A Groom wirh a View

stuck them in whatever containers your Mr. Willis would part with. No charge, Mrs. Midas. He’s a bit of a dish, isn’t he? The Willis.“
    “Is he cooking yet? I’m starved,“ Shelley said. “Yes, in fact he sent me to find everyone. Lovely little cress sandwiches.”
    Lunch was elegant. They all gathered around the big, scarred kitchen worktable, although Mr. Willis wanted to serve them in the dining room. He was extremely unhappy to learn that there wasn’t a dining room. “Where am I to serve the reception dinner then?“ he asked.
    “No problem,“ Jane assured him. “The rental people will set up the main room with rows of chairs, church-style with an aisle. As soon as the wedding is finished and pictures are being taken outside, they’ll move the chairs back against the walls and put up the buffet table.”
    Larkspur was tapping his foot impatiently. “Oh, I’m not too fond of that plan. I’ll have to be tearing about with the table flowers like a mad thing.”
    Jane said, “I’m sorry, but we have to work with the layout we’ve got. There’s a smaller room just off the main room that probably once had a billiard table and we’ll use that for the bridal shower tomorrow afternoon and the bachelor party later in the evening. You’ll both be able to get in that room as early as you like to get set up. Meanwhile, we’ll have to have our lunch today here in the kitchen.”
    Larkspur and Mr. Willis agreed, but grudgingly.
    The skivvy served them. Mr. Willis ate his lunch silently, while double-checking the lists he’d made in a small notebook. Jane was doing the same with one of her notebooks. Shelley, Layla, and Kitty tried to find some common ground for conversation and Larkspur told Mrs. Crossthwait a string of arch little jokes. She stared at him as if he were from outer space, but probably harmless. “You’re one of ‘those’ people, aren’t you?“ she finally said to Larkspur.
    “Those people?“
    “One of those pansy boys.”
    Larkspur’s usual smile faded. “More of a sunflower, I’d have said,“ he snapped. And added, under his breath, “Dirty-minded old bat.”
    Halfway through the meal, Uncle Joe turned up, looking outraged at the invasion of his kitchen.
    “We’d have invited you to lunch if we could have found you,“ Jane said sweetly. “Help yourself. Livvy’s aunts will be arriving later this afternoon and we’ll need you to carry bags. Please don’t disappear again.”
    Uncle Joe just scowled at her.
    When lunch was finished, everyone scattered. Jane sat down with her notebooks at the old-fashioned dial phone in the front hall. She called the local motel to confirm the rooms for the guests who wouldn’t be staying at the house, checked that the rental people had the correct tables, chairs, and linens ready to go and had their directions for reaching the lodge right. She gave her mother-in-law a ring to make sure the kids were doing okay and got stuck hearing at length about how Willard, Jane’s big, stupid, yellow dog, had brought a live (if only barely so) chipmunk into the house. The creature was still at large. Thelma speculated that it might be rabid. That it might bite her. That it might have babies somewhere in the house. Thelma tended toward dramatic speculations.
    “Don’t worry. The cats will find and dispatch it,“ Jane assured her. She didn’t mention what sort of nasty messes this might involve. Thelma would find out soon enough.
    Jane worked her way through the rest of her list, feeling very efficient and smug, then went to check on Mrs. Crossthwait’s progress—which turned out to be nearly imperceptible. “I’m getting a little concerned,“ Jane said to the seamstress. “We’re running out of time, you know.”
    Mrs. Crossthwait said, “Don’t you worry, dear. The wedding is still two full days ahead. Plenty of time.“
    “But I don’t want you to be sewing until the last second,“ Jane said. “I’d really like to have all the dresses done, pressed, and hung up for the girls by this evening.“
    “I’ll have them done by noon tomorrow,“ Mrs. Crossthwait said, glaring. “I’ve been doing weddings since I was a slip of a girl and I know about deadlines. More than you do, I’d venture to say.”
    Jane suddenly felt an irrational wave of dislike for this woman. She was doing a meticulous job on the dresses, but couldn’t she be a little less meticulous and get the damned dresses finished? Jane didn’t want to be nagging