The Families Get Together

8

The Families Get Together

Life at the Quimby home soon became busy and confused. Mr. Quimby now went to work regularly every morning, but Aunt Bea, to save paying a whole month’s rent on an apartment she would leave before the end of the month, had moved in with the Quimbys. She stored most of her belong-ings in the Quimbys’ basement, and the rest she piled in Ramona’s room to be packed for shipment to Alaska.

Ramona slept on the floor in Beezus’s room in the sleeping bag Beezus had taken to camp one summer. The telephone rang constantly—neighbors offering to help with the wedding, people inquiring about Aunt Bea’s little sports car that she had advertised for sale, friends returning calls to say yes, they would be delighted to attend the wedding.

Teachers at Aunt Bea’s school gave her a bridal shower. Most of the gifts were flat and easy to pack—bath towels, cheese boards, place mats. Aunt Bea’s class gave her a coffee maker. Boxes piled up in Ramona’s room.

Willa Jean’s old bassinette was moved into the Quimbys’ house and placed in the parents’ bedroom. Neighbors gave Mrs. Quimby a baby shower, which meant more boxes.

Beezus and Ramona hoped Algie would stay where he belonged until after the wedding. Their mother seemed to grow larger every day—or perhaps the maternity clothes she was wearing made her look bigger than she really was.

Wedding presents, mostly sets of bath towels, began to arrive. Ramona had never seen such beautiful towels—big, thick, fluffy, and in soft, pretty colors. She stroked them, laid her cheek against them, traced her finger along the designs.They were truly towels to marry for. The Quimbys’ thin, faded towels had frayed edges.

The afternoon before the wedding rehearsal, Grandpa Day was arriving by plane so he could practice giving the bride away.

Aunt Bea, whose car had been sold, borrowed Uncle Hobart’s van, and with her nieces, drove to the airport to meet her father. Grandpa Day seemed older and thin-ner than the girls had remembered. He hugged his granddaughters, said they had grown, and announced he wanted to stay in a motel—no couch in a living room for him with a bunch of women fussing about a wedding. “At my age, I need a little peace and quiet,” he informed his daughters. Leaving his carry-on bag at the nearest motel, Aunt Bea drove her father to the Quimbys’, where more boxes had arrived, none of them con-taining the bridesmaid dresses. “You can count on it,” said Grandpa Day. “Something always goes wrong when there’s a wedding.” The sisters exchanged looks of anguish.

Uncle Hobart walked over to the Quimbys’ to see the newest wedding presents—loot, he called them—and to pick up his van, which he was about to trade in on a four-wheel-drive truck for Alaska. A snow-plow could be attached to the front.

Mrs. Quimby, looking tired and very big around the middle, was preparing a huge tossed salad because the two families were getting together before the rehearsal. Beezus was buttering stacks of French bread. Mr. Quimby arrived home late from work because a checker at the market had caught a shoplifter; the police had to be called, and questions answered. Even Aunt Bea looked tired.

When Uncle Hobart returned, desperate Beezus whispered to him that the bridesmaid dresses had not been delivered. “We’ll see about that,” he said and telephoned the shop, which promised the dresses first thing in the morning. “This evening.You will deliver those dresses this evening,” ordered Uncle Hobart, as if he were speaking to a crew in the oil fields.

The Kemps arrived with two casseroles and dessert. Because the dining room was too small to seat so many people, the food was set out on the dining room table. Everyone picked up a plate and helped himself.

Ramona was happy that she was no longer responsible for Willa Jean, who had trouble serving herself and was helped by her grandmother.

When everyone was seated in the living room enjoying chicken with noodles, a casserole of mixed vegetables, and salad, Aunt Bea, sitting on the floor beside Uncle Hobart, asked, “What kind of flowers did you order for the church and reception hall?” Uncle Hobart dropped his fork and slapped his forehead with his palm.“Flowers for the church! I completely forgot.” “Hobart, you didn’t! I had them on the list.” Aunt Bea was not sure he meant what he said. Her groom was a great kidder.

“I did,” confessed Uncle Hobart. “We were all so busy eating ice-cream cones. I’ll call the florist the first thing in the morning.”

“Are you crazy?” cried Aunt Bea. “The day of the wedding, when florists are swamped with June weddings?

Where would they find more flowers, especially so soon after the Rose Festival?” Worn out from progress reports, moving, and excitement, she turned to her fiancé and said,“I thought you said there was nothing to planning a wedding. Well, that just shows how wrong you can be.” “If I can be so wrong, why are you marrying me?” demanded Uncle Hobart. He looked tense, which was unusual for him.

Both families tried to act as if they were not listening—except, of course, the older children, who were fascinated. Willa Jean looked as if she might cry.

“That’s a good question,” said Aunt Bea.

“That’s a good question! That’s a good question! All the years I was in school, teachers were always telling me I had asked a good question. Half the time they didn’t even answer. They just asked me what I thought the answer should be, or asked some other kid to answer. Now you’re telling me I asked a good question.You sound just like a teacher.” “I am a teacher.”Aunt Bea’s voice was cold.

Beezus and Ramona exchanged a “there-goes-the-wedding” look. Now the bridesmaid dresses no longer mattered.

Howie looked hopeful, as if he thought he might escape carrying that ring on the pillow after all.

Uncle Hobart raised his voice.“Just once I would like to hear a teacher answer a question. Why are you marrying me—if you still plan to marry me?”

Aunt Bea began by sounding like a teacher. “Hobart has asked a good question,” she said with a pleasant smile before she turned and shouted, “Because I love you, you cootie!” She then burst into tears.

Ramona was stunned. Third and fourth graders called people cooties. Grown-ups did not.

Mr. Quimby put his arms around his wife, who looked as if she wished everyone would go away. “Feeling okay?” he whispered.

“I feel great.” Mrs. Quimby’s voice was unusually sharp. “Why shouldn’t I feel okay when I’m having a baby? It’s all perfectly natural. Stop fussing.” Mr. Quimby looked hurt.

Uncle Hobart calmed down and looked ashamed. Aunt Bea wiped her eyes on the corner of one of her new bath towels.

“Why can’t we just pick some flowers?” asked Ramona.

“What flowers?” demanded Beezus.

“Those buggy pansies in the backyard?”

“Now, now,” said Grandpa Day. “Just a case of pre-wedding jitters. Relax, everybody. I lived in this neighborhood for forty years, and I know how the women enjoy a challenge. Make a few phone calls, and you will have all the flowers you need.” Grandpa Day was right. Two neighbors had peonies in bloom, bushels of them; several had bumper crops of roses they would be happy to share. Another had plenty of laurel, which made a nice background and needed pruning anyway.

When the matter of the flowers was settled, Aunt Bea said with a wicked smile, “I forgot something, too. I forgot to tell you that I had invited all my third graders.They wanted so much to come.” Oh, no, thought Ramona. Third graders would gobble up all the food at the wedding reception and run around bumping into people and spilling things. Still, she looked forward to seeing the class she had heard so much about from Aunt Bea.

“Great!” said Uncle Hobart. “I’ll order champagne for twenty-nine more guests.” Ramona was horrified. Twenty-nine third graders sloshing around with champagne.

“Hobart!” Mrs. Kemp spoke severely to her youngest son. “Settle down and do be sensible.You can’t serve champagne to children. Order some punch for them.”

“Sure, Mom.” Uncle Hobart glanced at his watch. “Speaking of forgetting, let’s not forget the rehearsal.”

The members of the wedding party whisked their dishes into the kitchen—they would eat Mrs. Kemp’s homemade cheese-cake later—then they climbed into the truck and the Kemps’ car to go to the church.

Ramona, Beezus, and Howie squeezed into the truck with Uncle Hobart and his bride.

This was their only chance to ride in it.

“Swell, just swell,” muttered Howie.

“Twenty-nine kids laughing at me in girls’ socks carrying a stupid little pillow.”

“The dresses still haven’t come,” worried Beezus.

Uncle Hobart was reassuring. “Don’t worry. You girls would look pretty even if you had to walk down the aisle in gym suits.” As the truck pulled away from the curb, a car pulled up. A man jumped out with a big box and ran up the Quimbys’ driveway.

Ramona glimpsed the word BRIDAL on the box. “Our dresses!” she shrieked.

“Whew, what a relief,” said Beezus.“Now, if they will just fit.”

“Uncle Hobart,” said Howie, “you never did say what kind of noise a camel makes.” Ramona wished Howie would forget about camels and pay attention to the wedding.

Uncle Hobart whinnied like a horse.

“How’s that?”

“I’m not sure it’s right,” said Howie.

Ramona, who was not worried about the fit of her dress—safety pins could take care of that—or the sound of camels, wondered if twenty-nine third graders, now promoted to the fourth grade, would arrive at the wedding with banana stickers on their foreheads and if Algie would stay where he belonged until it was all over. July was coming closer every day.