Buried In Buttercream

grinned up at Savannah, a dab of what looked like grape jelly and peanut butter on the tip of his freckled nose. “Are you really gonna stretch my hide on your barn tomorrow morning?” he said.
    “I don’t have a barn, but I reckon the garage will do just fine if you keep tormentin’ my cats, young man.” She ruffled his hair and marveled at its sweet, baby softness.
    “I wasn’t really hurting them,” he said. “Just messin’ around with them.”
    “Good. ’Cause in this family, we’re very, very nice to animals.”
    “And people, too,” Jillian added with a solemn nod.
    “Eh, depends on who,” Savannah muttered under her breath as she walked to the hall closet, removed her weapon from her purse, and secured it in a locked strongbox on the top shelf.
    With this many people in the house, some of them children, you couldn’t be too careful, she reminded herself.
    And the moment she walked across the foyer and into the living room, she was instantly reminded of how many people she had in her dinky house.
    As the oldest of nine children, Savannah had never known a moment of privacy during her upbringing. The tiny house in McGill, Georgia, had actually been smaller than this one, and only had one bath, instead of the one and a half that Savannah boasted.
    But during those years, it had mostly just been the nine of them and Granny Reid, who filled the home with a nurturing mix of love and discipline. And now, the extended family included six extra children and one spouse, bringing the grand total to fifteen.
    Most of whom were now under her roof.
    Fortunately, no one was picky. If they had a horizontal surface, they could sleep. And as long as a stream of food and sweet iced tea continued to flow, the gang was a happy lot.
    Usually.
    “Boy! What a lousy day this was!”
    “Honestly, Savannah! Nobody but you would have something like that go wrong on their wedding day! I reckon you’re cursed or somethin’.”
    “Did the whole place burn to a crisp? Did they get our bridesmaids’ dresses out? I worked overtime at the drugstore to pay for that dress, you know!”
    “What are we gonna do now? We come all the way out here for a wedding and this happens! What a bite in the ass!”
    Savannah drew a deep breath and addressed the complaints one by one. “Macon, there are children present, so please watch your language. A bite in the heinie will suffice. Cordele, I’m sorry about your bridesmaid’s dress. I lost my wedding gown, too. We can probably find matching gunny sacks for you girls to wear, and I’ll cut some holes in a white garbage bag for me. We’ll make do somehow. Marietta, please turn off that dirty television show. What would Granny say if she walked in and caught you gawkin’ at all that bare skin? And, Jesup, I may be low on luck in the wedding department, but Dirk and I caught the mangy dog who’s been setting all the fires, so the day wasn’t a complete train wreck.”
    She walked over to the windowsill and rescued Cleopatra, whose tail was being tugged by a miniature tyrant with freckles and a mischievous grin. “Vidalia, would you please corral your children? Better yet ... it’s getting late ... put ’em to bed.”
    Comfortably positioned on the sofa, her feet on the coffee table, a dish of dessert in her hands, Vidalia nudged her husband, Butch, who was sitting next to her. “Would you stick the younguns in bed, sugar?” she asked him. “I’ve had a rough day. Gettin’ all in a dither over the wedding and then the disappointment of it all going up in flames ... I’m just plumb tuckered out.”
    Long-suffering Butch rose, brushed his long hair out of his eyes, adjusted his baggy jeans, and trudged upstairs to do his fatherly duty.
    A happy Vidalia sprawled onto his recently vacated spot on the sofa, much to the dismay of Jesup, who needed the extra space while painting her toenails black. “Get over, you big cow,” she said, elbowing her sister.
    “ You get over, and watch who you’re callin’ names, or you’ll get your jaws boxed!” Vidalia deliberately jiggled her arm so that Jesup smudged her toe. “You already did your nails this morning. What’re you doing them for again, twice in one day?”
    “Knock it off, you two,” Savannah said as she passed them, heading into the kitchen. “You get that ugly black polish on my couch, you’ll both be paying the price in spilt blood.”
    As she entered her dining area, she breathed a soft sigh of relief. The