She was going to dinner with her best friend, her husband, the love of her life, and, hand in hand, they were going to start a new adventure.
SO IT WAS THAT PIPER’S father agreed to let Vander take his only daughter’s hand in marriage.
“She’s my girl, my angel. I have given her everything I have but …” He looked into Vander’s eyes and knew. He drew a deep breath and worked at holding back his emotions, tears. “I have given her everything I have, including my sadness and fear. Don’t give her everything. Only give her happiness. Promise me that.”
Vander never took his eyes off Piper’s father. “I promise. She will only know happiness and love.”
And on a beautiful, warm morning of Piper’s seventeenth summer and Vander’s nineteenth, they wed in the village center. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony the women of the community put their petty differences aside. The gossip didn’t flow so urgently from one garden to the next. A perceived snub at the market was now seen in a different light—perhaps the scale was not very accurate—a simple oversight. Seeing a neighbor’s husband stumbling home after a night at the tavern was something to giggle quietly at, not draw attention to. The women came together to help this motherless girl prepare for the day that she and her betrothed would become one and move outside the village to the house that Vander had built with the help of his father and brothers.
Flowers from most of the village gardens lined the steps to the church, the aisle a bed unto itself with roses of red, yellow, and white, tulips, irises, daffodils, and armloads of dried lavender. The scent of heaven greeted guests as they hurried inside the stone church to bear witness to this highly anticipated gathering. The planned feast had been talked about for weeks. If there were ever two people God intended to be with one another, it was Piper and Vander, their bond pure and genuine. Their love was timeless.
Ever since the celebration of spring by the shore the previous year, the wedding preparations had been set into motion, causing a ruckus among the women in the village, all of whom wanted to be the one to help this girl prepare for womanhood. It is this maternal instinct that has pulled women through the ages with pride, strength, and character in a way that defies explanation. Womanhood propels a girl into a perpetual spiral of mysteries, commitment, love, hope, and heartache. Knowing the bond shared between a mother and daughter, the elder women, some motherless at their own weddings, knew how empty Piper must feel inside. Preparing for such a monumental event without her mother at her side to stitch her dress, braid her hair, and explain the ways of men and their needs was a time of sadness mixed with joy.
Her father was a heartbroken man, providing for his family and for years toiling endless hours building furniture for the wealthy in lands he would never visit. Alone without his love, he seemed to crumble unto himself, waking as the sun’s first rays fell through his window onto his pillow. He returned as they began to fade, leaving only darkness to comfort his aching heart. He had never spoken directly of his wife to his children after her passing so many years before; but in his mind, each day that passed, was one fewer that he would have to live without her and brought him one day closer to seeing her again. All joy had seemingly been erased from his world. Vander, son of Philip the great warrior, was going to spend his life taking care of Piper, providing for her in so many ways that her parents never could. This, at least, comforted him. He sat at the front of the church, with Marek, now a young man, by his side.
The nervous groom stood at the altar wearing his father’s black wedding coat, his brothers at his side, who were smiling and chiding him about how his life would never be the same. His mother sat across from Piper’s father, watching, waiting in vain for him to return her gaze so that she could share her happiness with him. When she realized that he was deep in sad thought, she turned her gaze instead to her sons, so handsome and strong like their father who quietly stood beside them.
As the ceremony began, Piper appeared in the doorway of the church, an angelic vision, making several villagers gasp, her long dark hair pulled back in a braid and tied with grapevines as was the tradition. The vine signified a long family history and a bond that is not easily severed, all traces of fruit removed so as not to appear presumptuous that God would bless the bride with children. Her traditional dress, sewn by seven women, reached the floor and thankfully covered her feet as she had nothing appropriate to wear on them. Piper would gladly be barefoot for the rest of her life, having only her mother’s old shoes that were now tattered and worn so thin she could feel the smallest pebbles as she walked along the lanes. In her arms, she bore the most beautiful array of flowers: pink tulips, grape hyacinths and yellow daffodils: all grown in the small garden outside her family’s home.
She watched her father turn slowly in his seat, and, for the first time in her life, she saw that he was not only her father, the man who fed her and put a roof over her head, but he was also a person. She saw a sad and lonely man whose wife left him to raise two children alone in a small house at the end of a lane in the solitude of a village filled with strangers. She felt tears spring to her eyes and threaten to fall down her glowing cheeks. Her father looked pale, and she could see that he was fighting back tears himself. She would never know that her father was reliving his own wedding day, the happiest hours of his life. She also never knew how much she resembled her mother and how this was, at the same time, a great blessing and terrible curse on her father.
He looked away and Piper’s gaze fell on Marek, her little brother who now towered over her. How proud she was of him, apprenticing with their father, working hard and bringing home wages that helped to purchase bed linens and cooking wares for his sister’s new home, a home she had yet to see. He and his father had built a houseful of furniture for Vander and Piper over the past year and had not spoken a word about it to anyone, hoping to surprise them later that evening. Marek, too, looked sad to be losing his sister who had been a mother to him most of his life. His only memories of their mother were of her lying on the bed, skin yellow and eyes fighting to stay open. He sometimes heard her in the night, softly calling his name over and over. But having only ever heard his mother’s hoarse whisper, he did not know it was her calling to him through his thin dreams. Nonetheless, he had an ache in his heart that could only be lessened by his sister’s unconditional love. And now she, too, was leaving him. A sad river flowed down his cheeks, each tear dripping quietly from his chin and soaking the collar of his borrowed coat. What was going to become of him, he wondered, and what of his father when it was time for him to take a bride?
As Piper neared the altar, her eyes fixed firmly on Vander whose own eyes began to blink back tears. He shifted his weight nervously back and forth, letting each foot rest only for an instant. His oldest brother reached out and steadied him as if he were a panicky horse about to bolt. Vander, in turn, startled out of his trance, stood upright and stone still. This made the guests laugh, as they sympathized with his nervous anticipation.
The vows spoken that day late in the planting season were sown deep in the hearts of the bride and groom. Never would there be a day when they did not hold true to their words. A love like theirs needed defending; but in the hearts of the people of this village, there was little doubt that there would be much in the way of a challenge. Vander had eyes for no one except his beautiful bride, and Piper was born to be with him. There was little else to be said about this matter.
“I will love you until the last of my breath I do take
I will defend you in the darkest hours of your days
You will be in my care and my heart forevermore
You will sleep soundly in the night as I watch over you
Our lives will entwine and bear the fruits of our love
I will toil every day to bring peace to our home
And every night when I close my eyes
I will know that I have done my best for you.”
With these words, a kiss, and a simple ring, Vander and Piper turned to fac
e their guests as man and wife. On their faces was written a story so beautiful and so serene that even the most cynical of guests had to wipe a tear from their eye, some pretending to be only swatting a fly. The church was brimming with energy as the sunlight slanted through the narrow windows, bathing in light the flowers whose only purpose in this world was to adorn the union of these two souls.
This day would be talked about for weeks like many of the larger weddings that occasionally took place in this corner of the world. And soon everyone would go back to their everyday rhythms of life: farming, fishing, cooking, washing, raising, slaughtering, sowing, reaping, birthing, and dying. Life moves along, and the seasons blend quickly from one to another, bringing new challenges to overcome, tears of bitterness, bolts of anger, and sometimes joy beyond telling. The same story would then be retold many times in the generations to follow, for reasons unforeseen on this beautiful, perfect day.
As the newlywed couple stepped from the tiny church out into the brightness of day, Philip’s two proud horses called to them as if to say, “Now then, good enough, let’s move along: there’s clover to be had in the trough at home.” Philip jumped up into the cart with which he usually transported freshly caught fish and it usually smelled accordingly. For this special day, though, he had spent the entire morning scrubbing it with a hog bristle brush, hot water boiled in the hearth and Castile soap. The bed of the cart was lined with the sweetest lavender, clover, and roses. Amèlie had fashioned streaming bows out of the finest ribbon to be had in the valley. Even the horses had been prepared for this blessed event. Vander’s brothers had bathed them the previous evening with a mixture of glycerin soap and ale, their manes flowing and shiny, the likes not seen on many a village animal. Their tails seemed to be made of silk, hanging to their fetlocks and blending with the thick feathers that trailed the ground. These animals were given to the couple later that evening as a wedding gift not only because of the love and affection they shared for them, but also because a pretty penny could be had with them at stud.
Vander, who now stood over six feet tall, lifted his new bride up into the back of the cart and hopped in beside her, smiling at his mother whose tears continued to flow as she blew her son and new daughter kiss after kiss. Her older boys flanked her and laughed at her silliness, telling her not to be sad, that he was going to be home every day looking for his midday meal and a story from his Mére. The onlookers laughed at this and shook their heads at the three tall blonde brothers whom they had watched grow over the years into these fine men.
Philip clucked his tongue, asking the horses to move forward, lifting the reins and letting them drop gently onto their backs. Without hesitation, they pushed into their yokes and effortlessly moved the cart forward, breaking from a trot to an eye-catching canter, with manes, tails, and feathers flying out behind them in a show of elegant power. The guests shouted out their blessings to this beautiful young couple who would, no one doubted, live happily and long. They watched as the cart rattled down the lane toward the south end of the village where smoke rose toward the sky, promising a delicious meal and an evening not soon to be forgotten.
Excitement filled the air as the feast that afternoon commenced, with the sun sitting in the western sky, in the meadow now cleared of cows, horses, and sheep. Two of the fattest hogs had been slaughtered the day before the wedding and were now cooking over a smoldering fire along with the last of the previous harvest’s root vegetables. The smell of pork, sage, thyme, carrots, turnips, and potatoes that rose into the air was enough to make the mouths of the pickiest children water. Baskets of warm breads were brought from the oven at the center of the village and barrels of wine were rolled out for the long night ahead. Empty milk pails were filled with freshly churned sweet butter. Makeshift tables were fashioned from empty ale barrels and old barn board, covered with white linens. Chairs, blankets, violins, and song books were brought from homes as were gifts for the bride. Seventeen cakes were baked, one for every year of the bride’s life, sliced and filled with the berries the bride and groom so loved. Mixed with sugar, fresh cream and sliced almonds spread out over the warm cake halves, the berries turned the prettiest shade of purple. Several loving hands reassembled the layers and drizzled the delicacies with burned sugar strands, honey, and violet petals. These were the envy of all brides whose weddings preceded this one, as the ingredients alone would have set their families back a season or two. But this village knew a love story when it saw one, and everyone wanted a hand in its writing.
Piper and Vander walked slowly hand in hand through the tall grass as they shared secret whispers about their life and dreams, and also at the fact that more than a few of their dining guests had not made it to the church but certainly weren’t going to miss the free meal! The bride’s father, now in a lighter mood and loosened by the wine, picked up a violin for the first time since his wife passed and played a lively tune that started everyone’s heart pumping, shouts filling the air. Girls of all ages gathered in the center of the ring of tables and danced hand in hand in a circle, their dresses and flower-adorned hair flowing in a vision of innocence and beauty. The boys of all ages hung back, hands only leaving trouser pockets to playfully punch one another. Dares were made with the nod of a head in the direction of the girls until one brave six-year-old ran into the center tripping three of the revelers. Hoots and shouts filled the air as older boys swooped in to scoop up the interloper out of harm’s way. Before long, the girls were grabbing the boys’ arms, forcing them to dance, too.
The meal was ready when the groom poked at the roasted pig and its eyes fell into the ashes. Cheers rose up and stomachs growled in anticipation. The butcher who donated his services this day showed off his knife skills, making quick work of carving up huge wooden bowls of perfectly smoked, fragrant, moist pork. Amèlie stood close by and used two large wooden grain scoops to place the roasted vegetables on top of the meat before her sons whisked them away to the tables filled with hungry guests. When the bowls emptied, they were brought back to the spit and refilled time and again.
The wine flowed, and the stories began, and, before the sun reached the horizon, Vander called for a bonfire. Boys, men, and a few little girls went along the edge of the meadow picking up fallen branches and dragged them to the meadow’s center. Red embers from the cooking fire were shoveled on top of the wood and fanned, bringing them back to life. Soon there was a fire that warmed the cool spring evening and guests now relaxed after their bountiful meal, moving their chairs closer to one another. Long-standing feuds were forgotten, bitter words washed down with yet more wine, and petty matters vanished, their ridiculousness brought to light by merriment and glowing flames. It was times like this that made people remember that whatever life brings their way, good, horrible, or something between, they were all in this life together.
The violins and bows were gathered up and into the night air sweet songs sprang effortlessly from finely tuned strings. It was as if God had lovingly opened his arms and gently placed his angels right there in the meadow to serenade the bride and groom. Piper bit her bottom lip as she remembered her mother and how she used to play for her when she was young. She closed her eyes and wished that her mother could be here to share this evening with her; how different her life might have been if only her mother could have stayed even just a little longer. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, as one of the women who had hours before braided her hair, now sang.
My true love stay with me
Quietly hold my fears as
I boldly defend your name
And I will hold yours
Whatever you for me
I’ll do the same
Walk softly on the memories
Of those who tread nigh before
Remember not the sadness and bitter pain
Just that I love you and that alone
Will see us through the rain
The sadness Piper felt seemed somehow beautiful to her, even necessary. She suddenly made sense of the fac
t that parents don’t live forever and that she was lucky to have her mother for the time she was allowed, as Marek had less than half that. She knew that someday the man she had depended on for everything these seventeen years would be the one leaning on her for steadiness, for care, and for compassion. And some day her children would do the same for her. She was grateful for all of it.
These thoughts were deeply comforting to her as she looked around and saw the glowing faces of young children cradled in their mothers’ arms, some still so small that they fit perfectly on a shoulder or in the crook of an arm. She always admired the maternal way women had of handling their babes. She saw the way they rocked and swayed them as they strolled through the marketplace, juggling baskets and toddlers, purchasing goods and holding conversations, their hands seemingly having a mind of their own. She would often giggle as a savvy child would take advantage of his mother’s distraction and begin to wander away to peek under a table or reach for a sweet only to have his mother’s knowing grasp bring him right back to her hip. How did mothers do it? And how did they keep their wits about them while they managed so many chores, husband, and children? She didn’t know, but, at the same time, she was looking forward to finding out.
She looked at her husband with eyes wet and lips stained wine red. She whispered, “Tonight I am your wife. I never thought I could be this happy.”
To this, Vander returned the gaze and, as if he had read her thoughts, said, “Tonight you are my wife, my heart of hearts and soon, God willing, you will be the mother of my children.”
At this they both blushed and agreed that they didn’t want to have to wait for the celebration to be over so that they could be alone. Philip asked to dance with his new daughter and taking her arm, led her a few steps away from the fire. Guests moved around so as to get a better view. The singing could be heard for miles, and grouchy villagers and those too old or too ill to attend softened at the sound.
Piper, Once & Again Page 9
