The Ladies Farm (32 page)

R
ita had toyed with the idea of having music during the ceremony, walking down the aisle to CDs of Rodney Crowell singing “Life Is Messy” or Juice Newton doing “The Sweetest Thing I’ve Ever Known Is Loving You.” Then she remembered that her previous wedding, her second to the wretched Larry, had begun to the strains of Kenny Rogers and Dottie West belting out “I Feel Sorry for Anyone Who Isn’t Me Tonight” and she decided a dignified entrance, preceded by the flower-strewing Tiffany, would suffice.

The disadvantage to having neither music nor rehearsal was that no one knew when to start. The JP looked toward the house and nodded, but Rita was fussing with the bow on Tiffany’s dress and didn’t catch the cue. When she finally did look up, the JP, who was Wanda’s brother, Paul, had turned to speak to Dave. Rita returned her attention to Tiffany’s bow.

Seated between Barbara and Tony, Della shook her head. “We need to transmit eye-contact messages to Rita and the JP,” she muttered. Tony snorted, then, ever so casually, slipped his arm around her shoulder and stroked her hair. This brought a smile to Barbara, which prevented Della from snarling at him to stop petting her like a dog. Dave, meanwhile, continued to listen to the JP while casting anxious glances toward his bride.

Finally, Rita looked up and Dave motioned her forward. With a little push, Rita launched Tiffany, who marched resolutely down to the chairs filled with guests, then stopped for a moment to contemplate the aisle between the chairs. Somewhere behind Della, Darlene hissed at the child to toss the flower petals, which Tiffany did. Then, with further urging, she moved forward a little. Then she stopped to distribute more petals.

Tiffany had drawn almost even with Della when Rita, decked out in peach silk and crowned with a wreath of white rosebuds, sauntered down the hill. She frowned slightly as she closed the gap between herself and her granddaughter, who was tossing more petals; then, after Darlene gathered Tiffany to her and cleared the path, Rita joined her groom before the JP.

In deference to Dave’s choir friends, who had driven down from Fort Worth, the JP read a little bit of the Methodist service, then asked who was giving Rita in matrimony. Della and Kat helped Barbara to stand and said, “We are.”

They sat again and Della had only one more bad moment, envisioning Hugh Jr. crashing over the hill as they were asked if anyone knew of any reason why this couple should not be joined in matrimony. As it turned out, the JP didn’t ask. He read a short recipe for successful marriage clipped from an advice column, then asked Dave to place the ring on Rita’s finger.

Dave reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a gold band and placed it on Rita’s ring finger and recited the vows he and Rita had written. Then Rita slipped Dave’s ring off her forefinger and placed it on his ring finger and recited the vows back to him:
I promise to be your wife, to love you and take care of you, to support you even when we disagree, to respect you and to share everything with you—money, children, jokes, music, happiness, and sorrow; to be honest and nonviolent, with or without weapons; to be your best friend and your strongest ally for ever and ever
.

Then Dave and Rita kissed, and everyone clapped and cheered as Carla and Darlene ran up and tossed the remaining rose petals all over their mother and stepfather.

“For ever and ever?” Kat whispered to Della, but Della just shrugged.

“What were they supposed to say: for as long as we’re married?”

Cameras flashed and Kathy’s husband, who had been videotaping since Tiffany’s appearance, made the guests return to their seats so the bride and groom could make a proper recession.

The guests, gamely withstanding the heat that was oppressive even in the shade of the house, clustered around the long tables filled with food. “Mom,” said Carla, “you’ve always been one to plunge right in and Dave, you’ve always been one just to wear down the opposition, so we don’t have any doubts about how you two got together again. We just want to wish you well and tell you, Dave, welcome back. It’s like you never left.”

One of Carla’s sons undid one of Tiffany’s curls, beginning a chase, joined by Flops, through the round tables set under the trees; WaLuKa posed in front of the cake for Kathy’s husband to tape; Rita and Dave kissed long and repeatedly for various friends with cameras; Kat shepherded people toward the brisket and then back past the keg; and Della leaned against the post on the back step and watched the side of the house, where the driveway curved down from the street.

A few of their Ladies Farm guests, bewildered at being included in the wedding, stopped to chat with her, primarily about the cake; but, for the most part, she stood alone and let the wedding teem around her. Lydia was holding a cup out to Barbara, who took it slowly and sipped tentatively, then handed it back.

Della watched Barbara look up and catch Lydia’s eye and Lydia nodded. She saw Lydia wheel Barbara toward the house and, as they approached, she held the door open for their entrance. Then, resuming her post, she wondered where Flops and the children had gone. “Expecting company?” Tony asked, holding out a cup of beer.

Della shook him off. “Young Hugh’s pretty mad.”

“I had Dave call over to Simmons … you know, where the highways intersect?… and he just called back to say his youngest saw a blue Volvo driven by a man heading toward Sydonia.”

“So I am expecting someone,” Della said.

Della looked around at all the people, then she smiled, marveling at her own calm. “Well, at the least the wedding’s over and Barbara’s gone back to her room. He can’t spoil that.”

“Maybe we ought to meet him out front.”

“That’s a good idea,” Della said, starting toward the side of the house. “But you don’t have to come. This really isn’t your fight.”

“I have a vested interest in your future,” Tony pointed out. “We have a date next week.”

“Wait here,” Della said, motioning toward the porch as they rounded the house.

“What’re you doing?”

She didn’t know why she expected him to follow directions, but she shrugged and let him follow her instead. She hurried over to the cars in the long drive by the house, and she couldn’t help a smile at Barbara’s Thunderbird, gleaming red in the sun.

“Get in if you’re coming,” she instructed. The key, in Ladies Farm fashion, was in the ignition, and she turned it before Tony had settled in. Quickly, she backed out into the street, which was lined on both sides by the cars of wedding guests. It took only a little maneuvering to get the T-bird perpendicular to the flow of traffic.

“She won’t need this,” Della explained, getting out of the car as quickly as she’d gotten in. Tony followed and they stood for a minute on the dusty road in front of the Ladies Farm, listening for the hum of an approaching car. Truck traffic from Castleburg’s had been rerouted for the day, and they had returned to the solitude of a dead-end street.

“What’s he coming out here for, anyway?” Tony asked. “Why doesn’t he just file his writs and be done with it?”

Della peered down the road but saw nothing but neighbors’ houses, some old gingerbread cottages, some fifties-style ramblers. “Oh, he thinks he can bully us into doing what we wouldn’t do otherwise.”

“All this over a few dollars?”

Della sighed and turned toward him. “All this about Hugh Junior’s chance to strike it rich.” His silence begged further explanation.

“Look, we’ve messed up his deal with Castleburg. So his fall-back is to sell to us. But he wants more than the appraisal. So if he gets Barbara to sell him her interest, he’s got it.”

“I thought Barbara was giving you her interest.”

“She is. Those are the papers Kat took to the attorney the other day.” It was warm in the sun, particularly in a long-sleeved silk dress. Della felt the sweat on her face and in her armpits, but there was nothing to do but wait on Hugh Jr.

“So it’s over, isn’t it?”

Della nodded, then shaded her eyes with her hand and looked down the street again.

“Then why is Hugh Junior on his way here?” Tony’s exasperation was clear, but Della sensed something additional, perhaps suspicion that she had orchestrated this confrontation.

“To fight.” She took a breath. “To hurt us—me—for keeping him from doing what he wanted.” Della hoisted herself atop the Thunderbird’s hood and patted the spot next to her in resigned invitation to Tony. He had taken off his jacket and tie, and his open collar showed the strength of his neck where it met his shoulders. She stared a second, remembering that particular point with pleasure.

Tony squared his shoulders and looked down the street so intently that Della had to stifle a giggle. “Tony, he’s not coming to beat us up.”

“Then what—”

“He has Pauline’s journals, Tony,” she said a little too sharply. “He knows all the things that we—Rita, Kat, Dave, Barbara, Richard … all of us—confided in her over the past twenty years.”

“This is stupid,” Tony grumbled.

“Yes it is.”

“He just wants to throw a tantrum. Upset us all with each other’s secrets. Punks like that make me sick!”

Perception dawned at the same moment the blue Volvo appeared. “Tony,” she asked, amazed, “what did Pauline know about you?”

He shot her an annoyed look as he slid off the T-bird and stood braced to meet Hugh Jr.

It seemed like only a second before Hugh Jr. slid to a stop at the T-bird, which blocked his path. Della had envisioned a confrontation in which Hugh Jr. stayed seated in the car, but he was already slamming his door behind him. Della decided to keep her perch.

His sandy hair had thinned to the point that Della could see his scalp when he lowered his head to charge them. “How sweet,” he sneered. “Uncle Tony and Auntie Della. Together again.” He faced Della. “Calling out the troops?”

“Have a seat, Hugh,” Della invited, patting the same perch she had offered Tony. “Can I get you a drink? Some barbecue?”

“You know what I want: I want all of you off the Ladies Farm!”

“Hugh.” Tony stepped forward and offered his hand. “Haven’t seen you since your mom’s funeral. How’re you doing?”

Hugh eyed him nervously, but extended his hand. “I’m sorry to meet you this way.” He gulped, and Della realized Hugh Jr. was addressing his scoutmaster. “What’s happening … this has nothing to do … this is between me and … her!”

“Hugh, honey, don’t point,” Della said. “It’s not polite.”

“I want you out!” he said, his voice rising. “Get out of my way!”

“Hugh, honey,” she started again, “we want—”

“Move out!” Hugh demanded. “Now!”

Without awaiting her reply, Hugh Jr. jumped back into the Volvo and backed up.

“Della!” Tony reached for her but she was already jumping off the hood as Hugh Jr. backed down Travis to give himself a running start. They were well out of the way when Hugh Jr. made contact.

As a bulldozer, the Volvo was less than satisfactory. Hugh Jr. made contact in the exact center of the T-bird, pushing the whole thing a few inches as it crumpled the middle. The Volvo’s vaunted safety features protected Hugh Jr. and the car from much damage, but it did deploy the airbag. Hugh Jr. didn’t seem to mind.

As the airbag deflated, the Volvo backed, though not nearly as far, and struck again, dead center.

The noise of the first collision had attracted a few wedding guests who, by now, had called to their fellow revelers. As Hugh Jr. backed the Volvo yet again, people in party clothes scurried up the hill by the side of the house.

Wham, crunch! This time he caught the T-bird toward the front, turning it into a parked car on one side of the narrow street as the Volvo stopped mid-section of a pickup on the other side. Hugh Jr., a little dazed, alighted once more.

Della and Tony ran toward him. “My God, Hugh,” she said, “look at your lip!”

That feat, of course, was physically impossible, but Hugh Jr. did touch a finger to his mouth and then stared at the blood on his fingers. Tony pulled out a handkerchief, which Della took impatiently. She reached to dab at Hugh Jr.’s lip.

At least he’s got his teeth, she thought. You never knew with airbags.

“You know, Hugh,” Della said as conversationally as possible, guiding him to a seat on the grass, “you could have just walked between the cars and gone into the house.”

He slapped her hand away from him and tried to rise. That was when Rita attacked.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed, leaping at his head and tumbling him flat. “You crushed Barbara’s car!”

It took a second for Della, knocked aside in Rita’s leap, to recognize the object with which Rita was flailing at Hugh Jr.’s head and shoulders. The bits of flying icing, however, confirmed the identity of the weapon as the buzz-topped Barbie.

“You bastard!” Rita yelled. “You ungrateful, spoiled turd!”

Dave by then was reaching over Della to grab hold of Rita. Tiffany, terrified and screaming, had latched onto Rita’s knees, while Tony concentrated on Hugh Jr., who had roused himself to counter Rita’s efforts.

Wham! Wham! Wham! The Barbie struck with such ferocity that her head flew off. Rita continued to beat Hugh Jr. about the head, but Dave finally managed to drag her and the clinging Tiffany backward on the lawn.

Della, who had pulled herself to her knees, looked at Hugh Jr. with Tony’s arms around him from behind.

“Take it easy,” Dave was calming Rita. “He’s too hurt to know what’s going on.”

“I’m not hurt,” Hugh Jr. mumbled.

“Take it easy,” Tony took up the mantra. “Maybe you should lie back down.” Della watched him trying to ease Hugh Jr. back in his arms.

Suddenly, Hugh Jr. flexed his shoulders and squirmed hard. “Let me go!”

“Hugh!” Tony commanded, squeezing tighter. “You don’t want to do this, son.”

“I’m not your son!” Hugh exclaimed, breaking free and half-turning toward his recent captor. “Your son’s dead and he didn’t even like you when he was alive!”

It didn’t take any effort at all for Tony to punch Hugh Jr. with his right hand. They were both still on their knees, and Tony didn’t draw
back much, but Hugh Jr. was too stupefied to duck, and it landed on the right side of his jaw with a convincing crunch.