HER LITTLE BEDROOM FELT CROWDED when Molly and Clara arrived. With nervous giggles and some warmhearted teasing, they helped Violet prepare.
“Don’t tug the strings so hard!” Violet gasped as Clara yanked her corset tighter. “I need enough breath to say my vows.”
“Tie the strings up in knots what’ll take Joe all night to undo,” suggested Molly.
“Don’t you dare!” Violet blushed. “He’d probably take his pen-knife to it. And corset ties are expensive; we can’t be having that sort of expense.”
“That sort of expense—Don’t she talk like an old married woman already?”
Once Violet was arrayed in her beautiful wedding dress, Clara set to work on her golden locks. Various elaborate styles were attempted, but none were suitable for accommodating a bonnet.
“I can’t have my bonnet perching on my head like a ridiculous after-thought,” Violet moaned, beginning to feel anxious. “Hurry up, time’s running out!”
“Let’s have a nice, demure roll at the nape of your neck.”
“Joe likes that,” Violet said.
“Now, ya tell us!”
From downstairs, the clinking of cups and saucers and the hubbub of her sisters’ excited voices could be heard. In the marital bedroom, Mr. Brookes grumbled about his top button and stiff collar.
“Leave it to me,” ordered his wife. “And I suppose you want me to knot your tie too?’’
“Of course. Why else did I marry you?”
Violet smiled wryly. How many times had she heard that one? It was all very well for her parents, but she hoped Joe would never become quite so predictable.
Molly and Clara pulled back the curtains and peered out the tiny bedroom window to watch the guests arrive. Their warm breath fogged up the cold glass as they elbowed each other for a better view.
“Here comes ponderous Mr. Grey, his wife on his arm, talking ten to the dozen.”
“Why were they invited?” asked Violet, feeling put out.
Molly glanced back at Violet. “I suppose they had to be, seeing as Mrs. Grey volunteered to make some of the sandwiches.”
Violet wanted to get a good view too, but it seemed undignified for a bride to show her face out of a bedroom window, and anyway, her outfit might get crushed.
“And here comes a gaggle of your nephews and nieces, almost colliding with the Greys,” Clara said.
“Runny noses?”
“Can’t see from here.”
“There are your in-laws-to-be, trying to hide their disapproval behind friendly smiles,” Molly teased.
“Here comes the minister, the man responsible for pronouncing you man and wife. His missus is looking very nice, with little Grace in a sweet little lace bonnet and dragging her dolly.”
“Now Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe are opening the garden gate. She looks as stunning as ever.” Molly quickly turned to Violet. “Nowhere near as stunning as you, I hasten to add.”
“And here is the handsome bridegroom himself!” announced Clara, dramatically drawing the curtains together. “No peeping, Vi!”
“He’s just turned on his heels and fled,” teased Molly from behind the curtains.
The three girls giggled.
“Keep quiet,” Violet said anxiously. “The guests are coming inside. You had better go down too.”
Violet was pleased to be alone. She perched on the side of her bed and prayed. Her heart was full of gratitude to the Lord for His abundant mercy to her, and she beseeched Him for His presence to continue with her in the new phase of life she was about to begin.
After a while the hum of quiet conversation turned to silence. The creaking of the wooden stairs indicated that her father was coming up to escort her down. Violet stood up and straightened her skirts. Her composure almost faltered when she opened her door and saw the tender look in her father’s eyes. He must have realised, for he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said, “Let’s show ’em, gal,” before leading her down the narrow staircase.
Squeezing their way between the large, hooped skirts of their guests, Violet and her father reached the fireplace. There, waiting on each side of the coffee table were two smartly dressed men. Reverend Jack Hayworth looked formal and dignified, and Joe appeared abnormally official in his stiff new suit and shiny boots. As handsome as he looked, Violet preferred him in work clothes and an open-necked shirt. This fleeting thought vanished completely when he stepped forward to meet her and shot her a reassuringly cheeky grin. Joe would always be Joe, however trussed up in a formal suit!
Standing on the worn, faded hearth rug, surrounded by friends and family and in the sight of God, Joe and Violet exchanged their marriage vows. As predicted, after pronouncing them man and wife, Jack, being of an older generation, omitted the permission to kiss. But as promised, Joe took the matter into his own hands, pulled his bride to him, and landed a kiss on her lips. There was a moment of awkward silence when the gathered party did not know whether to clap or tut. Mr. Brookes saved the day by striking up the Doxology.
They nearly lifted the roof off the shepherd’s cottage as, with one heart, the rustic voices sang out—
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all people here below.
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.