Gabriel's Rapture gi-2

by Sylvain Reynard

  mailbox at Harvard. Seeing that it was postmarked in Essex Junction, Vermont, she opened it eagerly.

  Paul had sent her a limited edition copy of The Velveteen Rabbit.

  He’d written a short inscription to her on the flyleaf, which tugged at her heart, and enclosed a letter.

  Dear Julia,

  I was surprised by your news. Congratulations.

  Thanks for inviting me to your wedding but I won’t be able

  to attend. My father had a heart attack a few days ago and

  is in the hospital. I’m helping out on the farm. (My mother

  says hello, by the way. She is making something for you as a

  wedding present. Where should she send it? I’m assuming you

  won’t be living on campus once you’re married)

  From the first time I met you, I wanted you to be happy. To be

  more confident. To have a good life. You deserve these things,

  and I’d hate to see you throw them away.

  I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t ask you if Emerson is what

  you really want. You shouldn’t settle for less than the best. And

  if you have any doubt about it, you shouldn’t marry him.

  I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole.

  Yours,

  Paul.

  With sadness, Julia folded up Paul’s letter and placed it back

  inside the book.

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  Despite the fact that Tom gave his blessing to Julia and Gabriel

  (albeit begrudgingly), conflict ensued when the happy couple

  announced the destination of their wedding.

  While the Clarks were only too glad to spend a week in Italy

  during the winter, Tom, who had never traveled outside of North

  America, was less than enthused. As the father of the bride, he’d

  intended on paying for his only daughter’s wedding even if he had

  to mortgage his new house in order to do so. Julia wouldn’t hear of him doing such a thing.

  Though the wedding would be small, the estimated costs were

  high enough that they would effectively damage Tom financially if he paid for everything. Gabriel was more than comfortable covering the costs, much to Tom’s chagrin. It was more important to Gabriel that Julia have the day of her dreams than for her father to be placated.

  Julia tried to smooth over the conflict between the two men by

  pointing out that there were things that her father could pay for, such as her wedding dress and the flowers.

  In late November, she was on Newbury Street in Boston when

  she saw the dress in the window of an elegant boutique. The dress was ivory silk organza with a v-neck and little wisps of sleeves that sat high on the shoulders. While the top was covered in lace, the

  skirt was full and layered like a cloud.

  Without further thought, she walked into the shop and asked to

  try it on. The shopkeeper complimented her, saying that Monique

  Lhuillier’s gowns were very popular.

  Julia didn’t recognize the designer’s name, and she didn’t look at the price tag because there wasn’t one. When she stood in front of Sylvain Reynard

  the mirrors in the dressing room, she knew. This was her dress. It was classically beautiful and would complement the color of her skin and the shape of her body. And Gabriel would adore the fact that much

  of her upper back would be exposed. Tastefully, of course.

  She sent a picture of herself in the gown to Tom via her iPhone,

  asking him what he thought. He called her immediately, telling her that he’d never seen a bride as absolutely beautiful as she.

  Tom asked to speak to the boutique manager, and without Julia

  discovering the substantial price, he made arrangements to purchase the dress. Knowing that he was able to buy his only daughter the dress of her dreams enabled him to accept the fact that Gabriel would be paying for most of the wedding.

  After saying good-bye to Tom, Julia spent several hours shopping

  for the rest of her trousseau. Among other things, she chose a veil that was almost ankle length, a pair of satin heels that she could walk in successfully, and a long, white velvet cape that would protect her and her dress from the January weather in Assisi. Then she went home.

  P

  Two weeks before the wedding, Tom called Julia to ask her an

  important question. “I know the invitations have been sent out but would there be room for one more?”

  Julia was surprised.

  “Sure. Is there a long lost cousin I wasn’t aware of?”

  “Not exactly,” hedged Tom.

  “Then who?”

  He took a very deep breath and held it.

  “Dad, spit it out. Who do you want to bring?” Julia closed her

  eyes and silently begged the gods of daughters whose fathers were

  single to intervene on her behalf and keep Deb Lundy from attend-

  ing her wedding or worse — getting back together with her father.

  “Um, Diane.”

  Julia’s eyes flew open. “Diane who?”

  “Diane Stewart.”

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  “Diane from Kinfolks restaurant?”

  “That’s right.” Tom’s gruff reply immediately telegraphed to Julia far more than he realized.

  Her jaw dropped in shock.

  “Jules? You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Um, sure, I’ll add her to the guest list. Uh, is

  Diane a — special friend of yours?”

  Tom fell silent for a moment. “You could say that.”

  “Huh,” said Julia.

  Tom ended the conversation quickly and Julia put down her

  cell phone, wondering which blue plate special had precipitated her father’s new romance.

  Definitely not the meatloaf, she thought.

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  On January twenty-first, Tom paced nervously at the entrance to

  the Basilica in Assisi. He was nervous. And the fact that Julia

  and her bridesmaids were late didn’t help matters. He tugged at his bow tie as he waited. Then, a vision in white velvet over organza

  floated through the front doors like a luminescent cloud.

  He was speechless.

  “Dad,” Julia breathed, smiling with excitement as she walked

  toward him.

  Tammy and Rachel helped divest her of her cape and adjust the

  layers of her skirt, unfolding the train that extended behind her. Then Christina, the wedding planner who was hovering nearby, handed

  Rachel and Tammy their bouquets, which were a mixture of irises

  and white roses, designed to match their iris-colored dresses.

  “You look pretty,” Tom mumbled, pressing a shy peck to Julia’s

  cheek through her long veil.

  “Thank you.” She flushed, looking down at her bouquet, which

  consisted of two dozen white roses and a few springs of holly.

  “Could you give us a minute?” he asked the others.

  “Of course.” Christina pulled Tammy and Rachel to stand at the

  entrance to the sanctuary, signaling to the organist that the processional was about to begin.

  Tom smiled at Julia nervously. “I like your necklace,” he said.

  Julia’s hands flew to the pearls that hung around her neck. “They

  were Grace’s.” She fingered the diamonds in her ears too but elected not to reveal their source.

  “I wonder what she’d think about you marrying her son.”

  Gabriel’s Rapture

  “I’d like to think that she’d be happy. That she’s looking down

  on us and smiling.”

  Tom nodded again and shoved his hands into the pockets of his

  tuxedo
. “I’m glad you asked me to walk you down the aisle.”

  Julia looked puzzled. “I didn’t want to get married without you,

  Dad.”

  He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in his rented shoes. “I

  should have kept you when I took you away from Sharon the first

  time. I never should have sent you back.” His voice cracked.

  “Daddy,” she whispered, tears overflowing.

  He reached over and hugged her, trying to show her with his

  embrace what he couldn’t say in words.

  “I forgave you a long time ago. We don’t ever need to speak of it

  again.” She paused, looking up at him. “I’m glad you’re here. And

  I’m glad you’re my Dad.”

  “Jules.” Tom gave a strangled cough, then released her with a

  smile. “You’re a good girl.”

  He turned so he could peer down the long aisle that led to the

  altar, to where Gabriel was standing with his brother and brother-

  in-law. All three men were dressed in black Armani tuxedoes, with

  crisp white shirts. However, Scott and Aaron had eschewed Gabriel’s choice of bow ties in favor of regular ones because bow ties were, as Scott put it, “for old men, Young Republicans, or professors.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Tom asked. “If you have any doubts,

  I’ll call a cab and take you home right now.”

  Julia squeezed his hand. “No doubts. Gabriel might not be perfect, but he’s perfect for me. We belong together.”

  “I told him that I expected him to take care of my little girl. That if he wasn’t prepared to do that, we’d have a problem. He said that if he treated you as anything less than the treasure you are, that I should come after him with my shotgun.” Tom grinned. “I said that

  suited me fine.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Julia took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s do this.” He offered Julia his arm, and they nodded

  to the bridesmaids to begin the processional to J. S. Bach’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.”

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  When Julia and Tom entered the Basilica, to the melody of “Jesu,

  Joy of Man’s Desiring,” Gabriel’s eyes caught hers and a wide smile spread across his features. The January sun peeked through the doors, illuminating the bride from behind and making her look as if a halo shone around her veiled head.

  Gabriel couldn’t stop smiling. He smiled through the entire

  Mass, including his vows to worship his wife and the performance of selections from Bach’s Sleepers Awake and Mozart’s Exsultate, jubilate by a solo soprano.

  After the ceremony, he placed trembling fingers on Julia’s veil

  and lifted it carefully. He swiped his thumbs underneath her eyes, wiping away the happy tears that had trickled down, and kissed her.

  The kiss was soft and chaste, but full of promise. Then they walked to the lower church and down to the crypt.

  They hadn’t planned to do so. Somehow, hands entwined, they

  found themselves approaching the tomb of St. Francis. In the quiet darkness where Gabriel had his ineffable experience months earlier, they knelt in prayer. Each silently thanked God for the other, for the many blessings He had given them, for Grace and Maia, for their

  fathers and siblings.

  When Gabriel finally stood and lit a single candle, each of them

  asked God for one more blessing. One small miracle out of the

  lavishness of his grace. As they ended their prayers, a strange but comforting feeling wrapped around them like a blanket.

  “Don’t cry, sweet girl.” Gabriel took her hand to help her to her

  feet. He wiped her tears away, kissing her. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m so happy,” she said, smiling up at him. “I love you so much.”

  “It’s the same for me. I keep wondering how this happened. How

  did I ever find you again and convince you to become my wife?”

  “Heaven smiled on us.”

  She reached up to kiss her husband next to St. Francis’s tomb

  without shame, knowing that her words were truly spoken.

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  Later that evening, they changed into their honeymoon clothes, a

  dark suit for Gabriel and a purple dress for Julia, and sat side by side in a chauffeured car that he’d hired.

  Soon the car was pulling up the drive that led to a villa near

  Todi. The very same villa that Gabriel had rented when they visited Italy the year before.

  “Our house,” she whispered, as soon as she caught sight of it.

  “Yes.” He kissed the back of her hand as he helped her out of

  the car. Then he was taking her in his arms and carrying her across the threshold.

  “Are you disappointed? I thought you’d prefer some quiet time

  to ourselves, but if not, we can go to Venice or Rome. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” He placed her on her feet.

  “This is perfect. I’m so glad you decided to bring us here.” She

  threw her arms around his neck.

  At length, he pulled away. “I think I should carry our luggage

  upstairs. Are you hungry?”

  Julia grinned. “I could eat.”

  “Why don’t you see if there’s anything tempting in the kitchen,

  and I’ll join you soon.”

  She leaned forward with a devilish look on her face. “The only

  thing in the kitchen that would tempt me would be you on top of

  the kitchen table.”

  Her sultry suggestion hearkened back to their previous visit,

  when they’d christened that table several times. With a deep groan, he quickly carried their suitcases upstairs as if someone was chasing him.

  Sylvain Reynard

  In the kitchen, Julia found the pantry to be fully stocked, as was the refrigerator. She laughed when she saw several bottles of cranberry juice lined up on the counter, as if they were waiting for her. She’d just opened a bottle of Perrier and finished preparing a cheese plate when Gabriel returned. He seemed years younger as he raced into

  the kitchen, boyish even, his eyes bright and his expression cheerful.

  “This looks delicious. Thank you.” He sat at her side, glancing at the kitchen table significantly. “But I have to say that I’d rather our first few times occur in bed.”

  Julia felt her skin flush. “This table has happy memories for me.”

  “For me too. But we have plenty of time to make new ones. Better

  ones.” He gave her a heated look.

  She felt the flutterings of desire increase.

  “Was the wedding everything you hoped for?” He gazed at her

  eagerly, pouring two glasses of sparkling water.

  “It was better. The Mass, the music — having the wedding in the

  Basilica was incredible. I felt so at peace there.”

  Gabriel nodded, for he’d felt that way too.

  “I’m glad we only invited family and close friends. I’m sorry I

  didn’t have much of a chance to talk to Katherine Picton, although I saw you dancing with her twice.” Julia pretended to be offended.

  He eyed her in mock surprise. “Really? I danced with her twice?

  That’s pretty impressive for a septuagenarian. I’m surprised she could keep up with me.”

  Julia rolled her eyes at his pretentious choice of adjectives.

  “You danced with Richard twice, Mrs. Emerson. I suppose we’re

  even.”

  “He’s my father now too. And he’s an excellent dancer. Very

  elegant.”

  “Better than me?” Gabriel feigned jealousy.

  “No one is better than you, darling.” She leaned over to kiss away his pout. “Do you think that
he will ever marry again?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He took her hand in his and caressed her knuckles gently, one

  by one.

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  “Because Grace was his Beatrice. When you’ve experienced a love

  such as that, anything less would seem like only a shadow.” He smiled sadly. “Strangely enough, it was the same in Grace’s favorite book, A Severe Mercy. Sheldon Vanauken never remarried after his wife died.

  “Dante lost Beatrice when she was just twenty-four. He spent the

  rest of his life mourning her. If I were to lose you, it would be the same for me. There will never be anyone else. Never,” he emphasized, a fierce but loving look in his eyes.

  “I wonder if my father will marry again.”

  “Would it trouble you if he did?”

  She shrugged. “No. It would take some getting used to, but I’m

  glad he’s dating someone kind. I’d like him to be happy. I’d like him to have someone kind to grow old with.”

  “I’m looking forward to growing old with you,” said Gabriel.

  “And you are certainly kind.”

  “I’m looking forward to growing old with you too.”

  Husband and wife exchanged a look then finished their food

  in relaxed quietness. Afterward, Gabriel stood and stretched out his hand. “I haven’t given you your wedding gifts, yet.”

  She took his hand and her fingers touched his wedding band. “I

  thought our gifts were our rings and the inscriptions inside them: I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.”

  “There’s more.” He led her to the fireplace and paused.

  When they entered the house, Julia hadn’t noticed that the art-

  work that hung over the fireplace previously had been removed. In its place was a large and impressive oil painting of a man and a woman in a passionate embrace.

  She took a step closer to the painting, transfixed by the stirring image.

  The male and female figures were wrapped around each other,

  the male naked to the waist and slightly underneath the female as if he were kneeling at her feet, his head resting on her lap. The female figure was bent forward, naked and wrapped carelessly in what appeared to be a bed sheet, clutching the male’s back and sides and

  resting her head between his shoulder blades. In truth, it was difficult to tell where his body began and her body ended, so entwined they

  were, almost like a circle. Need and desperation leapt off the canvas, 401