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General Catherine Danniher — aka Mom — won that battle. But I stood firm that the wedding would be here in Wyoming. I was not a blushing child bride to be given in matrimony from my father’s home to my husband’s. Thank heavens.
Tom and I were two wholes making a greater whole.
Okay, I admit, that doesn’t have the romantic ring to it that finding the missing half of your soul or making each other complete does. But it’s a heck of a lot more rewarding for the participants.
So, no, I wasn’t going back to Illinois to be married from my parents’ house. But we were getting married in a church.
Not my idea. Especially doing it twice.
First, in the Catholic church in Cody with a few of the earlier arrivals from my side of the family.
Tom decided on this, saying it was important to honor my family’s beliefs.
I don’t know — and he won’t say — how much Tamantha’s approval of the center aisle of the Cody church had to do with this decision. Nor do I know what arrangements she might have come to with her father and/or the priest regarding cartwheels down said aisle. I’m sure not betting against her.
Our wedding that’s on the invitations will be at the church Tom and Tamantha attend. Which will be convenient for the out-of-town guests staying in town and the locals, as well as a quick jaunt to the site of the reception — the Sherman Western Frontier Museum.
There are some in TV news who would say my celebrating getting married among historic artifacts is apropos. Though they wouldn’t say it to my face.
I like the place. It’s convenient, has plenty of space, the parking’s good, and the fees help the community.
Three months after we committed to marriage and three months before we will say I-dos, the major pieces were in place. In TV news lingo, the wedding was cued up — in place, ready to be played on-air.
Mostly because Mom or Tamantha started conversation after conversation with the ominous, “I’ve been thinking about the wedding” and then Tom and I had to act fast to head them off from what we didn’t want by finalizing what we did want.
I was beginning to think they did it on purpose.
And sometimes, my husband-to-be—
“I might know most of it, but tell me again anyway,” Diana said. “I like hearing about your wedding plans. Or, I should say, I like hearing what your mom and Tamantha have planned.”
“And Tom,” I mumbled. My eyes popped open and I jerked my head around to face her. “You’re interested in wedding plans? Are you—? You and Russ—? Is something—?”
For a professional talker, I was having trouble using my words.
Diana and the new — newish at this point — Cottonwood County sheriff, Russ Conrad, struck sparks off each other from their first meeting.
I was not entranced by the romance of that moment, since he was telling me to stop doing my job insofar as it involved investigating murders. He was fine with me resolving consumers’ issues with recurring Helping Out! segments. At least I think he was.
Despite little sign that he’d reciprocated, I’d relented somewhat in my opinion of Russ, based on how he treated Diana, interacted with her kids, and made her feel. Which was evident now from added rosiness in her cheeks and a smile that could have fit either Happy or Dopey of the seven dwarfs.
“No.” Apparently hearing that her tone qualified for doth protest too much, she backed off with a calmer rendition, “No.”
“Not yet.” I didn’t give her any chance to protest that. “I know you two have been using the L-word beyond that time he blurted it out last fall in front of your kids and the increasing coziness is apparent, but if you’re at the point of the M-word—”
“How old are you?”
“—you better not be keeping me in the dark.”
“You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
“Oh, brother. You’re not going to pull the don’t-want-to-distract-from-your-big-day nonsense, are you? Tom and I are getting married — emphasis on married, as in the beginning of our marriage, not as in emphasis on a wedding extravaganza. If I had my way—”
“I know. You’d fill out a form online and be done with it. Thank heavens for your mom and Tamantha and — especially — Tom, who know it’s a big deal and treat it like that.”
“Getting back to you and Russ,” I said with great dignity.
“We’re doing just fine, thank you. And here we are at Elk Rock Ranch. So, Ms. E.M. Danniher, reporter and sleuth, start paying attention.”
