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As Christmas Eve arrived, Jacob could not sleep. He lay wide awake in his uncle and aunt’s house, staring at the ceiling well before dawn. How could he sleep when in but a couple of hours, he would pledge his love and life to Miriam, and he would become her husband?
At last the sun crested the horizon, so he allowed himself to get out of bed and begin his morning ablutions. He took extra care shaving his whiskers to be sure he didn’t draw blood. Miriam deserved a handsome groom, and while he wasn’t boastful enough to believe he was anywhere near what would be considered handsome, he wanted to look as good as he possibly could for their wedding.
His boots were freshly polished—something seen to by cousin Martin’s valet overnight. Jacob dressed in a new suit bought especially for the occasion. His hair, by some miracle of the fates, lay flat for once, and soon he was ready to leave. He quietly walked to Martin’s bedchamber and knocked, apparently waking him, as evidenced by the groggy voice saying, “Come in.”
Martin, someone more like a brother to Jacob than Norman ever had been, was indeed still abed. He chuckled at seeing Jacob. “A bit eager, are we? I’ll call Collins and hurry, though I don’t think the vicar will be ready before nine o’clock.”
True to his word, Martin got ready quickly with the help of his valet, Collins, and soon the trio were walking from the family estate of Branbourne Manor toward the chapel. Martin was the only person Jacob had entrusted with the secret of the wedding. Collins knew now as well, but that mattered little now that he was with them along the way. Martin would be one of the witnesses to the ceremony. The other, of course, would be Mr. Brown.
As they walked, Jacob took care as to where he stepped, avoiding muddy spots as best he could so as to preserve the polish and cleanliness of his boots. He dearly hoped his hat wouldn’t muss his hair too much.
“Do you suppose they’ll arrive early too?” he said, voicing his hopes.
“If they do, you won’t be able to see her,” Martin shot back, and when Jacob looked pained at the thought, Martin grinned. “That would be bad luck.”
“But if we’re all there before nine o’clock, perhaps the vicar will be willing to perform the ceremony early.”
“Perhaps,” Martin said, in what seemed far too calm a tone.
“Perhaps?” Jacob said. “Perhaps? The events of this day will transform my life, yet you speak as if we’re doing nothing but taking a stroll to a regular Sabbath service.”
“And you,” Martin said with a laugh and a teasing shove, “speak as if the entire world should sense and acknowledge the import of this day.”
Jacob shrugged, acknowledging his cousin’s point, but he couldn’t quite escape the feeling that the world around him was vibrating with anticipation, as if the trees and frosted grasses did know. Intellectually, he knew that such thinking was foolishness, but it was truly how he felt.
“You do have the license?” Martin asked suddenly.
“I do.” Jacob had made sure of that fact no fewer than a dozen times already, yet he reached up and felt for the folded paper in his breast pocket again anyway. “Thank you for checking.”
As much as Martin might enjoy teasing, Jacob knew that the question showed how much his cousin really did care about this day.
The walk to the chapel couldn’t have been more than a quarter of a mile, but it certainly felt like several miles. They found the vicar, who was surprised to see them more than an hour earlier than anticipated. Even so, he happily agreed to perform the ceremony early in the event that the bride and her father arrived early.
“May I see the license?” the vicar asked.
“Yes, of course,” Jacob said, and suddenly had fumbling fingers too nervous to slip the paper out of his pocket with anything less than several seconds’ effort. “There you are.”
The elderly vicar settled a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose and peered through them, reading over the license and nodding as he read it. “Everything looks to be in order,” he said, then eyed Jacob. “You are the groom? And you are the witnesses?” He gestured to Jacob and then Martin and Collins.
“I’m one of the witnesses,” Martin said. “The bride’s father will be the other.”
“Very good.” The vicar sat at his desk and took up a pen and paper, on which he recorded the witnesses’ names, though for his part, Jacob wasn’t sure of Mr. Brown’s full given name.
“We can write that information in later, when they arrive,” the vicar said. “You are welcome to stay here in my office or to wait in the chapel through that door. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go finish my morning cup of tea while we wait.”
“I think we’ll wait in the chapel,” Jacob said. “Thank you.” He gave a half bow, holding his hat, and as soon as the vicar left, he ran his fingers through his hair. He looked to Martin with worry. “Did I save my hair from looking like a hat has been on it, or did I muss it up?”
“It looks fine,” Martin said. “But Collins here can fix it right up if a problem arises. Can’t you?” He turned to the valet, who bowed with a nod.
“I can and will, Mr. Davies.”
Martin stepped forward and took Jacob by the shoulders. “Breathe, man. Everything will turn out right. You’ll see. But only if you breathe. She won’t want to marry a man who faints before he meets her at the altar.”
At that, Jacob laughed and realized that he had indeed been holding his breath. “Let’s go wait in the chapel, then.”
They selected a pew and sat on the bench there, the echoing interior of the chapel, with its fine stained glass and impressive ceiling, making them speak in reverent whispers.
Jacob’s knee kept bouncing up and down; he simply had to expel some of his nervous energy. He checked his pocket watch again and again. At last the vicar entered, wearing his robes and a few minutes early. Still no sound of a carriage or steps outside that would indicate Miriam’s arrival.
The church bells rang, chiming nine times. Still no Miriam, no Mr. Brown.
They waited longer. And longer. At half past nine, Jacob felt nearly driven mad as a hundred possible reasons for Miriam’s tardiness crept through his mind. Perhaps she didn’t wish to marry him after all. Maybe a highwayman had attacked the stagecoach. What if her father had fallen ill and couldn’t travel? All of these possibilities and more muddied his thoughts and increased his worry.
The bells rang out ten times. She was more than an hour late. By law, the wedding had to take place before noon. Was their coach damaged? If she arrived after twelve, they would simply marry tomorrow, on Christmas. Was that legal? He’d have to ask the vicar.
At long last, steps sounded at the back of the chapel. Jacob stood and whirled about in a single motion, his heart nearly leaping from his chest. But instead of seeing Miriam and her father, he found Norman.
Jacob’s stomach dropped to his toes. How had Norman found out, and where was Miriam?
“There has been an accident,” Norman said.
“What are you doing here?” Jacob demanded.
“The butler said that you had come this way earlier, so I set out in search of you because of the news. I felt sure you would want to know.”
A heaviness seemed to wrap around Jacob’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “What . . . news?”
“As I said, there has been an accident. A stagecoach fell into a river while crossing a bridge. Two passengers perished: an elderly man and a young woman.”
Jacob felt his head shaking and a moan threatening to escape from his throat. “No. You must be wrong. It’s not—”
“The victims are Mr. Brown and Miss Brown.” Norman sighed. “I am sorry, brother.”
With that, Norman turned about, replaced his hat, and left. Jacob dropped to his knees onto the cold stone floor. Miriam could not be dead. Her father was well. They would be here any moment.
They had to be.
Jacob was vaguely aware of Martin’s voice and the weight of his hand on his back. “I’ll go learn what I can, see what this is all about. I’ll report back as quickly as I can.”
Unable to speak his thanks—barely able to breathe or think—Jacob nodded.
“Collins,” he heard Martin say, “see to it that Mr. Davies returns to Branbourne Manor. Stay with him until I come back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sound of Martin’s boots moved quickly across the stone floor as he hurried out of the chapel. The cavernous space was silent once more, empty save for himself and his cousin’s valet.
Empty, as Jacob’s life would be without Miriam in it. He felt as if his heart had been carved from his chest, leaving a hole that would never be filled.