The music kept playing. Father Jolly held a whispered conference with Pete and Davis, who were helplessly shaking their heads, looking around for some kind of direction. Celia reached the altar, but there was nobody there to meet her, because her groom was rushing toward the side exit. She stood, momentarily stunned, tightly gripping her oversized calla lily.

“Oh my God,” Pokey whispered. “What on earth?” People were murmuring, heads turning, but mostly they were frozen in place.

Annajane didn’t wait to hear any more. She managed to slide past Pokey, and now she was sprinting for the front of the church. She had to get to Sophie.

As she reached the door to the robing room, she heard Father Jolly’s voice from the lectern. “Uh, folks,” he said tentatively. “We’ve got a sick little girl on our hands here. If you would, I’d like to ask you all to bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing.”

*   *   *

She found Mason seated on a brocade loveseat in the robing room, cradling Sophie across his lap. She was moaning, and her face was gray and beaded with perspiration. Mason was smoothing her hair with one hand, and fumbling with a phone on a table with the other.

“Here,” Annajane said, sliding onto the sofa beside him and extending her arms to the child. “Let me take her. Have you called for an ambulance?”

Sophie whimpered a little, but settled quickly into Annajane’s arms. The child’s body was hot to the touch, and as Annajane stroked her face, Sophie’s face contorted. She shuddered, coughed, and vomited. And vomited again.

“Oh my God,” Mason said, dropping the phone. “What … what should I do?”

Annajane grabbed for a box of tissue beside the phone and began mopping Sophie’s face. “I’m sorry,” the little girl sobbed. “I’m sorry.” She vomited again.

“It’s okay, baby,” Annajane said. “It’s okay.” She wiped Sophie’s face clean again, and poised her hand over the little girl’s abdomen. “Can I touch your tummy? Just for a minute?”

The child nodded. Annajane placed the palm of her hand flat against Sophie’s stomach, but even the lightest touch resulted in a yowl of pain.

“Jesus,” Mason said, shakily. “What do you think’s wrong?”

The robing-room door opened, and Celia rushed in. “Is she all right?” Celia started to ask. When she saw the vomit spattered across Sophie and Annajane, she took a step backward. Then she swallowed hard, bent down, and took Sophie’s hand.

“Where does it hurt, honey?” she asked softly. “Tell Celia.”

Sophie moaned and pressed her feverish face against Annajane’s chest.

Celia patted Sophie’s damp curls. “Poor baby.”

She gave Mason an exasperated shake of the head. “She ate a lot of junk at lunch today. I personally saw your brother sneaking her at least two bowls of that damned Quixie ice cream. It’s probably just a combination of an upset tummy and all the excitement.”

“You think?” Mason asked hopefully, his hand hovering over the phone.

Celia looked over at Annajane, treating her to a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe you could be an angel and go get Letha and ask her to take Sophie home and put her to bed?”

“I don’t think so,” Annajane said. “This isn’t just a bellyache. I’m sorry, Celia, but we need to get her to the hospital. Right now. She’s burning up with fever.”

“Excuse me?” Celia tilted her head, as though she hadn’t heard correctly. “We’ve got five hundred people sitting in that church out there. We’ve got a soloist from the North Carolina Symphony, and over at the country club, we’ve got lobster thermidor and a steamship of roast beef. My great-aunt Eleanor flew in this morning from Kansas City. With an oxygen tank.”

There was a quick knock at the door, and Father Jolly poked his head inside. “How’s the patient?” he inquired. “I hate to intrude, but people are concerned.” He shrugged apologetically. “Mason, your mother and sister wanted me to see how the little girl is doing. Mrs. Bayless doesn’t want anybody to panic.”

Celia stood and hiked up the sagging bodice of her dress. “Tell Sallie everything is fine.” She gave Annajane a pointed look. “There is no need to overreact. We just need somebody to fetch Letha, and then, I think, we can go ahead with the ceremony. Right, darling?” She rested her hand lightly on Mason’s broad tuxedo-clad shoulder, letting her fingertips drift down the lapel of his jacket. It was a clear signal of ownership, to Father Jolly, Mason, and most important, Annajane.

He is mine. I am in charge. The show must go on.

Mason glanced from his ex-wife to his next. He cleared his throat. “Well … uh…”

As if to settle the matter, Sophie moaned, coughed, and barfed again.

Annajane struggled unsteadily to her feet, clutching Sophie to her. She had had enough.

“Fine. You two do what you need to do. But in the meantime, Mason, I think you’d better call 911.” She was making a deliberate effort to keep her voice calm. “Tell them we’ve got a five-year-old with abdominal pain and a high fever. Her belly seems rigid and tender to the touch. And tell them to please hurry.”

“Excuse me?” Celia said. “What medical school did you say you attended?”

“My mother was a nurse for thirty years, and I was a candy striper all through high school,” Annajane said calmly. “Anyway, it’s just a matter of common sense. Feel her tummy, if you don’t believe me.”

Mason was dialing and reaching for Celia’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly. “But you understand. Right?”

Celia took only a moment to reevaluate the situation, shift tactics, and choose the proper response. “Of course,” she cried. “Absolutely. Do you think it would be better to load her into my car and take her over to the hospital ourselves?”

“Just a minute,” Mason said, turning his attention back to the phone. “Right. This is Mason Bayless. I’m at the Church of the Good Shepherd in Passcoe. There’s something wrong with my little girl. What? No, I don’t know the address. It’s on Fairhaven, about a block from downtown. It’s the only Episcopal church in town, for God’s sake. Don’t you people have a computer or something?”

He listened impatiently. “Yes, that’s it. Okay. She’s five years old, and she just … suddenly collapsed. She’s in a lot of pain. It’s her stomach. She’s got a high fever, and she’s throwing up … No, she doesn’t have any allergies that I know of. No! She hasn’t gotten into poison. Who the hell do you think you’re dealing with here?”

Annajane took the phone from him. “Listen, you need to send an ambulance. Now. I’m no nurse, but I think maybe it’s her appendix. Fine. We’ll meet you out front of the church.”

The robing-room door opened and Pokey stepped in. “What’s the news?” she started, and then wrinkled her nose. “Oh no. Stomach bug?”

“Annajane thinks it might be her appendix,” Mason said gloomily. “They’re sending an ambulance.”

“What do you need me to do?” She was addressing her brother, ignoring his fiancée, not something Celia was used to.

“Pokey, could you please ask Father Jolly to announce that the ceremony has been postponed?” Celia said, reasserting her authority. “Ask everybody to go ahead on over to the country club for the reception. Just say we’re doing things backward. Reception, then ceremony. We’ve got all that food and champagne chilled down, and it’d be a shame to waste it. We’ll try to get over there after we get Sophie taken care of at the hospital. But she’s the first priority.”

“We’ll have to get all those cars cleared out of the driveway and the street outside, before an ambulance can get here,” Pokey said. “And Mama’s going to want to go to the hospital, too, I can tell you right now.”

“Fine,” Celia said impatiently. “You and Pete can take her, or Davis or somebody, but in the meantime, could you please get those cars moved?”

“Sure,” Pokey said, bristling at being ordered around. She looked over at Annajane, who was pacing around the small room, softly humming to the whimpering Sophie. “I’ll be right back after the announcement, and we’ll get you some kind of clean clothes. You can’t leave looking like that.”