The chorus of yeses that rang back was deafening.
“When is it?” Mrs. Croft asked.
“Now,” Pastor Hattington said, to gasps. “Omnimancer?”
Peter strode up the aisle, heart thudding in his ears. Daniel Clark followed, clapping him on the back and grinning at him. It should have been Martinelli standing there, but neither that sobering thought nor the attendant guilt was enough to keep him from smiling back at Clark and meaning it.
Lydia, the lone bridesmaid, walked up the aisle to “Blessed Be the Ties That Bind.” Then Mrs. Hattington segued perfectly into the opening chords of the music that had rung out for countless brides, and which to him, in this moment, sounded entirely new and wonderful.
Beatrix slipped off her coat as she stood, and he gaped at her as she processed toward him on Rosemarie’s arm—not in her red dress, as he’d expected, but in flowing ivory, a bouquet of pale purple flowers in her hands. The emotion in his chest seemed to be reflected on her face. His hand trembled as he held it out to her.
“I do,” he said, and it felt every bit as magical as a spell.
“I do,” she said, and that felt even more potent.
He kissed her in front of everyone, the act transformed by their words—by this ritual—from scandalous to acceptable in the eyes of the town. And if that was slightly absurd, he still recognized the power of what they had just done. This was no vow backed by a magical force that would steamroll inclinations to the contrary. It was a promise they were freely making, both of them knowing they would have to choose to uphold it, day after day.
“Brothers and sisters,” said Pastor Hattington, “may I present, on this splendid first day of spring, Omnimancer and Mrs. Blackwell!”
Beatrix—BeatrixBlackwell—leaned into him as they came back up the aisle together. “It never once occurred to me what day this was,” she whispered.
He laughed—it seemed either ironic or fitting that Persephone, having dragged Hades out of hell, would marry him on this day of all days. And then he couldn’t seem to stop laughing: When Mrs. Martinelli, looking delighted, told him he’d brought her under “outrageously false pretenses.” When people kept assuring him thattheyhad not been reading that awful Rydell. When Valerie Reed rushed in with her cake-decorating supplies to add a bride and groom in icing on the plain white cake, which like the rest of the food had been ordered by the church to disguise who was paying for it and for what purpose.
He felt overwhelmingly light, as if he might float into the air at any moment.
When Daniel Clark struck up a jig on a battered but in-tune violin, Peter danced alongside Beatrix without feeling the least bit self-conscious because nearly everyone else was dancing, too—the children, the new mothers with babies in their arms, Senator Gray, Mr. Levin executing turns in his wheelchair, even Mrs.Priceafter Mrs. Hattington insisted.
“Well,” the widow said when the music stopped and they ended up face-to-face.“Well. I suppose you think I owe you an apology.” Before he could come up with anything to say to this, she added stiffly, “And I suppose I do.”
He blinked at her. The hall had gone very quiet.
“I am sorry,” Mrs. Price said. “There you are. Goodnight.”
She turned and click-clacked away.
What could he do after that but laugh—once she was safely out of earshot, of course. Beatrix laughed, too, a merry sound that he hoped he would hear every day of their lives together—not just her ironic laugh, as much as he liked that, and definitely not only her bitter laugh, which she’d had far too much occasion to use.
“There’s no topping that,” she murmured, leaning in. “Shall we call it a night?”
Yes.Then it hit him: Mrs. Martinelli. He needed to take her home first—all the way to Virginia. He sighed. But when he found her, sitting with Rosemarie, Lydia and the Clarks, she had a surprise for him.
“Miss Harper and Miss Dane have very kindly invited me to stay the night,” she said, baby Will soundly asleep on her lap. “Off you go, Omnimancer, Mrs. Blackwell! Don’t rush over tomorrow.”
He was perfectly willing to accept this fortunate turn of events.
They had to get to Pastor Hattington for the customary sendoff, but people kept stopping them on their way through the crowd. Mrs. Richards wished them great joy and said how fondly she remembered her own newlywed days, but that time was long ago, of course, as her joints continually reminded her, and oh, could he make something to help with those aches when he had time? Miss Hennessey said she’djust received word that she passed the exam for nursing school with high marks, “and thank you very much, Omnimancer, for encouraging me!” Mr. Delarose, who once berated Beatrix for not bumping his non-emergency brewing request to the front of the line, said he hoped Peter would feel comfortable accepting a dinner invitation, “now that you’re safe from all the feminine scheming, har har!”
They’d finally gotten within reach of Pastor Hattington when Dale Kirkland stepped between them.
“Wanted to tell you a funny story,” the farmer said, a wry smile on his face.
“Could we possibly hear it tomorrow?” Peter asked a bit desperately. “It’s getting late, you see …”
Kirkland’s smile went even more wry. “Pastor,” he said, tapping Hattington on the shoulder, “say goodnight to these two and send them off right quick, will you?”
A minute later, as the assembled clapped and cheered, Peter and Beatrix stepped onto Main Street—as dark and empty as the church was light and full. Even Rydell’s watcher had abandoned his post. They had counted on someone being there to tell, unfortunately, because the public did need to know they were married lest stories about Beatrix “seen entering Omnimancer Blackwell’s house at night and exiting the next morning” end up in print.
“Of course,” Peter grumbled, “theonetime we want someone to be sitting there …”
