Come Rain or Come Shine Page 16

  Jesus, Thou art all compassion,

  Pure unbounded love thou art . . .

  Sammy and Pooh followed as the standing congregation gave forth its mighty best. There was Hal Owen’s splendid baritone, Beth’s crystal soprano . . .

  Visit us with thy salvation,

  Enter every trembling heart.

  At the simple lectern made by Harley, he and Dooley embraced. The two best men peeled off to stand on Dooley’s left.

  Come, Almighty to deliver,

  Let us all thy life receive . . .

  And there was Jessie with the dogs sporting bow ties and coupled together by ribbons, a photo op of the first rank. Mid-hymn, phones and cameras were dug from pockets and handbags and there began the gleeful preoccupation that wedding guests so relish nowadays. Bowser swaggered, Bodacious looked doleful, Buckwheat effected a jaunt in his step. At row four, Bonemeal paused to sniff the shoes of Judy, the postmistress. Roughly on cue, the whole lot veered to the groom’s side.

  Clockwork, he thought.

  Then Beth, in a turquoise frock and as radiant as any bride, came singing, heads turning . . .

  Finish then thy new creation,

  Pure and spotless let us be.

  Let us see thy great salvation,

  Perfectly restored in thee . . .

  Now Rebecca Jane Owen and the strewing of the petals of Seven Sisters; carmine showering upon emerald grass . . .

  As Lace and her father entered the tent with Jack Tyler, Dooley’s left leg began to jiggle. He was aware of this, but his brain refused to send a nerve signal to stop it. He put his weight on his left leg, dug the heel of his loafer into the turf, and locked his knee.

  He had occasionally perceived marriage to be a cosmic black hole, void of anything at all. At the sight of Lace, the science of his heart perceived the void filled with galaxies beyond number.

  Lace walked the aisle on the arm of Doc Harper, the afternoon light dancing gold over her dress. She was taking the day not by force, as he could plainly see, but by grace, and smiling at him as if to say, Hooray, we have come through.

  In the hand placed upon her father’s arm, she held the bouquet. In the other, she held Roo, pressed to her heart. At her side, Jack Tyler, in his plaid pants, carried the pillow. Cautious and solemn he came, as if walking on eggs.

  Necks craned to get a better look at the bride and the little boy mentioned in the program, who was such a surprise to all, such a hope, really. An electrical current made a buzz through the congregation.

  Changed from glory into glory,

  Till in heaven we take our place . . .

  All this. All this coming to him, entering into him, Dooley Kavanagh. For a split second, he blanked, then came to. He steadied himself, thinking his heart could actually, though not probably, explode and he would be toast right here in front of everybody. But he was ready. He was completely ready for the tide that had the power to lift him off his feet and sweep him away.

  Till we cast our crowns before Thee,

  Lost in wonder, love, and praise.

  The music ended, the congregation was seated. Lace looked down to Jack Tyler and gave him a smile and a nod and he walked to Beth and stood by her side near the seated musicians.

  ‘Who gives this woman to be married?’

  ‘Her mother and I,’ said Hoppy. He kissed the cheek of his daughter and stepped to the front row and sat by Olivia and strapped on his Nikon.

  To Dooley on his left and to Lace on his right, he, Timothy, celebrant and father, extended his hands to the couple and drew them as one to face him.

  ‘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 . . .’

  He was twain, speaking by heart the words he had learned so long ago, and at the same time conscious of the assembly beneath the shade of the tent.

  To his left on the groom’s side, his wife and Henry and Walter and Katherine, kith and kin, his own heart’s blood, and . . . good Lord! Kenny! With his wife, Julie, and two small children. How had he not known this?

  He gulped air, and joy with it. Dooley and his brothers had seen them, too.

  ‘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. 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.

  ‘Into this holy union Lace Harper and Dooley Kavanagh now come to be joined.’

  ‘Kenny,’ Dooley whispered.

  He got the cue. ‘Will you, Kenneth Barlowe, come forward and stand with us as a best man to your brother?’

  Every eye was on Kenny Barlowe, who didn’t especially resemble the brothers standing behind the priest. This one was of heavier build, with dark brown hair. That’s the way it is with cattle, thought Mink Hershell. Sometimes you put two Red Angus together and get the Wild coloration, which is basically spotted.

  Kenny kissed Lace on the cheek, hugged his brothers. In the congregation, a couple of handkerchiefs fluttered out.

  ‘I require and charge you, Dooley and Lace, here in the presence of God, that if either of you know any reason why you may not be lawfully united in marriage, and in accordance with God’s word, you do now confess it.’

  A June breeze carried the breath of roses to those assembled. It seemed to Olivia Harper that time stood still. She held the hand of her husband, who had granted her a new heart in more ways than one.

  ‘Lace, do you take Dooley to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you vow to love him, cherish him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him until death do you part?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Dooley, do you take Lace to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you vow to love her, cherish her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her until death do you part?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do those of you witnessing these promises vow to do all in your power to uphold Lace and Dooley in their marriage?’

  ‘We do!’

  The farm dogs slept, studied the crowd, yawned. Bowser licked himself with some vigor until Jessie gave him a shove with her foot.

  ‘The Lord be with you!’ he said to all assembled.

  ‘And also with you!’

  Danny Hershell had not been at his mama and daddy’s wedding for th’ reason that he wasn’t born yet, but at one wedding he’d been at, they had lots of balloons and th’ bride had rode in on a mule an’ at th’ end her an’ her husband had rode off on a tractor. But this deal right here was one of the most different kind of thing he’d ever seen.

  ‘Let us pray. O gracious and ever living God, you have created us male and female in your image. Look mercifully upon Dooley and Lace, who come to you seeking your blessing, and assist them with your grace, that with true fidelity and steadfast love they may honor and keep the promises and vows they make, through Jesus Christ our Savior, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.’

  ‘Amen!’

  Love, cherish, honor, keep. A handful! Honey Hershell hoped these kids had thought it over carefully, but even if they had, they would still not have a clue. You never had a clue about anything till it happened and you learned the truth about yourself.

  Vanita Bentley fiddled with her camera to adjust the setting for shade. In sickness and in health was the kicker. If it wadn
’t for her income from the Muse and the check from the government, she an’ Donny Bentley would be livin’ in a tent on the creek. First a broken leg on his job with NCDOT, then an infection, then the gangrene which they couldn’t hardly control and now the crutch and all the doctor appointments and here were these kids opting for the same thing if push ever came to shove. She would put them on the prayer list at First Baptist and if th’ church secretary said why do they need prayer, they just got married, she would say, Please! That is th’ whole point.

  Mink Hershell reckoned he had slept through a bunch of Scripture reading and maybe even somebody singing, which he sort of felt guilty about except he’d been up half the night checking out th’ wind damage and had to put oil in the tractor before taking it over to what he still called the Owen place but was now the Kavanagh place. He guessed he hadn’t snored or Honey would have given him a jab. With the Baptists, of which he was one, it didn’t take forever and a day to get married. This crowd was plowin’ through the whole Bible before they would let a man kiss his wife. He consulted his program. Looks like he’d slept through the reading from Genesis and woke up in the Gospel of John.

  ‘This is my commandment,’ Father Brad read aloud, ‘that you love one another as I have loved you. The Word of the Lord.’

  ‘Thanks be to God!’ said the people.

  Mink leaned toward his wife. ‘What’s a homily?’

  ‘Lace, you recently asked two very thoughtful questions. Is cherish the same as love? And how do we cherish someone?

  ‘I believe cherish to be a higher plane within the context of love, something like the upstairs level in a home. Love must come first, for without it, it would be impossible to access the higher and perhaps even nobler realm of cherishing and holding dear.

  ‘So how can we cherish another? Might there be one powerful but simple method that leads to the richness we find in the act of cherishing the beloved?

  ‘As I studied and prayed, there it was. In Romans 12:10. A one-word marriage manual in a vigorous, no-nonsense verb.

  ‘Outdo.

  ‘“Outdo one another,” says Paul, “in showing honor.”

  ‘What outdo means, of course, is going above and beyond. Outdo means pressed down, shaken, and running over.

  ‘What outdo does not mean is a competition in which one person wins the game and the other loses. To outdo one another means you both win. In Ephesians 5:28, we’re told that he who loves his wife loves himself. In effect, a good marriage happens when the happiness of the other is essential to your own happiness. We might say that a good marriage is a contest of generosities.

  ‘How wonderful that it’s possible to ensure our own happiness by seeking the happiness of another. Is it our job to make the beloved happy? It is not. The other person always has a choice. It is our job to generously outdo, no matter what, and discover that the prize in this contest of generosity is more love.

  ‘All of which moves two outdoers in a circle, like the rings that will be exchanged today. Dooley cherishes Lace, Lace cherishes Dooley, and the circle is unbroken. It is definitely a practice of love that requires the participation of two. If only one is outdoing, that one will soon be done in.

  ‘So we love and that is good. We cherish and that is even better.

  ‘I would ask you to remember that you’re not only husband and wife, you are also brother and sister in Christ and mother and father to Jack Tyler. Here are three opportunities to outdo without being done in, to refresh and fulfill yourselves as others outdo themselves for you.

  ‘I believe many of us simply do. And sometimes that seems a gracious plenty. But in outdoing, if each is giving and receiving, there’s always something circling back, helping to replenish our emotional and physical strength as we help replenish theirs.

  ‘I’ll close with a very specific way to help you live the principle of outdoing. This is a key to opening hearts, a gentle pathway to cherishing your beloved. To that end, I have been given this further word.

  ‘Listen.

  ‘Listening is among the most generous ways to give. When a loved one talks to us—whether their words appear to be deep or shallow—listen. For in some way, they are baring their souls.

  ‘Listen, dear Lace. Listen, my son. And you will cherish and be cherished.

  ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

  ‘Amen!’

  There was a pause; the congregation consulted their programs. This was the official Marriage part, the big one.

  Dooley caught his breath and recited after his dad. ‘In the name of God, I, Dooley, take you, Lace, 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 . . .’

  He felt the thud of his heart literally stopping its beat.

  Choo-Choo was standing just beyond the entrance to the tent, looking in. Behind him, three heifers cropped grass. His heart seemed now to fill his throat. If he asked everyone to remain seated and the bull came plowing into their midst . . . if he asked them to leave the area quietly and the cattle grew alarmed . . . there were no rubrics for this.

  ‘Choo-Choo,’ he whispered to Dooley and Lace.

  They turned around. Lace moved at once to Jack Tyler and took his hand.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I caution you to sit very still. Please do not turn around at this time or make any sudden movement.’

  Harley turned around at once. ‘God A’mighty!’

  Now everybody turned around. Gasps. A yelp here and there, followed by a terrified silence in which Jack Tyler began to cry.

  The musicians rose from their chairs in slow motion, instruments in hand. ‘We’ve got your back,’ Tommy said to Dooley.

  Dooley spoke without taking his eyes off the bull. ‘Th’ chill gate’s too close to th’ tent to try and run ’em in there. Open th’ cattle gate, Dad.’

  ‘The keys,’ he said, faint with alarm.

  ‘In th’ truck. Drive it like you stole it.’

  ‘Look out for Cynthia,’ he said.

  He moved like a snowball melting, vanished behind the woodshed, jumped in the truck, heard the astonishing sound of music: ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’

  He didn’t look back.

  It took maybe sixty seconds to drive to the cattle gate, but it seemed an eternity.

  Choo-Choo was plenty smart, but not that smart.

  Somebody had left the gate open.

  On his way back, he saw them coming and stopped the truck and turned off the ignition. Tommy and his band were walking backward, playing music. The cattle followed, curious and definitely interested.

  Dooley kept to their rear; slow motion, everything in slow motion.

  Lord, I want to be in that number when the saints . . .

  They were headed toward the open gate.

  ‘Easy,’ Dooley was saying. ‘Easy, now.’

  The wedding party was scattered around the lawn, under the tent, out by the woodshed.

  Doc Owen’s voice, a bullhorn of its own: ‘Thirty-minute break, everybody, and back here to finish the job! Six o’clock sharp!’

  Most headed to the house; Danny and his brother, Rudy, disappeared into the bushes.

  As for the guy in white vestments, he had broken a cold sweat; he was trembling.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said as his wife came running, looking relieved.

  In the kitchen, Dooley was drinking water, Jack Tyler was drinking water, everybody was drinking water while the pup looked out from her crate with an accusing eye.

  High fives with the band.

  ‘You boys ever tried to make it in Nashville?’ Doc Owen asked the banjo player, Lonnie Grant.

  ‘Been there, done that, got th’ T-shirt,’ said Lonnie. ‘Not doin’ that again.’

  The kitchen hadn’t expected th
is invasion. They were trying to get dinner to the barn, for Pete’s sake; Lily could hardly move from the stove to the back door. But everybody was happy now and Jack Tyler had got over his crying spell and that was good enough for her—she liked happy people.

  ‘So, Dad.’

  Dooley took him aside, said something that couldn’t be printed in a family newspaper. ‘It was me.’

  ‘What was you?’

  ‘I left the cattle gate open.’

  What could he say? ‘It’s okay. You’re allowed one today.’ He managed a small laugh. ‘But only one!’

  Mink Hershell checked his watch. The tent was filling up again—great, but the break was longer than thirty minutes.

  Seven days a week, Honey had supper on the table at five-thirty sharp except when they drove to Mitford to the Feel Good. He looked at his program. Lord knows, he didn’t remember this much hoo-ha when he married Honey twenty—or was it nineteen?—years ago. He had picked her up at her mama’s house and they had arrived together at the church in his daddy’s hearse. He remembered that the preacher thought it was a limo.

  Deviled eggs. He hoped they would have deviled eggs. And ham! What would a wedding be without deviled eggs and ham? As for diggin’ up th’ bourbon, yes, he would go with th’ diggers, but he would not touch a drop, he would just watch.

  Everybody was back in the tent now and there came Father Tim with his robe thing flyin’, and the wedding party—all but the dogs—trailing behind and cracking up, and the musicians at the end. All assembled gave the musicians a hand. ‘Woohoo, Biscuits!’ ‘Go, Biscuits!’ Like that.

  The newspaperwoman scooted into the chair next to him and Honey. Boy howdy, this deal would give her somethin’ to write about.

  He gathered with the wedding party at the homemade lectern as before. Yet nothing really seemed as before—they were live-wired, jets burning in some new and wondrous way.

  With no warning whatsoever, just boom, there came the celebrant’s tears.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ whispered Dooley. ‘You’re cryin’ at my wedding.’