Very Truly Yours

The Wedding March swelled from the pipe organ. Leila Amherst began the long walk down the aisle of the very old, ornate sanctuary of the First Presbyterian Church on the arm of her father. Her heavily beaded skirts swayed with each step.
Leila’s grasp slipped from her father’s arm.
“Don’t dawdle,” she heard her father whisper from between lips that remained fixed in a smile. She tightened her grip on his arm again and tried to ignore the reprimand.
If there was one day that she and her folks should have felt some real warmth towards each other, this should have been that day. But their relationship was as distant today as it had ever been.
She flashed back to the seventh grade where she had spent what seemed like every other day in detention for one reason or another. Her mind leapt to the very expensive, rigidly strict Connecticut boarding school where they were probably still talking about the girl who put live goldfish in the headmistress’ water cooler. Certainly she had not gained her parents’ approval at her high school graduation party held at the exclusive country club where the Amhersts were third generation members. A couple of her friends had spiked the punch and within an hour the party had become so raucous that they were asked to leave. She snickered under her breath at the memory and disguised it with a fake cough. Any other club member would have been asked to resign, but her father’s money and circle of influence prevailed.
But now she was doing what they wanted.
They wanted her gone. Off their hands. Somebody else’s responsibility. And since David-the-architect was acceptable, she was marrying him.
And still they were not pleased.
Leila tossed a careless smile at her father as he handed her off to her bridegroom. As he released her fingers, he leaned toward her but kissed the air near her cheek.
She heard the sound.
She never felt his touch.
Sighing at still another rejection, she followed David’s lead as he guided her up three carpeted steps where the minister waited for them. She wished she could see his face, but he started straight ahead, apparently intent on every word the minister spoke. Somebody turn on the fans, for goodness sake.
Leila took a small side step away from her bridegroom and hoped the increased space would encourage some air to pass between them. While David repeated the vows spoken by the minister, she slid one finger under the shoulder straps of her wedding dress, rotated her shoulders and tried to dispel the clamminess that was seeping through the satin under-slip.
What’s with this heat?
She barely resisted fanning her fingers under her chin in an effort to move the air around. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. A curious restlessness settled around her and the lack of air movement in the church only increased her distress.
It was her turn to recite the vows. She repeated the words without emotion, received her ring and the obligatory kiss and smothered a deep sigh.
She ran her tongue across her lips in a frantic effort to quench her dry mouth. What she needed was a cool drink, preferably something in a tall glass with a slice of lemon. And lots of ice. And friendly faces.
A glance around the church reminded her that most of the guests were her parents’ friends. Not hers. Her friends weren’t good enough for this crowd. These were people who could further her father’s business deals and community standing.
Not her friends.
Not even one!
Leila quickly swiped the back of her hand across her brow. She was beginning to feel a little cooler. But the coolness was coming from inside her, not from the obviously defective air conditioning system. The coolness was like the sappy clamminess that comes one step ahead of a fainting spell.
The ceremony was over. Without consciously doing so she accepted her bouquet from the maid of honor, turned toward the congregation, and slipped her free arm into David’s. Now if she could just get outside without making a complete spectacle of herself.
“Friends,” the minister began, “I present to you for the first time…”
Leila nudged David with her elbow and raised pleading eyes to his. Surely he would help her.
“I’m going to be sick.”
She dabbed her fingers across tiny droplets of sweat that dotted her brow and upper lip.
David tilted his head towards her. “Can you hold on for another few minutes?”
“No, I have to go now,” she whispered through the fake smile that remained pasted on her lips even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’m getting a woozy feeling.”
“Okay, let’s go outside. Don’t stop to greet the family like we rehearsed,” he whispered. “Just hold on to me. Keep smiling. That’s my girl.”
Leila relaxed, happy to leave the outcome of the unrehearsed retreat to her new husband. He must have signaled the bridal party because three pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen, the flower girl and ring bearer fell in line behind them with the precision of a military color guard.
With her hand secure in David’s grasp, she kept pace with him as he led the wedding party through the arched doorway into the courtyard.
In the cooler outdoors, Leila took several gulps of fresh air as David watched attentively. Someone handed her a paper cup of water. She gulped half its contents, took several deep breaths and passed the cup to David. She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead again and finger-combed her bangs back into place. She was beginning to feel better. One more deep breath and the warmth returned to her cheeks.
“Better?” David asked, searching her face.
“Yeah,” she nodded.
She was amazed at his ability to take charge in a tense situation and his ability to win over strangers. No wonder her parents loved him. He certainly would not be a disappointment to her father. She imagined her father’s conversation with the governor would include words like good match and social asset.
She, on the other hand, was glad the ceremony was over. This charade was taking more out of her than she’d anticipated.
Suddenly, like a clap of thunder, a motorcycle roared into the driveway scattering fallen leaves out of its way, and screeched to a halt. The rider, dressed completely in black, lifted the visor of his helmet with one hand, while the other hand flexed sporadically, revving the engine to punctuate his words.
“It’s your last chance, darlin’.” Vroom, vroom. “You don’t have to play by their rules.” Vroom, vroom. “Come away with me. Come with me now.”
Leila’s eyes widened in heady anticipation. She took several quick breaths through parted lips. Two bright spots of color heated her cheeks and she covered one with her free hand.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she spun on the ball of her satin slippers to face her groom. Her coal black eyes darted left and right. She spun toward the cyclist but encountered her father’s angry stare across the path.
“No,” she read her father’s silent command. “No,” he said again.
Leila pivoted to face David again, the tulle of her headdress twisting on her shoulders in response to her frenzied movement. For the space of two heartbeats, neither of them moved. Neither spoke. Only the impatient vroom, vroom of the motorcycle measured off the passing seconds.
She sprang into action. “Sorry,” she whispered to David...