Three weeks later
The Thompson Historical Homestead,
St. Helena Island
Sage
I stretch out my arms and spin in a slow circle. The long skirt of my wedding gown puddles around my feet in a whorl of ivory silk.
“Well?”
Rosemary nods approvingly. “You’re gorgeous. Just try not to trip on your way down the aisle.”
Thyme covers her laugh with a cough, but Mom clicks her tongue.
“Stop it, you two. Sage is going to float down the aisle, full of grace and ease,” MJ assures us all. It even sounds like she believes it.
Muffy, who may be even clumsier than I am, looks up from tying the ribbons on Skylar’s dress and winks at me. I figure there’s a sixty-percent chance I don’t get caught up in the dress and faceplant. Especially considering the ‘aisle’ is a rough path cut through the field.
“Besides,” MJ goes on, “I thought you lifted the curse? Nothing’s going to go wrong today,” she insists.
I can sense she’s getting ready to propose we do some positive visualizations—or maybe a round of affirmation chanting. And for all her kookiness, she’s right that mindset matters. But we’re on a tight schedule here. Time for a distraction.
I traipse over to her and wrap my arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re here today, Mom.”
She gives me a squeeze. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling girl. Oh, wait a minute.” She reaches in the pocket of her vintage silk dress. I have to hand it to her, the A-line cut dress suits her and she has pockets. Who doesn’t love a dress with pockets?
She removes a tissue that’s been folded into a small, thick square. I realize I’m holding my breath because she could have just about anything squirreled away in there.
Just please don’t be animal bones.
She opens the tissue to reveal a gleaming silver coin. “You have something old—Betsy and Gus’s rings. You have something new, I’m sure?”
I gesture at the dress.
“Something borrowed?”
“Yep,” Hunter chirps. “She’s wearing Ginia’s hair comb.”
The silver comb was unearthed the same day as the photograph, and Clovis insists it belongs to Hunter now. She had it cleaned and polished until it gleamed and asked me to wear it today. It’s perched atop my complicated bun, shining like the sun.
Until now, Hunter’s been so quiet, I almost forget she’s in the room. But she is my future stepsister-in-law and Trina’s stepdaughter, now. So once I calmed down and decided not to press charges for her vandalism, she stepped up and helped me whip the wedding into shape.
To her credit, convincing Reverend Walker to perform the ceremony at her great-grandmother’s childhood farm instead of the church was a stroke of genius. Everyone’ll be more comfortable outside, and the reverend agreed that uniting the Lyman and Davis families and ending the feud on the land where Ginia was born symbolizes a new beginning. As a bonus, my Wiccan mother is unlikely to freak out because there won’t be any religious iconography to set her off. Win, win, win.
But Hunter’s done more than secure the perfect venue. This wedding is going to be amazing, and it’s mainly her doing. She thinks of everything.
Mom’s nodding her approval. “Something blue?”
“Oh, yeah.”
There’s so much blue. Hunter’s incorporated the shade the Gullah call haint blue into everything from the ribbons on the bouquets to the ballet slipper-style flats on my feet. Just because there aren’t any evil spirits currently torturing us is no reason to be lazy about it. We’re even using cobalt blue bottles on the tables as vases. Better safe than sorry.
Mom presses the coin into my hand. “There’s another verse, you know. The full poem goes something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a lucky sixpence for your shoe.”
I examine the disc. It’s an actual sixpence.
“Where did you get this?’
“Oh, I’ve had it forever. My grandmother gave it to me when your dad and I had our handfasting ceremony. It’s apparently quite valuable.”
“Really?”
“It was minted in the early nineteen hundreds when the coins were more than ninety percent real silver. Or so I’m told.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
Thyme hurries over to crouch and help me tuck the coin into my shoe. I wiggle my toes. I can’t even feel it.
As she stands up, she says, “Mom?” in a careful voice.
Mom smiles, already anticipating the question. “Yes, Thyme, I disclosed it as an asset during the forfeiture proceeding. But that snotty IRS lady scoffed at a penny, and a foreign one at that. So, they didn’t want it. I’m minding my ps and qs, girls.”
Thyme’s mouth curves into a relieved smile. “Good. We want you and Dad to be released early with credit for good behavior.”
Mom pinches her cheek. “So do I. I’m sure I’ll have another wedding to attend soon.”
The barest shadow flits across Thyme’s face. It vanishes so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.
Trina appears in the doorway. “Y’all ready? Everyone’s here. And, truth be told, we better get this started before Roman faints. That boy is jumpier than a grasshopper.” She gives me a wide grin.
Knowing Roman’s nervous, too, somehow calms my jangled nerves. Rosemary hands me my bouquet and squeezes my arm. “Showtime.”
I take a deep breath and I sweep my way out of the room.
Dad tucks my arm under his elbow and flashes me a grin. He doesn’t say anything, but the tremulous smile says it all. He’s always been the most sentimental of the Fields. He’s holding back tears. I stretch up onto my toes and give him a peck beside his ear.
“Love you, Dad.”
He pats my hand and makes a choking sound.
The first, sweet notes of the Second Baptist choir’s a cappella arrangement of Roman’s favorite hymn, “Be Still,” rise on the air, and Rosemary hooks her arm through Thyme’s. They start down the aisle between the two sections of padded seats. The choir was all Denise’s idea. And Clovis arranged for a Zydeco band to play at the reception. Apparently, he’s in a book club with the washboard player.
When my sisters asked if they could escort each other down the aisle, I said yes immediately. Who wants to take that interminable walk all alone, with all those eyes staring at you? Skylar apparently is up for the job, though.
I watch her counting, mouthing the numbers, as Rosemary and Thyme pass the first three rows. When they reach the fourth, she shoots me an excited grin and steps forward with her basket of sweetgrass roses, picked from Muffy’s garden just this morning.
The way the wedding’s evolved into a project that interweaves my family, the Lymans, the Moores, and the Davises makes my heart swell and my eyes fill. I blink down at the flowers in my hand to stop the tears. My eyes fall on the sage leaves tucked into the bouquet for luck and I take one more deep, centering breath.
The choir’s last note hangs in the air, and the afternoon is still for one crystalline moment. I see Dave and Victor standing side by side with Dylan straight as a soldier in front of them. And next to them, Roman. His amber eyes are locked on me. His angular face serious, but his mouth soft and full. A slow smile starts at his lips and spreads to his eyes.
Someone, at this point I don’t even know who, begins to play the violin. I move forward toward Roman as if I’m being pulled by an invisible ribbon, tying me to him for all time. And, literally, the rest of the ceremony is a blur of emotion.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in Roman’s arms and he’s crushing his mouth against mine, covering my lips with a strong, long kiss. So, apparently we said our vows and exchanged rings and Reverend Walker pronounced us husband and wife. I really hope Chip’s videographer captured the entire thing, because I’d love to know what happened.
Reverend Walker beams and spreads his arms wide. The whooping, cheering, and clapping intensify. I stare down at Betsy Lyman’s never-worn wedding band on my finger in amazement. Then Roman squeezes my hand.
“Ready?”
Ready for what? The rest of our lives? Sure.
I lift my eyes to see that the question wasn’t rhetorical. Hunter’s hustling up the aisle clutching a creamy white broom decorated with blooms and ribbons.
I’d forgotten this part was coming. One last chance for Sage to fall on her newly-wedded face in front of two hundred people.
Hunter crouches and places the broom in our path. Reverend Walker booms, “Roman and Sage will now jump the broom.”
I grip Roman’s hand. We swing our hands back and forth, one, two, three. Dylan and Skylar are already clapping excitedly as their big brother and I leap over the broom and into our new life together.
I land on my feet and Reverend Walker says, “Let’s get this celebration started!”
There’s a chorus of hallelujahs, and we set off down the aisle.
The reception stretches late into the night. Hundreds of candles light the field and the Zydeco band keeps our guests on their feet, hopping and singing. It turns out Victor has some moves. He and Thyme are a big hit on the dance floor.
Rosemary and Dave are deep in conversation with Hunter and her date. Rosemary must be telling one of her stories, because the others are throwing back their heads with open-mouthed laughter and wiping tears from their eyes when they catch their breath.
Roman and I sit at the sweetheart table, our fingers entwined, and watch. Every so often we’ll take a bite of Rosemary’s unbelievably delicious honeysuckle lavender cake with lemon cream. It sounds like hyperbole to call a dessert a masterpiece, but if anything, it’s an understatement.
I make sure we each also nibble on Trina’s sesame seed benne wafers. Most of the buttery, nutty cookies are going home with our guests in blue favor bags, but the wafers are supposed to bring luck to a marriage. Also, they pair nicely with champagne, so I made us up a plate.
Roman nods toward the parents’ table, where Muffy and Chip, Trina and Clovis, and Mary Jane and Bart are chatting away. “What on earth do you think those six are talking about?”
The question boggles my mind. I can almost feel my synapses straining as my brain fumbles for an answer to this unanswerable question.
Finally, I shake my head and smile. “Could be anything. Literally, anything, from hoodoo curses to the performance of the stock market to how to smuggle a shank into prison.”
He grins at me. “Nah. Easy money says they’re jawing about when we’re going to give them grandkids.”
My eyes fly open and I turn my head to the empty table for two set up just next to ours. I take in the two uneaten plates of food, the dish of benne wafers, the two undrunk glasses of wine, the flickering candle, and the blue cobalt vase of cream-colored roses.
I implore the thin air near the table, “Do you hear that Gus and Betsy? We need your protection.”
Roman laughs and pulls me close. “They can’t help us now. That’s a nice touch—your mom’s idea of inviting their spirits to our wedding.”
I snuggle closer to him as the breeze picks up. “It is. I feel like maybe we’ve given them the wedding they never had.”
The wind dances over the blue glass bottles on our table and the tables around us, and a faint, low rumble sounds, as if Gus is agreeing. I raise my eyes to Roman’s, and I can tell he hears it, too.