Elizabeth eyed the mound of food. “So I see.”

Martin wavered, then said bravely, “May I offer you a morsel or two?”

“Thank you, Martin, but I think I’ll wait a while.” She glanced at the wedding cake, magnificent on its silver stand, and let out her breath in relief to find it untouched.

As if reading her mind, Martin murmured, “I suppose we will have to wait for the bride and groom to cut the cake.”

“That is customary, Martin.”

“Yes, madam. I hope the ladies remembered to bring a knife. I can’t see one on the table.”

“I would imagine they are waiting until they are ready to cut the cake.”

As if in answer to her comment, a slight commotion turned her head. Wally was leading his bride toward the table, while behind him an urgent discussion appeared to be going on in the open doorway that led to the kitchen.

Marge Gunther, an overly plump woman with frizzy hair, stood waving her hands in agitation, while Rita Crumm, hands on hips, towered over her with a ferocious glare. Florrie Evans, the most nervous member of the group, seemed to be trying to soothe ruffled feathers without much success.

Martin mumbled something about getting a drink, but Elizabeth paid no attention to him. Obviously all was not well in the kitchen. Fortunately, the newly wedded couple seemed unaware of the commotion. Too wrapped up in each other to pay attention, no doubt.

Determined to prevent anything from spoiling this big day, Elizabeth headed purposefully toward the militant group of women. They had now been joined by Joan Plumstone, a sour-faced woman whose seemingly sole purpose in life was to cast gloom and despair everywhere she went, and Nellie Smith, the youngest and sole unmarried member of the Housewives League, who’s amorous adventures were outwardly scorned and secretly envied by her peers.