The Imperfect Marriage novel · Chapter 23 of 24

Chapter 23: The Wedding

We were married again on Saturday, at the end of the yard dock, at four in the afternoon.

The sky over the harbor was the pale blue of a cold, clean day, and the wind was kind for once.

Three hundred folding chairs stood in rows on the planks.

The Stenbeck crew sat in them in their Sunday jackets, with their hard hats in their laps.

Some of the Haas welders had come too, and sat in the back, because they had asked.

Pru did my hair in the yard office, with twelve pins and a great deal of language.

"If you cry on this dress," she said, "I will drown you in the dry dock."

"It's not silk this time."

"It's worse. It's lace. Lace holds a grudge."

The dress was ivory and plain, with sleeves to the wrist, which I had bought myself, with my own money, on a Tuesday.

I wore my mother's locket.

Ross had fastened it at my neck that morning with fingers that shook, and then kissed the back of my neck where the clasp lay.

Around my finger was his grandmother's sapphire, which I had never taken off.

Her son came running down the dock carrying a small velvet pillow.

"I'm the ring bearer," he announced. "Aunt Dagny, is it okay if I don't wear shoes?"

"It's very okay."

"Uncle Ross said it was a fad."

"Your uncle is wrong about most things."

Then the music started, a fiddler from the yard, playing something slow and Scandinavian.

My father stood at the foot of the dock in a navy suit.

He held his cane in one hand, and the pump bag hung on his belt.

His oxygen cart was gone.

He had left it in the car, with a nurse's permission and a very rude speech.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Your mother would have said so first."

"Dad."

"Don't cry. I've got the pump, but I haven't got a handkerchief."

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