The bountiful meal was washed down with punch, the taste ofrum and molasses and ground spices from the cake lingering. When the music began, the children flitted about like fireflies, dancing to Mae’s father’s fiddle once Rhys rosined the bow and began “Soldier’s Joy,” then struck “Haste to the Wedding.”
“Come now, the groom can’t be burdened with playing at his own nuptials,” James said as Chaplain Evans took out an engraved fife.
The instrument’s bright, clear sound pierced the air as everyone took a partner, even the children, and made merry till twilight. All but Coralie. She’d disappeared after the ceremony, but Rhys had given it little thought. Lucy and Isham were the liveliest dancers, their faces alight in the gathering dusk. He wondered about their own wedding. They’d married young and been inseparable since. Not even the war could divide them.
“I’ve been long enough at my fields and will return to the fort tomorrow,” Jon said to Rhys as he poured more punch. “Your riflemen will no doubt offer a great many huzzahs and congratulations at your and Mrs. Harlow’s arrival ... though you might want to linger once you see the dower house.”
“’Tis yours for however long you like,” Joanna told them as Mae cast an appreciative look at her sister-in-law. “’Twas my late mother’s and has sat empty for some time.”
Rhys looked toward the path that would take them there, a quarter mile farther south along the river. He’d passed by on scouting forays and thought it a shame so comely a place sat empty. A fitting bower for a bride and groom.
He turned back to Mae with a smile. “Say the word, Mrs. Harlow, and we’ll begin our honeymoon.”
She smiled and set down her empty punch cup. “Let’s begin then.”
When Rhys opened the dower house door, it seemed a glittering of fairies had been at work. All was clean and tidy, a small parloradjoining a bedchamber. Scattered across the white coverlet of the four-poster bed were rose petals. Joanna’s doing? All the window curtains were drawn, touched with gold as the sun sank from sight.
Mae walked about slowly, delight stealing through her as she set her posies atop a table. Everything here seemed in miniature, the still air scented with pine and candle wax. Outside a dove cooed plaintively. Was it missing its mate?
Rhys barred the door and went about the room locking the shutters. Nearly all the light was snuffed. “This place casts quite a spell, though I think it’s more the company I’m keeping.”
They stood facing each other as his fingers moved to her lace cap and pulled the pins free one by one. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, which stilled him a moment. He’d never seen it all unbound, and from the look in his eyes he found the shining length of it a glory, like Scripture said.
“You seem more angel, Mae.”
“I’m no angel, just your adoring wife.” Her own fingers found his linen stock and the back buckle that secured it. She let both fall to the floor, along with his frock coat and her own garments, till they both stood in their smallclothes, the hush of the room hallowed.
“Kiss me and make me forget about this war and tomorrow and all the rest,” she said softly. “I’m yours and the night is ours, and for the moment nothing else matters.”
twenty-nine
Join, or die.
Benjamin Franklin
The cooing doves woke her. Mae stirred, mindful of the man sleeping beside her, the coverlet and rose petals scattered. Closing her eyes again, she listened as the day dawned beyond the closed shutters. Thankfully the dower house lacked a clock. She could just lay suspended in a timeless tangle of pleasure and wonder as if tomorrow no longer mattered.
When he woke, his words were almost lost as he burrowed his head in her hair. “So, should we go on up to the falls again?”
In answer she pulled him closer, if that was possible, one arm anchored about his neck. “Mayhap in the heat of the day.”
He chuckled. “Thisisthe heat of the day.”
She looked toward the window again as if to naysay him. “I thought it was dawn.”
“It’s nigh on noon.” He kissed her again as time ticked on.
They were oblivious till a noise at the door finally roused them. Sitting up, Mae pulled free of his arms reluctantly, the rumble of his stomach a reminder that one couldn’t live on love alone. She padded to the door on bare feet, unbarred it, and pulled it open.A linen-covered basket sat on the stoop. Packed by Joanna, no doubt, and delivered by one of the boys. She grabbed the handle and retreated to the table as Rhys got up and barred the door again, moving his rifle nearer the fireless hearth.
Pulling on his wedding shirt, he sat down, watching her expectantly as she removed a flask of cider. By the time she’d emptied the basket the small table was completely covered. Cold roast chicken, pickled vegetables, cheese, still-warm wheaten bread, slices of wedding cake, and a small sack of raisins, dates, and almonds meant enough for supper too. They ate with their fingers as there was no cutlery, just a linen towel.
“When do you want to return to the fort?” she asked. “I’m sorry to say a wedding cannot put a war on hold.”
“By dusk tonight would be wise.”
She took a sip of cider. “You’ve room enough for me?”
“My quarters aren’t large but ample enough. The other officers’ wives live in the same building with their husbands. We share a common dining room. But if we want to be alone there’s always locking ourselves in like this.”
