Free Happy Is The Bride by Caroline Clemmons Page B

was safely inside the chapel, she'd have someone help her set the silk orange blossom crown on her head. Though the portico was covered, Mr. Pendleton carried umbrellas for their use at the chapel.
    The closed coach set off with all five of them crowded inside. Beulah and Mr. Pendleton sat facing the other three.
    Beulah shook her head. "This rain done ruined my frosting. Turned the sugar all grainy. I told Emma to watch it. Like as not it's gonna run right off them cakes."
    "It'll be fine, Beulah, and your cakes always taste wonderful." Frosting was the last thing Beth cared about right now. "With this kind of weather, probably not many people will show up anyway."
    Rain lashed against the sides and trickled in at the windows. Beth pitied the poor driver—as well as any guests traveling in open vehicles,
    Mrs. Pendleton adjusted her cloak to ward off the window's leak. "We should have put up a screen at the back of the chapel so people could change there."
    Mr. Pendleton stared at the window. "Too late now, Louise. I'm sure people will make provisions."
    After a short but rough ride, they reached the chapel. Dozens of wagons and buggies ringed the churchyard. Much of the straw Mason and Rowdy had spread floated on puddles or ran on the rivulets down the slope.
    Mr. Pendleton opened the door and stepped out. "Bethany, you wait here until time for the ceremony. I'll come back to get you and Rachel."
    Beth leaned forward. “This coach is stifling with the windows up. Hurry, or we'll boil."
    Mrs. Pendleton pulled the hood of her cloak up and gathered her bunched skirt up under her cloak. Mr. Pendleton held the umbrella and offered his arm. Beulah carried her own umbrella and made a dash for the door. Halfway up the steps, the wind caught the Pendletons' umbrella and turned it inside out. Mrs. Pendleton screamed and rushed into the sanc tuary behind Beulah.
    The driver moved a few feet away so the steps were clear for other arrivals. Soon Mr. Pendleton appeared carrying what must be Beulah's umbrella over two dippers of water. "Here, this will cool you a bit."
    Beth laid her bouquet on the seat beside her. 'Thanks, Daddy." She took a long drink, then sipped the remainder before she handed the empty dipper back to her father.
    "Neither your groom nor his parents are here yet, but old man Whittaker is sitting right up front."
    Beth fought the panic his words created. "Likely the storm slowed the others."
    Mason won't let me down.
    Mason won't let me down.
    She repeated the litany in her mind to still the butterflies in her stomach.
    Rachel drained her dipper and handed it back to Mr. Pendleton. "Thank you, Uncle Howard." She licked her lips and appeared puzzled. 'Tasted odd, didn't it?"
    He closed the door and went into the chapel. Beth leaned back and closed her eyes. "Yes, it did."
    "Suppose someone spiked it?" Rachel licked her lips.
    "I—I don't know. How could we tell?"
    Rachel shrugged. “I don't know. Probably doesn't matter. No more than we had, it won't, make us tipsy."
    Time dragged while they waited in the sultry coach.
    Beth scratched at her neck. Her throat itched. Then the itch ing spread.
    She looked down at the bare skin above her low neckline. Red welts had sprung up. On the bare part of her arms above her long gloves, more angry hives showed.
    "No, this can't happen."
    Rachel's eyes widened. "My stars. Beth, you're breaking out in hives. Maybe it's nerves because of the wedding, or the heat. Should I open the door?"
    "No. The odd-tasting water." Beth panicked. "Gin makes me break out like this." She pointed her gloved hand at her chest. "If someone poured gin in the water and I drank it, this would happen."
    Rachel's eyes widened. "How can you be allergic to gin?"
    "Juniper berries. Gin's made from them." Beth thought she might cry. Her dress, Rachel's dress, Mason falling, the rain, the cake frosting—the day's events wore on her, and she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. How could so many things go wrong