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27 January 2010
| "The I Do's of
March"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2007-9 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, Leslie duCleds, Kara Karoksdottir, Charles Foster Crane, Inocenta du Cleds (nee de Ciervos), Carlos de Ciervos, Senora de Ciervos © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, © M. Mitchell Marmel Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © E.O Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Part Fourteen
Willow: Rosie had really done Luchow’s up to the nines. The usual collection of small tables in the patio area were gone, replaced by larger tables laden with sandwiches, vegetables and small (individual-sized) custard tarts, probably the creation of her new cook. Fresh doughnuts, still hot from the fryer, sat beside a bowl of warm fondant for dipping. A banner read, “Congratulations, Leslie and Inocenta!” I noticed that Don Carlos had left as soon as the wedding pictures were done. When I asked his wife she snorted, “Pouf! Senor de Ciervos is the, how you say, preparing a gift especial for Inocenta and the Leslie.” She beamed with pride at the thought of her new son-in-law. Well, it may have been pride. You never know. ***
Don Carlos: The airport, si. The plane is ready, si. The bushels of the rose petals, si. But where is the pilot? Ah! Here he is, dressed for the flying as is right and proper. “Is everything the ready?” I ask. He nod the head, and we take to the air. ***
Les: I was still shaking paws in the receiving line at Luchow’s when the Baronin Sophia von Kojote came up to me. “Excuse me, Senor duCleds, have you seen the Baron?” I had seen Heinrich at the church, in full formal uniform complete with spike-topped helmet and dress saber. “No, I haven’t, Baronin. Is there anything wrong?” Just then there was the sound of an airplane engine. When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut? ***
Rosie: I had Nick and Vicky bring out the cake, a four-tier vision in buttercream topped with statuettes of the happy couple. Les and Inocenta took turns cutting it, and fed each other (not in the traditional way by stuffing it up each other’s noses). As people lined up for cake, I felt something brush my ear and everyone looked up. It was raining rose petals. ***
Don Carlos: “Around again!” I shout, and the pilot he nod. As they say, so good and so far. ***
“Rosie?” “Yes, Vicky?” “Those rose petals got stuck to the fondant on the doughnuts. People are complaining.” “About what?” “The doughnuts. They taste so good with the rose petals, we’re running short.” I laughed and asked her to tell Nick to start making more. As the rain of petals increased, I thought it was a lovely gesture on the part of Daddy Deerest. Everyone knew it was him – you can’t miss a rack like that in the plane’s rear cockpit. ***
Don Carlos: People are waving. Es bueno! Suddenly the plane it rockie-rockie to each side. “Ay de mi!” I exclaim, and grab the sides of the cockpit. “Are you the okay?” What I hear next have the power to freeze the blood of Don Carlos de Ciervos. “Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen . . . “ ***
Reggie: “Lodge?” “Sir?” “I say, is it normal to have drinking songs as part of the Catholic wedding ritual?” “I believe it safe to say, Sir, that that is most unlikely.” “Well dash it, Lodge, I’m developing a sudden craving for a tankard of Augustiner. Where’s that singing coming from?” “Oh, dear . . .” “Pray go on, Lodge, you interest me strangely.” “Sir is aware that the song is a popular one during Oktoberfest?” “Come now, Lodge. Surely you haven’t forgotten Munich, 1932.” “It is seared in my memory, Sir.” “Ah, yes. Jolly good thing Bavaria has plenty of roe deer in positions of authority.” “As well as wolves, Sir.” “Ah, you mean like our chum Baron von Kojote?” “I mean precisely like Baron von Kojote, Sir.” The potential in that phrase was brought home to me by a pair of goggles that scored a bulls-eye on the wedding cake. Baron von Kojote, it seems, had not lost his touch in the years since the Great War. ***
Les: I never thought I’d be strafed with rose petals on my wedding day. Apparently someone had done this for my in-laws when they got hitched (although not on this scale) and Don Carlos was trying to recreate it. Of course, the suddenly erratic flying meant only one thing. “Baronin? Ah . . . “ “Si, it is Heinrich,” she sighed. “When he lands he will be – frisky. Senor duCleds, may I trouble you for that large piece of wood there?” “Of course, Baronin.” I fetched it for her. It was, as Reggie says, the sound and statesmanlike thing to do. “Gracias.” The small biplane circled once again, then started a steep dive right at us. As it swooped, I could hear voices. Baron von Kojote, singing. Don de Ciervos, screaming. The plane dipped out of sight, trailing a last few rose petals. next |