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sister getting married, after all. Beatrice gave herself a look in the mirror next to the back door and grimaced. “Sure, Wyatt. Thanks. What time do you think you’ll be coming by?”
    â€œActually . . . I’m in your driveway. I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to offer you a ride until I came upon your house.”
    â€œBe right there,” said Beatrice. She hurried to the bathroom, where she put half of her makeup on. At least she’d done her eyes. She crammed a powder and a couple of lipsticks in her dressy purse (which was a little too small for all the things she was stuffing into it), and quickly left.
    Despite Beatrice’s mad scramble before getting to Dappled Hills Presbyterian, everything for both the ceremony and the reception was lovely. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the sanctuary with light. “Double Wedding Ring”–pattern quilts made by Harper and Wyatt’s mother hung on the double doors leading into the church. Miss Sissy was courteously escorted into the sanctuary by an usher with as much ceremony as if she were the mother of the bride. She had a fierce pride in her eyes, and Beatrice was relieved to see that she had dressed up for the occasion and had even managed to tame her wiry gray hair into a semblance of obedience. Wyatt choked up a bit during the vows, but cleared his throat and quickly recovered. His choking up made everyone else misty-eyed, too. Beatrice loved seeing these two people, who obviously cared about each other so much, joined together.
    The reception, under large tents on the church grounds, was a treat both visually and gastronomically. Colorful quilt squares in bright colors hung like pennants around the white-tablecloth-covered tables full ofhors d’oeuvres. Lyla Wales oversaw the guest-book table, where guests signed a wedding quilt with their warm wishes inscribed in each square. Tables were stacked with jars of Posy’s blackberry preserves, covered with quilt squares, as favors for the guests.
    There was a variety of different foods served, all finger foods and heavy hors d’oeuvres with a Southern flavor. There were two delicious spreads—one a cucumber spread that was a light, refreshing topping served chilled on toast points; and the other a warm mushroom spread that melted in Beatrice’s mouth. There was also an amazing asparagus casserole with hard-boiled eggs and a sharp cheddar cheese that kept being replenished by the catering staff.
    But the best part, decided Beatrice, was June Bug’s cake. The little woman, always so bashful, had carefully dressed up in what were clearly new clothes. Her creation resulted in an amazing display: fondant-covered square cakes that resembled quilt blocks with piped icing for stitches. It really was a work of art, and Beatrice felt an unusual reluctance to eat it. Miss Sissy, however, apparently felt no such compunction. Beatrice walked up to the old woman, hair now not nearly as tamed as it had been in the church, as she was greedily chowing down on a square of wedding cake. June Bug shyly walked over to join them.
    Beatrice said, “June Bug, you’ve really outdone yourself with this wedding cake. I’ve never seen anything like it. Miss Sissy, don’t you think that June Bug’s cake is really too pretty to eat?”
    The old woman gave her a scornful look.“Foolishness,” she muttered, finishing off her piece and eyeing the others with a canny expression. “Foolishness!” she repeated again with feeling.
    â€œThank you, Beatrice,” said June Bug with a smile. “It was fun to make. I love baking.”
    â€œAnd we love to gobble up the things you bake!” said Meadow, sweeping in behind them. She’d eschewed her usual flowing garments for a more tailored silk suit jacket in lime green over a long black skirt. Her long gray braid was much tidier than usual, and she was even