Another sleepless night for Beth. When the bedside clock read five, she gave up. Dressed in her robe, she tiptoed past the other bedrooms and down to the kitchen.
Butter sizzled in the pan. Beth poured two scrambled raw eggs into the pan and heard a satisfying sigh. With her spatula, she coaxed the edges of the cooking eggs into the center, like Myrna taught her. Within twenty seconds, the eggs were a golden firm mass with a tender surface. Beth scooped the eggs onto her plate and dropped crumbled feta cheese on top, then folded it over.
Beth took her plate to the back porch and set it on the placemat. Seated, she took a bite of the creamy concoction and sighed with deep pleasure. Perfection.
The sun was rising. A “meow” interrupted her thoughts. Sir Gallant sat a few feet away.
“Come to beg?” she asked.
He meowed a second time, and knowing a request when she heard one, Beth scraped together a small portion of the perfectly cooked egg and took it to him. After all these months, only now would he allow her to pet him. But just once. That was enough.
The stray cat dashed away when the back door slammed.
Charlie walked onto the porch. “Good morning, sweetheart. Ready for today?”
Beth scowled when she saw the white paper package with a powder blue ribbon tied around it. Where did that come from? It was a rectangular box, about twelve by eighteen inches. She saw the tag and smiled. “To Beth. From Josh.” No mention of the groom on this wedding present. Had Myrna brought it? What would Charlie think when he saw a gift just for Beth? Probably pout. Where did that thought come from?
She picked up the box. It wasn’t that heavy. What could be in it? Hopefully, a bottle of booze. That would sure come in handy. Was there a tradition or etiquette to opening wedding presents? Should it be done on the day after the ceremony with both groom and bride in attendance, one compiling a list with the item while the other opening boxes? Etiquette! She was sick to death of wedding etiquette. Besides, Charlie’s name wasn’t anywhere on the tag. Just hers.
To hell with it.
She carried the box out to the back porch and sat at the small table. Charlie had gone upstairs to shower. Beth was alone. She glanced around. From here, she could see the green buds and white blossoms of the apple trees in the orchard. The air smelled sweet, and a cool morning breeze ruffled her damp hair.
It’s so quiet here. Am I going to miss Stratton House when I leave? Yes. I am.
Beth turned her attention back to the gift. Carefully, she untied the blue bow and slid her manicured fingernails under the tape. Layers of white tissue paper gave way, revealing a plain brown cardboard box. She edged away a piece of the packing tape that bound it, lifted the top flap of the box, and saw bubble wrap inside. Reaching into the box, she slid out the item, wrapped in two layers of packaging. She broke the tape and removed the bubble wrap.
She held a carving of her own likeness, the dark wood honed with intimate detail. The exact image of her own face lit up with beauty as she held a firefly on her fingertip. Beth remembered the moment. It had been the night she had met Myrna. After playing a game of hide and seek, Sam and Max brought her lightning bugs they’d caught. She hadn’t known Josh had seen the three of them.
Her wooden hand was eloquently shaped, and her hair swept back, as though the wind had just brushed it from her face. Her lips were full and smiling with the wonder of that perfect moment. The lightning bug she held on her fingertip captivated her, and the wooden carving focused on that tiny bit of beauty. The detail exact, this was Beth.
How long had it taken him to carve this? Beth felt tears start, and began to hyperventilate.
Her mother stepped out onto the back porch. “Beth? What do you have? Oh, my. How beautiful!”
Beth burst into tears.
Her mother stepped around behind her and hugged her. “What is this? Why would such a beautiful carving make you cry? No bride should cry on her wedding day.”
“It’s from Josh,” she said, through her tears.
The two women stared down at the perfect image of Beth. The wooden carving before her smiled, indifferent to Beth’s pain and uncertainty. Indifferent to all but the beauty of that night.
“Mom, I think marrying Charlie is a huge mistake.”
Grace sat next to her at the table. She took Beth’s hand in her own, tracing the soft skin of her daughter’s palm.
“Beth, listen to me. Trust yourself. And remember, you haven’t married Charlie yet.”
“Mom, please. Please tell me what to do.”
“Oh, my sweet girl. You already know.”