The Leaning Church Vineyard was a twenty-minute drive out of Launceston, and resided in an elevated position about the town of Lalla, in the Tamar Valley wine route. The wedding cars were provided by one of Archie’s motoring enthusiast friends. Archie drove himself and the three boys in a black 1930s Ford soft-top. When they reached the church at the back of the vineyard, their job was to light the tea lights inside twenty rice-paper lanterns that lined the aisle of the church. This would serve as the signal for all the guests to take their seats, and the boys would have their moment walking down the aisle. Christmas had kissed Archie’s hairy cheek at home before the men left and thought he looked like a finely groomed shaggy dog, the fur of his paws just visible below the cuffs of his white suit. Willis, Nate and Braxton were all miniature copies of their dad, minus the excess hair—although that would likely only be a matter of time.
The bridal party—Val, Christmas, Darla and Joseph—followed in a teal Austin with white ribbons at the front and red leather seats. Joseph was at the wheel, Darla beside him, evidently working hard to keep her criticisms of his driving to a minimum, and the sisters sat in the back seat, holding hands, giggling, and inhaling the delicately scented white freesias in their laps. Cheyenne had dropped off the stunning bouquets that morning.
‘Look at those clouds,’ Val said, her eyes lit up as she checked the sky.
The weather was probably not what many brides would want for their wedding day but Christmas agreed that it was charming. The fat, low-hanging dark clouds surrounded the entourage and seemed to magnify the expectation in the air. Weak sunlight filtered through floating mist and intensified the green of the hills, giving everything an enchanted feel. It was perfectly quiet—a natural cathedral. The long dirt road to the church wound up and down and round, tall gum trees lining the edges, and the car bumped gently along past goats, grape vines and wizened houses with smoke pumping from chimneys.
Joseph pulled the car to a stop in front of the weatherboard church, and a few stragglers—a mother chasing a toddler in a pink tutu, one of Archie’s pimply-faced apprentices smoking a cigarette, and an elderly woman on a mobile phone—all hurried inside. Christmas stepped out of the car in her sleeveless mint-green satin and ivory tulle and lace dress, shivering slightly in the cold and carrying her bridesmaid’s bouquet. It was impossible not to feel happy in this moment, despite everything that had happened with Lincoln.
Darla opened her door and Christmas went to help her out.
‘I’m not an old woman, Christmas,’ she grumbled, but she allowed her arm to be taken and didn’t pull away once she was on her feet.
‘I know you’re not,’ Christmas said. ‘But it’s my prerogative as your daughter to be kind to you.’ Darla looked a little startled, but Christmas just wrapped her in a hug before she could respond.
Her mother was flawed. Christmas had always known that, and now she realised that it was unfair, perhaps even cruel, to expect her to be anything other than what she was. She had to stop blaming her for not knowing more about Gregoire. It was what it was. No one could turn back the clock, change the past. It was simply time to move on.
Joseph opened Val’s door and took her hand as she inched out. From across the roof of the Austin, Christmas could see the strong emotion he struggled to suppress. Her own nose began to tingle, heralding tears, but she forced them away.
Val’s peacock-blue duchess satin floor-length dress made her look like Audrey Hepburn, and the peacock feather pinned at her crown added a regal touch. She might have had rouge on her cheeks but she didn’t need it; she was as radiant as any young bride could be. She adjusted the material around her waist, positioned the freesias in her arm and turned her eyes questioningly to Christmas and Darla.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Christmas said.
Darla nodded. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘you’re a vision.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Val said. ‘I’m really glad you’re here.’ She squeezed Darla’s hand and her mother pulled her in for a last embrace before the walk down the aisle.
Then it started to rain, lightly at first as they made their way up the petal-covered footpath, and more heavily by the time they reached the rose-covered walkway leading up to the church entrance. The lanterns cast flickering lights against the church windows, and the sound of relaxed jazz piano music floated from inside. By the time they got to the arched doorway, the rain was pelting down, hammering the roof and ground, loud enough to muffle the music. Far from being upset by this, Val glowed with pleasure.
The four of them walked between rows of pews filled with smiling people. They passed Emily, sitting on the end of the fourth row from the front, wearing a festive hat of Australian leaves and gumnuts, and Christmas gave her a grateful smile for all her support, especially yesterday when it had felt as though her heart was tearing in two. Emily beamed back and gave them a little wave. In the front row were Val’s other half-siblings, Paula and Sacha, and their mother, Gloria, holding up cameras and wearing a buttonhole and corsages that matched Val’s flowers.
By the time they reached the groom’s party standing with the celebrant, the noise of the rain was deafening. Val kissed her three sons and handed her flowers to Darla, who stood close by with Christmas at her side. Joseph stood next to his ex-wife and put his arm around her shoulders as her bottom lip began to quiver. Val faced Archie and took his hands. The celebrant tried to welcome everyone but she couldn’t be heard over the noise. Everyone laughed and for a few moments there was nothing but the sound of water drops hitting the roof. The reverie was only broken by a hiccupping, hee-hawing, blubbering noise that turned out to be issuing from the hairy man holding onto Val’s hands at the front of the church, hands he would promise never to let go, just as soon as his words could be heard over the rain.
The reception was supposed to be a garden tea party affair in Val and Archie’s backyard but the relentless rain made it impossible, so the whole thing was moved inside with an air of jovial chaos. Old jam jars holding candles were scattered throughout the house. Petals were sprinkled over tables. Bath towels were laid down in doorways and hallways to mop up excess water and mud. Body heat steamed up the windows. Braxton brought out his dinosaurs to decorate cheese platters, Nate put on an apron and set himself up in the kitchen to help make the food, and Willis fulfilled the role of runner, ducking and weaving through the crowd with ice, drinks, music and trays of canapés.
‘Are you disappointed we can’t do this outside?’ Christmas asked Val as they were pressed into the corner of the kitchen by a mass of people moving through to the dining room.
‘Not really. This is life. You can’t plan it.’ Val moved off happily to speak to an old school friend.
Emily approached her then, a drink in hand.
‘Where’s your hat gone?’ Christmas said.
‘I had to take it off because I kept knocking it on doorways and things. I think Braxton is using it as a bush setting for a dinosaur role play.’
They both watched the scene playing out around them, ties being loosened, shoes flung into corners, plastic cups overflowing with bubbles, groups posing cheek to cheek for informal photographs, smartphones being tapped and shared, laughter, chatting, the inevitable awkward guy in the corner with his arms crossed, and the bored and likely deaf grandmother ensconced in an armchair waiting for someone to bring her a plate.
‘I can’t believe you’re leaving,’ Christmas said, suddenly overwhelmed and tired and a little teary.
‘I know. It’s the end of an era. But we’ve survived distance before, when you lived in Sydney.’
‘And then I ran back to you,’ Christmas said.
‘Well then, if it all goes badly for me I’ll run back to you and sleep on your couch and eat your chocolate for a few months while I get myself together again.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
Just then, Frank Sinatra’s voice boomed out of the stereo, tables and chairs were pulled to the edges of the lounge room, and Paula, the bossier of Val’s other siblings, ordered everyone onto the dance floor.
Joseph manoeuvred into their corner, kissed Emily on the cheek and asked if he could steal Christmas away for a dance.
‘I’ll let you borrow her,’ Emily said, and squeezed Christmas’s hand as they moved off.
‘Where are Val and Archie?’ Christmas said, taking a space on the dance floor with Joseph.
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t seen them for a while.’
‘Probably cornered somewhere by someone talking their ear off.’
Joseph sway-danced with Christmas to ‘Come Fly with Me’. ‘Have you been taking lessons?’ he asked. ‘I don’t remember you being this coordinated before.’
‘I would object to that if it wasn’t so true,’ she said, twirling under his arm. ‘And yes, I had to dance in France as part of my chocolate course.’
‘That’s an unusual teaching method,’ Joseph said, stepping in towards her and then out again.
‘It certainly was.’
‘Did it work?’
‘Yes, I think it might have.’
‘Huh.’
She put her hand up onto his shoulder. ‘You know what?’
‘What?’
‘I’m really glad you’re my stepfather/ex-stepfather/father-figure person.’
‘Well, that’s nice of you to say so. I’m glad you’re my stepdaughter/ex-stepdaughter/daughter-ish person.’
‘And if I ever get married, I’d be so happy if you would walk with me down the aisle.’
Joseph stumbled and stepped on her toe.
‘Ow!’ She laughed.
‘God, sorry. Are you alright?’
‘I think I’ll live, but my pedicure might be ruined. Sorry if I threw you off.’
Joseph’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘I’d be honoured to walk you down the aisle.’
‘Because do you know what I’ve just realised?’ she went on. ‘You can’t choose your parents. You can’t even choose your stepparents. But I can choose my ex-stepfather as my own. You’re the only father I’ve ever had and I’m so lucky and grateful for that. And I want it to stay that way forever, no matter how many other faux, transient, step- or biological fathers come my way. All my life I thought I was missing a father when really you’ve been here all along. Or mostly all along.’
Joseph pulled her to his chest and hugged her hard. ‘I choose you, too,’ he said. And his hand fluttered at hers briefly before he excused himself and left the floor, heading towards the undercover patio at the back.
The wedding cake was a Victorian sponge tower made by Archie’s mother and decorated with freshly whipped cream, strawberries and rose petals and a generous dusting of icing sugar. It was simple, elegant, beautiful and absolutely delicious. Christmas’s miniature wedding cake chocolates were handed around on silver platters and were a huge hit with the crowd. She fielded endless compliments and enquiries about her shop and her work, with promises of several solid bookings to come.
But it was at around this time, when the rain had finally ceased and the guests started to drift off, a frosty wind shooting through the constantly opening front door, that she began to feel the weight of all she’d lost with Lincoln and what she would lose with Emily’s departure. She put down the plastic cup of champagne she was drinking, suspecting that it was now having the opposite of the intended effect, making her maudlin rather than festive, and raided Val’s wardrobe for a coat. Bracing herself, she stepped out into the cold, pulling the thick coat tightly around her, shivering as the wind skittered up her exposed legs and under the hem of her dress.
Cars lined the street on both sides but the footpath it was empty except for one man heavily rugged up and walking a small dog. She began to walk too, with no plan in mind other than to force herself into a better mental state by blasting away any self-indulgence. It was her sister’s wedding day. She should be happy. But suddenly she’d run out of cheer. And battling the cold wind wasn’t enlivening her; it was merely making her more miserable. Tears filled her eyes, only to be whipped away by gusts as soon as they dared to fall.
She kept walking, heedless of her direction, wiping under her eyes carefully to try to halt any makeup runs.
A car wended its way up the street towards her, moving carefully past all the parked vehicles, and then slowed as it neared.
She stared through the windscreen. It couldn’t be . . . but it was.
Lincoln.
Christmas stopped, and he pulled on the handbrake right where the car was idling in the middle of the street and got out. He was wearing only a long-sleeved cotton shirt above his jeans and the wind flapped the open material at his chest.
‘What are you doing here?’ she called. ‘It’s freezing. And why aren’t you on a plane?’
He stopped in front of her. ‘I’m not going,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I couldn’t get on the plane. I was sitting in the terminal and I just felt . . .’ he waved his hands around as he looked for the right word ‘. . . miserable,’ he finished. ‘You make me happy and I’m miserable without you. I love you and I want to be with you. I decided to grow up and chart the course of my own ship instead of sailing wherever the winds take me. I’m staying here, with you.’
‘But what about Ecuador?’
‘Ecuador? Never heard of it.’
She burst out laughing and then tears mingled with her laughter.
‘That country’s been there for a long, long time and it will be there for a long while yet. It can wait. Right now, I want you. Is that okay?’ he asked, grinning.
‘It’s perfect.’
He pointed to the Honda. ‘Now, if you would be so kind as to step into my chariot, I’d like to take you home and make love to you all night.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Just promise me one thing.’
‘Anything.’
‘Promise me you’ll never again kiss me and push me out the door.’
‘I promise.’
He grabbed hold of her and kissed her hard, and then shepherded her to the car. He opened the creaky door and bowed low. ‘Madam, your chariot awaits.’
‘Let’s go,’ she said, took his hand and stepped into the car and the new chapter, only just beginning.