Julia 03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding Read Online Free Page B

and the strained and pious look around his eyes, all I could think of was what a world of good a purgative dose would do him.
    Then he straightened his shoulders and tried for a professional look. A dried shaving nick on his chin somewhat detracted from the effect. “Well, if I may suggest . . . well, as I said, the church is busy next weekend, but other ministers will be conducting those weddings. So, if you’d consideranother place to have the ceremony, it just so happens that I will be free.”
    That brought me up short, so I stood there cogitating. Having the wedding in a church was not the be-all and end-all. It could be held somewhere else, anywhere else, if that was the best we could do. I’d read of skydiving weddings, underwater weddings and, locally, there’d been a wedding in a Burger King restaurant, of all things, written up on the society page and everything. I’d always wondered if they’d reduced their Whoppers to a miniature size for the reception.
    And there’d been perfectly lovely garden weddings and home weddings. . . . A smile broke out on my face, quivered and stopped at the thought of construction clutter detracting from a wedding in my home. Then I stiffened my spine, vowing to bear the burden of a less-than-attractive vista from my porch. Besides, having it in my living room, Binkie and Coleman’s meeting place, would be most apt and fitting.
    “Good,” I said, making up my mind. “Put five o’clock next Saturday on your calendar, Pastor. We’ll have it at my house, and you know where that is. And I’d appreciate it if you’d have those workingmen sweep the street and the sidewalks before they take off from work Friday afternoon.”
    “I’ll speak to the foreman about that. But,” he said, frowning, “five is not good for me. Could we possibly change to an earlier time?”
    I pursed my mouth at another hitch in my plans, but I nodded my head. “I guess we’ll have to then, won’t we? Let’s say four o’clock. At least that way people won’t expect a full meal at the reception.”
    “Good. It’s settled then,” the pastor said, making a note on his calendar. “I’ll look forward to conducting the ceremony.” He looked up and ventured another small smile. “It’ll be my first wedding here. Well, I must admit, it’ll be my first wedding ever. Something for my scrapbook.”
    I took a step back, wondering if I was endangering Binkie and Coleman’s legitimacy. “You are legal, I mean, licensed to marry people, aren’t you?”
    “Oh, yes, ma’am, absolutely, by the presbytery, the synod and the state. Now,” he said, moving his magazine to search for a notepad. “I’ll need the names of the parties concerned, and we’ll have to set some times for the required marital counseling sessions.”
    “Counseling sessions?” I had a swift image of Binkie and Coleman being counseled by this wet-behind-the-ears, unmarried and unassociated associate pastor, and I almost laughed. They could counsel him about a few things. “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, Pastor. Binkie’s a lawyer and Coleman’s a deputy sheriff, recently promoted, so I don’t know that they’ll have time for any counseling sessions. But, since they’re both counselors of a sort themselves, I doubt they’ll need your full course, don’t you?”
    “Well,” he said, somewhat taken aback. He glanced out the window, seeming torn between following church policy and wanting to put this wedding in his scrapbook. “I don’t know, Mrs. Springer. Rules are rules, so I must insist. It’s imperative that as an ordained minister, I satisfy myself that this decision for holy matrimony is within God’s will.”
    I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I thought, which was that he wasn’t the one who had to be satisfied. The idea that a perfect stranger, even if he was clothed in a black robe every Sunday, would take it upon himself to pass judgment on two people’s readiness for marriage.