A Groom wirh a View

feeding you,“ Mr. Willis replied with an out-and-out sneer. Larkspur applauded the caterer’s performance and the aunts glared at Jane as if this distasteful brouhaha were all her fault. The spotty skivvy cowered in the corner of the room like somebody from a Dickens novel.
    It was all Jane could do to keep herself from banging her head on the table.
    “Let’s all play nice, darlings,“ Eden said.
    Their dinner was interrupted several times by the lights flickering as the storm gathered force again. Mrs. Crossthwait screeched with alarm every time there was a clap of thunder. A gust of strong wind blew the front door open and Uncle Joe voluntarily went to close it, which was a surprise to Jane. It must have been to the aunts as well, as they whispered together when he’d left. After Mr. Willis had served strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream, which they all ate in spite of protestations about being too full to swallow another bite, the group started drifting away.
    The three bridesmaids and Larkspur settled around a big table in the main room with a jigsaw puzzle and a very staticky radio to see if they could get a weather forecast. The aunts sat by the fireplace, whispering ferociously to each other.
    “They’re up to something, Jane,“ Shelley said.
    “It sure looks like it. But what? They wouldn’t sabotage Livvy’s wedding just to spite me, would they?”
    Uncle Joe, apparently feeling confident that Jane wasn’t going to think of anything for him to do, stuck around for a while. He drifted toward the aunts, but didn’t sit down with them. Instead, he sank into a chair nearby and made a big production of reading a newspaper. Lots of flapping of pages and intense scrutiny of newsprint to cover the fact that he, too, obviously wanted to know what kind of plot the aunts were hatching.
    Jane let Mrs. Crossthwait off the hook for a bit. She could hardly rush her straight from dinner to work. She checked her watch and made a mental note to give the woman half an hour of leisure. Mrs. Crossthwait hovered around the jigsaw puzzle group. “Mrs. Jeffry probably won’t agree, but there are good reasons for not finishing the dresses too far ahead,“ she said loudly enough to make sure Jane could hear her.
    “Oh?“ Eden said mildly, as she took a piece of the puzzle away from Larkspur and fitted it in place.
    “How utterly clever you are,“ Larkspur said.
    “Yes, people change,“ Mrs. Crossthwait said, not willing to let a general lack of interest from her audience keep her from explaining. “Kitty’s gained weight since I did the cutting and Layla’s lost a bit.“
    “I have not gained weight,“ Kitty said with her teeth gritted.
    “And I’m afraid I haven’t lost any,“ Layla said. “Anyway, the dresses are going to be just beautiful, I’m sure. Now, where are the sandy-colored pieces that are going to be the sidewalk part of the picture? Kitty, help me find all of them.“
    “What a lovely brush-off,“ Shelley whispered to Jane.
    Mrs. Crossthwait recognized it as such and wandered aimlessly toward the aunts, thinking perhaps that she’d get a better reception from them. But this hope was dashed when they saw her coming and gave two cold, unblinking stares. Still, she persisted in asking if anyone had died here lately. She felt an aura of death.
    “Certainly not!“ Iva exclaimed, as though dying was a breech of good taste that couldn’t happen to such as the Thatcher clan.
    The seamstress dropped into the nearest chair to the aunts. “You don’t seem to remember me,“ she said.
    “Are you speaking to me?“ Marguerite asked haughtily.
    “I made your wedding dress.“
    “That was a long time ago and something I don’t discuss with strangers,“ Marguerite said. She adjusted herself in her chair so that her back was to the seamstress, indicating quite clearly that the discussion had concluded.
    Mrs. Crossthwait stared at Marguerite for a long moment, then pretended an interest in her surroundings for a few minutes longer, before getting up and trudging as slowly and carefully as a condemned prisoner up the stairs to her prison.
    “I should feel sorry for her,“ Jane said quietly to Shelley. “That was a really formidable snub. But I’m too annoyed at her dawdling to feel any sympathy. She’s being paid an absolute fortune to make the dresses. She’s so damned annoying.”
    Within the hour, another storm front moved in with thunder that shook the house, made the