Wedding Chronicles by Sally Law |
~**~ "... for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith." Traditional wedding vows. Episode One ~ Lawrence Brown and Belle Reilly were the last of their friends to get married. Normally, this would be no big deal if Lawrence hadn't been such a practical joker. Actually, he was a pro. It started in elementary school and continued unchecked through college. As fate would have it, he would marry the sweetest girl around. This did not help him--oh no, not one little bit. It was his wedding day, and revenge is never sweeter than on a wedding day. The groomsmen knew this truth, and it was payback time. When Lawrence's brother, Tony, knelt to take communion during his nuptials, the soles of his shoes read, "Help Me!" (artistically drawn in white shoe polish by Lawrence.) The groomsmen made their pact, rehashing their humiliations. "He's expecting it during the ceremony, not after. This will cure him of his pranks forever." The afternoon wedding of Lawrence and Belle was an elaborate affair, and perfectly beautiful was the bride. Lawrence looked dashing and was surprisingly well-behaved, but the day's festivities didn't sideline the groomsmen from their scheme. "He'll never taint a wedding again," said the five male attendees. "As soon as he leaves for the reception, he's ours!" The plan became sweeter knowing that the expensive French champagne for the toast had been purchased by Lawrence. They waited and watched as the couple headed for the Cadillac in a shower of rice--she all dressed in white with flowers in her hair, and Lawrence unsuspecting. Tony, the best man, gave the signal to his hirelings. Belle gasped as her new husband was accosted by men clad in ski masks, then whisked away in a white van. It was no surprise though. Belle saw it coming.... "To the reception please, driver." "But... Miss... the groom!" "No wedding ever goes according to plan. I'm sure they will bring him to me... eventually," she said. Belle arrived at the historic hotel by herself, looking radiant. As soon as she powdered her nose, a note was hand delivered to her. The scribbling, reminiscent of a serial killer, said: If you want to see Lawrence again, follow this map and detailed instructions carefully. Try not to get your pretty dress soiled. Belle snapped, "well, being a first grade teacher will help me in this juvenile quest." Just a small trace of fear entered in, but Belle reminded herself of the painful reality: Lawrence deserved this. Not far away from the unhappy bride, was the equally unhappy groom. The van door swung open, exposing Lawrence, stripped down to his socks. He was left alone in the woods, handcuffed to a tree. He could hear uproarious laughter as the van sped away. Back at the reception, worry began to unsettle the bride. She thought it odd that no one else had a glimmer of concern, not even Lawrence's mother. Belle unhooked her cathedral length train and grabbed her matron of honor, Lou Ann, and headed outside. "Lawrence may be in over his head," relayed Belle. "I better take this seriously and follow the map." Lou looked around the room. "Should we call the police?" "Let's play along. I'm pretty sure this is retaliation for all he has done to his groomsmen over the years." "So do I," said Lou. "I will read, and you drive. Hop in while I hold your dress." "Have I told you what a gem you are? Thanks for standing up with me," said Belle, situating herself in layers of lace and tulle. "Pedal to the metal, gorgeous bride. It says here to take Bailey's Bridge Road to the first exit. Turn left, then right, and continue one mile to a weeping willow tree. There will be a boot there with a key inside." "A boot with a key inside? We'll be out here all night! Do you know how much my dad paid for the hotel... the catered dinner? The cakes alone were outrageous! I bought two of them because Lawrence preferred the chocolate one, and I liked the carrot cake." Lou Ann cut to the core. "This is way past cakes, don't you think?" "You're right, Lou." "I don't have to be right, I just want you happy, honey. Lawrence makes you happy." "Yes, he does." A light rain began to mist the windshield. "Oh great, my hair will frizz to oblivion," reported Belle. "No it won't. Trust me. I sprayed half the can of hairspray on your head, then sprayed again. You have hammer head." Lou studied the map as the orange Karmann Ghia motored on. "We're coming up to the area where the boot should be. Slow down...." "I see it... a reddish-brown cowboy boot." Belle swallowed hard. "I don't recognize that boot, Lou. Do you?" "No... I don't." "We know all the groomsmen, do we not?" "Yep," affirmed Lou. "And their wardrobe of Converse High Tops, ratty jeans, and slogan t-shirts." Belle broke out in a cold sweat as the windshield wipers kept time. "Sit tight," said Lou. "I will get the boot." Lou returned with the boot and key, huffing and puffing. "Here's the boot. Let's head down this road." "Why?" "Just do it. It's either a coyote or Lawrence. I hear something howling.... I think I heard your name being called." "Make sure your dress is in, and hold on," said the bride. The crying became louder as they neared a poor soul bound to a tree. Yes, it was Lawrence--a very contrite version of himself, tattooed with permanent ink on each butt cheek that read: Help Me! A stolen runner from the wedding chapel made a path from the road to him. "You take it from here, Belle," said Lou. "I'll keep the car running." The bride smiled as she tip-toed to her groom, knowing this would be an unbelievable story to tell their children one day. Maybe fodder for a novel.... Lawrence turned as she uncuffed him, and swept Belle up in his arms. "This is hundred percent on me, my love." "It is, but salvageable. I think we'll make it back for the main course and cake cutting." One tree away was the blue linen suit worn by the groom, neatly bagged with the boutonniere still pinned to the lapel. His shoes were polished and waiting in a shoe carrier. "This may not be over yet, my bride, but my focus is on you, today and always--no matter what." What was truly important about the day had already happened: Belle had taken him for better or worse, and loved him enough to come looking. He noticed that his pants had been hemmed in a hurry by his kidnappers, and now were three inches shorter than they were originally. The perpetual class clown was cured of his ways, and didn't say a word about his short pants or the warm--practically putrid--champagne in his glass. He was a happily married man.
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Sally Law
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