The Wild Mountain Thyme
Page 24
When they reached the sidewalk, Teresa raced to Megan, hugging her fiercely before a policeman ushered them into the back of a patrol car.
Chaos reigned outside the safety of the small, insulated shell of the police car. Sounds overlapped and blended and turned into noise. Whistles blew, and sirens sounded as an ambulance tore up and stopped at the corner. Onlookers yelled, adding to the cacophony of the insanity all around them.
Megan shook her head, trying to clear away shock. She wiped the tears from her face with her dirty hand. Teresa pressed a tissue into her palm and then squeezed her on the shoulder. Megan took another shuddering breath and shut her eyes. It was over. Jim was here. It was over and she could go home and take a shower and…she looked down at the ruined dress and her tears started anew.
“It’s okay, honey, it’s all over.” Jim kept his arm around her.
Megan looked up at him and touched his cheek. She sniffed loudly and wished she had more tissues.
“Jim?”
“Yes, dear?”
“If you still want to, I’ll marry you.” Her voice trembled, and a sob caught in the back of her throat. She didn’t think she could stop crying.
Jim didn’t answer. He folded her in his arms and held on tight.
Chapter 48
“Megan you must hold still, my dear.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Megan looked up to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. The heavy white satin gown set her skin aglow. The lace that edged the long sleeves hung down to almost cover her finger tips. The scallop-necked bodice encrusted with tiny pearls fitted tightly from her bosom to her waist.
Megan was almost afraid to breathe, sure that the ancient material would split, even though her mother had assured her it wouldn’t. The gown had belonged to her great-grandmother and had been worn by her grandmother.
Now it was her turn to wear the beautiful gown.
Her mother pushed her gently into the chair to rearrange the veil over Megan’s hair. The swept-up hairstyle was layered on the top of her head with tendrils hanging loose to soften the effect.
Valentine’s Day. She was getting married on Valentine’s Day. It was so romantic, and it was completely Jim’s idea.
His mother and grandmother, some uncles, and cousins had traveled from America to attend the wedding. She loved her in-laws already.
Megan’s mother and father had been at her flat for more than two weeks making the arrangements.
Jim’s family was ecstatic to find out that he would marry Megan.
Jim’s grandma had talked to him for hours after her arrival, something about Deacon O’Boyle and someone from a Bishop’s office. Megan couldn’t be bothered to ask about it. Her feet hadn’t touched the ground since Jim had rescued her. But he told her over and over that she’d done the rescuing. Maybe when the horror of the whole affair was behind her, she could look at the events of that morning pragmatically. Who was she kidding? When she was ninety, she’d still think about it.
Last night, all twenty-two of their party of wedding goers, including Frank Devon and Teresa, had descended on the corner pub and practically closed the place down.
They still hadn’t decided where to live, Ireland or the States, but that seemed like a small decision to make after the hell they had passed through to get to this point.
Their final article on the serial killings in Ireland, written as Megan Kennedy and James O’Flannery, run by both papers, was finished and published. The series, in its entirety, had been nominated for the prestigious MacGillicuddy Prize for outstanding journalism.
Everything had happened so fast her head swam with it. Megan had not completely recovered from her close call, because she could still see Richard falling from the rooftop many times during the day. When would she get over it? She shivered; with Jim’s help, she would get past it. She’d think about it again after she was ninety. Megan opened her eyes and looked at her mother in the mirror.
“Are you quite all right, love?”
“Yes, Mama; just remembering, you know,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders.
Her mother took Megan’s hands in hers and looked at her steadily. “Megan, he’s a fine man, this James Francis Xavier O’Flannery, and he’ll make you a fine husband. You must let the other go. Remembering will only bring you pain. You mustn’t have pain on this day, love.”
“Right, Mother. You’re right.”
She stood and turned slowly, examining her image in the waist-high mirror.
“It’s a beautiful gown.”
“Aye, it is,” said her mother with a touch of envy in her voice. “It’s a shame that I’m too short and too broad in the hips to have worn it myself.”
Megan turned again, watching her reflection in the mirror. She stopped suddenly, the wisp of a memory niggling at her mind.
Yes, it was the same gown as the one in the movie/dream she’d had at the hotel in Sligo. The same gown she wore in the movie/dream that Seamus had shown them of the future.
“Oh, crumbs,” she gasped. Her face had gone quite pale in the mirror. She sat quickly, afraid that she might fall down. She hadn’t thought of Seamus in weeks, but now everything he’d done or said flooded her memory. She glanced quickly about the room looking for the elusive little man in Kelly green.
“Meggie, what on earth is wrong my dear?”
“Oh, nothing, Mother. Perhaps a bit of wedding jitters.”
Her mother patted her hand and then led her out of the room to wait with her father in the narthex for the music to signal her entrance.
Megan looked about in all the corners, on top of the holy water font, even on top of all the marble columns, looking for Seamus. He was nowhere to be seen.
Her father kissed her on the cheek and adjusted her veil to cover her face. Megan saw the tears in his eyes and returned a watery smile.
But where was Seamus? He’d worked so hard getting them together, making sure she was safe. Could he not show up for the finale? She took glances about for the elusive little man in green.
The strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” began. It was time.
Teresa, as maid of honor, walked down the aisle looking stunning in her deep green velvet dress with the low décolletage.
Jim had asked Frank Devon to be his best man. Frank had jumped at the request, stating that he hoped Teresa would soon come around, and then Jim could return the favor.
Megan walked down the aisle on wobbly legs, leaning heavily on her father’s arm. When she finally reached Jim, and her father had patted her hand and taken his seat next to her mother, she started to relax.
The priest began saying the wedding mass, and Jim and Megan glanced up simultaneously behind the priest to the crucifix. It was as if they’d both been summoned. And there to the left, stood Seamus on a bit of invisible air, leaning on his cane. He winked at them, and waggled his brows.
Slowly, the leprechaun began to change. His face first lost its beard and leprechaun-like characteristics until it became eerily similar to Jim’s features. His bright red hair became a dark auburn brown, long and tied back as in the style of the eighteenth century. He was garbed in a golden floor-length gown that puddled about his feet. A gigantic pair of silvery, almost translucent wings unfurled behind him, and a white light shone around him, filling the nave with such brightness it hurt Megan’s eyes.
Jim and Megan stared and gasped as the same time. The priest stopped for a moment and looked at them oddly, but then cleared his throat as though to tell them to pay attention. Megan and Jim glanced quickly at each other, then at the priest.
Seamus floated to the left of the priest’s head and laughed softly. He waggled his eyebrows at them again.
“I’ll be joinin’ Saint Patrick’s choir now. And you’ve made that possible, Jimmy me lad. I’m thankin’ ye, I am.
“And you, Megan lass, such a wonderful time I’ve had. It was a grand ride ye both gave me. Ah, a grand ride.
“May the road rise up before
you, may the wind be always at your back, and may you be in Heaven an hour before the devil knows you’re dead.”
He laughed soundlessly and a glass appeared in his hand. He saluted them, drank quickly, and tossed the glass into the air where it disappeared. The tiny harp appeared and Seamus sang.
“She wears my ring to show the world
That she belongs to me
She wears my ring to tell the world
She’s mine eternally
With loving care
I placed it on her fi-inger
To show my love
For all the world to see!”
He laughed, a great, gutsy, bellowing laugh, obviously thoroughly enjoying the amazement on both their faces. He hovered a bit, like he was waiting for the priest to make the final pronouncement.
“Hmm, Mr. James O’Flannery, will you take this woman…”
Again the priest cleared his throat roughly, and Megan and Jim brought their gaze down from the top of the ceiling. While they’d watched Seamus ascend to his just reward, they hadn’t been paying attention to their own wedding ceremony.
“Oh, of course, and so does she.” Jim turned and nodded to those in the church.
The angel rose up slowly, moving like vapor through the high vaulted ceiling. He looked down from his high vantage point and smiled at Jim and Megan. But they were too busy looking at each other to see.
Jim reached over and took Megan’s face in his hands. The happy congregation laughed when Megan kissed Jim soundly.
A word about the author…
Kathryn Scarborough grew up as a “Navy junior.” The turmoil of changing schools and friends, almost yearly, led to making up a lot of stories or making new endings to the ones she read in school. She went to music conservatory and spent the next several decades singing, teaching, and directing. She has a master’s certificate in Special Education. She now writes fiction full time.
She has four grown children, three grandchildren, and lives in central North Carolina with her husband and two crazy dogs. You can reach her at www.scarboroughbooks.com
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