by Nancy M Bell
“You’re beautiful.” Rotha hugged her carefully and air kissed her cheek.
“Shall we?” Father offered her arm.
“Wait. Give us a chance to get down to our places,” Hetty said.
Her sisters gathered their shawls and reticules and hurried down the stairs, their heels clattering on the front hall floor.
“I believe we can proceed now.” Father offered his arm again.
Annie tucked her hand into his elbow and let him lead her down the stairs. They hesitated just inside the front door, Hetty gave a signal and the church organist struck up the Wedding March on the upright piano. Evan, Peter and Ivan had manhandled out of the parlour and onto the wide porch earlier. Rotha nodded from her place by the side of the door and Annie stepped out of the shadows into the sunlight spilling across the porch. She almost stumbled at the murmur of appreciation that greeted her appearance. A movement at the head of the flower and leaf strewn aisle between the rows of chairs caught her attention.
Peter stood beside the lectern with Evan and Ivan at his side. The dark suit was obviously new, the white shirt stiff with starch, cuffs shot below the jacket sleeves. His appearance took her breath away, how handsome he was. His blonde hair shone in the light, grey eyes serious with a warm welcome lurking underneath. The strangeness she’d experienced with her first glimpse of him vanished and she smiled. Father took the first step and Annie walked gracefully at his side down the wide steps and up the grassy aisle. Della waited at the end on the bride’s side as her Maid of Honour. Annie held her head high and kept her gaze trained on Peter as she drew nearer. Finally, they reached the lectern and Father placed her hand on Peter’s arm.
Father insisted that no one except him could perform the ceremony even though he was also Father of the Bride. The ceremony was a blur to Annie, she supposed she must have said the right things at the appropriate time, and Peter must have done the same, because after a particularly fiery sermon full of hell fire and brimstone Peter slipped a simple gold band on her finger and Father pronounced them man and wife.
Arm in arm Annie walked beside her new husband back down the grassy path. Her lips still tingled from the wedding kiss and she found that in spite of Hetty’s dour warnings she was quite looking forward to her wedding night.
As soon as politely possible, Annie discarded the fancy slippers and put them safely on top of the upright piano still installed on the porch. It would be moved back into the parlour after the supper or the damp would get into it. The big barn was cleared out and the fiddlers were already tuning their instruments accompanied by someone on the accordion and another with a harpsichord. She wriggled her cramped toes in the cool grass before pulling on her high button boots that thankfully fit correctly.
“Happy?” Peter came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.
“Very,” she said, leaning back into his solid warmth. “And you?”
“Happier than a man has right to be,” he replied and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.
Mother had tried to prepare Annie for the wedding night, but her advice was ‘lay back, lift your linen and let him have his way with you’. Hetty was only slightly better; she explained the physical act with much blushing and stammering as if Annie hadn’t seen animals engaged in the act. It wasn’t as if she had no idea where babies came from. But no one prepared her for the sensations racing through her at Peter’s touch. It was frightening, but in a very pleasurable way and not at all what her conversation with Hetty had led her to expect.
The supper was demolished and the dancing began. Annie danced til she was out of breath and her feet hurt again. She was having a grand time, but a part of her wished to escape the laughter and noise and retire to the little cabin where the quilt covered feather bed waited for them. No doubt some of the wilder participants would engage in a chivary. Hopefully Ivan, who had been sent after supper to guard the cabin and make sure no one played any tricks, had been successful and here would be no unpleasant surprises in the bed. Although, Annie remembered the huge bull frog her and Della had managed to place in Hetty and Clarence’s marriage bed. Turnabout was fair play, she supposed, but fervently wished nothing similar awaited her.
Finally, the party slowed down a bit, taking advantage of the lull, Peter and Annie slipped away. It was only a short walk from the main farm to their small cabin. Peter held her hand and steadied her over the rough ground in the dark. Annie’s head was pleasantly muzzy with exhaustion. Although it was supposed to be a dry party, she was fairly sure some of the boys had secreted a few jugs of moonshine and homemade beer in the milk house. Peter however didn’t smell of drink, which she was glad of.
They woke Ivan when they arrived at the cabin and sent him to join the party which would probably go on until the sun came up. Peter let them into the main room.
“Shall I light the lamp?” He hesitated with the striker in hand.
“Let’s not. If there’s no light maybe they’ll think we’re not in here.” Annie fussed with removing her veil.
“Here, let me help with that.” Peter’s breath stirred the curls at her temples and his fingers plucked the pins and wilted flowers from her hair. At last it fell free around her shoulders, his hands running through the tangled curls. “Your hair is so soft. You know I haven’t seen you with your hair down since we were kids.” His eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“It feels wonderful to get all those pins out of it.” She tipped her head back.
“Annie,” he whispered and pulled her against him. “I know George was your first love and I can’t expect you to feel the same about me. But you need to know something. I have always loved you, right from when we were kids. I hope you will come to love me in time. I’m a patient man, I can wait.” He buried his face in her hair.
“Peter, I do love you. You’re right, not like I loved George. But I do love you and it’s enough to build our life on.” She leaned back and grinned at him. “This is our wedding night and there will only be two of us in the marriage bed. That much I can promise you. Just you and me.”
“You have no idea how much that means to me to hear you say that.” Tears glistened in his eyes. He swept her up, dress and all, and carried her to the waiting feather bed.
Epilogue
Decades later, Annie closed Peter’s eyes as he drew his last breath and kissed his lips. “Thank you for loving me,” she whispered.
That night she dreamed. George walked with her on the banks of the Bonnechere River, they were young again. Hand in hand they rambled over their childhood haunts. In the green wood under the boughs of the blooming apple trees with trout lilies around their feet, he took her face in his hands and kissed her as he never had the chance to in life.
“Thank you for taking such care of my brother, Annie. I’ll be waiting for you as I’ve waited all these years for my brother’s bride.”
The End
Bibliography
Journals of Capel Baldwin St. George
The years 1911 - 1920
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World War 1
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https//www.theguardian.com/education/2014/jul/23/first-world-war-slang-glossary
Ontario in early 1900’s<
br />
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http//www.bonnecherecaves.com/
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More Books by this author from Books We Love
The Cornwall Adventures
Laurel’s Quest ~ Book One
A Step Beyond ~ Book Two
Go Gently ~ Book Three
Romance
Storm’s Refuge A Longview Romance Book One
Come Hell or High Water A Longview Romance Book Two
A Longview Wedding
A Longview Christmas Seasonal Novella
Arabella’s Secret Series
The Selkie’s Song ~ Book One
Arabella Dreams ~ Book Two
Co-Authored with Pat Dale
The Last Cowboy
Henrietta’s Heart
The Teddy Dialogues
Historical Horror
By N.M. Bell
No Absolution
Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference and the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference. She loves writing fiction and poetry and following wherever her muse takes her.
Please visit her webpage http//www.nancymbell.ca
She posts on the Books We Love Blog on the 18th of every month
http//bwlauthors.blogspot.ca/
You can find her on Facebook at http//facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter @emilypikkasso
