Draw Me A Picture (57 page)

Another knock came at the door. This time it was Oscar.

“Groom isn’t here yet,” he stated. He looked over at Michelle and stared. “Holy...” he began. Michelle smiled and softly laughed at her uncle’s expression. Oscar grinned at Margaret. “At least we don’t have to worry about whether he’ll show up or not.”

“Of course we don’t,” Margaret said, pretending to be miffed. “He’s an upstanding, hard-working British man. He'd never jilt his bride.”

“British or not, no man could resist a fiancée like that,” Oscar said, proudly. “You look beautiful, Michelle.” Smiling, Michelle gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek, trying not to cry. Oscar rubbed the lip gloss off his face, still grinning. “Ok, ok... no more of that. I’ll go see what’s keeping the groom. Most of the guests are here from what I can see.”

“Do you need William’s cell number?” Margaret asked. Oscar smiled, mysteriously.

“Nope,” he said, letting himself out.

Michelle turned and saw Mr. Torville lowering his camera.

“You uncle is correct, in my opinion,” the older man said; his bright eyes shone out with a young light in his aged face. “If I was twenty years younger and the groom didn’t show, I would gladly take his place.” Blushing, Michelle laughed, a little embarrassed.

“I thank you, sir,” she said, biting her lip. She turned to the mirror again to complete her makeup job. When nothing more was to be done, Michelle contented herself with slowly walking around the room until Margaret begged her to sit.

“Really my dear, sit; you don’t want to get sweaty, do you?” Michelle sat down. Arranging her skirt absently, she exuded a calm she did not feel and wondered what William was doing at that moment.

WILLIAM MONTGOMERY up on his wedding day a little tired. Like Michelle, his night had been mostly sleepless. He’d spent most of the late hours putting together and finishing a new piece of furniture, the most complicated he’d attempted yet. It was a gift for his bride. A chilly shower helped wake him better than a double espresso, though he had one of those as well. Alfred brought in William’s tuxedo into his room, newly arrived from the cleaners.

“I believe your bride will have a rose boutonnière waiting for you there sir, as she is.” William chuckled at this.

“Indeed,” he answered. For some reason his hands shook a little as he attempted to put on his cuff links. Taking a deep breath, he smiled.
“How silly,”
he thought.
“Why am I nervous?”
 

Alfred chuckled a little. At the moment his employer was very easy to read.

“There is no rhyme or reason to it, Master William,” he said, smiling. “The nervousness just happens. I am not aware of one single groom who wasn’t thusly affected.” Sighing, William raked his hand through his hair. The older man chuckled again and laid out William’s jacket. “Are you all packed, sir?” he asked, straightening up. William nodded.

“Yes. It’s all by the door,” he answered.

“I think you’re all ready then, sir,” Alfred said, quietly. William gave his aging valet a brief smile; a little of his confidence returned.

“I am, Alfred,” said the groom. Alfred nodded, well pleased. Nothing more needed to be said.

Alfred ate a little breakfast, though William did not. He knew that if anything solid went into his stomach, it would soon come back out. Instead, William stood by the windows of his living room, drinking coffee and gazing at the misty gray of the early morning. As a nice surprise it did not look like rain. Reaching into an inner pocket, William pulled out the precious airplane tickets for himself and his bride. It occurred to William that he’d never spent this much money in his life--except maybe his car or college education--as he had for the ring, wedding-related things and honeymoon combined. Yet, all of it didn’t matter. William knew he’d have paid a hundred times what he had in order to make Michelle his wife. No one deserved it more.

“She would marry me without a damn penny to my name,”
he thought.
“I could have been a street musician and she'd still have me.”
William smiled at the tickets for a moment before returning them to their hidden pocket.
 

The groom was nearly late. Along with several other people the cab William and Alfred rode in was held up by a minor fender-bender; it was a good half hour before their cab was directed around the scene. They made good time the rest of the way and fairly sprinted into the Waldorf. Mr. Chan recognized them; flustered, William asked him where the Starlight Roof room was. The man looked him over and had the great presence of mind to hide his laughter. He walked them to the correct corridor himself and let them in the room.

“I say,” Alfred said, looking around approvingly. “Well done.”

William found a smile creeping over his face as well at the sight of the room; if there was lovely place to marry a young woman in, this was it. Several dozen guests were already seated, and above the buzz of voices sounded sweet music. In the corner a string quartet played a slow, light piece. Brahms, William suspected; for some reason his mind wouldn’t concentrate.

“Impressive, eh?” came a familiar voice. Turning his head, William saw Oscar striding towards him in a dapper tuxedo.

“Very,” the groom said. “I’m glad my bride is not prone to overdoing things.” He looked Oscar’s outfit over with a grin. “You look well, sir… though I was expecting an Uncle Sam hat.” Oscar chuckled.

“Don’t tempt me, boy,” he said, appeared genuinely amused. “I couldn’t walk Michelle down the aisle in that.” William sobered a little.

“I do thank you for helping her out,” he said, sincerely. “I would have had to resort to bribery or something equally sinister to allow for her to have a proper wedding.” Grinning, Oscar nodded.

A green-uniformed florist walked up to them at that moment, boxes in hand.

“The groom and bride’s Uncle?” she inquired. Oscar pointed at William.

“Groom,” he said. William laughed.

“Why, thank you, Bride’s Uncle,” he returned, with a grin. The florist smiled and fished out three red roses.

“I have one also for an ‘Alfred’,” she said, looking at Oscar. Alfred smiled.

“What a sweetheart Michelle is,” he said. “I’ll take that, my dear.” The florist wanted directions to the bride; Oscar pointed her in the right direction.

William looked after her, hoping to get a glimpse of Michelle.

“You’ll see her soon enough, Sport,” Oscar said, grinning. The groom looked at him expectantly.

“Have you seen her?” he asked; a very earnest curiosity tinged William’ voice. Oscar nodded.

“She told me to tell you she got her dress at the Good Will,” the man said, smirking. For just a moment, William was tempted to believe him, but the sparkle Oscar’s eyes held a familiar challenge.

“Really?” William remarked, smiling. “That’s wonderful. Michelle would look good in a paper bag.”

A KNOCK on the door made Michelle jump up. She hoped it was someone saying that William had arrived. Margaret pointed back down at the chair and went to the door. It was the florist, with Michelle’s bouquet, and smaller wrist-arrangements for Laurel and Margaret. The florist came into the room, a lady in white shirt and a green apron with her logo on it; she set down long, pale green flower boxes. The delivery boy with her stared at Michelle and winked at Laurel until the florist-woman sent him out. She smiled at the bride.

“I’ve never had an order for apple blossoms as a bridal bouquet before,” the florist said. “I will recommend it from now on; they were such fun to work with.” She lifted out the bridal bouquet with care; Michelle’s mouth dropped open a little at the sight of it.

The white blossoms had just a hint of pale pink hue to them, casting a rosy glow over the petals. Almost immediately the sweet scent of apples blossoms filled the little room. Michelle was very pleased with them; she accepted the flowers almost reverently and inhaled.

“Wow,” she said, smiling at the florist.

“Oh my dear...” Margaret breathed, clasping her hands. “What a wonderful idea, apple blossoms in November.” Laurel emerged from the restroom, and saw the flowers.

“Good, the florist. Oo... the flowers match your dress so well!” she said, smiling. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get apple blossoms after all.” The florist nodded, impressed with her handiwork.

“Had to send for them from California,” she said. “A friend of a friend grows some indoors.”

“They are my favorite flower,” Michelle said, looking at the hundreds of small blooms fondly. The flowers cascaded neatly over her hand; a pure white, sheer ribbon tied the bundle together. She looked at the florist. “They’re just how I imagined.” The florist smiled and produced a digital camera.

“Can I have a picture for my wall?” she asked.

A cough came from the corner of the room; everyone turned to look at Mr. Torville.

“I will make certain you receive a copy, miss,” he said, lifting an eyebrow in annoyance. “Just leave your card and I’ll deliver it myself.” The florist thought that over and nodded; she gave a card to Laurel and gathered her boxes to leave.

“Oh… the flowers for the groom and my uncle?” Michelle said, suddenly remembering. The florist nodded at her.

“They are already wearing them,” she said. Michelle smiled so wide her face felt it might crack.

“He’s here...” she whispered, her eyes bright. The florist looked from Laurel to Margaret then back to the bride. With a smile, she left the room.

William stood in front of the canopy, feeling more nervous than he ever had in his life. Taking finals at Cambridge was not this nerve-racking; at least then he’d known the answers. Surreptitiously, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling beads of sweat start to form at his brow. The guests still chatted quietly, smiling at the antsy groom. Oscar had disappeared into the side room a couple minutes ago.

The little door opened, but only Margaret emerged. She looked very well; her face almost glowed with happiness. William smiled at her as a tuxedo-clad usher walked her up the aisle. She gave William a kiss on the cheek before sitting gracefully down by Alfred. His aunt Florence and Uncle Roderick and the other relations were already seated. The beaming Gregory’s and a few other people William did not know sat on the bride’s side of the aisle.

Next to William stood the minister, or rather the Colonel, in his white and black dress uniform. It was quite an impressive sight, actually. The door opened again, commanding William’s attention; Laurel stepped out and signaled to the musicians and held up one finger. She walked down the aisle on Luca’s arm. William noticed the Italian had almost magically appeared from somewhere.

“Sneaky blighter,”
William thought, grinning. Luca was not one for large crowds, though he could fake it well. They sat down on Michelle’s ‘side’. Luca shot him a grin and a thumbs-up. Chuckling, William set his eyes back on the small door.
 

One minute later, the string quartet started to play the bridal march. All the guests stood up, effectively cutting off the little door from William’s view. A slight man with a camera circled around the guests, near the door, taking pictures. Some of the women in the small crowd gasped and smiled. William saw Oscar through the parted assembly; on the man’s arm was Michelle, his bride. It took most of William’s self control keep his jaw from dropping.

Momentarily, he was transported back to the moment he first saw Michelle, with her golden-green eyes looking out from under a gray hat, piercing his soul with a powerfully alluring curiosity. William saw a lovely young woman looking at him now, walking towards him, biting her lip and blushing... the images melded into one. Oscar gave Michelle’s hand to William and stepped back, sitting down in the front pew.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to join together Michelle Erin Gregory and William Alexander Montgomery, in the sight of God and in view of these witnesses...” William didn’t really hear the rest; he was trying not to stare at his bride. He failed.

A strange feeling enveloped him, something both warm and calm. It felt like assurance, knowledge and harmony all rolled into one. Michelle’s slender hand rested in his; she looked shyly up at him through her long lashes. William felt his entire body relax and then all nervousness drained away from him. His bride wore some ethereal gown which looked to be specifically engineered to melt the hearts of men. It was a thing a princess would clamor to be seen in. William looked down into Michelle’s unusual eyes; she gazed back into his lovingly. William could see real happiness there; the young woman actually felt honored to be standing at the altar, with him. Deeply moved, William felt his throat catch a little.

On top of all this he could smell a sweet, familiar scent; he managed to tear his eyes from Michelle for a second and almost lost his composure. His bride was carrying apple blossoms. For a few moments, William was lost in a familiar vision; suddenly, all around them shafts of sunlight glowed. Both he and Michelle stood together in an apple orchard, under a tree; the pale pink blossoms were falling all around them. A minister with shiny medals on his white jacket spoke beautiful sentences, sounding like poetry written long ago. The good colonel asked William a question, though the groom only heard the word ‘ring’. Shaking his head to clear it, William dug in his pocket, producing both rings; a plain, platinum band for himself and the ring he’d proposed to Michelle with. She had not wanted any other than the one he’d chosen for her that wonderful day in Vermont. William slipped it on his bride’s finger.

Looking up, Michelle smiled at William, sending odd thrills racing through his brain. He squeezed Michelle’s hand slightly, slipping her the ring for his own hand. Michelle copied William’s movements; his ring seemed a little small. William grinned as he assisted her getting the cool band of shiny metal over his knuckle. The colonel continued the ceremony; though tempted to smile, he did not. The love-tied couple standing in front of him appeared to be in some other realm.