AE was the winner for the Wedding Day
Fan Fiction Contest at Tanya's Little Men Transcripts Page!
The contest description given was this:
'Plans for a wedding in the Plumfield family are well underway,
but with only a day or two left until the exchange of vows,
things aren't going quite as smoothly as everyone might have hoped . . . '

     Dark, liquid brown eyes stared back at her with an expression that could have melted any woman's heart.  That was, until—
     "B-a-a-h."
     The spell was broken, and Nan Harding jumped from her chair.  "That's it!  I'm tyin' you up.  I don't care what Mrs. Peters says, you're gonna be ONE with the porch railing during this weddin'!" she declared in exasperation, clamoring after the white goat to grab at the rope around the animal's neck. Unable to pay her medical expenses right away—and feeling terribly guilty for it—Old Mrs. Peters had offered her dear, sweet little Oleander, her prized possession, four days before in true hope of making up for the financial delay.  Tenderhearted Nan—not wanting to make the kind old lady feel any worse—finally accepted the offer, despite the fact that she hated goats.
     Watching her with docile indifference, Ollie b-a-a-hed a second time—in such a way that Nan was sure he was mocking her—and twitched his bushy stub of a tail.  He loved annoying her.  She was too easy, much easier than his first owner was.  His first owner, however, had pampered and loved him; and he liked that.  But this girl, she was different.  Too headstrong.
     "C'mon, stupid goat," she muttered, tugging him toward the crisp white railing that surrounded the front and back porches of Plumfield.  He had already—on the first day—very nearly devoured three of her medical textbooks.  She wasn't taking any chances now.
     Ollie planted his hooves and pinned his ears, giving another b-a-a-h of protest.  Stupid!  He wasn't stupid.  Why, he probably had more brains than this girl and a dozen others put together!
     "I don't have time for games, Ollie.  There's a weddin' startin' in fifteen minutes, and I'm one of the bridesmaids.  Now if ya don't mind!"  Nan gave another tug, nearly pulling the animal off his feet.
     "There, that's better."  She finished securing the short rope around one of the rungs and placed her hands on her narrow hips.  "If I come back an' you're not here, I'll have Asia cook you for dinner.  Consider yourself warned!"
     Someone approached from behind.  "Goat, for dinner?  I don't think Asia would put that on the table.  No one would eat it after findin' out what it was."
     Nan turned, quickly cupping a hand over Nat's mouth. "Shh!" she whispered, trying to contain her laughter, "I'm trying to scare him.  So don't say that!"
     Nat's blue eyes twinkled, and he smiled, speaking when his voice would no longer be muffled, "I see.  I won't say a word, Dr. Nan.  I promise."  He crossed a hand across his heart, giving her a soft grin.  "But, there's a wedding that's almost ready to begin—and if you don't hurry, you will have much more than a goat to worry about.  May I?"
     Perfectly at ease, Nan looped her arm through his, a teasing grin dancing across her own lips.  "Thank you, Mr. Blake.  I believe I shall accept your invitation."

     Meg Brooke twisted her white gloves together in nervous anticipation, feeling more anxious than a sixteen-year-old girl preparing to make the grand entrance at her coming out. "If another thing goes wrong, I think I'll faint."
     "Meg Brooke, don't you dare," Amy snipped as she smoothed the folds of Meg's skirt.  "We cannot have a wedding without a bride.  And the poor groom—he would be beside himself with concern."
     Jo smiled and squeezed her sister's arm, taking on a more encouraging note than her youngest sister had.  "Don't worry about a thing, Meg.  It will be lovely—and a wedding is not a wedding without a few mishaps along the way."
     It was true—nothing was absolutely perfect.  Granted, there had been more confusion over this event in the last two days than she and Amy's weddings combined, but Meg did not need to be reminded of that right now.  The church roof being ruined by the recent storm which had then caused the whole ceremony to be moved out to Plumfield, the damaged order of reddish-orange roses, the skirt of Bess' bridesmaid gown being made four inches too short—those things had been entirely out of their control.
     Before the conversation could continue farther, eighteen-year-old Bess poked her head into the room. "Ready?  The guests are all seated and waiting."
     "Just a moment, Bess," Amy responded while scrutinizing Meg's dove-white satin dress with a critical eye one last time.  Finally, after a prolonged moment of searching and finding nothing out of place, she gave her approval.  "You look beautiful, Meg."
     The tiniest hint of a smile touching her mouth, Meg pulled on her gloves and accepted the simple arrangement of wildflowers that her blond-haired niece was holding out to her.  She was getting her daisies after all.  Her husband-to-be had given her a small nosegay of them when he proposed, and she had wanted them for the wedding.  However, having been hounded by an insistent Amy that roses were more romantic, she had given up and ordered those instead—they were beautiful, but still not her first choice.  Thus, she had not terribly distraught over the ruin of the reddish-orange flowers . . . especially not when Bess had, at short notice, put together such an attractive bouquet of the cheerful white daisies.
     "I'm ready."
     "Mama!" a green-eyed Daisy called as she careened into the parlor, "They're waiting for you."
     "Where is Nan?" Amy fretted.  "We simply cannot walk down the isle with a gap in between—"
     Right on cue, Nan burst in, the reddish-blond curls piled atop her head now mussed the slightest bit.   "I'm here!"
     "It's about time."
     "Bess had your flowers, Nan," Jo interceded, before Amy could make further comment.  Lips curving into a smile, she gave Nan a small nudge towards the door, her brown eyes twinkling softly.  "Now we had better get a move on it before they decide to begin without us."

     Upon taking notice of the bridesmaids gathering in the front hall, behind the rows of chairs and benches that had been set out, Sarah Ryan started moving her slender fingers across the worn ivory keys of the schoolroom piano.
     Kissing her daughter's cheek, Meg watched as Daisy started down the grass-carpeted row between the guests, her long, silky blond hair—curled for the occasion—blowing slightly in the late April breeze.
     "Your little girl is growing up," Jo said softly, voicing Meg's same thoughts.
     Preparing for her turn, Nan held her flowers clutched between two gloved hands, betraying her inward anxiety.  Despite the bold, rather carefree attitude that came easily to her, she could not carry herself with the same grace and ease as Bess—not in front of so many people.  Her friend seemed so calm, so collected and undisturbed by the inquisitive eyes that had turned and were now focused on them.  Though, with all the tea parties and social events that the other girl had been attending with her parents since the age of four, Nan was not surprised.  Mrs. Laurence had brought her daughter up to be a proper young lady, and Bess was used to the pressure of meeting the demure and docile expectations of the female gender.
     Sensing her friend's apprehensions, Bess leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, Nan.  You'll do just fine."  She grinned then, hoping to ease Nan's discomfort.  "And no one will laugh if you trip on your hem and fall on your face, I promise.  I won't let them."
     That brought the faintest hint of a smile to Nan's lips.  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bess," she whispered teasingly in return, just before moving across the porch and descending the few steps.
     Bess followed soon after, Amy starting down five strides later, then Jo, and . . . Everyone stood up and turned when Meg appeared on the arm of Mr. March, both making their way to the front as Sarah began to play the wedding march.
     The bridesmaids lined off to the right, the groomsmen to the left, together forming an open V on either side the couple as Meg and Mr. March neared, Mr. March handing his oldest daughter off to his son-in-law-to-be.
     "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . . "
     Standing half-turned from the sea of observers, faint pink tinged Bess' cheeks when Dan glanced her way, catching her eye.  She caught the inside of her lip—four more years and hopefully then it would be her wedding that everyone was coming to celebrate.
     Nan stood, feeling surprisingly at ease as the Reverend continued with the ceremony, the bride and groom repeating his words—their vows of commitment. Her gaze wandered fleetingly to Nat; he looked so handsome in his suit . . . something caught her eye, completing disrupting her train of thought.
     "If there is anyone here who knows of any reason why Harrison Bridger and Margaret Brooke should not be joined in holy matrimony, please speak now."
     No one spoke.
     Having received no protests, he continued, "By the holy power invested in me, I now pronounce—"
     "No, stop!" Nan shrieked soliciting startled gasps from everyone.  Seemingly oblivious to the dark and bewildered expressions being received, she hiked up her skirts and bolted down the path she had just walked fifteen minutes before.
     There stood, on his two hind legs and half covered in mud, Mrs. Peters' dear, sweet Ollie with his front feet placed on either side of the wedding cake that Asia had slaved over for hours, ready to stick his muzzle right in the middle of the bottom layer.
     "B-a-a-h," he chortled.
     Dropping to the ground, the white goat started off with his uneven gate, the short, mud-covered rope dangling from his neck.  Nan chased after him, nearly tripping with each step.  "Get back here, Oleander Buearegard Peters!"
     Ollie ran a few strides ahead of her, veering sharply to the right just before she was about to catch up to him.  Not slackening his pace, he headed straight for the guests three rows from the back, bringing on terrified squeals from the ladies and girls seated there.  With eyes wider than dinner plates, the women jumped up, scrambling to stand atop their chairs.  "What IS that!" one person demanded in a high-pitched bellow of disgust.
     Watching the hideous scene from up front, Bess couldn't help but giggle. "It's a chocolate covered goat, silly," she said, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.  Ollie, having run through three more rows of benches, was now bee-lining down 'aisle' to the front—right for Meg and Harrison.
     Meg let out a piercing scream of alarm, clutching her husband's but not quite husband's arm in sheer panic. "Harrison," she said weakly, the size of her own eyes matching those of her female guests, "Is that a goat!?"
     "Yes, d-dear," he answered, "And it's heading RIGHT—for—us!"  Grabbing her hand, Harrison pulled her to the side, knocking them both out of harm's way—directly into a fresh puddle of mud situated not six inches away.
     "Aunt Meg!"  Bess hurried forward and was just about to reach down and help them up when Dan grabbed her around the waist, jerking her back. "Dan!" she cried in surprise as she tumbled over his feet, only to land, backwards, on top of him.
     Before Dan had a chance to explain, Ollie—with Nan hot on his trail—whizzed past, wagging his bushy little stub of a tail . . . or lack thereof.
     "Need I explain?" he asked when the 'danger' had passed, grinning at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.
     "Shame on you, Daniel Madison," she chided, the teasing smile that flitted across her lips lending little—or no—credibility to her admonishing words.
     Nat, who was standing a few feet away, observed the happenings in a sort of stunned silence.  Nan was chasing her goat in one direction, Meg and Harrison were lying in a mud puddle in another direction, Jo and Nick had moved to help the unlucky couple, Bess was now sitting on top of Dan, and the male guests were trying to keep up a brave front of nonchalance while the women danced around, screaming at the top of their lungs with unreserved, exaggerated terror.
     Ollie continued his jaunt about the yard, evidently more than pleased with the display he was putting on for everyone-and all of the attention he was receiving.  Not to mention that crazy Nan girl still tagging behind him in that dress of hers . . . 
     He circled back to the refreshments area, dashing under the skirts of an unsuspecting Asia, who then fell into the table, getting a nice dousing of red punch over her coffee colored taffeta gown that had been made up especially for this occasion.  "YOU!"  That ornery, four-legged beast was going to be served for dinner if she had anything to do with it!
     "Sorry, Asia!" Nan apologized as she hurried on in her pursuit of catching her newly acquired goat.
     "You'd better be!" she retorted, waving a clenched, punch-stained fist.
     Just a few more feet.  If she didn't have this confounded gown on, then she could jump him in an instant!
     Jump him.
     Her eyes lit up, and Nan grinned.  That was it!  She would jump him.  And once she was on top of him, sweet Ollie would not be able to continue in his run around the Plumfield grounds.  Hoisting up her skirts yet another time, she thrust herself forward, propelling herself towards her four-legged friend.
     The dull thud that accompanied her dive was proof enough that she had gotten her intended target—as well as the sharp kick in her thigh that was administered before Ollie's back leg was pinned beneath the heavy folds of her now grass-stained, satin gown.
     "I—got—ya!" she crowed with a grunt, wrapping her arms tightly around the muddy goat's neck as she wrestled to keep him on the ground.
     Ollie let out another 'b-a-a-h', thrashing futilely under the slight weight of her form.  But, right when Nan thought she really had him, Mrs. Peters' prized possession jerked his head up, knocking her under the chin.  Startled by the unexpected offense, she leaned up, giving Ollie just enough room to squirm out of her hold; and soon, he was up, off and running once again.
     During all of this, the Reverend remained behind his small pulpit, half dazed at what was taking place.  He had never attended such a wedding before—was this goat any relation to the couple getting married? he wondered.
     Seeing Nan literally dive into Ollie then be butted in the chin by the animal's bony head, Nat leapt to his feet, joining in the game of hard-to-get. "I'll cut him off over here, Nan!" he called, while cutting through a row of screaming guests.
     With Nan back on his tail, Ollie kicked in his speed—noticing Nat looming in front of him for the first time.  Girl behind him, boy in front of him, chairs to one side . . . there was no way out, unless—
     "IEH!"  Amy's blood-curdling scream as Nan's "payment" landed in her lap, leaving muddy prints all over the skirt and bodice of her newest fashion from Paris.  However, before she could shove Ollie off, he stood up and struggled over her shoulder to land in another woman's lap sitting directly behind them, then jumped to the ground.  Sheesh, how could a goat think with all this caterwauling going on?
     Ollie's trek across the Amy Laurence Mountains gave Nat just enough time to close up on the animal, and he, too, took a dive.  Only, he pinned Bess' mother instead of Oleander the dear, sweet little goat . . .
     "I'll git'em!" Nick declared, shucking off his suit coat before starting in his own pursuit of the devilish little monster.  But, that proclamation was short lived when he and Laurie promptly collided not two feet from where Nick had taken off from.
     Nan kept on, gaining a few paces when Nick and Mr. Laurence's fall seemed to throw Ollie off a bit.  The goat had stopped to watch the two men wriggle their way out of a pretzel-like position, making him a sitting duck for Nan the Doctor-turned-Goat Hunter.  With a determined look on her face, she pushed herself faster, taking a last great leap—
     And she caught her foot on Jo's hem, sending them both into the mire with Meg and Harrison.
     Thoroughly pleased with himself for having tied up nearly every person in attendance, Ollie wagged his ears and trotted toward the edge of the group in the pool of mud, remaining close—though just out of Nan's reach.  "B-a-a-h."
     Nan glared at him.
     His interest was diverted a few seconds later when he noticed Meg's bouquet nearby and hastened to catch the amazingly perfect and unharmed arrangement of daisies between his teeth.
     Mud-coated Meg—determined to keep at least one reminder of this most unfortunate experience which was to be remembered as HER wedding by the whole town of Concord—pushed herself to a sitting position.  With frantic fingers, she grabbed Nan, who was strewn, on her stomach, across Jo, who was, in turn, piled atop poor Harrison. "Tell him not to eat those!"
     "Ollie," Nan growled, "Please don't eat the daisies!"