Ramona Forever by Beverly Cleary Page B

world were falling apart—Aunt Bea in Alaska, the Quimbys among strangers, sagebrush, and sheep.
    â€œBut Aunt Bea, what will you do in Alaska?” asked Beezus.
    â€œFish through the ice,” said Uncle Hobart. “Build us an igloo.”
    â€œDon’t listen to him,” said Aunt Bea. “I plan to teach. I sent off an application and received a telegram accepting me.”
    Suddenly Ramona saw the solution to all her family’s problems. “Aunt Bea,” she said, bursting with excitement. “If you aren’t going to teach in Portland, Daddy can have your job.”
    Sudden silence at the table. “I’m afraid not,” said Aunt Bea gently. “I’m not going to be replaced. My school is not expecting asmany pupils next fall and is not hiring any teachers.”
    â€œOh,” said Ramona. There was nothing more to say. Her happy plan had come to nothing.
    The silence was broken by Beezus. “Oh, Aunt Bea!” She was ecstatic. “A wedding!”
    â€œWe aren’t planning a wedding,” said Aunt Bea. “There isn’t time. We’re going to be married at the City Hall.”
    â€œBea, you can’t.” Mrs. Quimby was distressed. “A wedding should be a happy occasion, a gift from the bride’s family.”
    â€œBut there isn’t time for a real wedding,” insisted Aunt Bea. “Dad can’t plan a wedding from his mobile home in Southern California. With a baby due so soon, you can’t possibly take on a wedding.”
    â€œAunt Bea,” wailed Beezus. “There must be a way. It isn’t fair for Mom to have had a wedding and you to get married at CityHall without any bridesmaids or anything.”
    Mrs. Quimby’s voice was gentle. “Don’t forget—your Grandma Day was living when I was married. She arranged it all.”
    â€œDon’t men count in this event?” asked Uncle Hobart. “I don’t like the idea of a City Hall wedding myself. There’s no reason why we can’t throw together some kind of wedding.”
    Pooh to you, thought Ramona with a scowl. You’d just mess things up.
    â€œBut weddings aren’t that simple.” Mrs. Quimby pushed her chair back from the table to rest her arms on the bulge that was Algie. “You can’t throw together a wedding.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Uncle Hobart. “Women just make them complicated. Watch me take charge.”
    â€œYou could wear Mother’s wedding dress,” Beezus suggested to her aunt. She and Ramona had often lifted their mother’swedding dress from its tissue-paper-lined box to admire. Beezus always held it up and tried on the veil in front of the mirror.
    â€œThere you are,” said Uncle Hobart. “The wedding dress is taken care of.”
    â€œBut you won’t catch me being matron of honor, not in my shape,” said Mrs. Quimby.
    â€œBeezus and Ramona can be bridesmaids, and I won’t have a matron of honor.” Aunt Beatrice was beginning to like the new plan.
    Ramona perked up at the thought of being a bridesmaid. A wedding might be interesting after all.
    â€œWilla Jean can be a flower girl.” Aunt Bea stopped and frowned. “Oh, what am I thinking about? I have to write out performance reports for twenty-nine third graders, we both have to buy cold-weather clothes for Alaskan winters, I have to sell my car, Hobart has to trade in the van on a four-wheel-drive truck, and—”
    â€œYou have a great new ski outfit,” interrupted Uncle Hobart, who probably did not know that a man named Michael had been the reason for the ski clothes. Whatever happened to Michael? Only Aunt Bea knew.
    Uncle Hobart went on. “And all you have to write on those twenty-nine performance reports is, ‘You have a great kid who will turn out okay.’ That’s what parents want to hear, and most of the time it’s true.”
    Ramona