Chapter Twelve
At the improvised altar in front of the fireplace in the parlor, standing beside Eng, I realized he was trembling. Or rather,
I felt it—as if I were standing beside a deer or a spooked dog. I was shaking too.
I reached out and brushed his fingertips.
He touched mine in return. “You look so . . . tidy,” he whispered.
These were hardly the words I’d dreamed of hearing from my fiancé at the altar, but his bumbling attempt at flattery calmed
my nerves. “So do you, Eng,” I said, straightening the wilting boutonniere pinned to his lapel.
On the other side of him, Chang said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Your beauty lights up the room, my dear Adelaide.”
“Sallie, look at me,” Eng said.
I turned toward him. Our faces were so close I could see the sheen of perspiration on his brow.
“It’s just the two of us here,” he said.
I shook my head.
He squeezed my hand. “It is. It’s just us.”
I felt the cool, dry texture of his hand, his finger stroking my thumbnail.
Only the next thing.
Pastor Sparks, in a black suit and rimless spectacles, looked out over the small crowd, his fingers fidgeting with the corners of his Bible pages.
“We are gathered here, on this spring day, to witness two sacred unions.” His voice hitched a bit.
“These bonds are forged not only by earthly hands but by divine Providence.”
He turned the page, though it seemed unnecessary. “As we celebrate the marriages of Sarah Yates to Eng Bunker, and Adelaide
Yates to Chang Bunker”—he nodded at each of us in turn—“let us reflect on the timeless truths that guide us. These two couples
stand on this threshold ready to embark on a journey that will shape their very souls. The apostle Paul reminds us that ‘the
two shall become one flesh.’ Well”—he gave a dry, almost nervous chuckle—“we have an unusual situation here. Chang and Eng
Bunker are, quite literally, one flesh. I have never witnessed anything like this, and I suspect none of you have either.”
A faint stir moved through the room.
“But friends, here we are,” he said. “And so I proceed with this double union in the hope that what joins these couples today
is not only lawful, but right in the eyes of God. For when we speak of two becoming one, we speak not only of a physical joining,
but a spiritual merging—a covenant.”
He peered at us over his spectacles, searching, perhaps, for certainty in us, or maybe in himself. “As the four of you exchange
vows today, remember: your story is part of God’s grand narrative—a testament to His grace and, surely, to His creativity.”
Leaning forward, he said, “And now, friends, I invite you all to witness this holy union, the intertwining of these two souls”—gesturing
at Addie and Chang—“and these two souls”—at Eng and me—“into a tapestry, woven together and yet distinct.
“May God bless these two marriages, today and for all the days to come. May your fields yield bountiful harvests. May your
hearts overflow with gratitude. And when hardships come, as they surely will, may you find solace in each other’s company.”
He gazed out at the crowd. “Should anyone present know of any reason that these couples should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or hold your peace forever.”
I looked down at our feet—all eight of them. My breath caught. Time stretched and warped, suspended in a taut silence.
The room remained still.
“Having received no objection,” Pastor Sparks said at last, “I will now proceed with the joining of hands.”
Love, honor, obey. Till death do us part.
Gold wedding bands, unadorned, were slipped onto our ring fingers.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Eng leaned forward, his lips brushing mine. His kiss as light as a whisper.
Husband. How strange it was to call him that.
How strange marriage is even in the most ordinary of circumstances. One day you’re living separate lives, in separate houses,
barely allowed to speak or touch, and the next you’re yoked together for life.
By the time I’d mingled with a few guests, nervously downed a glass of wine, and nibbled from the trays set around the parlor—radishes,
sausage rounds, walnuts, preserved fish on toast points—it was seven o’clock. Wine was rare in our household, served only
on special occasions. I wasn’t accustomed to drinking it and found it sour. But a few sips now calmed the spiky edges of my
nerves. As soon as I emptied my glass, someone handed me another.
I’d seen people drink too much and had always found them a bit ridiculous: red-faced and shouty or slow and stupid. But now I understood the appeal. Wine made it easier to ignore the whispers. I could be present and absent at the same time.
I glided through the rooms, smiling to my left and right. In the dining room and on the porch, tables and sideboards were
laden with bounty: beef, wild duck and turkey, glazed ham, sauces and preserves, breads and cakes, syllabubs and jellies,
coffee and brandy.
All the people in their Sunday best: Were any of them part of last week’s mob? Surely not.
And yet . . . maybe so.
Candlelight caught on silver and glass. Addie was in the parlor, chatting with distant cousins from Wilkesboro. Papa, in his
stiff formal suit, hands clasped behind his back like an admiral, endured small talk with a gaggle of local ladies. Mama was
fanning herself on the settee, wan in a dark blue dress with tiny flowers. And just beyond them, leaning against the doorframe,
was Aunt Joan.
She’d said she was coming—I’d opened her ink-blotted note, penned in her no-nonsense scrawl—but even so, seeing her here,
scrubbed up for the occasion with neatly combed hair and a dress without visible holes or stains, was a surprise.
I crossed the room to greet her. “Aunt Joan! I’m so glad you came.”
“I try to keep my word,” she said. “This is quite a party.”
“It is.”
“You’re married. Congratulations.” She gestured toward the twins, who stood by the piano, nodding politely as Flora Wadkins
struggled through an overly ambitious rendition of “The Last Rose of Summer.” “Which one is yours?”
“You saw the ceremony, didn’t you?”
She squinted. “You can tell them apart?”
“Aunt Joan,” I said with a half laugh. “I married Eng. The taller one. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
“In a minute.” She craned her neck. “Where can a woman find a bourbon around here?”
Her bluntness was a balm—a welcome reprieve from the loaded pleasantries I’d been trading with other guests. I led her into
the dining room, where bottles clustered on the sideboard. Joan poured herself a drink, took a long swallow, and set the glass
down. “So,” she said. “Last time I saw you . . .”
I nodded. “I was in a bad way.”
“You’ve come far.”
“Have I?”
“I’d say so. ‘Have mercy upon me, O God. Blot out my transgressions.’ ”
“I thought you weren’t religious.”
“I’m not.” She poured another inch of bourbon. “So. What is he like?”
“Oh, well . . .” I paused, wanting to be fair. “I’d say he’s a kind man. Even-tempered.”
“And his brother?”
“Chang is . . . headstrong, I guess.”
“Like your sister.”
“Yes. They’re well matched.”
She shook her head. “People say I’m brave for living out in the woods. But what you’re doing? It’s hard enough building a
life with one person. I don’t envy you trying to make it work with three.”
“I’ve lived with Addie my whole life.”
“I know. But this is different.” She set down her glass again and took my hands. “Do you love this man, Sallie?”
“Honestly . . . I’m not sure I know what love is.”
“It’s not always easy to know.” Her gaze held mine. “Just try to keep part of yourself separate. Will you promise me that?”
I nodded.
“Good.” She squeezed my hands. “I’d best be heading back.”
“Now? Don’t you want to—”
“Look, Sallie,” she said under her breath. “I almost didn’t come. All this . . .” Her eyes swept the room. “It’s not my world.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m glad you did. I’ll always be grateful you took me in, you know.”
She grinned. “I miss having someone around who can pluck a chicken.”
I grinned back. “Let me introduce you to Eng before you go.”
She sighed. “All right, then. Lead the way.”
I caught Eng’s eye, and he nodded. We made our way over.
“Eng, Chang—this is my Aunt Joan. Mama’s sister.”
She studied them with frank curiosity. “Pleasure, gentlemen.”
“A pleasure to meet you, as well,” Eng said, offering his hand.
She shook it, then turned to Chang. “And you’re the other half.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“You’ve certainly given the county something to talk about.”
“That is our mission.”
She laughed. “Sallie is getting two for the price of one. Lucky girl.” Then her tone shifted. “Though I imagine it comes with
complications. She found a place at my table once, you know. She’ll always have it, if she ever needs it again.”
Before either of them could respond, she looked back at me. “I’d best be going, my dear, before someone tries to make me dance.”
I watched her make her way out, stopping to give Mama a perfunctory hug on the settee, chatting briefly with Papa on the porch.
Then she slipped away, heading to her old horse and rusted buggy for the long drive home, guided by moonlight. Back to her
ramshackle house at the edge of the woods. Far from prying eyes. Far from everything.
Joan was right: the occasion demanded a dance.
A more capable neighbor took over at the piano, plunking out a lively tune that was soon joined by a fiddle. The music sparked a round of clapping, and before I knew it, I was being nudged toward the center of a circle with Addie and our new husbands.
I scanned the room, my heartbeat quickening. The attention felt almost aggressive, the clapping a little insistent. Was this
a celebration, or something closer to a public shaming?
But as I hesitated on the edge of the circle, the brothers transformed before my eyes.
Eng and Chang stood straighter, their smiles broadening. They thrust their arms out with a flourish, preparing to hit their
marks. The spotlight was a natural place for them to be.
“Follow my lead,” Eng said, reaching for my hand, his fingers cool against mine. “Just like we practiced.”
I took a breath and stepped forward.
Concentrating on his fingers, responding to the pressure, I turned this way and that, back two steps, up two steps, twirling
as the brothers moved in tandem and Eng’s hand rose above my head. I was afraid I’d trip, afraid I’d embarrass myself, but
I needn’t have worried. He knew exactly what he was doing.
When Chang dropped Addie’s hand and raised a triumphant fist in the air, Eng did the same, and the clapping of the crowd turned
into cheers.
Chang turned to the three of us, his eyes shining. “We gave them what they came for,” he said. “It’s time to go home.”