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Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Blame Iton Paris
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  5. Book One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Book Two
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Thirty-nine

After seven hundred years of fervent faith, church attendance, and wars, we were about to ruin those stones with our rose petals? The remaining guests flooded out, ignoring the priest, and a storm of hugging and kissing began. But the curé had a final word to say. He strolled up to Claudine, the mother of the groom, as she was being embraced on all sides. “For what I made in the collection, it was hardly worth all this fuss,” he told her.

And with that, he turned and strode back into the church, leaving us to stare after him with open mouths.

“Well, think about it this way,” said one of the guests, coming up to kiss Sébastien and me as we stood on the church steps. “Only one more wedding to go.”

I’m sure he meant it as positive reinforcement.

Thirty-eight

I had been raised to consider the Catholic Church a fairly benign institution, on the side of Good and therefore, of course, myself. No foreigner had ever been able to claim the French government was benign, so the reminder of our fourth wedding petrified me. What did the civil ceremony hold in store?

Clouds still covered the sky, but they were lighter now, more white than gray. The two classic Citroens waited proudly in front of the steps. Sue and Claudine and I had donned socks a few days before and polished the cars until they would shine, if only the sun would come out, and then decorated them with lace and bows.

Bruno redonned his 1920s hat and held open the door of the red and blue car for Anna and Ken, delighted to share the classic car experience with them. Sébastien and I climbed into the back of the beige, with Jean-Charles at the wheel and Mamie beside him. Jean-Charles honked the horn loudly, a growling woo echoed from Bruno’s car, and off we set. Headed by our two classic Citroens, a long cortège of honking cars wound down country roads and through a couple of hamlets back to Titi and Bruno’s little village. People came out of their houses and waved as we passed.

Imposing and formal in a navy-blue skirt and blazer, the mayor awaited us with the blue, white, and red sash of her office draped from right shoulder to hip, evoking the power of France. She led us into her office and stood before her desk with us in front of her, as the whole crowd flowed in behind us and packed the room full.