Harry Heron: Hope Transcends

by Patrick G Cox

  Harry sucked a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Doesn’t she look magnificent? Am I not the luckiest man alive?”

  “Yes, you are,” said Ferghal. You’ve no idea of the truth of that statement, my friend. He nudged Danny. “Stop gawping, yonker. She’s taken!” Danny blushed and grinned sheepishly.

  From her seat immediately behind the three young men, Niamh watched the little exchange with a glow of pride in her heart. ‘Her’ boys had grown up and more than proved themselves as young men. Harry still looked a little pale and unsteady, and she knew he still had some discomfort, but he would not admit to it. How like James, she thought. She caught sight of Mary, radiant in her magnificent gown, and tears pricked her eyes. She squeezed Theo’s hand as the music surged and Mary processed down the aisle, and Harry presented his arm and made a courtly bow as the bride and her father reached him.

  Taking the proffered arm, Mary smiled and made a small curtsey as they both turned to face the Dean, ready to read the marriage service. She caught Ferghal’s flushed face and his expression of merriment and wondered what had passed between the boys to set him off. As Mary’s father moved aside to join her mother in the pew, she saw the Canids then the Lacertians. A grin crossed her face. She suspected she knew what must have amused Ferghal without being told.

  “Oh, Harry,” she murmured, “please promise me you’ll never grow up.” She smiled at Harry’s baffled expression, and the service got under way, the Dean leading them in the formalities required by law, and the ancient questions and responses flowed. The readings, prescribed by the Church, were read by Mary’s mother and the Admiral. The hymn “Be Thou My Vision,” chosen by Harry, was sung with enjoyment by most, cautiously by some, and beautifully led by the choir, to the fascination of the aliens present. The sermon was witty, the Dean having plenty of material to hand with Harry’s unusual background and Mary’s fame as a pianist, and made excellent use of it.

  The anthem, sung while they signed the registers, was a modern work chosen by Mary. Then it was time to receive the blessing, share their first kiss as husband and wife, and process to the door. “Now, Mrs Heron, may I have your arm?” Harry was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. “What music did you choose for our departure?” he whispered as they took their places.

  “Something special,” she replied. “It’s called ‘Dare to Live,’ and it’s from the twentieth century. I chose it to remind you, my love, that you’ve a lot to live for here. A few less heroics in future though, please.”

  Heads turned as the fast-paced music began, the initial repeating single note growing fuller in sound as the organ joined in and the joyous sound filled the ancient building. The Verger, grinning as the music infected everyone with its exciting pace, bowed, turned and led them slowly down the center aisle of the church. It wasn’t until they reached the great west doors, now standing open, that Harry realised Danny had vanished. The reason for his absence became apparent as they approached the doors, the peeling bells growing in volume.

  “Guard of Honour, ’tenshun!” The unmistakable twitter of bo’suns’ calls was accompanied by the flash of sunlight on the swords as a double line of officers headed by Keiron formed an arch for Harry and Mary to pass under after they stepped out of the cathedral. Beyond them stood more wedding guests in uniforms, and Harry recognised the faces of Jack Proctor, Mike Dorfling, Maddy and Errol Hill and many more good friends who wouldn’t have missed this occasion for the world. It brought a lump to his throat to have such an honour paid him and Mary.

  “I think Ferghal and Danny have been busy, my love,” Mary’s delight filled her voice. “I knew they had something planned, but this is fabulous.”

  Harry laughed. “We shall have to repay them in kind when the time comes.” Catching sight of a face he’d not expected to see, he groaned. “Oh dear, now we’re for it. Here comes Monty Montaigne.”

  “Be nice to him now, we have to be gracious to our guests,” she murmured, and smiled as Monty approached beaming with joy.

  “Harry! Mary!” Montaigne’s pleasure radiated. “What an amazing service! What memories!” He indicated his companion, a man holding a holo-recorder to capture every moment of this special day. “We recorded it all. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.” He kissed Mary on both cheeks then pumped Harry’s hand, having only just refrained from kissing him too. “We’ll get the video to you as soon as possible, of course.”

  Harry laughed. “Thank you, Monty, that will make a wonderful gift for us.” Naughtily, he indicated his Canid and Lacertian friends—anything for a distraction. “You’ll remember Regidur and Sci’antha?”

  Monty beamed. “Of course! Regidur with his towering canine strength, and Sci’antha with her feline grace. Oh, yes, how could I forget? My dears, please excuse me—I simply must greet them.”

  Watching the actor move away to greet the aliens, and noting their expressions of dread, Mary laughed. “Harry, you’re wicked! But I love you for it. Now introduce me to all these people who Danny says were with you on Lycania and all your other adventures.”

  Watching the exchange, Admiral James Heron and Felicity Roberts smiled as they gazed at the young couple.

  “What I wouldn’t give to be young and beautiful again,” Felicity mused.

  James thought she looked resplendent in her dress uniform as a Commodore, and told her so, and it actually made her blush.

  “Well then, Admiral, does this spectacle give you any thoughts for the future?” There was a daring tease in her eyes, and she hoped he caught her meaning.

  Surprised, James Heron glanced at his companion. “I suppose—well, at least I think…” He caught her expression and stopped short, knowing it was useless. She had him.“Commodore Roberts, do you have something to report?” He smiled.

  Felicity laughed. “As a matter of fact, yes, sir, I do. I’ve retired my commission and hope to pursue a new career. All this cloak and dagger stuff is far too exciting at my age, especially dealing with all these mythological types out to get me.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I’m hauling down my flag, as I believe the saying is according to my great-uncle Harry twelve times removed—until I’m needed again, of course.” He grinned. “Which provides us with an opportunity to—”

  “—say to hell with the Regulations? My thoughts exactly.” Her eyes held his, a delightful twinkle in them. “And since we’re flouting convention—will you marry me, James, before we’re both too damned set in our ways to change our minds?”

  His guffaw of laughter turned heads. “To hell with convention. I’ve been wanting to ask you the same thing since ’04 and the Mars Dock!” He swept her into his arms and kissed her. “That answer your question, Commodore?”

  Niamh nudged Theo. “I think James has met his match.” She smiled. “Felicity will know exactly how to look after him.”

  Theo laughed. “So your little brother has got over losing Veronique at last.” He nodded to where Ferghal was chatting with a beautiful young woman, one of the bridesmaids, who was clearly enjoying the funny story he was telling. “I don’t think he’s alone—and Danny is dancing attendance on another fine young lady over there.”

  Niamh dabbed her eyes. “Our boys have come a very long way. It seems just yesterday they arrived, and look how well they’ve adapted. They make me so proud.”

  “And so they should,” Theo responded, taking his wife’s arm and gently leading her toward their transport. It was time to play the gracious hosts at the wedding dinner. Yes, the trio had carved out a niche in this era, four centuries ahead of their time, and transformed themselves and several others, not least his wife and his brother-in-law, though he doubted either of them realised the full extent of it.

  Once the guests had begun to drift toward the transport arranged to take them to the wedding dinner, Harry helped his bride to the great slab of stone that commemorates the fact that somewhere in this holy place lay the remains of St Patric
k, St Columba of Bangor and St Bridget.

  Mary laid her bouquet on the stone then stepped back in quiet reverence. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for watching over him and bringing him home.” She gripped Harry’s arm. “Commander Henry Nelson-Heron, my own sweet husband at last. I could stay here alone with you forever, but our wedding dinner and hungry guests await.”

  With a last glance at the simple slab and its weathered inscription of the name Patrick, Harry turned, his lips brushing Mary’s cheek as he took in the wide sweep of the horizon, the distant Mountains of Mourne, for once free of their mists as if in celebration of this glorious day.

  “Thank you, my darling Mary. Thank you for your prayers and your faith.”

  Hand in hand they walked to the waiting transport, their closest friends and family waiting to see them aboard. The future looked wonderful, and for a fleeting moment, Harry’s thoughts went back to that near-death experience aboard the Emily Hobhouse so many months ago. Surely it had not been his time to die. He had so much more living to do, together with his Mary, and today was the first day of the rest of their lives.

  Note from the Author

  _________________________

  If you enjoyed reading Harry Heron: Hope Transcends, please take a moment to write a positive review on Amazon.com. Your time and consideration are very much appreciated.

  And, if you haven’t had the opportunity to read the first five books in the Harry Heron Series, I invite you to do so now. Sit back and enjoy the full scope of Harry and Ferghal’s adventures, which span from the early nineteenth century on the deck of a British “wooden wall” man ’o war to the twenty-third century and starships that go to the edges of our galaxy and beyond.

  Thank you for taking this journey to the stars with me. It’s been an exciting ride!

  Patrick G. Cox

  http://www.harryheron.com/

  www.patrickgcox.com