Allison glanced around at the guests seated on folding chairs in Dorey’s lovely rose garden.
In certain ways this gathering reminded her of Lady Joanna’s funeral seven months ago. Many of the faces were the same. But today there was the crisp brightness of a warming spring day instead of the drizzle of late autumn. And today the eyes contained smiles which looked forward with anticipation, rather than tears which lamented the passing of an era. The past was behind, the future lay ahead—as it always would. The life which was in Stonewycke and its people continued to move forward.
Allison smiled at her friends and neighbors. They were here to celebrate with the family a grand and wondrous occasion. A lump rose in her throat when she thought that not so very long ago she had no hope of being in such an enviable position. Yet here she was today, the mother of the bride!
The very thought still sent a thrill through her body. Then she remembered that this bride had two mothers. Allison turned and smiled at Mrs. Edwards, and patted her hand affectionately.
Yes, it was a grand day—the day her new daughter would be married to a man of God’s choosing. What a pair they made—the imperturbable, traditionalist professor, and the progressive, firebrand journalist. Yet their very differences complemented one another.
Just three days ago the two of them had ridden on horseback to Braenock Ridge. Allison and Logan had driven the car out as far as possible and then had hiked the rest of the way in to meet the young couple. They had come upon them unannounced and had paused a short distance off, unable to resist a few moments silently observing their daughter and her husband-to-be as they poked about the ancient stones. Both were alive with curiosity, talking furiously—not only about the original site of the treasure they were exploring, but about all kinds of things.
It was obvious from watching them—in their blue jeans, boots, and loose-fitting shirts and jackets—that they were going to have fun together. Neither was satisfied to accept superficialities, either in relationships or—as they now displayed as they scrambled about the rocks and earth—in matters of science or history or knowledge. Where Ashley literally dug in the earth to discover the roots of man’s historical being, Hilary dug into the motives of human hearts with her literary investigations. They were, in that sense, very much alike after all. Together they would have quite an impact on the world around them.
But at that moment the violins began the wedding march, and Allison’s attention was diverted to the front of the colorful gathering. There stood an oaken altar, bordered by large wicker vases full of roses and lilies. Rev. Macaulay appeared from the door at the side of the house and took his place at the altar. Then followed Ashley’s best man, a Chief Inspector from Scotland Yard by the name of Harry Arnstein. “Now there is a mismatched pair,” mused Allison with a silent chuckle. Arnstein appeared the perfect stereotype of the policeman—thick, muscular, with a broad homely face and small drooping eyes. How he and the lanky scholar had ever become such close friends, Allison could not guess. And to her every inquiry they had been very evasive. But again Allison’s musings were interrupted as a third man stepped from the side door.
Ashley Jameson, styled Lord Dearden, appeared every inch the noble gentleman now, no matter how much he might choose to downplay it. The black pin-striped tuxedo suited him well; he looked even taller than usual. Even on so momentous an occasion as his own wedding, he walked with more than a trace of his usual casual manner. Yet Allison could note at the same time a purposefulness in his step which revealed immediately there was more to this man than could readily be discerned on the surface. Hilary would have a lifetime to discover all the fine nuances of the personality and character of this man of God who would soon be her husband and the latest of Stonewycke’s line of noble family heads.
Allison reflected on the men God had integrated into the family heritage over the past hundred years. In a birthright where women had dominated the line of descent, the husbands of their choosing had in recent times been men of great inner strength and stature. Each added new facets to the vitality of life that passed from generation to generation. Ashley, too, would make his mark upon this posterity, infusing his own genes and character and perspectives into the family bloodstream.
Suzanne Heywood, Hilary’s maid of honor, then appeared, her long blond hair set off by a gown of pale blue silk, the wide neckline accented with frilly lace in tones of cream and blue.
All at once the violins struck the chord announcing the approach of the bride. A chill of pride coursed through Allison’s heart as she stood. In the seats behind her, in addition to the many neighbors and townspeople, her sister May and brother Ian were on their feet too. Behind them were Hilary’s friends from the magazine, Murry and Betty and several others. On the opposite side of the aisle, Ashley’s colleagues from Oxford were rising now. Allison could not stop the tears streaming down her face, nor did she want to. Mrs. Edwards quietly slipped a hand through her arm. When Allison glanced toward her with a smile, she saw that the dear woman was weeping too.
At last came the processional. Many moist eyes turned to see father and daughter, arm linked through arm, begin down the aisle under the smiling blue sky.
How handsome Logan looked! Never on the floor of Parliament, thought Allison, could he have been so distinguished! Joy and fatherly pride beamed from his face; the twinkling eyes and broad smile inevitably reminded Allison of the Logan in his younger days. His smiling eyes had always been full of life. But today they were filled to overflowing with the exhilaration of having his daughter’s arm through his, and knowing that their love, long lost, was now marvelously and mutually shared to the fullest. His grip on Hilary as they slowly moved forward with the music gave evidence that he might have difficulty giving her away when the moment came.
Logan turned his head slightly and smiled down at her, as if he could still not believe his good fortune in discovering his daughter. At last the tracks appeared down his cheeks. But no one thought the less of him, for his tears were caused by the joy and thanksgiving only a father can know on the day of his daughter’s marriage.
Hilary herself came down the grassy walkway the perfect vision of the bride. Though her white gown was simple and understated, the overall effect was nonetheless elegant. The dress was silk, overlayed with lace. The flounced, over-the-shoulder peasant neckline beautifully set off Lady Margaret’s gold locket. A ring of spring flowers, all gathered from Dorey’s greenhouse or upon the hills themselves, adorned her amber hair, and a short veil hung down to her shoulders. In her hands she carried a matching bouquet.
Allison’s lip trembled. Here indeed was the true treasure of Stonewycke! The box they had retrieved could never compare with the wealth that now graced Dorey’s garden. It had been with them all along, in the heritage of God’s presence abiding within this family, and this land, through the centuries, a pearl of great price now visible for the world to see. No doubt Maggie and Joanna were watching, sharing the fulfillment Allison felt.
Who could tell how far into the future this eternal treasure would extend? God’s very life was waiting to be instilled within those yet unborn. The heritage would continue, as His Word promised, even to a thousand generations of those who loved Him and kept His commands.
———
Logan and Hilary reached the end of the aisle. The violins stopped, and Rev. Macauley stepped forward.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Logan cast a wistful yet loving glance down at his daughter, then smiled through the tears he was not ashamed to show.
In that moment Hilary realized anew that she had become part of something much larger than her limited vision could grasp. She had been swept into an ongoing stream of generations, every one of which had to “choose this day whom they would serve.” None who had gone before had been perfect, yet each had left his or her own special mark upon the family. She could not help but wonder what would be her stamp of individuality, and Ashley’s.
Hilary smiled up at Logan. Perhaps the minister’s question was a more difficult one than for most fathers. After all, they had just found each other, and now he was being asked to give her away all over again! But Logan knew he would never lose the companionship which had begun to grow between them.
“Her mother and I!” came his buoyant answer. Then he leaned over and tenderly kissed her cheek.
“I love you, Father,” Hilary whispered.
Logan gave her arm a final squeeze, then took her hand and offered it to Ashley.
Hilary and Ashley now moved side by side in front of the altar, and proceeded to pledge their lifelong commitment to one other, before family and friends, and the great cloud of witnesses watching from above.
The village down the hill was quiet and nearly empty. The shoreline stretching west and east was calm; the many vessels tied to their moorings in the harbor sat idle and unconcerned. Little work was being done today in the valley called Strathy. A great hush seemed to have descended upon the land. No soul was present on the foothills to the south, upon whose heather-covered slopes had ridden the progenitors of the heritage that was at this moment being rediscovered anew. In the distance, great silent white clouds hung over the Highlands. All life seemed to have paused in the region and come to rest upon the couple now dedicating themselves to each other before family, friends, and God.
The sun glowed upon Hilary and Ashley, and a gentle sea breeze wafted in from offshore, as if offering a loving benediction from their dear Father in heaven who had unfailingly led them on these converging paths where their lives and love were now joining as one. Also as a reminder that His Spirit would continue with them always.