by Jane Peart
The Wedding
October 1816
My beloved spake, and said unto me:
“Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away.
For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle
Is heard in our land.”
—Song of Solomon 2:10–12
chapter
30
“OH, IT’S JUST last-minute megrims!” Becky declared when Avril confessed her recurring doubts about Graham’s love for her only two days before the wedding. “I had them, too—at least a few, even though I knew Marshall and I loved each other to distraction!”
The friends were perched high on the tester bed in the guest room at Cameron Hall where Auntie May had insisted on holding the garden wedding, to be tailored in keeping with the Scottish traditions of the Montrose family. “Just the sort of wedding I would have planned for my own daughter if I had been fortunate enough to have one,” she had twittered when Avril arrived from Williamsburg with Great-Aunt Laura.
“But I haven’t seen Graham in ten days!” Avril moaned, jumping from the bed and padding over in stocking feet to the armoire to see for herself that her wedding gown, swathed in tissue, was still safely inside. “With the harvest to oversee, he’s been much too busy to make the long ride in to town. Maybe—”
Despite his eloquent expressions of love, his letters, Avril could not quite escape the gnawing fear that Graham would realize his mistake in marrying one so much younger. Suppose Clarice were right, after all? Surely the older woman knew a great deal more about him, about managing a plantation like Montclair, about … everything! Suddenly Avril was a child again, feeling familiar pangs of heartache and abandonment. She cast a stricken look at Becky, who was still sitting on the bed amid a confusion of billowing petticoats and pillows.
“What … you … need,” Becky said slowly, with the old glint of mischief in her eye. Picking up one of the lace-lavished rectangles, she took careful aim—“is … a … good … old-fashioned … pillow fight!”
The soft missile landed squarely in Avril’s midsection. What followed rivaled any misdemeanor from Faith Academy days. One after another, a volley of pillows was fired and returned until both Avril and her childhood chum were convulsed in spasms of laughter.
“Oh, Becky!” gasped Avril when she finally caught her breath. “That was just what I needed! What would I do without you? I thank God for your friendship all these years. And now it will be even more perfect. With you married to Marshall, and me to Graham, we’ll be neighbors for the rest of our lives!”
Dilly tried to slip quietly into Avril’s bedroom at the Camerons’ that morning, but Avril’s sleep had been shallow the night before her wedding, and she opened her eyes and smiled tenderly at her old nurse. Sunlight flooded through the windows as Dilly pulled back the draperies.
“Happy de bride de sun shine on!” quoted Dilly, shaking her kerchiefed head as she gazed over at Avril sitting up in bed. “Cain’t believe my baby’s gettin’ married!” she declared.
“I know, Dilly! Isn’t it wonderful?” Avril responded happily. “And what a perfect day!”
She got up, went to the window overlooking the Cameron gardens, and pushed open the casement. She stood, breathing in the air tangy with a touch of fall crispness.
From below came a strange cacophony of sounds. Leaning farther out, she saw that the source of the discordant strains was four professional bagpipers Auntie May had found to play at the wedding. Everyone had thought it impossible, but May had managed it somehow. Avril remained a moment longer, saying a little prayer of thanks for the gift of this lovely October day with its clear, china-blue sky—so perfect for a garden wedding.
She turned from the scene to begin her preparations. Becky would be in soon, no doubt, to help her dress, and Avril needed these few minutes while Dilly was fetching her bath water to reflect on the life-changing event that was to take place this day.
She moved calmly now to the armoire and took out her wedding gown for a final inspection. At least here she had had her way, she thought with a smile of satisfaction. The gown was simply styled, cut in the high-waisted French Empire fashion, its oyster-white silk folds falling into a short train. Her only jewelry would be the matching fleur-de-lis pin and earrings Graham had given her, and a dainty, seed-pearl necklace that had belonged to her mother. She lifted the veil from its nest in a large hatbox. It was of gossamer tulle to be attached to a coronet of her own thick russet hair, braided and garlanded with tiny yellow rosebuds. So simple, so right. She hoped Graham would be pleased.
Avril draped the gown across her bed, returned the tulle illusion to its place, then picked up the small, now well-worn Bible she had unpacked and placed on her bedside table. Thumbing through the velvety pages, she paused at a passage in the book of Ephesians: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body…. So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself…. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh…. Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband.”
Avril’s heart gave a leap. Did Graham love her as he loved his own body? Suddenly a warm sense of belonging swept over her. God was giving her—not only the home of her heart—but a true husband. Did she “reverence” Graham, as the Good Book admonished? Oh, yes! Had she not looked up to him, admired him, depended upon him, held him in the highest esteem for as long as she could remember? Of course. And she could easily do it for the rest of her life.
Becky’s knock and joyful greeting brought Avril’s quiet time to an abrupt end. “Lazybones! You’re still in your nightie! You want to be late to your own wedding?” asked Auntie May bustling in behind Becky. Docilely, Avril submitted docilely to the ministrations of her friend and aunts as they flitted about her like bright butterflies among the late-blooming roses in the garden. They helped her into her camisole and petticoats, brushed and arranged her hair, and at last settled the gown over her head, and buttoned it up the back, proclaiming her the loveliest of all the Montrose brides.
“I just can’t wait for Graham to lay eyes on you,” breathed Becky, radiant in a mousseline dress of lemon yellow. “He’ll never let you out of his sight!” Auntie May beamed with pride and pleasure to see her “creation,” while Great-Aunt Laura’s eyes misted over as she handed her niece a bouquet of flowers and herbs from her own garden, symbols of joy, love, faithfulness, and hope, and tied with plaid ribbons.
But it was Graham who took Avril’s breath away as she started up the garden path on Judge Cameron’s arm to the piping of the Highlanders.
Resplendent in traditional Scottish dress, he stood waiting for her at the steps of the gazebo where arrangements of fall flowers—lavender asters, yellow marguerites, and feathery white chrysanthemums—flanked the makeshift altar. Above the white ruffled jabot, his tanned face was the same dear face she had loved for so long. The features, bold and chiseled, had never seemed more striking—the aquiline nose, the strong jut of jawline, the proud brow.
He wore his pleated kilt and tartan with all the stalwart manliness of his Montrose forebears. The fringed tartan, in gray, purple, and black, was draped over one shoulder and secured by a large, silver brooch embossed with the family heraldic crest.
All this Avril saw in a single glance, but as she approached, she was drawn by the love in Graham’s eyes. The wedding party— Logan and Marshall in the Cameron tartan, Uncle Rowan, dear Becky, beloved friends and family—all faded away. It was Graham and Graham alone she saw and knew and loved and rejoiced in.
Then, as the pipe
rs ceased their playing, she was at her groom’s side, her hand in his.
“Graham, my lad, I consider it a high honor indeed to present Avril to you. I feel as if I were giving my own daughter to become your bride,” Judge Cameron was saying.
The balding minister, rosy-cheeked above his starched surplice, beamed benevolently from the top step.
“Dearly beloved,” he began. “We are gathered in the sight of God and this company—”
Through the mist of her veil, she looked up at him—this man she had known most of her life, her beloved guardian and protector, who would, from this day forward, be even more.
“Avril, wilt thou—”
She heard her name and slowly spun out of her dreamy reverie. Reverend Price was repeating her name, his wispy eyebrows lifted in some surprise. “Avril Dumont, wilt thou have Graham Montrose to be thy lawful, wedded husband?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” She heard a ripple of amusement from the assembled guests behind her and felt her cheeks grow warm as she glanced sidelong at Graham.
His fingers tightened reassuringly on her hand as he gave his own promise.
The liturgical ritual completed, Reverend Price took both their hands in his. Looking directly into Graham’s eyes, he spoke firmly. “In the name of our heavenly Father, receive Avril as a gift, for the Word of God declares that every good and perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father in whom there is no variation, nor shadow cast by His turning. It was Jesus’ first miracle at Cana that embued marriage with a sacred quality.
“I pray that from this moment on, the two of you may be knit together in love, braced and encouraged by faith—to live side by side, blessed by His mercy, strengthened by His grace, guided by His Spirit.”
He turned to Avril. “I pray, Avril, that Graham will always love you as his wife, being in a new sense part of him, and that you will respect, reverence, regard, honor, prefer, venerate, esteem, and defer to him, praise, love, and admire him above all earthly others.” Avril smiled to herself, remembering her morning devotions. “I pray that you may always stand together in unity of spirit and purpose, obeying God in His commandments and in the truth of His Spirit.”
“The ring, please,” Reverend Price asked, and Graham took out the gold band, and as the minister directed, Graham repeated, “With this ring I thee wed, and do pledge my troth, and all my worldly possessions—”
Avril felt the ring slide over her finger, her happiness complete.
“In the ceremony of candles,” the minister explained, “we have a tangible expression of the vows you have just taken, the covenant you have made.” Leading them to a three-branched candelabrum on the altar, he continued. “These two candles represent your separate lives as you have lived them to this time.” Handing Graham a lighted taper, he motioned for him to light one of the end candles, then nodded for Avril to do the same. “Now that you have pledged your lives to one another, you will each take your lighted candle and ignite the middle candle, symbolizing the merging of your separate lives. From now on,” he admonished, “your thoughts shall be, not for self, but for the other; your plans, mutual; your joys and sorrows shared and halved alike.
“You are, in God’s sight and in the eyes of the world, truly man and wife. And what God has joined together, let no man put asunder. God bless you. Go in peace.”
At the conclusion of the ceremony Graham drew Avril’s arm through his, looked down at her lovingly, and covered her hand with his own. Then together they turned to face the congregation of gathered family and friends.
So many well-wishers clustered around them that a formal receiving line was never formed. A steady stream of people pressed forward to kiss Avril affectionately, pump Graham’s hand, and offer congratulations with predictions of great future happiness.
Dazed and excited, Avril was suddenly taken aback when she saw Clarice Fontayne approaching. Immediately she felt a knot of apprehension at the sight of the woman she had always considered her rival and whom she had feared might become Graham’s bride and the mistress of Montclair.
Honesty forced Avril to admit that Clarice had never looked lovelier. With a twinge of jealousy she recognized that not even the advantage of youth could compete with such exquisite grace and beauty.
What magic kept the woman from betraying any signs of aging in the past ten years? Avril wondered, observing her. Of course, she was clever enough to wear a wide-brimmed hat of lacy straw which shadowed her face. It was not only flattering but softened any faint lines that might possibly have marred the smooth porcelain complexion. Her slender neck was still firm, and besides, the highstanding ruffled collar and pearl choker would have hidden any telltale wrinkles.
Mademoiselle Charmaine had surely outdone herself in the gown she had designed for Clarice. Of watered silk, it was made in the newest Parisian fashion in a shade of rosy peach that was extremely becoming to Clarice’s vivid brunette beauty.
Unconsciously Avril held her breath as Clarice stopped first in front of Graham. Putting her head to one side and smiling up at him coquettishly, she said, “Well, do I get to kiss the bridegroom, or does that privilege apply only to gentlemen congratulating the bride?”
“Not at all, dear lady.” Graham laughed and leaned down to kiss the upturned face.
Clarice lifted one lace-mitted hand and patted his cheek. “Ah, Graham, I hope you won’t disappear completely now into domestic bliss on your lovely but so remote estate and deprive Williamsburg of your charming company.”
“Of course not, Clarice. As a matter of fact, when we return from our wedding trip, we intend to give a large party at Montclair, to which you are invited. I certainly do not intend to be a recluse nor to keep Avril from enjoying an active social life.”
“Ah, yes, she is so very young.” Clarice sighed. “She will want companions her own age.”
Listening, Avril bristled. She darted an indignant glance at Graham. Couldn’t he see what Clarice was insinuating? Under that silken-smooth manner, such barbed innuendos! But Graham was simply laughing, continuing the bantering exchange.
Finally Clarice moved over to Avril. A cool smile briefly touched her lips as she held out her fingertips to the bride.
“So, Avril, here you are. You have achieved your heart’s desire. But do you know how to keep it? It takes more than poetic words, legal contracts, or names scribbled on a scrap of paper, to make a marriage … successful. I wish you luck, my dear. You will surely need it.”
Before Avril could respond to Clarice’s murmured invective, the lady drifted away, and the crowd closed behind her elegant, departing figure. If Logan had not appeared to claim her for a dance at that precise moment, she might just have vented her anger.
“Do you remember the first time we danced together, Avril?” Logan asked as he swept her into the steps of the lively music.
“Of course! How could I forget? You taught me!”
“And lived to regret it!” he countered teasingly.
“How so? What do you mean?”
“Well, ever after that, at all the parties we attended, your dance card was so full that I never again had a chance to be your partner.”
“Oh, Logan, not true!” Avril laughed, looking up at her old friend. Then, detecting something curious in his expression, she added, “You always exaggerate so!”
“Not always. And perhaps I find myself regretting something else today.”
“What could that be?”
‘That I didn’t make you take me seriously when I proposed to you,” he said, and the laughter left those intensely blue eyes.
“But, Logan, you surely guessed … in fact, you knew, didn’t you, that it was Graham I loved?”
“Yes, but I suppose I thought it an impossible love and lived in the hope that you, too, would come to realize that and settle for second best. Me.”
“Oh, Logan, I would never have considered you second best—,” she protested, “I’m not sure I would ever have married at all if Graham had not
loved me, too.” Then she said, “And some lucky girl will soon make you see that what you felt for me was … perhaps, a little more than friendship, but a little less than love … at least the kind of love one needs to spend a lifetime together.”
Just then the music came to an end, and Graham appeared at Avril’s side. “May I have the next dance with my wife?” he asked, bowing to Logan, and feasting his eyes on her.
Logan relinquished her with an answering bow, and Avril moved into Graham’s arms as the music began again.
When Avril and Graham at last led the crowd of well-wishers into the dining room to cut the cake, she saw that Auntie May had carried the Scottish theme throughout the rooms, decorating the buffet table with the combination of Cameron and Graham tartan ribbons.
The cake, a delicious confection of fruit and nuts with a burnt sugar frosting and decorated with rosemary, lavender, and thyme from Aunt Laura’s garden, was a product of her household. Baked from a recipe that had been handed down through the first Montrose bride by her sister-in-law, Janet, it was another tangible evidence of Great-Aunt Laura’s thoughtfulness. Even the herbs garnishing the cake, symbolizing health, happiness, and good fortune for the new couple, had been selected with care. How like her! Avril, catching the old lady’s eye across the expanse of the room, smiled her gratitude.
It was late in the afternoon when, by a silent exchanged glance, a mutual unspoken decision, Avril knew that it was time to leave for the short trip to Montclair. She whispered to Auntie May, who signaled the small band to strike a flourish of chords announcing that the bride was about to toss her bouquet.
As all the unmarried guests clustered on the veranda, at the foot of the steps, Avril spun around and threw her flowers over one shoulder. Then, in a pelting of rice and rose petals, the couple ran down the steps and into their waiting carriage.