Supervolcano All Fall Down(137)

And this makes them different from other people how? Rob wondered.

Others going into the church waved to him and called congratulations. Some were people he knew in Guilford. Others—more—taught or worked at Piscataquis Community Secondary School with Lindsey.

“When was the last time you were in a church and it wasn’t for a town meeting or something like that?” Barber asked.

“Oh, wow.” Rob had to think about it. Like most of his family, he thought freedom of religion implied freedom from religion. Mom drifted from one New Age almost-faith to another, but Rob, like his father and sister and brother, pretty much did without. Then a memory came back. “My senior year in college, I went to a wedding at an old mission north of Santa Barbara. Don’t jinx me—that one didn’t last.”

“This isn’t a church wedding, anyway, even if it’s in a church,” Charlie said.

That was also true. They went into the church. Standing up at the front, instead of a minister in his clerical vestments, was Jim Farrell in his decidedly secular ones. The fedora and fur-trimmed topcoat set him apart from the crowd at least as well as a white dog collar would have.

The wedding was the event of the winter social season: from lack of competition, as Rob knew perfectly well. Lindsey’s mother had come over from Dover-Foxcroft to attend. Her father had come down from Greenville—even farther—with his girlfriend. Said girlfriend was a smashing brunette, and was about Lindsey’s age. Whether she’d caused the breakup between Lindsey’s folk or come along afterwards, Rob didn’t know. Maybe I’ll get the chance to ask later on, he thought. For the moment, the atmosphere was what the diplomats called correct. With luck, it would stay that way.

Having winter guests in Guilford from such distant towns (Dover-Foxcroft was ten or fifteen miles away, Greenville about twenty-five) brought home to Rob how tightly his mental horizon had contracted since he came here. Guilford and its immediate environs were all that concerned him from day to day. News from other places north and west of the Interstate trickled in every so often. It was well out of date by the time it did. He cared no more than the people whose families had lived here for generations. When it did trickle in, it was news to him. What else mattered?

When most of the snow melted and the roads cleared during Maine’s short stretch of alleged summer, news from the great big wide world came in along with canned goods, sacks of flour, gasoline, condoms, and other vital supplies. Once upon a time, Rob had been a news junkie. Now? Hey, it was a long way away and it had happened a while ago. He couldn’t do anything about it. So why get excited?

For this performance, Dick Barber was playing the role of his father—nowhere near the worst casting in the world. Justin was his best man, Charlie and Biff his groomsmen. Lindsey’s principal, who looked like a pit bull with gold-framed glasses but actually seemed pretty nice, did duty as the matron of honor. Her bridesmaids were a couple of teachers. She’d told Rob her dad’s new arm candy had tried to volunteer for one of those slots, but was more or less politely discouraged.

Next thing Rob knew, he was standing in front of Farrell. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d crossed the intervening space. Teleportation seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t rule it out. Lindsey stood beside him, so everything else receded into the background. Her dress was white, if not exactly a wedding gown. He’d borrowed a blue blazer and tie from Dick Barber. Weddings, funerals, and gunpoint—yes, this was one of the happier reasons to don a tie.

Jim Farrell beamed at the two of them. “I have the honor to be standing in this place by virtue of authority invested in me as the law west of the Pecos—or at least west and north of I-95. If I say you’re married, you’re as married as you’re ever going to be in these parts. Have you got that?”

Rob managed a nod. Next to him, Lindsey did, too. Her eyes sparkled. Rob doubted he would have got on with her so well if she didn’t think Jim was one of the funnier critters on two legs.

“Along with marrying you, I’m supposed to stuff you with good advice like force-fed geese,” Farrell went on. “That’s a hot one, isn’t it? I never tied the knot myself, and I stopped caring about the amusement value of the fair sex a few years ago. So you’re thinking, Well, what the devil does he know? We might as well be at a town meeting, hey?”

This time, Rob didn’t nod, but he came close. Laughs and chuckles rippled through the pews.

“But I am an escaped—excuse me, a retired—historian, so I may possibly have learned a little something. Possibly,” Jim Farrell said. “People do seem to get along better when they’re willing to put up with each other’s foibles. If you’re convinced you have The One Right Answer”—Rob heard the capital letters thump into place—“good luck with the rest of the human race. If you think you’re going to impose it on everybody else No Matter What”—more loud caps—“even good luck won’t help.”