Monmouth Plantation when Simon Hopkins seemed to morph into a high-booted horseman. She’d seriously begun to wonder if long-term anxiety and sleep deprivation weren’t playing very strange tricks on her. Smiling to Maddy in farewell, she silently vowed to get lots of rest and plenty of fresh air during her visit to Natchez.
“Well, I’m outta here,” Daphne declared with as much good cheer as she could muster.
“Don’t forget, angel girl, you and Corlis have beauty parlor appointments at Anruss Salon at one o’clock,” Maddy reminded her.
“ You’re the angel,” Daphne pronounced, kissing her older cousin on the top of her untidy head.
Within minutes, she had pointed the Ford Explorer down Clifton Avenue and headed for Pearl Street in downtown Natchez and the magnificent, pillared First Presbyterian Church. A janitor kindly helped her extricate the bulky harp from the car, transport it upstairs to the balcony overlooking the sanctuary of the Federal-style church, and position it next to the organ.
It took Daphne some fifty minutes to tune the harp strings, by which time Avery Johns, the octogenarian organist, arrived. Then the two musicians swiftly ran through the wedding program before the floral designer arrived to decorate the church.
Later at the nearby Anruss Salon, Daphne and Corlis happily submitted to having their hair done, along with manicures and pedicures. At three fifteen in the back room, Daphne donned a sage-green silk dress with a flowing skirt and matching silk shoes. She swiftly touched up her makeup, and emerged to wish Corlis good luck.
“Same to you, sweetie pie,” Corlis said, swathed in a black cotton dressing gown. “You look drop-dead fabulous! Was everything okay with your harp? King told me about Ebert trying to hijack it at the airport yesterday.”
“The harp loves being back where it’s warm,” Daphne said, her banter belying the tension that gripped her stomach whenever she thought about Jack Ebert’s sudden appearance.
“Well, I love you for schlepping that mammoth thing all the way down here,” Corlis pronounced, kissing Daphne lightly on the cheek. “And I can’t tell you how much it means to me to become your sister-in-law today—not to mention King’s wife.”
“Me too, you,” Daphne murmured. She hugged Corlis and grazed her cheek against a gigantic hair roller. By this time, both women had tears welling at the rims of their eyes. “Now can I claim your Aunt Marge as kin?” Daphne asked with a watery smile. “She and Cousin Maddy are the greatest, aren’t they?”
“Since it would appear neither one of us did too well in the parental department,” Corlis said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with a freshly manicured forefinger, “I’ll share one Marge McCullough with you for one Madeline Whitaker—what do you say?”
“It’s a done deal!” Daphne replied, sniffing inelegantly as she reached for a tissue from a nearby dispenser. The women gazed quietly at each other for a long moment.
“I’d say we are two lucky mademoiselles ,” Corlis said softly, “even if my mother is a wilted flower child, and yours is a no-show.”
“I’m really sorry Antoinette’s playing the major magnolia,” Daphne said, and gently squeezed Corlis’s arm. “She’s still steamed at me—and King, by association. Please don’t take it personally, ’cause it’s definitely not.”
“I’m trying not to,” Corlis said. “I mostly feel terrible for you and King.”
“Thanks,” Daphne replied quietly. “You okay if I leave now? No last-minute jitters? I’m an expert on those, you know.”
Corlis smiled, her eyes taking on a joyful shine. “Maddy and Marge have made a blood pact to get me to the church on time.” She added with a hint of embarrassment, “After all my neurotic flip-flops over the idea of marriage, I actually can’t wait to say ‘I definitely do !’ to that brother of yours.”
***
It was nearly three twenty-five by
“Well, I’m outta here,” Daphne declared with as much good cheer as she could muster.
“Don’t forget, angel girl, you and Corlis have beauty parlor appointments at Anruss Salon at one o’clock,” Maddy reminded her.
“ You’re the angel,” Daphne pronounced, kissing her older cousin on the top of her untidy head.
Within minutes, she had pointed the Ford Explorer down Clifton Avenue and headed for Pearl Street in downtown Natchez and the magnificent, pillared First Presbyterian Church. A janitor kindly helped her extricate the bulky harp from the car, transport it upstairs to the balcony overlooking the sanctuary of the Federal-style church, and position it next to the organ.
It took Daphne some fifty minutes to tune the harp strings, by which time Avery Johns, the octogenarian organist, arrived. Then the two musicians swiftly ran through the wedding program before the floral designer arrived to decorate the church.
Later at the nearby Anruss Salon, Daphne and Corlis happily submitted to having their hair done, along with manicures and pedicures. At three fifteen in the back room, Daphne donned a sage-green silk dress with a flowing skirt and matching silk shoes. She swiftly touched up her makeup, and emerged to wish Corlis good luck.
“Same to you, sweetie pie,” Corlis said, swathed in a black cotton dressing gown. “You look drop-dead fabulous! Was everything okay with your harp? King told me about Ebert trying to hijack it at the airport yesterday.”
“The harp loves being back where it’s warm,” Daphne said, her banter belying the tension that gripped her stomach whenever she thought about Jack Ebert’s sudden appearance.
“Well, I love you for schlepping that mammoth thing all the way down here,” Corlis pronounced, kissing Daphne lightly on the cheek. “And I can’t tell you how much it means to me to become your sister-in-law today—not to mention King’s wife.”
“Me too, you,” Daphne murmured. She hugged Corlis and grazed her cheek against a gigantic hair roller. By this time, both women had tears welling at the rims of their eyes. “Now can I claim your Aunt Marge as kin?” Daphne asked with a watery smile. “She and Cousin Maddy are the greatest, aren’t they?”
“Since it would appear neither one of us did too well in the parental department,” Corlis said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with a freshly manicured forefinger, “I’ll share one Marge McCullough with you for one Madeline Whitaker—what do you say?”
“It’s a done deal!” Daphne replied, sniffing inelegantly as she reached for a tissue from a nearby dispenser. The women gazed quietly at each other for a long moment.
“I’d say we are two lucky mademoiselles ,” Corlis said softly, “even if my mother is a wilted flower child, and yours is a no-show.”
“I’m really sorry Antoinette’s playing the major magnolia,” Daphne said, and gently squeezed Corlis’s arm. “She’s still steamed at me—and King, by association. Please don’t take it personally, ’cause it’s definitely not.”
“I’m trying not to,” Corlis said. “I mostly feel terrible for you and King.”
“Thanks,” Daphne replied quietly. “You okay if I leave now? No last-minute jitters? I’m an expert on those, you know.”
Corlis smiled, her eyes taking on a joyful shine. “Maddy and Marge have made a blood pact to get me to the church on time.” She added with a hint of embarrassment, “After all my neurotic flip-flops over the idea of marriage, I actually can’t wait to say ‘I definitely do !’ to that brother of yours.”
***
It was nearly three twenty-five by
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