and I had walked thirty minutes earlier, Marlboro Man's arm wriggled loose from my grasp and instinctively wrapped around my waist, where it belonged. The other arm followed, and before I knew it we were locked in a sweet, solidifying embrace, relishing the instant of solitude before our wedding party—sisters, cousins, brothers, friends—followed closely behind.

We were married. I drew a deep, life-giving breath and exhaled. The sweating had finally stopped. And the robust air-conditioning of the church had almost completely dried my lily-white Vera.

 

A
FTER A
few formal snapshots in the courtyard of the church, we headed for the reception at the country club. It became a party in no time: enough people to fill a small island nation, and enough food to feed them for days. Enough champagne to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool, and plenty of happiness and good cheer to last for a long time. Ranchers had finished shipping. Farmers had completed their harvest. Two families had joined together. There was good reason to celebrate.

I was hugged by everyone in Marlboro Man's family, including his
grandma Ruth, his cousin Matthew, and Matthew's beautiful, vibrant mother, Marie, who was suffering from stage 4 breast cancer but couldn't miss the opportunity to see her son serve as one of Marlboro Man's groomsmen. She looked happy.

We danced to John Michael Montgomery's “I Swear.” We cut the seven-tiered cake, electing not to take the smear-it-on-our-faces route. We visited and laughed and toasted. We held hands and mingled. But after a while, I began to notice that I hadn't seen any of the tuxedo-clad groomsmen—particularly Marlboro Man's friends from college—for quite some time.

“What happened to all the guys?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said. “They're down in the men's locker room.”

“Oh, really?” I asked. “Are they smoking cigars or something?”

“Well…” He hesitated, grinning. “They're watching a football game.”

I laughed. “What game are they watching?” It had to be a good one.

“It's…ASU is playing Nebraska,” he answered.

ASU? His alma mater? Playing Nebraska? Defending national champions? How had I missed this? Marlboro Man hadn't said a word. He was such a rabid college football fan, I couldn't believe such a monumental game hadn't been cause to reschedule the wedding date. Aside from ranching, football had always been Marlboro Man's primary interest in life. He'd played in high school and part of college. He watched every televised ASU game religiously—for the nontelevised games, he relied on live reporting from Tony, his best friend, who attended every game in person.

“I didn't even know they were playing!” I said. I don't know why I shouldn't have known. It was September, after all. But it just hadn't crossed my mind. I'd been a little on the busy side, I guess, getting ready to change my entire life and all. “How come you're not down there watching it?” I asked.

“I didn't want to leave you,” he said. “You might get hit on.” He chuckled his sweet, sexy chuckle.

I laughed. I could just see it—a drunk old guest scooting down the bar, eyeing my poufy white dress and spouting off pickup lines:

You live around here?

I sure like what you're wearing….

So…you married?

Marlboro Man wasn't in any immediate danger. Of that I was absolutely certain. “Go watch the game!” I insisted, motioning downstairs.

“Nah,” he said. “I don't need to.” He wanted to watch the game so badly I could see it in the air.

“No, seriously!” I said. “I need to go hang with the girls anyway. Go. Now.” I turned my back and walked away, refusing even to look back. I wanted to make it easy on him.

I wouldn't see him for over an hour. Poor Marlboro Man. Unsure of the protocol for grooms watching college football during their wedding receptions, he'd darted in and out of the locker room for the entire first half. The agony he must have felt. The deep, sustained agony. I was so glad he'd finally joined the guys.

I returned to the party just in time to hear Mike start in on his fourth round of “Elvira.” His voice echoed through the entire town.
“Giddyuppa oompah-pah oompah-pah mow mow…”
The song was made for Mike to sing it. Every person in attendance boogied to the music: my new brother-in-law, Tim, who danced with my cousin Julie…Marlboro Man's cousin Thatcher, who twirled Betsy all over the dance floor…my parents' neighbor, Dr. Burris, who danced with everyone.

I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall of the ballroom, enjoying a moment alone in the dark. Marlboro Man was happy, watching football with his closest college friends. The guests were happy—they danced and laughed and slurped biscuits and gravy with wild abandon. My mom sipped wine in the formal ballroom area, catching up with old friends. Finally I caught a glimpse of my dad, who was dancing with Beth and Barbara, the sisters of my bridesmaid Becky and lifelong family friends. Our
dads had gone to high school together, and we'd all known one another since we were embryos. They were laughing—my dad and Beth and Barbara. He spun them and dipped them and twirled them as they giggled and smiled. He was happy, too. For that brief moment in time, he was happy.