Bulls Island by Dorothea Benton Frank Read Free Book Online

intemperate future mother-in-law was hallucinating scene after scene of her own social suicide.
    Even at that age I knew she was completely wrong and that her behavior was preposterous, but it would have been a terrible gaff to object at the table. J.D. would have to explain the facts to his mother later. Besides, St. Mary’s Church was gorgeous and it was the closestplace to heaven in Charleston and maybe on earth, except for the Vatican. And the Hibernian? The Hibernian Society hall was a fabulous, glamorous place for a dinner dance.
    I looked to Mother, who was just flabbergasted and filled with disgust. I could read her mind: Louisa Langley was an insufferable snob, she was thinking. Was this to be my life? I would be railroaded into accepting my mother-in-law’s choices for everything? I could feel bile rising in my throat. I looked to my mother’s narrowed eyes for support, but her jaw was locked as she stared at her plate, clicking her fork against the rim of it and making high-pitched ting sounds. She would not make eye contact with me. I knew she thought Louisa and Jim Langley had been informed beforehand that this would be an evening of great importance and that Louisa’s demeanor was unbelievably cold. Big Jim was nice enough, but he couldn’t make up for Louisa.
    Things were not going well. At all. With every thought the McGees had, Louisa Langley had another. Louisa was not satisfied to merely host the rehearsal dinner and provide the flowers for the church, which we knew would be extravagant.
    “But that’s tradition,” Big Jim said, trying to be the voice of reason.
    “But, dahlin’! J.D. is mah only child,” she said with the pout of a two-year-old child.
    Louisa wanted control of everything. She always did. So she became more cantankerous and my mother struggled to remain calm. On and on the verbal sparring and innuendo went, like something molten from hell, rolling across the rug, climbing the walls, ruining the night. The storm outside still raged as if Mother Nature had been hired to provide special effects.
    “Will you all be serving spaghetti and meatballs?”
    “No,” my mother said.
    “Well, does the chef at the Hibernian know how to cook Italianfood? Or is his specialty corned beef and cabbage? You know, lots of potatoes and starchy things?”
    “Only on St. Patrick’s Day,” my mother said nicely, but I could see she was annoyed.
    To the complete mortification of the rest of us, Louisa and my mother, Adrianna, were engaged in a full-blown “sandbox” contest of wills.
    Finally, the dinner plates were removed and a slice of warm peach pie was placed before each of us. Three empty wine bottles stood on the buffet like generals over a bloody battlefield. It occurred to me that that was a lot for six people in addition to champagne. J.D. and I each nursed a small glass, as wine was not our drink of choice. Like most young people of college age, we drank beer.
    “Dinner was delicious, Mother,” J.D. said, attempting to lower the sweltering emotional temperature of the room.
    It was no use. The continuing swell of my parents discomfort had caused my mother to stop eating entirely. My father cleared his throat.
    “Tell me this, Elizabeth dear. Will you have the courage to wear white?” Then Louisa Langley actually cackled.
    I could feel the heat rising in my body and knew my face was bloodred. I did not answer her terribly inappropriate question.
    “Adrianna?” my father said. “I think we have enjoyed the Langleys’ hospitality long enough.”
    “Ahem.” Big Jim spoke up. “You probably shouldn’t drive in this weather, Vaughn. Why don’t we go in my study for a cigar?” He said all this with honest concern. But when Louisa arched her eyebrows at him to encourage my parents’ departure if they wished to leave, he slammed his fist on the table and added, “Dammit, Louisa, but I just don’t think anyone should be out on the dark roads in this kind of rain. Just look at the