Chapter 19: Not in My Church

St. Brendan's smelled of old wood and lemon polish.

I walked in at ten past noon with Dawn beside me, and the choir was in the loft rehearsing something slow.

The pastor met us in the aisle in his shirtsleeves.

He was a tall stooped man in his sixties who had baptized me, and he took both my hands.

"Joanna. Dawn. Come sit."

"I'd rather stand," I said.

"Then stand." He looked from me to Dawn and back. "Your father tells me the family has agreed on the fourteenth at four o'clock."

"Which family?" I said.

"Pardon?"

"Did he say who is getting married?"

He frowned.

"He said Dawn and Brett. And that you had stepped aside, for your health."

"My health is fine," I said.

"My deposit paid for a hall booked for that day, and my invitations went out."

"There was never a vote on the church."

"There was a vote, he said."

"There's always a vote," Dawn said, quietly. "It's four to one."

The pastor turned to her.

She was holding her braid in one hand, and she stood straighter than I'd ever seen her.

"I'm not marrying Brett Hollander on the fourteenth," she said. "Not at four, not at any hour."

"Dawn," a voice said behind us. "Don't."

The big oak doors had opened at the back of the church.

My mother came up the aisle in her good coat with my father at her shoulder, and Brett behind them with his jaw set.

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