The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler Read Free Book Online

dark-blond hair, and she made such a to-do over the St. Cassian’s women, complimenting their dresses and their hats and their wrapping paper, exclaiming at how far they must have walked, that they began to feel uncertain. Then a young sailor arrived, and Mrs. Barclay turned her gracious smile on him, and the women were free to go on inside.
    The church had baby-blue walls and blond wood pews, which made it seem lacking in mystery. Up front, Pauline’s friend Anna—the girl with the handkerchief that first day in Anton’s Grocery—was playing the piano, her back to the congregation but her smooth brown pageboy and her faultless posture easily identifiable. Already several guests were sitting here and there. None of them was familiar, but shortly after the women had arranged themselves along the length of one pew, Michael’s mother came down the aisle on the arm of her brother-in-law. She wore a navy polka-dot dress they’d never seen before, and a white cloth rose was pinned to the V of her neckline. When Mrs. Serge said “Psst!” Mrs. Anton gave the women a squinty, superficial smile and then instantly sobered, as if she had to keep her full attention on the business at hand. Elsewhere, though, people were talking in normal tones and even getting up to join in other conversations. None of them seemed to have presents. Were presents wrong in some way? The seating appeared to be random, but Mrs. Anton settled in a first-row pew, which the St. Cassian’s women agreed was only proper.
    A door opened behind the altar and a pale young man in a black suit emerged. He walked over to the pulpit, set down a Bible, and smiled at the congregation. For a while this had no effect, but gradually the guests who’d risen to converse went into a little flurry of returning to their seats. Then Mrs. Barclay came down the aisle with a worn-looking gray-haired man—no doubt Mr. Barclay—and they settled in the other front pew. Anna stopped playing the piano. The minister cleared his throat. A hush fell. Everyone looked toward the door at the rear.
    Nothing happened.
    People exchanged glances. Maybe the couple would enter from elsewhere; was that the plan? They faced forward again. The minister started leafing through his Bible, but not as if he meant to read from it.
    Whispers started circulating up and down the pews. A child asked a question that was laughingly silenced, after which the atmosphere relaxed. Casual conversations resumed in several spots. Mrs. Anton’s back stayed rigid and she went on looking straight ahead, but Mrs. Barclay kept twisting in her seat to check behind her. Obviously she had no more information than her guests.
    “What’s going on?” Mrs. Nowak asked Wanda.
    Instead of answering, Wanda rose and stepped out of the pew. She started back up the side aisle, her heels clopping briskly, while the women looked at each other.
    A glass of water stood at the right-hand edge of the pulpit, and now the minister picked it up and took a token, unconvincing sip. He set the glass back down. He coughed. He really was astonishingly young. “I hope they’re not experiencing any last-minute doubts, ha-ha,” he said.
    A few people tittered dutifully.
    Behind the St. Cassian’s women, two men were discussing the Orioles. One of them said he’d given up hope. The other said just to wait. Everything would be different, he said, in 1943.
    Wanda came back and sat down, out of breath, rustling and bustling importantly.
    What was it? the women asked, leaning forward.
    Pauline had changed her mind.
    Had what?
    The answer came in patches, altering slightly from woman to woman as it was relayed down the row, whispered even in this hubbub so that no one in any other pew could hear.
    Says she doesn’t know what she was thinking . . . says all they do is fight . . . says he never wants to go anyplace and . . . always so unsocial and . . . such a different style of person from her, so set in his ways, won’t