The quartet downstairs was starting up. Pachelbel’s Canon would be the piece that drove us down the stairs. This selection sounded more like Debussy.
“Okay. You’ve all cheered me up,” I said, turning to face the four ladies. “You’re right, Judy. I’m among friends and about to marry the most incredible man in the world. And, thanks to you all, this wedding is absolutely perfect! So, should we get this show on the road?”
The four of them laughed. Then Sammy got all serious. “Do you have something blue and something new . . .
“And something borrowed?” Cara added.
I nodded. Judy had lent me a blue sapphire bracelet that I was wearing over the long sleeves of my satin gown. It was both borrowed and blue. The something new was, of course, my wedding gown. I refused to put a six pence in my shoes, even if I had one.
Cara giggled. “And what about the garter?”
I shook my head. “There’s no way I’d participate in that. Timothy knows it, too.”
“Here. The final touch,” Simone said, attaching the veil, then draping it down over my face.
“I’m not crazy about this part. I guess it improves the way I look if I cover my face,” I joked, but Simone wagged her finger at me. “You make a beautiful bride. None of that, Penelope, even in jest.”
And then we heard the Pachelbel start to play. That was our signal. Judy handed me my bouquet, and the others gathered up theirs. We opened the door where Mr. Simons was waiting. I placed my hand on his arm, and we descended down Timothy’s fancy staircase.
We were saving the formal two-step wedding march for the flat ground in the fancy living room, the largest of Timothy’s chamber, which had been cleared especially to embrace folding chairs on each side of the required aisle.
All too soon, I was standing in the entryway, where I was to begin the slow-step rhythm that would march me up to the place where Timothy awaited me. Earlier, we’d figured that this room would be sufficiently roomy for the small number of people we’d invited, but as I reached the threshold and scanned the room, I let out a small gasp: one part amazement and one part dismay.
Each row of chairs was filled with people. Every seat had somebody in it, and some guests had even been forced to stand on the sides. Where had all these guests come from? I didn’t know this many people. Had Timothy invited them all? I had a flash of timidity and a stray thought brushed my mind: Turn around, leave, and return to my bedroom. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t do that, not to my friends, our guests, or to Timothy.
Down at the end of the aisle, I saw his face. He was reading my thoughts. A flash of worry streaked across his face. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he closed his lips and smiled warmly. Then he lifted his right arm, turned his hand with the palm-side up, and beckoned me.