man and aide-de-camp appeared up front to wait with the pastor. The music began to play. There was a flutter of anticipation all around the room, as if the wedding might actually commence.
The church door opened and, as one, every person in attendance turned to look. The two young attendants entered one at a time. Leading was pretty, red-haired Betty Ditham. She was the oldest granddaughter of old Shultz, and Rome recognized her from the times she’d visited the ice plant. Behind her was the bride’s sister, Becky.
Rome thought the younger Timmons girl must be fifteen or sixteen. But Miss Becky had yet to acquire any womanly curves. Her hips were straight as a board and her bosom more closely resembled a tabletop than a pair of hillocks.
The two made their way to the front of the church. Betty with smiles and flirtatious giggles. Becky withtimidity and hesitance. They were in place and facing the back entrance when the bride appeared at the doorway.
The congregation rose to its feet.
Rome put his hand upon Miss Gussie’s elbow to help her up. It was a tender gesture he’d often shown to his mother in years now distantly past. It seemed appropriate somehow to extend such a courtesy to his ladylike employer. He accepted a slight nod of appreciation from her before turning his attention back to the dramatic procession.
Lucy looked flushed and lovely, as always. Her elaborate gown might have outshone a less comely young woman, but with her shiny blond hair, bright blue eyes and dazzling smile, she was an unquestioned beauty. And her obvious happiness glowed from within her.
The march to the front of the church was slightly awkward. Her father, a hardworking and capable cobbler, walked beside her. He had a noticeable limp and a thin, wan body bent and twisted by arthritis.
Rome could remember the girl when she was all unkempt pigtails and toothless grin, charging up to his wagon to beg for chunks of ice. It was so strange that she was to be a married woman now, and he was still waiting for the right woman to come along.
Rome hardly had the time to absorb this completely before the congregation was seated and the ceremony commenced.
The preacher, a bit too loud and overenthusiastic, conducted the service with as much solemnity and reverence as he could manage.
Rome did not frequent weddings. In fact, he could not recall the last he had attended. He wondered now why he had not. With the fine music and the sentimentaldrama of the events, it was, in its way, more entertaining than a traveling vaudeville production.
Of course, marriage itself was a very serious concern. At least it had always seemed so to him. Rome was not opposed to holy wedlock on any level. He thought it to be a very good thing—for Gussie and Amos and Lucy and her beau.
For a man like himself, well, it was hard to even imagine Rome Akers in the position of groom. He accepted the inevitability of marriage. Eventually he would find a woman who didn’t annoy him too much and he would settle down with her. He wanted children. He’d need someone to leave his legacy to.
“Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?”
The preacher’s words were a bit louder than necessary, with excessive dramatic emphasis on inquisition, as if he truly had no idea who was standing up with the bride.
“I do,” old, crippled Timmons replied proudly.
He looked assessingly at the young groom and then shared a quick, almost private glance with his daughter. Then he smiled at the two of them as if he had complete confidence and was wholly in agreement with the match. But in the evening glow of candles, Rome detected a gleam in the man’s eyes that could only be evidence of tears.
Reverend Holiday began explaining the duties of marriage. Both the duty of two people to each other and the duty of the couple to God. The bride and groom exchanged brief, intimate glances. The depth of feeling in their eyes said more than anything spoken. They were so young, so
The church door opened and, as one, every person in attendance turned to look. The two young attendants entered one at a time. Leading was pretty, red-haired Betty Ditham. She was the oldest granddaughter of old Shultz, and Rome recognized her from the times she’d visited the ice plant. Behind her was the bride’s sister, Becky.
Rome thought the younger Timmons girl must be fifteen or sixteen. But Miss Becky had yet to acquire any womanly curves. Her hips were straight as a board and her bosom more closely resembled a tabletop than a pair of hillocks.
The two made their way to the front of the church. Betty with smiles and flirtatious giggles. Becky withtimidity and hesitance. They were in place and facing the back entrance when the bride appeared at the doorway.
The congregation rose to its feet.
Rome put his hand upon Miss Gussie’s elbow to help her up. It was a tender gesture he’d often shown to his mother in years now distantly past. It seemed appropriate somehow to extend such a courtesy to his ladylike employer. He accepted a slight nod of appreciation from her before turning his attention back to the dramatic procession.
Lucy looked flushed and lovely, as always. Her elaborate gown might have outshone a less comely young woman, but with her shiny blond hair, bright blue eyes and dazzling smile, she was an unquestioned beauty. And her obvious happiness glowed from within her.
The march to the front of the church was slightly awkward. Her father, a hardworking and capable cobbler, walked beside her. He had a noticeable limp and a thin, wan body bent and twisted by arthritis.
Rome could remember the girl when she was all unkempt pigtails and toothless grin, charging up to his wagon to beg for chunks of ice. It was so strange that she was to be a married woman now, and he was still waiting for the right woman to come along.
Rome hardly had the time to absorb this completely before the congregation was seated and the ceremony commenced.
The preacher, a bit too loud and overenthusiastic, conducted the service with as much solemnity and reverence as he could manage.
Rome did not frequent weddings. In fact, he could not recall the last he had attended. He wondered now why he had not. With the fine music and the sentimentaldrama of the events, it was, in its way, more entertaining than a traveling vaudeville production.
Of course, marriage itself was a very serious concern. At least it had always seemed so to him. Rome was not opposed to holy wedlock on any level. He thought it to be a very good thing—for Gussie and Amos and Lucy and her beau.
For a man like himself, well, it was hard to even imagine Rome Akers in the position of groom. He accepted the inevitability of marriage. Eventually he would find a woman who didn’t annoy him too much and he would settle down with her. He wanted children. He’d need someone to leave his legacy to.
“Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?”
The preacher’s words were a bit louder than necessary, with excessive dramatic emphasis on inquisition, as if he truly had no idea who was standing up with the bride.
“I do,” old, crippled Timmons replied proudly.
He looked assessingly at the young groom and then shared a quick, almost private glance with his daughter. Then he smiled at the two of them as if he had complete confidence and was wholly in agreement with the match. But in the evening glow of candles, Rome detected a gleam in the man’s eyes that could only be evidence of tears.
Reverend Holiday began explaining the duties of marriage. Both the duty of two people to each other and the duty of the couple to God. The bride and groom exchanged brief, intimate glances. The depth of feeling in their eyes said more than anything spoken. They were so young, so
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