Chapter 8

The ceremony went without a hitch, as everyone but me had known that it would. It went by very quickly. I even remembered my name when it was called for: "I, John Edward, take you, Stacie Lynn, to be my wife..." Suddenly, we were signing the registry and posing for many pictures. It was done. Stacie was mine. As we recessed down the aisle to Mendelssohn's Wedding March from A Midsummer Night's Dream, I turned to the lovely little person on my arm. "I love you, Mrs. Charles," I said.

"And I love you," Stacie replied, "you wonderful, silly husband of mine."

The reception was at the Four Seasons Hotel. It was the usual chaos that I guess such affairs always are. Except this time I was at the heart of the storm. There were toasts from the best man and the matron of honour, as well as from God knows how many others. People kept rapping their knives on their wine glasses. Stacie and I were supposed to respond with a kiss. That was certainly not an onerous task. But at a certain point. Mack McHenry stood up and said, "That's about enough. Let these two get a bite. They're going to need their strength."

Heather came over and knelt beside Stacie. "Now you can tell me," she said, "where are you going on your honeymoon?"

Stacie looked puzzled. "I honestly don't know."

I whispered in her ear, "Look under your plate."

Stacie lifted her plate. She removed the envelope that was under it. She opened it and read. "Oh my God! There are two first-class tickets to Paris! And a reservation at the Ritz! I think I'm going to faint."

"You can faint later, wife," I said. "For now, just keep those tickets safe. We're going to need them tomorrow."

Stacie looked panicked. "But what will I bring? What will I wear?"

Heather laughed and hugged her. "Stacie, if I were you I'd bring just the clothes on my back. Not your wedding dress. I mean whatever you're wearing tomorrow. Paris is the greatest place in the world to shop for clothes." I groaned. What had I gotten myself into?

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. I should have known Stacie better than that. Oh she bought some clothes, all right. But she stayed away from the exclusive designer houses. I was glad of that. After all, we were spending enough money on the hotel. Our suite was about nine hundred Euros per day, not including taxes. But I only planned to get married once. And I wanted Stacie to have great memories for the rest of our long life together. One of those memories was made the first night we arrived. The maid came to turn down our bed and tidy the suite before we went to bed. After she left, Stacie opened the drapes. She turned to me and smiled. "I'm going to live every little girl's dream," she said, "I'm going to make love to my husband by moonlight in Paris."

Our loving that night was something very special. We were both very tired after the wedding and the long flight. But we seemed revitalized by the Parisian atmosphere. After a wonderful session of oral love, Stacie said, "Now I know why they call it 'Frenching.' It's special here."

"No, my darling wife. You're special. And you're special anywhere." We fell asleep with Stacie cuddled on my chest, my penis inside her.

This was Stacie's first trip to Paris. Actually, it was her first trip outside of Toronto. So I delighted in showing her around. I took her to some of my favourite restaurants, but most of the time we did touristy things. We took a boat tour of the Seine, went up the Eiffel Tower and strolled hand-in-hand by the river in the twilight. I'd brought my digital single lens reflex and plenty of compact flash cards. I'd considered bringing my laptop, but I'd thought better of it. I just didn't need it. I didn't want to be bothered with e-mail, and I didn't want to take the time away from our honeymoon to process my pictures. There would be plenty of time for that later. I just checked the LCD screen to make sure that each shot was what I thought it was. Of course, there were plenty of pictures taken by waiters in hotels, tour guides and the like. The Canon EOS 1Ds is a dauntingly complicated camera to the uninitiated, but I simply switched it to automatic exposure and showed them where the shutter button was. Of course I took most of the pictures, and most of them featured Stacie in picturesque Parisian settings. My favourite shot was one that I almost felt guilty about. It was a picture of Stacie praying at the altar in Notre Dame Cathedral. I felt as though I were intruding on a private moment, but that picture showed one of the many aspects that made up the complex creature that was Stacie: her simplicity and sincerity.

We continued to have an idyllic time. Nearly every day was perfect. There were a couple of days that we couldn't take advantage of the sidewalk cafés or the terrace at the Ritz. But what's Paris without a little rain? Then, just a couple of days before we were to head for Toronto, the phone rang one evening about bedtime. Stacie answered.

"Yes, this is Mrs. Charles." She paused and then said, "Yes, please put it through." She turned to me with a serious expression. "There's a call from Aunt Charlotte." She turned her attention to the phone. "Yes, Aunt Charlotte. What's up?" Stacie listened for a moment. "You'd better open it," she said. Once again she listened. Then she said, "Hold on, I'll get Jack." She held her hand over the receiver and said to me, "Darling, you'd better take this. I think it's serious."

I went into the sitting room and picked up the phone. "What's happening, Charlotte?"

"Jack," she said, "this envelope came today from the Supreme Court of Ontario. It's addressed to Stacie. I just opened it. There's a legal thing inside. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes of course." I listened while she read the document. The trial of Stacie's mother and stepfather was to begin in two weeks. Stacie was, of course, required to testify. I was very surprised. There had been a big backlog of criminal cases in Ontario. It was unheard-of that a case would come to trial so soon. But it seemed that was exactly what had happened. "Not to worry, Charlotte. It's Stacie's folks' trial. We knew this was going to happen, just not so soon. We'll be back in plenty of time. As I say, there's no reason to worry, but thanks so much for calling. We'll see you in a couple of days. 'Bye."

Stacie said her good-byes to Charlotte and hung up as well. She turned to me as I came into the bedroom. "Oh Jack, I dread this whole thing."

"Not to worry, my love. All you need to do is tell the court exactly what happened. But I'll ask my pal Jeff Richards to act for you. He's a real criminal law genius. Jeff will explain things to you, and he'll be beside you all the way."

"Oh Jack, what would I do without you?"

"Well, for one thing, without me, you'd still be single and enjoying your youth."

"Without you, I'd be nothing. And I certainly wouldn't be enjoying my honeymoon in Paris with my beloved husband. Let's go to bed, darling."

That night, I tried to make her fears go away. I held my little wife and made love to her gently.

Time passed quickly. All too soon, we were on the plane back to Toronto. I slept most of the flight home. I always try to sleep as much as possible on transatlantic flights. It helps to minimize jet lag. Stacie watched the movie for a while and then snuggled up and joined me in sleep.

We arrived home. Heather's parents, Sally and Jean-Pierre, had gone back to Calgary shortly after we left, but Heather was still with us. She proceeded to pump Stacie for every ounce of information about our honeymoon. While we unpacked, the two girls kept up a nonstop conversation. They went to Heather's room to continue their talk while I went to my office. I transferred the pictures into my desktop computer. I put together a slide show of our honeymoon and burned it on a CD. I'd show it to everyone after supper.

At supper, I had a mild surprise. Sydney, Stacie's friend whom I had met at the birthday/engagement party, was a guest. Not that I minded. I'd only met Sydney once and then briefly. She proved a witty and personable guest. And it was obvious that Heather and Sydney had gotten to know each other during the time that Stacie and I had been on our honeymoon.

I'm afraid that all of us had a bit too much to eat and far too much to drink, but we had a wonderful evening nonetheless. The slide show of the honeymoon was well-received, although with some hoots and well-meaning jabs. I'd included a picture of Stacie posing in her honeymoon negligée, a translucent red wisp. But I'd omitted the picture of Stacie praying in Notre Dame. She and I would share that later.

After the slide show ended, we had a final nightcap and coffee. Stacie was yawning, and I was feeling just as tired. Since it was quite late, Charlotte suggested that Sydney stay with us for the night. Heather immediately seized on that idea. "Oh yes," she said, "please do, Sydney. You can stay with me in my room. It'll be such fun. Just like a pyjama party."

Sydney looked doubtful. "But I don't have pyjamas or anything else with me."

Heather laughed. "Oh, don't worry," she said, "I'm sure we can find something for you to wear. And we've got plenty of fresh toothbrushes and all sorts of stuff. Please say yes."

Sydney reluctantly agreed, and the two girls left to get ready for bed. Stacie and I followed them up the stairs after our goodnight kisses with Charlotte.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Stacie was asleep. I was sure that I'd join her, but I found myself wide awake. I decided against chemical help, either pills or booze. I settled on a glass of warm milk. It's always seemed to help me sleep. My doctor friend Jerry once explained that there's a chemical reason for that, but I forgot exactly what he said. It was enough for me that it worked. I put on my robe and headed for the kitchen.

The house was quiet, but as I passed Heather's room, I heard a sound. Several sounds, actually. There was a rustling, a sigh and then a whispered, "Oh, that's so nice. It feels so good. Oh yeah." Then there were more rustlings and some wet sounds.

I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. I felt guilty eavesdropping, but my old middle-class morality was rearing its ugly head. I decided that the best thing to do was simply to complete my mission to the kitchen.

When I arrived in the kitchen, the light was on. Charlotte was seated at the table with a cup of something hot. I assumed it was one of the herbal teas that she favoured. She grinned at me. "I couldn't sleep either," she said. "Too much excitement, I guess."

"Yeah," I agreed. I took a mug from the cupboard, filled it with milk and put it in the microwave. While it was warming, I turned to Charlotte. I asked, "Do you know what's going on upstairs? With Heather and Sydney, I mean." The microwave beeped. I took out my milk and joined Charlotte at the table.

"Yes," she said, "or at least I have a pretty good idea. Heather seemed a little too anxious for Sydney to stay. And Sydney protested just a little too much." She took a sip of her tea while I sipped my milk.

I put down my mug. "Has this happened before?"

Charlotte sighed. "I'm not a voyeur," she said, "but I suspect that it has. Several times."

I stared into my mug of milk. "How do you feel about it?"

"Well, I have mixed feelings. Probably you do, too, or you wouldn't be asking. But remember I worked for years in a big hotel. There's not a lot I haven't seen. Does Lesbianism bother me? Yes, I admit that it does. I was raised in a very traditional Christian family. Anything like that was strictly sinful. But I like those girls a lot. And I figure if they just want to play, why should I care?"

I took a swig of milk and then said, "What if it's more than just playing?"

Charlotte smiled. "Jack, I don't figure there's a whole lot of likelihood that those girls are planning to get married, if that's what you mean. You and I had best leave them alone and let them work it out for themselves." She grinned her widest grin, showing off her gold teeth. "Of course, if Heather's folks found out about it, there'd be hell to play."

We put our cups in the dishwasher. Just as we reached the door, I touched Charlotte's shoulder. "Charlotte, you're so wise, and you take such good care of us." I hugged her.

Charlotte hugged me in return and patted my back. "Yeah," she said, "but just when I get used to you and Stacie, it seems like I have two more to mother. I've got my limits, you know." We grinned at each other and headed for bed.

The day of the trial was fast approaching. Just as I'd predicted, Jeff Richards agreed to represent Stacie at her parents' trial. Jeff was one of Canada's premiere criminal lawyers and also an old friend. He immediately met with the Crown attorney who was prosecuting the case. Then he met with Stacie several times. He told her about the evidence the Crown would present and what would be expected of her testimony. Stacie was reassured but still a bit nervous.

The day of the trial came at last. Stacie, Jeff and I met at the court. The bailiff showed us to the first row. We were seated behind the Crown table. Stacie's parents, Ted and Liz, were at the defendants' table.

The Crown attorney was Joe Moncrief. I'd not met him, but I knew him by reputation. He was known as a hard worker and a guy who prepared his cases meticulously. I suspected that this one would be over quite soon.

The judge was Julia Renshaw. Her I knew. She was a classmate of mine at U of T Law. She was also a member of several clubs to which I belonged. I knew that Julia would do the right thing.

The court rose. Judge Renshaw entered and sat. We took our seats. Julia looked into the courtroom. She looked surprised when she saw me. "Mr. Charles," she said, "criminal law is not your chosen field of endeavour. How are you involved in this case?"

I rose and bowed. "Your Honour, I am not here professionally. I am here as the husband of the victim in this case. I may also be called as a witness, if necessary."

"I see," she said, turning away from me. "Are the accused represented by council?"

"Yes, Your Honour," a young guy spoke up from the defendants' table. If he'd not been wearing a robe, I'd have thought he was some kid. "I represent them."

Julia said, "And you are..."

"Apologies, Your Honour. I am Stephen Smith."

"Mr. Smith, am I to understand that you have been retained by the defendants?"

"Your Honour, I'm serving as a legal aid counsel."

"I'm sure that you'll represent them ably, Mr. Smith. Mr. Moncrief, is the Crown ready to proceed?"

"We are, Your Honour."

"Very well. State your case."

Joe gave a brief and cogent introduction to his case. The Crown would prove that the defendants attacked Stacie brutally and without provocation.

The kid lawyer did the only thing that he could. He countered that Mr. and Mrs. Daley, the defendants, had been defending themselves. At this, there was stifled laughter from the back rows, provoking a caution from the judge.

Joe called his first witness. It was Stacie. I patted her hand as she stood. She took the oath and sat in the witness box. Joe began.

"Mrs. Charles, at the time of the alleged attack, how old were you?"

Joe continued through his examination. He took her through the events of the weekend in question. Stacie answered every question clearly. After all, she knew as much law as many lawyers. Joe finished his examination. Smith rose to begin his cross examination. This was what Stacie had been dreading. I caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile.

"Mrs. Charles, at the time of these events, what was your status?"

Stupid question. Stacie immediately countered, asking for a clarification. The kid lawyer was a bit flustered.

"Were you living with your parents or were you living with Mr. Charles?"

The kid hadn't prepared adequately. He'd taken the garbled accounts of his two clients at face value. Stacie nailed him again. Joe Moncrief turned to me and grinned.

After a few more stupid questions, Stacie was off the hook. Smith, on the other hand, was very much on the hook. I suspected that the judge would have his ass on a pole before the trial was over.