Veil of Night Read online

  That’s not my concern, Jaclyn thought, and not for the first time. It wasn’t her job to fix the couple’s life, just their wedding ceremony.

  The baby wasn’t happy. One of her cousins, a sullen six-year-old boy, pulled the wagon, jerking it along. The baby entered the barn crying, her wails getting louder and louder until the wagon reached the end of the “aisle” and she saw her grandmother. “Mamamamama,” she blubbered, holding out her chubby little arms. If the bride had thought the baby was going to placidly sit in the red wagon, looking cute, she was going to be disappointed. The baby wanted out of the wagon, and she wanted out now.

  “Raquelle, hush,” said the grandmother, then, when it became as obvious to her as it was to everyone else in the barn that the baby wasn’t going to hush, she sighed and gave in, lifting the little girl out of the wagon, onto her lap.

  The baby had a stripper name. At least, when she got older, she wouldn’t have to go online to find out what it was, Jaclyn thought.

  Next came the parade of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Garth was replaced by Shania Twain. Originally the bride had wanted to have the attendants line dance down the aisle; she’d gotten the idea from YouTube. In Jaclyn’s experience, some things sounded good in theory, but rarely worked out as well as imagined. This was one of them, and thank goodness the bride had seen the wisdom of restraint in this case.

  Except for a groomsman with a plug of tobacco in his cheek—Jaclyn wished she’d seen that earlier—and the occasional hip-wiggle aside, the procession went well.

  The music stopped, then changed dramatically, swelling to fill the barn. Originally the bride had wanted her own country song, but Jaclyn had convinced her to walk down the aisle to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” A touch of tradition in this very untraditional wedding was a very good thing.

  Everyone stood and faced the aisle. The snow-white, ankle-length dress the bride wore was cut lower than Jaclyn would’ve suggested—the bride’s philosophy was If you have it, flaunt it—and was a size too small through the hips. Jaclyn’s sewing kit was in her purse. She prayed there wouldn’t be a need for it today, but there was a definite danger of split seams. The hair, another job for the aunt who wanted no help but needed it desperately, was big. Big big. Bimbo big. But thanks to a makeover Jaclyn had recommended, the bride’s makeup was tasteful, and the bouquet Bishop had fashioned was elegant and appropriate. The good helped to temper the bad, and Jaclyn supposed she had to be grateful for that.

  After the bride was past them, Bishop leaned in and whispered, “They’re not cousins, are they?” She didn’t even dignify that with an answer. As they sat, Bishop added, “It must be true love.”

  Or temporary insanity.

  Eric’s shoulders were shaking from suppressed laughter.

  The ceremony itself proceeded without incident. For her own peace of mind, Jaclyn spent the entire time leaning slightly away from Eric, trying not to touch him, but he was so blasted big he took up more than his allotted space.

  Finally the unconventional minister said, “You can kiss her now,” and then, as the newlywed couple turned to face their guests, he added, in a booming voice, “Now, let’s eat! There’s plenty of good vittles waiting for us outside.”

  “Vittles,” Bishop repeated, his pronunciation precise and clipped. “Goody.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN AND THE FIERCE HEAT OF THE day was abating, but the barbecue wedding reception party was still going strong. Beer was flowing—both in and out, judging by the number of trips people were making to the two portable toilets that had been discreetly located behind the barn. To Jaclyn’s surprise, the party stayed within semi-acceptable limits, which meant that so far there hadn’t been any fistfights and no one had pulled a knife on someone else.

  Unfortunately, the bride and groom showed no sign of going anywhere, and until they left, neither could Jaclyn. Neither the bride’s mother nor her aunt had shown any interest in overseeing that part of the night. If the happy couple was in a hurry to start their honeymoon, it didn’t show. The groom had shed his suit coat and tie, unbuttoned his top shirt button, and rolled up his sleeves so he could better enjoy the dancing. The bride and all of her bridesmaids had disappeared into the barn, reappearing about half an hour later to also join in the dancing, with all of them having changed into short, flirty dresses. A couple of them—okay, several of them—went past “flirty” straight into “slutty” territory, but at this point it wasn’t Jaclyn’s business if the bridesmaids drummed up some extra money on the side.

  The live band was comprised of five middle-aged men, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, who weren’t bad musicians. That wasn’t to say they were good, exactly, but they did okay. They had a surprisingly extensive repertoire, ranging from classic rock to a lot of the more popular country tunes of today, all of which the crowd danced to with more enthusiasm than skill, but no one seemed to care if they could dance or not. Having fun was the point.

  A huge tent had been erected, with a roughly built “stage” at one end, and at the other end were long folding tables laden with pretty much the same menu that had graced the reception the night before, and set off to the side were coolers filled with longneck bottles of beer. Folding card tables and plastic lawn chairs had been arranged under the tent’s canopy; Jaclyn had done her best here, covering the card tables with picnic-style tablecloths and arranging different-colored jugs filled with daisies in the center of each table. As the twilight deepened and the colored Christmas lights that outlined the tent were turned on, she had to admit the effect, though rustic, did have a certain free-spirited charm. Battery-operated votive candles flickered on the tables. Though real candles had grace, at least these lights wouldn’t set the tent on fire if a table was knocked over, which, considering the amount of beer being consumed, became more and more likely as the party wore on.

  Bishop was not only still there, he’d thrown himself into the party spirit. First he’d enticed the groom’s mother—her name was Evelyn—into indulging in a beer, which had helped her relax enough that she’d actually smiled, for the first time that day. After half of another beer Bishop began teasing her about dancing with him, trying to entice her onto the dance floor, which was nothing more than rough wood planking laid in place on the ground and an equally rough frame nailed in place around the boards to keep them from drifting apart.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that!” she exclaimed, a look of shock on her face.

  “Sure you can,” Bishop cajoled. “I’ll teach you how to line dance.”

  “What’s line dancing?”

  “It isn’t shaking your booty, it’s more like the dancing people did on Pride and Prejudice. People stand side by side and do the steps—”

  “But I don’t know any of the steps.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she darted a nervous but vaguely longing glance toward the dance floor.

  By now Bishop had her by both hands, urging her to her feet. “It’s easy to learn, I’ll show you. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

  Jaclyn watched, smiling. Bless Bishop, not only for staying, but for paying attention to the poor woman and actually having her laughing now. She might never be happy with her son’s choice of wife, the marriage might not last past next week, but she wouldn’t look back and remember the wedding with total misery.

  Bishop positioned them off to the side so they wouldn’t interfere with the other dancers, who were whirling and gyrating, and began walking his partner through the steps. After the third pass-through, she began to get the hang of it, remembering when to clap, sometimes remembering when to kick. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

  The band wasn’t slow. They saw what was going on, and swung into Brooks and Dunn. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” began blaring from the speakers. A couple of women squealed, and several of them hurried to align themselves with Bishop and Evelyn, stomping and scootin’ and clapping. Bishop was laughing, his usual sardonic expression completely missing in action, and E