The Matchmaker's Apprentice. Karen Toller Whittenburg

Matt questioned, articulating the word carefully. “Are you saying that Molly eloped?”

      Confirming the interpretation with a vigorous nod, Calvin repeated the message excitedly. “She ’loped with Mad Mack in the Mackmobile.”

      SITTING ON A LOW RISER under the bridal bower, Ainsley plucked at the pouf of organza bunched around her like a lavender nest and felt guiltier by the second. Calvin’s startling announcement still reverberated in the church sanctuary, picked up by one person after another after another, repeated in a confusing hum of overlapping voices.

      She eloped? With a cartoon character?

      Mad Mack? Are you sure that’s what he said?

      She must’ve had an emergency. Why else would she run off like that?

      He said Mad Mack, I’m telling you.

      How can the bride have eloped if the groom’s still standing up there?

      Mad Mack? The bride eloped with someone called Mad Mack?

      That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

      The bridal party of sisters and cousins had stood restlessly for a few awkward moments, not knowing where to look or what to do. Then, one by one, they settled on the altar steps or found a seat in the front pews. And there they sat, awaiting instruction or dismissal, without a clue as to what action—if any—might be appropriate. Matt, being the oldest of the cousins and the best man, had immediately gone to the back of the church, where he could be seen firing brusque questions at Phyllis while he paced from the vestibule doorway to the empty bride’s room and then outside to the front church steps, where he stared at the street. Inside the sanctuary, the clatter of conversation rose and fell in hushed waves. Whispered questions quickly took on an indignant tone and grew louder, becoming quietly outraged that anyone—especially a woman without connections, or much in the way of beauty, brains or personality to recommend her—would offer such an insult to Scott Danville. The entire Danville family, for that matter. Every wedding guest present was, after all, either a member of the Danville clan or a close friend of the family since Molly came, basically, unencumbered with kith or kin.

      The clamor stuttered suddenly into a moment’s awkward pause just in time for everyone to hear Uncle Edward’s vehement instruction to his son. “Forget it. You are not going after her, Scott. She just jilted you, for heaven’s sake. You! A Danville. Clearly, the woman is insane. You can’t possibly want her back even if you knew how to find her, which you don’t, and which I wouldn’t let you do, if you did. She’s gone,” he said angrily. “And I say, good riddance!”

      Ainsley glanced down the riser to watch Scott, flushed with humiliation, hurt and anger, give up the struggle like a balloon with a slow leak. She knew the moment the reality hit him full in the heart—Molly was gone!—and he sank like a stone to sit, slumped and stunned, with his head in his hands, devastated, desolate and without a shred of hope to hold on to. In her whole life, Ainsley had never seen more eloquent body language. Even his vividly red hair seemed to have lost its light and become nothing more than a listless covering on his head.

      This was her fault. Ainsley knew it all the way to the tips of her lavender-painted toenails. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to see herself as the spoiler, but there it was. Molly’s baffling departure wasn’t quite so much of a mystery to Ainsley as it was to everyone else. Unexpected and surprising? Yes. In a million years, Ainsley wouldn’t have predicted Molly’s last-minute dash from the church. But now that it had happened…?

      Well, she could think of a possible explanation, a plausible, probable interpretation, one glaring moment at last night’s rehearsal dinner when the apprentice matchmaker had, once again, forgotten the importance of discretion and opened her mouth before engaging her brain.

      Obviously, she was still several lessons short of being the prudent, discerning matchmaker she wanted, and was determined, to become.

      “I realize this joyous occasion has taken a somber turn, Ains, but you look unaccountably gloomy. What gives?” Handsome as a god, with a smile that quite simply made the world a brighter place, Andrew dropped down to sit beside her, bustling the yards of organza out of his way and fixing her with a persistent, you-may-as-well-tell-me look.

      But Ainsley couldn’t confess. Not yet. Not even to her trusted twin. “In case you haven’t noticed, our cousin is devastated.”

      “Can’t argue with you there. But since you were completely convinced Scott was marrying the wrong woman anyway, I thought you might see this as some form of divine intervention. Even if it is a little difficult to envision Mad Mack in the deus ex machina role.”

      “I never even heard of Mad Mack,” she said with a sigh. “Much less a Mackmobile.”

      “You should spend more time watching cartoons,” Andrew suggested. “Mad Mack is a part-man, part-machine superhero and the Mackmobile is the coolest car on television. Well, at least it’s the coolest animated car on the Cartoon Stars channel.”

      “You obviously have too much time on your hands.”

      “Me and Calvin,” he agreed. “He’s five and I’m still five at heart.”

      Ainsley offered a frown, although she adored her twin for trying to cheer her up with his silliness. “I feel awful about this, Drew. Even though I never thought Molly and Scott were a match made in heaven, I never wanted him to suffer. Especially not because of me and my big mouth.”

      “You do not have a big mouth.” Andrew slipped an arm around her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Your tongue may run like an outboard motor at times, but proportionally, your mouth is the perfect size for your face.”

      She nudged him with her elbow. “This is serious, Andrew. Don’t make jokes.”

      “I can’t help myself, Ainsley. The bride eloped with Mad Mack. That’s a little difficult to take seriously.”

      “Try,” she urged him, although truthfully, she wished she could see the humor in the situation. Any humor at all.

      “Okay,” he said, “but I can’t promise a non-serious remark won’t slip out from time to time.”

      “Just so it doesn’t happen here and now or any time Scott is around.”

      He nodded, rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together and let the resulting loose knot of fingers rock up and down, up and down, as he contemplated the here and now. “Do you think we’ll still get to have the wedding feast?”

      She lifted an eyebrow. “I imagine dinner will be canceled.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “And, please, don’t ask Uncle Edward if you can make yourself a plate for later.”

      “Seems a shame to waste all that food. And the wedding cake. Maybe I should take the cake to the studio, take a few pictures for the old Danville scrapbook.”

      She lifted the other eyebrow and he went back to contemplating. “No, you’re wrong, Ainsley. Uncle Edward won’t cancel dinner. He’ll want to finish the day on an up note.”

      “As opposed to a sour note?”

      “As opposed to letting a part-man, part-machine superhero triumph over a Danville. You know, I always thought there was a hint of Bad Belle in Molly.”

      “Bad Belle? Let me guess. She’s Mad Mack’s girlfriend?”

      “Good guess. Imagine a bosomy brunette with super powers and a big black motorcycle.”

      “I’m never letting my kids watch cartoons,” Ainsley said.

      “Too bad we can’t put Scott in front of the television now. A little time with Bad Belle and he’d feel a lot better.”

      “That’s not funny. And even if a stupid cartoon could make him feel better, it won’t make me feel one bit less guilty.”

      “Oh,