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Chapter One

Aisha Branch McCovney, daughter of Camille Branch and stepdaughter of Lemuel McCovney of Llewellyn Park, will marry Harrison "Will" Fitzhugh, son of Meredith Powell Fitzhugh Martin of New York and Venice and William Garrison Fitzhugh of New York and Millbrook. The couple will wed at the groom's family home in Newport, Rhode Island next June.

The bride, twenty-six, graduated from Newark Academy in Livingston and cum laude from the University of Virginia, and is an assistant media buyer with Rowe/Day, the advertising firm. The groom, twenty-seven, graduated from Harvard and the Sorbonne, and is an art director at the same firm, which is where the couple met.

The bride's stepfather is the senior partner of the law firm McCovney, Lewis & Brown, in East Orange. The bride's mother is the head of social work at the Newark Emergency Services for Children.

The bridegroom's father is a private investor. The bridegroom's mother is a painter. The bridegroom's great-grandfather, Garrison Granger Fitzhugh, was founding partner of the Continental Insurance Company; his grandfather, Granger William Fitzhugh, was CEO. The groom's maternal great-grandfather founded Mercantile Steel.

Geneva sighed and neatly folded a copy of the hometown newspaper, placing it on the kitchen table so that Mabel, the lady who comes twice a week to tidy things up a bit, could see the announcement. Baby girl getting married, Mabel would say. Seems like just yesterday she was runnin' through this house wit' me yellin' after her to slow down. Always was in a rush. That little girl was someum' else. Marrying a White boy, a rich White boy. You go 'head, Miss I-esh-a. Miss Geneva can die a happy woman now—her grandbaby finally doing it right, she'd say, always emphasizing the I sound at the beginning of her name, I-e-sha, driving Geneva crazy in the process.

The phones started ringing, as Geneva knew they would once the news landed in the Beacon-Herald.

"Yes, Pearl, that's my little Aisha. Mm-hmm, she's twenty-six already. I know, seems like we just had her christened."

"Yes, I'm very pleased. He's a very nice young man, comes from a very respectable family."

"Well, I know, you seeing more and more of it these days. The girls say there just aren't that many of our men to go around, you know, who are going on, finishing their education and stretching themselves."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. It's a different world."

"Alright now, mmmm, and thank you for calling. Yes, see you at church."

"'Bye now."

She hung up her kitchen wall phone.

There was still a lot to be done. Camille is so lackadaisical. You have to stay on her about every detail. She was supposed to start calling florists to get estimates. She gets so caught up with her so-called clients and tryin' to save the world, she'd forget her own head if it wasn't attached and if it didn't have all that hair and mess everywhere.

Geneva exhaled in exasperation, as she'd been doing for most of Camille's forty-five years. She took a last sip of tea and put the cup in the sink, turned on the water and swirled it around the ring in the cup.

At seventy she had more energy than many twenty years younger.

"Ew, look at the time," she said to no one. "I'm going to be late for service."

Geneva would not be late; she never was, for anything. What she would be was not early. She'd already laid out what she was going to wear — her coral suit, matching hat, beige pumps, hose and purse.

She was alone now in the high ranch she and her late husband, Major, had bought with an eye toward their twilight years. Now, the wide halls and spacious rooms were too much for just one person, but she couldn't bring herself to part with it. If she really tried she could still smell Major's aftershave in the master bath and the smell comforted her, just the way she liked — in private.

Geneva wheeled her late model Buick around the church parking lot, mumbling curse words because her usual parking space was taken, as were all the choice spots. And to add insult, she didn't even know the offender. Used to be time when she knew everybody who was a member of First Presbyterian, but now they got all kinds of new people coming in, driving these awful trucks, vans, SUBs, whatever they're called, taking up two spaces. It's just abominable. Camille and Lem of course had one and had the nerve to be a Cadillac — it's just foolishness. Geneva ended up having to park on the street. Walking up to the church, seeing it from the front, she was struck by how beautiful the architecture was and for a moment she felt sad that Aisha wouldn't be getting married there. It would be nice to continue the tradition, but what was she talking about, Camille killed that idea a long time ago, going and getting herself in trouble like some common...

The sedate organ music took Geneva's mind off her daughter for a while and she smiled as she walked down the aisle to her seat in the third pew, right aisle. She mouthed thank-yous to the ladies who wordlessly complimented her hat, and sat down.

Marjorie Blessitt sang "How Blessed Thou Art" and Geneva let the music soothe her soul.

Copyright © 2005 by Benilde Little