Maggie went upstairs, and when she returned she was wearing a Victorian-era white dress with a lace collar and hem.
“Your mother’s wedding dress seems to fit,” William said.
“Dad, you forgot to take the dry-cleaning tag off. Maybe you forgot on purpose, huh? Interesting, after all this time you suddenly get it in your head to have this dress cleaned in Truro.”
“I had an inkling.”
“An inkling to you is absolute fact for anyone else.”
“Who’s performing the ceremony?”
“I thought Robert Teachout.”
“Reverend Teachout? I thought he was long retired.”
“He’s not retired. People just don’t give him work anymore. He moved to Advocate Harbor.”
“You’ve done all your homework already. A bit skulking under the dark of night, though, don’t you think? Why couldn’t I know this big secret till now?”
“David proposed to me night before last.”
“Margaret, you’ve done things your own way since I can remember.” He took a sip of cocoa. “He didn’t get down on his knees, did he? He’s not a dramatic personage, is he?”
“As a matter of fact, no. He asked like a gentleman, not copied out of a book or movie. It was a genuine marriage proposal carried out in a thoughtful manner.”
“So I’m finally going to meet your David.”
“He’s at the pond.”
“I’ll go down there.”
“Let him come here, Pop. I’ll get him.”
“We’ll have ten days to get to know each other, then. That’s one hundred percent longer than no time at all.”
“Did you hope he’d ask for my hand in marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t start by testing his good breeding. He didn’t have a father at home much at all. He came to a lot of his knowledge of how to act on his own.”
“You asked, I answered, that’s all. He doesn’t need defending. Bring him up to the house. I’ll put on some more cocoa.”
They had every meal together after that. Maggie attended to wedding arrangements. She took David around to meet Dory Elliot when the cake was discussed. Midmorning on August i, William went to the guesthouse to get David. On the way, he saw David looking at the swans. They both stood there a moment, then William said, “Our veterinarian says these wing-clipped swans keep forgetting they can’t fly. The urge to fly is a million years older than their wound, so they forget. Now, that’s a sight — a swan who can’t fly. It’s as comical and heartbreaking as Buster Keaton trying to catch a bus.”
David laughed hard, trying to picture it. “Come on up to the house,” William said. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Maggie, David and William sat at the table. Letters were stacked up, all handwritten on official-looking stationery. “These are letters I’ve received from a very admirable man,” William said. He was addressing David. Maggie knew all about the letters. “His name is Reginald Aston. Mr. Aston is no less than the Queen of England’s official swankeeper. In the greater London area alone — and I might have these statistics wrong — Mr. Aston has over two thousand swans under his jurisdiction. Naturally the population shifts — boating accidents, natural deaths.”
“Tell David about the kidnapping, Pop.”
“Two thugs kidnapped a swan along the Thames. It was witnessed by passersby, yet the crime remained unsolved. Why someone would do that beats me. You lived in London, David. Any swan you saw was in Mr. Aston’s keep.”
“My dad has something to ask us,” Maggie said, knowing if she didn’t get to the point, William might read Mr. Aston’s letters out loud and David would be too polite to say anything.
“Right. Well, I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Aston, long-sought. It’s on August nineteenth at noon. Maggie tells me you’re flying Halifax to Boston, then on to London, on August sixth. I thought I might get a seat on the same airplane, see London as a tourist while you two go off to Islay. I’d visit the sights. I’d meet my August nineteenth meeting with Mr. Aston. I might even stay on another week.”
“What was the concern, William?” David asked.
“You might not want a father-in-law along, the start of a honeymoon.”
“Maggie has to fly back to work in Halifax when our ten days on Islay are over,” David said. “I have loose ends to take care of. I’ve already closed down my flat, but I have to close my bank account. Things like that. So, if you are staying in London, maybe we could have dinner. Or just take a walk in one of the parks. I might suggest Regent’s Park.”
“From the look on your face, Margaret, I see you’re in agreement.”
“There, now that’s over with,” Maggie said. “Let’s take a swim.”
“You two go on,” William said. “I swam at five this morning.”
The wedding took place on the lawn at 4 P.M. There was a merciful breeze. The swans were on the pond. The ceremony was brief. Three musicians from the Dalhousie Ensemble, including Marianne Brockman, played pieces Maggie had chosen: selections from Bach, Haydn, Antonio Caldara. There were twenty-three people in all. Toby Knox represented Parrsboro. Frannie Dunsmore came down from St. John’s, Newfoundland, with her husband, Duncan McGary, and their daughters, Mary and Ileene. The lemon wedding cake was a three-tiered architectural wonder. Dory had asked Ezra Murry, a mechanic and woodcarver, to whittle a bride and groom; he could expertly paint on a gown and tuxedo, plus the faces. Ezra replied that he could easily carve a likeness of Maggie as a bride, but declined the request, since he’d never met David. Dory got this message to Maggie, who drove David to Ezra’s house in Lower Economy, where Ezra got a good look at him. Maggie and David stayed fifteen minutes. The wooden bride and groom turned out splendidly. David had picked up the cake; he and William carried it in from Maggie’s car as if delivering high explosives, set it on the kitchen counter.
William borrowed a French country table, which he set parallel to the one already in the dining room. Maggie set out the Tecoskys’ best china and silverware. She had asked permission by phone, after inviting them to the wedding. “We’d love to be there,” Stefania said, “but we’re not up to traveling just now.” Maggie and David washed every spoon, fork, knife, wine glass, plate.
An hour after the ceremony, the meal was served. The ensemble’s musicians played. William gave a toast, which he’d written out: “I’m as proud and happy as can be to see this marriage take place.” That was it; he held up his glass and everyone at the tables held up theirs. When dishes were cleared, out came the cake. David took ten photographs of it. Marianne Brockman took a photograph of Maggie and David cutting the cake.
Off at the far end of the living room, Reverend Teachout remarked, “They make a nice couple, don’t they? From opposite sides of Canada, isn’t that something? Course, they rehearsed their wedding night months before the wedding. But a lot of young people do these days, don’t they? I’ve heard some even rehearse their wedding night and don’t eventually get married. Margaret and David, there, had wedding vows almost shorter than the kiss that sealed the promise.” He seemed to marvel at how passion sometimes abbreviates what precedes it, in this case his few platitudes about life and love, though quite well spoken, everyone thought. “Ah, well,” he said taking a bite of cake, “I have officiated at hundreds of weddings, and I always think it redundant to say ‘You may now kiss the bride.’ Because the groom in question doesn’t usually need to be instructed so. Bride neither.”
The guests all left by ten o’clock. The musicians had arrived in two separate cars from Halifax. Marianne Brockman, who had drunk a lot of champagne, told Maggie and David she thought she’d played quite well, especially the Haydn; Maggie and David cracked up, remembering their night hearing Miss Brockman through the wall of their hotel room. Miss Brockman had to be assisted to the car by the other members of the ensemble. She was placed in the back seat, her cello in the front seat.