My Heart Belongs in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Page 25
Her smile grew in size and beauty as she gave him a swift and final kiss on the lips. “Indeed, sir, you are most valiant and heroic. There is no man quite like you in the service of either army.”
“Amen to that. Because there is no woman like you on the face of the earth. How grateful I am for your love and devotion.”
“And I, sir, for yours.”
Now the bells of Christ’s Church began to ring and sing. True to her spirit, Clarissa stuck out her tongue and caught snowflakes the moment she and Iain stepped out from under the crossed sabers and into a shower of rice and well wishes. He helped her up into the carriage she’d arrived in with her bridesmaids, jumped into the seat beside her, took the reins in his hands, and began to drive them down Chambersburg Street.
“Remember,” she said, “we’re not leaving the town.”
“I know that.”
“We’re going to go round and round and never leave the town.”
“I’m confident I know the way, my love.”
Snow and rain and ice continued to come down as the horses pulled them up one street and along another. It swirled and spun upon the carriage and fell shining upon the mares’ manes and flanks, the rooftops, the avenues and alleys, the seminary, and the valley between the two great ridges. It was daisy petals on the stone wall and on the angle in the wall, silver coins on the naked branches of the chestnut oaks that reminded Clarissa of hands lifted in prayer, lifted as high as possible. It was cherry blossoms on the graves of civilians and soldiers alike. It made everything dark as bright as heaven, everything that was rough and torn beautiful. It made the land and the town and the nation new.
Author and historian, Murray Pura began writing at an early age. He has since published numerous works of both fiction and nonfiction. Murray lives in Canada where he enjoys the frontier landscape and its people. To learn more about Murray, visit his website at www.murraypura.com.
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