The Wedding

Sister Kimball found the girl crying in the bride’s room. It was both more and less serious than bridal jitters: The dress she had borrowed from an aunt in Price before driving here didn’t fit at the top. No amount of zipping and pinching could get the girl’s shoulders and bust into it, though the bottom was all right.
Where was the girl’s mother? Where was a friend to have insisted she have a wedding dress that fit? But the pair was alone, come down here because she said that even though she had had no showers and would have no reception or open house, at least she could be married where she wanted to.
Of course, they found a top to cover the bodice and the gap in the bride’s dress.
The Kimballs conferred and made some phone calls. They enlisted some willing strangers as witnesses. before Brother Kimball sealed the couple.
Afterwards, Sister Kimball got out a veil that had for no reason been lingering in the closet and it was perfect. Brother Kimball took photos and videos of the bridal couple on the stairs and lawns and sent them to the groom’s e-mail. They waved the two of them off with hugs and kisses to a wedding breakfast for two they’d reserved at the inn at the bottom of the hill.
“I’m afraid it won’t last,” said Brother Kimball. “If they had strong LDS parents they’d just live together to rebel, but with the reverse, parents who don’t care, they rebel by eloping to the temple and marrying where their parents can’t go.”
“You may be right and I hope you’re wrong,” Sister Kimball smiled through her tears. “But every bride ought to have a fuss made over her.”

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