Ellis called his supervisor and asked the contractor to hold off while he checked the basic facts. For a few minutes, the morning went almost quiet, apart from water running over stone and people murmuring near the service road. Then Ellis returned, apologetic and grim, and said he could not determine title or the validity of complex regulatory documents on the roadside. His supervisor had contacted the county emergency line, but until the dispute was resolved, deputies would focus on keeping people from fighting or getting hurt.
"That doesn't mean you're approving this," I said.
"No, sir. I am not approving anything. I'm documenting who says what and asking them not to start until the county responds."
I turned to Cordelia. "You heard him. There's no county approval here."
"He also said he wasn't stopping us," she replied.
The distinction should have bothered her. Instead, she treated a deputy's inability to issue a civil injunction as permission to proceed. Brantley stepped aside and made a call, and a supervisor from the demolition company walked over to the equipment. He had the expression of a man whose contract had become considerably less attractive during the past forty minutes.
Autumn appeared at the porch in a robe over her wedding clothes, followed by Nolan and the children. She had heard the machinery from the upstairs bedroom where her friends were helping with her hair. When she saw Cordelia standing beside the creek, her face changed from surprise to a kind of clarity that made me feel guilty. The one thing I had wanted to keep from her wedding morning was now happening in full view.
"Dad," she said, approaching me, "please tell me they aren't doing what I think they're doing."
"They haven't started," I replied. "The county's been called."
She looked past me at the excavator. "She chose today."
Cordelia had the extraordinary bad judgment to answer for herself. "Miss Ironwood, the safety of an entire subdivision cannot be postponed for a private celebration."
Autumn stared at her. "My grandfather built that dam. You're standing here in front of his house, on my wedding morning, pretending this is an accident of scheduling."
"I'm sorry the timing is inconvenient."
"Inconvenient?" Autumn repeated. "You came here to hurt us. Just say that, at least."
Cordelia glanced toward the guests beginning to arrive, apparently realizing that the audience was growing and no longer resembled a board meeting she controlled. Cars turned into the driveway carrying flowers, folding chairs, garment bags, and relatives who had been told to come early for photographs. Father Benedict arrived in the church van with three helpers, and my cousin Ruthie stepped out holding a box of hairpins. All of them stopped when they saw the machines.
I wish I could say the sight of a hundred and fifty potential witnesses stopped Cordelia. It did not. By seven o'clock, after another exchange with the contractor and a telephone conversation I could not hear, she gave a firm instruction to begin. One machine moved forward, and the sound of steel meeting stone carried across the property like a crack of thunder on a clear morning.