Rita rolled her eyes, making her scrawny features look all the more ridiculous beneath the brim of her black and white straw hat. “You can’t cut a wedding cake with a bloody bread knife!” she howled.

“Yes, you can!” Elizabeth said fiercely. “Nellie, please go to the kitchen and get the knife. Make sure its clean and take it immediately to Wally. The rest of you please refrain from creating any more fuss. This is a wedding, and we are here to help the happy couple celebrate. They are not going to care, or even notice, what they use to cut the cake. I promise you.”

Looking extremely put out, Rita gathered her entourage and herded them off to the chairs that circled the dance floor. Nellie darted off and, much to Elizabeth’s relief, reappeared with the bread knife. Having settled the matter to her satisfaction, Elizabeth made her way back to Earl just in time to toast the blissful couple with a glass of scrumpy.

The speeches went well, though Earl seemed to find them amusing. Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure why, and she promised herself she’d ask him later. Small slices of the dark rich fruitcake topped with brittle royal icing were handed out, then came the flurry of good-byes and good wishes as the newly married pair prepared to depart on their honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands.

Florrie and Marge rushed around filling everyone’s hands with what appeared to be hastily torn-up pieces of colored crepe paper. Somewhat surprised that someone hadn’t thought to bring genuine confetti, Elizabeth joined everyone in throwing the tattered paper over the bride and groom as they dashed for the car that was to take them to the train station.

At last the long day was over, and satisfied that the villagers had done their best considering the limitations, Elizabeth leaned back in her chair next to Earl’s and uttered a long sigh.

Earl surreptitiously squeezed her arm then withdrew his hand. “It was a swell wedding. Wally and Priscilla couldn’t have asked for anything better.”