“Then we’ll stay too,” Mrs. Powell said and added to Penny, “That is, if we’re invited.”
“Of course, you are,” Penny cried. “The Curtises and Adra and her father are going to stay on for the great event, so we’ll have one grand houseparty until then.”
By Labor Day evening all of the other guests had left the Lodge. To celebrate the first dinner of the wedding day houseparty, Pat opened a bottle of champagne that he claimed to have held over from his wedding for another special occasion.
“Ugh,” Marjorie spluttered after one sip. “What horrible tasting stuff!”
Jimmy, Judy and Alf heartily agreed with her and gratefully accepted the ginger ale Ann Mary hastily substituted for the bubbling wine.
Peter proposed a toast. “Here’s to the Allens of Allen Lodge. May they always be happy and prosperous!”
“You’d better include the Wylands in that toast,” Marjorie said with an impish smile. “Penny won’t be an Allen much longer.”
A few days later, on a beautiful, bright September morning, the wedding took place. Marjorie and Judy were so excited they couldn’t fasten the zippers on their crisp organdie frocks. Penny, sweetly serene, came to the rescue, wearing her lovely flowing gown of white tulle over taffeta. Marjorie finally conquered her nervousness long enough to pin on the clusters of orange blossoms which held Penny’s lace veil in place.
Then, carrying Pat’s enormous bridal bouquet of long-stemmed white chrysanthemums, Penny came from the house on Philip’s arm to join Peter under the trees.
Marjorie held her breath while Penny and Peter made their vows in clear, steady voices. After the ceremony was over, Charles was the first to congratulate the bridegroom, and Marjorie, the first to kiss her sister.