Free Ramona Forever by Beverly Cleary

men’s flowers were to go to the Kemps’.
    â€œCome on, troops, let’s go home,” said Uncle Hobart. “Like I told you. There’s nothing to planning a wedding.”
    Ramona hoped the dresses really would arrive in time as she licked the ice cream running down her arm. She knew Beezus was wishing the same thing.
    â€œUncle Hobart, I don’t think camels howl,” said Howie. “I think they sort of snort.” Anyone could see Howie had no interest in the wedding.
    Beezus, who had managed to eat her cone neatly, asked, “What about the churchand minister?” She could not entirely trust Howie’s uncle to remember.
    Uncle Hobart crunched the last bite of his cone. “All taken care of, along with the wedding ring and the caterer, who will supply the food. But thanks for keeping track. I might forget something.”
    He probably will, thought Ramona, and wished she had a three-way mirror in her room at home so that when her bridesmaid dress was delivered, she could watch herself twirling forever.

8
The Families Get Together
    L ife 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 belongings in the Quimbys’ basement, and the rest she piled in Ramona’s room to be packedfor 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 largerevery 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 thinner than the girls had remembered. He hugged his granddaughters, said they had grown, and announced he wanted to stay ina 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 containing 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 snowplow could be attached to the