DECEMBER 1882
Reverend Gilmore looked out over his congregation, all of them dressed in their Sunday best, or rather, all of them dressed in a manner befitting a wedding.
The flowers of choice weren’t flowers at all, but poinsettias, chosen because the bride adored red but hadn’t wanted roses.
Glancing to his right, Reverend Gilmore smiled at Oliver Addleshaw, Everett Mulberry, and Archibald Addleshaw, pulling his attention away from the men a moment later when music rang out and everyone turned their attention to the back of the church.
Rose and Thaddeus Burkhart, followed by their sister Elizabeth, Everett and Millie’s children of their hearts, were first to enter, walking down the aisle as they smiled and waved, Everett beaming with pride as they took their places in front of the pulpit.
Harriet was next, looking beautiful in a gown of red with her dark hair pulled on top of her head, and a smile on her face, her smile widening when she caught Oliver’s eye and he sent her a wink.
Reverend Gilmore had sorely missed Harriet while she’d been in England. But now she was back, and he was looking forward to enjoying having her around again since she and Oliver had agreed that New York was their home, even though Harriet’s family lived in England.
Millie followed, looking quite like a fairy princess in her gown of red, grinning from ear to ear as she practically skipped down the aisle, never one to miss an opportunity to skip. She didn’t immediately take her place, but hurried over to her husband, Everett, kissing him smartly on the cheek before she hurried back to join Harriet, grinning broadly as she took hold of Harriet’s hand.
Then Lucetta was gliding down the aisle, more beautiful than ever, but with a few wisps of hair slipping out of the knot that had been arranged on her head. The slightly disheveled state of her hair was a direct result of her having to help the bride find something borrowed, the only thing that everyone seemed to have forgotten.
Joining her friends, Lucetta dashed a hand over eyes that had already taken to watering as the music paused for just a second. And then Abigail was standing at the end of the aisle, wearing a gown of ivory that Harriet had designed specifically for her. With one hand she held tightly to the arm of Bram, the grandson she’d finally gotten to know, and the other hand held onto Iris, the daughter finally returned to her. Ruby stood beside Iris—holding a leash, and on the end of that leash was . . . Buford, Harriet and Oliver’s motley dog.
“Why does Ruby have Buford?” Oliver asked no one in particular.
“Abigail needed something borrowed, and Buford was what she chose, but I’m not certain that exactly counts since she’s not holding the leash,” Harriet said in a hushed voice before she put her finger to her lips and nodded back to Abigail.
As Abigail walked down the aisle with Bram, her gaze settling on a smiling Archibald, Reverend Gilmore shot a glance to the stained-glass window that had a simple cross laid into it and bowed his head. His heart was so full from the blessings God had bestowed on the young ladies standing before him—and his dear friend, Abigail, who’d found another chance at love when less than a year before she’d almost given up on living—that he could only summon up two words for the Father who’d been so very, very generous of late.
“Thank you,” Reverend Gilmore whispered before he lifted his head, smiled at Abigail and Archibald, who were now holding hands and beaming his way, and then invited his congregation to join him in prayer.