Three of them were waiting for confession, and the other was a wino the locals named “Pope” Charlie. He spent his time in churches drunk and shouting abuse at whatever priest was celebrating Mass. Bosco stood waiting at the altar in a suit borrowed from his uncle, a shirt borrowed from a friend, and new shoes he had bought himself.
Constance Parker-Willis knew that on the day she married Bosco, she would be thrown out of her father’s home. She was to receive no dowry, no allowance, and was to be released from her father’s will. She left her home with just the clothes on her back, with the exception of one gift. Just before she had departed, Constance’s mother came to her room. She handed Constance a large box.
“Take this,” she said to her daughter. “It is all I own, and I want you to have it.” Constance took the box. She hugged her mother and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you, Mother. I’m sorry,” Constance managed to get out through her sobs.
“Don’t be sorry, dear, be happy,” her mother said. And added, “I wish it were me.” With her head bowed, she left the room.
When Constance arrived at the church, she was wearing the contents of the box her mother had given her. The veil that sat beneath the glittering tiara was a white mesh of silk. The bodice of the wedding gown was covered in a thousand pearls, all hand-sewn, and the flowing skirt was made up of white satin covered by a second skirt of handwoven Galway lace. Without doubt it was the most beautiful wedding dress to have graced the aisle of this church. And its crowning glory was the sixteen-foot silk-and-satin train that gently glided behind the bride as she made her way up the aisle. At the altar Bosco stretched out his arm and took her hand. Believe it or not, this was the first time Bosco Reddin had ever touched his bride, and his smile betrayed how beautiful and soft her skin felt.
The ceremony itself was uneventful—well, up to the taking of the vows anyway. For it was at this point that Pope Charlie woke up in his pew and joined in the proceedings. When the priest asked Bosco, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?,” Pope Charlie got in first with, “Of course he does, he fuckin’ turned up, didn’t he.”
“I do,” said Bosco.
“And do you take this man . . .”
“Same question, same fuckin’ answer.” Charlie was bored.
“I do,” Constance said, looking into her husband’s dark eyes.
At the end of the ceremony it was time for the bride and groom to make their way into the vestry to sign the Registry Book. The priest would lead the way, followed by the witnesses, then Michael O’Malley, finally the bride and groom. Just inside the door to the vestry, Bosco halted. Constance went on a little before she realized that she was walking alone. She turned.
“Are you all right, Bosco?” she asked.
“Yeh, I’m fine. Come here for a moment. Before we go in there.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Connie had a worried look.
“Is everything all right, Bosco?” It was Michael O’Malley. Over Connie’s shoulder Bosco waved him on.
“Fine, son, fine. Go ahead of us and tell the priest we’ll be with him in a minute.” Michael gave a thumbs-up sign.
“No bother, Bosco.” And he was gone. Constance made to speak, but Bosco put his finger to her lips.
“Shush.” He smiled. “Hush for a minute and listen to me.” Connie nodded her head. His eyes were locked on hers as they stood huddled together in the corner of the hallway. When Bosco spoke, it was just above a whisper. “I know this has all happened very fast. And I know that we have stood out there and made promises and recited our lines. But there is something I want to say to you. Not out there, in front of all of them. Just me to you, but I want to say it here in the house of God. Constance Parker-Willis, I love you.” He waited a moment. “Do
Erosa Knowles
Jeanette Baker
Bonnie Dee
R.W. Jones
Liz Talley
BWWM Club, Esther Banks
Amy Rae Durreson
Maureen O'Donnell
Dennis Mcnally
Michael Rowe