THE WEDDING RECEPTION
by Patricia Crandall
Julie Keel raised an impish face with ‘wise-owl’ eyes to newlyweds, Dianne and Hugh Levitt. She resented the fact she could not share in their rare happiness. The trio was on their way to a lawn reception to be held at the home of Abigail Dawes, Dianne’s friend and former neighbor.
Julie did a cartwheel in her mind fueled by her emotions. Dianne and Hugh were in the process of adopting her.
Thoughts of her mother’s recent death added to her turmoil. So did the reality that her father had abandoned her and her brothers, Paul and Jason. Her heart had pinged with sudden relief when Dianne, a warm, soft woman entered her life as a social worker.
Thanks to Dianne, P and J, as Julie called them, were placed in appropriate foster homes. Dianne’s unrelenting intervention during Family Court hearings enabled the siblings to celebrate special occasions together under her supervision.
Julie’s counselor and soon-to-be stepfather, Hugh, was a source of strength and continuity in her topsy-turvey life. Tears stung Julie’s eyes. Things seemed pretty cool right now. But nothing good ever lasted.
The threesome made a right angle turn and went down a rutted dirt road past a huge wood pile in a clearing which narrowed to a drive bordered by hedges. As they drew near to a low, Chinese-styled house, Julie released each pulsating hand and walked ahead through a grassy triangle cut out by the sun beneath tall poplars.
Abigail Dawes, was leaning over an elaborately set long white table, fussing with a centerpiece of white camellias, white roses and delicate baby’s breath. She turned at the sounds behind her and looked up.
“The guests of honor are first to arrive,” she said joyfully.
“Hi Abigail! Don’t I look pretty?” Julie asked, fanning out her pale blue sateen dress. Silver barrettes held her red hair in place.
“You’re a knock-out,” Abigail winked. “Would you help me serve these?”
Julie accepted a platter of canapés and sampled three. “Yummy!”
“Save some for the guests,” Abigail called after her.
Julie headed in Dianne’s direction. The bride was speaking with her father, John Hobarth. She listened as Mr. Hobarth congratulated his daughter, “Let me look at you, Dianne. You are ravishing.”
“I am happy.” Dianne beamed as Julie drew near with the tempting tray.
“Have one of these little sandwiches, Dianne,” Julie pressed. “The peanut butter ones taste best.”
“Um, they all look delicious; just one.” Dianne attempted to put her arm around Julie’s shoulder but Julie slipped away before she could do so.
A black limousine with a Massachusetts license plate drove into the yard and stopped. Julie observed Yvonne Baleaux step out of the back seat of the vehicle while two silver-haired, jeweled ladies climbed out of the front of the car. They each carried gifts. Abigail greeted them with smiling assurance and guided them to a table set up for the purpose of displaying the gifts. A circle of white crepe paper bells danced overhead.
Julie crept up behind Yvonne Baleaux and Hugh Levitt and listened to their conversation.
“Wow, super day” Yvonne said breathlessly, shaking out her luxuriant auburn hair. Hugh leaned his cheek down to her. With her slender, musk scented hands she turned his face sharply and kissed him full on the lips.
“Congratulations bridegroom. I hope you’ll be happy with the little woman.” Pouting, she looked across the sweep of lawn at Dianne mingling with guests.
“I’ll be reasonably happy,” Hugh drawled with conviction. “I knew from the moment I met Dianne I loved her.”
Yvonne’s laugh was contemptuous. “You’re not a romantic, Hugh. Love…you! A forty-one year old ad executive!”
Julie nudged Hugh and offered him canapés from her tray. She turned deliberately away from Mz. Baleaux and proceeded on her way.
“And a brat in the package!” Yvonne snapped her elegant fingers in the air.
The guests were called together at one o’clock to feast on a sumptuous luncheon. Mid-way through the service, Julie left her barely touched plate and walked over to a table situated adjacent to the main one, to view the beautifully decorated, two-tiered wedding cake. She stared for a long time at the miniature bride and groom ornamenting the top of the cake. She ached for the dysfunctional mother and father whom she would never see again and acutely missed the zany actions of P and J.
Suddenly, Dianne appeared and wiped the edges of Julie’s mouth with a lace-edged hankie. “There, the kool-aid ring has disappeared,” Dianne smiled down at her. “Come with me,” she invited.
Julie followed the vision in the rustling, white taffeta dress across the lawn, away from the celebration. They stopped beneath the network of paper wedding bells where splendid arrays of white, silver and gold packages were spread out on the table.
“It’s too early to open gifts,” Dianne explained to Julie .“We must wait for the proper time, but I want you to open this one.” She picked up a small package wrapped in glossy white paper and handed it to Julie.
“Go ahead, open it.”
Steadily, Julie looked up at Dianne then ripped the paper off the box, removing its cover. Inside a folded tissue lay a gold charm bracelet with a triangle charm fastened to it. She held the dainty piece up in order to read the inscription appearing on each flat surface of the charm. It bore the names of Hugh, Dianne and Julie. A tiny silver cross dangled in the middle with the name Levitt and the wedding date inscribed on it.
She extended her thin arm out to the flushed young woman. “Put it on my wrist!”
“Please,” Dianne coaxed.
“Please.”
Dianne secured the hasp. Julie burrowed her face into a pleasantly-scented bosom. In the next moment, Hugh’s strong arms encircled them.
Julie knew in her heart that contentment would grow.
Patricia: I live at Babcock Lake in the Grafton Mountains near Petersburgh, New York. I devote time to my family, writing and community work. I enjoy reading, sking, golfing, swimming, exercising and traveling.
I have a vast number of poetry/haiku, numerous articles and short stories published in many small press magazines and a variety of newspapers. I have won many poetry awards and have two books in print, Melrose, Then and Now, a historical volume and I Passed This Way, containing poetry.
I am currently working on another book of poetry, several mystery-crime stories, a series of short fiction and novels. I put aside whatever free time I have for writing.
My feelings as a poet have affected my role as a mother by allowing me to capture in poetry the formative years of my children. These poems are snapshots in words. Whenever I read them, I see my children as they were during that moment in time. Contact Patricia.
