Disclaimer: See part one.
Author's Note: Thanks to the reviewers! Keep them coming! As always, anything in italics is conversation in Russian; plain face is narration or conversation in English. Now, on to the wedding!
The Day of the Wedding
1100 Hours Local
St. George's Orthodox Church
Moscow, Russia
Mac swung the car into the church's parking lot, breathing a sigh of relief. She didn't relish driving in foreign countries, especially where the laws were as lax and the police as corrupt as here in Russia. She was driving, though, because Harm had called her at 0800, frantically explaining that Sergei was totally out of it-his mental state rivaled Bud's on his wedding day, Harm had said. Once Mac had arrived at the apartment, she knew Harm hadn't been exaggerating. Sergei was, well, loopy. The bloody wads of toilet paper stuck to his face were only the most visible signs. He was muttering to himself, not making any sense, with a big goofy grin on his face. He was in no state to drive, and Harm didn't feel comfortable, not being able to read either the directions or the street signs. So, Mac was elected to drive the lucky groom and his best man to the church.
Once the two men were safely installed in the church library, which doubled as the men's changing room for weddings, Mac went off in search of Greta. Sergei had regained normal thought and speech patterns long enough to ask her to check on his fiancée. Finally finding the women's restroom and lounge, Mac pushed the door open and was bombarded with the concentrated scents of hairspray and flowers. In the middle of four sisters in purple stood Greta, trying to adjust her crinoline and sobbing. Luckily, she had used waterproof eye make-up; otherwise, she could have been a double for Ricky the Raccoon.
Mac turned to the sister nearest her. "Excuse me, is this normal wedding-day nerves, or something more serious?" she asked the girl, Nadia, Greta's second-oldest sister. Mac had met all the sisters over the past few days and was getting to know them.
Nadia, who had been married the year before, smiled. "Normal wedding day nerves, Sarah. She is worried that she made the wrong choice, that it will never work out, that he will hate her, et cetera. Of course, as soon as she starts up that aisle, all but her love will be forgotten."
Mac smiled and nodded. That's about the same thing Harriett was feeling before she was married to Bud. Is that how she would have felt if she had married Mic? She shook the thought out of her head; it was all over now. "Pardon me then, please. I have just come from Sergei—he wants to know how she is doing." Nadia moved out of her way, and Mac walked closer to Greta. "Greta," Mac began. "Sergei wanted to know how you were. He is very anxious to know that you are alright."
Greta turned on Mac violently. "He wants to know that I am alright? Of course I'm not alright! This is all wrong, WRONG!" With that, Greta gave up on trying to adjust her petticoat and sat down on the floor, sobbing. One of her other sisters, Sasha, put her arm around Greta, but was repulsed by her sister's flailing arms.
Mac bent down to Greta's level. "Greta, Sergei wanted you to know that he loves you very much. He is as nervous as you are, but deep down, he knows that this is what he wants, that it is you he wants to spend his life with, because he loves you."
"Really, Sarah? Really?" Greta asked, still sobbing.
"Of course!" Mac said. "Now, you really should finish getting dressed so we can get you married!"
"Thank you, Sarah," said Greta. "Could you go tell Sergei that I love him, too?"
Mac nodded and left, leaving the five Nabreshnikoff sisters alone.
1204 Hours Local
St. George's Orthodox Church
Moscow, Russia
Mac had spent the last forty-five minutes listening to the words Harm had to recite in Russian. Although Sergei knew that Harm would be doing the parts of the ceremony reserved for the best man in Russian, he was still unaware of Harm's work at the toast for the reception. Sergei was pacing like a caged bear. Harm asked "Mac, how much longer until we get this show on the road?" Sergei, also curious, looked at Mac.
"The service starts at one o'clock, correct?" Mac asked. The two Rabb men nodded, along with the two groomsmen who spoke English. The other groomsman, who was Greta's brother and spoke only Russian, waited while one of the others translated. "Then we have fifty-six minutes and seventeen seconds," Mac informed them.
Sergei looked shocked. "How does she do that?" he asked his brother.
"Beats me," Harm said. "I've been wondering that for years."
Mac stood up. "As much fun as it's been hanging out with all you hunky guys, I'm going to step outside. I'm afraid that the Russian version of Old Spice is going to my head."
"Beautiful Colonel," Sergei asked. "Please go check on my Greta again."
"Of course, Sergei," Mac said, leaving the room.
Mac walked into the Bride's room. Greta was sitting in a chair, wearing everything but her veil and dress, having her hair adjusted one last time by her sister Anya. "Greta?" Mac asked. "How are things going?"
"Ummm, alright, I guess. There seems to be something I'm forgetting," Greta replied uncertainly.
"That's normally the case, Greta. Let's see: Dress?"
"Yes."
"Veil?"
"Yes."
"Engagement ring?"
"Yes."
"Sergei's wedding band?"
"Ummm," said Greta
"Right here!" called Nadia, her matron of honor.
"Flowers, shoes, hose, jewelry?"
"Yes, yes, yes, and yes."
"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?" Mac finished.
Greta knitted her brow in confusion. "What are you talking about, Sarah?"
Mac shook her head. "It's an old American tradition. In the states, when a bride gets married, it is considered good luck to wear something that's old, something that's new, something that's borrowed, and something that's blue. I don't know that it is really that important, but like I said, it's tradition in the States."
"It's tradition in America, you say, Sarah?" Greta asked. Mac nodded. "Well, Sergei's father was American. Maybe I should do this American custom too. What do you think? I think that it is very important."
Mac shrugged her shoulders. "I think, Greta, that if it feels right to honor Sergei's heritage in this way, then go for it."
"Okay, let's see. Something old, you said? My earrings—they were our mother's."
"There you go. Now, something new?" Mac queried.
Greta reflected for a moment. "Oh, my dress, of course!"
"Something borrowed . . . ."
"My veil—Nadia wore it at her wedding."
"And now," Mac said. "Something blue."
Greta looked around the room. "Does anyone have anything blue? Nadia?"
"No."
"Sasha?"
"No."
"Anya?"
Anya thought for a few minutes and then replied. "No."
"Lida?"
"No, Greta, nothing."
The room was silent for a few minutes, everyone thinking. Finally, Mac spoke up. "Greta, I have an idea," she said. The other girls, looking relieved that a minor catastrophe had been avoided and sensing that this was somewhat important, bustled about checking hair and makeup one last time, giving Mac and Greta some space. Mac reached behind her head and manipulated the clasp of her necklace. "Greta, I bought this necklace the first time Harm and I came to Russia." Mac held up the necklace. Suspended from a fine gold chain was a bubble of clear glass. In the center of the bubble was a tiny, perfect, blue flower. "This flower is a forget-me-not. The day Harm and I spent in Moscow, after we had learned the fate of Harmon Senior and before our plane left, Harm spent the day holed up in the hotel room. He wanted to be alone, to digest what we had learned. I honored his request, and spent the day in the open-air markets in the city. At one of the booths, I found this necklace. The perfection of the forget-me-not spoke to me. I knew, somehow, that Harmon Sr. would never be forgotten, and this seemed to be a promise of that. I bought it on the spot and I have worn it every Christmas eve, and every trip to Russia since then, as a kind of a memorial to Harmon Sr. and a promise to his sons. If you would like to borrow it to complete the American tradition, you are more than welcome to."
When Mac finished, Greta had tears in her eyes. "Sarah, I would be honored to wear your necklace—this necklace of promise—at my wedding. Thank you very much. The symbolism will mean the world to Sergei."
"I know," Mac said. She wound the chain around Greta's wrist as a bracelet and fastened the ends together. "Now you are ready to get married. My wish for you is that it will be a long and happy marriage, filled with lots of love, and lots of children. Go with God."
The ceremony started right on time and went off without a hitch. Mac sat on the groom's side as a testament to her friendship with Harm. He snuck looks at her during the service, usually after one of his required Russian responses, waiting for her nod of approval. He noticed that she looked different from the morning, but he didn't realize that it was because she wasn't wearing the forget-me-not necklace, because she had never told him its significance.
Harm's heart ached as he watched his brother kiss Greta. He wanted that kind of happiness. As Greta wound her arms around Sergei's neck, a ray of sunlight shone through the small charm on her bracelet and threw a rainbow pattern onto his tux. The rainbow seemed to be a promise in itself, a sign that he, too, would one day have that happiness. After this thought struck him, he looked over at Mac. The wistfulness in her eyes was not lost to him. "Someday," he promised himself, and her. "Someday."
Enough sappy, emotional stuff. Are you ready to party at the reception?