Chapter 41
T he early morning mist vanished as the sun rose in the cloudless day. The old stone chapel on the Highpointe College campus—its Gothic Revival arches outlined against the azure sky—looked like something out of a fairytale.
The faint scent of flowers drifted through the sanctuary, greeting wedding guests as they entered. An enormous spray of lilacs, white tulips, and forget-me-nots graced the altar, their fragrance unmistakably that of spring.
Maggie and John strolled, hand in hand, through the massive wooden double doors into the narthex.
Gordon, who had been leaning against the stone wall near the coat rack, straightened and stepped forward to greet them.
“Where’s Anita?” Maggie asked, glancing around expectantly.
“She just stepped into the bride’s room,” Gordon said, nodding toward a closed door on the other side of the narthex. “She wanted to see if Sunday needed help getting into her wedding gown. Lyla’s with Sunday now, waiting to walk her down the aisle. Anita said she’d be right out.”
Maggie nodded. “We’ll see you at the reception.” She and John turned to go, but Maggie looked back over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye. “This is the most beautiful place to get married, isn’t it, Gordon?”
He smiled, his eyes following her for a moment. “It really is,” he said softly.
John squeezed Maggie’s hand and guided her forward. “If that was a hint,” he murmured, “it wasn’t very subtle.”
“What are you talking about?” Maggie replied, her voice full of mock surprise.
“You and Judy—and, let’s be honest, all of your friends—think Gordon should marry Anita and move to Westbury.”
They made their way down the aisle and slid into a pew near the front. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass above the altar, casting colors like watercolor brushstrokes across the stone floor.
Maggie leaned close to John and pressed her lips near his ear. “You have to admit, they’re perfect for each other.”
John turned his face toward hers, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s allow them to make that decision,” he said with a smile.
Anita fastened the final button on the back of Sunday’s wedding gown, her fingers steady with practice. She smoothed the back of the satin skirt, coaxing the fabric into a flawless fall.
Sunday’s long blonde hair was swept into a reverse French braid, its delicate weave secured by a vintage hair comb glinting beneath her cathedral-length veil. The lace-edged tulle cascaded down her back, softening the structured lines of the gown.
Anita turned the bride toward the door and adjusted the train one last time.
Lyla stood beside Sunday, looking regal in an eggplant-colored A-line gown. Her thick silver hair framed her face in a sleek, chin-length bob.
“Thank you for showing me how to bustle the train,” Lyla said. “I’ve never done that before. It’s complicated with all those hooks and loops.”
“If you need any help, you know where to find me,” Anita replied with a smile.
Lyla nodded, her expression tender as she looked at Sunday.
Anita stepped toward the door and turned, her eyes sweeping over the bride.
“You look radiant, my dear. I know I’m not objective, but I think you look even more beautiful in that dress than Kate Middleton did in hers.”
Sunday, who had been twisting her embroidered handkerchief in her hands, let out a small laugh.
“It’s almost time,” Anita said. “I need to join Gordon so we can take our seats. You’ll be coming down that aisle in a few moments.” She opened the door and slipped out.
Gordon, who had been waiting near the sanctuary doors, extended his elbow as Anita approached.
“I was getting worried there was some last-minute snafu,” he said.
Anita shook her head as they walked together. “Everything’s going as planned. And Sunday looks perfect.”
On the outskirts of campus, Jeff turned into the western entrance of Highpointe College and followed the signs to the chapel.
“We’re going to be late,” Judy said, wringing her hands. “And I’m entirely to blame. I made the decision this morning while I was getting dressed. I should’ve made it weeks ago. Sunday and Josh—they’re exactly the couple I want living in my old house.”
“What did Tim say when you called him?” Jeff asked, eyes on the winding drive.
“He said there are lots of legal ways to handle a sale when a buyer doesn’t have their financing in place. Lease with an option to purchase, seller carry-back—all kinds of things. I wrote in their card that, if they want the house, it’s theirs. We’ll work out the details whenever they’re ready.”
“I wish we could see their faces when they open it,” Jeff said. “I can only imagine how thrilled they’ll be.”
He pulled into the chapel parking lot as quickly as he dared and slid into a vacant space. They both jumped out.
“I’m sorry I made us late,” Judy said, breathless as they sprinted toward the steps.
Jeff grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest. “They haven’t started yet,” he said as he pulled open the chapel doors. “We made it.”
“Nervous?” Lyla asked gently, her hand brushing Sunday’s arm.
Sunday nodded, her expression open and honest. “I’m not having second thoughts or anything … but, yes. I’m nervous.”
“Anyone would be,” Lyla said. She handed Sunday the bouquet—a hand-tied gathering of the same flowers gracing the altar, finished with a long satin ribbon. The lilacs brought out the purple in Sunday’s amethyst eyes.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and Susan stuck her head in. “Ready? It’s go-time.”
“You look lovely in that lavender silk dress,” Lyla told her. “You’re the most glamorous pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.”
Susan beamed, gave her bump a gentle pat, and opened the door wide. “And you are the most stunning bride, Sunday.” Susan picked up her own bouquet—a smaller version of the bride’s—and walked to the entrance of the sanctuary.
The opening chords of the wedding march rang out from the organ. Inside, guests swiveled to face the back.
Josh and Frank stood side by side at the altar, each in a silvery gray suit and crisp white shirt. Frank’s tie was lavender; Josh’s a deep, regal purple. Josh’s gaze never wavered from the back of the sanctuary.
Lyla extended her right arm to Sunday, who tucked her left hand into the crook of Lyla’s elbow. They stepped forward and paused as the music swelled. Sunday’s eyes locked on Josh’s. He exhaled, visibly moved.
The guests rose to their feet.
They began their walk down the aisle. The gown floated around Sunday like wind through a field of tall grass. The hush in the chapel was broken only by the strains of the organ and an occasional catch of breath.
When they reached the altar, Lyla released Sunday and opened her arms for a loose, joyful three-way hug with both the bride and the groom. Sunday handed her bouquet to Susan, who had taken her place nearby.
Josh reached for Sunday’s hand. Their eyes remained on each other, their connection filling the space between. No one else existed.
The officiant welcomed everyone and led them through the beginning of the service. Then came the moment they’d planned for:
“The bride and groom have written their own vows and will speak them now.”
Josh took both of Sunday’s hands. “Today I give you my hand and my heart. I promise to respect you, trust you, and stand beside you through every season of our lives. With you, I am the best version of myself. I will cherish you and our love, honor our bond, and care for and comfort you all the days of my life.”
A sniffle echoed from the pews behind them.
Sunday fished the lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. Josh smiled at her, rubbing the tops of her hands with his thumbs.
She took a breath to steady herself.
“I promise to love you with patience, kindness, and unwavering faith. I will celebrate your triumphs and support you in your struggles. I vow to grow with you, and to build a life that honors the love we’ve been given. I will make my home in you, and thank God every day for the gift of you.”
A soft chorus of sniffles followed, tissues emerging from purses and jacket pockets.
The couple exchanged rings, their hands trembling. The officiant offered a last prayer and then proclaimed, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your union with a kiss.”
Josh drew Sunday into his arms. Their kiss was sweet, certain, and sacred—the kind that bore witness to a love elevated to a lifetime commitment.
Applause rose around them as they finally parted, breathless with joy. The organist began the recessional, and Sunday and Josh turned to walk together down the aisle—their first steps into married life.