“Thank you for bringing our son, Leo, home to us. Along with his beautiful fiancée.”
Doubting that anyone had ever prayed for me before either, it was one thing respecting people’s right to hold their faith, but another to be thrown in at the deep end. Despite his apparent lack of seriousness over the matter, Leo had never talked about his religious background and having thought I knew everything there was to know about the man, it was disconcerting to realise that wasn’t the case.
“Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” Leo and Bill said.
As Grace opened her eyes again, she indicated it was time to let go of each other. She nodded to the salad. “Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine. Ecclesiastes, Chapter 9, verse 7.”
Leo’s amusement continued as he handed me the salad bowl.
“Thank you,” I said, through gritted teeth. Realising I had no choice but to go with the flow, I followed Grace’s advice and loaded my plate with food.
“So how are the wedding plans coming along?” Bill asked.
“To be honest,” I replied, pretending that what just happened, hadn’t really happened, “we haven’t got very far.”
“Really?” he said. “With September round the corner, I’d have thought you’d more or less have everything in place.”
“For one, I’m having issues finding the right dress.”
“Really?” Grace said.
I nodded. “And although we’ve made a list, we still have to contact photographers and whatnot.”
“That’s all fluff though, isn’t it?” Grace said. “Yes, it’s nice to have pictures of the day, but it’s the ceremony that counts. The vows you share.”
“We think so too,” Leo said.
His accompanying wink melted my heart a little and I almost forgave him for not warning me about his family’s religious practices.
“As long as you have a venue,” Grace continued. “You’re good to go.”
I opened my mouth to explain the struggle we’d had finding that too, but Grace continued talking.
“And there are some wonderful churches in your area. Something we saw for ourselves, didn’t we, Bill?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “We certainly did.”
While I wondered if I’d imagined the hint of sarcasm in Bill’s tone, Grace appeared not to notice.
“We visited Saint Michael and All Angels, Saint Mary’s, Saint Wilfred’s, Saint Alkelda’s…” she said.
As religious figures went, that last one was new to me.
“And the rest.” Bill sighed. “That was some pilgrimage.”
“Which was the one with the Norman font?” Grace asked her husband.
“Hard to say. We packed in so many.”
“You know, the one with the oldest font in Europe?” Grace pondered a moment. “You must remember it, Bill. It stood at the foot of that mountain?” She continued to wrack her brains. “Oh, what was it called?”
“Saint Oswald’s,” I said, pleased to be able to put her out of her misery.
Grace, Bill, and Leo froze, each with their forks midway to their mouths.
I looked back at them, pleased they all appreciated my input. I might not be religious, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy old buildings. “It’s a lovely little church, rich in history and architecture,” I said, between eating. “It dates back to the early eleven hundreds. Probably during the reign of Henry I or possibly Stephen. Although if I remember rightly the surviving parish records only go back to 1556.”
