So John Aubrey was called upon to
officiate the wedding of Arther Stanley Tucker and Sarah Mary Aubrey, one week
before Christmas, l960. Arther's brother
Charles stood up with him. Nell Aubrey served as Sarah's matron of honor. The Tucker's came in their finest
clothes. Callie got Burgess to buy her a
new dress for the occasion. And she
visited the beauty parlor for the first time since her own wedding. The extravagance of such things distressed
Vera no end, but Burgess was pleased with the outcome. Callie came to the wedding as a Moore ... not
a Tucker. With the change of her name
came the severing of some of her ties with the family; she was determined to
try her new wings; get shed of the past, so that one day – it couldn't come
soon enough for her – people would forget she was ever that dirty, ragtag
little Tucker gal.
Callie, indeed, was a revelation to
many when she entered that Community Center on the arm of her husband. A lot of the folks hadn't seen her since her
own wedding. She and Burgess didn't
attend church services after their marriage.
Burgess had confessed he never was much of one for church anyways; the
only reason he went before was because he knew Callie would be there. Callie was humbled to the point of
tears. It never failed to make her
wonder, the way God turned things around on people.
The evening of the wedding, she came
a little early, walked the aisle slowly, was fussed over by the womenfolk. She was feeling proud of her new clothes, her
new husband, her new station in life:
Who's that? Why that's Mrs. Burgess
Moore. She lives out in that big ol'
house in the West Fork of Bennett Holler.
She's with child, you know.
Don't she look nice, though. The
news was out about the baby, tongues wagging with winks and nods. She was
proud, too, of the baby she carried inside her.
But, of course, after being seated,
before too long, everyone's attention was drawn to another, being escorted down
to the front, as the organ played softly, where three aisles had been reserved
on either side for the bride and groom's relations. The beauty of about every woman there paled
in comparison to the beauty of Lois Aubrey.
Even with a baby at her breast, she still made for a handsome
woman. She carried herself, and was
doted upon by others, like a queen. She
struck Callie as being even lovelier than the first time she'd ever seen
her. She wore a dark blue dress, sleek
and smart like from the advertisements in a magazine. Her figure had filled out a mite, there were
a few faint lines upon her face, but at twenty-six she was still in the full
flower of her womanhood. Being led down
the aisle by Buck Aubrey to her seat in front, she effortlessly turned the head
of everyone there.
John came out from the side, down
front, followed by Arther, Charles, Dudley and Virgil Tucker. They wore their Sunday best. Then, came the Aubrey women to match up with
them; Nell, Judith and Annie, all in pale yellow dresses. Kenny Weeks, Nell's son, was the ring bearer,
ten years old, serious, stiffened up with fear, as he carried the pillow with
the wedding bands. Then came another
delight of the evening, almost enough to steal the thunder from the bride. It was Rosie, carrying herself down the aisle
much like her mama did, favoring her mama in her dark, natural beauty. Like Lois, she shone like a distant star,
cool as dew. Mary Elizabeth was beside
her, outdone by her older sister, as was her fate. She was three and a half years old; Rosie a
week away from her seventh birthday.
They were the flower girls, though Mary Elizabeth was too struck by the
crowd to do anything but cling to her basket of petals with one hand and to
Rosie's dress with the other. Rosie,
for her part, was tossing the flower petals from her basket with serious intent. When she ran shy, she reached over into Mary
Elizabeth's basket and grabbed a handful of hers. She was the miracle girl. Everyone knew it. She was touched by the hand of God.
Sarah Aubrey was not to be outdone
by anybody, though, on the day of her wedding.
She appeared on the arm of Stuart Aubrey as the bridal theme played on
the piano, clad, of course, and veiled in the purest white, lovely as a
dream. Sarah was a big-boned, gangly
girl with long legs, but in her gown she seemed to flow, delicate and lacy,
down the aisle to meet up with her man.
John yoked them together, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
pronouncing that what therefore God hath joined together, let not man
put asunder. The words from the
scripture cut deeply into John. His eyes
fell upon Callie seated next to her husband.
He felt rebellion in his heart, envy for Arther and Sarah, starting off
with a new chance at life. He wondered
vaguely how he missed the mark so badly ... and where he might go from where he
now stood.
After the ceremony and the run back
down the aisle, the newlyweds cut the cake; Sarah tossed out the bridal bouquet
to a waiting gaggle of unattached females.
Behind them folks gathered up the folding chairs and cleared the floor
for the dance. Onstage, the curtains
parted to reveal a band of musicians with banjo, mandolin, guitars, fiddle and
bass fiddle. Hollis Byrd took to the
microphone. He announced the first song: the Kentucky Waltz and asked that the floor
be given over to Arther and Sarah so they could dance the first dance
alone. As the music began, Arther took
Sarah in his arms. They swept across the
bare floor. The crowd cheered for them.
Burgess and Callie had found a seat
against the wall. Callie watched her
brother swing Sarah
around the room, lovely in the flow of her white gown,
Arther's face flushed and handsome.
Callie tried to settle it in her mind ... now she was kin to the
Aubrey's. She couldn't help but feel a
tinge of pride in that. Though it meant
she would be closer to John and being closer to John mixed sweet honey with
rock salt. ‘Ain't it funny how God does
a body', she said to herself. 'All their
lives scattered, false in many a way an' awry, yet tangled up together so
nobody could break loose.' Sarah and
Arther on a new path together. Callie
wondered if they were free as they seemed.
She reckoned not. She reckoned
nobody was ever free from God Almighty.
Suddenly John was standing beside
her. He offered her his hand. "May I have this dance?" he
asked. She could find no words with
which to answer. John looked at
Burgess. "May I dance with my new
sister-in-law?" he asked.
"If she wants to," said
Burgess, his eyes locked onto John's.
Wordlessly Callie rose from her
seat. John took her hand and led her
onto the dance floor. Other couples had
begun to join Arther and Sarah, but now everyone's eyes were fixed upon the
preacher and Callie Tucker Moore. Her
dream came to mind, the dance with John on the edge of the cliff. It was dreamlike now on the dance floor and
just as scary. But when he took her in
his arms, she vowed not to care anymore; to just dance the dance with the man
she loved; had always loved. She knew he
was looking intently at her, but she couldn't raise her chin. "Callie," he whispered as they
circled the room. "I ain't much
good at this. Forgive me. I ain't danced since I was a young
buck." Callie felt every curious
eye upon them. The eyes of Lois
Aubrey. The eyes of Vera Moore. The eyes of her husband. She threw back her head and shook her hair
free from her shoulders as John swirled her around.
"Thank you for askin' me,"
she said. She looked John straight in
the eyes.
"One of my most painful regrets
in the last few months was that I never danced with you," John told
her. "All those times up on the
hill when you danced for me. It never
entered my mind to join you. Whut a fool
I was ... what a fool."
"God makes fools of us
all," Callie told him. "I
don't know why He does. For sport, I
reckon."
John didn't answer, but smiled at
her. She was beautiful and she was in
his arms. She smiled right back at
him. While the whole crowd watched them
dance. The music ended. John let Callie go. Followed her with his eyes as she walked back
to her husband; her eyes lowered, her heart afire. The next song, a rousing banjo tune, lit out
in a scamper and a floor full of dancers began to swing and swirl around John,
standing still and alone among them. He
turned, dodging the flow of intertwined couples, and made his way to side.
