A Common Life (15 page)

“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. It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and His Church, and Holy Scripture commends it to be honored among all people.

“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; and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord. 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, Cynthia Clary Coppersmith and Timothy Andrew Kavanagh now come to be joined. . . .”

Uncle Billy Watson hoped and prayed his wife would not fall asleep and snore; it was all he could do to keep his own eyes open. Sitting with so many people in a close church on a close afternoon was nearabout more than a man could handle. He kept alert by asking himself a simple question: When it came time, would he have mustard on his ham, or eat it plain?

“Cynthia, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

Winnie Ivey clasped her hand over her heart and felt tears burn her cheeks. To think that God would give this joy to people as old as herself and no spring chickens . . .

The bride’s vow was heard clearly throughout the nave. “I will!”

“Timothy, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will!”

“Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”

“
We will!
”

At the congregational response, Dooley Barlowe quickly left the front pew by the sacristy door and took his place in front of the altar rail. As he faced the cross and bowed, one knee trembled slightly, but he locked it in place and drew a deep breath.

Don’t let me mess up,
he prayed, then opened his mouth and began to sing.

It all sounded lovey-dovey, thought Emma, but she knew one thing—it would never work if Cynthia sat around drawing cats while her husband wanted his dinner! Oh, Lord, she was doing it again, and this time without intending to; she was running down a person who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She closed her eyes and asked forgiveness.

She’d held on to her reservations about Cynthia like a tightwad squeezes a dollar, but she felt something in her heart finally giving way as if floodgates were opening, and she knew at last that she honestly approved of the union that would bind her priest’s heart for all eternity. Disgusted with herself for having forgotten to bring a proper handkerchief, Emma mopped her eyes with a balled-up napkin from Pizza Hut.

Pete Jamison pondered the words “childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death,” and knew that’s what he’d been given the day he’d cried out to God in this place and God had answered by sending Father Kavanagh. He remembered distinctly what the father had said: “You may be asking the wrong question. What you may want to ask is, Are You down here?”

He’d prayed a prayer that day with the father, a simple thing, and was transformed forever, able now to stand in this place knowing without any doubt at all that, yes, God is down here and faithfully with us. He remembered the prayer as if he’d uttered it only yesterday.
Thank you, God, for loving me, and for sending Your son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins, and receive Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You.
He’d never been one to surrender anything, yet that day, he had surrendered everything. When the church was quiet and the celebration over, he’d go down front and kneel in the same place he’d knelt before, and give thanks.

Gene Bolick wondered how a man Father Tim’s age would be able to keep up his husbandly duties. As for himself, all he wanted to do at night was hit his recliner after supper and sleep ’til bedtime. Maybe the father knew something he didn’t know. . . .

Louella heard people all around her sniffling and blowing their noses, it was a regular free-for-all. And Miss Sadie, she was the worst of the whole kaboodle, bawling into her mama’s handkerchief to beat the band. Miss Sadie loved that little redheaded, freckle-face white boy because he reminded her of Willard Porter, who came up hard like Dooley and ended up amounting to something.

Louella thought Miss Cynthia looked beautiful in her dressy suit; and that little bit of shimmering thread in the fabric and those jeweled buttons, now, that was something, that was nice, and look there, she wasn’t wearing shoes dyed to match, she was wearing black pumps as smart as you please. Louella knew from reading the magazines Miss Olivia brought to Fernbank that shoes dyed to match were out of style

It seemed to her that the sniffling was getting worse by the minute, and no wonder—just
listen
to that boy sing! Louella settled back in the pew, personally proud of Dooley, Miss Cynthia, the father, and the whole shooting match.

Finally deciding on mustard, Uncle Billy abandoned the game. He’d better come up with another way to noodle his noggin or he’d drop off in a sleep so deep they’d have to knock him upside the head with a twoby-four. He determined to mentally practice his main joke, and if that didn’t work, he was done for.

Dooley returned to his pew without feeling the floor beneath his feet. He was surprised to find he was trembling, as if he’d been live-wired. But it wasn’t fear, anymore, it was . . . something else.

Father Tim took Cynthia’s right hand in his, and carefully spoke the words he had never imagined might be his own.

“In the name of God, I, Timothy, take you, Cynthia, 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, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

“This is my solemn vow.”

They loosed their hands for a moment, a slight movement that caused the candle flames on the altar to tremble. Then she took his right hand in hers.

“In the name of God, I, Cynthia, take you, Timothy, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

“This is my solemn vow.”

As Walter presented the ring to the groom, the bishop raised his right hand. “Bless, O Lord, these rings to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”

“Cynthia, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

She felt the worn gold ring slipping on her finger; it seemed weightless, a band of silk.

Katherine stepped forward then, delivering the heavy gold band with the minuscule engraving upon its inner circle:
Until heaven and then forever.

“Timothy . . . I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Hessie Mahew was convinced the bishop looked right into her eyes as he spoke.

“Now that Cynthia and Timothy have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

“Those whom God has joined together . . . let no man put asunder.”

Dooley felt the lingering warmth in his face and ears, and heard the pounding of his heart. No, it wasn’t fear anymore, it was something else, and he thought he knew what it was.

It was something maybe like . . . happiness.

H
enry Oldman met them at the airport in the Cullen camp car, a 1981 turquoise Chevy Impala that made the rector’s Buick look mint condition, showroom.

It was theirs to drive for the week, and they dropped Henry off at his trim cottage with a two-stall cow barn and half-acre garden plot. While Cynthia chatted with Mrs. Oldman, Henry gave him the drill.

“New tires,” Henry said, delivering a swift kick to the aforesaid.

“Wonderful!”

“New fan belt.”

“Great!”

“Miz Oldman washed y’r seat covers.”

“Outstanding. Glad to hear it.”

“Mildew.”

The handyman who’d served the Cullens for nearly fifty Maine summers was sizing him up pretty good, he thought; trying to figure whether he’d be a proper steward for such fine amenities.

“You’ll be stayin’ in th’ big house, what they call th’ lodge. Miz Oldman put this ’n’ that in y’r icebox. Juice an’ cereal an’ whatnot.”

“We thank you.”

Henry pulled at his lower lip. “Washin’ machine door come off, wouldn’t use it much if I was you.”

“I suppose not.”

“Downstairs toilet handle needs jigglin’ or it’s bad to run. Ordered th’ part t’ fix it, but hadn’t got it yet.”

“We’ll remember.”

“You got a pretty big hole in y’r floor. Last year or two, we’ve had more’n one snake come in.”

“
Which
floor exactly?”

“Dinin’ room. I set a barrel over it, Bishop said it’d be all right ’til I can get somethin’ to fix it. Had a rag in th’ hole but somethin’ chewed it out.”

Now we’re getting down to it, he thought.

“Got rid of y’r ants, but not much luck with th’ mice, mice’re smarter’n we give ’em credit for.”

His wife didn’t need to know this. Not any of this.

Henry kicked the tire again for good measure. “Attic stairs, you pull ’em down, they won’t go up ag’in.”

The rector shrugged. He’d rather have a root canal without Novocain than stand here another minute.

“Course you know there’s no electric at th’ Cullen place.”

No electric?
His blood pressure was shooting up; he could feel the pounding in his temples. “What
lights
the place?
Pine torches?
”

“Only two places hereabout still has gas-lit.”

He hadn’t fared so badly since trucking off at the age of nine to Camp Mulhaven, where he entertained a double-barreled dose of chiggers and poison ivy. What would Cynthia think? What had he gotten them into? He’d wring his bishop’s neck, the old buzzard; his socalled honeymoon cottage was a blasted tumbledown shack! He’d call the moment they arrived and give Stuart Cullen a generous piece of his mind. . . .

“Wouldn’t keep any food settin’ on th’ porch.” Henry removed a toothpick from his shirt pocket and pried the circumference of his left molar.