They were marriedin Port Moresleyat a small church that sat on a point where the sea crashed against cliffs and the wind blew a breath of warm wind over the land and through the massive crowns of banyan trees. The church was stark white with a high narrow steeple and green wooden storm shutters on its slim windows. A church that was as traditional as the wedding party was unconventional.
The bride was barefoot, with island flowers around her ankles and around one wrist. Orchids ringed her blond topknot. She wore a pink silk ball gown that rustled as she walked down the aisle with a baby dressed all in white hitched on her hip.
Beside her was a little boy in a brand-spanking-new suit with short pants and shiny brass buttons, and an expression of pure happiness. A young girl in a pink-and-white linen dress with a big bow and matching ribbons in her hair stood with them.
The groom wore evening clothes, white tie and tails, pearl studs, and a Chicago White Stockings baseball cap turned backward. They looked at ease, no wedding nerves, no guests, no one else at the wedding but this new little family.
The baby reached up and grabbed one of the flowers from the bride’s hair and tried to stick it in her own hair, crying when she couldn’t make it stay.
The groom bent and picked up the crushed flower and tucked it into the toddler’s white hair ribbon and told her she was gorgeous. Then he turned to the bride and said, “Almost as gorgeous as your mama.”
Margaret stood beside Hank and the children and listened to the minister’s words. Theodore was fidgeting next to her. Out of the corner of her eye Margaret saw Lydia pinch him, then heard her whisper for him to hold still. She smiled, then looked around her.
Had she ever thought of what her wedding would be like, this image would not have entered her mind. Margaret Smith, attorney-at-law, barefoot, a baby in her arms and children at her side while she married a tall, rugged ex-baseball player and convict.
But she looked at Hank as they said their vows, and she knew this was where she was meant to be.
The minister turned to Hank. “Do you have a ring to bless?”
She knew he didn’t, but she didn’t care about the trappings of marriage. If she had, she’d be wearing shoes.
Hank patted his coat pocket, then jammed a hand in his pants pocket. He grinned and held out his hand to the minister, whose eyes held shock.
Margaret looked at Hank’s hand.
Sitting in his palm was the rose pearl. “Bless this. Soon enough it’ll be her wedding ring.”
She looked up at him, surprised that he was even somewhat prepared. And she made a vow to herself that from that day forward she would stop underestimating her husband.
He winked at her while the poor minister blessed the huge pink pearl and then handed it back to him. He took her hand in his and dropped the pearl in her palm and closed their hands over it.
He leaned over and whispered, “Are you crying?”
She nodded and looked at him through a blur of emotion. She saw him give a small shake of his head. But that didn’t stop her. She cried when the minister pronounced them man and wife. She cried when Theodore jumped up and down and shouted, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”
She cried when her husband kissed her. She cried even harder when he swung her and the baby up into his arms and carried them out of the church with both children running and laughing at his side. It was a silly thing, this crying, because she had never been happier.
* * *
Hank stoodon the verandaof their room in the Port Moresley Hotel. Cast in moonlight, the bay stretched out before him, and he could see where a few ships were anchored at the docks, their lanterns spilling light on the rippling black water. They were scheduled to leave in two days on an American liner that was coming into port the next day. In less than three weeks they would be in San Francisco. Three weeks.
He took a deep breath and leaned on the wooden railing, lost in thoughts of what-ifs. In the street below a few wagons and carriages moved past even though it was late, close to midnight.
“They’re finally asleep.”
He turned at the sound of Smitty’s voice, and leaned his hip against the rail. She stood in the doorway, limned in soft light from the lamp inside their room. She had bathed earlier and was dressed in some frilly woman’s robe she had bought at the dry goods store where they had gotten the kids’ clothing.
He supposed he should comment on it. Hell, he was a husband now. But he didn’t care what Smitty wore. In fact, he liked her best in nothing but that come-to-me smile of hers.
He straightened and closed the distance between them. “Let’s go inside.”
She turned, and he closed the French doors behind him. Then, just for good measure, he looked at the adjoining door. Theodore had come through that door at least five times.
“He’s asleep. I made certain.”
He shook his head. “That kid talked for about fifteen hours.”
She laughed. “He’s excited.”
