Kristy's Big Day (8 page)

Wedding Countdown:
Friday—one day to go!

 

I have to admit, Claudia's idea was one of her better ones. As she mentioned, we used up all our regular ideas in the morning. The little kids watched
Sesame Street
and
Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.
The older kids played board games. Claudia set up some art activities, Dawn read aloud, and Mary Anne even plopped the babies in the playpen and helped Stacey's group bake cookies.

But by the time lunch was over, our ears were ringing with the sounds of: “What can I do
now,
Kristy Dawn Stacey Mary Anne what's-your-name-again?”

“I don't
wanna
read another book.”

“There's nothing
good
on TV.”

“We
played
that already.”

“Hey, let's give the babies a bath!” (That was Emma.)

“No!” cried Mary Anne.

Things were on the verge of getting out of hand. Ten of the fourteen children were crowded into our rec room. (The babies, Patrick, and Maura were asleep on a blanket in the living room.)
Ashley was lying on the couch, moaning that her leg hurt and her head ached. Emma was tearing through the room after Katherine, who clearly did not enjoy being chased. Andrew and Grace were jumping up and down around Claudia, complaining that they didn't know what to do. In one corner was Karen with Berk and David Michael. She was talking to them earnestly and furtively (she kept glancing at Dawn), and from time to time I could hear the word
Martian.
Peter was using the couch as a trampoline. And Luke was lining up coffee cans on the floor. When I saw him bring a skateboard in from the garage and head for his obstacle course, I knew we were in trouble.

Stacey saw Luke at the same time and talked him out of his activity.

At that point, I pulled the baby-sitters aside. “We've got to do something—
fast!”
I said. I looked outside. It was pouring.

“We need to separate them, first of all,” said Dawn. “We should divide them into their groups and go off in different rooms. This is too much.”

“Go off and do what, though? That's the problem,” said Stacey. “They've done everything already. They've been through every Kid-Kit, played every game, read every book, sung every song—”

“Okay, okay,” said Dawn. “I still think we need to separate them.”

“What would be fun,” said Mary Anne thoughtfully, “would be a project for the whole group that the smaller groups could work on separately.”

“You mean like putting on a show?” asked Claudia.

“Exactly,” said Mary Anne.

“How about a talent show?” Dawn suggested. “Even the littlest kids could be in it.”

“That would be fun,” I said. “You know, we only have to occupy them until about four o'clock. Then we should start getting them dressed.”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot,” said Mary Anne.

The rehearsal dinner was to be held that night, and everyone, including the kids and us babysitters, had been invited. Actually, the Baby-sitters Club had been asked more to watch the kids than to be guests (although I would have gone anyway, of course), but it was still a good opportunity to get dressed in our very best clothes.

When Mom first told me about the special evening, I had to ask her what a rehearsal dinner was. It turns out that on the day before a wedding, the minister (or rabbi or priest) and the bride and groom and anyone who's going to be
in the wedding get together to rehearse the ceremony, just as if it were a play. Afterward, the families, the people in the wedding, and a few special friends are invited to a big dinner, which is usually given by the groom's family.

In our case, what with the fourteen children and the crazy last-minute preparations for the wedding, the schedule for the evening was wild. Finally, the adults had decided that things would go much more smoothly if my relatives didn't have to drive the kids all the way to their motels to dress for the dinner and then drive all the way back to Stoneybrook. So guess what? They asked the Baby-sitters Club to dress the children and have them ready for the evening when they were picked up at five o'clock.

After that, the members of the club (except for me) would go home, change quickly, and somehow get themselves to Watson's house. Meanwhile, the rest of us would go either to the rehearsal or to Watson's to help get ready for the dinner.

The children had shown up at my house that morning each carrying two bags. One bag was lunch, the other was clothes—a complete outfit. I had peeked in Maura's bag and seen a dress, a slip, a pair of tights, a change of underwear,
party shoes, and barrettes. I hoped the other bags were as complete. Dressing fourteen kids for a fancy party had all the makings of a disaster.

But I couldn't worry about that then.

“You know,” Claudia spoke up, grinning, “I just had a really funny idea. The rehearsal dinner made me think of it. Instead of putting on an ordinary show or play, how about putting on a wedding?”

“A wedding?” I exclaimed.

“Yeah. The kids can play all the different parts. Someone can be the bride, someone can be the groom. You know.”

“You mean marry off a couple of the children?” said Stacey, laughing.

“Sure,” replied Claudia. “The wedding is all these poor kids have heard about for the entire week. We might as well prepare them for the real thing. What do you think?”

We were all laughing by then.

“It's a great idea,” I said.

“Do you still have those old clothes you used to play make-believe with?” asked Claudia.

“I can do better than that,” I said. “Last year, out of the clear blue, Grandma—my other grandmother—sent us all these funny dress-up
clothes. Some of the clothes would be perfect for our wedding. I'll go get them.”

“We'll talk to the children,” said Dawn.

By the time I returned to the rec room with my load of clothes, the kids were sitting on the floor talking excitedly to Mary Anne, Stacey, Dawn, and Claudia.

“Well, we just chose the bride and groom,” said Claudia.

Karen couldn't contain herself. “It's me! Me and David Michael!” she cried. “Because we're the same height.”

The rest of the children volunteered for other parts in the ceremony. Luke was going to be the minister. Ashley reluctantly agreed to be the bride's mother (so she could sit down most of the time). Emma and Grace were to be the maids of honor, and Katherine wanted to be the flower girl. Berk decided to play the bride's father and give her away, Andrew and Peter decided to be ushers, and Patrick (who was awake and eager to participate) volunteered to be the ring bearer.

We divided into our groups and went off to rehearse the various parts and find costumes. Mary Anne watched the babies and helped with costumes. (Ashley had made a miraculous
recovery from her various aches and pains.)

Half an hour later, we gathered in the rec room again to rehearse. The kids were dressed to the nines. David Michael had put on his best suit. (If he didn't wrinkle it, he could leave it on and wear it to the rehearsal dinner.) Mary Anne had found a top hat for him among the antique clothes. It was too big, but my brother liked it.

Karen, who loved to dress up, had put together the most amazing costume of all. She showed it off proudly.

“Here's my veil,” she said, brushing aside a garish pink piece of netting, “and my lovely, lovely hat.” (On top of the lovely, lovely hat was a lovely, lovely fake bird's nest with two fake bluebirds inside.) “And I put on my best bracelets. I guess my shoes are a little big” (they were a pair of Mom's) “but that's okay. Now, my dress is the most beautiful part of all. See the jewels?”

The dress was wilder than the veil. For starters, it wasn't white; it was bright blue, with shimmery sequins sewn all over it. The waistline fell around Karen's knees.

“That's a
wedding
dress?” cried Ashley. “Wedding dresses are supposed to be white. Or maybe they could be yellow or something, but not
that!”

Karen looked crushed. “Kristy?” she asked in a small voice.

“Well, technically,” I said, “a wedding dress can be any color.”

Karen stuck her tongue out at Ashley.
“See? “

“See?”
Ashley mimicked her.

“Okay, okay, you guys,” said Claudia. “Let's not spoil the wedding.”

“But I'm her mother,” Ashley protested. “Aren't mothers supposed to complain?”

I giggled. “Maybe,” I replied, “but let's just go on, okay?”

The kids ran through their parts. When they knew them pretty well, they looked at us expectantly.

“Let me get the camera!” I said suddenly. “I'll be the wedding photographer.” I found Mom's camera, hoping she wouldn't mind if I borrowed it. “Into the living room, you guys. We'll have the wedding in there, if you promise to be careful.”

“Oh, we will! We will!” the kids chorused.

“All right, then. Places, everyone.”

Luke stood importantly in front of the fireplace. David Michael and Patrick (the ring bearer) were next to him.

Andrew and Peter (the ushers) led Ashley and the baby-sitters with the three little children to
seats on the couches and armchairs. Then they joined Luke, David Michael, and Patrick at the front of the room.

“Okay, bridesmaids,” I whispered to Emma and Grace, who were peeping into the living room.

The girls walked slowly through the room, Grace tripping over the hem of her long dress with every step.

They positioned themselves on the other side of Luke.

Katherine came next, wearing what looked like a ballerina's tutu and tossing confetti out of an old Easter basket. Karen, the beautiful bride, followed with Berk at her side.

She joined David Michael, they turned to face Luke, and Berk sat down next to Ashley.

Click, click. Click, click.
I was trying to record every important moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Luke solemnly, beginning a speech he had made up, and which seemed to change every time he recited it, “we are gathered here today to join these two guys in … in …” He looked helplessly at Stacey. “What did you say it was called?”

“Holy matrimony,” Stacey whispered.

“In … in holy moly.” (The baby-sitters managed
not to laugh.) “Weddings are very important,” Luke continued. “You have to know what you're getting into. If you think you're ready, then you can take the oath. Are you ready?”

“We're ready,” said Karen and David Michael.

“Okay, then. Karen, do you promise to love your husband and help him out and not hog the television?”

“I guess so,” said Karen.

“Okay. And, David Michael, do you promise to love your wife and help her out and show her how to ride a two-wheeler?”

“I guess.”

“Okay. By the way, are you two going to have any kids?”

“Yes,” said Karen.

“No,” said David Michael.

“Well, if you do, be nice to them, all right?”

“Yeah,” spoke up Berk. “Don't give them any bedtimes.”

“And don't yell at them when they forget to feed the dog,” added Luke.

“And once in a while,” said Emma, “let them go into a toy store and when they say, ‘Can I have this?' you say, ‘Yes,' even if it costs forty dollars.”

“All right,” said the bride and groom.

“Great.” Luke nodded to Patrick.

Patrick handed David Michael a ring, and my brother slipped it on Karen's finger. “You may now kiss the bride!” Luke announced triumphantly.

“What?!”
shrieked David Michael, and his hat fell down over his eyes. “You never said that before!”

“Ew, ew!” cried Karen.

My last photo of the wedding showed Karen and David Michael running, horror-stricken, from the living room.

It was time to get ready for the (real) rehearsal dinner.

Wedding Countdown:
Friday evening—half a day to go

As soon as we got Karen and David Michael calmed down, it was time to begin dressing the children for the dinner at Watson's. I handed the bags containing the clothing to the babysitters, and they went off to various parts of the house with their groups. I took Grace, Katherine, and Andrew (who were not modest) into the playroom to change.

My first clue that anything was wrong was when I opened Andrew's bag and pulled out a yellow dress.

“Oops,” I said. “Wrong bag. Katherine, this must be yours. Or yours, Grace.”

“Not mine,” said Katherine.

“Not mine,” said Grace.

I checked the bag again. Sure enough, it was labeled
Andrew.
“Hmm,” I said.

“Hey, Kristy!” Mary Anne called from the kitchen. “Come here.”

“You guys stay right there,” I told the yellow group. “What is it, Mary Anne?”

“Look at this,” she said as I entered the kitchen. She held up a bow tie and a pair of gray flannel trousers. “I found these in Beth's bag. And this slip in Tony's bag,” she added, showing me a lacy white undergarment. “It's got to be Ashley's. It's too big for any of the other girls.”

Just as Claudia, sounding exasperated, called to me from the living room, Stacey marched into the kitchen, pushing Emma along in front of her. “Okay, Emma Meiner, tell your cousin what you told me.”

Emma looked as if she couldn't decide whether to giggle or cry.

“Emma …” Stacey said, nudging her.

“I switched the clothes,” Emma whispered.

“What?”
I squawked.

“I switched the clothes,” she repeated, more loudly. “Not all of them. Just one or two things
from each bag. I did it while you were getting lunch.”

“Emma!” I shouted. I was angry. I don't usually get angry when I'm baby-sitting, but Emma had made me
really
angry. The Baby-sitters Club had been anxious to prove that it could be responsible for a large group of children, and it had done a good job right up until now—four o'clock on Friday afternoon. I couldn't believe Emma was going to make us look bad in the final hour of our biggest job ever.

“Emma …” I said again, trying to control my temper.

“Yes?” she answered, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Emma, what you did was really naughty. It's four o'clock. There's only one hour until our parents are going to come get us for the rehearsal dinner. They expect us—
all
of us—to be dressed and ready then. Thanks to you, we might not be ready after all. Now, while we sort out the clothes, I want you to sit by yourself in the den and think about what you did.”

I led her into our den and sat her on the couch. “Sit there and don't move. Don't touch anything. Just sit and think.” I closed the door.

Then I gathered all the baby-sitters, all the
children (except Emma), and all the bags of clothing in the living room. It took half an hour, but finally we were pretty sure we had the right clothes in the right bags. Some of the clothes were labeled with nametags, the older children recognized their clothes and most of the things belonging to their little brothers and sisters, and my friends and I used common sense to figure out what was left over.

At four-thirty we divided up again, and I let Emma out of the den. “I'm sorry, Kristy,” she said, and I felt sort of mean. I could tell she'd been crying.

“And I'm sorry I got mad. But promise me you won't do anything else naughty today. Or tomorrow,” I added, thinking of what could happen while the wedding was in progress. “We all have to be on our best behavior.”

“I promise,” said Emma in a small voice.

“Okay,” I replied. I gave her a hug. Then I sent her off with Stacey.

Half an hour later, fourteen very dressy children were milling around our living room. Their parents had not shown up yet.

“Hey, how about a picture?” I asked. There were two shots left.

“Yes! Yes!” cried the kids.

Claudia, the artistic one, began to pose them. “You big kids sit on the couch…. No, not on the
back
of the couch, Berk. Just on the couch, like a regular person. Okay, good. And you shorter kids sit on the floor in front of them. Katherine, hold your little brother, okay? No,
hold
him. He's sliding over. Grace, give Beth a hand. She's escaping. Put her in your lap, okay?”

Claudia turned to me. “Hurry, Kristy! Before they move!”

I snapped the picture. When we looked at the image, we saw that Tony was slumped over so you couldn't see his face, Beth was pulling Grace's hair, two kids had their eyes closed, and Berk was poking David Michael in the side.

“Let's try it again,” I said. “We have one more picture left. Now this time, open your eyes, look at the camera, smile, and don't poke anybody!”

Click!

The second picture was perfect. And the kids were still posed at the couch when the adults walked in.

There was much oohing and aahing.

“Aren't they adorable?”

“Oh, who's this handsome crowd?!”

“Wouldn't this make a cute Christmas card?”

“Isn't Patrick wearing somebody else's tie?”

“What's Beth doing wearing tights?”

The members of the Baby-sitters Club glanced at each other, then at Emma. Nobody said a word. We weren't about to tell.

Luckily, there wasn't time to worry about the clothes. The kids looked gorgeous anyway. So the aunts and uncles and the Fieldings drove their kids, plus Karen and Andrew, back to Watson's. The other members of the Baby-sitters Club left to get dressed.

When they were gone, I turned to Mom. “Gosh, the house feels
empty,”
I said. “I'm really going to miss those kids.”

“We won't,” spoke up Sam and Charlie. They had been pretty scarce all week. That evening, they had managed not to come home until precisely five minutes after everyone had left.

“I might miss them,” said David Michael, “and I might not.” He ran upstairs to his room.

“He won't miss sharing,” I informed my mother, “but he'll miss having kids his own age around.”

“Maybe,” said Mom thoughtfully, “he and Karen will get along better than I think.”

I beamed with pleasure, but as I passed Sam on my way into the kitchen, I heard him mutter, “Don't lay any bets on it.”

I won't bother you with the details of the rehearsal itself. All you need to know is that it went reasonably well, considering we were rehearsing an outdoor wedding in the all-purpose room of a church, and that Karen, upon hearing that the florist shop was not going to be able to provide her with yellow rose petals and that she'd have to make do with white ones instead, turned pale and widened her eyes until I thought they'd spring out of their sockets.

“What's wrong?” her father asked, alarmed.

“White
petals,” moaned Karen. “They mean white magic. Morbidda Destiny will be right next door with her black magic. The two magics will crash into each other—BA-ROOM—and then …” Karen made a slashing motion across her throat.

David Michael screamed.

“What?” said the confused minister.

“Nothing, nothing,” Watson replied hurriedly. “Karen, not another word about that nonsense. Not
one.”

But Karen didn't say anything, and I knew
that meant she wasn't agreeing to keep her mouth shut.

Everyone but me forgot about Karen and the magics.

The dinner at Watson's was really fun. All us babysitters were as dressed up as if we were going to an important school dance. Claudia had helped me choose a new dress the week before. It was a gigantic white sweater with silver designs woven into it. It was a very un-Kristy-type dress—and I felt glamorous.

During the dinner, which was eaten at two long tables in Watson's dining room, the babysitters had to help the kids and keep them quiet. But afterward, we were more like guests. I showed my friends the room that I had recently decided I'd like for my bedroom.

“It's … it's
big,”
said Dawn, awed.

“Think of the slumber parties we can have here,” added Stacey.

“Think what you can do with the room,” said Claudia. “A mural on the wall … Maybe you'll get a canopy bed or something.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “More important, it doesn't look into Morbidda Destiny's house after all. It doesn't look into yours, either, Mary Anne,
but the backyard is better than Mrs. Porter's.”

“I guess,” answered Mary Anne sadly.

The highlight of the evening came as the dinner was drawing to an end. Watson and Mom took the members of the Baby-sitters Club aside and handed us each an envelope containing a check for two hundred and twenty-five dollars.

“That's two hundred for a job
very
well done,” Mom told us.

“And a twenty-five-dollar bonus,” added Watson.

I gawked at my friends. We were rich!

After we got through thanking Mom and Watson and saying good-bye to everyone, it was time to go home. The next day was … the wedding!

(And I still had no idea what to give Mom and Watson.)