“I dunno?” C.L. scratches his balding head. “‘Adn’t dawned on me yet, I guess.”
“Oh my Gee!” Livinea’s eyes widen. She gathers up her skirts and barrels down the castle drive toward us, hollering back over her shoulder to the others. “They’re ’ere! They’re ‘ere! They’re back at last!” She stops and scoops me up into a spine-crushing hug. “I was never so wor-ried in all me life.” She spins me around, holding me so tight I can barely breathe, then drops me to my feet. “Thank goodness you’s all right! Oh, good Lord,” she gasps, and bolts back, her eyes traipsing the length of my dress. “What ‘ave you done?” She frowns.
“I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped.”
Iris’s jaw drops when she sees me. She slows to a stop. I note the crush of disappointment in her eyes. Are those tears?
I look down at my mud spackled mess of a dress, then back up.
They’re right, what have I done?
“What are we gonna do now?” Livinea turns to Iris. “We ‘aven’t another wedding dress.”
A pang of regret pinches my heart. I feel very small for having disappointed them.
“It’s all right,” I say, drawing the sides of the dress out. “This one will do just fine.”
Livinea and Iris exchange a pained look.
“It was all too perfect for me anyway,” I insist. “I rather like it this way.” They stare. “It feels more like me. A little unusual. A little defective.” I shift my bosoms in the dress and laugh. Livinea and Iris laugh with me.
“Yuh’re sure?” Livinea crinkles her brows. “You don’t want to wait a day, ‘till we can get a nuver dress?”
“Why would I want to do that, when I love this one?” I grin. “Besides, I don’t think we have a day to wait.” I glance back at Urlick, who meets my gaze with worried eyes. It’s true, I shouldn’t have gone out in the mud, and I shouldn’t have been fighting ghouls on my own. Especially the likes of Flossie. It’s just without that necklace, I could soon be gone. All of this will have been for naught. I look around at all the loving, worried, souls in my life. How they’ve touched me. How I’ve touched them.
Livinea bats her baby blues. “Well, If yuh’re all right wiff it, I guess I am.” She links arms with Iris, who also nods.
“Well, then, let’s get on with it, shall we?” I flick my head toward the castle’s open door. The girls scurry away up the drive and I go to follow them, but Urlick pulls me back, curling me up in his arms.
His eyes are intense. His demeanour serious. I find it all a bit chilling.
“You’re sure you still want to go through with this?” he gazes deep into my eyes. He holds me heartbeat close.
For a long moment, neither of us stirs. I study his face, the one I’ve come to love so deeply these past few months, then I break out into a grin. “Why, Urlick Winston William Harland Babbit—I mean, Winslow—are you trying to get out of marrying me over a bit of muck?”
He blushes. “No. No, of course not—”
“Well then.” I haul up my sopping wet skirts, cock my chin and strut away from him. “I believe we have a ceremony to attend,” I say over my shoulder.
Urlick races to catch up with me, smiling all the way.
“Good gracious,” I mutter on the edge of my breath. “Don’t tell me I’ll have to take on all those names.”
“I can probably deduct two or three for the mud,” he says.
Chapter Nineteen
Eyelet
LIVINEA STANDS ON THE steps of the castle, holding a bouquet of flowers. It’s clear by the look on her face, she can’t remember why. Though she’s just greeted me in the yard, her mind right as rain, the vacant cast to her gaze now tells me she’s lost the reason she’s done any of this. It’s slipped away, along with all the joy she just expressed—her mind now dampened with confusion. I wish I could stop this from happening to her, to secure her mind in the present and anchor it there for good. But there doesn’t seem to be a way.
I walk up the steps of the castle, hesitating in front of her at the top. “Are those for me?” I ask, pointing to the flowers in her hand.
She stares down at the bouquet, then back up at me. A deep scowl furrows her brow.
“These,” I touch the bouquet, hoping to jolt her memory back. My fingers connect with the bright red poppies’ petals—the only flower that still grows in Brethren—then move onto the single stark-white calla lily that pokes up from the middle—obviously, store-bought, and a pleasant, dramatic surprise.
Livinea peers down, then up, looking even more confused, like a lost child, her gaze looping between universes. I don’t know if she knows who she is, let alone who I am, never mind the flowers. I smile and try again. “You must have chosen it,” I guide her. “Selected it specially.”
“What for?”
“For me, silly. For a special occasion, we’re about to attend.” I drop clues like breadcrumbs, hoping to lead her back and dispel her foggy expression.
She quirks her lip.
“Do you know what I’m talking about Livinea? What’s happening today?” I coax. “That you weren’t supposed to tell me.”
Her eyes grow round and wet. They dart, lost about my face.
“Think about it.” I squeeze her free hand. “What special thing has Urlick planned to surprise me with?”
Her hand suddenly comes to life within mine, squeezing my fingers tight. Her pupils jump as her mind snaps back. “‘E’s gonna marry you,” she blurts. “I’m not supposed ta tell, but ‘e is. And I’m to get the flowers. I picked some, and then I bought one. A very special orchid—”
“You mean lily.”
She looks down, looking disappointed. “Now ‘ow did that get there?”
“It’s all right.” I pull her in for a quick hug. “It’s lovely. They’re all lovely. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I try to take the flowers from her, but she resists.
“They are for me, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She stuffs them toward me. “Happy New Year,” she shouts.
“Well, she got it part right,” Urlick takes my arm from behind, linking our hands as he leads me through the open castle door.
“Which part is that?” I turn to him.
“The part about being happy,” he says.
I look back at Livinea following us in through the door, and a little corner of my heart breaks off. How fragile our existence is. “Let’s do hurry and get to the celebrations, before we lose her again.” I drag Urlick forward, my mucky skirts leaving a murky trail across the castle foyer floor.
“Oh, I don’t know if I call her lost . . . just a few occasions behind.” He grins and I swat him.
When we reach the doors to the Grand Hall. Urlick jumps in front of me. “Hold up.” He spreads his palms to me, pressing his back against the doors. “I want to see your face when you walk in.”
“What do you mean?” He throws open the hall doors, and I gasp, shaky hands flying to my face.
“Oh, my goodness.”
“Do you like it?” Urlick asks.
“Do I like it?” I dash inside, gawking around.” It’s incredible. It’s absolutely amazing!”
The hall is decorated beyond imaginability. There are more flowers than I’ve ever seen in all of Brethren. Buckets of poppies sit spread about the room. White ribbons cascade down from the ceiling’s center like a Maypole, where they are tied into great billowy bows to the side walls. A carpet of poppies petals has been sprinkled over the floor, leading from the back of the room to the front, creating the perfect aisle for me to walk on to the altar.
At the end of the aisle, a plump vicar stands, puff-cheeked and impatient. He flicks out his arm and checks his cronocuff, then stares up the aisle at us.
This is really happening. I squeeze Urlick’s hands, working hard to slow down my pulse. I never dreamed I’d see the day that I received a proper wedding. The veins in my wrists strum wildly. I look around, my gaze taking in the scene again. “
It’s all so beautiful. So, so beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.” the Vicar snorts. “Now, shall we get married?”
Urlick and I share a clasped-handed grin.
“Ready?” He takes me by the waist and swings me around until we’re standing, chests pressed, face-to-face. He lowers his eyes and stares into mine. “I hope it’s enough. There wasn’t much time.”
“Nonsense. It’s far more than that. It’s absolutely enchanting.” I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. His warm skin is an instant aphrodisiac. I long to kiss his lips.
“So, you aren’t the least bit troubled by the fact I’ve laid eyes on the bride before the ceremony.”
“Why would I care about that?”
“Oh, I don’t know”—he shrugs—“superstition.”
“Urlick Babbit.” I give him a warm smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve conceded to the powers of magical thinking.”
“No. Of course not.” He leans back slightly. “It’s just—”
“Admit it.” I pull him back to me, my breast brushing up against his. “I’ve got to you, haven’t I?” I raise inquisitive brows.
“Is there a chance we could get on with these proceedings before first twilight,” the Vicar’s voice barks from the front.
Urlick’s head twists his way, then back to me. “You’re not the least bit worried about any of this affecting our future?”
“You ask this of a woman who just attempted to wrangle a spirit in her wedding dress?”
Urlick laughs.
“Besides, nothing about us has proven the least bit conventional so far. I think I’d be more worried if things had gone to plan.”
“You have a point there.”
“Very well then.” I turn, raising our clasped hands in the air. “Shall we?”
He returns my smile, then pulls me around once more to kiss me lightly on the mouth, lingering there just long enough to tease me with his irresistible peppermint scent.
“I believe the kiss is at the end of the ceremony?” The Vicar taps an impatient toe.
Urlick and I share one last glance, then he strides toward the altar while I pause to gather up my flowers. I watch his lissom movements, remembering the first time he crossed the floor in his kitchen to make me tea. I think I fell in love with him that very moment, but I was too stubborn to acknowledge it.
I’m so glad he wore me down.
“Any second thoughts about becoming my Queen?” he shouts over his back.
“I’ve not had a second thought since the moment I met you,” I holler, smiling.
“How endearing!” the Vicar calls out. “Now if you’d please?” He indicates that Urlick should take his place next to him.
Urlick hurries over and skids into position, rocking back on his heels from the momentum.
Every piece of my body yearns for him.
Urlick turns to the side, looks my way, and blushes. He draws in a deep breath, and lets it out again, joy surfacing in his eyes.
I want to memorize that look forever.
A queasy flutter rises from my stomach to my throat. My knees wobble slightly. Nerves. It’s just nerves. I shift my stance.
C.L. appears from the back of the hearth. He takes his place to the left of Urlick as my unconventional maid of honour. Iris steps out from behind a screen propped up in the corner. She’s dressed in a seed-pearl-coated, two-piece walking suit with fabulous brocade lapels. A matching sideways hat sits on her head, and her frizzy hair is smoothed down with oil and tied in a proper twist off to the side of her head. The twist is secured in place with a piece of fresh garland of poppies.
I gasp, and sink back. Iris has never looked like this before. So sleek. So stylish. So sophisticated.
Tears warm my eyes as she flanks Urlick’s other side. She’s the perfect choice of best man.
Livinea and Masheck step in at Iris’s back. He’s dressed in his dapper mucky vest and pants. His muscled arms are streaked in muck as well. He’s added a tidy clean ascot and white cuffs to his wrists to complete the look.
Livinea is wearing an almond-coloured Morie walking suit with ruched ruffled bottom. Her ruffled sleeves are trimmed in a triple layer of lace and held in place by a bridesmaid’s sprig of flowers. On her head she wears a hat two-times the size of Iris’s. Of course, its brim is also topped in fresh flowers. Her hair is spun and tucked up neatly below it. She looks absolutely amazing. C.L.’s eyes nearly pop from his head when he sees Livinea. She could wear a potato sack and look amazing, but she’s especially gorgeous just now.
We all are. Our little band of misfits. My gaze rolls over the others—Martin, Sadar, Wanda—who are smiling and waving from their chairs. Parthena takes her place on a chair behind me and rests her hands on the strings of a steamharp. With her feet, she pumps the vessel full of life. It whistles with an all too familiar steam-squelched squeal. Then, as she strums, music chugs from its copper pipes.
Jesu, by Bach.
“Is there anyone to walk the bride up the isle?” the Vicar calls above the music, dashing the spell of the moment.
A hollow throb pumps in my throat, and regret turns me cold. My father’s image haunts me: him, smiling and proud—our last moment together in the kitchen.
I part my lips, about to answer no when a jittery voice calls out behind me.
“That would be me.”
I whirl around, and through the dim light of the hall, I see her, rising up out of a chair. Not my mother, as my heart had first thought, but a perfect replacement.
“Matriarch Burgess?” I draw in a shocked breath. “What are you doing up?”
She shakily takes to her feet. “Did you really think I’d miss this for a bit of extra shuteye?” She shuffles toward me, smiling, and threads her arm through mine. “Now, I’m not sure who will be holding up whom on this journey, but let’s give it a go, shall we?” She nods toward Parthena and we start up the aisle, stepping in time to the music. “Besides,” she whispers, “I had to be here. I was dying to see how you’d look in my dress.”
“Your what?” I gasp and falter, horrified at the thought of what I’ve done to her gown. I glance down at its muck-spackled appearance.
“I must say,” the Matriarch says with a smirk, “I like what you’ve done with it.”
I blush.
“Though, if it were me, I’d have gone with a veil.” She clutches my arm tighter as we walk, wobbling slightly.
Parthena strums as we make our way all the way to the front, flower petals crushing underfoot. I can’t help but smile at Urlick. Joy pulses through every vein in my body, brimming over the top. There is no better feeling in the world.
We reach the altar, and the Matriarch turns, leans in, and kisses me softly on the cheek. “May a lifetime of health, happiness, and above all love be yours, my dear, now and forever, from this day forward.” She delivers a great grin to Urlick.
I bend my head and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you,” I say, overwrought with emotion, my voice shaky. “Thank you for everything.”
“May you see more happiness in that dress that I ever did.” She winks and hugs me tightly—a brittle, slow, determined hug. When she releases me, she teeters backward. “Oh, my.”
I catch her by the elbow. “What is it? Are you all right?”
Urlick latches onto her, to hep steady her.
The Matriarch’s eyes look distant, more distant than their usual blinded haze.
“Just a little too much excitement, I’m guessing.” She pulls a hankie from her sleeve and dabs her brow. “I really shouldn’t be up this late at my age. Best find my way to bed.” She trembles. “Will you excuse me?”
“Yes, of course.” I worriedly let go of her arm.
“Cromwell,” she shouts. Her personal assistant appears from the hallway and takes her by the arm, helping to support her as she totters from the room.
She pauses in the doorway before leaving, turning her head back toward us. “Promise me you’ll have the grandest wedding possib
le in my absence, darling?”
“The grandest.” I assure her.
“And save me some cake,” she smiles and blows me a kiss. “I do love cake.” At that she drifts away and I’m swept by a strong feeling of despair.
Urlick takes my hands. I take in a big breath and turn back to face him. There he is, the man who is to be my future husband. I stare adoringly into his baby pink eyes.
Everything is right with the world.
Everything is perfect.
We thread our fingers, and the ceremony begins. The Vicar delivers the psalms and blesses our bond, requesting upon the heavens to keep us safe on our journey of love together.
As I stare into Urlick’s eyes, the Vicar’s voice fades away. It’s as if nothing else in the world exists, or has ever existed.
Nothing outside of Urlick and me.
“I take thee, Eyelet Elsworth, to be my one and only, forsaking all others, ‘till death do us part.”
Iris snuffles.
Urlick reaches out to slide the ring onto my hand. I glance down, and gasp in shock.
The crowd giggles, and then again at my expression as I turn toward them.
“I told you she’d like it,” Livinea whispers, smiling.
“And you?” The Vicar turns to me.
I turn to C.L., who passes me Urlick’s ring with his toes. It is a simple band, I had Martin make quickly, cast from a silver spoon, which I’m feeling completely terrible about now.
“I take thee, Urlick Winston William Harland Babbit-Winslow”—I catch my breath and the crowd giggles again— “to be my one and only, forsaking all others, ‘till death do us part, and beyond.”
I slide the simple ring over his finger and Urlick smiles. “When did you do this?”
“I had Martin do it while I got dressed.”
“It’s wonderful,” he says.
“By the powers vested in me, by the states of the Commonwealth,” the Vicar says, raising his arms along with his voice, “I now pronounce you Ruler and Queen. Brethren’s newest and finest.” He drops his head and crosses his heart. “Long may you reign!” His head snaps up. “You may now kiss your bride.”
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